Why would a thirteen year old city boy from the Big Apple spend several summer weeks at his Aunt and Uncles’ chicken farm 75 miles upstate ( in the country)? Here are a few reasons:
1. It’s freakin hot in the City in summer, 1952 with no AC. About 20 degrees cooler in the Catskills. ( think “ Dirty Dancing”).
2. He’d get a break from his mom who raised him by herself since her beloved husband died in 1943. ( and she’d get a break from him.)
3. It would be a totally different experience from the city. He’d do chores on the farm to earn his keep ( room and board) Still plenty of time to enjoy Yankee Lake with his good buddy, Pete, who lived across the highway from the farm.
4. A loving relationship with his Aunt and an always interesting but careful bond with his uncle.
Enough of this third person BS. I learned a bunch from my frequent , lengthy visits.
1. Chickens suck. They are mean, dirty, stinky, and nervous wrecks. If you make a slight misstep inside the stinky coop, they all fly up and spread chicken doodoo, dirt, and whatever, up in the air all over you. If one of them gets a cut on her body they will chase her and could peck her to death if not stopped.
2. Collecting eggs is tricky. My uncle told me, “ Donny, just put your hand gently under the setting chicken and quietly, quickly collect the egg “. Believing him at first. I gently put my hand under the stupid chicken. Bap bap bap bap. She pecked the hell out of my hand. After a few of those tricks I tried one of my own. I’d show the stupid chicken my right hand and stealthily ( but gently) grab her neck. Then I’d gently collect the damn egg. ( without being pecked). All went well until my uncle caught me. He said, “ No Donny. If you do that the chicken won’t lay any more eggs.” I watched him in action. In a short while he put his hand under a chicken. Bap bap bap. He got pecked. He then grabbed the chicken by the head and gently threw her over his shoulder. I said,”Oh I see how you do it. “
He mumbled “Smart ass”. And continued the collecting.
