It is with a lot of memories that I read everyone's stories. It seems like grandma always did get stuck with the sickos. I remember that when I got the chicken pox grandma had to put me up too. They didn't want my baby brother Steven who was eight years younger than me to get them. As I recall he got a really bad case of them anyway. Poor Grandma, she should have been a nurse and gotten paid for it.
It seems that a lot of us remember chicken stories. My dad must have tried to follow grandpa's footsteps because he bought a whole bunch of biddies. My mother was not happy about that to say the least! They built pens for them in the garage and it was my job to feed and water them. They were so cute and I used to get so upset when they would keep pecking at one poor chicken or another. I tried to do intervention but the chickens would not accept therapy. My dad said it was just their way of getting rid of the weak ones. I thought that was just sick and wrong, maybe because I was such a runt myself!
Anyway, one day months later when I came home from school, all the chickens were gone from the garage, and there were large tubs of very hot water in them. Alas, it was chicken killin' time! (Luckily, dad and friends had already done that deed) but I had to help pluck those suckers and it was not a fun job. A bad experiment; Dad never did that again!
I have my mom's scrap book and she has some pictures I will try to scan. Blanche with her very young kids standing with dad in his sailor suit, pictures of family get togethers, a very cute picture of Grandma and Richard when he was in his teens or early twenties, a picture of Donna about age 12 sitting on top of a pen with some of Glen's mink feeding them etc etc.
I like hearing your stories it is fun to remember and a great way to keep track of each other.
Diane M. Keller
It sure amazes me how willingly grandma seemed to volunteer to sacrifice themselves by taking in the sickly. They were amazing people. Now days when the kids get sick in a family they are asked to stay in there own home not in the grandparents home.
ReplyDeleteWe had a couple of little biddies we raised in the garage. I named mine Snoopy and Phil named his Poopy for obvious reasons. Mom lost her nerve at some point and contacted the Giles family down on 4th west. They had coops that took in homeless chickens. At least they took in Snoopy and Poopy. Glad I missed the wringing of the necks. High ho the dairy oh the wringing of the necks.
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