If you are going to be a farmer you have to be able to think fast on your feet and way outside of the box.
I think in all the years that I have been dealing with cows and farmers there is one time when I really appreciated this trait.
My dad, who lived for several years in the back yard in a mobile home, had a great view of the barn lot. Maybe not what you would advertise in a real estate ad but invaluable to us in keeping an eye on the cattle. He would sit at the kitchen table and watch the antics of the weanling calves, pregnant mamas, or teen-aged bulls who would rotate through the barn lot. For a man who always loved to farm but spent his life living in town and running a store, this was as close to heaven as he could get without wings.
It was about noon one day when he called the house. "You might want to check out the heifers in the barn lot. You've got one in the feed trough." Puzzled by why this might be an issue, after all feed troughs were used all over the farm, I wiped my hands and trotted to the fence to see what was troubling him. I soon came to a shocked stop when I saw what he meant. We did have a heifer in a feed trough, what he didn't explain is that she was upside down with all four feet sticking up in the air. The feed trough in question was a homemade affair created by splitting a 50 gallon drum lengthwise and putting it on legs. Creating two long bowl shaped troughs. A V-shaped metal hay rack was then welded to the middle so they could be fed both grain and hay.
It looked like the heifer had been standing on the uphill side, parallel to the barrels when one of her lot-mates bumped her. The edge of the barrel caught her just below her shoulders and before you could say "Jack Rabbit" she was flipped upside down. She was now emitting pitiful moans as she waved her feet feebly. She not only looked ridiculous she was in imminent danger of dying. Cows aren't designed for that position. In a short while the gases in her several stomachs were going to start building up and she would bloat. Shortly after that her heart and lungs would become stressed and she would be one gone heifer.
I looked around helplessly. I simply had no idea what to do to get her out. By now Daddy had made his way to the barn and was assessing the situation. He came to an immediate conclusion, "Call Bob!" He was right--this was a job for Super Farmer! Unfortunately, Super Farmer was at work in his office in town.
I ran back to the house (no convenient cell phones then) and frantically called the office. The phone was answered politely by his elderly office "girl". To my frantic demands for Hubby, she calmly replied that he was across the street having lunch and would be back in 30 minutes. "You have to go get him!" I demanded, "It's an emergency! His heifer will die!" "Maybe you can call the restaurant" she calmly replied, "I'm alone in the office and someone might call if I leave my desk." "It doesn't matter. Just go tell him to come home! It won't take two minutes! " I begged. (The restaurant was literally straight across the street.) No luck.
I hung up and frantically called the restaurant. No answer. A not uncommon situation during the busy lunch hour when the phone either couldn't be heard or just didn't get answered. Then I remembered that the office next door was manned by a young farm wife who would understand the seriousness of the situation. No only that but she worked for a man who was also a cattleman, so he would understand too. "Angela, I need help." Soon I had explained my problem. "Got it!" she said and hung up on me. She dashed across the street and in minutes had hubby on the road home. (You gotta love small towns!)
Hubby rolled into the barn drive and leaped from the truck. After a quick check of the situation and the heifer, he started issuing commands, while climbing to the loft and throwing down several bales of hay. When Daddy and I got them to the lot, he placed them by the feed trough. Then he got a chain and revved up the little tractor. Hooking the chain through the metal hay rack over the feed trough he used the tractor to pull the whole trough over onto the stacked hay bales which kept it about three feet off the ground. The heifer rolled out when the trough came over and landed neatly on her feet. Giving us all a look that plainly said, "What took you so long?", she ambled off.
After shaking Daddy's hand for catching a potential problem and giving me a quick hug, he jumped back in his truck and returned to the office.
Super Farmer. Didn't even get dirty.
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
Saturday, April 26, 2014
The Last Remodel
When a man buys a farm he is thinking only about the land. He will consider the fences, barn, working pens and ponds but the real issue is the land. That's why farms are always purchased as so much per acre. Most farmers don't really consider the house, it just is something that comes with the farm, like the barns.
When we bought our farm, nearly 30 years ago, the house was sturdy (if you discount the cracked foundation wall in the basement) and had been spiffed up nicely. My hubby, eager to get me on board with the sale, rashly promised that if I would just live in it for five years he would build me a new one. He didn't lie, it just took a little longer than he figured.
Over the ensuing years we've replaced the cracked wall in the basement (an adventure which included four workmen trying to get through a small opening when a large snake skin dropped on them when the wall came down), added a bathroom, furnace, air-conditioning, dry walled over plaster and lathe walls, put down hardwood floors over the pine subflooring that was all we had before, replaced the antique kitchen cabinets, (which had been repurposed from at least two previous lives), added two porches and a sunroom, along with rewiring and replumbing most of the house. This week we began what hubby devoutly hopes is the last room to be remodeled. I guess you could say I will then have the new house.
You see, last winter was the straw that broke this camel's back.
All winter (which seemed to last forever) I have had two men and four kids trooping into my small utility room shedding muddy, wet boots, coveralls, coats, mittens, and hats. Soon the resulting piles were spilling into the kitchen, trailing over the house, and contaminating any clean clothes not immediately removed from the laundry area. Eyeing the clutter I came to the realization that the objects in question were only going to get bigger as the owners grew. Thus, the idea to enlarge and remodel the utility room was born.
Like all of our projects it's been an archeological dig. In pulling out the walls we began to see how the house had been added on over the generations. When electricity came to the farms, farm wives discovered that with electric pumps they could have running water in the house. Thus, the bathroom was added, usually off the kitchen to share the water access and electricity. Ours is no exception. The space left over became my utility room. The old, green tongue and groove walls gave us a hint that part of the space had been added as an old porch, which was later enclosed. Clumps of old 1952 newspapers stuffed around the windows for insulation gave the date that the porch was turned into part of the house. Like the housewife of old, I am giving up part of my porch to create the new, bigger space.
Looking at my house I can't help but think of the farm wives that have added to, rearranged, and modernized this old house to make it more comfortable for the family. I think about their days as they pumped water at the kitchen sink by hand for the daily use in the house. This included cooking, cleaning, bathing, and washing clothes. I can imagine the excitement when electricity first became available for the rural residents. The first room to get electricity was the kitchen. Usually just a ceiling light but oh to have a steady, bright light to work by. Soon every room had a ceiling light, then came electric outlets for the growing array of items.
Each of these families lived, laughed, loved and reared their children in our house. They cared for their families and left their mark on their home in countless little touches. I marvel at the history and wonder at their stories. I hope years from now another farm wife remodels and is struck by the touches that I have left on the old home. I hope she approves.
When we bought our farm, nearly 30 years ago, the house was sturdy (if you discount the cracked foundation wall in the basement) and had been spiffed up nicely. My hubby, eager to get me on board with the sale, rashly promised that if I would just live in it for five years he would build me a new one. He didn't lie, it just took a little longer than he figured.
Over the ensuing years we've replaced the cracked wall in the basement (an adventure which included four workmen trying to get through a small opening when a large snake skin dropped on them when the wall came down), added a bathroom, furnace, air-conditioning, dry walled over plaster and lathe walls, put down hardwood floors over the pine subflooring that was all we had before, replaced the antique kitchen cabinets, (which had been repurposed from at least two previous lives), added two porches and a sunroom, along with rewiring and replumbing most of the house. This week we began what hubby devoutly hopes is the last room to be remodeled. I guess you could say I will then have the new house.
You see, last winter was the straw that broke this camel's back.
All winter (which seemed to last forever) I have had two men and four kids trooping into my small utility room shedding muddy, wet boots, coveralls, coats, mittens, and hats. Soon the resulting piles were spilling into the kitchen, trailing over the house, and contaminating any clean clothes not immediately removed from the laundry area. Eyeing the clutter I came to the realization that the objects in question were only going to get bigger as the owners grew. Thus, the idea to enlarge and remodel the utility room was born.
Like all of our projects it's been an archeological dig. In pulling out the walls we began to see how the house had been added on over the generations. When electricity came to the farms, farm wives discovered that with electric pumps they could have running water in the house. Thus, the bathroom was added, usually off the kitchen to share the water access and electricity. Ours is no exception. The space left over became my utility room. The old, green tongue and groove walls gave us a hint that part of the space had been added as an old porch, which was later enclosed. Clumps of old 1952 newspapers stuffed around the windows for insulation gave the date that the porch was turned into part of the house. Like the housewife of old, I am giving up part of my porch to create the new, bigger space.
Looking at my house I can't help but think of the farm wives that have added to, rearranged, and modernized this old house to make it more comfortable for the family. I think about their days as they pumped water at the kitchen sink by hand for the daily use in the house. This included cooking, cleaning, bathing, and washing clothes. I can imagine the excitement when electricity first became available for the rural residents. The first room to get electricity was the kitchen. Usually just a ceiling light but oh to have a steady, bright light to work by. Soon every room had a ceiling light, then came electric outlets for the growing array of items.
Each of these families lived, laughed, loved and reared their children in our house. They cared for their families and left their mark on their home in countless little touches. I marvel at the history and wonder at their stories. I hope years from now another farm wife remodels and is struck by the touches that I have left on the old home. I hope she approves.
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