100 Chickens

By David Jackson

As I just had a huge Thanksgiving with my Wife and Family, my thoughts drift back to the Thanksgiving from my youth. I believe one year I dressed up as an Indian, and Kathy was a pilgrim. I can’t remember what inspired this. I just remember walking through the back door and seeing the table that went thorugh the dining room, through the living room, and just about through the front window. I think we set up a poker table as well. It was a full house, and all this mountains of food coming out of that little kitchen along with the goodies that everyone had brought.

I would run into the living room where Grandpa would be watching football, but was never too busy for a game of “Got your nose” (I believe he accidentally took mine to Texas in his shirt pocket). Everyone would catch up, and the laughter would begin. Maybe some quick tunes on the Piano with Aunt Pete. Some days “those days” seem like it was yesterday. Then I realize Kevin “the baby” of the family, has a van full of his own. It’s hard to believe the 70′s were 40 years ago.

We would all eat till we were stuffed. Aunt Betty called me today and reminded me of “Barbie’s Punmkin Pie” (Diane’s is pretty close). MMM. Yummy. Eventually I would crawl into the living room (across that orange carpet) and land like a beached whale. Granpa would be sitting in his chair watching the TV with his eyes closed. It was amazing. He’d be sitting there, and the minute you got too close to the dial (no remotes back then), he’d say “Don’t touch that,” or “I’m watching that.” He was like Santa. He could see me all the time.  Amazing.

I don’t remeber how old I was. I am guessing 6.  I was over at Grandma and Grandpas and we were sitting at the Kitchen table. Paul was there and he was either wanting to or was going to build an amplifier for the guitar or keyboard. He had the plans from an electronics cataloge of the day called Heath kit. It was a magazine where it showed how to build electronic gadgets. I remember thinking how cool was that. Paul was going to build something electronic and wishing I could learn how to do that. Paul tryed to show me there in the magazine how it was going to work. I remember thinking I have no idea what he was talking about but Paul was a cool cuzin and I didn’t want him to know that I wasn’t getting it so I just kind of went along with alot of thats cool and neeto’s.

Speeking of neeto’s heres the gist of this story. Paul had a guitar and he let me play it or at the time make noise. He took the time to show me how to play this little ditty with 2 strings and easy cords . It was a song called Little Black egg. He was quite patient with me and stuck it out with me till I had learned the whole song and how to play it in the right time. This is what got me hooked on the guitar.

I worked like crazy for a year earning money where ever I could. Don’t know how many pop bottles I would go on quests for by creeks along side the road, anywhere you can think to get that 3cent deposit back. I also mowed lawns and weeded gardens.  After a year I had saved up 6 dollars and was now 7 years old. I talked my mom into taking me with her to the Giant Tigers store over by Aunt Petes and Uncle Jims. There in a triangled cardboard box(which would serve as a case for the next 3 years) in a big plastic bag inside was an acoustic guitar. It cost 7 dollars. I had to promise my mom that I was serious, and that I was really going to learn how to play. I also had to promise to make payments to her everymonth like a grown up for the next year to make up for the one dollar and some change that I was short. You see she had to open a line of credit with Giant Tiger, and she knew my Dad would be furious when he found out. She was right he was mad, I got the lecture from Dad. But it was worth it. I loved playing. I never missed a payment. Dad hated me playing ,thought it was a waste of time and money. But I think after about 20years he warmed up to the fact that maybe this was Ok to play.

I learned that I could do grown up things at 7 years old. How to work hard for what you want. How to be financially responsible for my decisions. I leaned that my mom could understand my passion for music. The hours she spent ,everytime I would say hay mom listen to this…. she sufferd through the learning but she really, really loved it when I knew how to play. She understood that I hadn’t picked music ,but music had picked me. I learned later that this was a gift from God. What a blessing.

This all comes from my cuzin Paul teaching me Little Black egg.

by Dale Moyer

One Saturday afternoon in the early 80′s Grandpa had gone shopping at Click’s. This was while I was living with them. I had just started dating Mark and we were getting pretty serious. Grandpa said, “Guess who I saw at Click’s?” I said, “Who?” he said, “Mark and his wife and kids.” I responded, “Grandpa! that isn’t even funny!” He had that ornery twinkly in his eye and innocent look on his face. You all know that look. What? me? I didn’t do anything.

By Dale Moyer

Grandpa passed away and David, Doug and I road together from Ohio to Texas for his memorial service. Even under sad circumstances we had a great time sharing family stories,  I shared the story of 100 chickens, which lived in  our Grandparents attic one winter.

While I was attending Kent State working on my undergraduate in Music Education, I lived with Grandma and Grandpa. I paid room and board and lived in the attic.  (Yes, the same attic which previously housed 100 chickens) Grandma shared the story after much probing on my part,  it seems that she had purchased seed for either the garden or to put in a yard (does someone in the family know this part of the story?) the company gave a bonus gift of 100 rooster peeps. Grandma was going to surprise Grandpa I’m sure he was.  I don’t think my southern bell Grandma realized how icy the temperatures became in Ohio in the winter.   What else was she to do, but put those poor baby peeps in the attic, since they had no chicken coop.  Mom told me Grandma would pray when visitors came over that the birds in the attic would be quiet.

As the roosters grew throughout the winter, Grandma said  the birds could be heard  thundering as they ran from one end of the attic to the other.  I can only imagine the sounds and the smells these barnyard birds produced.  This is a great story and I asked Grandma why we had never heard it.  She replied, “Well, I wasn’t proud of having 100 chickens in the attic.”  Can you see her lower chin jutting out and the twinkle in her eye, as she made the coy expression we all knew and loved.

This however, is not the end of the story.  The only thing you can do with 100 roosters is use them for meat.  Spring came and the slaughtering, bleeding out, plucking, butchering and canning began.  Grandma, Aunt Shirley and Sondra, my mom, canned those birds and stored them, yes, you guessed it, in the attic.  Grandpa had to do those birds in and I remember being fascinated with the old tree in their back yard that had a metal apparatus  they hung the birds on to bleed them out after their necks were rung, at least that is what Grandpa told me, but he was such a tease and I was so gullible.

The attic in the house on Mogadore Road that Grandpa built was the place of so many rich stories.  My parents lived there when they were newly weds.  Many of us lived there at one time or another when we needed shelter from the storms of life.  I remember hearing the low sound of Grandpa’s voice and than the joyous laughter of my Grandmother on the floor below me as I lay in my bed at night, what healing they brought my broken heart.  I moved in with them during a divorce  and lived with them as I got my life back together and got back on my feet.

The attic that housed 100 smelly chickens smelled like sunshine to me when I lived there.  Amazing what love can do to transform a place, yes even an attic.

When I turned thirteen my grandma took me shopping and we bought a pattern and material. I got to spend the night and grandma showed me how to sew. We pinned the pattern to the material and cut it out. She took me through every step until we had completed the outfit. She was such a good teacher and we had a wonderful time. I sewed many things throughout the years and I owe it all to grandma’s birthday present to me.
The funny thing is I told her how much that meant to me and she said she didn’t remember.

Mark always says we make such beautiful memories. Now, if we can just remember our memories.

David must have gotten the teaching gene, along with Aunt Betty, from both his mom and his grandma because he is such a good teacher. Kudos to you David for setting up this web blog and teaching us all how to post our family stories.

David, I just laughed outloud because of all the stories to name the web site after,  Grandma would be turning in her grave that we named the family web site for the one story she didn’t want anyone to know about.  You are as honery as she and grandpa.