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Herding Hens, Powdering Pigs, and Other Recollections from Boyhood in the Tennessee Hills

Seth Hayes

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A Young Boy Herding Hens In A Field Ridge Stories: Herding Hens Powdering Pigs And Other Recollections From A Boyhood In The Driftless

In the rolling hills of East Tennessee, where the sun kissed the earth and the air was perfumed with the scent of honeysuckle, I spent my boyhood amidst a symphony of nature's wonders and the enduring traditions of rural life. As I embark on this nostalgic journey, I invite you to join me as I recount tales of herding hens, powdering pigs, and other unforgettable memories that have shaped the tapestry of my childhood.

Ridge Stories: Herding Hens, Powdering Pigs, and Other Recollections from a Boyhood in the Driftless

by Henry Milner

4.8 out of 5

Language	:	English
File size	:	468 KB
Text-to-Speech	:	Enabled
Screen Reader	:	Supported
Enhanced typesetting	:	Enabled
Word Wise	:	Enabled
Print length	:	210 pages

Chapter 1: The Henhouse Symphony

A Flock Of Hens Scratching In A Barn Ridge Stories: Herding Hens Powdering Pigs And Other Recollections From A Boyhood In The Driftless

Every morning, as the first rays of dawn pierced through the cracks in our drafty farmhouse, I would don my overalls and embark on my daily mission: herding the hens. Our flock, a motley crew of Rhode Island Reds, Plymouth Rocks, and the occasional speckled Leghorn, had a penchant for roaming freely, their clucking and scratching echoing through the fields like a raucous chorus. With a whistle and a wave of my arms, I would gather the feathered fugitives and guide them into the henhouse, where they would lay their precious eggs in a symphony of productivity.

The henhouse was a microcosm of social hierarchy. Queenie, the matriarch of the flock, held sway with her imposing size and piercing gaze. Daisy, the resident chatterbox, would incessantly cackle her opinions, while shy Henrietta preferred to retreat to a secluded corner. It was my job to ensure harmony within this avian society, breaking up squabbles and ensuring that each hen had her fair share of food and water. As the sun began its westward descent, it was time for the hens to return to their roosts. I would open the henhouse door, and with a flurry of wings and feathers, they would fly up to perch on the rafters, their contented clucking lulling me to sleep.

Chapter 2: The Pigsty Chronicles

A Farmer Powdering A Pig Ridge Stories: Herding Hens Powdering Pigs And Other Recollections From A Boyhood In The Driftless

In addition to our feathered friends, our farm boasted a veritable oink-fest of pigs. These porcine behemoths, with their pink, mud-caked bodies and insatiable appetites, were a constant source of amusement and labor. One particular chore that I found both comical and pungent was the ritual of "powdering the pigs." As the summer months approached, these massive animals became prone to skin irritation. To alleviate their discomfort, we would sprinkle a thick layer of sulfur powder over their backs, transforming them into yellow-tinged creatures that resembled walking sulfur mines.

The pigs, much to their dismay, seemed to find this process anything but soothing. As I approached their sty, armed with a bucket of powder, they would squeal and dodge my advances, their beady eyes filled with a mixture of fear and resignation. Undeterred, I would deftly sprinkle the yellow dust over their bristly hides, taking care to avoid their gaping maws. Once powdered, the pigs would stand still, their bodies trembling slightly as the sulfur worked its magic. For a few days, they would strut around the farm like pungent, yellow monuments, much to the amusement of all who beheld them.

Chapter 3: The Cornfield Chronicles

A Boy Tending To A Field Of Corn Ridge Stories: Herding Hens Powdering Pigs And Other Recollections From A Boyhood In The Driftless

As the summer reached its peak, the cornfields that surrounded our farm transformed into a verdant labyrinth, their towering stalks swaying gently in the breeze. It was during this season that I took on the arduous task of tending to our crops. With a hoe in hand, I would meticulously work my way through the rows, chopping away at weeds that dared to challenge the corn's dominance. The sun would beat down relentlessly, turning my skin a deep shade of crimson, but I persevered, driven by a sense of duty to my family and the satisfaction of a job well done.

As the corn ripened, its kernels turning from a milky white to a golden yellow, a new challenge arose: the cornstalk maze. My siblings and I would spend countless hours lost within its towering corridors, our laughter carried on the summer breeze. We would chase each other through the dense jungle, devising elaborate strategies to outwit our pursuers. The cornstalk maze was our playground, a place where our imaginations soared and our childhood memories were made.

Chapter 4: The Creekside Adventures

A Boy Fishing In A Creek Ridge Stories: Herding Hens Powdering Pigs And Other Recollections From A Boyhood In The Driftless

Beyond the confines of our farm, the creek that meandered through our property offered endless opportunities for adventure. Armed with a fishing rod and a can of worms, I would spend hours casting my line into its crystal-clear waters. The creek teemed with life, from darting minnows to sleek bass, and I reveled in the thrill of the catch. Sometimes, I would simply sit on the bank, dangling my feet in the cool water and watching the world go by. The creek was my sanctuary, a place where I could escape the worries of childhood and find solace in nature's embrace.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the countryside, it was time to head home. I would gather my meager catch, bid farewell to the creek, and make my way back to the farmhouse. The smell of supper cooking wafted in the air, promising a hearty meal and the warmth of family. As I sat down at the table with my parents and siblings, I would recount the day's adventures, bringing the sights, sounds, and scents of the hills into our cozy abode.

Epilogue

The years have passed since my boyhood days in the Tennessee hills, but the memories of that time remain as vivid as ever. Herding hens, powdering pigs, tending to cornfields, and fishing in the creek—these simple experiences laid the foundation for my love of the outdoors and my deep appreciation for the rural traditions that shaped me.

As the sun sets on my own life, I find myself drawn back to those cherished memories. They warm my heart and remind me of the simple joys that can be found in a life lived close to nature. And so, I raise a glass to the rolling hills of East Tennessee, to the animals that shared my childhood, and to the enduring spirit of rural traditions that will forever hold a special place in my heart.

Ridge Stories: Herding Hens, Powdering Pigs, and Other Recollections from a Boyhood in the Driftless

by Henry Milner

4.8 out of 5