Tripping the chickens

Following is an excerpt from Marilyn’s autobiography, Splashes of Rainbows and Feathers.

The milking barn had been built many years before my parents bought our place. I loved the old barn, and spent many hours exploring the hayloft. The barn smelled of hay and milk, a smell I came to love.

In the summertime, the big door to the barn was left open. Mom’s setting hens would wander in there and make nests in the straw. Being a curious and sometimes-mischievous farm girl, I would wander in there, looking to see what fun I could stir up. When I saw those old hens sitting on their nests, I’d get ideas!

One particular day, Tim and I devised what we thought was a fun game with those hens!

Tim and I strung baling twine up and down the sides of the open door to the barn, one layer over another. When we were finished, the only way to get in or out of the door was to crawl under or over our twine trap!

I gave Tim an old broom and told him to go behind the hens and chase them off their nests! Tim went in slowly and the hens saw him. They hunkered down in their nests of straw and began to cluck softly. Tim pounded the straw behind them with the broom. They clucked and squawked and flew off their nests. Straw and dirt flew everywhere! The more the hens squawked and flew around, the harder Tim hit the straw. He soon had all the hens off their nests and tried to “herd” them toward the open barn door.

I stood outside the door and watched as the hens tried to fly over the twine we’d strung up! The air was filled with feathers, dirt and straw. The hens tried their hardest to fly over the layers of twine. The hens made an unbelievable racket when they either got hung up in the layers of twine or escaped, fleeing for their lives!

I laughed so hard I could hardly stand upright! Tim was laughing hysterically back in the barn! I can only imagine how this must have sounded from the house.

Of course our mother did not miss all this commotion and racket. She ran across the yard, yelling the entire time! Mom did not find our antics at all funny because these were her laying hens. She gave us quite a stern speech and threatened to have Dad tan our hides when he came home. After getting such a fright, the hens didn’t lay one solitary egg for days!

Traditional Thanksgiving

Hubby’s father carves the turkey. Hubby injected it in several places with non-alcoholic wine. Flavor was terrific.

Thanksgiving at our house is the most traditional holiday of all. We eat the exact same dishes annually: Turkey, Out of This World Cranberry Salad, Sweet Potato Pie, Bread Dressing, Tossed Salad, Mashed Potatoes and Gravy, Relish Plate and Pumpkin Pie. Generally, we have another two or three dishes, but our Thanksgiving just is not complete unless we have the traditional dishes. That tradition extends to the next day, when we eat Sweet and Sour Turkey and I turn the turkey carcass into turkey stock. Dad used to tell my mother to buy two turkeys, one for Sweet and Sour and the other for the traditional bird. All these are my mother’s dishes, the ones I grew up eating. I remember when most of them began to appear on the menu. I remember grinding cranberries and cutting apples for the cranberry salad. Some years later, Mother obtained the Sweet Potato Pie recipe. I do not like sweet potatoes and at first refused to try the new recipe. When I was finally convinced (maybe even ordered) to eat it, I skeptically tried one bite, then started devouring the pie.

Dining room decked out for Thanksgiving.

As for every season, I deck out the living and dining rooms for Thanksgiving. Decorations are our own traditions. Hubby says that the palm frond turkey on the sideboard at left is his favorite of all our numerous and varied seasonal decorations. Besides eating S&S Turkey, Thanksgiving Friday and Saturday are reserved for two activities: Christmas decorating and Husker football. Now that we’ve eaten our fill of Thanksgiving delicacies, I’m ready to bring up the trees, garlands and ornaments for my three-day decorating spree.

Piano Man

We stopped at an old schoolhouse Saturday. This building was solid, made from poured cement. Interior looked pretty sad, but the exterior, other than broken windows, was still in good shape. Jacqui crawled halfway into a basement window to see what was down there. I nearly had heart failure. What if she fell in? Then what would we do? Cell service was poor to nonexistent.

“I see a piano,” she said.

A piano?

“Yes, a broken piano.”

That was interesting.

I have safety rules for junking. Rule No. 1: DO NOT walk down stairs. Who knows what might be in the basement/cellar/crawl space. I might find some dead creature or live ones that I’d prefer not to encounter. And who knows what condition those steps are in? I have no desire to take a bad fall.

But our nightly lows have fallen well below freezing. Snakes and skunks should be hibernating. She shined the flashlight around the room and saw nothing other than broken chairs and plaster. And the rest of building was in amazingly-good condition. Perhaps steps would be safe?

Staircase was partially covered by a wooden door, which looked intact. Steps were covered with fallen plaster, but maybe they were passable. When I pushed up the door, I saw a dead creature on top of it, mostly noticing a set of bared teeth. Jacqui followed me. I told her to push the door tightly against the rail unless she wanted to see the set of teeth.

Piano was in horrible condition. Keyboard was entirely gone. Hammers were broken. Front of piano had disappeared. But it still maintained a certain dignity. Someone had pride in its construction, even the places that would normally be invisible.

Apparently, the local people had used this basement for entertainment. Piano sat on a little platform. Remnants of theater seating were scattered around the rest of room.

I started singing, “…Son, can you play me a memory; I’m not really sure how it goes. But it’s sad and it’s sweet and I knew it complete when I wore a younger man’s clothes … Sing us a song; you’re the Piano Man. Sing us a song tonight! ‘Cause we’re all in the mood for a melody and you’ve got us feeling all right.…”

Singing in that forlorn basement was bittersweet. Acoustics were great, but seeing the remnants of what had been a vibrant community was very sad.

Explorers

Jacqui (left), Marilyn and I went exploring in the country Saturday. I did not find a broken-down organ, but we did find a broken-down piano. One place we stopped had been a wealthy operation, but now all that wealth has become a pile of old boards and other construction material. Sad to see how transient all our earthly activities are. These falling-down buildings are a visible reminder that we should “store up … treasures in heaven,” where they are safe from all danger.

I snapped this picture because I liked how the sun lit their hair. They told me to stay away from the barn because they had smelled “a dead animal in there.” I didn’t want to smell any dead animals, so I stayed away.

Santa Tree tops sales chart

Marilyn and Tiff’s Santa Tree fetched top dollar at Saturday’s Big Brothers/Big Sisters fund raiser auction. It brought $160.

Auction’s total proceeds were $800. Director Wendy said that was double the proceeds from last year. She was very pleased with the auction’s results and is looking forward to next year’s auction.

Marilyn and Tiff’s boss congratulated them on representing their college well in the auction.

The editor's red pen

Marilyn is writing her autobiography, Splashes of Rainbows and Feathers. I am her editor. My goal is to make her story come to life, which is not difficult. She already writes in a lively style. I am just the polisher. I ask her to remove extra words, change word order, or suggest a stronger, more descriptive word or phrase. I must walk carefully between improving her story and obscuring her voice with mine. Splashes is her story, not mine. At times, she has set aside my suggestions to preserve her own voice.

I substituted for an English teacher Friday. Since my students were occupied with tests and research papers, I was free to edit. I cut, rearranged and added words through 69 pages, finishing the book as school day expired. My eyes were bleary, but I was happy. I can see the end of her project. After five (or more) readings, we are nearing the point of diminishing returns. A graphic arts student at Marilyn’s college has designed one preliminary cover with another design upcoming. Soon, we will be able to put together the book. I can hardly wait.

I always have enjoyed editing. This skill came naturally to me. Even in grade school, I edited my classmates’ work. I could hear proper English in my ears and envision it on the page. If any question arose, I had only to close my eyes and mentally move around the words, both visually and audibly, until I saw or heard the answer. This trick rarely failed me.

My parents deserve credit. I was immersed in proper English grammar and syntax at home. My mother was a stickler for proper speech. Dad loved word play. They read to me and I learned to read early. Since we owned no television until I was in junior high, reading was my main entertainment. The flow of words deeply imprinted my mind. I loved to escape into the author’s world and I loved to create my own. Words were my toys.

Playing with words still is pure joy, and editing my dear friend’s book is a high privilege. Thanks, Marilyn.

'Tis the season

This elf is busy making Christmas gifts. Since I know the recipients read my blog, I can’t share these projects with my readers until Christmas Day. That’s a long time to wait, but I’m not going to spoil any surprises here.

I enjoy making my gifts. Making the presents seems more personal than just going out and buying something. When I create the gift, I feel that I am adding more love to it than I could if I just bought something. Not only am I giving the item, but I’m also giving the time and skill, the care and thought required to make it. Besides, creating something is much more fun than fighting crowds at the store.

“’Tis the season to make presents! Fa la la la la, la la, la la. AH!”