Remembering A Farm Background

Across the Fence #385

I wrote a story about Corrine “Fredrickson” Zable after she died just before the new year began. She often commented on my stories. I’d like to share her thoughts about growing up on a farm.

She wrote: I enjoyed the barn story a lot. It brought back a lot of memories of my growing up on the farm. The large, old barn on the farm where I grew up was very well built! The foundation was made of large, cut blocks of stone; some of the stones were arranged in an interesting manner… so that cold air would not blow directly in. It had smaller blocks that would let in the outside air via a block left out. The “let-in-air” would travel upward a few feet to get into the barn via a block left out facing the inside of the barn wall. As a kid I was sure this was done so the cats could go in and out whenever they wanted to. However, I’m quite sure it was to let fresh air into the barn in summer and winter.

I also recall the beautiful barn swallows flying in and out of the barn; so beautiful and graceful. Then we must not forget those rather messy pigeons that insisted on cooing around the barn!

Coming into the barn in winter was a joy! The horse stalls were right there as one entered in wintertime. Our outside breath from the cold air soon stopped, and the barn felt warm and cozy; all the animals in winter were happy to see people. Little calves born in winter were a joy. They liked to play and run with me down the aisles where the milk cows stood. Most of the veal calves had to be sold and I knew it. When I heard the noise of that certain truck go past my country school, I always felt all chocked up inside, because I knew the little calves would not be in the barn any more. I knew the mothers of those calves would be upset and give out that mournful cry and their babies would not be there to answer.

The “haymow” was a wonderful place to play; the tall hay chutes were very high, like big ladders, so hay could easily be put down into the barn for the animals during the wintertime. The barn was rather cool in summer until the hayloft began to fill up with hay for the winter. Watching all the pulleys work, and the big hayfork, before Dad got a baler and worked with baled hay, was a fascinating thing to see.

As a very young child, I watched Dad pitch hay onto the hay wagon by hand! I remember the stacks of hay in the hay field and the horses moving from stack to stack as he filled the hay wagon! Mostly I recall his working with a small red tractor, but by the time he let us girls drive the tractor, we had a larger, gray tractor. Our neighbors had a bigger tractor, a John Deere, that had a putt-putt sound. Growing up in a family of four girls, we learned how to do lots of farm work! I often think of Dad living with five women. He had patience to teach us many things.

One job that wasn’t fun, was helping with the three acres of tobacco that we raised to pay the taxes! Uff da Nayman! Such a job, from raising the plants in the “tobacco beds,” to watering, pulling, and planting them, but this was only the beginning! Hoeing was not fun; replanting in case some of them had died; and picking off those fat, juicy, green worms with the little black horn on their heads was just yukky.

Dad kept one old horse to help with the cultivating of the tobacco before the plants got too large. I got to help him as I rode on the horse while he guided the hand cultivator. The horse, Old Bird, knew just what to do so it was not a problem for me. My two older sisters were busy hoeing the tobacco as I helped Dad. Their “Skinny Minnie” name for me came in right handy as I rode Old Bird. Dad was so kind to all the farm animals and Old Bird.

I remember a huge white owl, who each year on his migration to the far North, would stop to rest on top of the windmill at our farm. My dad was the one who usually spotted him first and he’d tell us softly about the owl as he pointed upward. The take-off of this big bird was as quiet as his landing. It was such a thrill indeed!

Being outdoors among those hills on the farm was wonderful. Our farm was the last one on the gravel road on Nottingham Ridge. When I close my eyes I can still see those beautiful hills that went down to the valleys on three sides of the farm. They were also wonderful for hiking.

Howard, thanks again for the pictures you paint so beautifully with words. I enjoy and appreciate your thoughts and writing, and how they took me on a wonderful journey back to my childhood on the farm.

Thank you Corrine. You painted a wonderful picture with words too, of your early life on the farm. I hope your Spirit is back there, walking among those hills and valleys.

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