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Ruminations of a Feisty Old Quaker

Chicken Feed

A story from my mother's childhood (hang on: there's a moral at the end).

 

My grandfather, a lawyer, died when my mother was twelve. My grandmother sold their large country house outside St. Joseph, Missouri, moved herself and her young daughter into a smaller but still-large house in the heart of town, and began taking in boarders. To keep the boarders in fresh eggs, she raised chickens in the back yard.

 

The gruff old man next door also raised chickens. Read More 

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