tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331744342712623735.post5531087197547047396..comments2023-04-28T05:07:29.702-04:00Comments on Hilltop Star: sunday dinnerchristinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02450107285194913871noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331744342712623735.post-32104865691378566142010-06-15T22:42:30.192-04:002010-06-15T22:42:30.192-04:00hey sis here i amhey sis here i amAnonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331744342712623735.post-83217504822604138702010-06-15T02:18:16.353-04:002010-06-15T02:18:16.353-04:00Me thinks that you learned and grew doing the hard...Me thinks that you learned and grew doing the hard chicken job, why you even fed and watered Sunday Dinner. He was a big leghorn rooste, and while you could not overcome your fear of him you did figure out how to make the best of the job I had given you. That gave you charecter.<br /><br />A rooster causes the hens to lay more eggs. Also the term "male chavinist pig" is really mild if you live around a farm, "male chavinist rooster" is much worse and graphic. If we only had a few hens their tail feathers were gone as a result of rooster action.<br /><br />While the school bus taught you many new words as well as a smattering of sex, the farm was a much more graphic teacher. Remember Raymonds rabbit Buckenhimer?<br /><br />We liked brown eggs, so most of our hens laid brown eggs, but we also had ones who laid green eggs, different color eggs, they were Easter egg hens. One time I was given a bunch of bantum chickens that were varied in their colloring and feather distribution. They were beautiful.<br /><br />When Sunday Dinner came at me I would kick him and that would usually put a stop to his agression. Sometimes I would catch him and pull his comb and wattel, all the time explaning to him that I was the boss. Then I would put his head under his wing and rock him to sleep. When he woke up he didn't know what happened.<br /><br />Remember the time we slaughtered our meat chickens an de feathered them ther with the jail cook and her boys helping. It was hard work and a mess. After the chickens were dead they were dipped in boiling water and then run through the "de featherer" what a mess with wet feathers all over the place. You then had to singe them to get the hair off. After the guts were gone and the cavity washed, into the plastic bags and on to the freezer. You have to admit that we had good eating chickens. From then on I took them to a poltry slaughter house and picked them up in nice plastic bags for about $1.00 a chicken, well worth it.<br /><br />Raymond came home wone time after the rest of the kids were mostly raised and was upset that there were no chickens. I explained to him that I was raising kids and not chickens.<br /><br />There were times I didn't think it would ever end and when it did it wasn't as much fun. I think that all six of you learned from the chickens, cow, steers, rabbits, and pigs. You are all in a minority in knowing that hour eats came from the garden or the animels we raised, and not from the grochery store.<br />Love,<br />DadWaynehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11895558673212999226noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331744342712623735.post-44941763840171879902010-06-11T23:40:26.429-04:002010-06-11T23:40:26.429-04:00Christine, I loved this post. It was a great stor...Christine, I loved this post. It was a great story. I've never heard of Sunday Dinner. <br />TaraRaymondhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10046320384591454464noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5331744342712623735.post-21653561115397334222010-06-11T22:59:44.895-04:002010-06-11T22:59:44.895-04:00You need to tell more chicken/house stories. Gree...You need to tell more chicken/house stories. Green eggs, colored eggs, different colors of hens, the attic of the chicken house adventure. Mother calling the home teacher, Max, because the chickens were going to starve. Rebeccas ducks. And on and on. Think of what you learned from Sunday Dinner and chicken house chores in general. You are who you are today, in part, thanks to Sunday Dinner. One of your brothers was disapointed that we didn't eat Sunday Dinner. Mom couldn't presure cook him long enough to get the toughness out of that fowl old bird.<br />Love,<br />DadWaynehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11895558673212999226noreply@blogger.com