Those Were the days Among Many

`           We had to take turns doing the barn chores and looking after the chickens. Right after we got home from school, we had to put chop and hay in the mangers for the cattle, the pigs and fowl.  The horses, Dad looked after when he got home with them. He was always afraid that the horses were too big for us to look after. Those big gentle giants, were always eager to go, eager to please and ate a lot of food. Then over to the hen house, pick the nest of eggs and put them in to a pail or whatever we had in our hands to carry them. There was a certain way to get an egg while the hen was sitting on it. If you put your hand in from behind, you had to do it slowly, that old hen never blinked an eye. Try it from the front and your hand would be right smartly tattooed by her beak. The other thing you had to watch for was the old rooster, especially if the hen was nesting. He didn’t like anyone entering into his territory. Once the eggs were picked, then the pigs had to be fed, and they also got chop and at times grain and fresh water.

It was with fascination that I sat at my fathers knees and watched him strip the fur off the animals he had caught. With each animal that he worked on, he taught me more and more about how to take and preserve the fur from the animals.  To him those furs were money and there were certain ways to strip the furs off.

It was also with equal fascination that I watched him as he fixed the tires for the cars and equally with our bikes. It seemed that he could do anything he turned his mind to. I helped him load the manure boat and haul the manure away every day. Never ever would he let a day go buy that the animals stalls were cleaned of old manure and replaced with fresh fragrant straw. Rarely was hay used for bedding purpose, just straw and I learned how to do that also.

            I can remember the time Dad had decided to feed the pigs fish. He could scoop up the fish for free, pay not a cent for them. This was when there had been when the fish at Ninette were dying by the hundreds. Free food for the pigs. Right!!! Have you ever eaten pork meat that tasted like fish? Remember, there were two whole pigs that were slaughtered that fall, and we ended up eating, fishy meat. I’ll tell you, Dad never did that again.

It was such fun when the pigs or the cattle got “out”, that meant that the garden could get raided or the animals would end up on the road that ran past our yard. You can just forget about trying to make a pig go where you want it to go. Such nice language could be heard as we dashed about here and there after those four legged critters. It’s more cantankerous than a teenager when you try to make it do what you want. It takes three people to corral those pigs, but I have done it alone, after much fuss and bother. Now cattle on the other hand, are easier to drive. Those days when it was my turn to go and get the cows for milking, I had to walk a few miles. This I didn’t mind, far better than doing chores or house work.

I would find a pole or a straight stick from somewhere, call to the dog and off we went. Sometimes, I even went barefoot, through pastures and fields. I would stop along the way, to admire the flowers, to watch a gopher, to see if I could find a Killdeer nest. I would watch the flock of swans not far from me, or the geese and ducks as they landed on the field. It was nothing to see a garter snake slither past with the dog chasing it. He must have had a dislike for the snakes. . One must have bit him at one time or another Sometimes I could see a skunk or two in the distance, or a mole. At times, the hardest part of getting the cattle was trying to get them to come out of the slough they were standing it. Couldn’t blame them though, it must have been nice and cool standing belly deep in water. They seemed to know why I was there, and they slowly and reluctantly herded themselves towards the barn, a mile or so in the distance. I never rushed them, if I got back to soon, I would have to help finish the chores or go into the house to do housework which I hated with a passion.

Now, I was never the best milker. My mother was, she could milk three cows to my one and then she would have to “finish it” as she put it, to make sure that all the milk had been stripped from the udder of my cow. That was fine with me; I would then amble over to the separator and help it along as pail after pail of milk was strained through into the big bowl. It soon separated the milk and the cream, but Mother sure made sure that she got every drop of cream from the milk. She had the screw down so tight on it so that it would separate most or all of the cream.  The skim milk in the stores, tasted better than the skim milk that she put through that separator. I did not, however, like warm milk straight from the cow. I liked my milk cold and still do, although every once in a while I do heat up milk with some vanilla and sugar for a treat. Whole milk, even the 3% that is suppose to be called whole milk today, wasn’t too rich for me to drink. Now I find it far too rich to drink. Talking about milk and cream, we used to make our own butter and since Mom and I were the only ones that liked the buttermilk, we would have lots to enjoy. I still like buttermilk, but it sure tastes different to what I grew up with.

When we saw the churn sitting on the table, we tried to see how fast we could disappear out of the house. Never always worked though, I sometimes wondered if my mother had eyes on the back of her head. She would usually catch one of us and she would always call us by name without even looking to see who it was. You should have heard us moan and groan. It seemed to take forever to make that butter and as one had to turn the handle to make the paddle go; it became awful tiring turning it for what seemed like hours on end. But in the end, we had the sweetest butter you ever tasted. Then Mother would put it in a strainer and strained the entire liquid out and then put it in a butter box and form a brick. Some times she would mix butter and margarine and I wasn’t crazy on the taste.

            I used to love annoying the animals and my parents had no love lost on me when I did annoy them. Any treatment I got from the animals, my mother thought I well deserved, but heck, it was fun doing it!! The building in what my dad called his machine shop or tractor shed as it was called more often than not was just low enough for us to scramble up on the roof. It was easy to do so on this building as it was still made of the logs and mud. Every so often dad would stuff mud into the cracks, when it rained the ground was mud.  Anyway, getting off the track here, I hated the old gander that roamed freely where ever he wanted in the barn yard. I think he knew I didn’t care for him, as he would hiss at me when I got too close to him and his ladies. I would get pissed off with him, and hiss and honk right back and then I had to run and climb onto the tractor roof to escape him. After called for mom to come and help me, she would chase away the gander and then gave me a tongue lashing for disturbing the gander and her. 

I’d also do the same to the mean old rooster ever once in a while. It sure was fun while it lasted. Once in a while the Billy goat that mom had would chase us up to the roof top. There was no way any of us would come down until mom came and tied him up somewhere far away. The nanny was okay and it was funny watching how mother milked her. She milked that goat from behind. I often wondered what mom did with the milk, I never did find out.

            That’s all for tonight, couldn’t sleep so thought I would put it on paper before my mind forgot what it was I was thinking about. What do you remember growing up? I would love to hear from you.