Back when I was just a boy; chickens and their eggs had already established a place in my life. For generations, even way back to when my ancestors lived in the old country, my family had been farmers. My Dad tells me that forty acres, a mule and a whole bunch of kids was all it took to make a good honest life back in the good old days… days that he experienced first hand as a youth. Although, most of the stories my Dad told us kids about his youth centered on dealing with that ornery old black mule to the point of giving it a few stiff shots to the head with his fist. Then in turn, my Grandpa would give my Dad a few swift boots to the backside for pissing off the mule to the point where it wouldn't pull the plow. I guess the term "Good Old Days" can be a bit relative.
My Dad was the first in the generations of our family to stray from the farm life - although, he didn't stray far. He went into the livestock feed business. But this did mean I grew up in a town and just spend part of the summers on my Grandpa's farm – warm sunny summer days of which the memories still glows warmly in my heart.
That's when I learned about farm chores; feeding the cows, shucking corn, slopping the hogs, painting the barn, pickin' cotton and my favorite; feeding the chickens and collecting their eggs. Basically I would have to say that chicken eggs are my favorite because, to me at least, I see somewhat of a correlation between chicken eggs and my artist endeavors.
You see, I learned a lot about chicken eggs when I was a young man. Part of my Dad’s feed business was to set up the farmers he sold livestock feed too in the chicken egg laying business. By doing this he would then be able to sell more chicken feed, buy the eggs from the farmers and sell them to grocery stores and restaurants. So you see, I not only dealt with chicken eggs in the summers on my Grandpa’s farm, working at my Dad’s store I also had to candle (check each egg individually to see if it was good or bad), sort, package and deliver eggs the rest of the year.
Now here’s the point to the life lesson I learned from this experience and how it pertains to my artist endeavors of playing the trombone and writing. As far as I know, there are two ways to raise chickens. You can put them in a cage about three feet off the ground, shelter them from all the bad experiences in life - like disease, neighbors dogs and the farmer’s grandkids – feed them only the things you want them to eat and you will get nice white, uniform, commercially acceptable eggs as a result. This is what my Dad and his farmers strived for.
Or, like on my Grandpa’s farm, you can just let the chickens run loose in the yard, eating whatever they find, having them fend for themselves against disease, neighbors’ dogs and the farmer’s grandkids. Now, this will get you a slightly off colored to totally brown egg. Something that is not quite as appealing to the commercial market. But the chicken egg connoisseur (if there is such a thing) will tell you these eggs have much more flavor, are a lot healthier to eat and refer to them as a yard egg. (Although, I do believe the health food industry has taken to calling them “organic eggs”.)
The Correlation: I have a college education - which sort of corresponds to my Dad’s kind of chicken egg - and I did go through the ordeals and sacrifices of raising a family. But then, I have to admit that I never graduated and, even though the kids got raised, all I have to show for it is a failed marriage. So, like the chickens on my Grandpa’s farm; I am now having to fend for myself against disease, neighbors dogs and grandkids.
So to me, as far as my artistic endeavors go, this all adds up too; I might have started life off in the cages but I ended up out in the yard.
Oh well, if I ever “lay an egg” on stage by missing a lot of note while playing my trombone during a performance, at least it will be an organic one. Actually, what I am really trying to say here is that my music and writing probably does not have the spit and polished finish of a life long seasoned professional. At times, things might even seem a little ragged around the edges. But I do believe this just might help to make my work a little more flavorful. And who knows, being organic and all, it just might even do someone some good.
My Dad was the first in the generations of our family to stray from the farm life - although, he didn't stray far. He went into the livestock feed business. But this did mean I grew up in a town and just spend part of the summers on my Grandpa's farm – warm sunny summer days of which the memories still glows warmly in my heart.
That's when I learned about farm chores; feeding the cows, shucking corn, slopping the hogs, painting the barn, pickin' cotton and my favorite; feeding the chickens and collecting their eggs. Basically I would have to say that chicken eggs are my favorite because, to me at least, I see somewhat of a correlation between chicken eggs and my artist endeavors.
You see, I learned a lot about chicken eggs when I was a young man. Part of my Dad’s feed business was to set up the farmers he sold livestock feed too in the chicken egg laying business. By doing this he would then be able to sell more chicken feed, buy the eggs from the farmers and sell them to grocery stores and restaurants. So you see, I not only dealt with chicken eggs in the summers on my Grandpa’s farm, working at my Dad’s store I also had to candle (check each egg individually to see if it was good or bad), sort, package and deliver eggs the rest of the year.
Now here’s the point to the life lesson I learned from this experience and how it pertains to my artist endeavors of playing the trombone and writing. As far as I know, there are two ways to raise chickens. You can put them in a cage about three feet off the ground, shelter them from all the bad experiences in life - like disease, neighbors dogs and the farmer’s grandkids – feed them only the things you want them to eat and you will get nice white, uniform, commercially acceptable eggs as a result. This is what my Dad and his farmers strived for.
Or, like on my Grandpa’s farm, you can just let the chickens run loose in the yard, eating whatever they find, having them fend for themselves against disease, neighbors’ dogs and the farmer’s grandkids. Now, this will get you a slightly off colored to totally brown egg. Something that is not quite as appealing to the commercial market. But the chicken egg connoisseur (if there is such a thing) will tell you these eggs have much more flavor, are a lot healthier to eat and refer to them as a yard egg. (Although, I do believe the health food industry has taken to calling them “organic eggs”.)
The Correlation: I have a college education - which sort of corresponds to my Dad’s kind of chicken egg - and I did go through the ordeals and sacrifices of raising a family. But then, I have to admit that I never graduated and, even though the kids got raised, all I have to show for it is a failed marriage. So, like the chickens on my Grandpa’s farm; I am now having to fend for myself against disease, neighbors dogs and grandkids.
So to me, as far as my artistic endeavors go, this all adds up too; I might have started life off in the cages but I ended up out in the yard.
Oh well, if I ever “lay an egg” on stage by missing a lot of note while playing my trombone during a performance, at least it will be an organic one. Actually, what I am really trying to say here is that my music and writing probably does not have the spit and polished finish of a life long seasoned professional. At times, things might even seem a little ragged around the edges. But I do believe this just might help to make my work a little more flavorful. And who knows, being organic and all, it just might even do someone some good.
Jim
Took me time to read all the comments, but I enjoyed the article.
Posted by: essay papers | November 25, 2009 at 03:47 AM