WorldWide Drilling Resource

29 WorldWide Drilling Resource ® FEBRUARY 2015 Through the Front Door! by Jim Kuebelbeck We are all products of our life ex- periences and motivations. No one was born a water dowser, doctor, airline pilot, an accomplished sports figure, or well drilling professional. For most of us, it took years and sometimes much effort to somehow become what we are. The readers of WorldWide proba- bly get tired of my usual water dowsing articles, so I sometimes try to interspace with some unrelated stories. What most of us encounter in life is seldom record- ed. This is especially true about events which occurred in our younger years. We still remember things from those early years, but seldom write them down for others to read. I grew up in the early 1940s, and have vivid memories of those times. In recounting some of those memories to my children and grandchildren, I dis- covered they found some of my stories quite interesting, and at times enter- taining. My children have often told me to write about some of my life experi- ences and put them into book form, but life has been too busy thus far. I now have many hundreds of such stories in my computer files. Maybe someday after I’m gone, one of my daughters will copy them and do what I never had the time to do. Although the following is not drilling related, perhaps you still might enjoy it. Raising Chickens Part 1 I grew up (supposedly) on a dairy farm with a number of sisters and broth- ers. Besides our dairy herd, we also raised various crops for cattle, such as corn, alfalfa, clover, and soybeans. Every summer we also raised chickens. Hun- dreds of chickens. Maybe thousands of chickens. Maybe it just seemed like that many to me. To this day, I still hate chick- ens. I’ll gladly eat them, but other than that, I want nothing to do with them. Although the sale of “extra” eggs to one of the stores in a neighboring town probably contributed to our farm income, it didn’t change my contempt for those two-legged animals. I was about eight years old at the time, and for me and some of my brothers, every other Saturday was devoted to cleaning out the bedding and manure in the chicken coop. In my mind, I can still smell the dreadful odor. I hated those chickens! Regularly collecting the eggs meant we had to sometimes reach under them in their little egg-laying enclosures. Most often, the darn things would resist giving up their “creations” by seriously pecking at our hands and fingers. To combat such conduct, my younger brother Allen and I came up with a solution. We discovered by quickly grabbing the chicken by the neck, dragging her out of her box, and tossing her out onto the floor, we could gather the eggs without being viciously attacked. This worked great, but those chickens often made such a squawking noise while being thrown out of their nests it soon came to the attention of our mother who happened to be within hearing range. Discovering what all the squawking was about, she wasted no words telling us if she ever caught us doing that to her “darling” chickens again, we would find ourselves cleaning out the chicken coop EVERY Saturday. Of course, we expressed sincere remorse at the time - but those dang chickens never noticed the difference, because with one of us as “lookout” to see if Mom was within hearing distance, our method of egg gathering continued unabated. Perhaps the trauma of being roughly ejected from their cozy little nests affected them psychologically in some way, be- cause after a time, we noticed some of them voluntarily removed themselves when they saw one of us approaching! The statements and comments in this article are my own and are based on information and references believed to be true and factual. If you have any questions or comments, please forward them to me in care of WWDR . Jim Jim Kuebelbeck may be contacted via e-mail at michele@ worldwidedrillingresource.com & ! $ # & # " ! $ # & # & " & ! " & " $ # & & ! & " & & "! " ! & " " ! ! ! !% $ # "! ! “Hard knocks have a place and value, but hard thinking goes farther in less time.” h Henry Ford