Tuesday afternoon

After leaving Wadena, I drove to Fergus Falls and killed a bit of time shopping at Fleet Farm.  Gotta love Fleet Farm, it's like Macy's for farmers.  When noon rolled around I figured it was time to head back to Ashby to pick up my ex-roosters.

The landscape around Wadena and Fergus is a lot different than around my hometown.  More trees, more hills, and more swamps and bogs. Which is very nice, if you like that sort of thing.  Me, give me a rolling prairie any day and I'm happy.
 

The snowmobilers had already taken advantage of the recent snowfall.

At 12:30 pm I parked in front of TFC Poultry, and walked inside.

They had lots of different meats for sale.  I was tempted to buy a frozen goose.  I've never tasted goose before.  The idea of having roast goose for a holiday meal appeals to me.  It seems very Victorian.

I walked up to the lady at the counter, and told her who I was.  She smiled and told me to wait there, she'll go find out where my chickens are.  A few minutes later she came back, a look of confusion on her face.  She can't seem to find my chickens.  I joked, 'did they fly away?'  She gave a light laugh, and I realized she's probably heard that one about five hundred times before.  She turned and saw someone coming out of the processing area, in the back of the building.  She asked her where my chickens are.  The processing lady said that they are first on the list to be processed, AFTER LUNCH.  They should be ready for pick-up, say, around 3:30.

What the #*$%?   My blood boiled.  My temper flared.  I tell the woman I was told they would be done by 1 pm.  When I made the appointment, I was told to have them here by 6:30 am, so they could be processed first thing.  The boss himself told me that morning, that he would call me if it would be later than 1 pm.  And here I am, looking at another THREE HOUR wait til I get my chickens.  The counter lady looked at me apologetically.  She recommended a local cafe for lunch.

I am a quiet person by nature, really I am.  But for whatever reason, right then and there in that store, I wanted to scream.  I wanted to throw things.  I wanted to rip all the hamburger patties, sausage links and chicken giblets out of the display cases and kick them across the floor.  But there was no use, my chickens would not be done any faster if I destroyed the place.

I walked outside, got into my car and called my husband. I told him I wouldn't be home til 5 pm, at the earliest.  Fighting back tears, I knew I was tired and emotionally erratic.  Four hours of sleep will do that to a person.  After a few deep breaths, I started the car.  I drove to Alexandria, had lunch and killed more time walking around stores.

At 3:30 pm sharp, I again walked through the door at the poultry processors.  The chickens were waiting for me, and the lady seemed overly helpful, carrying out the box and helping me load them into my cooler.

An hour-and-a-half after leaving finally leaving Ashby, twelve hours after leaving the house that morning, I pull into my driveway.  The sun has gone down, and the sky is a dusky dark blue.  I stomp wearily up the stairs of the deck, open the door, walk into the kitchen, and slump into a chair.  Hubby puts the kettle on for tea, and the kids all come running to give Mom hugs.

Infamy or no, it was a long day.