Monday, April 12, 2010


The long story ...Second story is a reflections of a 3 grader of the same story

Morganvilloe N.J.My Dad at that time was struggling to make a two car garage into a home on very little money. He was working for the Pennsy Railroad as an agent in a little town called Morganville. The farmers in Lake wood received all their chicks via this route. My dad to make extra money used to take the rejected shipment of chicks and bring them home. He was supposed to despose of them. Well these chicks were a motley crew due to the travel wear and cool temperatures. A lot were usually dead but always some servived in our back yard. We lived far from our next neighbor and the chickens roamed. Well my responsibility was to care for them. I would water and feed them The feed coming from broken bags rejected in shipment.Well that was OK and the number of chicken grew and grew. Than instead of a few chickens for dinner or eggs their were 3,999 chickens running all over laying eggs everywhere and getting into everything. I had to water and feed these brutes. They protected there eggs and themselves vcery well. They crapped everywhere,. Get the picture? Now this is just the beginning of the storythe background . We had moved to Morgantown the nearest town was ten miles, the neared store 2 miles. One of those stores that sold everything, even my Mothers chicken eggs. Money and credit was hard to come by, My dad owned an old buick from before the war. In the cold days he would build a small fire to warm the car under the oil block. I always wondered why it never cough fire . So here was my mom Alama trying to feed me and carol my sister. The only resources for food was eggs ,chickens, and the garden. Once in a while we had potroast for a Sunday meal. Also we had Hot bread and milk for breakfast with brown sugar, The Bread ASE made. The bread always smell good! But all the other meals were eggs and chicken, and eggs. Now back to the 3000 chickens roaming the back yard....the Chicken warsNow i was getting up early,befor school to water and feed thes brutish chickens. My dad kept bringing home more creatureasThere were red chicken,white ones and speckle types. Some had one foot. others had strange wings. All ran like hell in every direction when one was to be savrificed for our dinner. My dad taught me how to cut off my pets head, shovel the crap and steal their eggs.One day another creature appeared , befor I knew what was happening about eight chickens lay dead. The weasul was very fast. I needed help Crying out my dad came runing with a pitch fork. we cornered the weasle in a barrel. My dad advance on the rat type creature. Then it happened ! the weasle jumped at my dads face. Acting by instict he spired the creature inches from his face, Another time a pack of dogs appeared it was a war zone chicken and dogs running everwhere. Then as quickly they had come trhey ran away. 35 of my pets lie dead. Word got around to the farmers in Morganville. A dog which tastes chicken blood turns kuller. So they had to be tracked down and disposed of. Than came a nasty bit of war, the chickens turned on them selves. I found out that chickens feed corn in hot weather turned canables. They started to pick each others behind until they drew blood and then the mess began. There is nothing harder then to keep a chicken from prcking behind of there fellows!! I funally found a remedey. with a small brus I would paint their behind with a tar mixture. They really jumped around after the painting!! this tar must have tasted bad for the chickens stoped this habit, But for me it was awakening of my painting talent..............The two years of the chicken comes to an end. My dad came home one day and looked at the chickens. My mother Alma was her name had talked to him. There were now 3000 chickens running around our property. They were everywhere running this way and that. They would mob you when you came out of the house. The cars going by on the highway were complaining that hitting a chicken was dangerous not only to the chicken but downright messy. My day was being teased at his job as having an orphanage for chickens. So with this pressure they had to go. I beg him do not take my Biddy. Now what was he going to do all these chickens were old, fat and very big! Not tender they were egg layers. At this time they breed the chicken for eating or laying eggs. Not like now that the one chicken( the leghorn) is used for both. No reward foe being a Mother. Well at least a reprieve.................----- The fun of the chicken BoyThe school i N Morganville was a long walk oat. The third grade class had seven chidden in it. Upon meeting my teacher I was empresses She was a midget of a wrinkled women. Atbfirst glance one might think of her as a witch. But I knew better because she carried a yard stick in her right hand. Her siter was the principal Both were called Miss CRIME!I was to spend two years with this teacher. In those days each class had one reader book for class. I told her that I coined not see to read. Big mistake! She had me read with my noise in the book and reading it together. After two years I had memorized all eight books in the school. I remember Jan ,Dick and Spot That was the first book. It attracted this way Look at Dick, Look at Jane Look at Spot. See Dick run, see Jane run ,see spot run and so on to this day three still run in my dreams. Then I would walk home to my friends the chickens they needed to be fed. Maybe I ought Instead of Spot I old sailor at chick, see the chick, run Chic Run/...Now it had been two years into the Chicken wars. My Mother was showing some wear. She seems a little ill. My Dad seemed to not task much with mom she seemed unhappy. For Two years, the move had been an avenger to her. Now something seemed wrong, One day I saw my dad put a bottle on the windowsill with the milk. My Grad mother had diced. In addition, her illness and death seemed to make my mom old.Coming home one-day biddy did not greet me. I looked for her. I found her hanging in a tree limb her neck broken. I wonder to this day how that had happened.Then I looked around, the chicken had vanished. My dad when I was in school had sold them to ROTC (A kosher soup company); they went all weenie to the Jewish soup factory. It was quite a lose for me.The next day my dad brought home two piglets. Now this starts a new phase in my life. I call it the pig invasion..
# posted by Lloyd Irving Bradbury @ 4:21 AM 1 comments
Wednesday, April 12,

Comments: Post a Comment

<< Home

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?