My Grandma and her Chickens
I stayed with my grandparents on their central Minnesota farm as a small child, now and again,for a week or two. My parents were both raised in the farming life, and they thought it was awholesome place to be, or at least something a person should know about. Looking back after all these years, I think these visits were a good thing. For one, you learn where your foodcomes from. A lot of the other things you learn had to be seen with your own eyes.I would wander along with Grandma or Grandpa as they did chores around the farm. One of Grandma’s chores was collecting eggs from her laying hens, who generally stayed in a smallchicken coop. In those days, virtually every family farm had a chicken coop. That way, thefamily always had eggs to eat, and of course, sooner or later the chickens themselves alsofound their way to the dinner table. It wasn’t uncommon to sell some eggs on the side to bringin a few extra bucks, too. All these country folk lived through the Depression, when every littlebit counted.The hens each had a separate little box-like affair, with some nesting material, hay or straw, onthe bottom. It’s called a nesting box. I think the cubicles kept them from squabbling too muchwith each other. A lot of things on a farm are organized around practical matters that a farmer knows but a city person wouldn’t know. You don’t line up hens to lay eggs on an open shelf alongside each other. They may mingle together in the yard a good part of the day and getalong just fine – but when it comes to laying and tending eggs, if they don’t have privacy, they’llfight and all end up unhappy campers. Probably won’t lay too many eggs, either. But separatedin their nesting boxes, they would just sit there, laying eggs in an empty-headed trance, but nowand again clucking with contentment.Now, I know there are different theories about how to arrange for the nesting of chickens, andthe differences from one breed to another. I’ve seen double nesting boxes, where supposedlyyou can put 2 hens who get along together in spite of the fact they’re laying eggs within reach of a wing or beak. I have my doubts whether this can work, based on general life experience. Butthen I think, “Why would people lie about their chickens?” So I take what they say at facevalue. But I don’t think my Grandma’s chickens went to that school, the one where laying henslearn the social graces, 2 to a box. If they did, they must have flunked out.When we got to the coop, Grandma would say something like, “Stevie, you stay outside nowwhile I get the eggs.” I was just a little child, and I never questioned why I was supposed to stayoutside. Then one day, for some reason, I insisted on going in with her instead of waitingoutside the coop for her to come out with the eggs. I never knew exactly how Grandma got theeggs away from the hens. I think that’s probably what I wanted to know.She then explained that she had always gone into the hen house alone because the henspecked her hands and arms when she reached in to get their eggs. And she showed me theproof – held out her hands and arms for me to see. And, JEEZ, there were black and bluebruises all over them!Now, those bruises had been there in plain sight for a long time. But I thought that’s just theway old folks’ hands and arms looked. I had never really seen them before, never knew howthey got that way. But now I saw she was doing battle with those hens, and Grandma washeading into a war zone in that chicken coop.Then she went on to tell me the real reason she had not wanted me to go in with her. It wasn’tso that I wouldn’t see her getting pecked. It was so that I wouldn’t hear her swearing a bluestreak back at the hens while they fought to protect their eggs! She said she just couldn’t helpherself cursing them when they pecked her hands and arms, and she didn’t think I should hear her use bad language.
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