I fed the chickens only a few times at my parents’ New Mexico ranch or when I was a kid on the farm. I ran outside with an old pan of leftover collard greens, roast and potatos. Maybe a bite of grandad’s birthday cake someone was too full to finish. I turned that pan over in the dirt, grabbed it and ran back in to warmer more comfortable surroundings–and where the food was still palatable–not disgusting.

When our Jenny was a little girl, one of her favorite outdoor chores (she wouldn’t call it a chore) was to feed the chickens at Grandmother’s house. She ran outside carrying an old green Tupperware bowl full of the everyone’s post Sunday dinner. She hand fed each chicken. I’m sure she picked out something special for each one–maybe a beet for one, a turnip for another. Often she’d sit right down in the dirt with them.

I don’t know if any chickens in the Western United States have fared so well since those days in the early 1970s. But there are a couple of kids, a couple of dogs and cats too numerous to mention who now make out like bandits.

Just a fond memory of a gentle little girl. Does anyone else have some fond memories of your kids or grandkids you’d like to share?

Remember, you can still purchase your copy of Ebenezer from me, Amazon or Andy (www.lighthouseEbooks.com)

Send in those memories. Or anything else you want to share. Maybe you can even figure out how to add a picture. It took me six months to figure that one out.

1 Comment

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  1. Shirley

    Hi, Marty! Someday I will have to tell you my chicken story–not quite so fun as Jenny’s. I saw your picture but couldn’t get to the place of leaving a comment on that pictures/article.


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