The woven wire fence appeared to have been erected to keep out trespassers. It ran along the length of road frontage, running from the corner of one abandoned house to another. As I walked up the overgrown street, I saw more fencing running in between adjacent houses. It made sense; I was walking past long-empty duplexes that had been built by a mining company a little over a century ago to house their workers and families, given the poor roads and remoteness at that time. Even now, the area was hidden by rolling fields dotted with grain silos, although a ribbon of modern highway now ran not too far away.
I had been pausing here and there to take photographs of the now-abandoned buildings, looking for those with unusual character. One had a jagged roofline, where pieces were missing. Another had a collapsed front porch, but only collapsed over one half of the duplex. Snow still held on stubbornly in north-facing shady spots.
It was after about the second or third house that I saw the several dozen chickens on the other side of the fence strolling around what was now one giant back yard. And it was then that I realized the fence’s purpose was directed at not those without, but those within. The chickens were gathered along the fence, and appeared to be as interested in me as I was in them. After a short while, I turned to continue on up the street. And it was then that I realized that one of the chickens following along was outside the fence. Perhaps there was a hole in the fence somewhere, although I did not readily see any. A thought flashed through my mind of whether I should try to get the chicken back in the fenced area, followed almost immediately by another thought of what that might look like, itself followed with the realization that some things just aren’t meant to be. Then again, perhaps a photograph with a chicken by the front steps of that house would be good. I crossed the street to the house opposite to get the whole house in the frame. The chicken followed. Well, I suppose a picture without a chicken might still be almost as interesting.
It wasn’t long before I saw another chicken on my side of the fence. Then a minute later, there was a third. I looked into the camera viewfinder, focusing both my attention and the camera’s on the house opposite. There were a few more chickens over there in front of the house now; perhaps I had a better chance of getting them in the shot.
After taking a couple shots and checking the focus, I stepped back from the camera and realized I had been surrounded. There were about a dozen chickens milling around, looking here and there, and occasionally pecking at the ground around my tripod. One even started to peck at my shoe. By now, any thoughts of trying to get anyone back inside a fence had long since expired.
Don’t even think about it.
I picked up my tripod and walked up the street, following it as it ascended the hill. I continued as it wound around the last house, where ahead I saw a gate in the fence, a gate that was open. Well, that would tend to explain the propensity for chickens around the neighborhood. As I continued on, I saw one smaller and rather showy-looking chicken with long glossy black feathers within the fenced area nonchalantly strolling in the direction of the open gate. I think I know where that one’s headed, I thought. And sure enough, out it came. I continued on to the next street.
I passed by the gate again on my way back. One chicken who had just exited came running after me as I walked by. What it was planning to do once it caught up with me, I did not know, and I was pretty sure the chicken didn’t know, either. I was right.
It was only after the owner arrived that the chickens were finally told they weren’t supposed to be outside the fence, and following a bag of chicken feed, they crossed the road one last time and returned to their home behind the fence.