Concerning Sick Ducks and Hypnotized Chickens, among other things

I am not going to tell you what happened at the Family Convention. For one thing, it's practically ancient history, since two weeks have passed since it ended. For another, it would take a large quantity of time, and why bother writing (or reading, for that matter) about it when you can read a perfectly good account of it on my dear brother Craig's blog? The subject then remains closed.

However, I would like to mention how content I felt after the mile run on field day. There is a feeling that is remarkably satisfying when you have just finished running a mile, particularly THE mile, meaning the race. I was rather relieved to have it over with, and I enjoyed cheering on the people who arrived after me, even though at first it was more like a weak croaking, as I was too exhausted to throw my shouts into the chaotic wall of encouragement. Then it was over, and after reporting to Gretchen with my popsicle stick numbered with a ten, we all dispersed. Clutching my prize popsicle stick, I stiffly but elatedly climbed up the exit drive with everyone else. Ryan was beside me, having completed his first mile race. I then commented on how it was interesting that last year I got a popsicle stick with the number nine on it (meaning, for those of you who don't know, that I was in ninth place) and this year I have a ten to add to my collection.

"Oh, well maybe next year you'll get number eight," Ryan replied.

"Yeah, who knows?" I answered.

There was a pause.

"You know I could have said that maybe you'd get number eleven," my dear cousin informed me.

"Aw, thanks Ryan, you're a pal."

Not too long afterwards, I was sitting on the grassy hill in front of the playground, enjoying a calm moment of relaxation with a few other young people. It was Stephen A. who started it. Blowing on a blade of grass, he made a creaky cry to the world. It was an instantaneous hit. Next thing we knew a bunch of us were blowing away (it was even discovered that it can be done on a starburst wrapper!), chortling, screeching, bleating, and squealing to our hearts' content. If you can imagine listening to a flock of sick ducks, or even being in a jungle, you'll be able to get a picture of what it sounded like. I enjoyed myself immensely, and although I wasn't the best at it, I could add my squeaky screams to the fray with pride. Sometimes my eyes would bulge as I poured out the contents of my lungs, and this brought chuckles from a few people, Cara probably being the loudest. Soon this happy choir of sickly birds ended, however, and we left to go consume our lovely dinner. Released from tension after this highlight of my day, I found that I had regained my appetite (luckily the whole bird thing didn't wear off on me too much), which I had misplaced for awhile, and so I vigorously set to eating probably my largest meal in days.


Four days after the completion of the Family Convention, I had the privilege of going to the Hills to visit Klara. We had a jolly time, mixed with fun and work (and some colds, but that's beside the point), and it was a wonderful antidote to soften the "blothpick" after the convention. One day we went swimming in their freezing pond, but afterwards when we got out and dressed we were so cold that we wore pajamas under our skirts, with warm fuzzy socks and sweatshirts. You need to remember that this was a pleasantly warm July day too! We laughed at our warm attire as we eagerly sipped warm Postum in their sunny kitchen. I thought of having our pictures taken this way outside, but we never got around to it.

Another venture Klara and I accomplished was making breakfast. This is our idea of fun work. We got up early ("early," meaning seven o'clock) and whipped together scrambled eggs, crepes, and scones with vanilla glaze (I really wanted to make the glaze because I have such good memories of when Andrea used to make scones with glaze in bibleschool, and I always loved her for it:). With this feast, we all sat ourselves outdoors in the new morning and munched on it with delight. Hurray for the joy of cooking with a friend!

The morning before I left with my parents, I got to have an unusual experience. If you don't believe me, maybe you should try hypnotizing a chicken someday! Frankly it was Cara who reminded me about it. I learned how to do it from my BJ Homesat teacher in eighth grade, and I enlightened my cousin on the steps that it involves. Now of course I had almost forgotten all about it (though I don't know how could I forget something like that!), until Cara told me that she tried it when she was at the Holschers. I was determined to put it to practice, or what I could remember anyway. I confess though, that when put on the spot with those pecking, snippety hens in their smelly coop, I was almost dissuaded. It was Caleb who helped save the day and had a stick with him so I wouldn't have to risk having my finger viciously poked. That was much simpler. So with his stick he approached the chicken's head, much to her pecking dislike, but eventually he managed to get the stick in between the hen's eyes. This is what does it. I don't know if chickens can go cross eyed or not, but maybe it's because they can't go cross eyed that sets them into a trance. So there that chicken sat, staring away, with an infrequent blink now and then. Sometimes her eyes would narrow and she would squint, but there she sat, dazed. And not pecking. Still, we couldn't be too sure that she was really hypnotized, so I tried a test. I think actually you're supposed to do this beforehand to relax them, but because of a certain beak we hadn't dared. So gingerly I brought in my hand and began stroking her head. When she didn't react, I felt easier and stroked more freely, convincing Caleb that she wouldn't peck after all. During this time we had taken turns holding the stick, and soon I decided to do something more. I switched the stick for my finger, and there it lay in between her eyes, as surprisingly safe as it could be. So that is my story of how I hypnotized a chicken, even if Caleb did help me.

I think the family may now have a new method to help stubborn hens give them their eggs.