Our Farm Tractors

I can't imagine any country kid growing up with tractors who couldn't tell you a story involving them. With the three of us, I can think of at least one story for each of us, besides what I've already mentioned. We had three tractors. Two were John Deere B's and one, I think, was a John Deere 70. It would be easy to convince me I'm wrong about the 70. The clutch on a John Deere B is a hand worked bar that raises from the floor straight up. Then the gas is a small lever on the tractor behind/beside the steering wheel. You push the clutch forward to go and pull it back to stop. I will swear that one of our B's was backwards. But, I will probably be told by brother S that I'm wrong. I don't know any other way I could have done what I did. I'm sure I remember them as working the oposite. So when I was on the JD B that forward/went and backward/stopped, I had no trouble working the tractor. But, I was on the wrong tractor one day when Dad told me to just move it out of the barnyard. I pulled back, and pulled back, and pulled back and the tractor didn't stop. I had the front wheels, two small wheels close together, cranked all the way over so I was just going in a circles while I used both hands to pull that darn clutch back. But, I was still going in circles. I was just a little bit panicked, and didn't even think to push forward. The tractor wouldn't stop and I was all alone in the yard. No one to help, no matter how loud I screamed. I guess I could have just turned the key off.......(hindsight). I wasn't moving fast, just a small crawl and I wasn't in any danger, but I wanted the tractor to stop. So, I drove it into the side of the barn. It stopped! But, the manure loader was on the tractor. If you don't know what that means......it's a bucket with four prongs that raises and lowers to clean out the barn and dump into a manure spreader that takes the manure out to cover the fields. I put all four prongs through the barn. Four nicely spread holes in the side of our barn. I was in trouble. Then, I thought to turn off the key. (It's a wonder we lived to grow up.)

Now what J did was just as stupid. When a JD B won't start, you can take off the steering wheel by one bolt and use it to go around in front of the tractor and crank it till it starts. Then you bolt the steering wheel back on and go. Well, J wasn't very old, but old enough to know better. He didn't get the bolt on tight. He made it down our township road and to just about the same spot that I wrecked our shared car on the county road several years later. The steering wheel came off in his hands and he panicked. Instead of setting it back on the rod that held the bolt, J threw it. There went the steeing wheel in a straight line down the road, where he should have been going. J and the tractor, instead went off to the right. Through the ditch, through K.C's. fence and into K.C.'s sheep pasture where J finally got it stopped. (Bet it was the push/stop B) It wasn't our fence, like I would tear up, it was the neighbors and there was stock in the field. (It's a wonder we lived to grow up.)

Now, S's story is typical of S. Our stories were accidents, but S did his on purpose. He was suppose to be in a back field raking hay. He saw a skunk in the field. He decided to run over the skunk. He forgot to lift the hay rake. So there, in undeniable evidence, were the windrows of hay roaming all over the field to prove S hadn't struck and killed the skunk by accident. But, what got him in deeper s~*# was the smell of the skunk on one of our three tractors. Every time you started the tractor up, and it heated up, that skunk smell brought tears to your eyes and made it hard to breath. That tractor had to sit out behind the furthest building all summer. And, Dad was short a tractor every time there was work to do. Which just sent him into more rages all harvest season. (It's a wonder we lived to grow up.)

Next isn't exactly a tractor story, but it's a good time to remember it anyway. We had been baling hay all day. I had been driving the hay baler and it was getting late. We weren't finished with the field, so Dad decided to leave the baler where we stopped. There were two wagons ready to take to the barn. Dad and I were alone in the field because the others had already taken the other wagons to the barn. We hooked up both wagons behind the tractor and he told me to climb on top of the load and he drove us home. Which happened to be on the other side of the rail road track. Now, the RR tracks in our county (which was flat) were built up. They ran above the fields and roads. It was this same track Dad had to crawl across when he broke his leg. Each side of the track was a steep climb and a short distance across the track and then right back down a steep incline. When the hay wagon was at the peak of that "hill" and started down, the hay bales split apart just far enough for this little girl to slide down inside the load. The load came together again and I was trapped, v shaped, with my knees against my face stuck in the middle of the wagon load of hay bales. I screamed and screamed. But I was on the second wagon, and Dad had the tractor noise in his ears. He never heard me. It was about 1/4 mile, maybe a bit more to the house. I had to ride that way all the way home. Being squeezed by a whole load of hay bales on a gravel township road. Once he got home and turned off the tractor, they heard me all the way to the county line. Dad had to start the tractor, and instead of leaving it till morning, they had to pull it up to the elevator and unload half the wagon to get me out. It is an absolute wonder we lived to grow up.

Competition in 4-H

By having our Father as our 4-H advisor, we were under a lot of pressure. His kids had to be examples and the best. It was serious business. And, each year it started when the calves were ready to choose. Maybe some projects were bought at other farms, but our projects had to come from our own farm. I was the oldest, so the first year I was the only one and I got the best calf. Then my second year was J's first, so he got first choice. The next year, S got to choose first. We took turns that way each year. So there was competition between us to see if the one who chose first actually got the best steer. Of course, winning your class didn't mean the Judge was right! You could still believe you had the best. Maybe I didn't take it serious enough, I don't remember who had the most winners. Bet my brother could tell you. Competition at the fair was breed against breed. And, each breed was divided into heavy and light weights. Then the best of each class in each breed competed for Grand Champion. When we competed there were three main breeds and a mixed class. Angus, Herford and Shorthorn. It's much different now. And the things we looked for to win our class have even changed. I tried to go back to the fair a few times after I'd grown and had kids, but it just wasn't the same. With Dad pushing us, we learned how to pick the best steers and we always placed high in each class. Showmanship was also very important to Dad. In this class, you competed in showing your animal to make it look it's best. Each Judge seemed to have some very different ideas and this class could be frustrating. I was in a class once when the judge took the halter of an animal and sent the kid back to the animal behind him and this continued till each kid had a strange animal. Then he mixed us up by moving us all around. Next he took a halter and told the kid to go find his own animal. This continued till we each had found our own animal. I suppose his purpose was to see if we had spent enough time with our project to know our own animal. How silly. Or so I thought. Later I heard one of the boys say he only found his own because of the halter. He didn't know his steer, but he knew what his halter looked like. All I could think was how angry my Father would have been if that had been one of us. Then I heard others say they knew who had their steer. I guess if the judge had switched the animals more than once, some kids would not have found their own. 4-H competition was at your own county fair. Unless you took your project on the the state level. But, our Father also showed in open stock competition. So, we started at nerby counties and continued to show Angus cattle till the day before school started. That put us in contact with a whole different group of people than the Church and School kids we knew. Each county was different and then there were the others who followed the county fairs like we did. My friends loved to go to the fair with me. But, that meant that Dad could rope them into showing an animal if we had too many in one class. That was enough to keep some away, but I had two friends who loved it. We usually sold our 4-H steers at out county fair. We had heifers we could take to the State Fair. I only competed once at the state level. I'd won in every county and was no longer allowed to compete. (Daddy's little girl) I must have been 15 or 16 the year I tried at the State Fair. You had to get your own animal ready. That meant misting them and currying a pattern to make them look wide and smoothing their bellies so they didn't bulge in the middle. You fluffed and teased the tail. You made the hooves of the Angus shine black. You put a clean halter on and took your show stick. You needed it to make them stand with all four legs squarely under them, so their backs were straight and they weren't twisted. Heads were held up and they had to look alert. (Goodness, I haven't thought of those things in many many years. I think I got it right.) Anyway, after all that we headed for the show ring. We were shocked when we entered the ring and the Judge sent the best of us back to the barn before we could even show our animal. What an uproar. Those of us on the way back were not even told why. We learned later that this particular Judge had the idea that the animal should be dry. The kids who had done nothing to get their animal ready were allowed to show and the kids who knew what they were doing were sent to the barn in humiliation. Parents and Advisors made sure that judge never judged again. But, that didn't help me. I never showed in showmanship at the State Fair again. Except for that fiasco, I can honestly say I won every county during my years in 4-H. I even won a heifer calf at one fair. That contest brought out every showman in every county that was eligble. The class was so big, we couldn't even get in the show ring. They started us on the race tract, and sent kids back to the barn till they had a managable class. My biggest memory of that class was how long it lasted. My arm was killing me from holding up the head of a hot and tired calf. A few kids were eliminated toward the end because their steers actually laid down. It got down to three of us and I was the only girl and the youngest. Each time I was ready to give up, all I had to do was glance at my Father. He was bursting with pride, and I couldn't quit. We took the prize calf home.

J took showing as seriously as I did. He was a winner too. I think we both took pleasing Dad as serious business. But, not S. He couldn't have cared less. I remember the year S showed a steer by taking turns leaning on the animal and the animal leaning on S. His projects were more pets than projects. He spent as much time with them as we did, but it wasn't a business with him. S was very good with any animal. He could train them to do just about anything. But, he also knew exactly how to frustrate our Father to distraction. And it seemed that was exactly what he wanted to do. (Am I right, S?)

Growing up country

I still believe growing up on a farm in the 50's was about the best way to grow up. Maybe a Ranch out West might have been better....naw, just bigger. We were also lucky enough to have other kids about our own age on the nearest farms. With neighbor kids, school friends and 4-H friends, our farm was a gathering place. My girl friends lived in those rural homes that dot the highways. Only two others actually lived on farms. But it was our farm that everyone visited. There were other kids around most of the time and all summer. Our games included the barn, haymow, cribs and other buildings and the trees and land. We played cowboy and indians, hide and seek, touch football, baseball and many games with no names. We had BB and pellet guns, bows and arrows and my horse, Gypsy. Treasure was part of most of those games too. And, even better we had neighbors farms to explore and our Uncle's farms were available also. Granddad D's farm has a creek. One neighbor had a small frog pond and there was Uncle W's big pond. What more could a kid want? We got pretty good with the guns. As they got older, the brothers hunted rabbit and pheasant. I never hunted, but I could shoot a pistol. We practiced on apples hanging in the tree and we used egg cartons. We could shoot the center out of each individual egg cup. One friend, C.A.S. and I were shooting at apples one day. The neighbor who owned Rex (remember the dog) and someone else was sitting up in a haymow door. I can't remember if the other boy was a brother or another neighbor. But, I remember G teasing me that I wasn't actually hitting anything. Apples don't always fall, expecially from a distance. The BB'. just go through. We could see the splat, but I don't suppose G could see it from the haymow. If I told you how far away G was from my gun, I'd have to guess. It was far enough he had to yell to be heard. He was starting to get annoying, so I yelled at him. "OK, Where do you want me to hit you smart allick." He laughed at me and pointed at his shoulder. I pumped up that pistol as hard as I could. I didn't know if it would even go that far. Then C helped and we pumped it another couple of times. Meanwhile G was laughing and teasing and tormenting me. He didn't even flinch when I aimed at him, he sat in the haymow door and laughed at me. I put that BB right where he told me to. It went through his jacket and shirt, but didn't break the skin. It did leave a nice welt and a bruise. He went home and told on me. There was a complaint raised, but there had been several witnesses and G had to suck it up. I was scolded, what if I'd hit his face or eye. But we knew if I could hit an egg cup, it would be ok. Gosh, it scares me now, what if the BB had drifted in that distance. Sometimes, it seems a wonder we lived to grow up.

Another favorite past time was using our Tarzan rope to swing across the open space in the center of the barn from one haymow to another. There would have surely been broken bones, at the least, if we'd not made it across. The rope hung from the peak of the roof and the distance probably spanned about 20 feet. There was a seperate platform near the roof that we could climb up to on one of those ladders that are built flush against a support in the barn. It would have been three stories high. There was a new family in the rental that G had lived in. The boy was three years older than me. I already knew him because he'd been in our school. His parents were just going to live in the rental till a new house they were building was ready to move into. It wouldn't be long because their current home had sold and they had to move before the new one was ready. Since K was older than any of us, he wasn't very anxious to play with us, but must have gotten bored and showed up one day. He'd been pretty stuck up, so we were going to make him pay before he could join us. He did fine with our Tarzan rope. So we had to push him harder. Dad had left a wagon of shelled corn in the open space between haymows. If you fell off the Tarzan rope you would just land in the nice soft shelled corn. Someone got the bright idea to climb to the top platform and jump into the corn It worked. There were several jumps. My brothers and whoever else was there made it. But, each time someone hit the corn, they sent it flying out of the wagon. I was the last to jump before K had to do it. No way was I going to let the boys scare me. I was the only girl there that day and when it was my turn, the three story jump looked like a death leap. But, hey the others had landed ok. So, I jumped. What I didn't realize was that most of the corn had disappeared by my turn. My feet hit and there wasn't enough corn left to cushion me. My knees came up and hit my chin and I bit off the tip of my tongue. It hurt like a bitten off tongue and bled like you couldn't believe. But, with tremendous bravado, I just turned my bloody face up to K and said, "It's your turn." Without a single word, he climbed back down the side ladder and went home. He never did come back to play with us. This story didn't quite end here. When Dad came in and found his shelled corn scattered all over the barn floor, he went ballistic. He made all of us crawl around an pick up every single last curnel of corn he could see. Even if I hadn't gotten hurt so bad, we would never try that again. Sometimes it seems a wonder we lived to grow up.

There was another fun thing we had to give up because Dad finally caught us. I really suspect most of these things were thought up by brother S. He was the biggest tease and orneriest kid I knew. He took Dad's grain scoop shovel from the barn, tied on a rope and then we pulled each other around the circular drive and road from the back of Gypsy. The kid on the scoop shovel had to sit indian style, (legs crossed in front of you) and hold on the the handle near the shovel. The shovel does not follow smoothly behind a running horse. Especially on gravel. It wasn't bad on the grass, but it bucked and fliped over on gravel. Not only did it tear up a kid, but it was hard on the shovel. That's how Dad caught us. We wore the bottom out of several shovels before he learned we weren't wearing them out with work. End of game. After that we we started pulling sleds around behind Gypsy, winter and summer. We even used the tractor a few times to pull the sled. Like the time I was pulling S behind the tractor. We had had a mountain of snow and even the fences were covered, so you could go a long way. This happened several times back when I was a kid. That day, I was watching S so I'd know if he fell off and I could stop and wait till he got back on. I lost track of where we were. Next thing I knew, I was driving across the frog pond. If I got Dad's tractor buried in the frog pond, I knew my life would end. The tractor was breaking the ice and I gunned it and kept going. Which meant that I was dragging S through the frozen water behind me. He knew better than to let go, and I kept going till he was across too. Then I had to get him home quick before he froze. Sometimes it seems a wonder we lived to grow up.

My brush with the law.

Might as well confess my first run from the law. It was back at the haunted farm. There was a car load of us. We had hid our car too, then climbed in a back window into the house. The rooms were empty and dusty. But with kids sneaking in regularly, there were no cobwebs. We sat in a circle in the middle of the floor and told ghost stories with no light but the moon shine. I have my share of stories, partly thanks to Uncle Glen. My date and my two best friends were with me and their dates, who I didn't know as well. It was these two who had never been at the house and we were sharing it with them for the first time. There was no alcohol, my crowd was never into that. Shoot, we didn't need help having fun. During our stories, a light shined across the wall. A car had pulled in. Cops! Six kids ran for the only window out and we couldn't get out in time. W and C and B and I were last. The others made it and disappeared in the dark, but the cops were coming around the corner of the house and we backed back into the house. We hadn't done any damage, but we were tresspassing and we were scared. How do you hide in an empty house? What if the cops climbed in the window to look? B had noticed a trap door in the ceiling of one of the back rooms earlier. He pulled us to it. The two boys climbed each other to reach the door, got it open, managed to climb up and pulled C and I up too. Now we were in a very dark, airless space full of cobwebs and bats. Trying to stiffle screams and giggles and stay quiet. The cops did come in the house and we could hear them walking through. It was easy to be quiet then. I was terrified. I knew how upset my folks would be if their "perfect" daughter was caught. We were not the kind of kids to be in this mess. We were very lucky that night. They didn not find us. I think it was a general check and they had no idea there was anyone actually there. LOOONG after they left, we finally climbed down and went hunting the others. They were behind the barn, at the car. They couldn't leave us because W had his car keys. Suddenly it was fun, and we couldn't wait to tell our friends. But, I never did go back to the haunted farm. It was safer to tell our ghost stories at home.

Dads Accident

That spring I turned 16 was wet. It rained till the ground was soaked and the farmers couldn't get into the fields. It would dry out a day or two, but never enough to get the tractors out. Dad was antsy and worried. In a back field, across the railroad track, was a huge rock that Dad had been plowing around for years. Since he couldn't do anything else, he decided to dig a hole beside the rock, deep enough to push the rock in with enough dirt to work the field over the the rock. He had been back there digging for days. The rock had turned out to be much bigger than expected. About the size of a station wagon. My Birthday was on a Sunday. It was very unusual for my parents to miss Church, but that day Dad was anxious to finish with the rock, and Mom decided to bake a cake and fix a special dinner. (By the way, Dinner was noon and Supper was after chores. I still have trouble thinking of Dinner being in the evening, and lunch is a foreign word. Understood, but foreign.) It wasn't raining, but there was a steady drizzle all morning. Noon came and Dad didn't return home. Another hour and Mom was getting worried. She let J take the car down the road to the field closest to where Dad was suppose to be working. We waited. Then a pickup truck rushed into the drive with J and Dad in the truck bed and Jim, (a neighbor driving) Mom ran out and jumped in the truck and they took Dad to the Hospital. S and I were left not even knowing what had happened. Later another neighbor and his wife showed up to stay with S and I. Mom had called them from the hospital, but we still didn't know how Dad was. R and D were there most of the afternoon. Eventually Jim brought J home and we got to hear what he knew. Mom was still at the hospital with Dad. He wasn't expected to live through the night, but there was still some question as to just what was his worst injury. J had started back to bring Dad home to dinner. He found Dad in the middle of the field nearest the road. Dad had crawled across the field with the rock, over a fence, over the railroad track, another fence and half way across the field that J found him in. J found him unconscious. Jim's home was closer and J went there for help. We learned later that Jim had gone back and finished covering the rock. He never found Dads shovel, but he could see where Dad had been pinned by the rock. Dad had dug himself out with his hands and then had to crawl with a shattered leg. The Doctors finally figured out that the bone marrow (fat) had gotten into his blood stream from the shatered leg and gone through his body with some in his brain. It was clogging his veins and they didn't know how to disolve that much marrow and clear his veins. He made it through the night and then another day and another. Mom stayed at the hospital for days, with one neighbor or relative only bringing her home to shower and change clothes. They wouldn't let her drive. All our neighbors and Uncles showed up to help any way they could. J, S and I carried on at home. I don't think any of us even rememberd it had been my birthday. Chores were done but no one went to school during the five days we waited. It was May 3 when they took Dad off the critical list. I'm sure of the day, because it was Moms birthday. That was her present that year....he was going to live. But, it wasn't over yet. Back then they didn't know what to expect. Now, I imagine it's a bit like a stroke. Shortly after putting him in a regular hospital room, Mom took me in to see him. Dad was not Dad. He thought he was Tarzen and he called Mom Jane and he talked like that. "Tarzen want water. Jane bring water." He didn't even know who I was or seem to care. Mom had warned me, but it was a shock. They didn't release him from the hospital till his mind had cleared enough to know who he was. But little epidsodes continued to intrude in our days for most of that summer. Once again Moms nursing training had come in handy. My brothers and the neighbors put in the crops. Friends and family kept the farm running that whole season. J would have been 15 and S was 13 till Sept. but they did mens work that year. Once Dad had begun to heal, it was almost impossible to keep him down. His leg was still in a cast and I don't know how many of them he broke because he wouldn't stay off of them. Even after he was thinking clear, his personality was rough. He would say cruel things and was impatient with everyone and everything. I remember winning a showmanship class with my 4-H steer. Two of my friends were with us and we had gone somewhere to eat. Someone congratulated me and raised a water glass in a "toast". Dad snapped, "Stop it, she doesn't deserve it." Then he started on a list of things I should have done or done better. By the end he was practically yelling and everyone at our table was upset. That was NOT my Father, and I was so afraid my Father would never come back. It was a bad year. If you asked my brothers, it was probably worse for them. They were trying to do the farm work and I imagine they were yelled at much more than I was. Mom was trying to take care of him and he didn't want taken care of. I had a steady boyfriend then, and W seemed able to handle him better. W spent more of the summer with Dad then with me, and the rest of us were grateful to have him handle Dad. By the time the crops were harvested, (God Bless the neighbors) and winter had settled in and the cast was finally off, things did finally get slowly back to normal. But, it took most of the year. Then when we teased Dad about being Tarzen, he never did believe us. None of it was clear to him, and the teasing stopped. It was a subject we pretty much dropped and it was over.

A car with J.

I mentioned buying a car with my brother. The year I turned 16, Dad had another brush with death. I'll tell you about it another day. But, because of the accident, I didn't get my drivers license till the next year. J. and I lacked two days of being a year apart. His birthday was the 27th and mine was the 29th of April. When he turned 16, he wanted his license. Boys are like that. So, we studied together and went to take our tests the same day. Then we decided we wanted a car. When you live 8 miles from town, and go to a country school, and ride the bus to and from school, a car makes sense. I was involved in school activities (editor of the school paper, musicals, drama plays, etc.) that kept me after school and Mom would have to come and get me. So she wasn't against it. Both boys were in sports that didn't always meet the same day I stayed over. I usually needed it during the week, and J. wanted it on weekends. That was ok with me, because weekends were for dates and I had a boyfriend to take me to events. Actually it worked pretty well for us. The farm had the big overhead gas tank for tractors, and Dad wasn't too strict about our using the gas. If he thought we were running around more than necessary, he might grumble, but I don't remember him asking me to pay. If he got money from J, I didn't know about it.

I was the first to wreck the car. Mom sent me on an errand and I left wearing a pair of Genie, (I dream of Jeannie) slippers. They were soft with a flimsy sole. Fine for the house, but outside I must have picked up a pebble that stuck to the bottom of the shoe. I could feel it under my foot against the gas peddle. Soooo, I leaned down to brush off the bottom of the slipper. While driving down the county road. Taking my eyes off the road. That did slow the car down, because my foot was in my hand and not on the gas. But, my face was also down near my foot. The car left the road, dropped in the ditch, tore out about 50 foot of Dads fence. I don't know how I missed the Electrical Pole. The car bounced back up on the road and came to rest. Shook up but ok, I got out of the car.....and twisted my ankle on the road. Story of my life. When I looked to see what damage had been done to the car, it was obvious I wasn't going to drive it that way. The front bumper was embedded in the front tire. I was closer to the neighbor than I was to our house, so I started limping in their direction. After they realized it wasn't bad and could have been worse, my family did the usual teasing. With a swollen ankle, I didn't even have to fix the fence. They pulled out the bumper and J. did what he could to make it look better. I did have to pay for the new tire. But, the teasing was the worst I suffered. It lasted till J. pulled the prank with the pigeons.

J and his friends, (hhmmm, I can't remember if brother S was along or not. They usually were in things together.) went to another town one Saturday evening. We were into ghost stories back then and there was a doozie not too far away. A woman had told her friends her husband was trying to kill her. He was well liked and no believed her. She told someone that if she died, she was going to let them know that he did it in a way they couldn't ignore. All of this had happened years before and it was legend. She did die, was buried and on her tombstone the marbling changed shape to show a womans profile with hands around her throat. The tombstone was removed and the image came back. It was sandblasted and the image came back. It was written up in a national magazine (so the story goes, I never saw the article) and that is how the story lasted till some kids heard about it. This small cemetary was a favorite place for kids to gather. We all saw the tombstone. We would sit around it telling ghost stories till the local police would run us off. It got to the point the cemetary was fenced and locked and we couldn't get in. Now someone told J they had discovered where these people lived and the farm was abondoned. So, kids started hanging out in the country at the farm. Our groups never did any damage, but someone caused some trouble because the police had to start watching the farm. J and his friends were at the farm. I guess they had parked out behind the barn so the car wouldn't be seen from the road. I'm not sure of the details because I was too mad to listen. The boys had been in the barn and haymow. They found about 30 pigeons and put them in the car. Loose. Driving the 30plus miles back, they started stopping at rural mailboxes and putting pigeons inside. I can't even imagine what that (or those) poor mailman experienced when he opened those mailboxes the following Monday. But, that is the kind of "TROUBLE" farm boys thought up in our day. Now, wonder why I was so mad? OK, think about it. Over 30 miles with dirty birds flying and pooping inside MY car. I got up Sunday Morning and was going to Church early because of some reason I have no idea of now. Dressed up, I opened the car door and............I never made it to Church. J spent the whole day cleaning out the car. The seats had to be removed and hosed down. The whole car was hosed down. And it still stank. It was a long time before that story started to be funny to me.

The summer before my Senior year, J and his friend D asked me if they could change the car from automatic shift to standard shift. I'd driven both and didn't care. I don't know anything about converting this kind of mechanical job, but neither did they. They did accomplish the task. But, we had a hole the size of a football in the floor of the car. You could see the road go by underneath. And the dust! Then winter came and the COLD blew all over your feet and legs. Then it snowed and the SNOW blew all over your feet and legs. The car pretty much became J's own property after that. When I graduated and left, the car was his. I don't even know what became of it.

But then, hey, brother and sister got along fine with the shared car.

4th Grade & 4-H

The new school was so different. It's hard to believe that two groups of kids at the same age can be so different. I was still feeling raw and must have seemed very shy. There were only three or four boys in the class. I'm sure of two and not quite sure of two others. And, I can't remember who that first teacher was. But, I am sure that they never made me feel like dirt. I didn't have to defend myself and I made friends. Even with the boys. 4th grade was fun.

It was about this time that I first joined 4-H. That first year I was the youngest in the club. Only 9 and not really old enough. 4-H is suppose to start at 10. One night the advisor brought me home pretty late, and Mom wasn't happy. She pulled me out. The next year, Dad started a club and we called ourselves the Scott Scotties. We were in Scott Township and of course we had our scotty, Cocoa. A black scotty dog profile was our club emblem. Dad was a natural leader and our 4-H club grew quickly. It was basically an agriculture club. We were mostly farm kids. Dad was an expert with cattle, but some of the projects were gardens, or other stock. My brothers and I didn't get allowences. Dad gave us a steer the first year we joined 4-H, after that we had to buy next years project and anything left from selling the previous project was our earnings for the year. Talk about learning to budget. One payday a year is a fast lesson. We each started bank accounts and our parents let us have total control of "our" money. I can't remember them ever telling me to do anything different. When J. and I wanted to go together and buy a car, they didn't talk to us about our plans. We worked out who drove when and how much. And, it worked for us. The only thing I had trouble with was wanting to buy a horse. Dad didn't want a horse on the farm. Even though he had grown up with horses, and I couldn't understand that. I spent a year, after saving enough for a horse, trying to talk Dad into letting me have one.

We had two dairy cows for our own use. A jersey and a holstein. Jersey milk is very rich. Mom kept the cream from the jersey to make butter. The rest of the milk was mixed with the holsteins. The calves were usually butchered for our freezer. I don't remember why or what happened, but for some reason we didn't have beef available that year. I had bought four steers for 4-H and it was obvious that it was more than I could handle. So I had the steer available to fill the freezer. But, I used it to get my horse. I wouldn't budge, and Dad let me trade the steer for a horse. I'm sure my Father would never have given in, unless he had leaned that way anyway. I was thrilled. We went horse hunting. I knew nothing about horses and didn't care what I got. Dad found an eight year old albino mare for me. I'm not sure why he chose this horse. He got a saddle from his brother, my Uncle W. and we named her Lady. Never was a horse more misnamed. She was not a good horse for kids. Even Dad and Mom had trouble with her. She reared under trees, bucked and tried to bite anything near. I was afraid of her. She would kick me while I tried to put on a saddle and bite me if I gave her any chance. Even on her back she could turn and try to bite your foot in the stirrup. Lady didn't last long. And since it wasn't that I didn't take care of her or failed in my part of the bargain. So, Dad had to let me replace her. My parents were always fair. This time I found a two year old stallion at a nearby farm. He wasn't even fully broken and we couldn't even catch him that first day. I'm not sure why Dad let me have him, but he agreed. If we had to say what he was, I was told he must have been mostly mustang. He was small, a dark bay and he had one pale blue eye and one brown eye. But, he was not blind on the pale side. He turned out to be perfect for me. He was ornery and had his tricks. He had more personality than I knew horses could have. He was not just a riding horse, he was my pet and my friend. I imagine any young girl with a horse knows exactly what I mean. I love to read, and I'd finished a book about Gypsy's. I named my stallion, Gypsy. It turned out to be a good name. He "wandered" a lot. That was my fault. I taught him to jump and then we couldn't keep him home. He went off to visit the neighboring horses every time wanted. Let me tell you how he found out he could jump. When it was safe, we kept him in the orchard. By safe, I mean out of season for apples that could make him sick. One day a storm took a tree down. Lightning or wind broke the tree off about hip high. The end fell on the fence. Dad and the boys cleared it at the fence and left a striped trunk that lay on the ground at the fence and raised to the broken trunk. By riding Gypsy near the fence he had to step over the trunk. Then by riding over a bit, he had to jump higher each time. I learned to ride and he learned to jump. It came so natural for him. And it was amazing how high that small horse could jump. He could be standing still beside a fence, and suddenly take a leap and be over the fence. He would tease me by being hard to catch. I always got to ride, but not before he teased me first by staying just out of reach. Then he would come over and lay his head on my shoulder and I could slip on the bridle and we would go off without a saddle. Gyspy, Treasure and me.

First Hell, Then an Angel

The old farm, Eichorn, was south of town. Our new home was north of town. The Lepp farm was about two miles from the county line and between two school districts. I was seven when I moved there, so I started second grade in a new school. That experience was another that shaped my feelings and perceptions for the rest of my life. It seems our township was too small to sustain the school that had been there. One bus of children was being sent to another school. And, I was the stranger (me and my brothers) on that bus. I've never asked either of them how it was for them. But, for me it was my first taste of HELL. I'd had no trouble in first grade making friends. Now, suddenly in second grade I was being treated like dirt. The other township kids, there were just a few in each class, were treated badly too. But they could stick together. So I was the scapegoat. Pure Prejudice. No one even tried to get to know me. And the Teacher was horrid too. That first day she wrote the new kids names on the blackboard. She did not loop the e's and my name looked like LuAnn. I tried to tell her that was wrong, but she refused to listen. I had to go to that school for 2 years and they never called me anything but LuAnn. I even have a yearbook from the school that says my name is LuAnn. I still absoluetly hate that name. It's the only "tease" that feels cruel to me. Though I can't say so without having to explain the whole thing. It certainly taught me a lesson though. I have never treated or judged anyone without getting to know them first. And, I won't tolerate prejudice of any kind. Even now, I can TOUCH the pain caused to a little girl who didn't understand. Those children learned from their parents to hate for reasons I'll never understand. Just because they didn't want a bus load of kids in their school? We just moved at the wrong time, and I don't know what was behind it all.

I believe my saving grace was the small country church we attended. The children there belonged to another school, and they accepted me. It was my port in a storm even more than church usually is. After two years the bad school refused to accept our one bus township group again. We were sent to the school on the other side of our area. So now I could go to the same school as the kids from our church.

Deeply embedded in my mind is getting off the bus that first day. Leaning out of a window up on the second floor was Sharon. No initials this time. I wish I could tell the world what an Angel Sharon is. When a scared little girl stepped of the bus, Sharon yelled "Lee Ann, up here!" She was at the front door before I got there and led me to our class room. I didn't have to worry about being LuAnn anymore. Sharon was still in my class when we graduated. I still consider her my Angel. She is the best example of living a Christian Life that I've ever known in my life. She is married to a wonderful man and they have never failed to be there for me when there was a funeral in my family. She probably doesn't know, though I've told her, just how much she did for me. I'm still whole, because of Sharon Windon Murphy.

Stormy and Treasure

We lived on a township road. Our closest neighbors lived on the connecting county roads. On the southwest corner of our road and the county road was a small rental house. One of the families who lived there had a mediun sized male dog named Rex. Rex is the reason my Stormy had puppies. I knew the puppies would have to go. Dad was not going to let the farm be overrun with "worthless dogs". At this time, my Aunt E. had to have surgery. I was 15 that summer, and Uncle W. and Aunt E. asked if I could stay with them and help with their 4 kids. When I left to stay with them, I had Stormy and her puppies. While I was gone, (Mom and the boys were gone too, school shopping) Dad called the pound and had them take all the dogs. Mom knew how upset I'd be and she wrote me a letter to tell me. So, it was Aunt E. who had to listen to be bawl. I wasn't really mad at Dad....I'm not sure why. It seems that would be the normal reaction. My response was to harden my heart and promise myself I would never let myself be hurt like that again. In other words I swore I'd never let myself love anything that much again. This has been something, I've struggled with ever since. It had a huge impact on me. Raising 4-H steers and knowing they would be slaughtered after spending so much time with them must have contributed to this problem. I think it's one of lifes hardest lessons and no matter how old you are, it stays hard to deal with.

So, I knew that Stormy was gone when it was time to go back home. What I didn't know, is that in pure defiance Mom had gone out and spent, what to us was a fortune, on a pure bred German Shepherd 3-4 month pup. A beautiful silver and black animal she named Treasure. Treasure had been there long enough to know who her family was. And, it didn't include me. I walked in the kitchen and this blur shot out from under the table and leaped as high as her little legs would take her, grabbed my wrist and hung on. Mom screamed and ran to save me. She smacked Treasure and scolded her. This pup knew she had done something wrong, but she obviously didn't know what. She was still growling deep in her throat and pulling toward me. As small as she was, it was all Mom could do to hold her. I wasn't hurt, not even broken skin, but I was shocked. Treasure hadn't clamped down hard, just held me. This would be her thing all of her life. Not a single "bite", but you knew not to pull away because the pressure would increase as needed. The three of us sat down on the floor at Treaures level and slowly got acquainted. It took awhile, she growled at me each time I came into a room for several days. But, finally she accepted me as part of the pack. It was definately a first step in my healing, when there was no way I couldn't love this dog. She was such a big part of my life till I left the farm after graduating. She eventually died after guarding the farm that was always her home.
You will be hearing a lot more about Treasure. She was my constant riding companion, and knowing she was with me kept my parents from restricting where I rode my horse.

First I'll tell you about the stay with my aunt and uncle after her surgery. The girls, C.J. and L.K. were about 10 and 9 and were old enough to help. The oldest boy, H.D. was about 7 and spent most of his time on the farm with Uncle W. But, the youngest boy, R.E. was just 3 and he was the main reason I was there. Aunt E. couldn't lift him after surgery. They had thought I was 16 and could drive, but that didn't work out. It was, if I remember right, kinda late in the summer. I don't know how much help I was, especially after the letter about my Stormy, but I stayed till Aunt E. could drive and lift R. I remember sleeping on a cot in a small spare room (storage?) downstairs. It was a big old farmhouse at the end of an endless drive. Our farm was on flat land and this farm was very hilly. Uncle W. also raised Angus cattle, as did all the family. The farm also has a very large pond or very small lake, with an island. I remember an island, but I don't remember ever being on it. Maybe it was a swampy knoll in the middle of the pond. I'm pretty sure there was a tree. (I'll have to ask the cousins. Now, I'm curious.) Anyway, one of my Uncle's favorite stories involves the row boat and his pond. He and the kids and I were in the boat and he teased me into taking the oars. If you've ever rowed, you know you have to put your back into it. And a boat full of people is heavier than being alone. This 15 year old girl wasn't going to be defeated and I worked hard. But, I didn't seem to be getting anywhere, and my Uncle was doing a lot of laughing at me. I didn't find out till I had finally gotten us to shore that he had dropped an anchor. I was dragging half the pond with that boat! This little story still comes up at family gatherings when Uncle W. gets a chance. I have my own story to drag up at our gatherings. Young R. was a terror. I carried him everywhere. My other chores were sweeping the kitchen floor with a broom, (I hated that one, it was a big kitchen....and four kids drag in a lot, not to mention their father back from the barn.) helping with meals and whatever and doing the dishes. Every time I was standing at the sink, R. would crawl up behind me and bite my ankle. He has taken a lot of teasing over the years about that one. He says I always bring it up. Isn't that what families are for?

Having to move

The Eichorns wanted the farm back and we had to find new homes. Uncle D. and Aunt M. found one farm and we found another. We had to move before my first year of school was over. So I was left at my Paternal Grandparents to finish the year and my family moved without me. I was probably just a short time, I don't remember. I do remember loving the idea of leaving the mean buck behind and not having to race him. That was a big deal! There was a big circular driveway on the farm and the bus came to get me. I liked school and the Teacher. She liked popcorn, and my biggest memory of Mrs. Innis (Innes?) was of her making popcorn for us during class. Back then there was still a county orphanage and it was in that school district. It was the first time I realized kids could be left alone in the world. We had several orphans in our class. They kinda kept to themselves and were hard to get to know. I don't suppose I tried any harder than the others. Those lessons have to be learned over time. The only other memory of that school was of broken concrete steps. When it got warm, some garter snakes crawled out of the steps. The boys chased the girls around the play yard. Kids will be kids. I wasn't really afraid of the snakes, but I ran with the girls. You do what you have to do to belong. It was more for fun then fear and I think that is how many steriotypes are learned.

My Grandmother D. was proud of her maiden name and her married name. When a little first grade boy phoned me while I lived with them, I got a lecture.....because she didn't like his last name. She had nothing against his family, just didn't like the sound of his last name. She actually asked me if I wanted to trade ____ for _______________! That took a lot of thinking about. I wasn't sure why I had to worry about that when I was just in first grade. I thought it was funny. Maybe I should have taken more notice though. My first real boyfriend had another name she wasn't happy with. By then, I felt very superior, and though I never told her.....I wasn't concerned with names. Poor Grandmom... I first married a Bone. She told me how sorry I would be. She was right, but not because of the name. Hhmmm. Next I married a Pigman. She threw up her hands in the air. She didn't live long enough to hear my last last name. But, I think she would have felt much better about it. And it has lasted well over 20 years. Did she know something I never figured out?

Just before leaviing the Eichorn Farm, we got a little Scotch Scotty dog. All black, we called her Cocoa. She was a tiny puppy, but it soon became obvious our Cocoa was born blind. She learned her way around and somehow managed to do just fine. But, she had a hard time when they took her to the new farm. When I finally joined my family at the Lepp farm, my first project was to help Cocoa learn her way around. It didn't take long and if you didn't know she was blind, it would have been hard to notice. Except when Dad would leave a tractor or wagon or other farm equipment in a new location. She always had trouble with the big things she could run into. But, Cocoa was a great ratter. She loved to go around with the boys who would lift sheets of corrigated to find mice. Or, stir up rats in the corn cribs. My contribution to these hunts ended the day Cocoa chased a rat right at me. Just like the cartoons, that rat ran right up my pant leg. Inside! They were loose to the knees and then got tighter. So with my leg bent, he didn't get any further. Dancing on one leg, I had my own panic to deal with along with Cocoa's frenzy and two brothers bent on beating me to death. I should be grateful to them. The rat didn't even have time to bite me. He was long dead before I could get myself calm and Cocoa settled and brothers to quit hitting my poor bruised scratched leg. I never did go hunting anything with them again.

Cocoa was nervous when there were strangers around. Then Mom would usually take her into the house till they left. We had her a long time. Till a neighbor, who was there often enough that Cocoa wasn't afraid, accidently ran over her when she fell asleep under their car. She was gone several days before we missed and asked about her. Mom was upset with us about that. I guess kids get so used to taking some things for granted, they just don't notice right away.

After Cocoa, Mom went out and got Stormy. Stormy was named because Mom knew what was going to happen when Dad discovered another "worthless" animal on the farm. Stormy was mostly German Shepherd, but all mutt. Later, a stray dog showed up and S. named her Freckles. Dad was not happy with two mutts on his farm. A "working dog" might have been ok, but........ He did a lot of grumbling (storming), but both dogs stayed awhile.

Another letter.

Our Maternal Grandparents lived several hours away. So a visit to or from them was usually an over night visit. I found my Granddad sitting on the porch one day. I must have been a kid who talked all the time, because Granddad finally told me if I was quiet and watched real close, I could see the clouds move. It was a quiet summer day and they didn't look like they were moving . I must have been about five. But, I sat beside my Grandfather, real quiet and watched real close. And, it was like magic. They WERE moving. And changing shape. We sat quite awhile quietly watching the clouds. Another special moment for me. Years later, my grandfather was dying of cancer. They still lived in the same house, but I had moved even further away. I saw him when I could, but not enough. When the end came near, Mom went to stay with them, so he could be at home as long as possible. She wrote to me that it couldn't be much longer. I wrote to him and told him that even though we were so far apart when I was growing up, he had done his part to help me grow. I reminded him of the cloud story (not the kind of thing an adult remembers and he never knew how it effected me.) and told him I still loved to watch coulds move and it always reminded me of him. That was one letter that made an impact. Mom told me that every visitor had to read the letter to him. The home care nurse had to read it every day and Mom read it to him many times. I did something right! I've always felt good that I could help him in some small way.

He was one of those easy going men who laughed a lot. He was the worst tease. My Brother S. is so much like him. Granddad even did his part to make that buck sheep even meaner. He would use a branch to poke at the buck through the fence whenever it got near. He teased everyone and everything. If a pet fell asleep, Granddad would find a leaf to tickle it's nose. All this teasing made him fair game when we got a chance. He fell asleep in his chair one day with his head tipped back. He was snoring up a storm. Someone put a little piece of paper on his mouth and he snored it up in the air. Then Mom gave us some mini marshmellows and we were putting them on his mouth so he could snore them up in the air too. He was blowing mini marshmellows and we were chasing them and putting them back and giggeling till we woke him up. There should have been video camers back then.

His home was near a cemetary. It was a favorite place to go for a walk. He would tell us stories about some of his acquaintances buried there. I don't know how many were true, but they were always fun. I just can't remember them now. Except for one. The door had been left open on one of the small mausoleums and he coaxed my cousin C. and I inside. On the stained glass window ledge in back was a pipe and some tobacco. Granddad told us that the family came out at dusk and smoked, and we would be able to see the thin curl of smoke if we watched later on. We were much too easy to convince. That evening he took us out after supper to sit in the yard and we saw the smoke. C. was visiting from California (her Mother and my Mother were actually cousins) and we two girls were staying with my Grandparents. C. and I had an awful time getting to sleep that night.

Granddad had a brother named Glen. Glen used to tell Granddad that if he (Glen) died first, he better leave a cup of coffee on the table each night for Glen. I was a teenager when we had to go over for Glens funeral. After the family had seperated that evening and it was just the Grandparents, my Parnets and J.,S. and I, we settled down for bed. It was a small two bedroom house and the open single room upstairs hadn't been finished enough for us to sleep in yet. Or maybe it was too cold, I'm not sure. But, us three kids were in sleeping bags across the living room floor. Everyone was asleep when there was an awful rucus in the kitchen. J., S. and I were sitting up confused when the adults came from the bedrooms into the living room. In the conversation everyone agreed the noise had come from the kitchen. The adults climbed across us to reach the kitchen and when the light was turned on, there in the middle of the floor was a dented coffee pot. Grandmom was yelling that it had been down in the sink. Not on the counter. It couldn't have fallen up and out of the sink. Granddad started laughing. "We forgot to leave a cup of coffee for Glen. He warned us." I'm pretty sure everyone but my Father believed it. He took years of convincing, but we had too many ghost stories, and he finally just quit arguing. Anyway, Granddad and Grandmom left a cup of coffee on the counter each night for a long time after that. They always claimed that Glen came to drink it. We never caught either of them drinking it.

More Bigtime Dangers

I'm not sure who was in more danger that time Dad taught us to fall. For some reason he decided to teach us what he learned in the Army about being a papatrooper. That is, till Mom dicovered him encouraging her babies to jump out of the haymow. What made sense to him did not make sense to Mom. If I was 5 or 6, J. was a year younger and S. another year and a half younger than J. We were jumping into a pile of straw and Dad was grabbing us midair and helping us land in a tumble. I don't remember being afraid, it was fun and there was a lot of giggeling. We had every confidence that Dad would catch us. But, it sure put a fear in Mom when she came to see what all the noise was. We did learn that a tuck and roll makes the landing of a fall easier. I've had a few falls, but I honestly must say that I can still stay relaxed and go with it. I may look silly, but I don't get hurt. Those lessons sure did come in handy a few years later when I was learning to ride my Gypsy bareback. S. was good at it too, but J. never quite learned to relax. Hhhmmm, I wonder if J. was the one in the air when Mom screamed.

One of the things a farmer does is use a corn knife to cut corn and cob to mix in cattle feed. Dad was cutting corn in the shed one day and I was there talking the way only a little girl can talk. He must have told me several times to be quiet and that I was distracting him. But, I could only be quiet a little bit, then I would start again. Dad cut off the tip on one of his fingers, bad enough that it bled....a lot. I KNEW it was my fault, and I ran and hid. Mom and Dad both came looking for me once they patched him up. They never blamed me and they just tried to calm me. But, that finger was missing a tip and even after it healed, it was short enough to remind me I caused him pain. Some things just can't be forgotten, even when you don't talk about them. I don't believe I ever told this before.

There was a windmill near the corner of the house. It was no longer used and we had been told to stay off. Aunt M. had a much younger brother. I don't know how much older then me he was, but he was just a boy. He started to climb the windmill one day, and when I told him we weren't allowed, he called me a chicken. So, of course we both ended on the platform just below the blades. (I don't remember them ever moving and I'm sure they were rusted still.) We were lying on our backs watching the sky and he told me how badly he wanted to be a pilot. This memory might not have been important, except that it was a secret R. and I shared each time he visited. And, somehow we never got caught. Years later, after I married, I received a letter telling me that he got his wish. Almost. That little boy grew up and took flight lessons. He was on the big flight with an instructor to get his license. They both died in the crop dusting plane when they hit electrical wires. There is an old saying, "Be careful what you wish for, you might just get it." You can say things like "But, he died doing what he always dreamed of...." True, and that "might" be ok for him. But, his wish caused his family (especially my Aunt M.) more pain then he could ever imagine. I was in Germany when it happened, and there was no way I could be there. I wrote a letter to Aunt M. about R. and I, and my memory of his wanting to be a pilot even when he was little. Then I worried if I'd done the right thing. I never got an answer to that letter and it has never been mentioned since. I'm still not sure what this lesson even taught me. Still, it comes back to mind on odd occassions.

We had a small porch on that house. I never played much with dolls, but I left one on the porch one night. Mom sent me out early in the morning to get it. When I picked up the doll, there was movement in her clothes. Hugging her, I picked up her dress to see. A BAT. A BIG BLACK BAT. I screamed, and danced and jumped up and down and screamed some more. The bat clung tight to my doll and I wouldn't drop her. Mom came running, probably the rest of the family too. Mom was uaually calm, but a bat in her little girls arms upset her just a bit too. I wonder what we looked like to anyone who happened to be driving on the highway past the house that morning?

The Eichorn Farm

I was five when we first moved to the Eichorn Farm over in Marion County. I have so many memories of the place. I guess by 5, you are old enough to really remember a lot more. I've been thinking since the post yesterday, and there are so many "Nexts", I'm not sure where to start. Description first. A huge house divided into two homes. The five of us lived in the downstairs. There was a hall from the garage down part of the middle of our home to the stairs going up. Dads youngest brother had just gotten married and Uncle D. and Aunt M. lived upstairs. Just before the stairs were doors on each side of the hall. One let to our kitchen and the other to my bedroom, which could also be reached by going around through our rooms. Most of the time those two doors were left open. When I was in my room, Mom was just across the hall in the kitchen. And we could see D. and M. if they came or went. M. had a collie dog that had puppies and they traded one of the puppies for a nanny goat that was named Emmy. I don't remember the collie's name, but I sure do remember the goat. Goats like to go to high places, and the highest place for Emmy was out of the pen and on top of one of the cars. Usually D'.s The top of Uncle D's car was all caved in, with dents leading to the top. The goat had to go. I'm not sure if this memory is accurate, but I think they traded Emma on a jeep. Anyway I do know we ended up with the jeep. I remember bouncing around the farm in that jeep. What fun and we always want to ride along when they went to check on the stock.

This farm was on a main highway, and dropped off dogs were a problem. S. was badly bitten by a small white mutt and Uncle D. shot the dog. Then when they took S. to the Dr. he told them if the dog couldn't be tested, S. would have to go through the rabies series shots. They had already said the dog had run off, and now they had to admit to shooting it to save S. the shots. Odd some of the things that stick in our minds. J. was about 4 and discovered a gas can that had been set down inside some piled up tires He must have liked the smell, because he lay across the tires inhaling the fumes till he passed out. The Dr. said to keep him awake and keep him moving. The parents and uncle and aunt were on the ground making J walk from one to
another till he was awake and quit staggering. J also stuck a bobby pin into an electrical outlet. It welded the bobby pin into his finger and had to be cut out. He also lost the race with a buck sheep and didn't get over the fence fast enough. That connection resulted in a broken arm and he had to run back past the buck to get to the house. I remember he had on a sweater, and when he found Mom he was crying that he broke his arm. Not fully believing it was broken, she started to pull of the sweater.....only to find the bone protruding through the skin and caught in the sweater. It was the first time I saw Mom lose it. J got to wear a cast. And as it healed and quit hurting, he broke the cast inside the elbow till there was a small gap. Brother S and I were encouraged to stick our finger in to feel his "broken bone". Which of course we never could, but J would pinch our finger every time. Even after promising us not to do it again. Yet, we kept trusting him and he kept pinching. I think he actually missed the cast when they removed it. J wasn't the only one to tangle with that buck. The school bus didn't stop on the highway. I had to cross that field to catch the bus at the county road So each morning and each afternoon I had to race that *#@% buck. Dad and Uncle D thought it was funny, and sometimes I had a cheering section. No help, just cheers. Dad liked to laugh and tell about a time the buck hit Aunt M. when she had a tub of feed and tried to get to the trough. Aunt M and the tub and the feed flew every which way. That was a crazy mean tempered sheep.

Aunt M and Uncle D had a baby while we lived there. I was 6 by then and in first grade. My first cousin. I would sneak off upstairs every chance I got to see him. Mom kept insisting I quit bothering Aunt M and the baby. But, I was enthralled with him. After all I was still a baby when my brothers were born. Our family is close and I'm the oldest of my generation and I loved all the babies, but little D. is still special some way.

At school in first grade, I had a bad experience. An odd one. A very painful one. I was in the cafeteria eating lunch when a wasp flew in my mouth and stung my inside cheek and possibly my tongue. I know it was a wasp because I got it out and ran to give it to the teacher. My face swelled up till my eyes swelled shut and my mouth and tongue hurt so bad I couldn't talk. I missed several days of school before that cleared up. While my teacher was trying to phone my parents, another student came in crying because he's fallen out of the swing. I remember the teacher telling him to stop crying because I'd been stung inside my mouth and I wasn't crying. OK, well, not by then. It swelled up so fast I couldn't cry and breath at the same time and breathing seemed more important. But, I did feel good about the teachers comment. Girl, not crying.....boy, crying!!!

Probably Been Told

I'm not so sure this is as much a memory, as somehting we were told over the years. I mentioned that brother S. had trouble sitting still long enough to watch the little wild animals. He also had a lot of trouble staying put. Mom couldn't turn her back on him long enough to get anything done. The laundry tub (remember the old wringer machines) was in the basement. She had to keep him tied in a harness (somewhere there are pictures) and on a line when she did laundry. Usually she took him back and forth from basement to yard while she washed and hung clothes. J. and I could be left in the yard to play. She talked of the time she thought she could leave him tied to the clothes line on a long rope just long enough to get more clothes out of the basement to hang. But, when she got back , he was gone. J. and I had no idea where he went. She was calling and searching and panicking when she heard the doorbell ring in the front of the house. There stood a highway patrolman holding Steve still in his harness, (like a puppy). We were told that the patrolman told Mom, "I've found dogs trailing leashes, but never a small boy." It was never quite funny to Mom.....she was soooo embarrassed. He was just a toddler. She always said he could vanish so quick. Like I said, there was a hill and S. had been found down the hill on the road. A small country road with very little traffic and most days no Patrol. Mom had first gone toward the barn looking for him, thinking he was looking for his Daddy. This was still in New Jersey.

Our last name started with D. Mom used to call Dad, Daddy D. So when I first started talking, I had the idea that everything started with a D. The sentence they teased me about most was, "D Daddy dill dou darry de." (Daddy will you carry me?) Even when I'd reached High School, my family would lapse into D speech with each other. Usually when we were alone, but sometimes they would share the joke with others. Usually to tease me. But, one day it backfired and though it mortified me, it also embarrassed Dad. The family had spent all week in a D speek phase. It was spring, I was 15. I'd been allowed to accept my first date. (I should back up and tell you first how Mom met my date. Hang on, it was even more mortifying.) Dad first. It was actually on the second date, he wasn't there when I was picked up the first time. This time, W. came and Dad was in the garage using the welder. With the welders mask on. W. came to the door and got me, then since I knew Dad was in the garage, I stopped to introduce W. to him. I had to yell to get Dad's attention because of the mask and noise and sparks and Dad didn't know we were even there. He stopped, lifted the mask, looked surprised and said,......."Dhere did dou dome drom?" (Where did you come from?) To my date! After the way Mom had met him a few weeks before, I couldn't believe he didn't leave me right there.

Now Moms turn. The first date was a double date. The only way I was allowed to go out with a boy who was older and already had a car. Of course, living in the country, it was the only way anyone did date. They picked up my girlfriend first because her house was easier to find and she had dated before. She showed them to my house way out on a township road. She and her date waited in the car while W. came to the door. I'd finished my chores early so I'd be ready. I wasn't sure where Mom was, so I yelled for her before I left. She had washed her hair earlier and wrapped it in a towell. She was barefoot, in shorts with her blouse tied in a knot at her waist. Mom wasn't fat, but not thin either. Actually she was very pretty when she didn't look like some dumpy hillbilly. Now outside the back door was a tree that always attracted a huge flock of starlings who screeched and dumped and generally caused a dirty ruckus. For sport we kept a shotgun by the back door and when they got noisy, someone would go out the back door and shoot into the tree to see how many would drop. It was a bit of competition between us. I shouldn't have been surprised when Mom came around the corner of the house with a shotgun. Worse, our big German Shepherd, Treasure was with her. Treasure didn't like strangers and Mom was struggeling to hold the dog. Poor W. didn't know whether to run in the door or head back to his car, which was further away. But, he obviously wanted to run. My girlfriend was in the car laughing so hard, she had to come in and borrow some of my clothes. It took awhile to convince W. that he wasn't really in danger. Can you imagine....then to have Dad meet him with baby talk. It's a wonder I ever went on another date.

Mom and Mother Nature

It was also in New Jersey that we got our first lessons in watching nature. Mom would take all three of her little ones into the woods. She would line us up on a fallen log and tell us to be real quiet and watch. If we were successful, we would be able to see chipmonks, squirrells, bunnies or birds that would come out to play. S., the youngest, had the most trouble being still, but he learned that brother and sister could get annoyed if he scared something off. Mom usually calmed us down then by telling stories. She was amazing. Do you know about Brer Rabbit and Brer Bear? She would read to us and change her voice for each animal. She could also do an amazing Irish or Scotch or English accent. Her stories were something I could never quite duplicate with my own sons. Those slow afternoons in the woods are something I've never grown weary of. It still feels like being in Church when I can get away to a quiet woods. Or beside a stream or lake. It's one of the best gifts my Mother ever gave me.

This is jumping ahead a great many years, but it fits with what Mom gave me. I was very lucky to receive a gift of a trip to Alaska. Mom had been dead many years by then and I was missing her greatly on the afternoon I was walking on a volcanic black sand beach on Katchamak Bay. It was so beautiful and I couldn't help thinking how much Mom would have loved to be walking that beach with me. I was alone with no one even near. I often sing when I'm alone like that, and that afternoon I was singing some of Moms favorite songs just so she would feel close. Gospal songs like "I blieve, Somebody Bigger Than You and I, Amazing Grace." The ones we use to sing together. Her alto and my soprano could harmonize pretty well. Well, it got to me and I cried out loud, "Oh Mom, I wish you were here with me." I just sat down right there and cried. When I could focus again, I found a small pebble heart...right at my feet. It was perfect in size and shape. Flat on both sides and smooth. It hangs around my neck right now and has ever since Mom gave it to me on that beach in Alaska. I BELIEVE!

The Horse Swing

There was a horse swing in New Jersey. I've never seen anything like it since. It moved forward and back and had a horse head in front. You put you feet on the bar (stirrups) and your hands on each side of his head where another bar went through. Pushing with your feet and pulling with your hands the long board you sat on could hold all three of us and move what would be sideways if you looked at todays swings. In other words the swing moved from a side support to the other side. It was long and there was only one "horse" We brought it back to Ohio with us and when we outgrew it, it stayed at GrandDad D's farm for all the cousins to ride.

In my early teen years, my brothers and I made another "horse". I had a horse by then and a saddle. But, we learned, and loved to ride bareback. My Gypsy (the horse) was ornery and we knew better what he was going to do next when we could feel his muscles bunch. So the saddle was just laying around. One of the boys took a very large and long rope and tied one end to the branch of our big oak tree. The other end was wrapped around the trunk between shoulder and waist high, leaving a loop from above and aroung the trunk. Then we wrapped burlap bags around and around and built them up till we had a body big enough to hold the saddle. By trying twine around the rope just above the saddle horn, a few jerks could send the saddle bucking. This was great fun and something our neighbors spent a lot of time enjoying with us. Sometimes it took two kids jerking the twine to buck a good rider off. The "rider" only had the saddle to grip and the horn to hold on to. And, the ground was just as hard as falling off my Gypsy.

Back then we all knew how to find our own games. No one would dare get bored, or our parents could find farm chores for us to do. We also had a sixth sense about which parent had work for us to do, and we would disappear to the neighbors farm for our games. I am still amazed when I hear a child today talk about being bored. Where is the imagination that was second nature to us? Maybe it still exists out in the country....I miss that. Here in town, if the kids are not bored, they are probably in trouble. The worst trouble we ever got into was being ornery. Though some of those games could have gotten us hurt, it was normal and good. We were not over protected and we learned life's lessons well. Something to think about today.

Beginning

It was 1945 and the war hadn't ended yet. Dad was being sent overseas and Mom and Dad eloped. As a child I loved the idea of that. So romantic. Now, 60 years later it seems a bit more foolhardy. Dad was shot down (he was a paratrooper) and Mom was pregnant. She had been in (and almost graduated) from Nursing School. I've heard two versions of why she had to quit without finishing. She could never work as a nurse, but what she learned was not wasted. I do know I was born 9 months and 2 days after they married. Mom's Father gave her two red roses for those two days. It was really important back then. Should still be. OOOPPPSS...I did say I would keep my opinions to myself. Anyway, Dad was found in a hospital in Scotland and returned home before the war ended. It turned out to be just one of his many cat lives.

My first real memory took place in New Jersey. We had lived in Iowa where I was gifted with two brothers. Dad was a herdsman working with Angus Cattle. Aberdeen Angus Cattle. That's what they were called way back then. He was on a cattle car going to Colorado when our house burned to the ground. Mom was able to save three kids, an end table by the front door and the lamp and photo album that were on the table. Nothing else. Unable to contact Dad, she had to phone Ohio and Dad's brother to come to Iowa and get us. Later Dad picked up his check and followed us to Ohio. Then we ended up in New Jersey where Dad again worked as a herdsman.

I remember a dog named Boots, who had puppies. I remember a huge hill behind the house where Dad took three babies (under 4) on a sled ride. A long sled that we all could be on at once. Except that Dad fell off about half way down. That is why I still remember the whole thing. I remember Mom running out of the house and screaming. I remember my Father running down the hill after us and yelling, "Tip the sled, roll off, tip it....." etc. They were terrified because at the bottom of the hill was a barb wire fence. We did, or I did, manage to tip the sled and we all fell off before we got to the calamity. S. had a cut on his finger, but that was the total extent. Maybe the fear in my parents voices helped me remember that, but it has stayed with me.

We left New Jersey when Dad almost ended another cat life. He turned a tractor over on top of himself and wasn't found till evening when he failed to come home for supper. Mom had already experienced his Missing in Action, coming home wounded, a total fire with three kids, living in two strange states and now she had to take him back to Ohio again to recover from another life threatening accident. I was just 5 years old. Yup, the story of my life was off to a start that stayed on the edge.

Rememberies

REMEMBERIES....These are like memories, but they jump about in a very randomly way!

I am an old woman about to leave my 60th year and my life has given me a pretty unusual (I hope) way of looking at things. At least, I hope my views are not a common garden variety. If they are, this old world is in even worse shape then I fear.

I will try to keep my opinions mostly to myself, and just concentrate on the life that led up to them. It has not been too boring.