You learn early-on what life is about. From the age of five, I remember gathering eggs from the chicken coop, watching my uncle hold the eggs to a light, he called it candling, to make sure they were fresh Thenpack them and sell to neighbors and "Addy's" local grocery store about a half mile down the road.
When it was decided to have chicken for dinner on Sunday, my older cousin would chase a chicken, catch it, hold its head over a wooden block, and decapitate it with an axe. That old chicken would flop about the barn yard for the longest time. My aunt would then dip that chicken in water, hot enough to pluck the feathers, and clean it for Sunday dinner. I still remember the horrible smell of that wet chicken! Of course the chickens may have not liked our smells. There was an old "out-house" behind that chicken coop. Luckily it was a two seater, as none of us liked to go there alone at night.
We milked cows, twice a day. Being too small to do much, I had the job of washing the cow udders, being grateful that I wasn't the one that had to help clean the barn. The hog pen was off limits. I was told those "porkers" were mean!
Hay balers came when the season rolled around. My aunt cooked and baked for hours to feed men that came to help with the hay making. After meals came the clean up and washing the dishes. The dish water that was heated on the kitchen wood stove came from the old pump on the side of the sink. It was my job to stand on a milking stool and dry dishes -- many, many of them. Wish I had a penny for each one.
Butchering was a part of the farm routine -- hogs, cattle, rabbits, chickens, whatever. That was like planning for next year's dinners. Of course, gardening was also a necessity. One of the best part of farm life was being able to keep the stray animals, finding kittens in the barn, catching pups that people would abandon along country roads. And, my cousins and I each had a pony to ride. Bonnie, Bo-Peep and Doc, our three ponies, were as much a part of our family as relatives.
In summer we would pick blackberries on the side of the hill, and look for mushrooms in the woods. Occasionally we would forget the time and get home for dinner and chores. That would cause some my aunt and uncle some dismay, and sometimes merit a couple whacks on the behind. Often, besides blackberries and mushrooms, we were too busy playing cowgirls and Indians. There was one time I was the good cowgirl and the cousin my age was the bad Indian. I left that Indian in the creek, hanging by a rope (not like you are imagining). It was a loose rope, and he was standing on a rock in the middle of the creek. Nonetheless, I got thrashed for leaving him there. He was afraid to get off the rock and it was dark by the time my uncle found him and brought him home. I was in "deep" trouble!!
Halloween, a great time. We would shuck corn and my uncle would take a pick-up truck bed full of "trick or treaters" around to the neighbors on Beggars Night. If no treats, the worst we would do was throw corn on people's porches. Then there was Thanksgiving. All the family came to dinner -- aunts, uncles, cousins and even good friends were included. Each of them brought their special dish. Did we eat! After dinner, women did dishes, put things away, then off to a room to talk, talk, and talk some more. The men retired to a sitting room to listen to ball games on an old Philco radio. We kids went outside into the cold and played until practically frozen. There were snowball fights, building snow men and women, just good winter fun. Such innocent fun when you are young.
Christmas was the best holiday ever! We would cut down a tree, make chains of ribbon, string cranberries and popcorn to decorate this beautiful pine. It was almost like Thanksgiving, the closeness being felt amongst everyone. We would each get one gift, and were always pleased with whatever it was, homemade, store bought, it didn't matter. Church, of course, was a given, no excuses. Sunday after dinner was a time to listen to my aunt play the organ as we attempted to sing hymns along with her wonderful sounds of music.
Our clothes were homemade, but love was in abundance. My grandfather was in a rocking chair, walked with a cane. Earlier, he would chasing me across the kitchen when he caught me doing something ornery. I would run down the basement stairway because he could not come after me. I should have been kinder -- he did teach me to be a pretty good checker player!
At the age of eight, I was adopted and was moved to the city. This part of my life was not the most memorable. My new parents were alcoholics, spent most of their time at the Eagles, Moose Lodge, or anywhere they could congregate and drink.
My first kiss, WOW, I was in the sixth grade. My adoptive mom found my first-hand-written love note. Can you imagine? I was grounded for that! Later my best friend and I got caught sneaking out with clothes we weren't allowed to wear. Grounded again! Interestingly enough, my best friend married the boy that gave me my first kiss!
Another memory I recall is not having a driver's license, but a friend talked me into driving her sister's stick shift, foreign car. We side-swiped a bus in our travels that night, but didn't get caught and made it home safe, sound. Her sister never did find out how her fender got dented! (If I thought my kids would have done such things, I would have locked them in a room!)
Playing spin the bottle, and, oh, the girl-ask- boy dances. Could there be any better memories?
