Poultry practice pleases priest

That's a literal statement: In a converted garage next to his office at the Shrine of Our Lady of LaSallette in Altamont live his 250 show chickens -- plus a few guinea hens thrown in for good measure.

Ever since he was in the 4-H Club as a child, Father L'Arche has had a passion for poultry. Growing up in the rural town where he now ministers, he met an animal husbandry doctor whom he still calls his "poultry mentor," Richard Langenbach.

Prize-winners

Dr. Langenbach raised bantam chickens that won prizes at area fairs and poultry shows -- and, soon, so did the future priest, who was immediately fascinated by the varieties that existed even within a single breed.

"I'd always liked birds," he reminisced. "My uncle had a farm in Selkirk, and I was mesmerized" by the fowl there.

As he showed his own birds, he learned about keeping them out of drafts (birds are susceptible to respiratory ailments); giving them a balanced diet that included cracked corn and poultry feed; dosing them with medications, even Robitussin cough medicine, when they became ill; clipping their nails and beaks; and washing them in soapy water and vinegar before a show.

Ribbons and medals for his prize-winners piled up.

Saying goodbye

Answering a call to religious life as a young man, however, meant sacrificing his ever-growing flock.

Father L'Arche sadly recalled that, during formation for the priesthood, his seminary "had laying chickens, but it wasn't the same. I realized that if I wanted to become a priest, I had to give things up."

A year after he entered the seminary, he gave his chickens to his sister. Then, from the late 1960s on, he was assigned to parishes and seminaries from Ipswitch to Orlando.

Back in roost

Most often, he was involved in Hispanic ministry -- which occasionally meant hearing the crow of an illegal rooster kept by a local family but didn't lead to his owning any more birds.

In 1997, the director of the LaSallette shrine in Altamont became ill. Father L'Arche, whose parents were getting older, was offered the chance to come back to his hometown and take over the position.

"It was a providential assignment," he said -- and not just because he'd be close to his family. Soon after his reassignment, his father ran into Dr. Langenbach at a local supermarket and boasted, "Guess who's back in town?"

Dr. Langenbach promptly contacted Father L'Arche and presented him with three black rosecomb bantams.

Varieties

"I must have 15 different breeds, and 30 different varieties of those breeds," the priest opined on a recent afternoon, surrounded by chicken-related knickknacks in his office at the shrine, situated on 50 rural acres.

Behind him, a small tapestry depicting a rooster crowed, "This is the day that the Lord has made."

Father L'Arche listed a few of his acquisitions -- rosecombs, Old English game bantams, wyandottes, cochins, brahmas, Dutch bantams, mottled Japanese bantams, phoenix hens with long tails -- noting that chicken enthusiasts often buy and sell birds at "tailgate" events.

"The ones you keep are the ones you like most," the priest opined.

Fine feathers

As he's gotten back into raising chickens, Father L'Arche has also rejoined the world of poultry professionals: He shows his birds at the Altamont, Chatham, Cobleskill, Schaghticoke and Rhinebeck Fairs, as well as poultry shows sponsored by the Northeast Poultry Association from Cobleskill to West Springfield, Mass. He also judges shows.

A cross on a desk at the shrine now shares space with a pile of award ribbons.

"There's one bird that, wherever I bring her, she wins grand champion," Father L'Arche noted. "She's a silver-spangled Hamburg."

Shell game

The priest also gets a few monetary rewards from his hobby: New York State provides some prize monies at shows to encourage people to raise livestock, and Father L'Arche sells the dozen or so eggs he collects every day to local residents.

One of his best customers is Rev. Joseph Girzone, author of the best-selling series of "Joshua" books featuring a Christ-like main character. A retired priest of the Albany Diocese, he lives in Altamont.

Speaking of priesthood, Father L'Arche admitted that he himself has gained quite a reputation as "the chicken priest."

At shows and fairs, "you meet a lot of people," he explained. "They get to know you, and they want you to baptize their children...they want to get married...they may even want some counseling. The poultry hobby has been an 'in' to do some evangelical outreach."

Idea hatches

Even as Father L'Arche works at the shrine, his hobby creeps into his days.

Home-schooled children who come for retreats bring along pet hens to ask the priest questions about them; people who've found stray chickens in ill health stop by to drop off the suffering birds.

Area Catholic schools, like St. Casimir's in Albany, regularly take batches of eggs so students can watch them hatch before returning the chicks to their owner.

Faith link

"There are some interesting analogies in tending a flock," Father L'Arche mused -- and he wasn't just referring to the many personalities he encounters in both poultry and people.

To the priest, the Gospel story of the lost sheep easily translates to lost poultry: "Some chickens get out of their cages and you don't know where they are. You search high and low; you're glad you get them back."

He also noted that chickens, like people, must be kept safe from foxes and other hungry wildlife: "They're totally dependent on you. Chickens have many predators; and, as people, we do, too -- spiritual predators."

Human touch

Amid a clamor of clucking and crowing feathered friends in the garage, Father L'Arche eagerly pulled chickens from cages to show off their finer points, from the feathers on a cochin's feet to the clutch of eggs and day-old chick guarded by one tiny, furious hen.

Next door, a shed held dozens of "teenage" chickens, kept warm under soft lights.

The chickens are "kind of a drawing card" for pilgrims visiting the shrine, said the priest seriously, "because people, especially kids, are fascinated by them. Animals make us more human."

(Like other priests, Father L'Arche could be reassigned by his religious order at any time. But "I would have to disperse the flock," he noted. "That's part of our life -- the vow of poverty, detachment from material things." He paused. "Maybe I could bring some along." Although Father L'Arche's birds don't have names for the most part, he can't forget Jeremiah, Lucille and Alice: The three bray bantams were presented to him by a Third Order Carmelite woman in Massachusetts when he was there to officiate at a wedding. He left them in his car during the ceremony, and Jeremiah, the rooster, crowed through the entire service as the guests listened.)

(11/22/07) [[In-content Ad]]