Fryer's Tale
By Henrietta Laysom
I come from a long line of
layers. My ancestors include the Malay, Shanghai, Java and Brown Leghorn,
and my particular breed, The Rhode Island Red chicken, which was originally
developed in Massachusetts and Rhode Island in the 1880's and 1890's.
That’s about as far back as I can trace my heritage except to say Columbus
is believed to have brought chickens to America on his second voyage in 1493.
I’m not really sure how I got to Pontotoc, but some have speculated
I was left on the fairgrounds after the last trade day or that I fell off
a trailer loaded with chickens headed to a soup factory. My head hurts when
I think about it, so I don’t dwell on it. I may have amnesia, as I
can’t remember much before May 16th when I wandered onto
the parking lot of Fred’s in Pontotoc.
There’s not a lot to peck up (get it?) on the parking lot at Fred’s,
but I found a few food scraps and some small bits of gravel for my craw.
I had been there a few hours, in the heat of the day, moving from the shade
of first one vehicle then to another. It’s like I no sooner settled
in one shade when it cranked up and left, leaving me in the sun. But, by
trial and error, I managed to find a truck belonging to an employee, a
pharmacist, I think. I later learned his name was Kenneth Prewett. Anyway,
I sort of liked the shade of his truck. It’s high off the ground, so
a good breeze was always blowing under it.
I spent some time exploring his truck, and one time I flew up on the tailgate
and hopped into the bed of the truck. I didn’t stay there long as I
couldn’t get much of a breeze. However, the back bumper made a good
place to set and rest. Did I say set? I had this overpowering urge while
I was sitting/ setting on the back bumper to lay an egg. Sorry, but talking
‘bout a natural thing like that comes naturally to me. I know, I know,
a bumper’s not the best place to lay an egg, and for a while I thought
it would stay put. It didn’t. But, hey, you have to break an egg to
make an omelet, right?
It was late afternoon when the Prewett guy came out and got in his truck
and left. I had noticed him and another guy watching me occasionally from
the window of the drive-thru. He walked right by me as he got in his truck.
He spoke, but I couldn’t tell if he was being friendly or just acknowledging
that I was there. It wasn’t long until he was back with his wife. He
had an aluminum pan in his hand. I watched him run some water into the pan.
I was under his truck at the time, but I don’t think he saw me. He sat
the pan near the truck, and he and his wife, Louise isn’t it, got in
the truck to leave.
"What sort of a guy fetches water for a chicken and then leaves before the
chicken gets a drink," I thought. "No matter, I think I’ll hitch a ride."
There’s a really nice spot under the back of Prewett’s truck. The
spare tire is a perfect hideout for a stowaway and that’s where I rode,
all hunkered down on the rim of the spare, and little did I know they
weren’t going directly home. We went to Malone’s Fish and Steak
House, and that’s almost to Tupelo.
I literally feared for my life the whole trip. Why, there was enough of a
jet stream under there to have de-feathered me had I turned my tail into
the wind. Wouldn’t I be a pretty sight with no feathers?
If he hadn’t parked so close to the front door, I might have checked
out the neighborhood, but there were so many people walking in and out that
I didn’t want to take a chance of getting stepped on. It was dark when
we finally left. The ride back to Pontotoc was uneventful, if you count hanging
on for dear life beneath a truck as uneventful.
I’m sure the happy Prewetts didn’t know I had tagged along with
them, and when they went inside their house, I started looking for a place
to roost. I found a perfect spot, a yellow bell bush that hadn’t been
trimmed in years. I worked my way to the center of the shrub and found a
good spot to lay an egg before calling it a day.
The next morning I spent some time checking out the backyard while some yard
workers were mulching flowerbeds and edging the lawn. One of them got carried
away with the hedge trimmers and ruined my hideout in the yellow bell bush.
He also found my egg and removed it.
Around midday, Kenneth came home and saw me in his yard. Boy, did he look
puzzled. I’ll bet he’s still trying to figure out how I got from
Fred’s to his house. A tyke of a boy lives next door to Kenneth and
was playing outside. I was about to introduce myself to him when that
overprotective black dog of his came after me like a bat out of Hades. I
had to put some of my best moves on him and finally took to wing in order
to lose him. It turns out the tyke is Kenneth’s grandson, Oliver.
That night and every night since then, I’ve roosted in a Colorado blue
spruce in the front yard. It’s big enough and thick enough that nobody
or nothing can see me when I’m in it.
I don’t have much hope of being reunited with my real family, so I’ve
decided to adopt the Prewetts. Kenneth seems to have taken a liking to me,
making sure I have plenty of water and plenty to eat. He’s even feeding
me corn or grain every day.
Yep, I hope to live out my days right here. Except for a couple of grouchy
dogs, there’s not much for me to fear, and I plan on keeping out of
their territory.
For a fat old girl, I’m living the life of Riley. Though, I’ve
heard some folks fatten up chickens just so they can eat them. I surely do
hope Kenneth doesn’t have me in mind for a meal. Surely not! After all,
I heard him tell Wayne Carter that he doesn’t eat chicken salad, regardless
who makes it. Still, I’ll keep one eye trained on him come Thanksgiving.
Come over and set a spell sometime…Henrietta
Helping Hands
Highway Happenings
A few weeks ago, I was leaving Cleveland, MS, driving east along Hwy. 8.
It was a dark and stormy morning. Tornados had been sighted nearby, and I
was in the middle of a severe downpour. I had traveled about a half-dozen
miles when I noticed an SUV in a field off to my right. It had obviously
slid off the highway and had come to rest about forty yards away. I could
see someone who appeared to be a female in the driver’s seat as the
windshield wipers were still operating. The SUV didn’t appear to have
sustained any damage.
I was reasonably sure the vehicle had hydroplaned on the water that had pooled
in the grooved, traffic-worn pavement.
"Probably had the cruise control on," I remember thinking.
Cruise control isn’t always the root cause of hydroplaning, but a lot
of times drivers forget to disengage the cruise control at the first sign
of rain, and quite often the result is a vehicle spinning or sliding out
of control.
I thought about stopping to see if I could be of assistance, but the downpour
showed no signs of letting up anytime soon. Anyway, I reasoned, it wouldn’t
be long until someone came along in a pickup and would be better equipped
to help the motorist. However, as I continued to drive eastward, my conscience
got to bothering me.
"What if that were your wife or one of your family members?" my conscience
probed. "Wouldn’t you want someone to help them?"
Minutes later, I reached Ruleville, so I turned around to drive back and
offer whatever help I could offer. I think I did so as much to relieve my
guilty conscious as I did to be a "Good Samaritan."
Fortunately, by the time I got back to the scene of the "slip and slide,"
someone else had stopped. I drove about a quarter of a mile further down
the road to a place where I could turn around, and by then, two more vehicles
had pulled over, all pickups. Confident the motorist was in good hands, I
continued my journey with a dry head and a clear conscience.
A week or so later, I was returning home after spending a day at my office
in Indianola. This time I was a few miles east of Coffeeville, MS heading
toward Bruce. Most of the roadway is flat as the road sort of parallels the
Skuna River to the south and a section of hills to the north. A half-mile
ahead, I saw a car on the left shoulder of the road. As I got nearer, I could
see the hood was raised and someone was standing in front of the car. A second
person was standing across the road from the car.
"Looks like someone with car trouble," I mused, "and they want me to stop."
The person on my side of the road appeared to be thumbing a ride or signaling
for me to stop, so I pulled to a stop and powered down the driver’s
side window. Standing about three feet from my window was possibly the ugliest
woman I have ever seen. I don’t mention that to be unkind, but I share
it in all honesty. Her face was wrinkled from both the sun and age, and her
hair was bushy, long, and gray. I didn’t notice her teeth, but she
wasn’t wearing any makeup, and I’ wager she hadn’t worn any
in years. She was, as has been said of some, "so ugly, she’d have to
slip up on a glass of water to get a drink." Nonetheless, I offered to help.
"Can you take me down the road apiece?" she asked. "I just live at Air Mount."
"I can’t give you a lift," I stated apologetically. "This is a company
car, and I’m not allowed to pick up folks. However, I’ve got a
cell phone if you need me to call someone."
She passed the information to the man standing beside the car, whom I presumed
to be her husband or a relative. He appeared to be as lacking in good looks
as she was in beauty, but it didn’t take him long to make a decision.
I understood him to say I should call someone, but I didn’t hear the
name.
"What’s that number?" I asked the woman.
I was about to enter the number in my phone (I used to dial numbers), when
I saw there was no signal strength.
"I’m sorry," I shared, "but I don’t have a signal here. I can’t
phone anyone. Maybe, the next car that comes by can help you."
She seemed to understand. I powered up the window and drove away, somewhat
unsettled but convinced I had done all I could for the stranded pair. The
car was gone a day or so later when I traveled that road, and I imagine someone
was able to help the couple.
My attempts to help others didn’t yield much fruit, unless one considers
the return on the investment, or as my boss sometimes expresses it, "No good
deed goes unpunished."
This week, my cell phone rang about the time I got to Okolona on my way back
to Pontotoc from Columbus, MS. It’s only twenty-five miles from Okolona
to Pontotoc, but when one is waiting on a strong enough signal to return
a call on a cell phone, it can seem like a hundred miles.
More often than I would like, my cell phone chimes to alert me that a voice
message is waiting. I’d rather answer a call than have one go to voice
mail, because then I have to check the voice mail and then call back whoever
left the message, which is twice the work any way I figure it. However, sometimes
I’m in a rural area where there’s no signal or else the cellular
network is busy and my phone won’t ring. The caller doesn’t know
why I don’t answer the phone, but I can’t answer one that’s
not ringing.
I was near the Pleasant Grove community when I saw my cell phone had sufficient
signal strength to return the call I had checked in Okolona before driving
into the dead zone. Spotting the spacious driveway of Reggie and Joyce Odom,
I pulled onto the shoulder of the road and was partially blocking the drive
as I "dialed" the number, safely out of the traffic of the highway.
I was about three minutes into a phone conversation when I saw a car slowly
approaching from my rear. Actually, there’s a graveled drive that connects
the Odom’s driveway to a section of old Hwy 41 and runs by Joyce’s
grandparents place where her mother and father now live. The car appeared
to be going to the Odoms. I was relieved that I wasn’t blocking anyone.
As the car inched by, I could see Mrs. Rackley, Joyce’s mom, at the
wheel.
A few minutes later, the car backed out of the Odom’s drive, turned
around, and headed toward me. This time the car stopped, and a woman I
didn’t know got out and walked my way. I was still on the phone but
was using the earpiece/ microphone that enables me to talk "hands free" on
the cell phone.
"Am I near a mailbox?" I wondered, still trying to concentrate on the
conversation when it became obvious the elderly woman was trying to get my
attention.
I asked the person on the call to hold for a minute as I powered down the
passenger side window.
"Do you need…" and I couldn’t make out what the woman
said.
"I didn’t hear you," I replied.
"Do you need any help?"
"Oh, no ma’am," I answered, showing her my cell phone. "I’m just
talking on my cell phone. But, thank you!"
She smiled and walked back to the car and got in it. She and Mrs. Rackley
drove back about as slowly as they had arrived.
"Can you believe it," I spoke, returning to my phone conversation, "A woman
old enough to be my mother just stopped to see if I needed any help."
While we both laughed at the thought of a little old lady helping a troubled
motorist, it was nice to know there are folks willing to help someone they
don’t know.
Bodock Beau Tips
On Staying Young
You need not be obsessed with youth to want to stay young. We can’t
stay forever young, but we can stay forever young at heart. Ken Gaillard
shares the following tips:
How To Stay Young
-
Throw out nonessential numbers. This includes age, weight and height.
Let the doctors worry about them. That is why you pay "them "
-
Keep only cheerful friends. The grouches pull you down.
-
Keep learning. Learn more about the computer, crafts, gardening,
whatever. Never let the brain idle. "An idle mind is the devil's
workshop."
-
Enjoy the simple things.
-
Laugh often, long and loud. Laugh until you gasp for breath.
-
The tears happen. Endure, grieve, and move on. The only person,
who is with us our entire life, is ourselves. Be ALIVE while you are
alive.
-
Surround yourself with what you love, whether it's family, pets, keepsakes,
music, plants, hobbies, whatever. Your home is your refuge.
-
Cherish your health: If it is good, preserve it. If it is unstable,
improve it. If it is beyond what you can improve, get help.
-
Don't take guilt trips. Take a trip to the mall, even to the next county;
to a foreign country but NOT to where the guilt is.
-
Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity.
Jay Leno: Hey, remember how President Bush promised to create jobs?
He recently announced the latest job opening he created: head of al-Qa'ida
in Iraq. Of course, the question now, is who will be the next al-Qa'ida leader?
Sounds like a bad reality show on Al Jazeera. ... The Air Force got Zarqawi
by dropping two 500 pond bombs on his safe house. 500 pounds? Do they even
have to go off at that point? ... His name is now ow ow ow Zarqawi! ... According
to a recent study, Massachusetts has some of the worst drivers in the nation,
but in fairness, they do have the Kennedys. That throws the curve way off.
... Congressman Patrick Kennedy was released from rehab this week. In fact,
they took precautions in Washington. They placed concrete barriers in front
of the concrete barriers. ... Actually, Kennedy wasn't cured, the doctors
made him leave. They said, "Cure a Kennedy? We're doctors not miracle workers."
... Vice President Dick Cheney gave the commencement speech at his old high
school in Casper, Wyoming last weekend. He told the graduating seniors to
aim high because if they didn't they might shoot someone in the face.
The Patriot Post 06-24
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