Hoosier Farm-Boy: Memoir by Gary William Steele
Chapter 3 : Farm-Life Memories
Section 3.1 : Farming as a Way of Life
While playing one of his favorite game applications on his phone, my nephew asked “What was your favorite ap on your cell-phone when you were a child, Uncle Gary?” After I stopped laughing, I explained to him that we didn’t have cell-phones. If I had thought about it for a while, I would have said; “We played the ‘Go Feed the Chickens Ap’ or ‘Slop the Hogs Ap’, or even ‘Milk the Cows Ap’ “.
Our technology has taken over our lives. We can’t go across town to a new doctor’s office without Google Maps. OMG!, I’ve lost the satelite signal, what do I do now? Heaven forbid if the electricity goes off. Yes, I’m as guilty as everyone else. Thats why when I reminise about growing up on the farm, the thought of a simpler time appeals to me.
Being a farmer is a very different type of career than a job where you work for a company and have a fixed work schedule. When a couple are married and purchase and live on a piece of land, that piece of land and property becomes their life. With a job you work a fixed schedule and your boss pays you for your time and you perform your duties and create a product or service for the company. As an employee you have satisfaction in your job as it pertains to performing your job well and you are compensated with money for that effort.
Farming families worked together to fulfill their “dream” of creating a homestead of their piece of dirt. Both the woman and the man are both “farmers” working together for a common goal. When kids are born and raised on the farm, they in turn are part of building that dream of creating a homestead. There is no fixed schedule for the work. Work continues until the job is done whether it is planting a field with corn, or milking the cows. The reward is directly in the produce of the corn or the milk from the cow, or the improvement of the farm with a new building or water well.
If you haven’t experienced this way of life on a farm, it is difficult to understand the pride that one feels in accomplishing simple tasks working directly with the soil of the earth or God’s creatures. My father was not a highly educated man, but he loved the land. I remember seeing him stop by the side of the road while we were driving in the country beside a field of corn or soybeans. He would walk out into the field and pick-up a clump of dirt and crumble the dirt in his hands.
At the time, my sisters and I thought he was a little crazy for doing this. Later I realized after studying about soil, that he was seeing how easily the soil would crumble between his fingers. This would tell him how “sandy” the soil was and its ability to hold moisture. If the soil did not crumble easily and was thicker, then it might have more clay content and would hold more water if it rained. He would stand beside the corn stalks and see how high it was compared to his own height. He used to say corn should be “Knee high by the 4th of July”.
We would drive past a field when a neighbor was spreading manure and the pungent smell would cause my sisters to hold their noses. My dad would reply “Smells Like Money”. He knew that the manure would make the crops grow strong and healthy by returning the nutrients to the soil. What a powerful lesson of the cycle of nature. Such wonderful country wisdom he had. It only took me sixty years to realize how “smart” my mom and dad were.
“The ultimate goal of farming is not the growing of crops, but the cultivation and perfection of human beings”. . . . Masanobu Fukuoka
Section 3.2 : Milking Old Betsy
We had one gernsey cow, Betsy, that we milked at 5am and 5pm. Gernsey cows had a much higher percentage of fat than the Holstein cows that are more common. Dad would open the sliding door of the milking parlor of the barn and cupping his hand to his mouth, give his famous cow call until Betsy was in sight and mosied up the wooden ramp for her twice daily ritual.
She made her way to the familiar stantion where her head would be clamped in place keeping her stationary. Feed from a burlap sack had already been placed in the cement trough in front of the stantion so Betsy eagerly munched on her treat.
Once Betsy was busy eating the job of milking could begin by calmly stroking the cow. Place the three-legged stool on the right side of the cow just far enough out of range of any stray kick that she might decide to make. Cows can kick either forward or backward and if you have ever been kicked by a cow, you don’t want to repeat the experience. Being stepped-on is not fun either, so keeping your legs and feet out of harms way is critical.
We would sit on the stool with the aluminum pail placed under the cow and carefully rest the top of my head against her side. Dad really seemed to enjoy this chore, resting his head on the right side of the cow as he milked. The physical contact with the cow had a calming effect on both the milk-er and the milk-ee. I can still hear the sound of the milk as it came in contact with the pail and the rhythm of the two streams of milk as he alternately pulled on the teats of the cow’s udder. Starting with the two teats on one diagonal and then switching to the remaining two.
Sometimes, we would turn the teat toward an ever-present cat, and squirt a perfect arch the fresh milk. If the cat was quick enough, it could get a warm drink from the mid-air fountain. The cow’s tail, natures perfect flyswatter, would be always busy battling against the hundreds of flies that were ever present, often hitting the milker as well as the flies. There would always be long sticky strips of fly-catchers hung on the rafters to catch unsuspecting flies. An old transistor radio playing in the background aways tuned to AM radio “WOWO” Ft. Wayne radio station.
The fresh pail of milk would be taken into the kitchen and poured through a huge strainer. The strainer looked like a huge bowl that had an approximate six-inch piece in the bottom with holes in it. A white filter was placed in the bottom of the strainer. A separate metal piece with a handle that was the same size as the filter was clamped down onto the filter to hold it in place. The milk always had small flecks of dirt or cow’s hair mixed in, so this straining process was definitely necessary.
How many of you will never drink milk again or have any milk products after learning of this? Of course, the modern process is a lot cleaner that what I describe here. After the filtering, the milk was placed in the pastureriser to sanitize it. Placing the milk to cool in the refrigerator was the last step. After a few hours cooling, the thick cream would rise to the top and would be skimmed off and put into a separate container. This then became the favorite topping for mother’s homemade applesauce, fresh strawberries, or homemade cherry pie.
Section 3.3 : WOWO AM Radio
I didn’t realize how famous this little Ft Wayne radio station was until I was researching for this book. I just knew that at the morning milking time, it was a tradition to listen to the morning farm report and the WOWO morning show.
Wikipedia reports “Farmers would have the radio turned on in the milking parlor. WOWO executives claimed it relaxed the cows and produced more milk.” “In a Little Red Barn” was widely popular on the radio in the 1930s and was used in many films from the 1930s to the 1950s. The “Little Red Barn” was also the theme song for the morning radio show on WOWO in Fort Wayne, Indiana, hosted by Bob Sievers. “Nancy Lee and the Hilltoppers” performed the song; Nancy Lee was the wife of Sam DeVincent, music librarian for WOWO.
Charles Hillinger’s America : Where ‘Little Red Barn’ Is a Big Deal : Mid-America Sounds Beamed From Indiana Radio Station; June 8th, 1989.
VERSE 1
I was born ‘way down in Indiana,
Wish that I were there right now.
Want to hear my dog bow-wow
When I go to milk the cow.
Raised on corn ‘way down in Indiana,
So was ev’ry little hen.
I was mighty happy then;
Wish that I were back a-gain:
CHORUS:
In a little red barn on a farm down in Indiana,
Let me lay my back on a stack of new mown hay.
‘Round the barnyard where the farmyard folks are pally,
Let me dilly-dally all the live-long day.
I’m a Hoosier who’s blue, thru and thru, and my heart is pining
For the sycamore trees where the Wabash breezes play.
What’s more, I’m pining for a yellow moon that’s shining
On a little red barn on a farm down Indiana way.
VERSE 2
Work was done ‘way down in Indiana,
Picked the eggs the chickens lay;
Pushed the plow and pitched the hay;
Ev’ry day a busy day.
Had my fun ‘way down in Indiana
When the sun would go to rest.
Saw it sinkin’ in the West;
That’s the time I liked the best.
Section 3.4 : Pigs in a Pick-Up
Raising pigs was a big part of our farm life. Dad would purchase piglets to fatten-up to selling weight, or we would farrow the sows ourselves and raise them. A sow could have three to four litters a year of an average of seven piglets. Most of the time, we had our own boars to breed the sows, but sometimes the sows would be bred by a neighbor’s prize boar in order to produce bigger and healthier pigs. On one occasion, we had six sows that we wanted to get bred from a neighbor’s boar.
My dad and I would load the six sows into the back of the pick-up truck early on a Saturday morning, leave them for a couple of days, and then bring them back home. At first, the sows didn’t want to go into the truck, but after a few trips, they would get right in the truck for their trip. The vet would keep checking to see if the sows got pregnant. After four such trips, with no luck, we decided to take a week off and not take the sows to the neighbor the following Saturday. That was fine with me, so I could get a chance to sleep-in that Saturday.
I was happily sleeping the following Saturday morning, when I heard the blaring of the pick-up truck horn outside. I woke up, startled! I thought the my dad had changed his mind about taking the sows to the neighbor for breeding, so I quickly got dressed and ran downstairs. I could hear the horn and the truck motor humming and ready to go, but I didn’t see my dad. When I peered into the truck, four of the sows were in the back, and to my surprise the other two sows were in the front cab. One was behind the wheel leaning on the horn, very anxious to get going as the other opened the door so that I could get in. We learned our lesson after that not to leave the truck keys where the sows could get them.
For those of you thinking that I may have made-up this story, just answer this question: “Does a chicken have lips?”
“Never wrestle with pigs. You both get dirty and the pig likes it.”
― George Bernard Shaw
Section 3.5 : Cutting Wood on the Farm
Fall was the time to replenish the furnace room in our basement with coal and wood to last through the winter. My uncle John, his sons Arden and Roger and my Dad and I would go to the “woods” as we called it, on Uncle John’s farm to cut down trees and split wood. I loved this time of year with the crisp fall air and being out in the woods.
Dad and Uncle John would hook up the tractors to a large pulley and a saw blade which made the cutting of the branches into smaller pieces much quicker and easier. My Dad and Uncle John would run the saw while the Arden and I split the wood with an axe. Roger was too young at the time to split wood, so he would help load the wagon or pick-up truck with the split wood. Half of the wood would go to Uncle John’s house and the other half for us.
In our basement furnace room, one side was for split wood, and the other side for coal. The coal was used more sparingly since it was more expensive, but it really held the heat for those long winter nights. My dad and I shared the responsibility of keeping furnace stoked with wood and coal, poking the wood and ashes to make sure the fire was burning properly.
The furnace in the basement had one large vent and a fan which blew the warm air through a large vent in living room on the first floor. The vent was about two feet square and was a favorite place for my sisters and I to stand in order to be nice and toasty in the winter. On the second floor of the house there was one small register vent right above the big vent on the first floor. It was about eight inches square and was in the middle of my sister, Becky’s room. She had the only room upstairs that was partially heated. My sister, Anna, and I were both envious.
All of the remaining rooms upstairs had no heat. My sister, Anna, related to me the story of what happened when my family first moved to the house when I was about three years old. According to her, Becky was faster than she was and ran upstairs first and made claim to this bedroom before she did. I always wondered why Anna, being the oldest, hadn’t claimed the biggest, heated bedroom upstairs for herself. Now that Anna, Becky, and I are now adults, I’m happy to say that Becky and her husband sleep in an unheated bedroom and Anna and I in our separate homes have heat in our bedrooms. I guess Karma does work. lol Becky
Section 3.6 : Six High and a Tie
Bailing hay in the summer was a fun job, but a hard and dirty job. One tractor would pull the hay bailer and scoop-up the dried row of alfalfa or red clover and create perfectly formed bales of hay about 3 feet long, 24 inches wide, and 18 inches high. A flat-bedded hay wagon would be pulled behind the bailer. The scoop of the bailer would rake-in the hay off the ground and the compactor would compact the bale.
Twine would be spun off of a roll in a special compartment of the bailer and be this then was used to tie and hold the bales together. Extra twine rolls would have to be available to replace as they ran out. After tying the bale, it would be spit-out of the back shoot of the bailer so the person on the wagon could stack them.
The hay wagon was flat except for the in the back where a vertical wood frame lattice prevented the bales from falling off of the back. The first two bales would be placed side-by-side together lengthwise, leaving about a two inch gap from the bales to the upright wooden frame. The next two bales were then placed in the same orientation on top of those two bales with a slightly smaller gap to the wooden frame. In this manner, six layers of pairs of hay bales were stacked in the first vertical column of bales next to the upright vertical wooden backing in the rear of the hay wagon. The gap in the bales caused the vertical column to lean slightly toward the back of the wagon so the bales of hay would not fall-off the front of the wagon when it was full.
Another single hay bale was then placed on top of the stack of six double bales right in the middle “tying” the two stacks of bales together. “Six High and a Tie” we said. Because I was a very tall boy, it was easier for me to throw that last bale on the top than my shorter cousins, Arden and Roger, so I always took pride in my ability to hoist that last bale to the top of the stack. We would sometimes also have contests as to how far each of us could throw a bale of hay. Everybody did their part and by the end of the day we all slept like dead-men.
