Ninety years ago my Dad and five other farmers went together to buy a seeder, each of them contributing $9 to its purchase.
They shared the costs of equipment for seeding  in spring and threshing costs in the fall. When summer was over and harvest finished in the fall of 1924 Dad’s bill for his share of the threshing was $418. His farm expenses for the entire year ended up being a little over $1300 and his profit was $644.03.
The grain binder that was in his name only was repaired at least eight times in August: there are that many entries in his handwritten records that just say “binder repair.”
He bought almost four hundred pounds of twine during August and September that was destined for use on the binder, tying every individual bundle of grain that would be cut,  shocked for drying, and finally threshed as the threshing crew moved from farm to farm. That’s a lot of twine. These are all details. Dots. (more…)

Traveling by car with or without a family was a big deal in the 1930s.
Roads that were sometimes barely more than well-worn trails across the prairie connected one little town to the other.
Those who traveled them regularly knew where the mud holes were, which creeks were fordable and when, and which farmers didn’t mind if you camped overnight at the edge of their pasture or field. A heavy canvas tent was sometimes carried along in case shelter was needed.
We still played in that big tent in the early 1950s. It was about 12′ by 12′ – a large one. Probably weighed about twenty pounds and depended on heavy wood poles for its sturdy stand.  We depended on older brothers to set it up when they might have time after field work on a summer evening. (more…)

Our older son called me just before Father’s Day to tell me of a gift he wants to give me in appreciation of my efforts to preserve our MBOBs.
He recently bought a new camera with lots of digital doo-dads and special features. The point-of-purchase goodies included this: the retailer from whom he purchased the equipment will produce a single copy of a full size, four color coffee table book featuring DS’s photography. It will always be a one-of-a-kind item.
He plans to photograph mailboxes and old barns that he finds in his work-related travel across Colorado, Nebraska and Wyoming. When the book (titled Mailboxes and Old Barns) is completed, it will be my keepsake, eventually to return to his hands.
He was just checking to see if that would be ok.  Oh, yes. That would be ok.
Concerned whether it constituted taking my idea. Oh, no. That’s not taking my idea – that’s blessing mom’s heart.

What love is it that puts into the hearts of our children some grotto of life that shelters the same heritage that holds our own hearts steady?

It doesn’t get much better than that. (more…)

Mailboxes along the roads and old barns set back in fields overgrown with weeds often served as landmarks that told us where we were and how far we had to go in the high dry prairie country of northeastern Montana where I grew up. Sometimes the mailboxes signaled “home” and the end of the road; at other times, barely visible through swirling snow, an old barn told us we had miles to go. When I started compiling word pictures of those times a few years back I realized they were like those mailboxes and old barns–still identifying important places along the road, still signaling where I am and how far I have to go.
There are mailboxes and old barns surrounding us now ...we don’t have to wait twenty years or fifty.
Breathe them in now. Touch them now. Think about them now. Let them encourage now. Talk about them now.

(more…)

Maxine Lee is grandmother of our good friend carterzest. Today’s guest post from Maxine is the last in this series of seven drawn from the narrative of her family’s history from her 2005 publication – Some Assembly Required.  The publishing of her stories was a result of her dream “to leave a printed account to my family, of my beginning, my birth place and childhood, and a few of the lessons life has taught to me.”  Thank you, Maxine, for sharing with us what you gathered for them.

Bing Crosby, with Pennies from Heaven, provides a nice book end for this enjoyable series as well as a framing for Maxine’s Scripture thought for today, which carries the same title. Thank you, Maxine, for all of the word pictures of all the pennies from heaven that fill our lives – blessings past, present, and future.   ~Sharon

General Foods

Hog Butcherin’, Hayin’ and Puttin’-By

In the early summer, we had ice cream. Dad and the boys went to the lake and cut out huge blocks of ice in winter, buried it in sawdust piles which kept enough ice to make ice cream. Churned by hand, packed in ice and salt and covered with gunny sacks to harden, the ice cream was soon ready to be eaten.

Since we always had milk, mom made biscuits and white gravy. That is still one of my favorite things – with sausage or salted beef. We often had fried potatoes. They were crisp, salted and peppered and cooked in an old black cast-iron skillet – the best way to do fried potatoes. Adding onions gave the potatoes still another flavor.

I know we had meat all winter and chicken in summer, but it didn’t make that big an impression on me. I do recall wanting to chew on the bony pieces of chicken, because the meat was always juicier on the wings and back. We were given only one piece of chicken and it was hard to choose: quality or quantity.

In summer, there were green onions and radishes, watermelon and cantaloupe. I didn’t learn to like the melons until I was older. I have already mentioned how important fish was to us which I still appreciate. Dessert was a once-in-a-while event.

When we lived in Oregon, meat became a once-a-week treat. In fact, it seems we never had anything in the house to eat. My teen years were the hardest, food-wise and otherwise; but that’s another story. When we lived on the Flynn place, and while Mom was in town one day, my brother got the bag of raisins down from the top of the cupboard, ate a lot, and talked me into helping myself to the raisins, that way Mom wouldn’t get quite so mad at him. We must have been hungry. (more…)

Maxine Lee is grandmother of our good friend carterzest. We will continue to share the narrative of her family’s history as presented in the book she published in 2005 entitled Some Assembly Required.  The gathering of her stories in the book was a result of her dream “to leave a printed account to my family, of my beginning, my birth place and childhood, and a few of the lessons life has taught to me.”  Thank you, Maxine, for sharing with us what you gathered for them.

Links to previous posts in the series will be shared at the end of each Sunday’s post.

Christmas

Santa Claus came and he brought peanuts and oranges. Dad laughed a lot, kind of embarrassed. I sat in Santa’s lap and he “fixed” me a peanut. He didn’t leave any presents. That was later.

Our evergreen tree had one long, beautiful ornament that Mom always put away wrapped in cotton batting. We put real candles on the tree in little clip–on metal bases. The candles were only lighted for a few minutes. That was lovely, and when they were blown out, the fragrance of the warm wax filled the little room.

We never had a lot of presents because we were poor, but we didn’t know that, so it was alright. One gift was all we expected. Once I longed (out loud) for a doll buggy. Christmas morning, while we waited for the fire to warm the ice-cold floor, Dad wheeled around the room with a bright, brand new buggy. Naturally, I assumed there would be a doll with it, but there wasn’t. Fortunately, I had a lively imagination. (more…)

Maxine Lee is grandmother of our good friend carterzest. We will continue to share the narrative of her family’s history as presented in the book she published in 2005 entitled Some Assembly Required.  The gathering of her stories in the book was a result of her dream “to leave a printed account to my family, of my beginning, my birth place and childhood, and a few of the lessons life has taught to me.”  Thank you, Maxine, for sharing with us what you gathered for them.

Links to previous posts in the series will be shared at the end of each Sunday’s post.

Baby It’s Cold Outside

Minnesota gets cold, bitter cold. Blizzards roar in without warning. We walked three miles through the swamp and over a couple of high hills to school. We dressed for the cold. We wore long underwear, shirts, wool socks in our shoes, and sometimes even over the shoes. We bundled up in trousers, snow pants, snow jackets, a snow cap, earmuffs, gloves and rubber overshoes to keep out the wet snow. Off we went, my sister, my older brother and I. Dressing up like this and spending lots of time outside really makes you appreciate when you get back home and get warm under the best patio heater, drinking a tea or hot chocolate.

One winter, when I was in first or second grade, I had not broken in my new shoes. It was a cold day and the snow was deep, and I wore snow boots over my shoes for the long hike to school. I was alright until about half way, when my feet began to hurt. My new shoes did not allow me to wiggle my toes and they began to get very cold. The teacher could hear me howl all the way to school. She met us at the door and hurried me inside. She removed all my clothes, down to the shirt, sweater and inside trousers, then my rubber overshoes and my new shoes. My feet were bright red, frostbite was setting in. The cure for that was to rub my feet with snow until they thawed out to prevent serious problems. I can still remember how it hurt to have my feet rubbed with that soft-looking snow that felt like sandpaper on a raw wound. (more…)

Maxine Lee is grandmother of our good friend carterzest. We will continue to share the narrative of her family’s history as presented in the book she published in 2005 entitled Some Assembly Required.  The gathering of her stories in the book was a result of her dream “to leave a printed account to my family, of my beginning, my birth place and childhood, and a few of the lessons life has taught to me.”  Thank you, Maxine, for sharing with us what you gathered for them.

Links to previous posts in the series will be shared at the end of each Sunday’s post.

Kittens, Dogs, Etc. ….continued….

Our cows became pets. We rode them, milked them, chased them and loved them. I still love a good Jersey milk cow and until our own boys left home, we kept one. We always had fresh milk, cream and butter and in the event of a bull calf, there was beef on our table. We had Betsy, Dolly, Pet, Spot and dozens I have long forgotten.

One day, when I was about five or six, Dad gave us strict orders to stay away from the barn because a cow was about to drop her calf and must not be disturbed. I had never seen a calf born and I was very curious. When Dad wasn’t looking, I sneaked out of the house to the window of the barn and peeked in. The calf had just entered the world when my father had come up behind me. I thought I got spanked for seeing something forbidden, when actually I got spanked for disobeying him. But it hurt more than just my backside. I had displeased my father, and I had a tender conscience.

We milked cows when we were small. My sister and I took turns, one helping in the house for the week and the other milking five of the cows. I liked the smell of the cows and cuddling up to one on a cold morning to milk was not too bad. I hated trying to find them when they wandered off. We all liked to play hide and seek after the milking was done, until my father finished the chores and we all went to the house.

My brother, Larry, struggled with allergies, so we got goats. They were a trial. The buck butted us when we weren’t on guard. The kids climbed on top of the car and on anything else that was around. They all ate ropes, cans – everything in sight. The old Billy almost hanged himself. He was tied beside the barn to eat noxious weeds and decided the grass was greener in the barn. He went through the window, and when I saw him, he was hanging by his rope making gurgling sounds. I ran and got Dad who cut him loose.

The goat milk tasted just like goats smell. The meat also tasted like goats smell and I still do not like goat cheese. It, too, tastes like goats smell. So much for goats. They taste a little like venison, but stinkier. (more…)

Maxine Lee is grandmother of our good friend carterzest. We will continue to share the narrative of her family’s history as presented in the book she published in 2005 entitled Some Assembly Required.  The gathering of her stories in the book was a result of her dream “to leave a printed account to my family, of my beginning, my birth place and childhood, and a few of the lessons life has taught to me.”  Thank you, Maxine, for sharing with us what you gathered for them.

Links to previous posts in the series will be shared at the end of each Sunday’s post. This is # 3 in our series of 7.

Scalped

My brother, Larry, was about three when Dad was plowing a field up the hill from the house. My mother was on her way to mail some letters near the highway. We kids liked to follow the plow, walking in the cool, sweet smelling earth as the horses slowly pulled the plow down the furrow. Maybe Mom’s arrival in the field distracted us all. I am not sure how it happened, but my little brother stumbled into the furrow, and instead of getting behind the plow, he got in front of it, and the plow ran over his head. Mom threw the mail into the brush, grabbed my brother and raced for the house with Dad and us behind her, after he tied the horses. Like with most head wounds, there was blood every where. My little brother recovered nicely – without a doctor, except Doctor Mom, and without antibiotics, just cool well water. The cut didn’t even leave a scar.

Fruit and Vegetables

We never went hungry. The farm always provided what we needed, and the cream money bought things like sugar and salt. Since we raised chickens and went fishing, we ate chicken and fish in the summer.

From our little home on the edge of the peatmoss swamp, Mom foraged for greens in the spring. She made a salad from the new dandelion greens – splashed with hot bacon grease, some vinegar, a little sugar, and fresh green onions from the garden. We had field corn, sweetened with a little sugar, wonderful potatoes, fresh from the earth or from the cold cellar which was dug into the side of a hill. In the fall, we gathered carrots, potatoes and turnips and buried them in sawdust in that cellar. We stacked squash for our table and for the cattle to eat. We also stored dried onions.

Mom bought flour and corn meal. One winter, it was so cold no one dared to venture to town, and we had to eat a lot of corn meal mush which was not good without salt. We also ran out of kerosene for the lamp, and had to sit by the light of the cook stove until bed time. We kids thought it was fun, except for eating corn meal mush without salt. Once, I got a taste of celery and I didn’t like it. (more…)

Maxine Lee is grandmother of our good friend carterzest. We will continue to share the narrative of her family’s history as presented in the book she published in 2005 entitled Some Assembly Required.  The gathering of her stories in the book was a result of her dream “to leave a printed account to my family, of my beginning, my birth place and childhood, and a few of the lessons life has taught to me.”  Thank you, Maxine, for sharing with us what you gathered for them.

Links to previous posts in the series will be shared at the end of each Sunday’s post.

Schools and Books

The first school I remember was located three miles from home. My brother was in first grade and brought home his books, See Jane. See Jane run. He read to me and soon I was reading better than he was. I loved to read and was so frustrated when I couldn’t make words out of the funny looking characters which I had not yet learned. As soon as I could read, I was hooked. I read everything that came my way. Right there and then I decided that some day I would have my own library.

The second school I remember was the most outstanding. My brother was always into mischief and had a mischievous glimmer in his eye. When we had a new teacher, it was his personal calling to drive her over the edge. I remember one in particular. I can still see her chasing my brother with a book in her hand, ready to beat him on the head with it, while he was quietly laughing to himself. The teacher had a big nose, huge feet and a boyfriend, which provided my brother with lots of ammunition to annoy her. It petrified me. (more…)