My story, "Silo Philosophy 101 Revisited," stirred some memories in my brothers and others who have spent time in silos. Maybe it brought some back for you too. It appears that most memories are not of the warm, fuzzy variety. Silo is a four-letter word for many people.
I had an interesting note from one lady who shall remain anonymous. She told me, "We too had a silo on the farm, but instead of going inside, which we occasionally did to catch pigeons, my cousin and I would climb up the staves on the outside of the silo. If my grandma had known, she'd have had a heart attack many years earlier."
Talk about having no fear, or being crazy. I'm not sure which category I should file that in. Maybe both! She was much braver and adventuresome on the outside of the silo than I was. I think we'd climb up about ten feet and decide it was high enough. Besides, if Dad had caught us climbing up the silo, falling off would have been the preferred outcome.
The tobacco shed was another story. I never had any fear climbing around in the shed and walking on the poles. Which brings up another silo story. One "adventurous" man told how he would walk around the rim on the top layer of blocks when the silo was filled to the top. That seemed a bit foolhardy too. Granted it wouldn't be far to fall to the inside, but it's a long way down if you fell to the outside.
The more stories I hear about the adventures and misadventures of young farm boys and girls, it's a wonder that any of us made it into adulthood, let alone in one piece. No wonder parents turn gray.
My brother, David, reminded me how tough it was to throw down silage in the winter. His memories triggered similar images in my mind. He mentioned busting chunks of frozen silage from the sides of the silo with a pick axe, and lifting them with all his might over to the silo door. Then throwing them through the little door and hearing them go 'clunk, clunk, clunk' down the chute. He didn't remember any deep thinking up in the silo. He said, "Just me, the pick axe, the pitch fork, and the sweet smell of frozen silage. Oh, and dad would holler up once in a while and say, 'Are you still alive up there?' Then he's tell me to bust up the chunks into smaller pieces. No deep thinking required, and I doubt I used more than a couple percent of my brain."
David's thoughts about frozen silage made me remember the clanking sound and how sparks would fly when we'd accidentally hit the side of the silo bricks as we tried to break the frozen silage free. Those frozen walls of silage were often six inches to a foot thick. If you didn't keep breaking them loose as you went, they could get too tall. If they broke loose and fell, there was a possibility of a big chunk falling on you. I wonder if anyone was ever killed by a falling chunk of silage?
My brother, Arden, also had some memories about silos being a four-letter word. He said, "You forgot the part about leveling off the silage for hours when the temperature of the heating silage would reach 120 degrees, or fixing the silo unloader in the dark with a flashlight in your mouth, usually when it was 10 or 12 degrees below zero, and your toes and fingers were completely numb with cold. I think my brain was either fried or frozen. The only deep thinking I used to do was, 'what the h... am I doing in here.'" Imagine that's how most of you felt about it.
Arden is younger than me, and the silo unloader was installed after I was gone from the farm. Remember, I'm from the dark ages when WE were the silo unloaders, armed only with a silo fork and pick axe! His experiences in dealing with a cantankerous silo unloader were different from mine. But either way, you still had to crawl up the long chute to get into the silo and work on the problem. And... it was usually dark and cold when you were working in the silo, just like Arden said. All things considered, I think it was probably easier to deal with a fork and pick axe. Not too many things could go wrong with them.
With all the things that could go wrong with unloaders, coupled with the expense of a huge silo, is it any wonder that farmers build bunkers and use bags these days?
One more thing came to light as we were talking about silos. It was the use of snow fences when regular silos were full. We built a snow fence silo between the silos and the front door of the barn. As I recall, we built it three snow fences high. We'd fill the first layer, then stack the next one on top of that, then the third layer, and keep filling it. We covered it with plastic when it was full. You don't see any snow fence silos around these days. Times change.
Most silos now stand empty. Only the echoes of the past can be heard in them. If you could hear those voices, they'd probably be saying, "Ya... silo is a four-letter word."
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