This past weekend was Father’s Day weekend. As it happens sometimes my birthday is co opted by Father’s Day. This is one of those years. That has never been a problem when I lived back in California. We just made it one big ol celebration. We grilled, we swam, we opened presents. My grandma Claudena would have a wheeled cart full of condiments or iced tea. (Have I said I miss her? I do.) I am thirty-seven years old. Yay me. I made it this far by the grace of God. I am the age of fading starlets, too old to play the love interest, too young to play the mother of the love interest. An interesting place to be.
Since Father’s Day was on my actual birthday, I decided to claim Saturday as mine. The family got up early and we ventured off to Collinsville, Al to Trade Day. I had put my hair up in a hair band the night before (see this video ). I woke up with a cascade of fabulous curls. I put on makeup and looked like a blond bombshell. (which was good because I was really ticked at my husband.) I wore a cute polka dot shirt, jeans and flip-flops. A bit much for Trade Day, I guess, but I wanted to rock the curls. After we parked and walked to all that is Trade Day, I figured the kids should get a biscuit before they cried for one. There was a booth right away, and I ordered various biscuits for all of us. (I recommend a tenderloin biscuit with mustard. In fact, a biscuit with mustard is unreal.) We waited for what seemed like an hour, and finally sat down at a dirty picnic table, noshing on our bread stuffs. Jacob saw that they offered deep-fried Oreo’s on the menu. He had to try one. I confess, so did I. (WOW!) Full and frisky, we made our way up the rows of vendors. I wasn’t interested in too much. I was on a mission.
I wanted some bra’s and some baby chicks.
There were adorable puppies galore, baby goats, piglets the size of my big toe. Oh, the cute was almost too much. St Bernard pups. Free kittens. If you know me, you would wonder why I don’t just go ahead and build an ark. As we came to the chickens, my heart began to sink. There were plenty of pullets and full grown hens, but I wanted some babies. I lurrrrrve my babies. I had all but given up when I found a vendor that had baby chicks and bunnies. I had planned on getting 4 or 5 to start. I told the gal we were just getting started and were open to any advice. She said to start with 10 chicks. TEN! Whaaaa? I had already worked out a set up in my mind for 4 or 5. Okay, so ten. At a dollar a piece, that wasn’t bad. I would have to readjust my plans a little, but the more the merrier. I asked if they had a way to verify that they were indeed hens, (I READ IT ONLINE, OKAY?), she smiled and said “No, not really.” I asked, “Well, what if I get 10 roosters?” She laughed and said that wouldn’t happen. So I picked out ten, and then one more little buff that I knew was my true love. She put them in a cardboard box and we continued our Trade Day jaunt.
That’s when the muggy came out. All kinds of muggy. Instantly my curls turned into wet noodles. My skin was covered in blisters of sweat. Sweat ran down our backs, fronts and sides. I started to look a little Tammy Faye, so we headed back to the car. Jacob had
ditched us gotten separated from us, so I had to come back and search for him. I found him staggering and sweating. “Where were you guys?” he cried in his best Oscar Nom.
And now…introducing the Clements Brood.
Oh, the places we will go!