Coop_ A Year of Poultry, Pigs, and Parenting - Michael Perry [140]
Every night, Dad would climb the bare wooden stairs with his Bible in hand. He’d seat himself on the edge of the bed and read a chapter aloud. I can still recall his weight on the mattress, the way it drew me toward him. He’d leaf a bit to find his place, the parchment pages all whisper and crinkle. There were a lot of books in our house. None of them sounded like that book.
He read the chapters in sequence, one per night. He read steadily, with neither adornment nor portent. Just the way, as a matter of fact, that he lived. At the end of the chapter, he rose, tweaked our covers, bid us good night, and left the room. He’d snap the light switch on his way out the door, and start in on a hymn. It is one of the bedrock memories of my childhood, him singing as his footsteps receded down the hall. I can picture his toed-out gait, accentuated by the Li’l Abner curl of his leather work boots. He sang the way he read, purely and plainly, although he had a tendency to hold back on a syllable now and then and drop it behind the beat, just a dab of jazz. His voice echoed up the stairwell until he was downstairs and the verse was done. Shortly we would hear the lullaby murmur of our parents in conversation, and the clink of a spoon on a bowl as Dad had his bedtime cereal or a dish of ice cream.
How warm we were in our beds, watching the light slip silent around the room until it shrank into darkness and we went heavy-lidded to sleep.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First and foremost, to my parents—anything decent is because of them, anything else is not their fault.
Gene Logsdon, Ben Logan, and Jerry Apps—country chroniclers long before I tossed my first forkful.
John and Julie—ever since we got out of prison, things have been going great. Mills (redneck doula and amateur body piercer), Billy and Margie (Knuckles, R.I.P.), Buffalo (Gosh, I hope it’s sunny for the next thirty years), Racy’s and the Racy’s crew for low lighting, late hours, drop-shipping, and a tab (and a special hello to Mister Happy for making me appear to be Miss Congeniality by comparison. Are those beans dolphin-safe?). Karen Rose for math. Krister for the usual rescues. Matt Marion for work and cat stories.
Robert Gough, from whose book my cutover synopsis was drawn. Wisconsin Historical Society, the curators of www.monarchrange.com, and Mary Beth Jacobson at the Dodge County Historical Museum.
Our Colorado family. ALR (giving public radio some low end). McDowells—indulging me now for decades.
Alison for the start, Jennifer for the finish (are we there yet?), Jeanette Perez, Rachel Elinsky, Jason Sack. Lisa, Tina, and now Elizabeth. Scranton (books in boxes!). Mags everytime.
Frank for both confirming and kicking the compass, plus the barber chair is back!
Blakeley—from Blue Hills to booking, what a road.
Alissa for handling it.
Everyone on the road and at the readings. My friend Ben.
Men’s Health, No Depression, Wisconsin People & Ideas, Hope, Encyclopedia of the Midwest, Backpacker Magazine, Farm Life, the anthology Seasons on the Farm (in particular Lee Klancher and Amy Glaser), Wisconsin Public Television (specifically Banjo Boy and the Vet’s Girl) and the Fond du Lac Public Library for publishing essays or producing projects from which some of the material for this book was drawn.
Our new Fall Creek neighbors. We’re lucky to be here.
Donna for finding these acres.
Nobbern, the only place I’ll ever be from. See you at the All-School Reunion. Here’s yer chicken.
If I missed you, knock firmly, step clear, and keep your hands in sight…. I’ll be right down, but not right out.
And in ways the world will and will not know, I love and thank the shaman girl, Snorticus the horse girl, and She Who is Still Emerging (but is so far trending LOUD).
About the Author
MICHAEL PERRY is a contributing editor to Men’s Health, and