Granny thinks back….part six…again

Hello All…Again.

I was so annoyed when my post vanished last night, I just shut down and went to bed.
I am working from ten until two today so I have time to kill right now.
Here we go again.
But….I shall be saving as I go along.

So we moved to another farm.
It was in the same area but in the middle of nowhere.
It had two houses.
And electricity.
We were moving up in the world.

My husband had started working for a chicken hatchery.
Any chicks born with any type of abnormality were thrown in a drum.
Hub brought them home.
The house we lived in was quite modern and the original house was right next door.
We used the old house to rear the chicks.
Sawdust and lamps everywhere.
Of course, quite a few died.
And elder daughter would cry.
Because she is nice.
It didn’t seem to affect the boys.
They weren’t so nice.

My fondest memories of that place were our next door neighbours.
They lived a couple of miles down the road.
And they were the salt of the earth type of people.
A mother and father.
A son and daughter in law.
And two grandkids.

Every market day they would drop off a box of goodies for us.
Fruit, vegetables and a piece of meat from whichever animal had been slaughtered that week.
I had my first introduction to goat meat.
Sorry Morgue.
I know you love goats.

If you were at their place near a mealtime you were not invited to stay.
You were just called to the table.
I had mixed feelings about this.
They had a mixed farm.
Sheep, cows, turkeys,goats and pigs.
And flies.
Millions of flies.
You had to constantly wave the flies off your food.
I was a city girl.
And I was horrified.
I really liked the folk.
Or I would NEVER have eaten there.

They had a small shop on a steep slope about a hundred yards from the house.
One day the mother fell as she was going up to the shop.
She limped up to the shop.
Served a customer.
And limped back to the house.
Where the family discovered she had broken her leg!
Tough farming stock.
I would have been screaming blue murder.

We spent a lot of time there.
The old man got stomach cancer.
And died a very painful death.
Not a pleasant memory but that is what life is all about….death.

Back to our farm.
We had a small orchard.
And I made jam.
And pretended to be domesticated.

We were to move again.
But that will be part seven.
We moved 26 times in 13 years.
Fasten your seat belts.

23 responses to “Granny thinks back….part six…again”

  1. 26 times! holy moly that has got to be an entry for Guinness Book of Records. You must be able to pack up a household faster than anybody can even consider packing a single box after all the experience

  2. 26 moves in 13 years?! That must have been hard on you and especially on the kids. Why so many moves?

    I’m really enjoying these memories, they read like the outline of a novel. In fact, you could have a bestseller here, Granny!

  3. 26 times — OMG! I hate moving — have stayed in this place for over 20 years and the thought of moving can bring on an anxiety attack — though we do consider it once or twice a year. Someday, we’ll have to, but until then I’ll read your adventures.

  4. Just like everyone else I am going to say it. 26 times! I really can’t fathom that. And that was just with the first husband? My head is spinning. I’m not hardy stock at all, I stub my toe and I scream blue murder. I hate flies with a passion but they seem to like my house. Certainly not a many as that family but there seems to always be at least one in the house now that it is summertime. Sometimes two. Then I am craZy.

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