Can You Hear the Rooster Crow?: A Memoir of Farm Life in the Forties in a Family of Twelve

By Joann Farris

Growing up in Roswell, New Mexico, in the 1940s with five brothers, some younger and some older, Joann Farris considered herself a fortunate girl. As the only daughter of a daring air force pilot who proposed to his young sweetheart after just two weeks of dating, Farris grew up encouraged to follow her heart. That enthusiasm for lifes experiences and a healthy sense of adventure allowed her to not only follow but realize her dreams. She enjoyed a career in cable television and print media, working as a host, editor, and author.

Can You Hear the Rooster Crow? is her first full-length work and the very personal story of her life growing up on a family farm. She pays loving homage to each member of her extended household and invites readers into the full experiences of her lifethe celebrations, the missteps, and the tragedies. Inspired by her fathers mantra to help someone when you can, she learned the value of generosityand that spirit infuses these tales, tales that will simultaneously warm and break the heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 13, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462003587

Joann Farris

JoAnn Farris is well known as the host of The All-American Review television show and the editor of The All-American Review (Broodmare Edition), Livestock News, and Antique Review. She is the author of numerous childrens stories, including A New House for Woody, Megan Leaves Her Friends, and Twenty-five Cent Party.

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Contents

Bill

Evelyn

Ray

Tom

Edward

Frank

Joann

Can You Hear the Rooster Crow? is my first novel.

From the author with love to my kids:

Thank you, my friends:

Thank you to my grandkids:

In memory:

My unconditional love and special appreciation:

I have always wondered how far back other people could remember the first day of their lives. I have asked hundreds of people this question on my television shows and interviews over the years: What age were you when you had the first memory of your life? They have given me a variation of intriguing answers. Most, however, respond, When I started to school. When I started this book some seventeen year ago, I wondered why everyone did not remember the same time. As infants we start rolling over, holding on to toys, sitting up, drinking from a cup, talking, and walking within months of the same age. However, we remember our lives with years of difference. I had five brothers. I was safe. I wasn’t lonely. I don’t remember when I started school. I remember when I was nine. How about you, how old were you?

My first memory is when my brother Ray was born on May 19, 1946, in Portales, New Mexico. It was about then when I learned about our parents. Emmett Franklin Potter was born in Silverton, Texas. Ida Alice Backues was born in San Patricio, New Mexico. When they met in 1930, they both lived in Roswell, New Mexico. Daddy was a United States Air Force pilot stationed in Roswell. With eight more credits in college, he could have been an attorney. He was twenty-seven, and Mother was twenty. They dated for two weeks before getting married, and they were married for forty-five years. They both enjoyed music, dancing, being outdoors, flowers, and homemade food. Daddy was openly friendly and outgoing. Mother was more reserved. Daddy drank alcohol, and Mother didn’t drink at all. Daddy was English and Dutch with an Irish temper. He had freckles, a light complexion, dimpled cheeks, blue eyes, and red curly hair. Mother had American Indian and French ancestors, a dark complexion, dark-brown hair, and deep-blue eyes. They had seven children born in fourteen of the first sixteen years they were married. Mother was a pretty woman, and her career choice was that of a homemaker. Her wardrobe consisted of dresses, skirts, and pullover sweaters. She never wore a pair of pants or a shirt. She wore shoes that usually tied or wedges that she slipped her feet into. She didn’t wear makeup but used Avon perfume. If she wanted her thick hair curled, she curled it with bobby pins in little round swirls. She could cut her own hair, and she never changed her color. Daddy on the other hand dressed in khaki dress pants or Wrangler jeans worn with pastel shirts and sometimes sported a tie, a jacket, or a pullover vested sweater. He wore dress shoes or western boots. He always wore a belt. The less you saw of him taking off that belt the better.

Daddy enjoyed large cars, such as Hudsons, Chevrolet Suburbans, or stick shift Ford pickups. He was always checking the oil and changing the filters himself and was obsessive over a clean automobile. He kept a little broom and a dustpan in the trunk. When he had people riding in his car, he would sweep the floor of his car after they got out. On the other hand, Mother did the same with the house, and her kitchen was always spotless. She cooked three meals a day and fed everyone who dropped by. We always had cheese. Daddy picked out the cheese, and we learned to enjoy the good taste over the smell. Mother maintained a large white enamel pan with hot water heated from the butane stove with a bar or flakes of her homemade soap. She knew how to make her own soap using alkali on fat. Later in years, she bought Tide for laundry and Joy for dishes. That is after she started buying from the door-to-door Watkins salesman. The Watkins seasonings were great in her desserts. Her cakes were delicious. She made fruit cakes, carrot cakes, and my favorite—spice cakes made with a peanut butter cream frosting.

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We grew up with cake or cookies for dessert at lunch and fresh baked pies or hot cobblers with ice cream or fresh whipped cream for dinner. Mother’s favorite was pies, which she would bake in wide varieties the days prior to the holidays—from apple pies to rhubarb, mincemeat, coconut, chocolate, banana, and coconut cream pies topped with meringue. Neighbors bought pies from her for their holiday dinners. Mother made goat cheese and ice cream from goat