BACK TO BEDROCK: Run, Daddy, Run!

When you grow up on a farm, as I did, animals are an integral part of your life. First of all, they provided for us. When I was little we rarely had to buy meat because we grew our own pork, chicken and beef. I hope no one’s sensibilities are offended by these stories; it is just the way life was on a farm. I know how to dress a chicken, although I never had to “do one in”! I think I am too squeamish for that, but let me tell you, my mom and grandma had no problem with it! Several times a week, a fat pullet would meet his end and be handed to me to pluck. This didn’t bother me and, as I grew, I learned how to dress it and cut it up to fry.

Butchering the pork and beef was also done right there on our farm. John Binns, the local butcher who owned the meat market in town, was a friend of my parents so he would be summoned out to preside over the work. Very little of the animal was wasted. I remember daddy building a fire under a huge black iron pot in the yard so we could “render” the fat from the hog. All of the fat trimmings were thrown in the pot to melt down for cooking grease. And at the end of the day, mom would skim off the “cracklin’s.” Nothing better than homemade pork rinds still warm from the pot! But it was a long, hot job. Mom also made head cheese and we made sausage with my grandpa’s old sausage stuffer. And fresh liver fried with onions is amazing! The dogs also were very appreciative of the scraps thrown their way.

And I will never forget one stormy summer afternoon when we had an impromptu butchering. Mom was at work, I was in the house with Grandma, and Daddy was out doing chores. There was a huge crack of lightning followed instantly by an enormous thunder clap. That was enough to scare the orneriness right out of me, and when Daddy burst into the kitchen yelling, “Bess, bring me the butcher knife”, I thought he was going to murder someone! I soon found out that he had been in the chicken house when the lightning struck and about two dozen chickens started flopping at his feet. He heard a cow bawl and went to the door to look out and saw several of his best steers down under one of the ancient apple trees that had been split in half by the lightning strike. Now back then, Daddy didn’t have insurance on his herd and these steers were fat and ready for market. There was a lot of money lying under that apple tree about to blow away in the wind. He knew we would have to butcher these animals immediately so they wouldn’t be a total loss. Once again, John was called out and mom came home to a kitchen full of fresh liver, heart and tongue ready to be sliced and frozen! After a hard day at work, I’m sure she was thrilled. The good news was that several of the steers were just stunned and soon got to their feet. I can’t remember if the final tally of the dead was two or three. Most of the chickens also recovered, and Daddy surmised that some roots from that old apple tree ran under the chicken house, and electricity ran through those roots and gave all those birds enough of a shock to stun them also. I was just happy that my dad hadn’t actually killed someone!

At one point, daddy owned a breed of beautiful, dark red cattle called Santa Gertrudis, which I now know are a cross between Brahman and Shorthorn. The Brahman was evident in them through the hump on their back. Now, I’m not sure if all of these cattle had the same temperament that daddy’s did, but the majority of his were just plain mean. They would just as soon mow you down as look at you and most of them had that “crazy” light in their eyes! Their heads were always up, ears forward, nostrils flaring and trailing steam, just looking for an excuse to tear you up! My time in the fields was limited when these cattle were present. Oddly enough, the bull was just the opposite. His name was Joe, and he was a big softy. Daddy would plop me up onto his broad back and I would sit proudly while daddy scratched Joe’s ears and underparts! Joe never once threatened or exhibited any aggressive behavior. But oh, those cows! Daddy took to carrying a hammer in the loop of his overalls because of his unease. I wasn’t present when he finally needed the hammer, but he told me about it. I’m not sure what he did to get a rise out of one of these four legged fruitcakes, but she threatened and he took off for the fence with a fire breathin’ dragon churning up the turf behind him. He told me he looked over his shoulder and could see she was gaining and knew he wasn’t going to make the fence in time, so he pulled out his hammer and beaned her right between the eyes. He said she dropped to her knees, shook her head a couple of times, then jumped up and was right back after him, only now she was really mad! He made the barbed wire fence just in time, and I have often wished I could have seen him hurdle that four strands of wire! (No, I would not have laughed! At least not out loud…) Needless to say, he didn’t go back after the hammer for a while. This would have been in the 60’s and the breed was only developed in the early part of the century, so maybe the “mean” just hadn’t been bred out of them quite yet. He also had one that kept jumping the fence and getting into Charlie Reams’ cornfield. I think a behind full of birdshot cured her of that bad habit. In any case, after a while, he sold off this stock and went back to your good ole placid “white face” (Herefords) and Black Angus. Alas, I have no exciting tales to tell about those breeds.

I do have many more animal stories running through my head, but my space here is limited, so I will save them for later. Now you won’t find any crazy cows at your local animal shelter, (although Gentry’s did have a pig and a goat in residence for a while; ain’t smalltown America wonderful?), but you might just find a friend for life there! Check it out! And, as always, don’t stop remembering!

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Tamela Weeks is a freelance writer in the Gentry area. She may be reached by email at tamela.[email protected].

Opinion, Pages 6 on 05/15/2013