knoxburg

When I was a tot we lived three blocks from the square in Marshall. My brother had a henhouse and a small chicken yard in the corner of our lot. We got our eggs from there.

At some point (I must have been four or five), it was decided that the chickens had to go. The day of the big event there were many extra people around. The usual help was there along with various black, rural friends and neighbors that knew the drill.

A large fire was built and the bottom half of an oil drum was filled with water and put on the fire. It took hours for the water to boil, during which time many stories were told. When the water boiled the slaughter began.

I am not sure if the chickens were beheaded or not. What I remember is the Jemima-esque women swinging the chickens around their heads in the yard. They were either wringing the necks or maybe had them by the feet. I do recollect a lot of blood so maybe they had no heads. The chickens were repeatedly dipped in the boiling water to loosen the feathers for plucking.

For a five-year-old it was just a fabulous blur of fire, white feathers, blood, steam, soot, smoke, and howling black faces for what seemed like hours. Wow!