My grandparents’ neighbors, the Footers, had a chicken farm.
They were not on a lot of acreage, just a long narrow lot in the middle of the city. A wire fence separated the two properties, allowing us a view of the chicken happenings.
Once over the initial shock, we marveled at how the chickens would run around and around with no heads when Mr. Footer butchered one for dinner.
I don’t know if they sold their butchered chickens, but they did sell “farm fresh” eggs. My Grandma would give us 50¢ and send us next door for a dozen eggs. Mrs. Footer would lead us down into the cellar/basement that had a large walk-in refrigerator full of cartoons of eggs. We selected a dozen and took them back to my Grandma who was busy baking her famous bread or delicious fried chicken dinners. We saved the cartons and returned them for the next batch of fresh eggs.
Often, Mr. Footer let us come over and tour the large chicken coop and visit a new litter of kittens. They always had a dozen, it seemed, cats; it helped keep the mice down, I’m sure.
Fixing breakfast this AM reminded me of fetching eggs at the Footers. What childhood memories does this fall day bring to you? Leave me a comment!