Chapter 2:- Youth
One rooster, a very large red and black one, was extremely vicious. He would run around behind me and then sneak up on me and peck my bare legs. There was never any sympathy and a boy must never show pain on the farm, as the jobs must get done.

No matter the time or the weather when father said, “This is the day fixed,” it was truly fixed in stone, and we did the chore. Once I remember saying, “Shouldn’t we just work around the barn, it really looks like it is going to rain?’ To which father replied, “There is more time lost waiting for the rain than in the rain itself,” and so we went to work.

That big red and black rooster was always on my mind when I was among the chickens. If I could have, I cheerfully would have killed him. I envisioned him roasted and served upon a platter after church some Sunday. That, of course, did eventually come true, but before that, he caused me more grief.

One day, while feeding the chickens, I saw a fox lurking nearby. Reasonably, I thought, I would invite him in to play with the mean, pesky rooster. Father saw this, the fox got shot and I got spanked. This was my first memorable lesson in cause and effect.

Weeding was another chore for a young farm boy. My four year older brother, Obie, at age seven, was big enough to struggle with a bucket and bring in water to the house from the pump or carry medium sized pieces of firewood. He was also big enough to feed the cattle and the hogs. He often told me he couldn’t wait until I was big enough to do these chores so he could get onto doing something really important. As children, we all seemed to want to do things more important than what was at hand. Obie was still too small to plow or hitch up the horses. When he got big enough to do these chores, he didn’t like them any better than the earlier chores. It was a constant progression of work for all of us.

I began to learn the difference between weeds and crops. Weeds grew like, Hmmm, weeds. When you were old enough to identify them, you were old enough to pull them. I was too small and uncoordinated to use a hoe and so I removed weeds by hand. Some of my best friends were worms and caterpillars when I was three years old. They became constant playmates until I learned caterpillars had to be killed. I cried in bed because I didn’t like hurting these critters. Mother came into the bedroom to comfort me, holding me close and explaining this was the way of life on a farm. Creatures were not pets and I must become accustomed to it. I didn’t cry about it any more, but I didn’t have to like killing them either.