For those of you who are rudely reminded of traumatic childhood gym classes by the title of this post, I apologize. I’ve been having a good time the last week and half reading up on this previously forgotten song. And it comes the same week that I: 1) officially donated my remaining chickens to Louise’s Farm School and 2) consumed a fair amount of chicken broth while battling a stomach virus. So I got rid of some chicken fat while being nourished by some other chicken fat. I am a bit sad about the officialness of no longer being a chicken owner…those were some good chickens. I will have to visit them. But at least I have broth stocked up in the freezer and reliable local egg suppliers.
I have always been interested in my parents’ lifestyles while growing up in the fifties and sixties. My mom lived in rural north central Minnesota on a lake about six miles out of the nearest small town. She would tell me about her horses and all of the chickens they would get every year for laying and meat. She shared the music she listened to, games she and sisters played, foods they would eat and what school was like. I love these stories of days gone by, days that I could never really know.
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