A story was once told me, of a midwestern kid who went away to Berkeley. After just one semester, he had completely lost any semblance of his rural conservative upbringing. His father rarely heard from him. His mother was deceased.
After living 3 years on the Berkeley campus, he got news one day that his father had declined in health and died. The family lawyer asked him to come back to the Missouri farm and help settle his father's affairs, and look after the livestock until an auction could be scheduled.
He arrived late the next evening and found a note from the neighbor's kids, describing the work they'd done to look after the place for the past week. He walked around the barns, fields, and sheds, then went into the farm house to turn in for the night.
Whether the following events are real, LSD flashbacks, or visionary; is for the readers to determine.
He awoke after midnight to the sound of chickens clucking. He went to the coup only to find the chickens arguing with the pigs. How he understood them is incomprehensible. None the less, the chickens were accusing the pigs of not contributing to the communal needs of the farm.
He awoke after midnight to the sound of chickens clucking. He went to the coup only to find the chickens arguing with the pigs. How he understood them is incomprehensible. None the less, the chickens were accusing the pigs of not contributing to the communal needs of the farm.
