by Author Name Withheld 114

Created on: December 12, 2006   Last Updated: May 14, 2007

My favorite days as a child were spent sitting at my Grandma's feet listening to her relate stories from her childhood. One of my favorites was the story about her Grandma killing a chicken for Sunday supper.
It happened on a Sunday much like any other, with one exception the preacher was coming to supper that evening. Her Grandpa was determined that the man of God should have a fitting meal. Grandma remembered everyone working together to prepare the meal. Her mother spent all afternoon mixing dough and kneading out loaves of bread. Her daddy and grandpa set about in the field gathering berries for a cobble and her grandma was given the chore of picking a chicken from the brood to become the main course.

After inspecting the chickens in the yard she picked the most plumb and juicy looking hen. It took several laps around the yard to catch the thing and then she had to kill and clean it. Grandma had never done this before, she had cooked aplenty but never had she been assigned the chore of killing and cleaning. This was a definite challenge. By the time she had the chicken simmering in the frying pan she was sick. She wasn't sure she could ever eat chicken again!
The fried chicken turned out perfect as usual. Mashed potatoes, green beans from the garden and tomatoes and biscuits rounded out the meal.
The berry cobbler hit the spot as a fine dessert.
Everyone at til they were about to bust, everyone but her grandma. Grandma sat looking at her plate, unable to eat a bite. That was the first and last time she would ever kill supper!

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