Many of us who know no better have an idyllic picture of growing up on a farm. So let’s debunk the sweet myth of childhood farm life. Truth be told, life on the farm was full of bumps and bruises, literally and figuratively. We can start by taking a look at the workload. Children were expected to pitch in and work on what we would consider today to be adult size jobs. Child labor laws were probably violated from time to time. There were potatoes to be dug, cream to be churned to butter, eggs to be gathered. Gardens needed to be weeded. Pigs needed to be slopped. The outhouse must be disinfected from time to time. The rocks that filled the fields, those gifts from the glaciers, must be picked and piled up before cultivation. The work was endless, and everybody chipped in. My husband was already driving a tractor at the age of five, the same year that electricity came to the farm.
Danger lurked in unexpected places. He recalls one year when deep winter had arrived on the little farm in northern Minnesota. A heavy snow had fallen, then a partial thaw, then a freezing rain. A hard layer of ice formed on top of the snowdrifts, strong enough to support his 6’2” father as he walked across the field. Still, the children were sent outside to play. So the four kids bundled up and ventured out into the winter wonderland while Mother tended their baby brother. As children will do, they developed a brilliant plan to slide downhill to the little river, now frozen over. They thought it would be fun to dig a deep trench just in front of the stream. Then they pulled the wooden sled to the top of the hill and took turns flying down that slippery slope and landing in their newly dug crevice. Things went well until they loaded their little sister onto the sled, sitting upright, and sent her swooping down toward the river. But everyone forgot to tell her about the barbed wire fence that stretched across the field just before the trench. “Duck, Sheila!” they screamed. She did, just in time. One of many close calls.
As an eight year old, he loved to spend time on his uncle’s farm with his cousin Jim. One summer morning the boys were helping to bring in the bales of hay when coffee time came. The boys were ready for a sweet treat and something cold to drink, after several hours in the hayfield. But no one noticed that one little boy was still in the hay wagon tidying up. On the way into the house, his uncle tossed a pitchfork into the wagon and it landed in his bacometimes tk. Horrified, Uncle Roland pulled it out and took him in to Auntie, who poured in HPO and prayed. Things worked out – no scars!
Now and then the children snuck up into the hayloft, forbidden territory. They loved to play up there. But one day big sister slipped and fell through the hole used for pitching hay to the cows. She landed on the mound of hay that went down with her, somehow avoiding the concrete floor, stancions, and cows below. There she lay on her back, struggling to look up at her brother and sister, gazing down at her from above. “Don’t tell Mom!” she warned. I wonder what the cows were thinking, don’t you?
Life had its sad moments, and reality hit at an early age. At one point, he made a pet of a gentle sow who didn’t mind if he rode her around the pigsty on occasion. She compliantly endured this, maybe even enjoyed it, who knows? He loved her for it. But one day he came home from school to find her squealing out her life. It was butchering time. Father had strung her up in the pumphouse. And life went on. This was reality on the farm.
Another day brought more realism into his life. The rural mailman got out of his car to deliver a package and was summarily bitten by the family’s pet dog, Rex, a beautiful white Spitz. Rex was the childrens’ protector. He had no idea what the mailman was doing in their yard. Rex simply saw him as in intruder. Sadness descended that day when the local sheriff arrived to end Rex’s life with a gunshot.
And so it went. Still, there were compensations. 31 first cousins for playmates. Family gatherings at holidays with the freshest turkey ever, just caught and cooked. Grandparents, aunts and uncles. The whole world for a playground. And what 5 year old boy wouldn’t be thrilled to plow with a tractor?