Rewriting our childhood

Following Hannah Hinchman's advice, I have begun to re-remember my childhood, recording my memories of the fields, streams, woods, and prairie land that surrounded my childhood home in rural southern Wisconsin. In between my nature memories from my Midwestern childhood, I am adding descriptions and reflections from my walks through the woods, fields, and marshes of the suburban New England town that is now my home.

I invite you to share your memories of nature from your childhood or your responses to nature as an adult in the comments.

Katy Z. Allen
January 21, 2012

Note: Unless otherwise credited, photos were taken by me.

Friday, February 10, 2012

Eggs

My brothers were raising animals, and I wanted to, too. I got chickens. We had a large chicken coop, which provided a home base for the birds. They were Bantams, colorful burgundy and brown. And some white chickens, too. I fed and watered them morning and evening in the chicken coop, closing them in at night and opening the door in the morning to let them out into the fresh air. 


Eggs laid by the hens
at Codman Farm in Lincoln, MA
At first the chickens laid their eggs in the chicken coop. I would gingerly slide my hand into the nest box and sometimes be rewarded by the feel of smooth eggs under my  hand. With time, the chickens began to wander far from the safe confines of the chicken coop. They could be found among any of the farm buildings, out on the rough gravel and bedrock that provided a roadway up the hill from the house to the barn, or among the tall grasses or the trees nearby. Sometimes, playing in the loft of the barn with my friends or my brothers, among the high stacks of baled hay we would suddenly come across a nest. It could have a dozen or more light brown eggs. Occasionally, one was still warm. We gathered up the eggs and took them home. The next day, they made their way into a cake or found themselves on my father's plate beside his daily strips of bacon. 


A Space Child's Mother Goose was infamous in my childhood home. We read it aloud together at times laughing so hard the tears welled up in our eyes. A few of Frederick Winsor's poems became etched in my memory, including one related (!) to eggs:
Probable-Possible, my black hen,
She lays eggs in the Relative When.
She doesn't lay eggs in the Positive Now
Because she's unable to Postulate How.

I, like Probable-Possible, remain unable to Postulate How, and I no longer gather eggs, but I still eat them. I buy eggs from a nearby community farm, and sometimes my friend Robyn gives me eggs from her hens. I am grateful for all of them.

The Holy One gives nourishment to all flesh, for Divine kindness endures forever. (Ps. 136.25) 


2 comments:

  1. We had two rabbits - large white ones - in our backyard in Mountlake Terrace, WA. Such fun feeding them, cleaning their hutches, etc. They lived separately in order to prevent there being more and more bunnies as time went by. The most exciting thing was to walk barefoot to their hutches, which were in the "way back" of the backyard. The walk was a careful one because, while it meant being able to walk through the cool, damp grass with barefeet, it also meant needing to avoid the banana slugs - not only the slugs themselves, but their slimy trails. Nature as only a 5th grader can enjoy it!

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    1. Walking barefoot! What a joy! Thank you for reminding me of it, while it is still a bit too cold out to be otherwise thinking about the delights of toes in the grass.

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