We raised Holstein dairy cows. We had some bulls but mostly milking cows.
Once my parents were on their own, my Dad started out living at Tipton's as a tenant farmer crop sharing. He was a good steward of the land rotating crops such as corn, pinto beans, sugar beets, alfalfa, potatoes and wheat or barley. There was all kinds of machinery in the yard for each crop took a little different harvesting equipment.
The milk barn was primitive but did the job. The cows waited in the correl set up to hold a number of cows. There was always an order to how they waited to be milked. Several loved to be milked first and would crowd into the front by the gate so they could walk into the barn.
I had my own cow. Her name was red. All the herd had black and white spots. My cow had red and white spots. I myself had fire-engine red hair. It was really long and Mom braided two long braids each day that hung down the middle of my back. I heard I was going to be named Penny, but evidently Joyce won out. Many family members called me red even if I didn't like it much.
I didn't know my cow Red very well. We weren't fast friends. I just knew she was my cow.
When the gate was opened about 5 cows were ushered into the stantions. There was a grain storage bin in the second floor of the barn. We filled a bucket and poured a scoop of grain into each stantion. When the cows stuck their head in the wooden V-shaped apprentice, the wood well worn from years of use moved down holding the cows head in place. They were eager to eat some of that grain.
With a gentle pat on their rear, my Dad or brother Alan took a bucket of water and washed the cow's utter. A strap was slung over their back to hold the big old shinny five gallon milking tank. The top of the tank had 4 suction cups that attached to the cows teats and started sucking away filling the tank with warm milk.
Once the milking machines were set up, multitasking begin. A curry comb was used especially around the cows hip to remove any crusty dirt they brought in from the corral. Invariably, the cow would take a dump while being milked. A big old shovel was used to clean that up and fling outside the barn.
When the milking was completed the suction cups fell off the cow resting on the tank. The tank was taken off the hook, strap removed and the stantion released so the cow could back out. The milk was emptied into a big shinny bucket close in the doorway to the other rooms. When I was old enough, my dad let me carry the bucket to the front room. I'm pretty sure someone else had to lift it up to the strainer where the milk ran down a cooling refrigerated sheet of ribbed metal into a tray the emptied into 25 gallon milk cans.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
Cookies drying on the fence
Helen, my friend at work, remarked how fun it was to grow up in the 50s.
She mentioned that she enjoyed making mud cakes. She would mixed up some rich Indiana soil with some water in a bowl and then pour it into a cake pan (probably an old tuna tin can). Once dry the beautiful mud cake would fall right out. She had lots of sisters to help her out with a tea party serving her cakes.
I mixed up my dirt with water and added some gravel I found in the yard. Our farm yard was big enough for the for the tractors and machinery to turn around. The yard was covered with pea size gravel to keep the dust down and to keep the yard less muddy when it rained. I took my stiffly beaten concoction and spooned out cookies along the fence line to dry. Like Helen I had pretend tea parties with my dolls at a little table using some small play dishes. Yes these were real dishes that broke if you dropped them and cut you if you touched the broken parts.
I had a couple of play tables. One was white metal trim with a green vinyl type table top. The chair folded out with green seats. They were miniatures to what the parents had for folding chairs. My cousin Julianne was a few years older. She had grown out of her little table. Julianne's mother, Onita Gibson, always had the best taste and bought Julianne the very best. It was the cutest little thing made out of wood and painted a soft pink. The little matching wooden chairs were painted the same pink.
I had a small childs rocking chair made of maple with a darker red upholstry. I keep this chair for years and years. Once my children were too old to use it I gave it to a lady who I meet at an art fair in the 80's. It was an art show over several days. She and her little girl were staying in their van. It was bitter cold and she had no money to buy a hotel room so I invited her to spend the night. I think she was from Colorado Springs. When her little girl sat in the chair it fit her just right. It needed recovered pretty badly by that time. This women knew how to re-upholster things so I gave it to her. She gave me one of her water colors, which I still have to this day. It is of an old pick-up in the woods. I love it.
We played softball in Goldsmith's field next to our school. All the kids gathered in the field. We needed everyone so we could play work up. Not many of us had gloves. I didn't like to be the pitcher not because I had trouble getting the ball close to the batter, but because the balls would come barreling toward you from the bat and with no glove they could really sting when you tried to catch them. I could hit the ball OK, but didn't have a clue about strategy. Just hit the ball anywhere you could and run like hell before someone throws you out. We didn't have much equipement except a couple of bats and a few balls. No hats, uniforms or other snazzy equipement for us.
Stan said the same thing about playing balls when he grew up in New York. It was called stick ball. They really had good ball savvy playing in the streets and the empty lots. Manuvering around the things in the lots it interesting compared to the smooth fields neatly marked off in parks today.
Children were innovative and knew how to entertain themselves with limited materials.
Pleasant Valley was my country school with grades 1 - 8. There were about 4 - 10 kids per grade on two floors in three rooms. It was special to be selected with a classmate to take out the flag and string it up the pole. We learned to fold it properly so it ended up in a triangle like they do when a soldier dies and they hand the flag to a mother or wife as they say Thanks to your son or husband for the service to your country.
We also took turns ringing the school bell high in the steeple with the big fat rope. Blackboards lined the rooms and we all stood around the boards with white chalk in our hands waiting for the teacher to read off arithmetic problems. Then we would scurry to be the first one finished with the problems with the right answer.
We sat around a large table with our reading books and took turns reading different paragraphs. I wasn't very good at this reading out loud thing so I would count kids and paragraphs to determine which would be mine. Then practice reading to myself so when it was my turn I would be able to pronounce all the words. No wonder I didn't learn what we were reading, just how to read my paragraph outloud. They must have been history books.
We had small playground. The big kids walked around the school house during recess, girls walking together with the boys huddled watching them. The little kids played on the swings, teter-tater and big old slide. We would swing the swings as high as we could pump, then jump out to see who could jump the farthest.
One swing set had a monkey bar. We liked to hang from our knees or standup and pump it faster and faster. One year the school put on a circus for the parents. My friend Lois Goldsmith and I were the trapese artists. Our moms had made us little bright blue cotton costumes with short flared skirts. They had embroderied our names with sequins and trimmed the skirts edge too. We were probably about 7 years old.
We would slick the slide by sitting on waxed paper as we came down. The slide was long and had a curve that would slow you down if you didn't get a good move on. With the slide all slicked up you would be thrown about 5 or more feet at the bottom. The teachers were not so happy when they found out about the slicked slide. At the top of the slide we would sometimes grab the poles and slide on down. I spend the first few years with skinned knees from falling out of the swings or scuffing into the dirt from the slide. The teacher would bandaid me up after she dapped the spot with murcurochome. Ouch. Bactine was finially invented which didn't hurt at all.
She mentioned that she enjoyed making mud cakes. She would mixed up some rich Indiana soil with some water in a bowl and then pour it into a cake pan (probably an old tuna tin can). Once dry the beautiful mud cake would fall right out. She had lots of sisters to help her out with a tea party serving her cakes.
I mixed up my dirt with water and added some gravel I found in the yard. Our farm yard was big enough for the for the tractors and machinery to turn around. The yard was covered with pea size gravel to keep the dust down and to keep the yard less muddy when it rained. I took my stiffly beaten concoction and spooned out cookies along the fence line to dry. Like Helen I had pretend tea parties with my dolls at a little table using some small play dishes. Yes these were real dishes that broke if you dropped them and cut you if you touched the broken parts.
I had a couple of play tables. One was white metal trim with a green vinyl type table top. The chair folded out with green seats. They were miniatures to what the parents had for folding chairs. My cousin Julianne was a few years older. She had grown out of her little table. Julianne's mother, Onita Gibson, always had the best taste and bought Julianne the very best. It was the cutest little thing made out of wood and painted a soft pink. The little matching wooden chairs were painted the same pink.
I had a small childs rocking chair made of maple with a darker red upholstry. I keep this chair for years and years. Once my children were too old to use it I gave it to a lady who I meet at an art fair in the 80's. It was an art show over several days. She and her little girl were staying in their van. It was bitter cold and she had no money to buy a hotel room so I invited her to spend the night. I think she was from Colorado Springs. When her little girl sat in the chair it fit her just right. It needed recovered pretty badly by that time. This women knew how to re-upholster things so I gave it to her. She gave me one of her water colors, which I still have to this day. It is of an old pick-up in the woods. I love it.
We played softball in Goldsmith's field next to our school. All the kids gathered in the field. We needed everyone so we could play work up. Not many of us had gloves. I didn't like to be the pitcher not because I had trouble getting the ball close to the batter, but because the balls would come barreling toward you from the bat and with no glove they could really sting when you tried to catch them. I could hit the ball OK, but didn't have a clue about strategy. Just hit the ball anywhere you could and run like hell before someone throws you out. We didn't have much equipement except a couple of bats and a few balls. No hats, uniforms or other snazzy equipement for us.
Stan said the same thing about playing balls when he grew up in New York. It was called stick ball. They really had good ball savvy playing in the streets and the empty lots. Manuvering around the things in the lots it interesting compared to the smooth fields neatly marked off in parks today.
Children were innovative and knew how to entertain themselves with limited materials.
Pleasant Valley was my country school with grades 1 - 8. There were about 4 - 10 kids per grade on two floors in three rooms. It was special to be selected with a classmate to take out the flag and string it up the pole. We learned to fold it properly so it ended up in a triangle like they do when a soldier dies and they hand the flag to a mother or wife as they say Thanks to your son or husband for the service to your country.
We also took turns ringing the school bell high in the steeple with the big fat rope. Blackboards lined the rooms and we all stood around the boards with white chalk in our hands waiting for the teacher to read off arithmetic problems. Then we would scurry to be the first one finished with the problems with the right answer.
We sat around a large table with our reading books and took turns reading different paragraphs. I wasn't very good at this reading out loud thing so I would count kids and paragraphs to determine which would be mine. Then practice reading to myself so when it was my turn I would be able to pronounce all the words. No wonder I didn't learn what we were reading, just how to read my paragraph outloud. They must have been history books.
We had small playground. The big kids walked around the school house during recess, girls walking together with the boys huddled watching them. The little kids played on the swings, teter-tater and big old slide. We would swing the swings as high as we could pump, then jump out to see who could jump the farthest.
One swing set had a monkey bar. We liked to hang from our knees or standup and pump it faster and faster. One year the school put on a circus for the parents. My friend Lois Goldsmith and I were the trapese artists. Our moms had made us little bright blue cotton costumes with short flared skirts. They had embroderied our names with sequins and trimmed the skirts edge too. We were probably about 7 years old.
We would slick the slide by sitting on waxed paper as we came down. The slide was long and had a curve that would slow you down if you didn't get a good move on. With the slide all slicked up you would be thrown about 5 or more feet at the bottom. The teachers were not so happy when they found out about the slicked slide. At the top of the slide we would sometimes grab the poles and slide on down. I spend the first few years with skinned knees from falling out of the swings or scuffing into the dirt from the slide. The teacher would bandaid me up after she dapped the spot with murcurochome. Ouch. Bactine was finially invented which didn't hurt at all.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Reminisces from the 50's
I was chatting away with my friend Helen on a warm sunny day in May. It had just rained for 4 days straight over the Memorial Day holiday so this was welcomed warmth.
I have visited with my new 7 month old Granddaughter enjoying every minute of smiles and recognition she gave when I entered the room. She lights up the room with the joy in her soul. Her parents love her dearly and she unconditionally loves them back.
Helen asked me I felt loved when I grew up. She did coming from a large family with bushels of love and shortage of wealth.
I felt cared for and loved in a sense that is difficult to discribe. We lived on a farm in a small community north east of Greeley, Colorado. Going to church was our regular and required routine. As a youngster under five I sat on my Mom's lap while resting my head on her chest to listen to her voice inside while she sing the hymns during church service.
We always had new dresses and shiny shoes for Easter and Christmas. My dad wanted his children to look their best on Sundays. Even though he lived in work clothes during the week, dirty from hard labor on the farm working the fields, milking cows and caring for the meriade of things that need repair, he always cleaned up on Sunday's. I could him to this day whistling as he would carefully scrap the weeks dirt from under his fingernails. On Sunday he wore a crispy starched white shirt, suit and tie. Then donned one of those 30's style fedoras.
One year when I was four or five I noticed my new Easter dress hanging on the corner china closet in the dining room. My Mom and Dad had picked it out for me. It was one of those ruffly gossimer type little girl dresses in grey overlayed on top of yellow. Yellow I love. Grey I don't. I must have had a real temper tantrum about that dress refusing to wear it because I didn't like it. I hid in the back room closet crying my eyes out. I'm sure my parents wondered how they raised such a spoiled little brat.
That Easter Sunday I wore the dress and the new shoes, but hated every minute of it.
What I liked was living on the farm and being outdoors. My Mom worked hard keeping the duties of the household and caring for three children. I was the youngest. She pretty much had child raising down to a fine art. She was a very practical person who took her responsibilities seriously, while still allowing herself special time to work on sewing her projects and meet with her friends.
We had a clothesline that ran the length of our two-story farm house. Certain days were alloted for different household chores. I think Monday was washing. It was a chore in itself. Much more labor intensive than sorting colors tossing them in the washing machine with some soap and waiting for half an hour. The water had to be heated up and poured into the tub. Later we must have installed some pipes and a water heater. The clothes were aggetated in probably lie soap (Ick), then picked up soppy wet and ran through the wringer operated by hand. Later units were automatic, but still had the wringer process. I assume the soapy water was drained out and clear water added to the tub to rinse out the soap. More wringing. Then out the door with a big wooden bushel basket as plastic had not been invented yet.
As a very young child I tagged outside with my Mom while she hung up the clothes. My Mom put me in a army green colored harness type thing with a long lead. She snapped the lead to the clothesline and off I ran up and down the wire. I must have been two or so. I'm sure that was a good choice to keep be from running into the yard around the machinry or wonder into the correls with the cows or bull.
I don't think the harness and lead went with us when we went to town on Saturdays. My car seat had rounded metal that snuggly fit over the bench seat in our old Chrysler. The seat frame had a loose canvas pouch with two holes for my legs. I sat between my Mom as my Dad drove. I'm sure if we had ever had an accident, which we didn't, the baby seat would have slipped right off the bench seat and I would have gone flying through the car.
We always went to town on Saturdays. The men would wait around their cars and chat with the other farmers who were neighbors and relatives. I held my Mom's hand as we went around the block stopping at the five and dime to look at the jewelry counter. At the time there was a high luxery tax on jewelry as we had just came out of the war in the late 40's. People were to pay the price for such extravagance.
Toward the end of the Saturday shopping Mom stopped at the Bakery to by buns that she used for the evenings dinner when she made hamburgers. There was no fast food places as franchises were not even invented yet. These were those extra greasy hamburgers fryed in bacon grease. Even better was when the bun was dipped in the cooking grease just before serving.
I have visited with my new 7 month old Granddaughter enjoying every minute of smiles and recognition she gave when I entered the room. She lights up the room with the joy in her soul. Her parents love her dearly and she unconditionally loves them back.
Helen asked me I felt loved when I grew up. She did coming from a large family with bushels of love and shortage of wealth.
I felt cared for and loved in a sense that is difficult to discribe. We lived on a farm in a small community north east of Greeley, Colorado. Going to church was our regular and required routine. As a youngster under five I sat on my Mom's lap while resting my head on her chest to listen to her voice inside while she sing the hymns during church service.
We always had new dresses and shiny shoes for Easter and Christmas. My dad wanted his children to look their best on Sundays. Even though he lived in work clothes during the week, dirty from hard labor on the farm working the fields, milking cows and caring for the meriade of things that need repair, he always cleaned up on Sunday's. I could him to this day whistling as he would carefully scrap the weeks dirt from under his fingernails. On Sunday he wore a crispy starched white shirt, suit and tie. Then donned one of those 30's style fedoras.
One year when I was four or five I noticed my new Easter dress hanging on the corner china closet in the dining room. My Mom and Dad had picked it out for me. It was one of those ruffly gossimer type little girl dresses in grey overlayed on top of yellow. Yellow I love. Grey I don't. I must have had a real temper tantrum about that dress refusing to wear it because I didn't like it. I hid in the back room closet crying my eyes out. I'm sure my parents wondered how they raised such a spoiled little brat.
That Easter Sunday I wore the dress and the new shoes, but hated every minute of it.
What I liked was living on the farm and being outdoors. My Mom worked hard keeping the duties of the household and caring for three children. I was the youngest. She pretty much had child raising down to a fine art. She was a very practical person who took her responsibilities seriously, while still allowing herself special time to work on sewing her projects and meet with her friends.
We had a clothesline that ran the length of our two-story farm house. Certain days were alloted for different household chores. I think Monday was washing. It was a chore in itself. Much more labor intensive than sorting colors tossing them in the washing machine with some soap and waiting for half an hour. The water had to be heated up and poured into the tub. Later we must have installed some pipes and a water heater. The clothes were aggetated in probably lie soap (Ick), then picked up soppy wet and ran through the wringer operated by hand. Later units were automatic, but still had the wringer process. I assume the soapy water was drained out and clear water added to the tub to rinse out the soap. More wringing. Then out the door with a big wooden bushel basket as plastic had not been invented yet.
As a very young child I tagged outside with my Mom while she hung up the clothes. My Mom put me in a army green colored harness type thing with a long lead. She snapped the lead to the clothesline and off I ran up and down the wire. I must have been two or so. I'm sure that was a good choice to keep be from running into the yard around the machinry or wonder into the correls with the cows or bull.
I don't think the harness and lead went with us when we went to town on Saturdays. My car seat had rounded metal that snuggly fit over the bench seat in our old Chrysler. The seat frame had a loose canvas pouch with two holes for my legs. I sat between my Mom as my Dad drove. I'm sure if we had ever had an accident, which we didn't, the baby seat would have slipped right off the bench seat and I would have gone flying through the car.
We always went to town on Saturdays. The men would wait around their cars and chat with the other farmers who were neighbors and relatives. I held my Mom's hand as we went around the block stopping at the five and dime to look at the jewelry counter. At the time there was a high luxery tax on jewelry as we had just came out of the war in the late 40's. People were to pay the price for such extravagance.
Toward the end of the Saturday shopping Mom stopped at the Bakery to by buns that she used for the evenings dinner when she made hamburgers. There was no fast food places as franchises were not even invented yet. These were those extra greasy hamburgers fryed in bacon grease. Even better was when the bun was dipped in the cooking grease just before serving.
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