With drenching skies overhead and gusty wind rattling the windows, it's a good day for a story, and a good day for soup.
After soaking in a saltwater brine overnight, little One Leg is in the pot. He lost a leg while just a chick, but he was a survivor, a gutsy little fighter.
Earlier this summer, we had a racoon problem. The crafty creatures with their long fingers (five, mind you) could reach between the small openings in the wired sides of the pen to grab vulnerable baby chicks by the legs or wings. We had several dismembered in one night before we could reinforce the sides of the pens with a second reel of wire.
Most of those small birds died, bleeding out, but little One Leg somehow healed and thrived. Our daughter grew fond of his plucky endurance and catered to him, making sure he had food and water and named him (first mistake) One Leg. Even so, he never got over three pounds after his traumatic start in life. She doesn't know he's in the pot.
Growing up on a farm, you become accustomed to what humans see as nature's cruelty. But mother nature is smarter than we. It's all in sync and, perhaps, beyond our understanding, but my daughter grew up in a town before moving to a city, and then to a bigger city, so the transition back to the farm for what was supposed to be a relaxing summer sabbatical has been a trying one. But........
she loves homemade chicken noodle soup.
6 comments:
Enjoyed.
Thanks Anthony!!
I love your style! Words seem to melt together, they entertain, like this post ~~ are endearing. I grew up spending tons of time with my grandparents on their farm, I also know the ways of nature close up.
Thank you Helen! I know you mentioned your grandparents before. They leave such a lasting legacy, especially nowadays with so many people removed from the growing of their food, we are the lucky ones to have that background.
Giggling here! Fun story. We're probably more like city slickers here. In sixth grade my daughter's class raised chicks. One was born with a bum leg but managed. They grew until it was time to donate them to a local farm. Off the chicks went, and a few weeks later the kids went on a field trip to visit. Sadly, the night before, a fox made it into the coop. Gimpy didn't survive. My twenty-nine year old girl still remarks on it when we drive by the farm.
Liza, Thanks for commenting and sharing the story of Gimpy!
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