Chickens and Easter Dinner

What do you remember most about Easter? Coloring Easter eggs is one of my most treasured memories. Without fail, my mother would boil a dozen eggs, which she handpicked from my grandfather’s chicken coop, and we would color them.  We would have multiple Easter egg hunts and, on occasion, if it was too cold or rainy, we hid the eggs inside.  Sometimes a really well-hidden egg wouldn’t be found until weeks later, when your nose led you to the stinking hiding place.  Another good memory is family dinners.  Growing up, we lived in Mill Creek, a small town in West Virginia, where it was normal for folks to have a chicken coop in their backyard.

My grandfather, most people knew him as “Preacher Brady,” had a very big coop on his property, which included large shade trees and a grape vine.  When it was time to share a family dinner with all my aunts, uncles and cousins, my grandfather and I would go to the chicken coop to find an unsuspecting sacrifice.  After shutting up the rooster in the henhouse (you don’t want to mess with him!), my grandfather would select the plumpest hen and then the chase was on.  He used a long rod with a hook on the end to catch the terrified victim.  I loved my grandfather dearly, but this selection process was barbaric and left quite an impression.  The next step was the beheading.  After sharpening his ax at the sandstone wheel, my grandfather carried out the execution.  For those of you who don’t know where the phrase “running around like a chicken with its head chopped off,” came from, now you will know.   This may sound really cruel and horrible to some people, but for folks who grew up on a farm or in a town like mine, it was how Easter dinner started.  My grandfather’s chickens were cared for and lived a good life, until they were needed for dinner.  I’m sure they were a lot better off than the chickens you buy at the local grocery stores.  Yep, I have a lot of interesting memories of my grandfather, but this is one that really left an impression.