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

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.

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!!

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??

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

Did any one butcher ducks and drain the blood from the heads and make a soup with it? Adding sliced apples, raisins, prunes and dumplings. My Mom made this and called it "duck soup". I loved it as a kid; but now that I realize what it was , I don't think I could eat it.

When I was born our family lived on a farm. Years later we moved to town. Mom complained that the chickens purchased in the grocery store tasted terrible. As a surprise dad bought 6 live chickens. Assembly line fashion, dad chopped off the head. After they ran around until they finally keeled over. My sister and I dunked them in boiling water and then pulled feathers. By the way, the feathers were saved to make pillows. Mom would burn the rest of the feathers off. Then she prepared them for the freezer. She said when you let the chickens run around without their head, they would bleed out. The blood wouldn't pool in the meat, which gives it a bad taste.

I remember those days, too. I used to slop the hogs, gather the eggs, and pluck the chickens. We had an outhouse and a pump outside for our running water, a wood stove for heat and a cookstove, had a little oven in the top for the biscuits.

We butchered a hog in the fall, milked the cow everyday, churned the butter and sewed on the treadle. We were tired at the end of the day. Our bath was a sponge bath at the pump, except on Saturday nights we'd have a "real" bath, drawing water from the pump, heating it on the stove, and bathing in the washtub.

Oh yes, the first time I saw a duck killed that way, I was appalled, and I was already 30 years old. When I was younger my grandmother made duck soup, called "Chadnena" and one time she brought the blood home from the butcher, I stuck my finger in it, thinking it was cholcolate.....Yuck!!!! But the soup was out of this world.

i didn't know that... see ya learn something new every day on this list

:) :)

my mom tells me of this soup she remembers from when she was young. Polish immigrants in Chicago.

My Mom was Polish and Dad was German.

This was a Hungarian family, my great grandparents came from 'the old country.' It's interesting, they changed the last name to Americanize it, and we know that anyone with that particular last name, is somhow related to us.

About 8 years ago I got some money, only about $170, because my Grandpa's sister died, no kids, never married, and since my dad was dead , her estate was divided among her heirs. I guess I was one. Until that time, I never knew she existed (she was in MO, I'm in OH)

The family was a poor farmer's family, but we (I lived in a trailer on the farm when I was little) had a 5 seater outhouse!

Remember back in the 50's, we used to get peeps at Easter time - all dyed pink or blue or bright yellow!
I made a pet out of my peep. He grew into a feisty rooster. He wouldn't let Mom into the hen house to gather the eggs, so I had to gather them when I got home from school. I used dress that rooster up in doll clothes! It's a wonder he didn't hate me.
But one weekend, I was sent into town to my Granma's house with one of my sisters. Came home the next day to find out that I missed the chicken picking day. And the day my poor pet Rooster met his maker. . . .
I could pluck and scorch a chicken but I will not gut them!!!
'

what wonderful memories!! thank you for the thread loved it! :) :thumbup: :wink:
dar

I wasn't raised on a farm, but my dgm and dgp lived on a farm outside of town. We got peeps (real baby chicks back then) for Easter, and we would raise them for about a week then they went to the farm so they could fatten up.
One day they would be gone, and we were sometimes told that they were lost to another animal. Then we had chicken for dinner!
4-H projects for my dd's was my initiation to farming. We had goats (nubians); chickens (barred rocks); and rabbits.
Thanks for bringing back some fun memories.:)

have you ever seen the TV program about the chicken who lived for months after its head was cut off? Fascinating, and yet, somehow, horrible....

I was chased by one of those chickens, with no head. Nearly wet my pants. Now, when I look back on that time, I nearly wet my pants laughing.