The year was 1948 and I was 18 years old living in Livingston, California on a farm we called the “Sims Place”. Dad share-cropped this 40 acre vineyard from the owner, Mr. Sims, so the name “Sims Place” was were we lived. Grandfather A. A. Buller, and later his son, Alvin Buller had previously rented and farmed the land also.
Anyway, I was registered in High School in the FFA (Future Farmers of America) Program which required us to have a farm project generating money. I chose to be a “chicken farmer” and pioneered a new concept in raising chickens.
I built a pen two feet off the ground and made the bottom with (guess what?) chicken wire. The idea was that the residue of a fine meal by the chickens could drop through the wire mesh, land on the ground and be easily scooped up. I did not get a patent on this fine invention, thus I was doomed to a life of working for other people rather than to become a prosperous, independent, chicken farmer.
Anyway, I raised a breed of chickens called Leghorns, which originated in Leghorn, Italy, so the story goes. They are the most numerous breed we have in America today. I purchased the Leghorn chicks from the local farm supply store and raised them to eating size. They were called “pullets”. How many did I raise and how much money did I make off the endeavor. I cannot find that information on the hard drive of my computer (my brain).
Here is the “next” chapter in the Leghorn story…. Every farm has to have roosters to wake one up in the morning and to propagate the flock. So, I had two beautiful roosters that were my pride and joy. They were a good size and once I even built a wagon and used them to pull the wagon.
One bright spring day I returned home from school to find my two prize roosters missing. I searched and I searched but to no avail. In the evening I asked my dad where they were and he didn’t know. The mystery deepened. I even asked him point blank if they were going to turn up for the evening meal mom was going to cook. He said NO!
Several days later dad solved the mystery of the “missing roosters”. It seems he had been talking with the neighbor just across the ditch that separated our two houses. The neighbor reported that my roosters were always coming to his yard and he got tired of it so he did what farmers do when they want a farm animal to eat. He caught them, removed their heads, dressed them out and his wife cooked them. I was furious. Dad was calmer than me. What could we do now? Nothing!
End of story. One very unhappy teenager with less than pure thoughts about the neighbor. No more roosters to propagate the fledging chicken endeavor and the entire business faltered and I went into bankruptcy, all because of the “missing roosters.”
As I remember it on September 20, 2008 from the comfort of my city dwelling place and far removed from the wonderful smells of the countryside. Don Buller
Anyway, I was registered in High School in the FFA (Future Farmers of America) Program which required us to have a farm project generating money. I chose to be a “chicken farmer” and pioneered a new concept in raising chickens.
I built a pen two feet off the ground and made the bottom with (guess what?) chicken wire. The idea was that the residue of a fine meal by the chickens could drop through the wire mesh, land on the ground and be easily scooped up. I did not get a patent on this fine invention, thus I was doomed to a life of working for other people rather than to become a prosperous, independent, chicken farmer.
Anyway, I raised a breed of chickens called Leghorns, which originated in Leghorn, Italy, so the story goes. They are the most numerous breed we have in America today. I purchased the Leghorn chicks from the local farm supply store and raised them to eating size. They were called “pullets”. How many did I raise and how much money did I make off the endeavor. I cannot find that information on the hard drive of my computer (my brain).
Here is the “next” chapter in the Leghorn story…. Every farm has to have roosters to wake one up in the morning and to propagate the flock. So, I had two beautiful roosters that were my pride and joy. They were a good size and once I even built a wagon and used them to pull the wagon.
One bright spring day I returned home from school to find my two prize roosters missing. I searched and I searched but to no avail. In the evening I asked my dad where they were and he didn’t know. The mystery deepened. I even asked him point blank if they were going to turn up for the evening meal mom was going to cook. He said NO!
Several days later dad solved the mystery of the “missing roosters”. It seems he had been talking with the neighbor just across the ditch that separated our two houses. The neighbor reported that my roosters were always coming to his yard and he got tired of it so he did what farmers do when they want a farm animal to eat. He caught them, removed their heads, dressed them out and his wife cooked them. I was furious. Dad was calmer than me. What could we do now? Nothing!
End of story. One very unhappy teenager with less than pure thoughts about the neighbor. No more roosters to propagate the fledging chicken endeavor and the entire business faltered and I went into bankruptcy, all because of the “missing roosters.”
As I remember it on September 20, 2008 from the comfort of my city dwelling place and far removed from the wonderful smells of the countryside. Don Buller
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