A Chicken Crossed the Road

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Generated by AI May 12, 2024


I had to take my car in for routine service this week, a task that always takes a few hours of my day. I took the morning paper and my iPad to do some reading while I sat in the waiting room.

I settled down next to another lady near my age who greeted me with a pleasant "Good morning", and of course I responded the same. We got started talking, comparing our aches and pains or something, just normal conversation between two strangers.  But somehow we began "swapping stories."

She has always raised a few chickens in her yard and still does. She told me about her grandmother, Angie, who had a rooster that she loved very much.  

Angie's Rooster

Generated by AI May 12, 2024
Angie had trained the rooster to walk on a leash and go for walks with her. If she went to the local grocery store she would tie the rooster up outside; everybody knew that it was Angie's rooster.  

In the summer when it was too hot to sleep in the house, Angie would sleep in the chicken coop with her rooster.

Her granddaughter said she always names one of her chickens "Angie" in honor of her grandmother.


Punching Down the Dough

I told her about the story my parents told me about chickens.  When I was about two years old we lived on a chicken farm somewhere in the rural area between Renton and Kent, Washington. Being an only child at that point, I had to entertain myself when my parents were busy with the chickens.

Generated By AI May 12, 2024
One day my mother was also baking bread so she had the dough rising in the kitchen. She had been out working in the yard and went in to carefully wash her hands and punch down the dough. When she went back to work in the yard I apparently decided that I would help keep the dough punched down. When my mother went in to bake the bread, she was quite surprised to find some baby chicks with their feet mired in the dough.  



Swapping Stories

My waiting room friend loved that story!  We enjoyed talking with stories like that and before we knew it, two and a half hours had gone by and my car was ready. I was in such a good mood I told Valorie about it and she sent me a couple of her chicken stories.


Gathering eggs as a little girl

My grandmother Elsie Schell Cowan kept chickens in their farm down the road from us. My sister and I often spent the night at Grandma and Grandpa's house when our parents were going to a movie together, or to a party, and would be home late. I imagine they liked sleeping in, too! 

Grandma taught me how to feel under the hens for eggs and gather them gently so I didn't get pecked, and didn't break the eggs. I remember listening to the hens go to sleep at dusk. Such a comforting, soft sound. 

Generated by AI May 12, 2024
I wanted my own children to have the experience of having chickens, although we never butchered them. They gathered the eggs and sold the extra dozens to the neighbors, and got to keep the money, if they helped to keep the chickens fed and watered, and sometimes helped me pick weeds from the garden to "feed the chickens some salad." Chickens loved it! and they enjoyed it for a while. Eventually the chickens "retired" to my parents-in-law's land where they got to run free, before being eaten by raccoons and opossums. All the kids remember going out to listen to the chickens go to sleep at dusk. A lovely memory for all of us.


So, what do chicken stories have to do with genealogy?  By themselves, not much but if they get people started talking and "swapping stories," they can be quite valuable.  My new friend said she was going to start writing or recording stories for her children and other family members. Isn't that what we encourage everybody to do?

So, tell your stories about walking a rooster on a leash but, please don't put baby chicks on the rising bread dough!


Send your chicken (and other) stories to m.strickland@skcgs.org


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