Carrying that heavy basket full of eggs
to the house, I had to walk through the territory already staked out
by Old Jersey, our mean natured old milk cow. Every day, it seemed,
she saw me going into the hen house with my empty basket, and when I
came out, she was waiting. You ever tried to outrun a cow while
carrying a basket full of eggs? Every day, again and again? But still
yet, she never caught me, though my load of eggs sometimes were the
worse for wear. Is it any wonder I developed that angry but timid,
distrustful look reflected in that face at a very early age? Do you
understand why I much preferred wandering the bottoms and the
mountains alone?
The egg business played out in a
few years. The scuttlebutt going around was, the main business was
really selling a lot of chicken feed to the farmers. Lots and lots of
chicken feed. The hatchery sorta took second fiddle. A plus was, all
that chicken feed came in pretty cloth sacks, all decorated up to
make shirts and dresses from. Mom and my sisters spent a lot of time
on the old singer sewing machine. It was not uncommon for Mom to give
Dad a few scrap pieces of feed sack material for Dad to try and match
when he headed to Plainview for yet another load of chicken feed.
And, during that time, we ate lots and lots of eggs and chickens.
Also, later in high school, I taught myself to pole vault with a well
seasoned pine pole I stole from the chicken roost. In addition, I
learned to run fast at an early age. So, I guess all's well that ends
well.
Dad dispensed with the chickens. He was growing up a pretty good herd of registered Polled Hereford cattle, concentrating on high quality young herd bulls for sale. And me, I began my stage in life as a cowboy without a horse. But I didn't fare a lot better than I did with the chickens. We had some mean cows there, too. And those big bulls just dared me to step into THEIR pasture. Those young bulls were just beginning to strut their stuff, and they badly needed someone small enough to intimidate. I was the natural choice. A really good counselor could have had a field day, helping me get past all my hangups and strange quirks I developed before I got big enough to look out for myself. But then, Wing didn't have any of those kind of people. I don't doubt that maybe a few of those strange quirks are still hanging around in my psyche today. Or maybe you have already noticed.
Dad dispensed with the chickens. He was growing up a pretty good herd of registered Polled Hereford cattle, concentrating on high quality young herd bulls for sale. And me, I began my stage in life as a cowboy without a horse. But I didn't fare a lot better than I did with the chickens. We had some mean cows there, too. And those big bulls just dared me to step into THEIR pasture. Those young bulls were just beginning to strut their stuff, and they badly needed someone small enough to intimidate. I was the natural choice. A really good counselor could have had a field day, helping me get past all my hangups and strange quirks I developed before I got big enough to look out for myself. But then, Wing didn't have any of those kind of people. I don't doubt that maybe a few of those strange quirks are still hanging around in my psyche today. Or maybe you have already noticed.
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Don't forget the official book launching of Spreading Wing, Saturday Feb.2, Wing, Arkansas. At the Wing Community Church. Story readings at 2:00, signings at 1:00 and afterwards. If you want a tasting of Barbara's special cookies, Louise Gillum's wonderful pies, and Phylllis Kitchell's great candy, come early. While they last. My specialty, salt pork and biscuits, will be available throughout, I'm sure. Hope to see you there! Wing is 13 miles SW of Danville on hwy. 28. Two miles west of Rover. Most road maps don't show Wing anymore. I don't know why.
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