RugosaB

So, I was just reading an old thread about oleo vs margarine, and material vs fabric, and it got me to thinking about my dad, especially when someone said they grew up on a farm.

My dad grew up on a farm, one of about 14 kids, and when they killed something to eat, they used the WHOLE thing. He used to tell us that at their supper table, the kids would fight over what was in the chicken soup, because they knew it was made from a freshly killed chicken.
When the chicken was butchered, female of course, there were various stages of the egg inside of her. The kids loved, and fought over these shell-less eggs that Grandma used to throw in the soup, whole.

Related, as kids, when we were acting a little crazy, we were told to be 'running around like a chicken with its head cut off.' When they killed the chicken, they'd chop it's head off and just put it on the ground. It ran around for a few seconds, without a head, hence the saying 'running around like a chicken with its head cut off'

I can honestly say I have never had an egg like that, and didn't even know they existed until Dad told me

jmabby

I grew up on the farm, never had a egg in the chicken soup, but I do remember having to help butcher roosters in the fall. The head was cut off and the body would jump around for a few minutes. Believe me, I did not eat chicken when I was growing up or when I had to help clean them.

Ramona Byrd

I remember those days, and for many, many years had a knee jerk reaction to preachers and anyone in business suits, which is another story by itself!!

When the preacher would drop by close to supper time, I remember Grandma would tell me to go kill the old Dommiker hen or one of the Barred Rocks..it was up to me to catch the one with yellow legs (sign of a non layer) and butcher and clean her for dinner, while Grandma and the preacher would sit on the front porch and chat. Then she would cook the chicken and to my disgust would always give him the best parts of the chicken, seemed to me that he would eat everything on the table. Looking back, this was during and shortly after the depression, late 30s and early 40s, so the poor man was probably very hungry and would not get a good meal for whatever amount of days he would be on the road visiting. He had to depend on whatever he was offered, and not every farm woman was a good cook, or would cook her best food!!

sak658

We had chicken on Sundays, saw many chickens flopping around after their head was chopped off. Then momma would put it in scalding water and pick the feathers off. Then hold it over the fire on the stove and burn off the rest of the feathers. Those were some poor days, but made the person I turned out to be. My dad never would eat chicken, wonder why??

SherriB

I can remember summers at my Mamaw and Papaw's farm and killing the poor chickens. We were just 7 or 8 and got such a kick out of seeing the chickens run without heads. Sometimes, my Daddy or uncles would chase us with the chickens feet. Those are some funny but precious memories because all those loved ones are now gone.

SherriB

Ooops! Double post again. :oops: :mrgreen:

Pam H

I had totally forgotten about the small eggs inside the chicken but I did not forget about the chicken's body flopping around. I sure did hate plucking those feathers.

b.zang

My SIL considers fertile duck eggs to be a delicacy, although she complains when they are too ripe because she doesn't like picking the feathers out of her teeth.

I'm a meat eater, but prefer someone else to do the butchering.

amyjo

I raised many chickens and sold the fryers. I also sold eggs and cream, ducks and geese and turkeys. My husband made me an electric chicken picker and all I had to do was boil the water in a large kettle and then scald them and put them on the picker and it would take all the feathers off. I still have people ask me if I still sell the cream. My kids and I would eat fresh fried chicken even when we were butchering.

dreamboat

I lived on a farm too. The mother hen peck me on the head one time for trying to pick up one of her baby chicks.
Also remember my dad butchering a hog and hanging it up in a tree and take the meat into town to put it in the locker plant that had rented freezers. Those were the good old days.