sing my favorite ewe Breeze to a breach birth during lambing season. Through her death we did come out with two beautiful lambs; which we named after her in her memory. Decisions were tough but they had to be made in order to save the life of either the ewe or the lamb. At the time they were not decisions that I believed were acceptable. Now looking back, they are decisions I would never want to make. Don't get me wrong, I cope with death fine when it comes to animals that are raised for meat, such as cattle or chicken. In fact, one of my favorite meals is chicken. My grandma raised chickens and butchered them herself whenever a dish called for the delectable birds. I remember specifically her walking to the chicken coop and grabbing one of the unlucky chickens by the feet. She then walked over to the worn beat up shed were she would sit down on a dirty old stool next to a huge stump of what used to be a tree. Quietly and swiftly, she'd place the helpless chicken across the stump placing the neck outstretched. Then, with one quick movement of a hatchet, the head of the chicken would roll to the ground. She would stand up and set the body of the chicken on the ground and watch, as we kids would scramble to catch a headless chicken. The chicken would run every which way, providing us with a brief moment of chaos as we scrambled to catch it. My grandmother would laugh for hours recalling all the different techniques that we tried to catch this headless chicken. It was one moment in the summer that really brought every one together. My grandmother wasn't all laughs; she'd had her set backs, too. She lost her husband, my grandpa, when my dad was a senior in college. My grandpa died of a heart attack on Christmas Day, which ironically is my dad's birthday. My dad and mom, who were engaged at the time, rushed him to the Madison emergency room. The distance ended up being too great, as my grandpa died in the car. My grandmother went on running the farm by herself another ten years before her death. It took every inch of her soul to keep going after the death of her husband, but during that time she helped raise all thirty-two of her grandchildren by keeping us on the farm whenever we weren't in school. Her example, back in my earlier years, remains the source of most of my strength that I have today. Her strength was not the most important thing to my grandmother. The most valuable possession that she had was her family. She loved her family more than anything and spent every waking moment with them. She'd send for her grandchildren whenever there was a moment's break from our educations. Raising us was a breeze, she'd always say, compared to raising her own eight children. Playing with us was another of her favorite things; whether it be, bottle-feeding orphaned lambs or picking apples for fresh pies that night, she never passed up an opportunity to play with us. The family always gave back to her, whenever possible. My uncles would come home to help with the planting and harvesting seasons, as well as lambing season. My grandmother never once, that I can remember, asked for help. Family, she always told us, would always be there whenever she needed them. She would always say that if you can't count on family in life, you can't count on much. That value has been instilled in me since I was very little, from my grandmother as well as my parents, and remains one of my most treasured beliefs that makes me who I am. As I stand at the entrance of the farm looking down a long driveway of memories, I thank God for letting me spend as much time with my grandmother as he did. A lot of who I am and what I stand for started here on this farm on the outskirts of Howard, SD. And though I don't travel back as much as I would like to, the memories and effects that the farm had on me will remain close to my heart the rest of my life. A New Look at Old Memories Rising at the crack of dawn I raced down the stairs into the kitchen to find my grandmothe

Some common words found in the essay are:
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Approximate Word count = 2854
Approximate Pages = 11 (250 words per page double spaced)