The Night The Chicken House Burned

Fire in the Chicken House

          When I was age seven and eight we lived (1949-51) near Fairdale, Kentucky, on a small farm of twenty-three acres.  One of the memories that has stayed with me from that period of time in my life is the night that the chicken house burned. 

          Out behind the house at some distance was a small house we called the chicken house.  As I remember it, it measured about twelve by fifteen feet and made of wood with a tin roof.  It was a little more than just a chicken coop.  It was there that we raised chickens from small biddies (baby chicks) to grown hens.  Some of those chickens were for our use: some were kept for laying eggs, some were fryers, and some were sold to help supplement the family’s income.  There in 1951 we had about 100 biddies.  I suppose I remember some of the details because one of my chores was to daily keep water and feed in the chicken house.  We also had a brooder or two.  A brooder is a large oval piece made of tin under which the baby chicks may go to keep warm until they grow enough to mingle with the larger chicken population.  To provide the heat, each brooder has a large heat lamp bulb in the center.

          Late one night I was suddenly awakened by the sound of loud voices.  A neighboring farmer had seen the fire and came banging on the door to get someone's attention.  Sleepily I got up from my bed to find out what was happening.  It soon became apparent…the chicken house was on fire!  Blazes and smoke were going high into the air.  Dad, Mom, and a neighbor were carrying buckets of water in a vain attempt to douse the fire.  We had no running water so the water had to be drawn from the well and rushed over in pails to douse the fire.  A couple of other neighbors arrived to help, but to no avail.  It was a total loss; all the chickens and the little biddies were gone in a few minutes.  Apparently one of the light bulbs that provided the heat for the brooders caught some straw on fire. 

          The next day after the ashes had cooled I looked in the chicken house and discovered the bodies of the little chicks.  They had gathered in the corners of the building in an attempt to escape the fire.  The little burned bodies was a scene that remains with me to this day, nearly seventy years later. 

           That occasion became known in our family as "the night the chicken house burned."  I do not remember if we ever rebuilt the chicken house.  I wish now that I had asked mom or dad before their deaths whether we rebuilt the chicken house.  I cannot remember if we did or not, but probably not because it was not long before we made the move to Florida;  saying forever to raising chickens.