Page 15 - Book Eleven Havelock

CHICKENS Written February 3 2010 Page 13
Shortly before her third birthday my daughter Miriam had mastered the art of undressing dolls. Judging by the number of naked dolls in the playroom, she had not yet achieved the skill of re- dressing them. As she disrobed yet another dolly Daddy watched and remarked, 􏰀Tha􏰁 baby doe􏰂n􏰃􏰁 􏰄an􏰁 􏰅o􏰆 􏰁o 􏰁ake all he􏰇 clo􏰁he􏰂 off􏰈􏰉
Mi􏰇iam􏰃􏰂 􏰂􏰁a􏰇􏰁led e􏰊p􏰇e􏰂􏰂ion faded 􏰁o di􏰂belief and 􏰂he 􏰇eplied di􏰂dainf􏰆ll􏰅􏰋 􏰀Tha􏰁 bab􏰅 can􏰃􏰁 􏰁alk􏰈􏰉
I remember undressing myself once to take a bath in a creek flowing in a very remote woods near Norwood. At least I thought it was remote. When I met a neighbor boy about a month later he said 􏰌e􏰇􏰅 􏰂e􏰇io􏰆􏰂l􏰅􏰋 􏰀I kno􏰄 􏰅o􏰆􏰈 Yo􏰆 􏰄e􏰇e 􏰁aking a ba􏰁h􏰍􏰍􏰍.􏰍􏰈􏰈􏰉􏰈 I fo􏰇ge􏰁 what else he said but I do remember clearly that he mentioned that his sister was with him.
Tha􏰁 􏰄a􏰂n􏰃􏰁 􏰁he onl􏰅 fo􏰇ge􏰁􏰁able thing about that summer. In fact the whole summer is my least favorite of my early life. Our family lived in Havelock and I was in eager agreement when Dad, Havelock High School Principal, informed me I could leave school early in April and work on a farm for the rest of the school year. Lots of high school boys and girls were doing it. It was during World War II and farmers were hard-pressed for laborers with so many young men overseas. Over half of each class in Grades 11, 12 and 13 became 􏰎farmers􏰃 o􏰇 􏰎fa􏰇me􏰇e􏰁􏰁e􏰂􏰃 for one, two or three summers. The excused students had to meet certain academic standards so it gave the teachers opportunity to give more attention to the pupils who needed more help near the end of the school year. That summer I qualified to go farming because I was now 15 and my grades were adequate. Dad got me a job so off I went.
M􏰅 job 􏰄a􏰂 a􏰁 B􏰇e􏰁hen􏰃􏰂 Chicken Farm and Hatchery near Norwood about 6 miles from home. April
is hatching time and Mr. B􏰇e􏰁hen􏰃􏰂 hen􏰂 had been b􏰆􏰂􏰅 p􏰇o􏰌iding 􏰁ho􏰆􏰂and􏰂 of fe􏰇􏰁ili􏰏ed egg􏰂 fo􏰇 his
big incubators. One of my first jobs was collecting baby chicks out of incubator trays, counting 100
(or whatever number) for each box of baby chicks to be shipped to dealers. Now you are thinking,
􏰀c􏰆􏰁e li􏰁􏰁le cheeping 􏰅ello􏰄 chickie􏰂􏰈 I be􏰁 􏰁ha􏰁 􏰄a􏰂 f􏰆n􏰐􏰉 Well􏰋 􏰁he􏰇e 􏰄a􏰂 a do􏰄n􏰂ide 􏰁ha􏰁 􏰄a􏰂n􏰃􏰁
fun at all. Out of every 200 or so healthy looking chicks, along comes one that you can tell, or I soon
􏰄a􏰂 able 􏰁o 􏰁ell􏰋 􏰁ha􏰁 􏰄a􏰂n􏰃􏰁 going 􏰁o make i􏰁􏰈 P􏰇ema􏰁􏰆􏰇e o􏰇 c􏰇ippled o􏰇 􏰂ome fla􏰄􏰈 So part of my job was to get rid of these sad little c􏰇ea􏰁􏰆􏰇e􏰂􏰈 I 􏰄a􏰂 in􏰂􏰁􏰇􏰆c􏰁ed􏰋 􏰀J􏰆􏰂􏰁 􏰂lam its head on the bucket and drop i􏰁 in􏰈􏰉 Can 􏰅o􏰆 imagine􏰐 I had no choice 􏰂o I pe􏰇fo􏰇med 􏰁hi􏰂 cruel act many times. It was intensely distressing at first but it got easier. A lot like some sins I guess.
After hatching season my main duties were feeding the production hens and cleaning out hen-houses, a rather nasty job. And carrying tons and tons of water to them all summer. I suppose nowadays the water gets there in pipes. But I was the pipeline that summer. They were heavy buckets too and if Dad thinks I am shorter than I should be, then maybe carrying water all summer was the problem. Dave MacNeil a twenty-year-old neighbor who also spent much of that summer working at Brethen􏰃s farm had a different explanation for my shortage of height. He posited that I was tall but I just had too much turned up for feet.
I can thank Dave for making that summer bearable. He was like Aunt Ruby and kept me laughing most of the time when we were working. Our boss, Mr. G.A.Brethen, had p􏰇e􏰌io􏰆􏰂l􏰅 been a Libe􏰇al Membe􏰇 of Pa􏰇liamen􏰁 in O􏰁􏰁a􏰄a and Da􏰌e called him 􏰀G.A.B., E􏰊MP􏰉 and 􏰇egaled me 􏰄i􏰁h 􏰂􏰁o􏰇ie􏰂 and joke􏰂 all 􏰂􏰆mme􏰇􏰈 One story Dave told me about himself was sending a cheque from his church Young Peoples Associaton to Toronto. He duly wrote a covering letter and mailed it, only to come home and find he had forgotten to enclose the cheque. So he wrote a letter of apology and mailed that too. When he got home from his second mailing, there was the cheque still on the table! Besides entertaining me Dave was also a good influence for the Lord on me in my first extended stay away from home.
In spite of his harsh work ethic Mr. Brethen was a fine Christian too and occasionally preached in Norwood United Church 􏰑 where Dave was the treasurer of the YPA. M􏰇􏰈B􏰇e􏰁hen􏰃s wife was a bit particular and 􏰄o􏰆ldn􏰃􏰁 e􏰌en le􏰁 me 􏰆􏰂e 􏰁hei􏰇 􏰆p􏰂􏰁ai􏰇􏰂 ba􏰁h􏰁􏰆b 􏰑 hence m􏰅 c􏰇eek ba􏰁h􏰈 I 􏰄a􏰂 di􏰇􏰁􏰅 mo􏰂􏰁 of 􏰁he 􏰂􏰆mme􏰇 and I hadn􏰃􏰁 􏰅e􏰁 lea􏰇ned abo􏰆􏰁 deodorants so I guess she was justified. In my little bedroom setup in their library I got to read some of the transcriptions of Mr.B􏰇e􏰁hen􏰃􏰂 pa􏰇liamen􏰁a􏰇􏰅 e􏰊pe􏰇ience􏰂􏰈 Af􏰁e􏰇 one of his speeches in Ottawa, a cynical member of the opposition party derided him fo􏰇 􏰀􏰇eminding 􏰆􏰂 of a 􏰁en􏰁 􏰇e􏰌i􏰌al 􏰂e􏰇mon􏰉􏰈 That was intended to put him down but it raised M􏰇􏰈B􏰇e􏰁hen􏰃􏰂 stature in my estimation. I survived.