The first thing that I want to fill you in on is, the fact that; I wasn't invited to attend any family reunions last week, after Thursday that is. That's a shame. I could have brought fried chicken, processed by me and cooked-up to a golden brown, crispy or plain. I had a couple of cut-ups here ready to party. This butcher killed a few more of the songbirds out back. Twenty- five roosters and not a hen in the house! Fourteen down and eleven to go! Fact is I will have to find some hens.
Healthy egg layers are as scarce as hen's teeth to find these days. Prices range from $5 to $20 dollars each. Imagine that!
Dad and I incubated, hatched, and raised hundreds of chicks to adulthood. We sold poultry for a fraction of the prices those poultry fanciers are asking today. My history spoiled me.
The store bought eggs are very expensive and the grading cracks this old rotten egg up. A large store- bought hen egg is about the same size, in comparison, to that of large bantam. My jumbo brown and white eggs were fresh as daisies. I grabbed them out of the nests, before the hens had time to sing about it. Then one day out of the blue, I sold out; my new equipment and all, including hens, roosters, odd balls, and ugly ducklings included.
Now I'm baking like the commercial bakeries are out of business and making sticky casseroles, just in case. Nearly everything calls for an egg or two, including Paul Baby. What's a girl to do?
So, this week, I'll be scouting and scrambling about to find the right birds to feather my nests and bring an old habit back to me. I saved the basket.
Listen up handlers; if you see an aged dizzy blonde with a weathered chicken crate coming down your lane get your catcher ready. I have talking turkey on my mind. If you like roosters, I barter!
Taffy, the abandoned cat that came to us seeking acceptance and shelter has a tiny family of her own now. Gray, the tamed woods cat thinks that they are his. The three kittens are healthy, but none are the spitting image of our little angel, eventhough; he dated Taffy, briefly. The threesome consists of two pretty females and one fat male. The youngsters are a week old. Keep that in mind if you are thinking about adoption down the line.
Our daughter, Starla McHugh will be in town this weekend. We look forward to being with her a few hours. She divides her time here between her family in Brownsburg and us. That works well for all.
Starla is not a country girl, but she is rather fond of chicken. She and I usually stop by KFC and order heaping helpings of livers. That has become a must do when her Dad is at work. Besides, he hates livers of any kind. He's a leg - man. No one can join the feed unless they eat livers and/or those rubbery little gizzards. She gives me her leftovers to take home, but I have nothing to add.
One Sunday, when I was a little girl, my mother took a granite ware roaster of delicious homemade bread dressing out of the coal range's oven and sat it on lid of the reservoir. She plucked the baked hen out of the container, plopped on our heavy platter and placed it on the table. Then she headed toward the back porch to collect the buttermilk and oleo from the icebox.
I spotted those giblets peeping out of her good eats, found a fork and dabbled in the dinner. I even fished for the heart and hooked it. From that day forward, I have been grabbing a fork and gathering up the giblets! Finger licking good and worthy of a chicken dance every time!
We ate chicken more than often at our house. My little girl friend noticed that. She said, "You always say that you have to help pick chickens. Boy, Mary Lou, it's a wonder your family would sprouted feathers. No way, the feathers on me after Dad's picking frenzies weren't connected. And, by that time, I already had livers and gizzards under my skin!
I look back now and wonder what she would have said if she could have seen all of the fried eggs that disappeared from a similar ironstone platter, almost every meal.
No wonder she called me "Chicken" at every turn--the kid believed it!
Last week, I mentioned that our youngest daughter, Lori Patrick, and her family were victims of theft. Their home was burglarized while they slept and valuables taken, including her new vehicle that was parked beneath of her bedroom window. I am happy to report that officers of the Denver Police Department located the stolen vehicle in a parking garage. At the time, that I spoke to Lori it was still impounded at the station. She did not know its condition. Her purse is still missing. My son-in law Clifford Patrick's laptop was found in another stolen vehicle. Mary Shannon's electronic equipment hasn't been recovered.
This week, with the convention underway, in Denver, the Patricks' will be very busy keeping up with the extra traffic at the airport. Good news at the end of a hard day would be nice!
Albert Schweitzer once said--a man doesn't have to be an angel to be a saint. I won't say Paul Baby is an angel, no not that, but he does look like a saint when he sleeps. Got to go, its time to tuck him in!
I can be reached at 446-4852 or drop me a line to 613 North Elm St., Brazil, IN., 47834 or by email at email@example.com.