My Memories

She would stand up and set the body of the chicken on the ground and watch, as we kids would scramble to catch a headless chicken. One of the toughest lessons that I had to deal with was the death of some of my most loved animals. My grandmother never once, that I can remember, asked for help. The family always gave back to her, whenever possible. Then, with one quick movement of a hatchet, the head of the chicken would roll to the ground. My dad and mom, who were engaged at the time, rushed him to the Madison emergency room. She would stand up and set the body of the chicken on the ground and watch, as we kids would scramble to catch a headless chicken. The most valuable possession that she had was her family. As I stand at the entrance of the farm looking down a long driveway of memories, I thank God for letting me spend as much time with my grandmother as he did. At the time they were not decisions that I believed were acceptable. My uncles would come home to help with the planting and harvesting seasons, as well as lambing season. I remember specifically her walking to the chicken coop and grabbing one of the unlucky chickens by the feet. She loved her family more than anything and spent every waking moment with them. That value has been instilled in me since I was very little, from my grandmother as well as my parents, and remains one of my most treasured beliefs that makes me who I am. As I remained the youngest of the many of my cousins at the farm that summer, my tasks included feeding the cats, helping with dishes, and pretty much trying to stay out of as much trouble as I possibly could.