The Mystery of Chicken Seeds

As a parent, I did a lot of things wrong.  I worked more than was necessary and missed more church events and ball games than I would like to admit.  But, I also got a few things right.  And occasionally, I hit it out of the park.

One of those right ideas was of instilling an entrepreneurial spirit in my kids.  Staring into the tub of chicks at Tractor Supply late one spring, flanked by Elizabeth and John, it occurred to me that having the kids raise chicks into laying hens, tend to them chicks daily and then buying eggs from the kids would be the perfect business model.  So, the clerk boxed up a half dozen Rhode Island Red chicks and we headed home.

I built a 6x6 feet square pen that could be moved around the backyard.  I’m not sure that the term pastured poultry had been coined yet and technically we were in the backyard, but I like to think of ourselves as visionaries of future self-sufficient agricultural practices.

That summer the chicks matured and by the following spring we were anticipating fresh eggs.  As the weather warmed, the chickens libido also kicked into overdrive.  Ever observant of the natural world, John, who was five or six at the time asked a question one night at the dinner table.

www.heritagepullets.com

“Daddy, why does Big Red (the rooster) jump on the Little Red Hen’s back?’

I suddenly realized that I had actually hit the paternal lottery.  Not only was I creating entrepreneurs and a sense of responsibility, I now had a segway to the birds and bees via roosters and hens.

“Well John,” I began in my best patriarchal tone, “When Big Red jumps on the Little Red Hen he is planting a seed in her that fertilizes the eggs so they can hatch into chicks.”

John nodded his head and simply said, “Oh.”

I felt pretty good.  Actually, I felt real good.  Like, “I should write a parenting book” good.

After a couple of minutes of thought, John added, “But Daddy, I don’t think Big Red hits it every time.”

It took me a couple of moments to process what he said.  I saw the title of the parenting book changing to “Big Red Strikes Out and other Tales of Failed Livestock Husbandry” (this was before the commercials of couples watching the sun set from claw-foot tubs, but I'm sure there is some chicken equivalent).  As much as I wanted to bail on the conversation, his observation peaked my curiosity.

“Why do you think Big Red misses sometimes?”

“Cause I found some chicken seeds in the yard.”

Now he had me.  My bluff was called.

“You found chicken seeds?”

“Yep, chicken seeds.”

“Exactly what do they look like?”

“They are hard and white.”  He held his fingers about a quarter inch apart and added, “And about this big.  Kind of like cucumber seeds.”

As my mind reeled and I wondered if I had stepped on the chickens seed with my bare feet because that would be kind of gross, Elizabeth, two years John’s elder, solved the mystery.

“John,” she said, “Those aren’t chicken seeds."  She pointed her fork in John's direction to emphasize her epiphany.  "Those are bits of oyster shells.  Right Daddy?”

It struck me that some of the oyster shells we were feeding them to combat egg eating had been kicked through the wire into the yard.  They looked seed-like so it was an easy mistake to make.  

“You don’t know everything Elizabeth,” John protested, now pointing his fork at her.  “Daddy, tell her those are chicken seeds.”

"Well, I think she is right John.  Those may look like chicken seeds, but I’m pretty sure they are oyster shells.”

I suddenly realized I was discussing chicken seeds as though I knew exactly what they looked like.

As Elizabeth looked content with her assessment, John deflated just a bit.  Then his expression changed.  I saw another question brewing.

“Okay maybe those are oyster shells.  But tell me this Daddy, how does Big Red actually plant the chicken seeds?

I thought for a moment and decided to throw down the parental trump card.

“That’s enough about chickens.  Eat your supper.”

So the seed metaphor was less than perfect.  As always seems to be the case, it seemed like a good idea at the time.  I'm really glad that I steered away from tadpoles...

The Confederate Battle Flag - My Uncomfortably, Comfortable Position

Old Cleveland County, NC Courthouse
from www.ncmomuments.ncdcr.gov

Sometime during the first week of September, 1862, my great-great grandfather Caveny’s three brothers crossed the Potomac River as part of the Army of Northern Virginia’s Maryland Campaign.  Over the next days as soldiers in the 17^th South Carolina Infantry Regiment, they fought in a mountain gap at the Battle of South Mountain and then fell back to a position near the small town of Sharpsburg.  On September 17^th, they fought in the Battle of Antietam.  One brother was killed and one was seriously injured.  He died days later as a prisoner of war.  Only one of the three came home.

The next year, my great, great, great grandfather Jolley followed General Lee north during the Gettysburg Campaign with the 28th North Carolina Regiment.  Grandpa Jolley survived his wounds at Gettysburg but his brother was killed.  Of his four brothers who fought in the war, two were killed in action and one died of other causes. 

I understand and appreciate my Southern heritage.

For those of us in the rural south, the Civil War is never far from conscious thought.  At virtually every old courthouse, a lone Confederate soldier stands atop a slab of stone as if waiting for the Yankees to return.  Here in western North Carolina, highway markers trace Stoneman's Raid from one small town to another.  And of course there is the flag.

Wilkesboro, NC

The shooting of nine African-American church members at a Charleston, SC Bible study by a white man has revived calls to remove the Confederate Battle Flag from the South Carolina State House grounds.  There seems to be momentum for that outcome with a vote scheduled for next week.  NASCAR has even weighed in asking fans not to fly the flag at NASCAR events.

www.thestate.com

“Heritage not hate” is the rallying cry for flag supporters.  We complain that the KKK and other white supremacist groups have hijacked our flag and are using it for evil purposes.  Yet, we seem to conveniently forget that the flag was raised over the South Carolina State House in 1962 in response to the federal government’s push to end segregation. 

We argue that the Civil War (or is it War of Northern Aggression?) wasn’t about slavery at all but that it was about states’ rights.  So, by logical extension, the flag represents states’ rights.  For those politically right of center, anything that challenges the federal government is a good thing. And the further we move to the right, the more gun rights, social reform, and now the flag issue become intertwined. 

What if we are wrong?

What if the Civil War actually was about slavery for those in the South?  What if those aristocratic, low country rice and cotton plantation owners knew that their empires would fall apart without slave labor?  What if those same rich farmers knew they could never get my subsistence farmer, ancestors to buy into fighting to maintain slavery?  What if they knew they had to spin the truth as “states rights” to get them to march across an open field at Gettysburg against Union troops firmly anchored behind a stone wall?

Fodder for endless and spirited discussions.

The biggest “what if” is whether the Confederate Battle flag symbolizes hatred and a history of oppression to a large portion of our community.

I must admit that when I see the flag publicly displayed these days I don’t think about my heritage – at least not in a romantic, chivalrous sense.  Now I see someone who is thumbing their nose at society and authority – the same sentiment that hoisted the flag over the SC State House in 1962.  I hear a nonverbal “fuck you” spoken loudly in mixed, unfamiliar company because it is our right to speak freely as we chose regardless of who we offend.  I think about my folks dying because some slave owner took advantage of my people’s Scots-Irish tendency to buck authority.

None of that leaves me feeling warm and fuzzy.

In all fairness, my opinions are just opinions.  For Christians, we are fortunate to have scripture to help us with these thorny issues.

How should we interact with the government, especially one with whom we disagree?

“Every person is to be in subjection to the governing authorities. For there is no authority except from God, and those which exist are established by God. Therefore whoever resists authority has opposed the ordinance of God; and they who have opposed will receive condemnation upon themselves.” Romans 13:1-2

Why should I have to sacrifice something that means so much to me?

“If your hand or your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off and throw it from you; it is better for you to enter life crippled or lame, than to have two hands or two feet and be cast into the eternal fire. If your eye causes you to stumble, pluck it out and throw it from you. It is better for you to enter life with one eye, than to have two eyes and be cast into the fiery hell.”  Matthew 18:8-9

But what about my rights?  Am I responsible for how someone (mis)perceives my actions or cultural symbols?

“But take care that this liberty of yours does not somehow become a stumbling block to the weak.” 1 Corinthian 8:9

“All things are lawful, but not all things are profitable. All things are lawful, but not all things edify. Let no one seek his own good, but that of his neighbor.”

1 Corinthians 10:23-24

In his sermon on 4 Biblical Insights for Christians on the Events in Charleston, SC, Fellowship Raleigh Church Pastor Matt Schoolfield challenges us to be more focused on making a difference than on making a point.  Wise words.

I have come to realize that there is rarely change without loss.  We have to give up something to initiate change - to make a difference. 

As a true son of the south, I feel uncomfortably comfortable acknowledging that it’s time to fold up the flag and put it away.  It's time.