Archives

Living off the Land

Jul31
V-shaped notches were used here to tap sap from a pine tree.

A cool breeze entered the living room window and swirled through the room. It had stopped raining a short time ago, so the damp breeze carried the smell of the lilies blossoming in profusion just below the window. Looking up from the comic book I was reading, I reflected upon how cozy it felt to spend a Sunday afternoon with Mom and Daddy like this. My older brothers and sisters were in other parts of the house.

Mom, in her upholstered rocking chair, had one of her favorite woman’s magazines on her lap as she dozed. Daddy sat in the armchair reading the big family bible. Sitting on the linoleum living room floor next to where Daddy sat, I leaned against his legs. An incredible thought suddenly occurred to me: Mom and Daddy had once been children, too!

“Daddy?” I questioned. “What sort of things did you do when you were a little boy”?

Looking up from the bible, he thought for a moment before replying. Glancing down at my bare feet, he said, “I didn’t wear shoes all summer long.” I looked at his face to see if he was joking. I’d taken mine off after coming home from Mass this morning, surely, he wore shoes to attend church! As if reading my mind he explained, “I grew out of the shoes I wore to school during the winter and I didn’t get another pair until sometime after the weather got really cold during the following fall.”

Mom had once told me she and Daddy were in their middle forties when I was born. I counted on my fingers…that made him at least fifty-five years old! “What else do you remember?” I prompted, realizing that his childhood was such a very long time ago.

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Pine Pitch Bandage

Jul24

Although I was going downhill, I kept peddling my bike. Hot summer sunshine blazed in the afternoon sky as I sped down the road creating a breeze that fluttered through my uncombed hair. The sleeveless top I was wearing caught some air and billowed away from my sweaty back skin.

The center of the gravel road was hard like pavement, but loose gravel lined the sides of the road. The driveway to my family’s farmyard came up faster than I was ready for it. With all the confidence of a ten-year-old enjoying her summer vacation from school, I decided to keep peddling and just turn the wheel of my bike when I got there.

All the hay wagons that had come in and out of our yard that summer had made the driveway hard as pavement, but also covered it with a large amount of loose gravel.  My bike skidded and tipped over, but momentum kept me moving. Still clutching the bike handlebars, my right knee scraped across the hardened driveway made up of thousands of sharp granite crystals.

Coming to a stop, I sat up immediately and took stock of the situation. My right knee hurt. However, I figured it didn’t hurt bad enough to have a broken bone. My wound was covered with gritty dirt. It didn’t even immediately bleed. I stood up and walked my bike to the back door of our farmhouse, yelling for Mom. By the time, I reached the door, there was blood running down my leg.

It hurt to have a soapy washcloth rubbed over my knee, but I understood that the dirt had to be washed away. Some of the dirt refused to leave the wound. Mom said it was trapped under a flap of skin. Opening the medicine cabinet over the bathroom sink, she pulled out a small bottle of mercurochrome. With tears running down my cheeks, I cried, “No! Don’t put any of that on my knee! It burns and hurts too much. My knee already hurts more than I can stand.”

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I Should Have Said

Jul3
Is she really asleep this time?

The evening passed quickly. Before I knew it, the living room clock chimed midnight. Resisting the temptation to put off bedtime, I picked up the cat sleeping on my lap and carried him to the dining room door. Having retired to her sleep nest in the entryway earlier in the evening, Sadie, the girl cat met us at the door. Jerry leapt from my arms to join her.         

I turned out the living room lamps and took a glass of water with me upstairs. After washing my face and brushing my teeth, I snuggled down into my cozy bed. I expected to fall asleep quickly because I was so tired.

A cool breeze made the window curtain gently flutter. It felt good, but I was happy for the light comforter covering me. I could see a large moon in the dark night sky. There were faint, soothing outdoor night sounds. However, my brain refused to relax. It began to flash memories of the day across my mental screen. A thorn had been placed in my psyche earlier in the day and the harder I tried to go to sleep, the bigger the thorn began to grow.

As I tossed and turned, I ruminated on what had happened and what I had said and done. Embarrassed and frustrated, I mulled the experience over and over, wishing for a ‘do-over’.

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Vicarious Adventures

Jun26
We enjoyed trying to take funny pictures, but some times we took funny pictures without intending to. What sort of dog is my sister holding? Its front half doesn’t look like its back half!

I crept up the stairway. My sister Mary was in her bedroom practicing her forensics speech, and I wanted to listen without her knowing. Just as I slithered quietly across the hardwood floor to the room’s doorway, I heard Mary begin speaking. In dignified tones, she spoke of the life and values of a UN General Secretary named Dag Hammarskjold. I pictured myself in her place getting up to speak to an audience and receiving applause when I was finished. My sister’s speech made me sad. The man she spoke of as being so special died in a suspicious airplane accident.

All my older siblings did interesting things. Instead of playing by myself, I often tagged along with them and enjoyed their amazing adventures. I didn’t envy what they were doing because in my mind, I was participating in the adventure along with them.

I never knew what sort of things would happen when following my brothers. Whatever they did, it was always sure to be a lot of fun. On a summer afternoon one of them bought a half a dozen small firecrackers while in town. Just setting them off one after the other didn’t sound like fun. Everyone did that. All six would be used up too quickly. They decided to light a firecracker and put it under an empty soup can: to see how high the explosive would blow it off the ground, and what damage it would do to the can.

Standing far away from the test site, I screamed with excitement when the can rocketed into the air, shooting almost as high as the highline wires. Finding where it landed in tall grass, I crowded in beside my brothers to examine the blackened, bent metal can.

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Learning to let Go

May22

I thought, “I’m going to do it. It’s dangerous, but I probably won’t die… Probably? Anyway, I hope I don’t die.” Pulling myself up out of the sandy bottomed shore water, I slowly followed my brother Billy to the other side of the park picnic area. I felt like I was carelessly stepping out onto a wobbly, dangerous ledge.

Being the coddled youngest child of our family, I felt fearful to try new things. At seventeen years of age, I became fully aware that in one short year I’d graduate from high school and would need to find a job. I recognized that my fears and inhibitions could prevent me from living a normal, functional life if I allowed them to. I resolved to grow up brave and strong because the one thing I desperately wanted was to experience being independent, to get married, and to have children.

After Mass earlier in the day, Mom made lunch for a Sunday picnic at the Eau Pleine park. Using her old crank grinder, she ground a large chunk of bologna and several of her dill pickles into a mixing bowl. Then, after stirring a large dollop of Miracle Whip into this mixture, she generously spread it on slices of bread for sandwiches. Cookies made yesterday were packed in the cooler, along with potato chips, a watermelon, several bottles of Marshfield brewery beer and a jug of green Kool-Aid.

            After enjoying our meal together at a park table, several of my siblings went boating and water skiing. Mom and Daddy sat under the shade trees to visit with other folks their age. I put on a life jacket and wandered to the beach. I knew there was a sudden drop-off further out in the water but wasn’t sure where it was. Earlier in the summer I had taught myself to dog paddle, but I wasn’t sure that I could do it well enough to save my life if I got in too deep.

Playing in the cool water felt wonderful. Confident that the life jacket would hold me up, I practiced different swim strokes. When I was tired, I sat in waist deep water to rest. That was when my brother Billy came to the beach and yelled, “Kathy, come on! You’ve got to try getting up on water skis!”

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Sunny Day Ark

May15

Mom looked over her shoulder at me and chided, “It’s about time you got up.” The fresh batch of dough she placed into a pot of hot oil sizzled. I sniffed appreciatively, knowing by the sweet smell in the air, Mom had already rolled some hot doughnuts in cinnamon sugar.

Plopping down on one of the chrome and red vinyl chairs at the kitchen table, I protested, “I’ve been awake. I just didn’t want to get out of bed.” A big flash of lightning made me jump and a roll of thunder rattled the farmhouse. Sheets of rain pounded against the window over the sink. I grumbled, “I should have stayed in bed.”

Handing me a freshly sugared doughnut, Mom suggested, “Drink a glass of goat milk with this.” Turning back toward the stove to watch the doughnuts brown in the hot oil, she complained, “You never want to go to bed, or take a bath when I tell you to. When you finally get to bed or into the bathtub, when it’s time to get up or to get out of the water, you want to stay where you are.”

Taking the bottle of goat milk from the refrigerator, I admitted that Mom was right. “When I’m supposed to go to bed, I’m never tired. In the mornings I feel cozy and sleepy. Before a bath, I dread feeling cold and uncomfortable when it’s time for me to get out and get dressed.” At ten-years-of age, Mom expected me to be a little more independent than I was.

Finishing my breakfast, I put the empty milk glass next to the sink, and questioned, “Is Casper going to start building his boat in the old house today, despite the rain?”

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The Plum Grove

May1

Flowerbeds in the yard had been flattened by heavy snow drifts during the winter and were now bleak and washed out from the recent heavy run-off when the ice melted. Apple trees in the orchard were naked, with gnarled branches reaching in every direction. A cool breeze swirled around me. It carried the scent of the nearby barn and the sound of a calf bawling and the mother’s long-winded answering moo.

All my siblings were at school. Next year, I would be attending school, too. Today, for the first time in my life, Mom was allowing me to wander around our farmyard by myself. Not sure what to do or where to go without having my sisters or brothers to shadow, I glanced around. I spotted Mom peering out of the kitchen window, checking on me.

I loved the cows, calves, and even the smell of the barn. They all reminded me of happy times I’d spent with Daddy following him around as he did his daytime chores. However, Mom said I couldn’t be in there today, though. It would be too dangerous. Daddy had to let the bull out of his pen. I shuddered, thinking about the huge, nose-ringed monster being on the loose. I once stood close to his pen, and he snorted and bellowed, acting as though he wanted to break down the bars to get at me.

Walking away from the farmhouse toward the garage, I spotted an intriguing sight. Just beyond the garage was a small grove of wild plums. Despite the dreary day and all the other bare-limbed trees, these had limbs tipped with clusters of small white flowers. As I got closer, the swirling spring breeze carried their sweet, spicy perfume to me.

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Thinking in Pictures

Apr24

I sat on the floor playing with building blocks, using them to outline floor plans of an imaginary home. While I did this, I also had a story playing in my mind. In the exciting story, the heroine’s bravery and cleverness amazed everyone. Occasionally, when she spoke, I’d say her words under my breath because she was me.

My sister, five years older, looked up from where she sat nearby giving my Debbie Reynold doll a new hairdo. She scolded, “You’re a big baby, making believe all the time!”

The mini movie in my head screeched to an instant halt. I felt like my sister had dumped a pail of cold water on me. Imaginative stories ran through my mind almost constantly when I was by myself. I wondered, “Is that normal, or is there something wrong with me?”

I did not share the bravery and cleverness of my characters in the stories. In real life, I tended to be a scaredy-cat and overly worried about things that my sisters said were dumb.

Getting up from the floor, I went into the kitchen and found Mom standing at the stove preparing supper. I sat down on a chair nearby and asked, “Mom, what are you thinking?”

Mom’s practical answer made me realize she didn’t understand the question. She said distractedly, as she checked the kettles of vegetables, potatoes, and meat cooking on the stove top, “I’m thinking that someone should set the table because supper is almost ready. Daddy will be in from the barn soon.”

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Different Models

Apr10

I walked into the living room munching on a cookie. Arnie looked over the top of the newspaper he held in his hands and asked, “Is that a cookie you have?” As I took another bite from the sweet treat, he demanded, “Get me one of them, too.”

Knowing my husband wouldn’t be content with just one cookie, I put three on a plate and set it on the side table near his elbow. Sinking into a chair across from where Arnie sat on the sofa, I asked, before taking a bite from another cookie, “Do you remember the summer when we were kids that there was an invasion of June bugs?”

Arnie chewed the cookie in his mouth before asking, “Why in the world are you asking about June bugs?”

Self-consciously, I explained, “I want to write about a memory I have of them. One summer they were everywhere in the farmyard. Because they were so large, catching them was easy. It was as if they had Velcro on their feet, making them cling to our hands. At night we heard the June bugs chewing on tree leaves. When we went into the house after it was too dark to be outside, the June bugs scrabbled at the window screens. Their rapidly flapping wings made a loud buzzing noise. It appeared they would fly through the screen if they could.”

Looking mystified, Arnie claimed, “I don’t remember anything about June bugs.”

My husband seldom recounted memories from his childhood. If I worked at it, I sometimes managed to get Arnie to remember small things. That day I succeeded in pulling a small treasure out of him. He finally remembered a summer where he found huge June bugs and put them in a toy truck bed while playing in a sandbox.

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Winter Never Happened

Apr3

I stood at the kitchen window sipping my morning tea and watching a few chickadees busy feeding at the birdfeeder. Blue jays perching in the white birch took turns stripping a seed cake. The little snow we had earlier in the winter, had completely disappeared during a long stretch of refrigerator winter weather. The snowless late February yard alongside the house looked dreary and comfortless like a hard, lumpy bed with neither the luxury of a pillow nor a blanket.

Thinking back over several decades of my life, I wondered, “Have we ever had a winter with so little snow and such warm temperatures?” Some winters had less snow when I was growing up, but not because the snow kept melting away in unnaturally warm December, January, and February weather.

Most families don’t avidly discuss the weather, but mine did, just as I suspect many farm families do. Unusual droughts, heat waves and unexpected freezes are the reasons many farm businesses have fallen into ruin. Delving deep into my memories, I tried to remember some of the things Mom and Daddy had said about unusual weather.

I recall Daddy saying, “There was one year without a summer. A huge volcano in Indonesia blew up and put so much ash and debris into the atmosphere that the entire northern hemisphere had dark, stormy weather, and frequent freezes all summer the following year. Because of it, crops failed, farmers went bankrupt, and many people starved.” The way Daddy spoke of that disaster, it seemed as if it had happened during his own father’s lifetime.

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