Today's LambAround post was written by my fabulous guest blogger, Val at Sew Not My Day. LOL, I have to admit that this isn't exactly what I was expecting when I put the call out for guest bloggers, but to be fair, I did say any topic would be fine. You'll understand what I mean when you get to the end. Oh, the ducks. The poor, poor ducks!
I’m Val over at Sew Not My Day. I write about sewing sometimes. Mostly I write about whatever trips my trigger that day. Whether it’s about my teenage kids, husband, family, friends, memories of my youth, their youth, whatever! But I DO sew too! And sometimes when I have a project done, I’ll post about it. This post is a story of my youth. Enjoy!
Duck Duck Goose!
Once upon a time, when I was just a very young girl… I lived on a hobby farm. My dad had a full time job in sales but enjoyed tooling around on his tractor on the weekends… I learned how to drive by first driving that tractor and pulling a flatbed wagon while my dad and brother bailed hay.
It brings back great memories of when my dad would disc the field and one of my sisters and myself would sit on the back of the tractor dragging our heels in the freshly turned cool dirt. Our job was to watch out for milk weeds, run yank them out of the earth, then climb back on the back of the tractor so Dad wouldn’t have to stop. GREAT fun!
Once he was cutting down tall grass in the garden that wasn’t a garden that summer. He had the tractor rigged up with a long choppy blade on the side. The grass fell over nicely as he drove along.
My oldest sister Tammy, felt like she was a 100% organic farmer-girl, so she raised ducks, chickens, a cow named Matilda and even butchered a hog once!
This story isn’t about the hog nor Matilda, it’s about her ducks.
Because you see… as my dad mowed down that tall grass, all of the sudden there were about 12-15 small ducks flopping around on the fresh mown grass. One of my sisters and I were perched in our favorite tree on our favorite branch and seeing the commotion, we didn’t understand what had happened. We just saw Tammy running from the house to the garden screaming at the top of her lungs.
None of the ducks were spared. All their feet had been chopped off and Tammy was distraught! Everyone was called up to the house because we had to butcher just over a dozen ducks immediately. The smell of wet duck feathers in the kitchen was the worst I’d ever smelled… even worse than when we butchered chickens that one year… eeewwe…
So, flash forward about 15 years! I’m about to be married to my honey Robb. He’s at the tux fitting with his best man and groomsmen. What do you think a groom would be talking about with his best buds?? Tammy’s ducks. As he’s doing an impersonation of what the ducks looked like, the guys are ROFLMAO. Oh yeah – they loved it!
What they didn’t realize was that Tammy was still VERY bitter about the whole ordeal and this is NOT something to be brought up at the wedding party…