One of my early lessons in common sense happened as a nine-year-old sitting at the kitchen table with Grandma Lola and Grandpa Bill, looking at some old black-and-white photographs.
Everything was bare, and the people in ragged yet clean clothes, many barefoot, looked half-starved. They explained that it was the early days of the Great Depression.
Concerned, I asked, “So, what did you eat?”<
“Many times I had lard sandwiches,” Grandpa said.
“So did I,” Grandma added. “We had a warm house, a cow in the barn, chickens in the hen house.”
“So why didn’t you eat the cow or the chickens?”
“Eat the cow or the chickens?!” Grandpa nearly shouted.
Then Grandma explained, “The cow was for milk, which we drank some of, and the rest we sold, the chickens laid eggs that we used for food and sold too.”
I had to think about that for a minute.
“So besides lard sandwiches, what else did you eat?” I asked.
“We ate vegetables we grew ourselves or traded for,” Grandma said.
“No meat?” Grandpa said as he got up and took me by the hand.
We walked out back of the house to the small barn he was using as a workshop and pointed at the row of boxes on either side of the building.
“What are those for?” I asked.
“Pigeons,” he answered. “They were always on the menu.”
The idea of eating a pigeon made me shudder.
“You’d be surprised what you can get used to eating when your real hungry,” he said, seeing my physical reaction.