Well, when I was young…” When I heard those words as a kid, I knew I was in for a short story or lesson from my elders – Mum, Dad, Aunt, Uncle – whoever. Although I was not always appreciative of these stories at that time, they were of value. I came to realize that they provided a reference point and a part of the foundation to who I am. The lifestyle that my elders and even that I lived was disappearing; the lessons, stories and experiences that I had growing up could easily be lost; what a shame. I recently decided it would be a good idea to capture some of those old stories and a few of my own to help remember from whence I have come. To that end…(updated May 2008)
 

Dog Gone
Our farm was about 250 acres and we rented another 250 acres. It included a piece of the Lac Que Parle River that flowed through Western Minnesota. The farm was situated around the Lac Que Parle river with some sixty acres of land “dedicated” to open woods and a portion of this dedicated to pasture. An electric fence circumscribed the pasture; part of the pasture was on one side of the rivers and a small portion on the other.
We lived in Minnesota and winter was winter with lots of snow, ice and cold. When the spring came, all this ice and snow solids were converted to liquid resulting, in many cases, a flooding of the river. One of the results of this flooding was the electric fence across the river was washed away. So we had to string a new wire across the river every spring. Queenie (a German Shepard) and Ginger (a golden retriever, later) were enlisted to restring the wire. Requirements:
- A roll of twine (quite a bit) longer than the river is wide
- A length of wire longer than the river is wide
- One shnurd (a farm dog in non-Scandihuvian parlance)
- One caller of the dog on the far side (drive over to the [what was this piece of land called??] and walk down to the river).
- One sender of the dog with twine, wire and schnurd.
The sender of the dog would tie the twine to the dog’s collar and meter out the twine. The caller would call the dog across the river. The river at this time was flooded, fast moving and very cold. Of course the dog jumped in and proceed to swim to the other side. The current would take her down the river but with vigorous swimming and keeping the twine high enough to stay out of the river, the dog made it across. Many “good girl” and “good dog,” some extra food and a ride in the pickup back to the house was the reward.
The twine was connected to the wire and was pulled across and then connected to the fence on the other side to make the electric connection. A second wire was then pulled across and set a foot or two above the river to prevent swimming cows from escaping down the river. We were good to go until next years flood and the dog had earned its keep of another year.

Dog Gone (Part Two)
Winter in Minnesota is cold. I mean really cold, high of -5 F for a week at a time cold (maybe not so much now due to global warming - another story…). When the river froze in the fall, it generally stayed frozen until spring. You can (and we did) hike, ski or skate up and down the river except where there was a current - fast moving water due presumably due to slightly increased slope of the river bed. During a hard freeze, the current area would freeze up and then as it warmed a bit, the ice over the current would get thin or even break up. [Occasionally a thaw would happen, usually in the spring and the water would flow out of the current area’s opening spreading water over the snow and ice. If and when this froze, you could have some of the best smooth ice for skating in the world. More than once when this happened, we skated for miles up and down the river on this near perfect surface.] Whenever we went for a hike down to the river, our dog accompanied us. For awhile, we de facto had two dogs, Ginger a golden retriever (actually our farm dog) and Fritz (a small black frizzy-haired dog of our neighbors, the Lokkens, that hung out at our farm). Once crisp winter day, we (Jim Bolstad, a good friend from Dawson and myself) went for a hike down to the river. The dogs, as was typical fanned out and checked out the woods for smells and signs of animal life or movement. We got to the river and noticed the current was open in a couple of places. Walking along the bank of the river, we walked on areas that should be solid as there was no current and we walked across the river. The dogs wanted to check out the current and maybe get a drink of water. We yelled at them to stay away from the edge of the open water as the ice is typically very thin there. Even though these dogs weighed less than humans and the weight is more widely distributed over four contact points (paws), it would be a bad thing to fall in the water. Splash! Fritz fell in! This was the current and so the water was flowing quickly. Fritz tried to swim and frantically pull himself out but the ice was thin and kept breaking off as he pulled on the edge. It was a mad scramble and along with Ginger, we watched helplessly. Splash, gurgle, he went under! The river was completely frozen over down the stream. We ran to the river below the current where he disappeared and tried to brush the snow off the ice to see if we could find him and maybe break the ice to pull him out. There were big rocks sticking out of the river below the current and we thought he couldn’t get washed past them. We grabbed a big stick to break the ice open and pounded on the ice but it was too solid. We could not find him.

Down the river, an impossibly long distance was another section of current and open water. Already considering it a lost cause, we ran down to this current to maybe retrieve the body. Splash! Fritz burst out from under the ice into the current, obviously in tough shape but still trying to swim to safety. We ran as close to the edge of the open water as we could, and pushed the stick toward him give him something to grab on to. He splashed and swam trying to climb out along the edge. The ice kept breaking off. Finally he was washed to the lower edge it - it was do or die. He scrambled and the ice broke and he scramble and struggled some more. Finally when it seemed a lost cause, he gained enough purchase to drag himself on to the ice! Fritz crawled toward us and we snagged him and rubbed him to dry off. Up to the house we went and brought him in to warm up. Just another day in the life at the farm on the river.

Let’s Go Swimming!
On our farm we kept beef cattle to supply meat to the family and to make a small amount of money by selling the steers after they were fattened up. Every year we would borrow/rent a bull, the cows would get impregnated and a new batch of calves would result. The calves had to be fed and watered every day. They were kept in pens on the first floor of the barn until they were big enough to run with the rest of the herd in the pasture. If they were allowed run with the herd when they were too small, they tended to slip under the electric fence that surrounded the pasture; the herd would follow and we would have a major breakout on our hands.
Side bar: The barn that we kept them in was an interesting structure over a hundred years old when I lived there as a kid (1960-70’s). To make it, the side of a hill was apparently dug out to make room for a stone foundation. The foundation was made from unmodified crude stones 1 to 4 feet in diameter, found in the river bottom on the farm and then hauled up to the site and fitted into place with mortar to hold them. The wooden frame was put together with timbers fitted by hand and held in place by carving out tabs and slots that were held in place with wooden stakes about one inch in diameter and about eight inches long. The flat boards that made up the walls were held in place with square nails. These boards were fitted (intentionally or not, I don’t know) so that when it was dry, you see the light of day between boards but when it rained, the board swelled to a tight fit. The top floor was about two stories high. The roof was covered with corrugated tin. On top of the hill, the entrance to the top floor, always open about three feet wide, was bracketed by two full height sliding doors that never worked properly while I was on the farm – doors were off the rollers and or the bottom tracks were filled with hay). The top floor was the hay loft, where the hay and straw were stored. The entrance to the bottom floor (where the calf pens and milking area was located) was at the bottom of the hill. Hay and straw were sent down to the first via a trap door.
One of my jobs was to feed and water the calves. After the calves were weaned from the mother cow, (so we could milk the cow for our own use and for sale), the calves got milk replacer mixed with water in a galvanized bucket with a six inch nipple extending off the bottom side of the bucket. Eventually they graduated to oats and hay. The oats were carried from the granary in five gallon buckets, it was actually easier to carry two buckets rather than one because of the balance. My cat, Tiger, a large yellow tabby would keep me warm in the winter by literally hanging around my neck.
The calves were watered after being weaned from the milk replacer by filling a galvanized tank with water from the well via a hose running from the well down through window into the tank. Care had to be taken, so the tank did not run over and so that the calves did not knock the hose out of the tank or a mess was made in a hurry. In addition, the hose had to be pulled out after watering them or the calves would chew the hose apart. One night, I was watering the calves later in the evening and was quite tired and I “hit the hay” (this means to go to bed, a reference to the fact that pillows were at on time filled with straw or “hay” thus your head “hit the hay” when you went to bed). The next morning I heard my Dad come in the house making some comments that I couldn’t quite make out. I was enlightened shortly thereafter when he yelled up the stairway. “Rodney, get up! You’ve got your day planned for you; you left the hose on for the calves and there is water running out the front door of the barn. The calve pens were in the back of the barn so for water to becoming out the front door it had to be traversing the length of the barn. When Dad, Loren and I got down there, the calves were having the time of their lives frolicking in water up to their knee or more. This generated considerable splashing and considering we had not recently cleaned the calf pens, the water was more like a manure slurry than clear water and it was flying in all directions. While the calves had a unique opportunity to swim (or at least wade) and enjoy themselves, we got to work. During the whole day, very few words were spoken. We started with buckets and hauled some of it outside and just dumped it. When it was down to a more viscose consistency, we took load after load of manure/slurry out in the “honey wagon” (manure spreader).

Finally, when it was all done, the calves were treated to fresh dry straw. This had always been a joyous time for them and again they frolicked and kicked up their heels at their good fortune. A good day for the cattle, not as good for us.

Three to Use but Not at the Same Time
I do recall the days when we had an outside toilet, an outhouse as it was called. It was a small wooden building behind a wooden corn crib, tucked away under an oak tree. It was a “three-seater;” three holes cut into a wide wooden board were the toilet seats. There were two, about the same size for adults and one small one with a small step for kids to step up and sit down. I always wondered why there were the two large ones; I don’t think that two people ever used them at the same time. Other memories I had of this delightful feature of rural Minnesota living were way too many. For example, in the winter time, especially at night (there were no lights), especially when the temperature was less than -10 degrees (there certainly was no heat), when it was blizzard (and you had to trudge through the snow), you had to have real need, or you very much disinclined to make the trip. You simply did not go #2 in the middle of the night. For #1 (peeing), a bucket was available upstairs where we slept. I recall that a reasonable fear that was harbored was that a rat would jump up and bit your ass as you were sitting there - nasty! We did have rats in that area. I remember once we hooked up the pickup exhaust pipe to a hose that we route into a rat hole. The rats came flying out and the dogs, cats Dad and kids went after them. The kids used baseball bats or stick to take care of them. The dogs and cats had a good time. In my opinion, there were an exceptional number of spiders in the outhouse, particularly daddy long legs. These were the only spiders that didn’t bother me but I was always on the look out for others. For passing the time while passing…, a Sear Roebuck catalog or some such reading material was provided. All in all, it wonder how we survived.

A Cow’s Intelligence
Late one summer afternoon, my brother, Loren and I, happened to be standing on the hill that overlooked the water tank that was used to water the cows in our small herd. Typically, the cows would be let out of the barnyard in the morning. [This was accomplished by opening a gate composed of three strands of barbed wire attached to a post in the ground on one side and to a stick on the other side. The stick was secured by hooking it in a wire loop at the bottom and lashing it with a wire at the top. The cows would head down into the woods to graze and stay cool during the heat of the day. At night it was my (or one of us kids) job to go get the cows from the woods and herd them back to the barnyard. The barnyard was crude corral formed made by use of an electric fence that surrounded a piece of land and creek near the barn. The cows were fairly docile and trained and would often come up at night without are getting them. [In fact, we could sometimes retrieve them by simply calling down into the woods from the top of the hill near the house. The call was a shortened version of “come bossy” that sounded more like “cabbbossss.”] On this day, the cows came up the woods and since it was quite a warm day, they headed directly for the water tank. Loren and I noticed that one cow went for a drink but immediately backed away. Next cow, same thing, next cow, again. This curious behavior warranted investigation so we ran down the hill to check it out. A couple of pertinent details are needed here. The water tank, oval in shape, with one of the small sides positioned to allow access by the cows, was made of galvanized steel. On either side of the tank were two wooden posts with the electric fence routed over the top to prevent overzealous cows from jumping in to the tank. Somehow the electric fence wire had come loose and had fallen into the water. A couple of additional technical features: A) Dirty water such as might be in a cows’ water tank conducts electricity better than pure water. B) Cows have four cloven hooves that, due to their pointed geometry and the great mass they support, make a very good electrical ground. The cows were one by one trying to get a drink of water and were getting shocked, and immediately backing away. Any cow touching the cow getting shocked also receives a shock as the current flows from cow to cow. To young boys on the farm, (although without extreme malice in their heart), thought the situation was great humor. We were rolling with laughter as we shut of the electric fence (a.k.a. fencer) and repaired the fence above the tank so the cows could drink. The next morning, we were inspired by the cows’ plight of the day before and being inclined to toward scientific experiments, decided to expand on the concept demonstrated by the fencer and water tank trick. We took a fresh corncob with the corn and the husk still intact and wet it down. After shutting off the fencer, we tied the corn to the electric fence. One by one the cows came to taste the delectable-appearing corn. From a strictly scientific perspective, it was amazing how the strong the reaction of cows was to the first attempt to munch the corn by grabbing it with their tongue. The intelligence of the cow could thus be experimentally determined; the really dumb ones tried twice. Of course, Dad duly chewed us out… I don’t remember exactly what he said but it went along the lines of “What the hell do you thing you are doing? How do you think that is going to affect milk production? How would you like to try it yourself?” So much for this experimental pursuit.

Your Only As Good As Your Last Row (Or Signs That Perhaps Farming was Not a Good Career Path for Me: Part 1 and 2)
It was a well-known fact in rural Minnesota that how good a farmer you are is based on not by the yield of the crops but rather by how straight your rows in the field. The straightness of the furrow when plowing, when planting, when swatting grain or alfalfa is a visual display of your goodness as a farmer. Conversely crooked rows are an indication of a bad farmer.
Another well-known fact is that plowing is one of the most boring tasks that a farm kid must endure. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth all day long. There is not much steering except to turn around as the front tire of the tractor would run in the furrow, the small ditch that results from the plow turning the soil over to one side. Our plow was “three sixteens.” In other words, there are three sixteen inch plowshares (or “bottoms” as in “it is a three bottom plow”) for a total of forty-eight inches – 4 feet of earth being turned over each pass down the field, 8 feet per round (or lap).
One late afternoon, I was plowing a field with particularly long rows. It was sunny and warm and I had been plowing all afternoon. Shortly after turning around for yet another round, I apparently dozed off. A short time later, when I woke up with start after hitting a rock in the field, I realized I had plowed and arch-shaped diagonal across the un-plowed portion of the field. Upon returning home, my Dad informed me that I would be spending the rest of next day plowing the field properly so that the neighbors would not wonder if “we were a bunch of drunks” plowing the field.
 

A common theme in many of these stories is the patience of Job that my Dad showed with his progeny. A second incident of siesta/plow combo was when we were using two tractors to speed up the plowing. Often times when plowing a field with a lot of residual plant material from the harvested crops, the plow would plug up with the crop residue, weeds that had survived and/or rocks. The result was that the plow would ride on top of the soil instead of digging into and turning over the soil. To get rid of the plug, the tractor was stopped, the plow raised up either with a mechanical lever or by use of hydraulics driven by the tractor and the plow was unplugged kicking pulling and/or pushing the obstruction out of the plow. On this day, my Dad was plowing ahead of me and his plow plugged. I was apparently hypnotized by the furrow and the bright sun and was looking down at the furrow. OK, I may have been nearly dozing. I rather abruptly became fully conscious as a number of events occurred almost simultaneously. The first that I realized was the steering wheel that I was leaning on spun out my hands, nearly taking my wrist with it. That was because the tractors had knobs attached to the perimeter to aid in making quick turns. Since my hand was on this knob and the wheel spun with a great deal of force, I am lucky that I did not break bone. At the same time, the tractor bucked, the engine began to bog down, my Dad yelled at me and I sat up. I quickly hit the hand clutch, and the tractor came to a halt; the damage had been done. When my tractor’s front wheel hit the back of Dad’s plow, the front wheel was twisted from parallel to the furrow to perpendicular to the furrow.
Unfortunately the steering mechanism is not designed for the perpendicular configuration; I had bent a number of the steering mechanisms linkages. One in particular was cast iron and since parts for this tractor were not readily available and expensive if they were available, my Dad to it to a blacksmith to heat it and then bend into shape. This is not desirable since cast iron is weakened when it heated enough to be bent without breaking. I helped Dad take the tractor apart, he went and got it repaired, I continued plowing. To this day, I enjoy a nap on a sunny afternoon although now it is more likely to occur during less critical tasks such as reading a book...