I consider myself to be a fairly balanced and flexible person. By that, I mean there are very few subjects in which I am not well versed. From government to sports, history to preserving foods, or from numerous other categories, I tend to know a little something about most subjects -- including chickens. Yes, chickens.
To be honest, when I was growing up I never understood why other kids would call me or whomever a ÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥œchickenÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥ if we chose not to do a particular action; for example, like swinging on a grapevine over a cliff, or hopping on a moving train coal car and riding it to who knows where.
To this day, I do not know where the phrase ÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥œdonÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥™t be a chickenÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥ came from. Maybe someone can enlighten me about that.
In the meantime, it seems the price of store-bought chicken eggs is the prevailing issue nowadays, realizing, of course, that the eggs came before the chicken, or something like that, maybe even vice versa. Who knows?
Anyway, it seems the price of a dozen eggs is around $5 or more in the Logan area, and thatÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥™s cheaper than many locations across the country. Bird flu, reportedly, is the cause of the problem. Many chickens in the egg industry have been infected and consequently then destroyed due to what is technically called avian influenza, which has even been known to spread to humans.
Like so many things nowadays, Americans take matters for granted. Even with rising prices, we forget how fortunate we are to simply be able to go to a store and pick up up whatever we need -- eggs, bread, milk, etc.
Perhaps, we have forgotten how things were just a few years ago when COVID devastated the nation. Do you remember the empty shelves, especially when it came to paper products, toilet paper, etc.? The price was not an issue.
So it is that I donÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥™t get overly excited when sometimes certain productsÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥™ prices escalate. I mean, I can remember when 10 cans of CambellÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥™s tomato soup sold for a dollar and gasoline was 32 cents a gallon.
However, when it comes to chicken, I can recall that for the few years that my family lived on a farm in Meigs County, Ohio, we had a ÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥œchicken houseÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥ full of chickens. For those who donÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥™t know, chickens will roost in trees or elsewhere off the ground unless they have a designated chicken house. And to protect the chickens from foxes and other critters, there had to be a door to the chicken house that was shut each evening after the poultry had gone inside to roost.
Every morning, my father, my mother, or sometimes even yours truly opened the wooden door to the chicken house to allow the squawky birds outside. As soon as the door was opened -- me always ducking -- the chickens would fly out the opening in a pattern that made me feel like Custer at the Battle of Little Big Horn -- overwhelmed.
Usually, we would have already tossed cracked corn on the ground for their consumption right outside the chicken house. The fowl would then become what I shall refer to as ÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥œpoultry pigsÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥ because they continued eating one thing or another all day until just before dark when they returned to the chicken house to roost. The truth is, quite frankly, chickens are nasty and will eat just about anything.
The reason my parents chose to raise chickens, I believe, is not just for their fried chicken or even dumplings values, but for their eggs. After all, we didnÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥™t consume chicken every day, and dumplings were almost always reserved for Sundays, but eggs were eaten nearly daily.
At a very young age, I watched as my mother or dad would catch a chicken, quickly wring its neck and toss it under a wash tub, leaving it to flop until it was dead. I can still hear the poor bird flopping from one side of the metal tub to the other. And that was the easy part.
What I absolutely hated the most was what happened next. A large kettle of water was boiled, usually outside on an open fire, and then poured over the chicken to make it easy to pluck the chicken. In other words, pull all the feathers from the bird, one at a time.
The resulting aroma was maybe the worst smell I have ever encountered. Boiling water and chicken feathers do not fare well together, and how my mother and others withstood such close encounters is simply a testament to Appalachian survival, I suppose.
Of course, ÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥œguttingÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥ the chicken was always a bloody mess, usually done in the kitchen sink. About the only parts not used in the cooking process were the head and the feet. Since IÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥™ve seen chicken feet for sale in such stores as Kroger, I guess those are edible as well, but thank goodness, they were never a part of my familyÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥™s dinner table. I mean, the gizzards were bad enough. On the other hand, I do enjoy chicken livers.
IsnÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥™t it interesting that thereÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥™s an egg shortage, but not a chicken shortage?
An estimated 1.47 billion chicken wings were to be devoured during this past SundayÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥™s Super Bowl contest, according to data released from the National Chicken Council, which added that the figure represents a 1.5% increase from last yearÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥™s football contest. That computes to roughly 20 million more wings.
Wow! I bet the poultry industry doesnÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥™t utilize the old ÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥œwringing neckÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥ method of killing the birds. Nevertheless, I really do not want to know about any modern chicken killing methods. In fact, perhaps sticking with pizza is a better idea in the future -- a vegetarian pizza.
I also read where 41% of Americans were expected to serve or drink beer during the big game and that estimates are that 325 million gallons of beer were likely consumed before, during and after the Super Bowl. Admittedly, I have a few friends who likely put a nice ÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥œkidney flushingÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥ dent into those numbers.
ItÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥™s interesting that during our Founding FathersÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥™ debating as to what to include in our Constitution and Bill of Rights, there was beer, wine and hard liquor aplenty in those hot, unairconditioned days of yonder, mostly in Philadelphia.
Yes, they argued for days and even came close to blows, but when it was all said and done, well, just look at the results. ÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥œWe the people ÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥¦ÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥
My comparison today in writing about the shortage of eggs -- which like toilet paper during COVID will return -- is because our government seems to have really gone ÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥œafoulÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥ and our decision makers seem to be ÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥œchickens,ÃÛÁÄÖ±²¥ or as we used to say when I was kid, scaredy cats.
Unfortunately, it appears we have allowed the fox into the hen house to accommodate the rotten eggs.
