The dictionary is one of my most favorite books. Most of the time we only pick it up to find the meaning of a word, or confirm the spelling. I discovered some years ago that it is a deeply satisfying read!
Just today, I was thumbing through the dictionary… and this time I actually was trying to find the meaning of a word. It was a “C” word… c-h-a… c-h-e— c-h-i… “What’s this? Chicken: a common domestic fowl; its flesh used as food. Memories came rushing back to me.
Six Hundred South 13th Street, Rocky Ford, Colorado: My first home. We lived next door to Doc Keck and his beautiful bride whom I affectionately called “Kecks.” This couple was like grandparents to me. He was a retired veterinarian and raised chickens in a coop in his back yard. Tom and I used to go over to their place and Doc would let us collect eggs from the hen house.
Tom was a gifted egg-plucker. He could slowly sidle up to the nests, look those chickens in the eye, and just talk his way underneath those hens. His voice just lulled those females into hopping up and letting him have whatever he wanted. But me… Not gifted. I would reach under a hen and get a hand on the egg; and nearly every time I got pecked for it. I’d try until I had a hand on the egg, and pray that determination and perseverance would not come together in that hand and crush the egg. Into the basket the egg would go. Sometimes only one or two eggs, and other times five or six. I’d hurry out of the hen house and latch the gate to the yard behind me. Then I’d head for home to nurse my wounds.
Funny how the injuries never hurt as bad at the hen house as they did when I was home and the deed was done. My grandmother would have called that “rising to the occasion.” Just do it. Put the blinders on, forget the circumstances, and achieve. Plenty of time later for tending the wounds, but not when there exists an obstacle to climb. One day something happened that made me realize there would be no more pecking of hands.
Do you recall the expression, “like a chicken with its head cut off?” It means to run around like crazy doing many things and accomplishing nothing. This phrase took on light when Dad and Doc Keck decided to eat the chickens. That meant cutting off their heads and plucking feathers. This was the stuff that Grimm’s Fairy Tales were made of, and childhood revenge like the Queen of Hearts in Alice in Wonderland. Off with their heads! So I was there when those little child-pecking cluckers got the ax!
Dad held them down. With necks stretched across a wood stump…. WHACK! Down came the ax, leaving Dad with only a chicken head while the rest of the fat feathered body flopped and ran all over the yard. What an amazing sight! Wings flapped while feathers fluttered into the air from the neck of the chicken. Tom and Dad laughed as they hurried about in hot pursuit of the headless bird.
I recall feeling no sympathy for the first unfortunate chicken as she lay with her head held down, wings spread out behind her. “What goes around comes around,” I thought, for this was a bird that pecked holes in a little girl’s fingers. Moments later as this ball of feathers flopped around losing its life, I confess that I was not prepared for this pathetic sight.
Those poor old chickens. Some days I find myself running everywhere and accomplishing nothing. At the height of my hysteric behavior, I save myself before my head is lopped off in vain efforts of doing… I am silent. My body is still. I listen. These things add perspective to life and put value back into what we do.
There is great quiet time with a dictionary, and all things considered, it has been good remembering childhood and chickens. Oh and one more thing… I believe that fateful night I ate at least one fried drumstick with mashed potatoes, and I loved it!
May you also enjoy a beautiful meal with loving memories to match!
Best… Carolyn Thomas Temple