Memories of Butchering Chickens & Sewing at My Grandparents Farm

I learned a lot on my childhood visits to my grandparents’ farm.

One was how to fry the best dang chicken ever. To have fried chicken for Sunday dinner was a big deal. Those of you who grew up on a farm or who frequently visited one already are way ahead of me and know why it is a big deal. First, you must catch a chicken. This accomplishment might be the most difficult task of the entire procedure unless you own some coat hangers. Grandmother would spot the target chicken and throw down in front of it a couple of wire coat hangers on the ground at the chickens’ feet.

Sometimes this took several tries before it was tripped up. She then would grab it by the neck and with the strength of a weightlifter, she would ring its neck. I cringe at the thought of doing that, but while I was young, I do not remember being all that bothered. The big pot of almost boiling water was next.

She dunked that chicken in and out several times hold-ing it by its legs. I do remember how horrible the smell of scalded feathers was. We both pulled out all the feathers which came out easily. When it had been picked clean the next step was gutting it. She tossed the insides of that bird out into the yard and the other chickens had a feast. Chickens will eat anything, and I mean anything. After the tripping, catching, ringing, dunking, picking, gutting, and thoroughly washing, the next step is cutting it into pieces, recognizable preferred. Now its my turn to take over. I am sure after all this; grandmother was ready to sit down for a spell and give instructions. Now I am instructed to finish the procedure for dinner. After I dunked the pieces in beaten egg (yes more dunking) then in flour, then egg then flour again. I very carefully placed each piece in the big skillet of hot lard. As soon as that side browned, I carefully turned them over, turned the propane flame down and put the lid on. Just thinking and writing about all this makes me tired. It is amazing I did not get badly burned during this procedure. There’s no worry, I would turn this task over to any of my grandchildren, at a young age. An accident would more than likely be a serious one. Believe me, I thought my fried chicken was finger licking good. It was appreciated by all knowing what was involved in having a fried chicken dinner. I was nine.

The second talent or skill she allowed me to develop was the task of managing to sew on a pedal sewing machine I don’t think I would turn any of my grandchildren loose on this task either, much less a pedal machine. They are tricky. If you don’t get the pedal started right, it will sew backwards. For a long time, she would let me sew without thread. I had the best time. Thread to her was an expensive notion. Finally, she showed me how to thread the machine and put the bobbin. I sewed on a square of fabric. Back and forth I went until I have a lovely potholder. I was having so much fun and she was comfortable that I would not hurt myself, so I made several potholders that summer. To this very day, I am deeply thankful that she trusted me enough to learn, especially since her sister (my great aunt Vergie) had a finger missing due to it getting caught under the needle on her machine. I am glad I was given the chance to sew before I met Aunt Vergie and saw that she was missing most of a finger. Can you imagine how upset my grandparents and my parents would have been if I would have mutilated a finger or two? How traumatic that would have been for me for the rest of my life. My parents would have stopped my visits and would have been so upset with my precious grandmother who trusted me.