Granny's Sunday Dinner

Madelyn was coloring a page from a book that Granny had gotten in the mail. It was a warm summer afternoon. Grandpa was working in the big garden out back. Roy was napping as he usually did in the afternoons. Granny came in from the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron.

“Let’s walk around the farm. It’s such a pretty day and I want to go outside a little while,” Granny said. “I’m tired of being in the house.”

Granny rarely left the house because Roy had to be watched. While he was sleeping, she had the chance to just enjoy a walk in the sunshine.

The yard was fenced all the way around front and back. When you stepped out the back door there was a gate leading to the property. The barnyard and barn were on the left side of the yard. Far in the back there were two large fenced gardens. The pump house where the washer and hot water heater were located was just to the right of the gate. The long clothesline ran from the pump house towards the gardens. In front of the first garden was a small chicken coop and yard where the young white chickens were housed. The large henhouse and chicken yard were on the other side of the barn. That was where Madelyn went each morning to feed chickens and gather eggs.

As they strolled behind the backyard, Granny admired the garden with its tall corn stalks, the rows of green beans, leafy potatoes, tomatoes, and small lettuces. Grandpa picked beans almost daily and each evening Granny and Madelyn would sit in the porch swing, a large aluminum dish pan between them, snapping beans out of two milk buckets. Granny and Grandpa would talk about the day and plans for the next. Madelyn would watch the mimosa tree folding its leaves as evening approached.

Granny stopped when they approached the small chicken yard. Thoughtfully she watched the young roosters.

“Madelyn, do you think you could catch one of those roosters, one of the bigger ones?”

Madelyn was surprised. She was not allowed to chase the chickens or bother the hens in the big chicken yard, or they might not lay eggs. The young chickens were roosters so they did not lay eggs, but she was still not supposed to bother them because Grandpa said they would not grow as well.

“Sure, I can catch one,” Madelyn responded enthusiastically. This was going to be fun playing with one of the chickens.

Granny carefully opened the gate and Madelyn slid in. She quickly cornered one of the larger roosters while the others ran frantically around the pen. Grabbing him in both hands, she carefully she held him close, making sure not to get any of his feathers backwards or hurt his delicate wings.

“Well bring him out here,” Granny directed.

Madelyn was excited. They must be going to play with him in the yard. Carefully she slid back through the gate and Granny latched it behind her.

Turning to Madelyn, “Hand him here,” Granny said.

Carefully passing the chicken to Granny, Madelyn was shocked when Granny reached out, grabbed it by the head. Three rings and a pop, then the chicken’s body went one way, and the head went another. Madelyn screamed, “You’re killing it!! You’re killing it!”4

The chicken’s body flopped around the yard with blood spewing from the headless neck. Granny calming walked over after the chicken lay still and picked it up by the feet. She carried it inside placing it in the kitchen sink. Then Granny placed a huge pot of water on the stove, bringing it to a boil. She dipped the chicken in the pot and carried both out to the backyard and placed it on a stump. After the chicken had soaked, she began plucking the feathers. Madelyn watched, still shocked by the whole affair. The smell of the hot feathers was nauseating. Granny plucked all the larger feathers then she retrieved a small knife from the kitchen and began plucking the pin feathers. Once the chicken was cleaned to her liking, she carried it back in the kitchen, gutting it and cutting it into pieces.

An iron skillet filled with grease was placed on the stove to heat. Granny rolled the chicken in flour, dipped it in buttermilk, then rolled it again in the flour before laying it in the skillet of hot grease. She salted and peppered the chicken pieces. While she was frying the chicken, Madelyn peeled potatoes and diced them.

Granny made a pan of biscuits. When they were in the oven, she finished frying the chicken. The potatoes were boiled to be mashed. Granny opened a jar of green beans and poured them in a pan to heat on the stove. When Grandpa came in from the fields, Granny had the chicken fried, the gravy made, and dinner was on the table.

Madelyn sat at the table, eating potatoes while pushing the green beans around, and nibbling on a biscuit. Granny looked pointedly at Madelyn’s plate.

“I can’t believe you aren’t going to eat any of this good fresh chicken,” she stated flatly.

“I just keep seeing blood everywhere, I just see blood!” Madelyn cried.

“Where do you think the chicken comes from that your momma fries?” Granny, laughing a little bit at Madelyn’s scowl.

“IGA!” Madelyn retorted.

Grandpa burst out laughing. “It’s a good thing she doesn’t know where that hamburger she ate last night came from,” he thought. “If she knew she was eating Little Blackie, the calf from the barnyard last year, she might quit eating all together.”

Madelyn was happier after dinner, when the dishes were done, and they sat on the porch for their evening routine. It was so peaceful listening to Granny and Grandpa plan their days, while the cicadas and katydids chirred in the fields. The cricket and frogs were singing in the dusk when they went into the house and prepared for bed.