my bottom, that is… It’s cool in the house. I think the rain has managed to bring fall to our neck of the woods. I hate fall. Yes, I hate fall. With the dead leaves and the cold weather, what does fall have to offer. The leaves aggravate my migraines. I am extremely cold natured, so I am sitting on a heating blanket, reading my FACEBOOK page and literally toasting my buns. I hate fall.
If I’d lived 100 years ago it would be harvest time and my cold naturedness would work in my benefit, because I would be in the kitchen canning preserves and green beans and corn, except for I am allergic to canning spices. So I’d probably be out in the fields helping with the harvest somehow like making lye soap from slaughter hogs, or sausage. Growing up, my uncle raised hogs, and it was my cousin J and my job to feed them. We named them Orvil and Wilbur and then we fed them every morning before school. It didn’t matter that we named them, because on a farm, you know you are going to eat an animal, so you learn not to get attached. Orvil and Wilbur were not pretty like Charlotte’s Web’s pig was, so we threw slop at them and ran to the school bus at the last possible minute hoping to not miss the bus, since no one in the neighborhood had a car, which meant that someone who had already gone to work would have to drive home from the city to take us to school, which meant we’d get a whipping for sure. We only missed the bus once in twelve years. I never did it again.
When it was time to slaughter the hogs, I always tried to be busy elsewhere. Anywhere, but on the farm. It wasn’t a pretty sight, and thought as a young girl I wasn’t made help, just watching was enough to bring back bad memories. My parents didn’t own hogs, so we didn’t participate in the slaughter, but since my uncle did, J would drag me along to watch. Yuck. It will turn you off sausage for life. But on a farm in the 1800s, a hog gave more than food. He also gave soap and cooking oil and so he was an important animal to kill. And fall with it’s harvest was an important time of year for families setting by food for winter. Today we are so removed from our food sources, we don’t even know where our food comes from. Most of our food doesn’t even look like it did when it was fresh. The cheeze puffs on my desk, contain cheese seasoning.
I am glad I don’t live on the farm any more. It was a good life for a kid in a way, with all my cousins, but it was a hard life. We weren’t a working farm. We only produced what we needed for ourselves. We didn’t not produce enough for the outside world. My aunts and uncles worked in the city at factory or restaurant jobs. My mom stayed home and babysat. We were basically a commune. LOL Without political incorrectness. We had guns because daddy and my uncles hunted. Daddy only used his gun once against another human on April 3, 1974. The man was trying to steal a wagon wheel chandelier out of our living room ceiling. It was the only ceiling left standing in our house after a tornado rampaged every house on our family farm. In my opinion, daddy should have shot him dead. He and his type had already stolen us blind. But daddy took the ten commandments a little more seriously than I even I do. The man lived to steal from another family without a home that night.
Yup, I hate fall. Because it begats winter. So for another 6 months, I will sit here on my heating pad, waiting for spring. I love spring.