Blue Mornings
What I learned from a rooster and a galvanized bucket

People who live in the city miss a lot, especially blue mornings and the lessons that farm animals can teach. There’s nothing quite like getting out of bed and standing on the porch before the sun comes up.

While the rooster is doing his best to alert the world that a new day has dawned, the cows mill around at the barn making a wailing, mournful sound, calling out to the hands that will feed them and relieve the pressure of their milk.Sometimes the sky is a muddled purplish blue with streaks of white. Pretty soon, pale pink shows up followed by a little orange, and suddenly the sun bursts open on a new day.

I used to stand barefoot on the front porch looking at the dawn just before going out to milk my cow, Buttermilk. Recalling those times brings back memories of growing up on a farm in Christiansburg, Va. That’s where I learned to love the feel of mud between my toes and to enjoy the sheer abandon of jumping from a high tree while hanging on to a grapevine. I can still feel the rush in the pit of my stomach that comes while daring
to leap from tree limb to tree limb without falling. I’ve envied birds their ability to fly ever since catapulting through the woods in late afternoons.

My brother and two sisters and I all had responsibilities. I can’t remember much about theirs, but I sure recall mine. Because I was the “baby girl,” as my Daddy called me, I got off rather light when it came to chores. Besides milking my cow, my other job was to rob the hens.

Mama always gave me a galvanized bucket to gather the eggs in. She never failed to caution me about being careful not to drop it. That bucket was almost as big as I was. It took both my hands to hold it above the ground when it was filled with eggs.
Each day, I’d pick up the bucket, being careful not to squeak the handle. I’d sneak up on the chicken pen and stand just outside the fence, waiting for that blamed white rooster to go around to the back. If he saw me, he’d chase me all the way to the henhouse. Of course, when I emerged with the eggs, he would be standing at the door waiting to chase me again.

Day after day, the quest went on. I’d try to get to the henhouse and he’d try to catch me. I don’t know why he didn’t follow me into the henhouse, but he never did. He probably instinctively knew there was only one way out. And I knew he was there waiting for me.
At the time, I was sure he was as big as I was. When that rooster fluffed his feathers, he looked 5 feet tall. I think he took delight in tormenting me. I was probably the only human he had ever seen who was short enough for him to conquer. Every day when I’d pick up the bucket and head out to gather the eggs, my heart started thumping so hard I could taste the sound.
One day I made it to the henhouse without the rooster seeing me, found the eggs and was on the way out when he came upon me by surprise. He laid back and tried to flog me. His spurs were several inches long and sharp enough to rip holes in my legs.
I was convinced I was going to die. He ran circles around me while I stood frozen in one spot. I was too far from the house for anyone to hear my squalls of terror. I kept the bucket between me and the rooster. He was getting madder and madder because he couldn’t reach me.

I knew it was a do-or-die situation. When the rooster backed up to catch his breath, I wound up that bucket like a slingshot and took aim. I probably had visions of David and Goliath at the time or I wouldn’t have had the nerve to try to overcome him.With all my might, I slung that bucket and it found its mark. I recovered the bucket and, spilling eggs as I went, ran wildly through the gate. Shutting the gate, I turned to see the rooster wobbling toward the henhouse. I was halfway hoping he’d die and knowing I’d be in trouble if he did.

I have told no one of my experience until this day. The rooster lived, but he learned a lot of respect for that bucket. After that, he hightailed it to the other side of the pen when I even got close to the gate. Some days, I’d squeak the handle just to watch him run.

Like many other experiences on the farm, that lesson taught me a lot about life. I learned that I could experience my worst fear and still survive. And it taught me how to dig in my heels and stand my ground when the winds of life blew hard enough to almost tear my clothes off.

I seldom see a blue morning or hear a rooster crow that I don’t wonder if there is some child trying to conquer a daily chore and inadvertently learning how to face the world.

June 1998