I was 20 years old with 5 small children and we were moving with my husband to his father's. Now, this property had been in the family for several generations and they were used to country living, but I was a city girl through and through.

My first night on the farm, I shut off the light and waited for my eyes to adjust. I blinked and waited some more. I started getting a bit worried after several minutes went by and I couldn't even see the hand I was holding in front of my face. Then I realized there were no streetlights and nighttime in the country meant total darkness. This made for some very interesting nights as unfamiliar sounds kept my imagination working overtime.

I was meeting the "family" for the first time so I invited them over for dinner. I had planned the menu with great care and consideration, dusted and cleaned, and wanted everything "just right". About 11:30am the guests started arriving and I thought it was really nice of them to come early so we had time to become acquainted. We enjoyed about an hour of visiting when I was asked when dinner would be ready. I thought my husband had told them it was to be at 5 o'clock, but he just told them what I told him - to come for dinner.

The look on some faces let me know very quickly, but kindly, that 5 o'clock was not what they had in mind. I offered to fix some sandwiches and make a salad, which they eagerly took me up on. As we ate, I was informed that "dinner" was the noon meal, and the evening meal was "supper." This city girl had grown up with breakfast, lunch and dinner, not breakfast, dinner, and supper. I was embarrassed, but they were nice about it and I learned to adjust my meals by their "proper" name.

My father-in-law was a wonderful man, and I adored him. He was gentle, honest, hard working, patient, and I really wanted him to like me. He was also used to the women in the family being hearty and able to do things like chop wood, or the heads off chickens that were to grace the dinn...ahem... "supper" table.

One day it was suggested we have chicken for supper. That was fine with me, but I mentioned I didn't buy any chicken the last time I went shopping. I thought I heard a low snicker from my husband when my father-in-law pointed out we have our own chickens, and told me where the axe and chopping stump were. My heart began to pound when I realized what I was expected to do. I didn't know if I wanted to run for the bathroom and get sick, or show them I could do anything they could do. I guess pride and determination made me opt for the latter.

I went out to the chicken yard and began to check the chickens out. "Here, chick, chick, chick." I didn't look for the fat ones, or the young ones. I wanted to find one that I could justify being led to the slaughter. "Here, chick, chick, chick." Is there a mean one? Is there an ugly one? I looked down at these trusting fowl as they gathered around me and only saw beauty. I couldn't do it. We had homemade vegetable soup for dinner that night. I mean, there was just so much this city girl could do -- even if it meant looking "weak".

I eventually learned to kill and clean the chickens myself, but I was allowed to go at my own pace and when I was ready. As I said, my father-in-law was a kind and patient man. I also learned to chop wood, do my own canning, make homemade pies, bread, and butter, as well as sew clothes for the kids. Another thing I learned was that this city girl liked the "simple" country life.

Susan Stevens
Copyright March 2000

Home | Meet My Family | Meet My Sister | My Ancestry | My Bio | Growing Up | My Stories My Poems | Others Inspirational Stories | Quick Quips | Kids Korner | Missing Children Angel Moms On Earth | Circle of Friends | Heaven's Angels | Recipes | Midi Mall My ASCII Art | Summr's Graphics | My Office