Journal of a Living Lady #79
We have a feisty hen named “Mrs. Red” who is sitting. The only problem is that she is
not only sitting on her own eggs, but the eggs of all her friends. We have
three nests, but all eight of our hens like this special wire one which, of
course, is where Mrs. Red has decided
to sit. We generally get about six eggs a day, for but more than a week we
haven’t gotten any for cooking. Mrs.
Red claims them first. She is currently sitting on over twenty eggs even though
I removed a dozen or more when she was off taking parenting class.
Mrs. Red is
a funny sight with full wings and out-stretched legs squatting on her maternal
throne. I dare not try to take an egg out from under her as she protests loudly
and pecks hard. The rooster always comes running in full attack armor. Believe me, Mr. Red, with his nine-inch nail
spurs, can be most intimidating. You don’t mess with his woman.
Now I admit to being a novice chicken farmer, but I
never knew hens were so possessive of their eggs. There is no way Mrs. Red can
hatch all of those eggs and I am worried about her psychological well-being
when she finally realizes this. I made a mistake when I cut class the day my
professor taught separation anxiety in Chickenology 101.
I have made many mistakes trying to be a farm
girl. Last week I traded several paperweights for a nice
looking butter churn because I wanted to make my own butter. I wasn’t sure how
it was made, but I knew my grandmother used a churn which had a short stick
with four wooden prongs on the end. I do have a friend who has a bull, so
surely with her guidance, I figured I could make some genuine butter.
After I got
my prized churn home and looked at it more closely, it didn’t look like it had
ever been used for making butter. In
fact, it looked brand-spanking new. I
began to be suspicious. Some old-timers who grew up on a farm happened by. I
asked them to look at the churn and give me their opinion. Both told me they wouldn’t use it because
the small barrel , though nicely detailed, was made of cedar. Come to think of
it, the inside of that churn did smell exactly like our cedar chifferobe. Cedar
tasting butter may sell well in a gourmet shop, but I wanted to make the
old-fashioned kind. So, instead of a butter churn, I now have a one-of-a-kind, cedar umbrella holder.
When I get past this weekly regimen of chemotherapy
and gain back some energy, I want to try my hand at making home-made mayonnaise
and bread. Don’t know why I have gotten so interested in domestic doings
lately as Buddy will attest that
genuine, time-consuming cooking has never been my forte.
As a gift
for a special occasion recently, some dear friends gave me money to buy
something I especially wanted. It was a toss up between a night at the beach or
a new mixer. As much as I love the ocean, the practicality of a new mixer won
out. My other one was bought in a yard sale about ten years ago and only ran on
high speed. I have spent more time wiping whipped cream and mashed potatoes off
the ceiling and cabinets than most criminals do for armed robbery.
+++++++++++++
nancyk@alltel.net https://www.angelfire.com/bc/nancykelly
September 13, 2000
