GRANDMA’S HENHOUSE

"Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them." — Ecclesiastes 12: 1

In our morning "over the coffee" conversations, a variety of subjects mostly always involve a reflection to some very old and precious memories.

Recently I asked Margie if she realized women on average speak 21,000 words per day and men speak 7,000. Her reply, "That's because we have to repeat everything twice!"

We both have memories and Margie's sometimes include her grandparents. Mine died before I was born so her grandparent stories are interesting to me.

Margie is a collector. You would think she lived through the great depression of the 1930's because she refuses to throw anything away.

Recently she found in her family treasures, a white milk glass canister labeled FLOUR. She tells me that it is vitrock from the late 1930's (like I’m supposed to know what that means). That canister, she said, belonged to her grandmother. When grandma went to the henhouse to gather eggs and to feed, she used that container to dip chicken feed.

Margie has to demonstrate like one would expect a preschool teacher to do. She stood up and showed how grandma carried eggs in her apron and even spoke the words said to the chickens as her grandmother walked around the henhouse.

Margie described the henhouse in detail as if she were standing there in 1953 looking at it. That memory has endured for nearly seventy years in her mind because it brings such joy.

The henhouse was elevated on a rock foundation with an inclined board for a walkway for both human and fowl access. Small strips were nailed to the board for footing. The structure was made of wooden boards, with a roof of rusty, corrugated metal.

The bottoms of the vertical wallboards were showing rot. Small cracks in the walls were covered with strips to provide a wind free environment.

The door was seldom shut unless a fox or weasel showed up in the neighborhood and decided to wreak havoc on the eggs or chickens. The door was mostly falling apart. Strap hinges were rusty and the nails holding them were bent over on the inside to keep grandma from cutting herself by getting too close.

Wooden boxes were attached to the walls at a convenient height for both egg gathering and chicken jumping. Those boxes were filled with straw to provide a comfortable "setting" for the girls. The dusty dirt floor was bare and strewn with loose straw scattered from the nests. One had to be careful in placing their feet.

The elevated boxes also provided protection from predators and the appetite of an occasional chicken snake (sometimes called rat snakes).

At times grandma had to reach in under a chicken to gather the egg. The warm feel in such a place gives one a look into the God provided protection given to them and us.

Grandmother also taught Margie's mother the art of cooking and she also used goose eggs; definitely not as easy to gather as hen eggs. In those days in the early to middle part of the twentieth century, people used what they had. The luxuries of going to the local markets to purchase "whatever we want" did not exist. Times were hard but people appreciated and used what God had given them.

To miss church on any given Sunday morning simply did not happen. The words, "Are we going to church?" were never heard. What was heard was, "It's almost time for church; get ready!" Churches did not have to compete with the entertainment industry or a late Saturday night for people's attention.

Evenings were spent reading the Bible, usually by kerosene lamp. Work was stated as "daylight ‘til dark", not until the shift changes or as a time period stated in hours. But people still found time to pray and revere their Creator.

Life was simpler but, at times, difficult. Winters were cold before the days of foam insulation and reflective barriers. But love was plentiful; families were tight; young people had personalities and attention was not constantly diverted by electronic devices and thoughts of the next restaurant in which to dine or entertainment venue to attend.

God was at the top of the priority list and not relegated to third or fourth place with personal preferences based on pleasure taking His place.

Personal memories are not just interesting; they are treasures! To forget our past is unconscionable and actually foolish.

Jesus had a family history. His was a little more famous and noteworthy than grandma's hen house but should be a part of our upbringing as much as our own history.

Jesus was known as "The Lion of the Tribe of Judah." Revelation 5: 5 "Behold, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, hath prevailed to open the book, and to loose the seven seals thereof." That verse in itself refers to Jesus’ linage.

Matthew 28: 18 "All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth." If anyone is looking for someone with credentials, Jesus might just be the one you’re looking for. The fundamental of His Gospel is alive and well and always will be: Christ Jesus crucified for the remission of sin and resurrected. That as a faith based belief is the only eternal salvation (John 14: 6, Acts 4: 12).

Judah was the fourth son of Jacob. Jesus ancestors (as do ours) go all the way back to Adam. This is so comforting and reassuring for me to know I am "kin" to every person on earth regardless of race, religion, skin color or nation of origin.

The Twelve Tribes of Israel are the name-sakes of the ten sons of Jacob and two sons of Joseph. Those tribes were established while the ancestors of Jesus were in Egypt.

Queen Esther and Ruth (married to Boaz) were women in Jesus’ ancestry and played important roles in the lineage. Esther saved the Jewish people from extinction at the hand of the king Ahasuerus and the action of Haman.

Ruth was the great-grandmother of King David (Ruth 4: 21-22). Our Savior's ancestry is colorful and amazing to study. The women in His ancestry played very important parts in the development of His story and history.

Hearing about Margie's grandmother's henhouse brings on a multitude of memories from my childhood which I treasure greatly. The "place" where I grew up looks totally different now but I remember the old smokehouse and coal house. Memories of the out-house have not been forgotten and bring to mind the days before indoor plumbing. We wired the house for electricity in the early 1950's.

Our garden spot was usually worked by a local man with a team of mules and a plow. By the end of summer it had yielded many baskets of tomatoes, cucumbers, squash and sweet corn. Those last fruits were usually elusive in their surroundings of weeds and grass. The canning and drying processes were a part of life.

This article could go for many pages but I’m sure you get the point. Oh, those memories!

G Clef; Treble Clef — All About Music Theory.com "Precious memories, how they linger, How they ever flood my soul. In the stillness, of the midnight, Precious sacred scenes unfold."

Van Yandell is a retired Industrial Arts teacher, an ordained gospel evangelist and missionary, from Fredonia, Kentucky.

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