1a : to move in or pass through the air with wings
c : to float, wave, or soar in the air <flags flying at half-mast>
2a : to take flight : flee
b : to fade and disappear : vanish
3a : to move, pass, or spread quickly <rumors were flying>
Every holiday at grandmas was the shortest two weeks in the year.
I felt as though I had just arrived only to find I was on my way home again.
A lot of it had to do with the flurry of activity that occurred at Grandma’s during my visit.
Mornings spent collecting eggs, feeding chooks, the poddy lambs Grandad always kept and eating the best breakfasts ever.
On one day of every holiday Grandad would ‘dress’ chickens. This meant catching them, killing them and cleaning them ready to be cooked.
It was all hands on deck on these days as he would be up at 4am and me as well, off to the chicken sheds to catch the chickens. He would tell me he was to collect forty-eight chickens but that I should keep count, as he wasn’t very good at numbers. So seventy-two chickens later we headed for home. He was a bit of a schemer my granddad but everyone loved him.
Back home the boiler would be steaming, he would pull the necks of fifteen at a time and drop them into a hessian bag. My job was to take the dead chickens from the bag, dunk them in the hot water, three dunks was sufficient, as he always had the water heated to the right temperature. By the time I had five chickens out and dunked he would have them cleaned. It was always go go go. He’d say we had to have the chooks all in the fridge before eight. Why eight we never knew, I suspect there was urgency in getting them done before anyone saw too much.
By eight thirty we would be sitting down to breakfast, all evidence of chickens cleaned away from his shed, the ‘dressed’ chickens in the cool room, one on the sink ready for dinner that night.
Every year this would happen, the shortest most exciting holiday during which the time really did fly.
Morpethroad 
Very realistic rendering of childhood memories! We are in the shed with your characters.
And I had no idea what a ‘chook’ was. 🙂
Today Gabriella you have learned something new. I think that is something good. This story is true about the chooks. We really did that stuff. Thanks for your comment.
Brings back memories of my own. We did this too when I was a kid – though nowhere near so many – maybe half a dozen. But I don’t have such fond recollections. I had a terrible time watching the animals be killed. But, that said, they had a nice life (unlike the factory chickens), and I eat chicken so I should know what’s involved. Great story. Your writing is very evocative of the scene.
Thanks Steph. It is actually based on a true story. Thank you again for your kind comments.
Ooh, I don’t think I could witness this and still eat chicken! It’s kind of ironic that it’s called ‘dressing’ them when they are actually being stripped of their feathers and prepared for cooking.
True Janna, I always thought it was an odd term to use as well. But in the country that’s what people did to get by. Some they sold some they ate. Thank you for your comment.
All this writing about fresh chicken makes me hungry. Grandfather seems like a really fun guy. You put me there with a lot of great detail. Nice work!
Thank you for your comment. Yes he was one of life’s great characters.
This is a beautifully rendered story – I love the way the narrator ‘conspires’ to hide the evidence.
[I was only too happy to ‘dress’ a few chickens I raised, as they had spent the summer stomping on my flowers and pecking at my tomatoes!]
bit of crit: ‘all hands on deck’ probably has a farm equivalent. Took me right out to sea…
Thank you for your comment and encouragement.
The term ‘all hands on deck’ has universal meaning. A farm equivalent may exist but I can’t think of one. I appreciate your criticism but we use it in all contexts. Maybe that is peculiar to where I live. Thanks again.
Love the sense of nostalgia in your story. Well-written piece!
Thank you Suzanne. I found this photo challenging.
Nothing as exciting as this, unless you count cleaning fish, but this reminded me of my summers spent at my grandparents’. Lovely memories.
Thank you. yes we all have childhood memories that are somewhat unique
I wonder why there would be a need to hide the activity… I felt nostalgia reading this even though I had no similar experience 🙂
Basically what he did was illegal. You could do some chickens for yourself but he did so many for a number of people a sort of commercial venture. He always cleaned up so there was never any visible evidence. Thanks so much for your interesting comment.