Most people that meet me in the city would never guess I grew up on a farm. Yes, that's right, I grew up 11 miles from Holbrook on 7 acres of land, which didn't really matter since there was hardly anyone else out there. The bus would come pick my brother and I up, but it was still a good 1 to 2 mile walk from our house to the bus stop. I was laying in bed, thinking about the farm and sometimes I forget how unique of a childhood I had: we had a very elaborate koi pond, an actual duck pond, pheasants, a huge chicken coop, pigeons (I know, we hate them here, but growing up, I didn't know that they were pretty much little demons), rabbits, dogs, horses, at one point over 30 cats, a huge barn, ducks, geese, and turkeys. Here are some highlights I remember from those days on the farm. I don't remember a lot and maybe somethings are out of order, but for some reason I can't stop thinking about the farm.
Our house was two stories, three bedroom, two bath, huge living room, and we eventually added a green house to bring in certain plants when it got cold. When most people think of Arizona, they think nice weather all year round. In Phoenix, we have two months of good weather, the rest we melt. However, there are mountains in Flagstaff and higher elevation. So, we'd have extremely cold winters, tons of snow, and the worst was the wind. We had a brilliant, green yard that Hank Hill would have been proud of. We would let the horse out to roam the land, but they would always go for the yard, which wasn't good. So, my parents got logs, didn't even take off the bark, and built a fence around the yard with two open places. When we let the horse out, we'd place a log on top the openings and the horse would stay out. I remember one day, my friend Lucky and I had woken up and were ready to play. (Lucky and I have been best friends for over 22 years). I just remember her running right towards the barn and I noticed the log was up to keep the horse out. I gasped as WHACK! Lucky smacked right into the log, fell over backwards and knocked the log off of the fence. I thought for sure she was dead and I was horrified. She just laid there, face up. Suddenly, she sat up and looked at me. I burst into laughter and so did she. She may have grown up beautiful and gorgeous, but I hold all of her embarrassing memories.
Another memory was Renegade. He was brown and white painted horse. He was the best horse ever. He loved me and I loved him. I'd wake up, get dressed, and go to the barn. I'd jump up on the fence and he would come over to me and let me pet him. He then would parallel himself to the fence and I'd climb on him bareback, (insert your naughty jokes here. RUIN MY CHILDHOOD!). He'd the take me to the gate and I'd open it and we'd roam around the property. He never bit me, kicked me, or showed any aggression. I have a picture of Lucky and I on him, us wearing the same outfit with fringes, (Don't deny our coolness). Unfortunately, he got sick and one day my brother and I was told to stay in the house. I went out on the porch and I heard the gun shot and knew Renegade was dead. My mom and dad buried him near the barn and often I would go over to his plot and try to imagine where he went. I never knew how lucky I was to have a horse growing up, but I never took him for granted.
Oh, the chickens. I hated most of those bastards. Our chicken coop was huge and long. My job was to collect eggs and feed them every morning. I would go in, open the huge plastic bin of feed, more often than not to be greeted by a huge rat. He would jump away and I scoop up the feed and feed the damn chickens. I feared nothing as a kid. Almost, but I'm getting ahead of myself. There was this one small rooster than had definitely had issues with being short. He made up for it by being the worlds biggest dick. He'd fly towards me, scratch and peck me, and torment me. I cried to my parents and they that I needed to show him he's not king of the coop. Next time I went in with my egg basket, I was getting the eggs when I felt his beady eyes on my back. Okay, Jess, this is it. Don't feel bad: you are king of the coop. I turned around and he was in mid flight of attacking me. I swung my foot back and thrust it right into that assholes chest, sending to the other side of the coop. He laid there for awhile, probably trying to catch his breath. He slowly got up and I stood a stance, ready to rumble again. He never bothered me again. This would come in handy later on.
I did have chicken I loved. She was born on the farm. I remember one day making a cake and it called for some eggs. I got the eggs out of the fridge, cracked it into the bowel, and out came a chicken fetus, almost ready to hatch. I just scooped it out, walked it out onto the porch and put it in the cats food bowel, where they gobbled their treat. I then went inside and cracked another egg, this one non-abortion. Really, not a surprise when I started looking up death photos for awhile. But, I'm off subject here. Henny Penny was born on the farm and I loved her. She was red and fluffy. I would hold her, hug her, and dress her up. She hated the shit out of me. One day I was cradling her in my arms with her on her back and suddenly she went limp. Her laid her head back, eye smalls eyes closing slowly and her chest stopped beating. I gasped and slowly laid her down on the ground.
"Henny?" I asked meekly, the tears swelling up. Nothing. I had killed my best friend in the whole world, (I think this was after Renegade past away). I started crying and sobbing and turned to go in the house to tell my mom. I looked back once more and saw Henny laying there. She then popped her head up, looked around, saw me and ran away. What a fucking bitch.
Now, there was really nothing to do at the farm. But there was a lot to explore. Imagine Calvin and Hobbes without the trees. My friends and I would get our bikes out in the morning, my mom would pack us a lunch, and we'd ride out for the rest of the day, coming back at twilight or even after dark. Nowadays, you can't do that and looking back, I don't know how we didn't get hurt. It's the desert. But, we'd ride our bikes down the dirt road and get to the barbed wire fence. We'd toss our bikes over the fence, crawl under the fence, then continue riding to the haunted shack and water tower. This house was in shambles, abandoned, and probably had been in a fire. It was creepy being there. Then we'd climb up the ladder on the water tower and look into the green and slimy water. There was nothing else around there. Just desert and mountains and plateaus. We'd get back to the house, after dark, and be sweaty, hungry, dirty, and happy.
To be continued next post. There's the watering hole, where my phobia of snakes came from, the infamous turkeys, and the not so good times.
Really, how did I NOT turn out like this.
-Crazy Eights
No comments:
Post a Comment