Chicken Or The Egg?

Dear Ones,
You've often read that ageless question, "Which came first. . .The Chicken Or The Egg"? Well, On Crooked Creek the answer would definitely be...The Egg!

Over the past year, I've watched all the Chickens, Hens and Roosters that come across my screen. Ladies, believe me when I say that I am thrilled you all love and adore your poultry. But having had the worst experience ever with a Hen, her Rooster and their Chick made me decide long ago, never~to~never go into that aspect of home decor accessories.

It all began with a stay at my paternal grandparents home at age six. They lived on a three~quarters of an acre place on the side of a hill in the outskirts of Kansas City. We visited them regularly and I loved my Grandmother. Grandpa scared me to death!

Grandmother had taken us out to feed the Chickens and gather the eggs from the Hen House. Cute little Chickens would run around all over the ground where Grandma and I had thrown out their feed. I thought they were just the cutest things! The Hens weren't in the Hen House when we took the eggs from the nest. No big deal. . . just take the eggs and put them in Grandmas apron.

The only place I had ever seen eggs in my life was in the cold keeper of the grocery store or our refrigerator. Gathering eggs was a big deal to this toe~headed six year old tom~boy. Did I ever tell you that my MoMa gave me a nickname when she married my Dad. Can you guess what it might have been? She told me I acted so much like him that we could have been twins. Dennis is my given nickname from MoMa. As in. . .Dennis The Menace.

While all the grown~ups were drinking coffee and discussing the events of the day, we children were urged to go outdoors and entertain ourselves. Playing hide~and~seek with only one other sibling soon grew unsatisfying. There was only one tire swing. Being the youngest, I always had to "wait my turn." So~o~o, I decided to go gather a few more eggs!

Off I headed to the Hen House. Of course, there weren't any eggs...Grandmother and I had already gathered all from the nests earlier that day. But, wait, Grandmother forgot those under the lamp!!! I reached under the lamp to get the egg, but man was it hot! I dropped it on the dirt floor of the Hen House and it sounded like a firecracker going off on the Fourth of July!

Inside the egg wasn't a yoke like those I'd seen MoMa break for cakes. Instead, there was something that looked like a tiny, wet, chicken. As I bent down to examine the broken egg shell and it's contents closer, I was attacked by the Hen. Ladies, I don't know who hollered louder the Hen or me. One thing I do know is that noise coming from the Hen House brought two males running to our aid. One was her Rooster, the other, my Grandpa!

By the time we were all separated, I had been flogged. NOT by Grandpa, mind you, by the Hen. She had jumped up on my neck and was scratching and pecking for all she had in her being. Her Rooster had come running to her aid and was on my back when Grandpa sent him into flight.

MoMa was NOT happy with my behavior. Dad went to save the  "chickens" from Grandpa's wrath, but Grandma gently cleaned my neck and put salve on it while I laid my head in her aproned lap sobbing away!

A Provence couple with Rooster and Hen!

A Rooster bowl from "Mr. Ed's" childhood!



A Hen creamer belonging to my dearly beloved Mother ~in~Law.


I've gathered the only Chicken, Hen and Rooster things I possess, On Crooked Creek, to share with your today. I'll be visiting with the participants of  Heart Of The Home Party ~ Show Us Your Roosters And Chickens , with our sweetest hostess, Shelia @ Note Songs to see what lovelies you all possess. Your visits On Crooked Creek will be like Grandmothers salve. . .healing to my soul!

Until next time. . .