Ethyl Remembers: The Barnyard

Growing up, we had a barn with a hallway that ran down the middle and stables on each side.  The compartment at the end on the right was not a stable but a corn crib, which was composed of two rooms.  When you entered the crib there was a compartment that housed all the paraphernalia for the horses such as bridles and so on, and also a large old machine for shelling corn. There was a window with a wooden cover on the side of the corn crib leading to the outside.  It's purpose was to facilitate the depositing of corn into the crib from the truck bed.  It also was rather handy for children who were playing hide and seek to climb through when they were on the verge of being detected by their playmates.  The back room of the crib was piled high with ears of dry corn, which was used to feed the animals, so it was a rather easy thing to climb to the top of the corn pile and climb out the window to the ground beneath.  The other five compartments in the barn were stables for holding the animals, and above it all was a large loft with a ladder in the middle of the hallway and an opening in the floor leading up into a large open area usually filled to capacity with hay.  Much of the hay was in bales, but there was always some loose hay that made the perfect housing for nesting bantam hens and rowdy children on rainy days.  In other words, our barn served three purposes: It housed the horses and cows and also their food, but most importantly to us, it served as a large playhouse in which to climb and scuffle and jump in the hay.  We had a regular chicken house in which we kept the laying hens, but all around our barnyard were these little hens called bantams.  The country folk referred to them as "banty hens".  They were just like regular hens, only smaller, and they ran wild in the barnyard and nested in the hay loft. 
One of the most delightful sights was to come upon a little banty hen and her brood of new born chicks.  Once I discovered a hen with at least a dozen of the cutest little yellows chickens that had been newly hatched in the hay loft, and I wondered how in the world she was going to get them down from there.  I watched in awe as she maneuvered them to the large opening at the center of the loft and gently pushed each one to the ground.  They landed, bounced around a little while, then took off running.  One after another she sent her brood to the ground, and then she joined them.  They immediately scattered all around the barnyard.  Cute little fur balls of the palest yellow, peeping and scamping about.  Then I beheld another sight that was just as touching.  Her chickens had scattered all around the barnyard when suddenly a couple of cows appeared, ready to enter their stables for the night.  The mother hen started cackling and flapping her wings and the babies ran toward her from every direction.  She swooped them up one by one and deposited them, at least a dozen, under her wings and then sit down on them.  To all appearances she looked like a big fat chicken sitting on the ground.  As soon as the cows were in the barn, she rose and the chicks once again scattered hither and thither.  Such a beautiful picture.  Every time I read the account in the Bible where Jesus weeps over Jerusalem and uses the illustration of how he wanted to gather her children together like a hen gathers her brood under her wings, I think of that sight.  And then I realize that Jesus must have seen the very same sight as a boy.   It always elicits such a sense of wonder.
When I was a little girl I always thought how nice it would be if I could just catch one of those cute little yellow chicks and love it.  I wanted to hug it and feel it's soft warmth in my hands.  One day I found one in the hay and with a great sense of delight I picked it up and squeezed it.  It was so soft and fuzzy and I just had this overwhelming urge to caress it.  My intentions were totally harmless, but I found when I released it my caress had been too hard.  It lay lifeless and limp in my hands.  Immediately I begin to cry, realizing what I had done.  All my life I have remembered squeezing the life out of that tiny chicken, and the total devastation that flooded me when I realized what I had done.  As I've grown older I've also come to realize what a great analogy that is for life.  If we want to hold onto someone, don't hold them so tightly you squeeze the life out of them.  Give them room to breath.   And even if our intention is only to love them, we can still do harm if we don't give them the freedom to move around and be themselves.
Such was the life lesson learned one day as I played in the hayloft.  It has stayed with me forever.