Friday, December 31, 2010
Why, this is our chef.
I can remember the first time we culled the chickens. If you have ever wondered if chickens would run around with their heads cut off with said axe. I can assure you that they will. I can remember chancing them around until there fell over dead. I didn’t desire to chase them anymore after that; I did not desire to be around them live much alone dead. Zombie chickens hunted my dreams for months after that.
I can also remember the frogs. They would keep you awake all night of you let them. Every time the clouds came out they would start their serenade.
We lived there until my dad decided he had enough. There wasn't enough profit in the orchard for him to leave his job and the apples just weren’t selling to make it profitable. When it came time to sell they told me of a story of when they went to Canada to meet the people that wanted to buy the land. It seemed odd but they wanted to do the paperwork up there. Dad head off with my mom and best friend and drove the better part of the day. They had been invited to stay the night at their house that turned out to be an estate. When they went to the door the people asked who the man was with them.
Not missing a beat my dad explained that, "Why, this is our chef."
They nodded their understanding and let them in to there very large mansion. That night my parents slept in am master suit with a huge walking closet and a King sized bed. My dad's best friend slept on a single size bed in a servant’s quarters off the kitchen. By description it had the room had been the size of the walk in closet.
When they left the next morning all he could say was, "Couldn't you have told them I was your lawyer."
I drove by the land a few days ago and thought of that story. It made me laugh to thing he had to spend the night in a basement of a mansion. Just because my dad jokingly said he was their cook. He is just lucky he didn’t have to cook any meals.