Did You Ever Buy a Box of Baby Chicks?

March 1, 1966

Jocie Brooke here reporting from Hollyhill, Kentucky. I'm out in Holly County today reporting from Miss Sally's farm. To be exact, and Dad says a good reporter should be exact, I'm reporting from Miss Sally's chicken house. Baby chicks are cheeping all around me. Miss Sally just got one hundred baby chickens in a box at the feed store. Can you imagine that? One hundred baby chickens in a box. 

I went with her to pick them up. The heavy cardboard box had round air holes all over the top and sides. Inside the box were four different sections with the baby chicks divided out in them. Miss Sally said that was so they wouldn't mash one other by all piling together in one corner of the box. 

There was still one poor little chick that had ended up on the bottom of the pile in one of the sections and so when Miss Sally and I took them out of the box and put them in the place she had fixed up with a warming light for them, she only had ninety-nine. We took them out of the box one at a time. 

They were soft little fuzzy balls in my hand when I gently picked them up and then set them down on the fresh straw Miss Sally had fixed for them under the lights. She had jars of water turned up on glass trays and little feeding troughs for them. 

Miss Sally likes raising chickens. She says before she got electricity out on the farm she just put eggs under a setting hen and then let the hen raise the little chicks. But it was harder to raise as many then and sometimes something would happen to the chicks. She says you have to have the lights to keep the chicks warm or they'll pile up on one another and more of them will be mashed. The lights take the place of the mother hen that keeps her babies warm and safe under her wings and feathers. 

It was fun helping Miss Sally with the little chicks. She says I can help her feed them whenever I'm at her house. 

Did you ever buy a box of baby chicks?  

Now are you ready for more of Bailey's story? When we left him last week, he was thinking everything was too quiet.

BAILEY'S BUG by Jocie Brooke
(Continued from last week. The whole story so far is under the Bailey's Bug title up top.)

Chapter 12

   Lucinda hissing jerked Bailey awake. Eyes were all around him and Skelley. Suspicious, glinting eyes. Hungry eyes.
   Coyotes. He shot a look up at Lucinda crouched on the rafter, her tail rigid and her fur spiked up.
   Bailey stared back at the coyotes. They were like certain dogs he'd seen but leaner with a wild scent about that that made a growl want to rumble in his throat. Bailey mashed his mouth together to keep the growl inside.
   There were five of them, shifting first one way and then the other around Bailey and Skelley. They made no noise, at least none Bailey could hear over the rain beating against the barn and the roar of the stream outside. Water was running through the barn now. The only dry place was the hay pile where Bailey and Skelley were. 
   Bailey slowly got to his feet. Skelley was already up, looking even more worried than when the monster bulldozer had pushed down his house.
   "The look in their eyes puts me in mind of a tiger I knew once," Skelley whispered. "Always hungry, he was."
    Bailey swallowed down the growl that kept wanting to climb up his throat. He flicked his tail back and forth and thought hard of something friendly to say. 
   "We just came in to get out of the rain. We'll be leaving soon." He summoned up the nicest voice he could.
   The coyotes stared back at him. Two of them curled up their lips in a snarl.
   "I'm not sure they speak our language, lad," Skelley said.
   "I guess we should try looking friendly then."
   "Me thinks in their eyes we look more like a meal."
   "That can't be true." Bailey glanced over at Skelley. "Lucinda says nothing normal eats dogs."
   "Are you so sure they're normal?" Skelley picked up his baton and clutched it tight between his teeth. He talked around it. "Me thinks we'd best be making a break for it, lad."
   "Listen to him, you lummox," Lucinda hissed above Bailey.
   Bailey was listening, but he was also looking at the coyotes. Their legs were thin and long. Nothing at all like Bailey's. They didn't look like the kind of animals who would trip over their own feet the way he did.
   He inched backward. Skelley matched his steps. Bailey hesitated when he stepped into the edge of the swirling water, but there was nowhere else to go. So he kept backing up even though the water got deeper with each step and grabbed at his paws.
   Bailey dared a look behind him. Water was pouring in through the barn boards, pushing some of them aside. The barn shuddered and groaned and more boards lifted up to let a new rush of water inside. 
   Bailey stopped moving and tried to dig his toenails into the soft ground. He was afraid if he lifted up even one paw, the water would sweep him right into the coyotes' mouths. The coyotes had followed them to the edge of the water, watching and waiting. 

(To be continued.)
   

Hollyhill Christmas Parade

December 8, 1965.

Jocie Brooke reporting from Main Street, Hollyhill, Kentucky. Well, I'm not actually standing on the street right this minute. I'm at home in my room, but a few minutes ago I was standing out there in the chilly air ready to cover the news. 

We don't usually do the parade at night, but Dad says the mayor is trying to shake things up a little. One thing for sure, the police car bubble lights look way more impressive in the dark. I took my camera to take pictures for the paper, and got some good ones while it was still daylight. You might see some of them in the Banner next week. But after dark, the flashbulbs weren't quite enough to capture great images. Still I liked this one of a couple of kids seeing Santa riding on the firetruck to finish up the parade. They looked like they knew it was a long way down here to Hollyhill from the North Pole. 

But I love parades. Well, most of the time. There was that one parade back last summer where some unwelcome guests crashed our 4th of July parade and brought Hollyhill some trouble. You can read about that in Orchard of Hope. But that was last year and this is now. Everything was peaceful for our Christmas parade. That's the way it should be. I mean, didn't the angels proclaim "peace, goodwill toward men!" when they told the shepherds about Jesus being born. 

I love Christmas stories too. Too bad I didn't have a Christmas scene in Bailey's Bug. But it's the middle of summer for them and Bailey, Lucinda and Skelley have to get across that great river of cars. Do you think they'll be brave enough to try to make it? I guess it wouldn't be much of a story if they aren't or if they don't make it. That would spoil everything, wouldn't it? 

BAILEY'S BUG by Jocie Brooke
   (Continued from last week)

   Bailey ignored the dark on the far side of the roads. Instead he watched the river of cars. There were two stretches of blacktop. On the side nearest them, the cars always came over a hill and down toward them. On the other side, the cars' lights seemed to appear from out of nowhere as they raced each other up the hill without slowing a bit. 
   They never changed directions. Never. Best of all, what looked like a narrow park with grass and bushes was smack in the middle of the two roads. They could hide out there for a while to gather courage to chase across the other road into the darkness beyond.
   Bailey stood up. "If we watch the top of that hill over there and wait until it's very dark with no lights coming, we can make it to the middle." Bailey pointed with his nose toward the hill. 
   "That we can, lad. Easy as jumping through hoops." Skelley flashed a grin, then picked up his baton to trot toward the road. 
   Lucinda stayed where she was, staring at the road and beyond. 
   "Are you too afraid to try it, Lucinda?" Bailey asked.
   "I'm not afraid of anything." Lucinda snarled at him. "I'm thinking."
   "It's good when you think." Bailey lowered his back haunches to the ground. "Let me know when you're through." 
   "Dogs!" Lucinda turned to glare at him. Her eyes glowed green in the lights of a car flying down the hill toward where they sat. After the car passed, she stood up, her tail straight up in the air. Then as if to convince herself to move toward the road, she said, "I suppose there will be sunshine in the morning wherever I am."
   "Indeed, Miss Lucinda," Skelley called to her over his shoulder. "They say there's worlds of sunshine in the country. For a truth, I've been many a place, but I've never been anywhere that didn't have its fair share of the sun's light." 

(To be continued. Do you think they'll get across the road? Read the whole story so far under the Bailey's Bug link up top of my report here.)

One Year Later - Remembering President Kennedy

November 25, 1964

Jocie Brooke reporting from Hollyhill, Kentucky. It's been a sad week here in Hollyhill as everybody was remembering the assassination this time last year. Dad put this picture on the front page of the Hollyhill Banner. There was regular news, but it didn't seem to matter than much this week. Or even that basketball season is about to start at school. Oh, the guys still practiced and the cheerleaders were smiling and jumping around like always. Especially that Vanessa who thinks she is sooo cute. Well, she is so cute, but she doesn't have to think she is. Aunt Love would put her in her place quick as anything. Aunt Love says pretty is more than skin deep. I sure hope so since I've got a ways to go to be pretty. Wes says I'm pretty enough, that sometimes girls my age put on blinders when they look in the mirror. I tell him I need his Jupiter mirror that makes everybody look good. 

But none of that kept us from remembering when we first heard the terrible news last year that President Kennedy had been shot in Texas. I was at school, coming down the stairway from history class to health class. Somebody, Jacob Renner, I think, was going up the steps and telling everybody that the president had been assassinated. I didn't want to believe it. I didn't believe it. Jacob's one of those boys who likes to be the center of attention and I thought he was just acting stupid. Maybe. But saying the president had been shot wasn't anything to be acting stupid about. So I didn't know if he was lying or not. I went in health class and asked the teacher. Mr. Kincaid got a funny look on his face and said, yes, it was true. I don't know how he knew. Maybe he has a radio he listens to between classes. Maybe the principal had heard it on the radio in the office and passed along the news. 

However we found out the news, it was something none of us wanted to believe. Not President Kennedy who always seemed so full of life. Who wouldn't even wear a winter coat no matter how cold it was. Who had two kids. Little kids. They were going to feel deserted. I know about that. My mother didn't get shot, but she left. She deserted me a long time ago. Maybe that's even worse since she did it because she wanted to, not because somebody shot her and didn't give her a choice.

But I'm thinking about President Kennedy now and not my mother. It seemed impossible that he would be gone. Even now a whole year later, nobody really knows why it happened. They don't know if it could have been prevented. They don't know if Oswald had help. They don't know so much, but in the years to come, surely answers will be found. 

President Kennedy made some great speeches. Everybody remembers him telling us to ask not what our country could do for us but what we could do for our country. I don't want to forget that. Then Dad put this quote in the article he wrote about the anniversary of President Kennedy's death. "Our most basic common link is that we all inhabit this planet. We all breathe the same air. We all cherish our children's future. And we are all mortal."

Here's another one he said. "Our growing softness, our increasing lack of physical fitness, is a menace to our society." I'm going to remember that, both of them, and try to ride my bicycle more and be thankful this Thanksgiving for the earth air I breathe.

Chiggers, Briars, Stink Bugs - the Price of Jam

Hollyhill, Kentucky
July 22, 1964

Jocie Brooke here reporting from Hollyhill, Kentucky. Well, from Holly County anyway. We, Dad and Aunt Love and I, actually live outside the city limits. We don't live on a farm exactly, but there are farms all around us. Some of those farms have plenty of blackberry bushes on them and it's blackberry season. 
 
Do you like blackberries? I do. Lots, but I'm not all that crazy about picking them. But as Aunt Love is always telling me, an able bodied person who doesn't work shouldn't be wanting to eat. And I definitely want to eat. She says that's somewhere in the Bible too. So if Aunt Love hands me the picking bucket and tells me to go berry picking, I go berry picking. I do love blackberry jam on a hot biscuit with butter fresh churned by one of the women out at church. 
 
But even though I love that jam, picking berries is not all fun and games. Blackberries grown on briars. The best berries are always in the middle of the worst briars! Blackberries are bushy and there's no way to be absolutely certain a snake might not be lurking under those bushes. As if that's not bad enough, what about the spiders? There are always spiderwebs in the blackberries guarding the very best berries. Those big old spiders can have those berries. I'm not putting my hand anywhere close to them! And you have June bugs. I'm not afraid of June bugs, but their major whirring noise when you scare them away from a berry can give a girl a start. Sometimes there will be three or four June bugs on the same berry. It's like a helicopter starting up when they all take off together. 

But June bugs are better than stink bugs. When one of them gets on a berry, it's pretty much ruined for eating off the bush. Trouble is, you can't tell the stink bug has been there until you put the berry in your mouth. Big yuck! Then the only, the very only thing you can do after the stink bug taste is on your tongue is pop another blackberry into your mouth as quickly as possible. Of course, you have to hope the stink bug wasn't on that one too. Don't think I've ever eaten two stink bug flavored blackberries in a row and I hope I never do!! Talk about spoiling the anticipated yummy berry flavor. 

Saturday I got a gallon of berries. Took a long time. Zeb lay in the shade and whined off and on to remind me how hot it was. He was right! It was hot! Dogs don't like blackberry jam. I'm beginning to think twice about whether I do.

When I got the berries home, I had to wash them and get them ready for Aunt Love to make the jam. Then I had to hover nearby because well, Aunt Love is getting forgetful. She puts on a pot of blackberry jam - can't you almost smell it - and promptly forgets it. Last week she forgot to stir it and it boiled up and over the top of the pan down into the burners. What a mess! So Dad says I have to watch the blackberry jam pot boiling. That way I can either remind Aunt Love to check it or stir it myself. I hate stirring it myself. I always get burned. You see when the jam is boiling down and beginning to get thick, it pops in big ploppy circles like those pools out in Yellowstone. Those pops can land hot blackberry juice on your hand. Ouch! But that does mean it's almost done. Aunt Love tests to see if it's done by putting a dollop of the jam on a cold saucer and sticking it in the freezer compartment. Once it's had a minute or two to chill, Aunt Love looks at it to see if it's done. All I can tell is that it's purple. But Aunt Love can tip that saucer up and tell whether to keep cooking or stop cooking by how that jam sample sits on the plate. Or doesn't sit on the plate. At least she used to be able to do that. Now it's anybody's guess what she'll remember or what she'll forget. So far she hasn't forgotten the first Bible verse. I guess that's good if she didn't always hunt some out of her memory to try to keep me in line. And after I pretended to know about jam sliding on a plate and got popped by that jam juice while helping her. If she reads this, she'll give me a hard look and ask who plans on eating that jam.

I've got to go now and think about a way to stop these chiggers from itching. How about you? Did you ever get chiggers while blackberry picking?

  

An Out of the Ordinary Cat

April 29, 1964

Jocie Brooke here reporting from Hollyhill, Kentucky. As always, things have been pretty boring (Dad says I should say calm, not boring) here on Main Street, Hollyhill. Dad says boring is better than stores getting robbed or wrecks happening. That might make the Banner headlines more exciting, but at the same time, somebody might be getting hurt. I wouldn't want that to happen. So I suppose I should embrace the ordinary and not wish for the strange. But I should have named my blog the Hollyhill Book of the Ordinary. Or the Hollyhill Book of Everything Boring. 

Dad reminds me how I was wishing for something to happen last year and how we got slammed with everything at once. But that was last year. This is this year and boring is settling down on Main Street like a smoke cloud on our yard after we burn our trash. 

Then something happened on Thursday last week. A cat showed up at the back door of the newspaper offices. A bandit looking cat with a touch of black on his chin and eyes that stare straight at you as if he's daring you to tell him to scat. So Wes didn't tell him to scat and now we have a cat here at the Banner offices. 

Zella had a conniption fit about the cat. She is of the opinion that newspaper offices are NOT a place to have a cat. So Wes offered to let her take it home with her. That made Zella have a bigger conniption fit and offered the next opinion that no way was she going to take a stray, flea-infested cat into her house. The cat was so relieved that it wound in and out of Zella's legs, purring all the while. Zella did an odd little dance to get away from it. Wes says Cat must be from Jupiter like he is. It appears Jupiter cats have a special instinct about irritating people who don't like cats. So the cat got a bed in the press room and West told Zella she should put it on payroll as pest exterminator. Zella muttered something under her breath about hoping it got rid of Jupiter pests. 

Yesterday morning, Zella found a dead mouse on her desk. I still don't know if the cat caught it and decided to offer it to Zella as a peace offering or if Wes put it there to make sure no peace was happening. I'm leaning toward Wes. What do you think? 

We've been calling the cat Cat. Not much of a name. So we're giving cat names consideration. What name do you pick for a cat that knows its way around? Got any suggestions?

Taxes and the Jack Benny Hour

April 15, 1964

Jocie Brooke here reporting from Hollyhill, Kentucky. Today's tax deadline day. Daddy had to get his tax forms filled out and in the mail before the end of the day. In time for the postmaster to stamp it sent. He figured and refigured and added up numbers all day. I overheard him telling Wes that he didn't see how in the world a person who didn't make much money could have such problems with taxes. Wes just smiled and patted Dad's shoulder before he escaped out to the pressroom to tinker with the press. 

Zella touched her sausage curls to be sure they were properly stiff before she shook her head at Dad and informed him he should have filled out the forms weeks ago the way she did. Daddy almost growled at her before he went in his office and shut the door. Dad hardly ever shuts his office door, but when he does, it's best to leave it shut until he opens it. 

Zella glared at the shut door and then began muttering under her breath about how pathetic Daddy was at paperwork. Even if his work was the paper. She banged on her typewriter so hard that I peeked over her shoulder to see if the type keys were making holes in her paper. That made her hit the keys even harder as she told me to stop making a shadow on her paper. Like I was getting in the way of her sun.

But thank goodness Dad did open his door and bring out the envelope all sealed, signed and stamped for government delivery. Then thank goodness, Aunt Love had the Jack Benny Hour on TV when we got home. Jack Benny was, of course, complaining about paying taxes. And thank goodness, Dad dropped down in his easy chair and laughed until he almost fell out of it. I don't like Jack Benny. I can't imagine what was so tickling Dad's funny bone. Adults are beyond understanding sometimes. But if Jack Benny's silly jokes got Daddy to forget about being cranky about those taxes then I was willing to smile and pretend I thought the show was funny too. At least this one time. 

Do you ever watch the Jack Benny show? Then maybe you can tell me what's so funny about holding onto the first dollar a person ever made? 

A Dog Named Zebedee

Dogs laugh, but they laugh with their tails.  ~Max Eastman

February 10, 1964. Jocie Brooke here still on the outlook for strange on Main Street, Hollyhill.  It's been a quiet week. That's how weeks in February are if we don't get a big snowstorm. Then if the snow falls deep enough, things can really get slow in Hollyhill. Everybody stays home and drinks hot chocolate. Sounds good to me. No school. But no snow and no strange this week.  Even old Zella has acted almost normal. In case you don't know, Zella works for my dad. Well, Zella would probably say everybody works for her. She thinks she owns the newspaper office.

That's where my Dad works. He's the editor of our weekly paper, and he's always saying that if no news happens like now in Hollyhill, the pages of the paper have to be filled anyway. He doesn't mean you should make stuff up. Now that might be more fun. But he's meaning you have to dig around until you find something to write about that won't bore the socks of your readers. So since I can't find strange this week and it's not snowing, I'm going to hope you want to hear about Zebedee. Who's that you ask? Well for one, he was James and John's father in the Bible. The sons of thunder. If you ever hear Zebedee bark you'll know why I picked that name.

  I've wanted a dog since forever. Every chance I got I prayed for the Lord to send me a dog. It was my dog prayer. Dad says it's okay to pray about everything. And he also says the Lord wants to give us the desires of our hearts. A dog just happened to be the desire of my heart. I WANTED A DOG!! I had dog hunger. I wasn't asking for a poodle or a beagle or any particular kind. As long as it had four feet, a cold nose and a wagging tail, I was going to be happy. No sense making prayers complicated. And somewhere in the Bible doesn't it say God already knows what we need before we ask him? At least I think it does. So if that's true, there wasn't any reason for me to draw a picture for the Lord. He knows what a dog looks like. He created them, you know. 

I prayed and prayed. Sometimes out loud just in case Dad was around. After all, Dad's always saying that the Lord can use his people to answer prayers. So if the Lord wanted to use Dad, I wasn't going to mind. But then I found Zebedee or maybe it would be truer to say he found me. You can read all about how that happened if you read the book, Scent of Lilacs. I've heard it's out there for sale now. On something called the internet, whatever that is. And in bookstores too. We don't have a bookstore in Hollyhill, but thank goodness and this rich man named Carnegie we have a library. 

But back to Zebedee. He likes to follow me everywhere I go, even down  Main Street. Most folks like dogs, except Zella who yells at me if Zeb follows me into the newspaper office. But Wes lets me sneak him in the back door of the press room sometimes. Zella hardly ever comes back there.

Everybody does pretty much agree that Zeb is not a pretty dog. Most folks come right out and say "That dog is the ugliest dog I've ever seen." Doesn't really matter to me or Zebedee. I guess maybe that's the strange for this week. How a dog as ugly as Zebedee can look so pretty to me. 

Did you have a dog when you were fourteen like me? What was his or her name and was your dog pretty?

Remember, if you leave a comment you can have a chance to win a copy of that book, Scent of Lilacs, and find out all about how Zebedee found me and how he taught that Jezebel cat of Aunt Love's a thing or two. I'll be announcing three winners here on March 4. 

And come back over to the Hollyhill Book of the Strange next week. Maybe something strange will happen in Hollyhill before then that I can write about. But I wouldn't count on it if I were you. In spite of what Wes says and that story about Mr. Wilson last week, Hollyhill is a pretty ordinary town with one extra-ordinary dog named Zebedee. A dog that does do a lot of laughing with his tail. 
  

Hunting Strange on Main Street

Hunting Strange on Main Street in Hollyhill

Hello. Jocie Brooke here reporting from Main Street, Hollyhill, Kentucky where everything seems pretty ordinary the same as every day. My fellow reporter, Wesley Green, thinks I’ll spot something strange to report on here in our new venture, the Hollyhill Book of the Strange. But I’m still thinking the Book of the Ordinary would suit our little town better. He shakes his head at me and says everything seems pretty strange here to him, seeing as how he landed here from Jupiter. 

I can’t argue with that. I’m sure if I was up on Jupiter, I’d think things were strange. That’s the one that has all the moons. Wes says over sixty of them, but only four that look much like our earth moon. Think about looking up at the sky and seeing four moons shining down on you with dozens of others popping out here and there like bouncing balls. Wes says folks going out at night on Jupiter have to wear hats to keep from getting moonburnt. That could definitely make a book of the strange.

But here in Hollyhill we only have one moon to shine down on our Main Street. So come on and we’ll walk down it together. You can poke me if you notice something strange that I’ve looked at all my life and think is ordinary as can be. Of course, then I may just think you’re strange. 

First we’ll go down Main Street where the stores are lined up on either side, snuggled edge to edge. We have two stoplights – one in front of the courthouse and another up by the post office on the north end of town. The post office was built during the Great Depression by the WPA. That was the government giving people jobs and our little town got a great big post office out of it. That’s kind of interesting but not exactly strange since it happened in towns all across the country. Then again it might be strange that they built it up so high off the street. The workers must have had a fondness for building steps or maybe it was just to make the job last longer. 

We have two grocery stores, two ten cent stores, two banks, two drugstores, two ladies’ dress shops, two lawyer offices, two hardware stores, two furniture stores, two Laundromats, and two grills. Notice a trend here? Well, before you decide Hollyhill has two of everything which might be decidedly strange, I’ll point out we only have one newspaper office, one barbershop, one defunct hotel, one chiropractor’s office. There are three poolrooms that are off limits to kids like me. To make up for whatever mischief might go on in them, four churches anchor both ends of Main Street – First Baptist, Presbyterian, Christian and Methodist. The Pentecostal and Second Baptist churches are on back streets behind Main. Oh, I forgot the jewelry stores – two of them too. But only one men’s store. There used to be a movie house, but it went out of business years ago. Dad tells me when he was a kid there was a bowling alley in the upstairs rooms over where the wallpaper store is now. That’s strange enough to think about. Somebody bowling over top your head. There used to be an Opera House and hotel too, right across from the train depot, but that’s on a side street up from Main.  Oh, and I forgot the car dealerships, Ford and Chevrolet, that are right on Main Street. And there’s two gas stations at the end of town past that courthouse stoplight going south.

Whew, I’m beginning to wonder how all of these buildings can be squeezed along one Main Street. The churches and the post office do spill on down the street from the two and a half block center of town. And that most important building, the library is on another side street up from the Post Office. We have Andrew Carnegie to thank for that. I looked him up in the encyclopedia and he gave building grants to start over 1,600 libraries in America and Hollyhill’s was one of them. Thank you, Mr. Carnegie! 

So we’ve walked down Main and taken a side trip up to the library, but I’ve not spotted much strange. Did you? If so let me know so I can take another look. And meet me again next Monday. By then something exciting might have happened. Don’t hold your breath, but I suppose anything is possible. Even in Hollyhill. 

(Remember, if you leave a comment here or on One Writer's Journal, you'll be entered in a giveaway for an autographed copy of Scent of Lilacs. Each comment gives you an extra entry. Drawing March 1.)