The Headless Chicken

My first memory as a child was when my folks were butchering chickens. It was late fall or early winter as there was snow on the ground. I can remember the old piece of black railroad tie lying against the white snow. The hatchet used to cut the chickens heads off was stuck in the black wooden RR tie. The first order of business when you butcher chickens for those of you gentle souls who have never witnessed this is to kill the chicken. I’m sure there are thousands of ways to do this, from wringing their necks to shooting their heads off, etc, etc. My folks cut their heads off with a...

Another RR tale from the Greasy Spoon

One of my old Engineer Friends from Havre, Montana used to say all the time, “Good On You.” Oliver S. said he’d picked this up in the South Pacific during WWII from his Australian Friends while they were fighting the war together. He was a large and powerful man who everyone liked and respected. He always treated us younger “Rails” like equals not underlings. He was a great guy. One day in the old Johnnie Café in Glasgow, Montana we sat down to eat. The special that day was chipped beef on toast. As every soldier and Railroader knows this is also called sh#t on...

Hogs and Chickens

Being raised 16 miles from the nearest town and with both of my parents being in their 40’s when I was born I learned from an older generation which I’m very grateful for. Two of my sisters were there when I was young, but since my parents worked all the time on our little farm/ranch and my sisters had their own things to do  I learned from an early age to entertain myself. My main playmates besides the dog and the outside cats were the pigs and the chickens. My favorite game with the pigs was this. I would hide behind a shed or a pig feeder and when the victims came along I...

An Independent Lady

My Grandma Light, my mom’s mother was a very independent lady.

My Dad always said she didn’t especially like men. But she delighted in me when I was little. She showed me off like a prized pig to all her card playing buddies. I made the rounds with her to…

The Training

When I was little my Dad didn’t want me to be squeamish, like some of the men he served with in WWII. He especially didn’t want me to be upset when I was eating by somebody saying something, so the training started when I was very young. He told many stories about his army buddies in the mess hall and how they delighted in making someone ill by telling some terrible tale of terror. If they could make someone get up and leave their food, it made their day. He was always preparing me to be tough in the face of anything that came along. I can remember when I was very young pushing...