Drive - A Memoir 35th Installment
them,
they crowd the fence and hop over the tubes; they can't get out and
we kill 'em. The first question now, the farmers, on the other hand,
will be smart enough to know that without the fence their hay is
destroyed, and that our fence will keep one thousand jackrabbits out
for every one that gets in. They don't have to lift a finger to save
their haystack because we supply the chicken wire, we do all the work
and we laugh all the way to the bank, or I should say the little
strong box Edith keeps.”
“Where
do we get the chicken wire? I don't remember seeing a chicken wire
tree around here,” joked Russ.
“Hardy
har har, you are no Jack Paar!” I fired back. Russ should know by
now that I’m the king of one–liners. I also knew a considerable
amount of barnyard jokes – some of them real
dirty. “Okay, I have a plan. We make a deal with the Old Man to
tear down the old chicken coop and the chicken wire pens around it –
the payment: we get to keep the chicken wire.”
“This
plan sounds like a lot of work to just get some chicken wire,” Russ
complained.
Giving
him a toothy grin I retorted, “Sounds like a lot of fun and a lot
of money to me!”
Chapter
7
For
about ten years our folks had raised chickens for food, but mostly to
sell the eggs to the Challenge Creamery that picked up our milk. They
had enough chickens to fill a 30 dozen case of eggs in a day or two.
I remember gathering eggs out of the nesting boxes and pretty much
anywhere else in the hen yards. We would wash, rub and shine them,
then fill the 2–1/2 dozen egg carton trays and stack the trays in
the cardboard case. They also sold the chickens that were too old or
too tired to crank out eggs, and we’d have chicken dinner at least
twice a week.
I
remember Grandma Gusty would show up about once a month, even though
we lived 35 miles of bad road from Idaho Falls where she lived. She
had the fanciest box camera we’d ever seen. After she struggled out
of her green 52 Ford, she’d always line us all up and try to make
us act like a civilized family so she could take our picture. We
would pose in our fake faces while she would look down in the top
view finder holding the box at her waist, do a little hula hula dance
swiveling her hips to get us centered in the shot, and push the
shutter. We’d immediately scram, but Edith and Grandma would gather
us together again for a second shot in case the first one was fuzzy.
Every time she came to visit we had a chicken dinner, and after the
family photo we’d head for the coop to select
500 more words tomorrow
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