Some moments in our life stick out far more than others. I remember, as a young boy watching in grim fascination as our president was shot and rushed to the hospital. I don’t know why, but it frightened me, and suddenly, I no longer felt safe in the world. I remember being in college when the horrific Challenger Shuttle accident occurred. I sat watching the event unfold live in a mixture of disbelief and grief. I have many of these iconic events locked in my head, but one of my youngest memories was the day I discovered that chicken was chicken.
I know this sounds like an odd statement, so allow me to explain. I grew up in the suburbs of Columbus, Ohio. Though it wasn’t precisely big-city life, the closest my sister and I would get to livestock would be at the petting zoos at the Ohio State fair. I was four, and my sister was three.
One week, my mother decided that she needed to visit some of her great-aunts and uncles in Kentucky. We would stay with her grandmother on one of the six farms her distant family owned in the rural hills of Kentucky. For the record, I couldn’t have been more excited. I had only met my great-grandmother one time before. Birdie was about 85 years old, and her health was finally starting to fail, but I didn’t know any of that. To me, she was just one of the nicest people that I had ever met.
It was a rare event for me to go to a farm, so all this would be an adventure. My knowledge of rural life was minimal: it probably was a mix of watching Captain Kangaroo and Green Acres on the TV. I remember I didn’t have muck boots, so I brought my very-yellow rain boots. My mom packed most of my things but let me bring some toys.
The drive from Columbus to the farms was less than three hours, but it felt like an eternity for a four-year-old. My father couldn’t come with us, so my mom had to do everything. In the early 70s, there was little in the way of children’s protection in vehicles. I often slept on the ledge behind the rear seats and under the back window. I loved how warm it was, and it would quickly put me to sleep. I think my mom was thankful that I wasn’t bothering my sister, who could sit contently for hours playing with one of her dolls.
My toys could keep my attention span for no more than five minutes. When I ran out of toys, it would be time to bother my sister. After being shouted at multiple times by my mother and bringing my sister to tears, I would finally concede and climb into the back ledge and rest.
The bumpy dirt roads woke me from my slumber, and I quickly slipped down from my makeshift bed to look around. Cows stared at our vehicle with half-hearted curiosity as I rolled down my window to waive. The ‘fresh’ smell of pastures dominated my senses. The Holsteins just kept watching us travel down the road.
A large, freshly painted red barn was to the left of my great-grandmother’s home. I could see the fences and pens of all sorts of animals. The sounds of ducks and chickens announcing our arrival made my sister giggle. “They know we’re here, mommy.” She proclaimed with jubilant joy.
My mom kept driving but listened to her daughter’s observation. “They sure do!” She parked the car next to an older pickup truck, and we all jumped out.
As our car doors were closing, I could hear the door on the front porch open. Birdie stood with her hands on her hips, welcoming her granddaughter’s family to her home. She was taller than my mom, and her hair was completely white. Her angular features complimented her inviting smile. I came quickly around our car to give her a hug.
Birdie didn’t seem overweight but, rather, sturdy in build. She walked with purpose, and it was as if you melted into her when she hugged you. Often she had words of encouragement as she embraced you. I remember her smell as well. Her clothes smelled like lilacs, and her hair smelled strangely like baby powder.
“I am so glad to see you all! Sandy, you look amazing and so grown up. It is hard for me to think of you as a mother and not a child like one of these beautiful kids.” Birdie paused and admired her great-grandchildren as a small tear formed in her eye. She had a practical elegance in her speech. She rarely spoke negatively, and even as a young boy, I wanted to hear what she had to say.
My mother returned the smile. She hugged her Grandma tightly, and they both stood connected for an extended period. It didn’t seem like any words needed to be said. Both of them were perfectly content in each other’s arms.
Finally, Birdie looked down at my sister and me. “You all must be exhausted, and I have just the thing. I just made a cherry pie that is cooling. If you give me a few minutes, would either of you like to help me make some fresh ice cream? I have a maker that I need to get out of the basement.”
My mother’s eyes brightened, “Is it the same one we used to use?”
Birdie shook her head, “No, dear that one died many years ago. But it’s just the new model of that one.”
My eyes lit up at the invite. “I want to help!” I looked down at my sister hiding behind me and peeking out. She had a smile on her face. “I think Trish wants to help too!”
Birdie turned quickly to my mother, “That would be wonderful. Sandy, we can unload your car in a bit. I have some fresh coffee brewing. Why don’t you come in and rest? I’ve got these two.”
The look on my mother’s face was priceless. An odd, one-sided smile came across her face at the idea of a few moments of solitude. She looked at Birdie as if to express her gratitude. Then she looked at me. “Okay, Doug, you can go with Birdie, but be sure to listen to her instructions.”
“Okay, mom!” I was so excited and didn’t know what to do, so I hugged Birdie again. This reaction made the two women chuckle.
For the first time in my life, I made ice cream. Though not perfect, every milky spoonful was delicious. “Mom, we need to get one of these at the house.”
My mom glanced at Birdie with a hesitant smile, “Oh, we’ll see. Maybe someday.”
Later in my life, I realized this was just deflective code for “Not likely.” But at the time, that was a great answer.
Birdie furrowed her brow and looked at me, “Now, Dougie, we have a big day tomorrow, and I have many chores to do in the morning. Would you like to help me with the chores?”
At four years old, the ‘work’ part of chores hadn’t yet registered. At this point, the chores we had at home were pretty insignificant. “You want my help?”
Birdie gave a deep belly laugh, “I sure do. While we are doing them, I can introduce you to all of my friends in the barn.”
My ears perked up, “Like the horses and ducks?”
Birdie leaned down and hugged me, “Yes, my dear, and the pigs, cows, and chickens too.”
I was so excited that I started bouncing while hugging her back, “I can’t wait! I brought my boots too. I want to help you, Birdie.”
“Lovely! Here is the bad part: you must wake up early to help me.”
My mother chimed in at this point, “That won’t be a problem, Grandma. He is up when the light hits the window every morning.” Birdie looked at my mom sympathetically. Then she turned to me with a smile of admiration.
Birdie considered her reply, “That is early enough. I will come back and pick him up when he is ready if that is okay with you, Sandy.”
My mom put her arm around me. “I will have him ready to go, Grandma.”
Birdie acknowledged the comment, “Great! Dinner will be served in two hours so let’s get your car emptied. I have prepared three rooms for you and the kids. Sandy, if that’s okay, I am putting you in your mother’s room and the kids in Daisy and Daffid’s rooms.”
My mom looked apologetically, “Ummm, wow, Grandma, we could have all slept in one room.”
Birdie looked slightly confused, “Why? I had seven children here, and we have plenty of rooms. It really was no bother.”
My mom looked fondly at her Grandma, “You are always so kind. Thank you so much, and thank you for having us.”
Birdie looked like she appreciated the reply, “It was no problem at all, and thank you for coming to visit me. I’ve missed you so much. It’s nice to have children back in those rooms too.” Her mind seemed to drift with this comment as she waxed nostalgic thinking about those room’s occupants.
Okay, I’m not going to lie here. The rooms were creepy. I vividly remember my room and the many dolls that surrounded me. Between the excitement of ‘morning chores’ and a bunch of dolls staring lifelessly at me all night, I wasn’t sleeping much. I also hoped Trisha wouldn’t take some of these dolls back with her.
A rooster crowed even before the sun had risen. I looked out the window and saw evidence of imminent dawn. I gratefully jumped out of bed and got dressed. There was only one bathroom in the hall we were in, so I did my best to comb my hair. My mother lumbered in and finished the preparation.
Before she finished in the bathroom, she leaned down to look me in the eye. “Now, Dougie, I want you to listen carefully to Birdie. Animals can be dangerous, so you need to do your best to pay attention to her commands. Can you do that for me?”
My mother’s words weren’t just a warning. They were a plea for me to be on good behavior. They worried me, but I nodded and started heading to the stairs to meet with Birdie. At the last moment, I turned and hugged my mom. “I will do my best to listen, mom. I promise.”
My mother hugged me, and I turned to bolt down the stairs to meet up with my great-Grandma. In the foyer, I could hear Birdie approaching the front door. Without hesitation, I reached up and opened it.
The action startled Birdie, but she quickly recovered. “Dougie? You nearly scared the life out of me. How are you? Are you ready to help me?”
Ready? Are you kidding me? I couldn’t wait. I enthusiastically nodded, then I pointed down at my rain boots.
For a moment, Birdie didn’t get what I was doing. Patiently she followed my pointing finger down. Then she noticed my yellow rain boots. “Oh! I see you already have your boots on. So, Dougie, when we go out to the barn, your boots will get a little dirty. From now on, can you leave them on my front porch? I don’t want to track all that mud into the house.”
I looked down at my clean boots and was embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Birdie, I didn’t know.”
I could see that Birdie felt terrible and quickly tried to recover, “Dougie, how could you have known? No one told you. Plus, your boots are clean right now. This isn’t a problem at all. Shoot, sometimes I forget and trudge dirt into the house. That’s why they make mops and brooms. Are you ready to help me?”
My concern evaporated, and I was so excited. I nodded and looked outside.
Birdie grabbed my hand and started walking me out the door. At the top of the stairs, I could see my mother watching us leave. I waved to her with my free hand, which brought a smile to her face. She waved and headed back to her room.
As we approached the barn, Birdy let go of my hand, and I was beginning to notice how large the doors on the barn were. “Dougie, have you ever milked a cow before?”
All I could do was shake my head no.
She patted me on the head, then put her hand on my shoulder, “Would you like to try? I have to admit that it isn’t easy.”
My eyes grew wide, and I nodded my affirmation to the approval of my great-grandmother.
“Okay, let’s go in the barn and visit with Lula.”
Rather than going through the main barn door, to my disappointment, we walked through a side door. “Birdie, do you ever open up the big doors?”
Birdie nodded, “Yes, but only when I have to. This door is much easier to open.”
She had a point. We walked in, and I saw a series of occupied stalls for the first time. There were horses, donkeys, and a pair of cows. A tractor was parked in the middle of the barn, and a motorcycle leaned on the far wall.
Inquisitively I asked, “Do you drive the motorcycle, Birdie?”
Birdie giggled, “Oh, heavens no. That belonged to my husband, but your two uncles used it often. I even think your mom drove it from time to time.”
I was amazed to think of my mom riding a motorcycle. “Really?”
Birdie nodded, “You know, I bet your mom did many things that would surprise you.”
I cocked my head to the side, “Really? Like what?”
“You know she was a good shot with a rifle, and she rode horses?”
I stared incredulously, “My mom?”
Birdie reached over and grabbed a bucket and some cloth from a shelf. “Oh yeah. She was always wanting to keep up with your uncles.”
Proudly I spoke up, “My dad is a good shot.”
“I’m sure he is. Now, are you ready to milk Lula?”
The cow’s stalls were much larger than the other ones. Before I could answer, Birdie had already stepped into the stall and tied the cow to a post. “Now, Lula, you need to be good. This young man is my great-grandson, and he will learn how to milk you correctly.”
Lula did not seem all that impressed. Without much understanding, I could perceive that this wasn’t pleasant for Lula. I was worried I might hurt her, but curiosity got the best of me.
With Birdie’s help, I tried to milk Lula. At one point, I got a few drops to come out. It delighted my great-Grandma while scaring me. The milk was warm, and I didn’t expect that. The look of displeasure on my face amused her so much that she let out a hearty laugh.
After a few minutes, Birdie took over and made short work of the milking. As she was milking, I saw many animals curiously watching me. They were as interested in me as I was in them.
Birdie wiped her hands, and with a sweeping grand gesture, she stated, “Are you ready to meet some more of my friends?”
I was excited as she introduced me to some amazing creatures. Most of them seemed very happy to see Birdie. For many of them, Birdie would tell me where they liked to be pet, and I would comply, to the animal’s delight.
We fed most of them, including the pigs. The pig’s food smelled terrible, but they didn’t seem to mind one bit. We fed all the ducks and hens, and Birdie carried a cloth-lined wooden basket we used to collect eggs from the chickens. A few mothers didn’t want to surrender their eggs, but Birdie explained that we needed them for breakfast. The hens reluctantly gave them up, and Birdie kindly thanked them.
We were nearing the end of the chores, and Birdie told me about other things she had planned for the week. I noticed she took off her kitchen apron and put on a much thicker one. She also donned a pair of gloves. Birdie started talking quieter for a moment, and that was odd to me. We walked down the back fence behind the barn to a pen closer to the house.
As we walked, I noticed sections of pen that narrowed. At this point, I didn’t understand their purpose, but the revelation was coming. Birdie was talking about making quilts when we passed by this chicken run. She continued talking as she reached into the run and pulled out a healthy chicken. I watched as the chicken’s legs raced in the air. With surprising alacrity, Birdie flung the chicken around in the air while securing its head. In horror, I heard a distinct snap then I watched my loving great-Grandma pull the head off the bird. She threw the head into the pig’s pen and then turned the body upside down as blood spurt out the newly made opening.
My heart sank as I watched the carnage. Birdie continued telling me about the wonderful things we would do the rest of the week. She was unphased by the act of brutality that she performed or the effect it would have on a young four-year-old. All I could do was fearfully watch as the bird’s legs slowly stopped moving.
At that moment, I now understood that the chicken we ate at the table was an actual chicken.
That evening, we had chicken for dinner. I was the best-behaved child on the planet throughout the day. After all, I watched my kind great-Grandma rip the head off of a living thing. I didn’t want to take any chances. Many years have passed since that strange morning, and whenever I eat chicken, the smell brings me back to this iconic moment.
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