Pride is a terrible thing.
Once there was a girl named Mary who grew up in rural Georgia in the early 1900’s. Mary’s parents were farmers. They had horses, a mule, cows, pigs, and chickens. They grew vegetables and fruit for the table, and cotton for cash. Although there was never much money in the bank, if any, Mary’s family had enough to eat, a plain but comfortable farmhouse, and clean, well-made clothes that her mother sewed. They were hard-working, neighborly people, well-respected in the community.
Even as a young girl, Mary was not satisfied with farm life. She was petite and pretty and she didn’t want to get dirty. Animals- from the heavy, patient workhorse to the kitten playing on the porch- terrified her. This was unfortunate, since it’s hard to live on a farm without soil, sweat, and livestock.
Mary didn’t mind hard work- as long as it was inside the house, and not out in the cotton or cornfields. She cleaned, cooked, and churned; she ironed cotton shirts and shirtwaists with the heavy sad iron. Mary sewed skillfully, but preferred fancy embroidery or crochet work to patching overalls or hemming calico skirts.
While Mary’s mother had a keen eye for creating her own patterns and making pretty dresses almost like the ones the town girls wore, Mary yearned for those frilly, store-bought dresses. She wanted to live in a big, white, two-story house. She liked school, and books, and she dreamed of going to college. Mary loved fine, beautiful things and she wanted them around her.
But Mary’s daddy loved farming. He would say, “The hotter the sun shines, the better I feel.” He thrived on the smell of the earth and making things grow. Her mother, too, was most content outside- whether in the kitchen garden, in the fields, or among her many flowers. For a time, the family had tried living in town, but it was on the farm where Mary’s parents were happiest- even if Mary’s daddy had to get extra jobs at the sawmill to make ends meet.
So- by sunrise every morning, Mary’s family was busy plowing and planting, laying by and harvesting, feeding and milking, canning and drying. One year the cotton crop was especially good and Mary’s parents were able to buy a used surrey with fringe on top. Mary felt pleased that that she wouldn’t have to ride in the wagon to church or to town any more. After all, she was sixteen, and studying to be a teacher.
Mary’s mother heard that women in the county were making extra cash by tufting bedspreads at home, and she jumped at the opportunity. Although the pay wasn’t much, it was something- and Mary’s family eagerly turned out and sold hand-tufted spreads. With her father’s extra jobs, they were able to save enough money to buy a brand new 1924 Model T Ford.
Her daddy pulled the shiny black beauty into the yard one Saturday afternoon, and Mary, her brother, and sister came running. Aunts, uncles, and cousins gathered around the new automobile. As the men examined the engine, the women exclaimed over the sleek interior, barely daring to touch the leather seats, and little boys made faces at themselves in the mirror-shiny sides. Mary imagined the sensation at Mount Zion Methodist Church the next day, when they wheeled in. She would be the envy of all the girls, and how the boys would flock around! This was as fine a car as the people in town had! At last, Mary felt she was on her way up.
After the last admirer had gone home, Mary’s father buffed away fingerprints and carefully parked the automobile under a shed he had built on the side of the barn. The family who had worked so hard to realize a dream went to bed happy and satisfied. But no one was more pleased and proud than Mary.
If the story ended here, it would be a story with a happy ending- but this is where the foolish rooster comes in.
A big red rooster ruled the chicken yard. He was arrogant and bad-tempered, and because he was king of the chicken yard, he felt he was king of the world. Take a cupful of pride and a cupful of meanness. Alternately stir in vanity and the desire to pick a fight. Add a heaping tablespoon of ignorance and a dash of meddling, and you have a recipe for great foolishness. Give it spurs and you have a recipe for disaster.
The old rooster woke up early and left the chicken yard where he belonged, ready to meddle in whatever business was afoot. He strutted around, fluffing his feathers, showing off. Everybody, even the hound dog, knew not to mess with him. As he turned the corner and swaggered into the shed, he stopped cold. There was another big red rooster!
He was a nasty-looking, stuck-up old bird, and he was ready for a fight- but the rooster from the chicken yard thought he could take him. That other rooster didn’t look like he had much except a bad attitude. The red rooster stared menacingly at his enemy. The other rooster stared back. He flew up and squawked a challenge. The other rooster did the same. He jumped at the other rooster with his spurs. The other rooster jumped at him. It was war. He attacked in full fury. He leaped to the left. He slashed to the right. Everywhere the other rooster showed his ugly face, he fought and ripped and squawked.
Mary’s daddy, who was in the barn milking, ran to see what the commotion was about- but by the time he got there, the whole side of the shiny new Model T Ford was gashed beyond repair. The family sadly gathered around the defaced and mutilated automobile. Later they silently rode to church. Mary wasn’t so proud anymore. They say such experiences are useful for building character, but that’s little consolation at the time.
The only bright spot of the day was the family did have a satisfying dinner.
Consider what you will concerning pride and foolishness- and speaking of dinner, check out today’s companion post: “Mary’s Fried Chicken.” It’s my grandmother’s recipe, a Southern favorite, and it’s sure to leave you feeling satisfied, too.
In a day when farm-children seldom finished high school, Mary graduated from Powder Springs A & M and McKenzie Business School- but she was never able to go to college. She worked as a book-keeper, then married a handsome widower with three young children. She later had a daughter, and made a lovely home for all of them. She always worked hard, loved beautiful things, and believed that everyone should be the best they could be. Although she lived a long, honorable life, she never quite forgave the old red rooster.
I guess Mary shared that story, awesome reading. I liked the picture of Mary and Homer.