So I have won a chicken!

Today's the day of reckoning, this afternoon when  I go to our farmer's market to get my winning prize.  Evidently last week, when it was steamy hot and I was enjoying a cold bottle of water with a piece of delicious carrot cake in celebration of the first anniversary of our market, I filled out a ticket for the drawing for prizes donated by  the vendors.  Martha called me late Saturday to tell me that I was the lucky winner of a chicken, donated by a vendor who sells meat and poultry, and that I could pick it up today.  I really hope it is frozen or packaged in some way, not alive in its cage with feathers and all.

That call left me thinking it might just be my lucky day or month,and maybe the corner of life was turning.  I seldom have had anything good happen in August; my first marriage, the biggest mistake of my life when I was too young and thought I knew something was in August; my Mom died in August; the inlaws always invaded, and over stayed their welcome spending  their summer vacation at our home in August;  Jerry's mother always creates havoc in August like  two years ago during a family visit when she turned loudly ranting at me witnessed by my  DIL and grand daughter, resulting in my avoiding her for the remainder of the year.  I could list other August negative experiences, but you get the idea, I want to see the month pass quickly even though it means the end of summer.  Following my momentary musement that maybe August won't be all that bad, Jerry's mother was on the  phone with another nasty blast which brought me to the reality that, "it's August!"

Chickens and me have a less than cordial relationship; maybe I was a fox in a previous life, but as long as I can remember anytime I have been near a live  chicken it has not been a good experience. The first negative encounter I recall was at my  Grandma Anna Ball's chicken coop in Harwick, PA when I was maybe five or six years old.  I went to the coop to get eggs or maybe just to satisfy my non-stop curiosity and the next thing I remember there was Anna shooing the chickens away from me as they clucked and carried on and she responded loudly gathering eggs from their nests into her skirt/apron and telling me to leave the coop!   I never went near it again during any of my infrequent visits to her, I considered the coop off limits.

Steve with his first chicken 1976

Flash forward to 1976 when we were living in Newcastle, CA on acreage where Steve and Jerry decided we would have chickens and enjoy fresh eggs.  Actually someone had given Steve a chick for Easter when we were still moving from Fair Oaks and we brought it up to Newcastle from Fair Oaks, before our move, Steve wanted to keep it for a pet and then decided raising chickens would be better. This photo shows him at 12 years old with that dumb chicken on his shoulder, he thought his was funny and I fretted.   To say I had reservations about this effort is an understatement below ground, but Steve assured me it would be his project, "Mom we will eat the eggs" and Jerry thought it an ok idea too, taking him back to his childhood days on the farm.  We started out with several dozen chicks many of which didn't survive, as daily the count went down; something was invading the chicken coop at night and making off with the chicks; Jerry and Steve decided it was a weasel and so they carefully fixed the wire around the coop and solved the problem of diminishing chickens.  I admit the eggs were good, but they harvested the eggs and as the coop was down the hill from our house, I had no need to go there.

We always had dogs and one morning we were awakened to the squawking clucking protests of chickens flying outside  our bedroom window as Hermit, our first Great Dane went to round up some that had flown from the coop up through the tree that grew in the midst of the chicken yard.  Hermit was just being dutiful the way he saw it, protecting his chickens and bringing them up to the house to let us know they were safe.  What a sound, followed by Jerry getting up and yelling at the dog through the  window, "dammit (*&^) Hermit, let that chicken go!"  Hermit would catch them in his mouth, drool all over them, and toss them up into the air in the front yard,  where our bedroom window faced.  The chickens flew and squawked and when they hit the ground, Hermit was right after them.     I don't recall the details but Jerry and Steve went out and herded the escapees back into the coop.

The chicken population dwindled till we had only a few including one proud rooster who immediately disliked me and flapped his wings in protest whenever I ventured past the coop.  No kidding that rooster would almost hiss and lose it when he saw me.  Steve really thought that was funny and would ask me to walk down by the rooster to show his friends how the rooster wanted to get Mom, a request to which I was not very obliging!

My ultimate chicken encounter happened one summer Saturday afternoon in Newcastle  and still makes Jerry laugh when the event is discussed.  I was home alone, Jerry was off with friends helping the local veterinarian move & I don't know where Steve was.  I was in the front yard puttering when alongside a rosebush, came that big rooster that had escaped the  coop. One look at me and it began to almost crow.  I ignored it and went about my business, thinking where is the local hawk when I need it.  But here came another chicken.  So I decided that I had better herd the flock back to their coop and I had no idea how to do this when I got the idea of getting the hoe, ala old MacDonald on his farm. In the garage where the hoe was hanging I eyed one of my laundry baskets and decided that I could use it to capture the escapees, throwing it over them and keeping them moving though staying a hoe handle length away and that way they would be herded back to the coop.  Quit laughing, you know I was/am a city girl! 

Needless to say this was an idea that did not work; I would toss the basket and the birds would scatter.  Once the rooster even jumped  atop the  basket which I'd tossed as though I had offered him a perch.  He eyed me and I cautiously approached with the hoe.  I don't know where the dogs were during this escapade, but I suppose that was a benefit as at least I did not have to defend the birds from the canines.  This exercise lasted about 20 minutes when I gave up because I never  captured even one of the escapees; I sat down, red faced and sweaty in the shade of the  bank on the lawn telling the rooster who did stay away from this wild woman and her basket that I didn't care where he went.  About this time Jerry returned home with one of the neighbors, both of whom thought it an odd sight to see me with a hoe and the clothes basket, sitting in the grass.  When Jerry heard my strategy, he bust out laughing, to which the rooster appeared and put in his two cents worth!  Jerry absolutely doubled over holding his sides, laughing so hard that he could not stand it and asking, Patricia, what in the world did you think!" Our neighbor, Bob was not much better,  laughing so hard that he had to take off his glasses!  I found this not at all comical, announced to both what they could do with these chickens  and retreated to the house and a cold drink.  Jerry was  still laughing when I shortly saw him walking along, toward the coop  with rooster and chicken following.  He'd gotten chicken feed and sprinkled it along, which attracted them and then he opened the gate and in they went.  Pat's encounter provided a humorous tale for a long time around the hillside.  I can still feel the frustration although this happened in about 1979!  Eventually we went out of the chicken business and bought our fresh eggs from Doc Santini locally.

As I have said, I am/was a city girl and though I enjoy gardening, I miss not a thing about  poultry agriculture.  I do enjoy eating chicken though!  So hopefully my winnings are ready to be cooked.