Shelter

Once upon a time, our peaceful farmyard was struck by tragedy when a hedgehog, lured by the promise of easy prey, claimed the lives of two young chicks. The mother hen, a fierce protector despite her small stature, decided she could no longer trust the ground for safety. That very night, she led her remaining brood high into the branches of a young chestnut tree.

 

Perched precariously on a slender branch, the hen spread her wings wide to shelter her chicks from the cold and rain. The tree swayed violently in the storm, but the hen and her little ones clung tightly, determined to remain above danger. Morning came, we heartbroken at the hen's ordeal, carried the little family back to the coop.

 

But the hen had learned her lesson. Every evening, as dusk painted the sky, she guided her chicks back to the same branch. The chestnut tree became their haven, no matter how harsh the weather or how unsteady the climb. Days turned into weeks, and the chicks grew into sleek, robust hens. Yet, the memory of that night stayed with them, etched into their instincts.

 

Even now, as full-grown chickens, they refuse the comfort of the coop. Instead, they ascend to the same branch each night, their feathers ruffling in the breeze, as if guarding an unspoken pact with their mother. The chestnut tree, with its sheltering arms, became more than a refuge—it became a symbol of survival and resilience.

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