Aunt Pud’s chicken dinner
As I was growing up in the mountains in Jonas Ridge, Burke County, in the 1950s, our family had to grow most all of our food. We didn’t eat beef because the cow was our only source of milk. We raised pigs, so we ate a lot of pork, which is my favorite meat today.
A memory that will forever be etched in my mind is of my Aunt Pud (a nickname) killing chickens. She would grab a hen by the neck and swing it around in the air to break its neck. Then its neck went to the chopping block where the ax severed the head. Its body would run around briefly until it fell over. Aunt Pud would dunk it in hot water, holding it by the feet, and pluck out the feathers. A piece of paper on fire would singe off any fuzz.
If I had to do this today, I would never eat chicken.
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