Back in the early sixties, there was no city ordinance against people raising chickens in their backyards. My mom and dad were country folks by birth, so raising the yard birds was something that just came naturally.
We had a chicken coop/lean-to standing proudly down on the lower part of our back yard, right behind our garden. Now, just so you understand, we did not raise our feathered fowls to enjoy the eggs they would lay. We raised them to enjoy them for our suppers occasionally. Yes, we raised them for consumption.
We would buy the birds before we were able to make the distinction if they were male or female. Of course, my mama wanted hens to prepare for our meals. Why, I do not know.
I do remember one time one of the hens “grew into a rooster” and he was the meanest male bird I had ever come across. Every time we walked out the back door, he would flare his wings and attack. Needless to say, I never went out the back door.
My job was to feed the chickens every day late in the afternoon. As I said, I would not go out the door, so I began to open the screen just enough to get my hand through and throw the dried corn as far as I could while I was hindered by the door.
My mother was the “executioner.” She would let her flock grow until it numbered 15 or 20 and each one grew to a weight of 2 or 3 pounds and then it was time to fill our freezer with this tasty meal.
She would pull on her rubber boots, yellow latex gloves and with hatchet in hand, head down to the chicken coop for the slaying.
First she would try to rid them of their heads just like my grandmother used to do – by wringing off their little heads. She tried that a few times and as soon as she flung the poor twisted neck chicken on the ground, it would cackle a few times and run off.
So, she recruited help in the fashion of my older cousin. Now, this method really got productive. They would lay the fated chicken on a big flat board. One held the head and one held the two feet. The one hanging onto the head was the head cut-off person. I am sure that was so that the feet holder would not miss the neck of the chicken and take a finger or two off the head holder. One chop of that little hatchet and the chicken would be thrown into the yard. Have you ever heard the saying “running around like a chicken with its head cut off?” Well, I have seen it, and I can tell you that it is not a pretty sight. The chicken would finally run out of speed and fall onto the ground.
The executed chickens would be put into a big wash tub, feathers plucked, innards removed and washed clean and ready to prepare. The wind would blow feathers for several days all over our yard as well as our neighbor’s yards. Sometimes it looked like a light snowfall.
Every time I pass a loaded chicken truck headed to a chicken plant, I want to slip in and unlock the gates holding them captive and scream “run like a chicken with its head cut off!”
Weekly Recipe
Chicken Cordon Bleu Casserole
2 pounds of chicken tenders with 1 cup of flour mixed with ½ cup seasoned bread crumbs
¼ cup of oil
1 small bottle of Italian dressing
1 pound of sliced smoked ham, thinly sliced
1 pound of Swiss cheese, sliced
2 cans mushroom and chicken soup
Marinate chicken tenders in Italian dressing for several hours or overnight. Pour off dressing and discard. Dredge chicken in flour and bread crumbs and brown in oil.
Remove chicken from oil and place in a 13 x 9 sprayed casserole dish. Lay cut up ham and cheese on top of chicken and pour soup over the top. Bake in a 350* oven for about 40 minutes until bubbly.
Peggy Sims is a local food columnist and resident of Kosciusko.
