Susan Murata told this story in Langdon, then sent the written version. It’s a cockah! Thank you, Susan!
Mention was made the other day of the old Kendall house in Langdon, how it had been spruced up and sold to people from away. My father and I were chatting after my last trip to the farm for milk, me curled up with my knitting and he grateful that I had interrupted his prescribed walk on the treadmill. Since I am househunting, I remarked that I would not want to be so close to the main road as the Kendall house.
Dad said old Mrs. Kendall used that fact to her advantage. “She used to throw corn in the road for her chickens.”
What a preposterous statement. “Are you sure?” I asked, thinking he had walked a little too far before I came.
“Oh, yes. This was during the Depression. She’d toss the feed into the road so her hens would be hit by a car. Then she’d collect.”
“You’re serious.”
“Yep. One day Lawrence Pelton came along and hit one of her hens with his truck. He, of course, pulled into the dooryard and went in to let Mrs. Kendall know she was down a hen.
“Mrs. Kendall just nodded and said, 'That’ll be $5,' which at the time was a lordly sum. Lawrence was taken aback, but he’d killed the hen so he paid up without a whimper.
“Then he clapped his hat back on his head, marched out to his truck and backed it into the road. He continued backing until he reached the dead hen, then proceeded to back over it, back and front wheels both. He put it into first gear and squarely ran over it again before heading on about his business.
“There was no way Mrs. Kendall was going to eat that chicken. And Lawrence felt, in a way, he’d gotten his money’s worth."
Mention was made the other day of the old Kendall house in Langdon, how it had been spruced up and sold to people from away. My father and I were chatting after my last trip to the farm for milk, me curled up with my knitting and he grateful that I had interrupted his prescribed walk on the treadmill. Since I am househunting, I remarked that I would not want to be so close to the main road as the Kendall house.
Dad said old Mrs. Kendall used that fact to her advantage. “She used to throw corn in the road for her chickens.”
What a preposterous statement. “Are you sure?” I asked, thinking he had walked a little too far before I came.
“Oh, yes. This was during the Depression. She’d toss the feed into the road so her hens would be hit by a car. Then she’d collect.”
“You’re serious.”
“Yep. One day Lawrence Pelton came along and hit one of her hens with his truck. He, of course, pulled into the dooryard and went in to let Mrs. Kendall know she was down a hen.
“Mrs. Kendall just nodded and said, 'That’ll be $5,' which at the time was a lordly sum. Lawrence was taken aback, but he’d killed the hen so he paid up without a whimper.
“Then he clapped his hat back on his head, marched out to his truck and backed it into the road. He continued backing until he reached the dead hen, then proceeded to back over it, back and front wheels both. He put it into first gear and squarely ran over it again before heading on about his business.
“There was no way Mrs. Kendall was going to eat that chicken. And Lawrence felt, in a way, he’d gotten his money’s worth."
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