Headless Chicks and Dumplings
Each spring my mother and her sister Roberta ordered baby chicks from the local farmer’s cooperative. My four brothers, three cousins and I watched these cute, furry yellow creatures grow into sturdy chickens running about our respective farmyards. Then, each fall, my brothers, cousins and I gathered the first day at one farm and the next at the other farm to watch our mothers chop off chicken heads. Then the fun began. The processing began early in the morning when instead of being turned out to roam the yard, the chickens remained locked in the pen. They clucked away wondering why this day should be any different from any other as one by one each woman bought out a bird, held its wings and feet together, laid its head on a tree stump and chopped it off with an ax. She would then toss the headless chicken onto the grass where it ran around and flopped about for what seemed a considerable time. Thus, I suppose, came the saying, “running around like ...