Family Stories I Want My Children to Remember - Gathering Eggs

In my family, the woman that is your mom or dad's sister, or your grandparent's sister... or is married to one of these people is called your "Ain't" (Ain't Jo, Ain't Laura, Ain't Belle, Ain't Edie, Ain't Sue, Ain't Sandra).  Now the title may be written in the form of "Aunt", but that is not how it is pronounced in Texas.

This story is about "Ain't" Edie, who was born in 1900.  She was a small stature of woman, a little over 5 foot tall at the most, and I would guess never weighed more than 90 lbs.  Growing up I knew Ain't Edie as Granny's sister.  She lived in a little frame house next to my grandparents on their land.  As a little boy, I remember Ain't Edie being the person who kept kids, dug potatoes, shelled peas, poured hot scalding water on the armadillo that lived under her house, cooked and ate squirrels my dad took her, would bust your rear-end with a broom if you needed it, and was known to get in a tussle with a goose or two.

Ain't Edie worshiped with her older sister, Ain't Jo at the little Baptist church down the road from her house. She always wore cotton dresses, a bonnet if outside, and in my memory was as dependable as the sun coming up.  Ain't Edie was just always there... part of the fabric of my grandparents house like the bell in the front yard, the grass burs, the old Sycamore tree, wood bees hovering near the back patio, and the room that had orange-colored carpet at the side entrance to the house.

By her own admission near her death in 1984, Ain't Edie confessed to my dad that she never dated, never had a boy friend, and never kissed a man.  She also confessed to have never drank any alcohol, chewed tobacco or dipped snuff.  She told him she thought she had lived a pretty clean life.  Now... I'm not one to throw rocks in a glass house, but I do remember Ain't Edie getting a little bit tipsy at a family Thanksgiving after eating two large pieces of pineapple rum cake that were probably more Bacardi than cake, but we will move on from this glitch in her memory.  I'm also not absolutely sure about the snuff dipping, either... but we won't sweat the small stuff in this story.

Through the years I heard stories about Ain't Edie grabbing and holding a small armadillo by the tail and encouraging my Ain't Janie to "hurry up and shoot it" with the chrome .22 caliber pistol she was precariously waving through the air, trying to get an adequate fix on her target.  Luckily, other family members noticed what was happening and intervened before Ain't Janie gained enough confidence before taking the shot.

My favorite Ain't Edie story was told by Granny.  It took place a year or two before Edie's death, which meant she was in her early 80's.  Granny was standing at the kitchen sink one morning and could see Edie walking down to the chicken coop to gather eggs.  The coop was only about six feet tall and Edie pretty much disappeared on the other side.  All that was visible was Edie's leg dangling in the air to give her balance as she leaned in to check each nest. It was about the time that Edie was in this precarious position that the goose took exception to her being there and attacked, latching on to what muscle there was on her bare dangling leg.

Granny said she winched as she saw the attack take place, but there was nothing she could do to stop it being that she was inside the house.  As the goose took hold a brawny little hand could be seen reaching out beyond the backside of the coop and grabbing the goose by the neck.  Ain't Edie and the goose disappeared behind the coop in a cloud of dust and feathers.  After several seconds the goose came rolling over the top of the chicken coop and to the ground on the other side.  The gander landed with a thud, realized Ain't Edie had won this battle, and scampered away.

Edie soon appeared from the other side of the coop.  Her glasses were crooked on her nose, dress was torn near the hem where the goose had attacked, and most of the eggs in her little bucket were broken. She drug herself into the kitchen and sat down at the table, exhausted from her most recent fight with her 20 pound nemesis... a couple of down feathers still clinging to her hair.  Granny asked Edie... "How did you get him off of you?"  Edie collected her thoughts,  sighed and explained... "He had a good hold on me.  The only thing I could do was begin to swing him around like a windmill until I could finally throw him over the chicken coop".

It was a couple of weeks later that Granny shared this story with me.  As I left her house I realized... I don't see that old goose anywhere near the chicken coop or down at the pond.  I guess Ain't Edie finally won that war.