Blue Ridge Country May/June 2023 - 8

GIFTS OF THE LAND
WHY WOULD HE WANT TO CLEAN THE MATS?
A Summer
Morning with
Chickens and Eli
A summer morning can present just the right blend of challenge
and accomplishment for an 8-year-old grandson.
Text and photo by BRUCE INGRAM | Photo styling by JANETTE SPENCER
Eli uses a knife to gather
chicken of the woods
mushrooms.
" W
8 BLUERIDGECOUNTRY.COM
hat're we going to do today, Granddaddy, "
asks Elaine's and my 8-year-old
grandson, Eli. It's an early June morning
here on our rural land, and my wife has
charged me with occupying Eli (whose
parents are at work) as she prepares for
company coming later in the day.
" We've got chores, boy, " I say. " Let's get started. "
Our first task is to look for wild edible mushrooms,
hopefully finding enough for lunch. We head for an
ash stump in our woodlot and as we near it, Eli spots a
chicken of the woods growing on the stump's side.
" We found one here last year, too, " he marvels.
" Yep, " I respond. " Do you remember how to use a
knife to cut off the mushroom, so that its roots (mycelium
is too big a word for now) will grow back, and we
can get more chickens here?
" I think so, " he responds. With intense concentration,
he runs the knife under the base of the fungi and
severs it.
" Good job, " I praise. " Go take it to E-mama [his name
for Elaine] and meet me at the chicken run. We've got to
clean the coup. "
Upon our arrival there, I ask Eli which job he wants
and he enthusiastically responds with cleaning the plastic
mats. That's a dirty job as it consists of scrubbing
off manure and dirty straw, and, frankly, I'm initially
puzzled on why he wants it.
But my puzzlement turns to understanding several
minutes later when Eli, with the water pressure turned to
maximum, is chortling with joy as he sprays the mats and
himself. I release the chickens into the backyard, hang
the wet mats to dry, and Eli and I head for the garden.
The Surecrop strawberries are ripe, and my grandson
and I negotiate a deal where we can each eat no more
than two strawberries and also promise that we each
won't tattle to E-mama about our respective transgressions.
Strawberries picked-and eaten-I send Eli to the
compost pile to gather straw.
Chickens are utilitarian creatures. Their meat and
eggs feed us throughout the year, they weed with their
beaks, fertilize the garden with their droppings during
the winter, and the composted straw from the two henhouses
serves as mulch for our garden plants come summer.
I explain all this to my grandson as we mulch the
zucchini and Better Boy tomatoes.
By this time, the henhouse mats are dry, and Eli and
I arrange them in the henhouse, put fresh straw on top
and corral the chickens. I give the boy a quick chore-
use clippers to trim the weeds along the two chicken
runs so that the electrified wires encircling will function
properly and keep predators at bay.
Our last job is to feed the half dozen month-old chicks
in the basement. Charlotte, our perennially broody hen,
is sitting on only four eggs. So a neighbor, hearing of
that non-ideal situation, has kindly given me some of
her chicks so that I can maintain our flock.
Chores finished at last, Eli and I go inside for lunch.
Our grandson gives Elaine an overview of his work performance,
and she asks him if five dollars is a fair wage
for two hours of work. Having not heard of the minimum
wage law, Eli agrees to the amount. We sit down
for a meal of turkey burgers-with mushrooms-and
wild blackberry cobbler for dessert.
Nothing earth shattering has happened this day; in
many ways, just a typical rural mountain morning. But
it is one I will cherish the rest of my life. I doubt that
Eli will remember this day precisely, but I hope-and
believe-that he will recall as an adult that he and his
granddaddy had many grand times together.
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Blue Ridge Country May/June 2023

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