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How many times have you heard the term "the good old days"? And how it was three miles to school, uphill both ways? You have probably heard it more than you can remember and certainly more than you want to. After all, the good old days are only good to the person who has experienced them and…….good only if you want them to be just that.
To me, the "Happy Days" of the 1950's when I was growing up were good ones for me. It was a time of a strong economy following WWII, a time almost absent of divorce and single parent families. It was also a time of new thinking and freedoms, the start of a new era in technology, a new style of music and ………. Of course for me, '57 Fords!
Ah yes, life on a farm was a wonderful growing up experience for both boy and girl. Of course the girl(s) of the family didn't think that the boy(s) had to do a thing to help and….. Of course, on the other hand, it was difficult for the boy(s) to see over the haystack and observe a sister involved in equally challenging chores about the house to make life easier and more pleasant for the male gender. Guess I'll be able to relate only to the experiences I had as a boy.
In the days that I was growing up on the farm, after the war (WWII), transition was just occurring from on all physical labor force to a more mechanized one. Yes, Dad's first tractor was steel wheeled, but not long after a brand new bright red International Farmall "H" was purchased. For a bit of a premium payment, a set of bootleg or black market (as they referred to it) rubber tires were included. During the war, most good rubber was required in the allied effort. Oh so proud he was of that shiny new red tractor. I don't remember ever seeing him wash the tractor but do remember him being pretty fussy about any scratches or grease on it for the first few years. Two rows at a time, soil was tilled, planted and harvested. That process continued for, count them, 30 more years until he retired….. and that $700 tractor was sold for $1500.
Although the farm boy never went hungry and was never allowed to be bored; there was a certain envy of the "town kids" who it seemed to us that had fewer more chores than burning the trash once a week and mowing the lawn in season. Aren't perceptions different between youth and maturity! Athletics and other extra curricular activities were an important part of the "well-rounding" process of growing up; however it seems that they did not take on the leading role they do in the same localities today, whether rural or urban. Kids actually all took part in the activities. In fact in a small school such as the one I attended, it was quite common for the boys to provide opposition in practice for the girls volleyball team. There was indeed, a very real difference however the priorities of the period.
MY DAY as a typical boy growing up on a farm began an hour or two before breakfast. Ohhhh, those cold winter mornings that I remember so well began by a leap out of bed, snatching my clothing in mid air (or so it seemed) and a mad dash to the living room where next to the "oil burner", I dressed for the day. Now mind you, Mother might have a little twist in the part of the story about the gleeful leap out of bed; but if you don't tell her any different, neither will I. Partly the reason for the "dash" is that there were no middle of the night trips 'twenty yards to the out-house'. Into the clothes and also the cold "five buckles" (you had reached a full male status when graduating from those that had only 'four' buckles on the overshoes) and off to the farm yard and barn. Although Dad (and a lot of times Mom) was 40 steps ahead of me. That was OK with me after a large snow because it made the 100 yard trek to the barn easier by stepping in Dad's tracks. I suppose today that is why I still feel it is important for a Father's role to take the lead and blaze a trail rather than push a child.
The trip to the barn was an easier one, carrying an empty steel milk bucket in each hand. There was even time occasionally to toss a corn cob for the 'dog' to fetch……………. And seasonally a snow ball at him….. baseball practice you know. Setting aside the sometimes cold and darkness, mornings were actually an easier time for me. The cows had been locked inside of the fenced enclosure, for whatever reason called the "lot", that surrounded the barn.
Summoning the milking cows into the barn was an easy task because not only were their udders full and heavy, but they were also pampered a bit. At the time, it seemed a more appropriate term was 'bribed' to me, but now I look back and remember hearing from Dad, a "good morning Bess, got lots of milk for me this morning?" and a gentle hand that cleaned the udder a the while talking to her. I swear as the cows chewed on the grain or hay placed before her, I could detect a smile on their faces, or at least I hoped so as they were so many times larger than myself. Of course that smile continued if you were careful enough to keep your fingernails closely trimmed. I remember also how they pampered me by switching the flies away from my head as a sat on the single legged stool, stripping away to fill the bucket. I am not sure however they had a grasp of when fly season actually was, because in the winter that tail was usually laced with a frozen ball of 'mud' on it and was certainly not as welcome to me. I like to think also that they were keeping time with my voice in practice for choir that day.
In the years before television, radio, especially in the morning was a treat, no matter the program. We must have been pretty fortunate to have two radios, one for the house and another for the barn. After the cracking of the tubes warming up, sounds flowed. Depending on the time of the day, typical programs were the 'squeaking door' of Inner Sanctum, a leap over tall buildings with Superman, the antics of Lum and Abner, Amos and Andy and always the weather report from Henry Fields brother, Frank of Shenandoah, Iowa. Not a session went by without what Dad claimed an enhancement to the quantity of milk we received, the soothing music of Von Monroe, swinging and swaying with Sammy Kay, down home with Diana Shore or the robust voice of Kate Smith. Not sure about all of that helping the quantity of milk but it did help pass away the time.
The stool we used to set on while milking was nothing more than two pieces of board (2x4) nailed in the shape of a T that one carefully balanced on. Although there wasn't any padding, it was handy because as you grew taller, it was simply reconstructed to suit…….. and in those emergencies that the milker had to move back from the cow , it was easily pushed aside with the foot.
Before the actual milking began, it was my duty to climb high in the hay loft of the barn, tossing down several bales of hay to the covered area on the back side of the barn. From there, dragging and carrying them to a wooden feeder for the balance of the cattle in the lot. The afternoon milking included getting a bushel basket of corn still on cobs for a treat to the milk cows.
Once the milking was complete, the heavy (and heavy was good because that is what bought groceries) buckets of milk up the path to the "wash house", an outbuilding next to the house that doubled as a place to take a bath in the summer and also a place to separate the cream from the cows whole milk. The cream received was stored and taken to town twice a week and sold. While the cream was being separated, it was my job to help by feeding and watering the hogs, breaking the ice from the cattle watering tank and refilling it. An interesting name for hog feed was "slop". I guess it really did look like that to me at times because the hogs would eat about anything, including my Chicago cousins new Mackinaw coats left hanging on a fence post. A shovel of grain to the chickens and back to the wash house for the skimmed milk. It was carried back to the barn to feed calves still being weaned, the hogs, cats and dogs and of course some for the hogs' slop.
With that all done and Mom cooking breakfast, I hand pumped a bucket of water for the house (no inside plumbing) and if time permitted, filled the corn cob box used for fuel in the wood burning cook stove.
Now it was time to 'wash up', eat a hot breakfast, change my jeans and rush off to school. In nice weather, my bike ( a girl's bike, a sister's hand-me-down) would take me there in a flash, usually just as the "bell" was ringing to start classes.
My choice, for two reasons, was Mom's cooking for lunch, in lieu of school lunches. Not only was Mom's cooking better in my eyes, we could not afford for anyone to eat 'out'. That created the need to make the ¾ mile round trip once more each day, good weather and bad. Considering a 40 minute lunch break and the commute, we never fully appreciated Mom (and Dad) for being in the kitchen, food prepared and on the table at the precise moment of arrival, allowing the return trip to school and the ringing bell.
Well, in the afternoon, the process duplicated itself…….. before supper and any extra curricular activities at school. I fully realize now that I was not the only one with this kind of a schedule. The afternoon chores included fetching the cows from the pasture ( or the picked corn field in the fall and winter) which could most often be up to a half mile away. It was a fun time for me though as I could always fantasize a game to be playing during the journey and it was never without my friend 'dog'. I use 'dog' because over the years, I had several 'dogs' as my pal.
Dog, with a very thoughtful use of the built in clock, would sit on the corner and watch for me to return from school. Inbred direction would send it to the pasture to select the 'milk cows' from the herd and return them to the corral or 'lot', setting in the gate until someone would come to it's relief. I guess that I can't say enough about the intelligence of a good dog and their usefulness on the farm as a helper or protector. I recall many times that I would have been sent up a tree or sailing over the nearest fence to escape a nervous bull or protective new mother cow.
In the fall, another task preempted breakfast. It was called trapping season. That tireless Mother would wake me up as early as four AM to walk the creek, checking my traps for mink or muskrats. Trapping was a source of my spending money for the winter. A good year would yield $15-$20 for the month's work. Of course the catch of the day (after the other chores were done) needed to be skinned and skins stretched out to dry.
Yes, sometimes those days got very long…… but I rarely thought about it and never questioned the reason for my role in life……….and yes, probably as close to God as I have ever been……… and yes also I still look back at that time as "the good old days". I sincerely hope that you can see the experiences of your growth in the same way.
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