I remember back when I was a kid that life was so simple. One of the highlights in my memory is crouching in the dirt and watching through the chicken fence as an old brown hen laid an egg. I recall her looking at me a time or two and wondering if she was ever going to get done. I do not recall it being any kind of "bonding moment" with the chicken, but in that few moments we were alone in the universe. After she laid her egg and left the nest, I picked it up and took it into the house to momma. While she was pleased that I brought her the egg she was upset that I had bothered the chicken it her egg laying business.
So, now to the crux of the matter. Looking back I can see the folly of my experience. First, laying face down in the dirt I was subject to all kinds of bugs and spiders. Not to mention the fact that snakes also slither around chicken houses looking for prey. And had the chicken not been engrossed in the act of laying an egg, she could have pecked my eye out!
Living on the farm was a constant learning experience. The chicken experience was mild compared to the life and death struggle that went on constantly. I recall the "dead animal wagon" coming to pick up our old Shetland Pony, Star. Dad had gotten Star back when we lived on the Stroh place. As I recall that was one of Dad's biggest follies. He had gone into Hutch to join some of his old cronies for "a drink" and returned many days later with Star in a horse trailer. That was the meanest damned horse that ever crossed the pike! As Dad was unloading him he was kicking at the sides of the trailer and when he was finally on the ground, he made it clear that no one was going to set on his back! Or pet him! Or brush him! Or do anything but feed him and stay the hell out of his space!
We moved to the Strong Street house about the time I started second grade and Star died about a year later. I recall the "dead animal wagon" coming to the house and the man taking a wench line out of the back of the wagon and into the barn. Mother made us go into the house at that time and let us out as the truck left the yard with a horse leg sticking straight up in the air. The demise of Star was complete. He would be made into dog food. I learned that from my school chums. "Yes! Dog food. And his hooves will be made into glue." Now how in the hell 7 year old kids knew that was beyond me, but it sounded true enough to me that I spent several nights crying myself to sleep, mourning a horse that was meaner than hell and no one could get near.
There was a big Mulberry tree in the back yard there and under it I started a cemetery. Donna squeezed a baby rabbit to death and I buried it under the tree and put a stick to mark the place. Dead birds were eulogized as well baby chickens that did not survive. A mouse made it in also. And then I lost interest.
Jake went off to the Army and I entered high school. The days of sand and shovels were behind me. Time to grow up and plan my future. I would be a missionary. I read about Africa and how the natives needed saved and brought into the grace of God. Reverend Barnett gave me books to read. I learned that a lot of them were cannibals! That kind of scared me, but at 15 years of age the world was my oyster!
And then I went to live with Grandma Haas, who was crippled by a stroke, and Great Grandma Hatfield, who was caring for her. And the rest is history.
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