Fuzzy yellow baby chicks.

So do you remember those Easter egg hunts? Finding plastic eggs with little toy fuzzy yellow chickies inside? However, my personal favorite was a chocolate Easter egg.

But speaking of fuzzy chickies, back when my family lived in East Los Angeles in the early 1950’s had a back yard full of Rhode Island Reds. A red russet colored chicken. Somewhere between fifty and a hundred chickens at any given time. Never the less, my dad would go to our local feed store in East L A and when buying a fifty-pound bag of chicken feed would received 25 little fuzzy yellow baby chicks. So without the plastic egg we had our little fuzzy yellow chickies. Easter and year around. Peeping and scratching. Given to him in a wooden orange crate. Our job was to keep the peepers warm. So we covered the wood crate with an old dish towel and placed the box full of fuzzies in front of our house’s only heater. A stand alone gas heater set back into our fake fire place in the living room. The houses only heating source. You must recall this was southern California where a sixty degree night was a bit of a chill. But anyway we kept those peeping fuzzies in that wooden box in front of the gas stove for about a week. Never mind the noise and the smell.

Then when the orange crate became a bit crowded we released the chicks into the chicken yard. A middle yard between our houses grassy backyard and the garden yard. The middle yard had a chicken coop where all chickens went to roost at night and lay eggs. Plus the chickens provided fertilizer for the three large peach trees. Peach trees that bore softball size peaches. To back up, my parents had moved from Oklahoma in 1941. Moving away from a dusty red dirt farm. So, having a herd of chickens was most normal.

Then finally came a notification in the mail from the county health department instructing my dad to get rid of the chickens. Possibly creating a health hazard. My dad conjectured one of our neighbors filed a complaint. Noise and smell. Fortunately not far from our home was a poultry rendering business that sold fresh dressed fryer chickens. So away went all our chickens and left our three peach trees to survive on their own. So, no more little yellow fuzzy chicks. Happy Easter.

Published by OkieMan

I come from a family who migrated from the parched red dirt Plaines of southern rural Oklahoma. Migrating to blue collar working class community of East Los Angeles. There is where I was born. I am Mr. Writermelon. I can only write what my grammar and spell checker allows. I am neither profound nor profane. Boy howdy! Send comment to: Mr.writermelon@gmail.com

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