Chicken Eggs and Cow Pies

Once upon a time a long, long time ago ~ ~ back in the dark ages when I was a little girl ~ ~

I spent a lot of time on my Uncle’s farm. My cousin, Jean and I were just a few months apart in age and were more like sisters than just cousins. I would frequently take the “milk train” from where my parent’s lived to the little town a couple of miles from my Uncle’s place, and he would always be there to meet me with open arms. I would then spend several weeks or a month with them enjoying farm life. For those of you who aren’t familiar with our Midwestern terms – a “milk train” was a facetious name for a train that stopped at EVERY little podunk wide spot in the road between point A and point B to pick up mail, passengers, and yes, even milk to haul to the creamery in some other little podunk town along the way.

Now Uncle Emil was a dairy farmer and milked a lot of cows twice a day. He also raised a few sheep, lots of pigs (stinky), several thousand turkeys, some chickens and a number of horses. His farm was a fun place to spend time because there was so much going on even though it was work related.

The cows had their own built-in time clocks and if Uncle Emil and his son weren’t out early every morning (5 a.m.) to do the milking, the cows would be standing at the gate bellowing to be milked. By 8 o’clock the milking was done and the big milk truck had come to pick it all up and haul it to the creamery. Then Jean and I would trek out to the milk house and scour down all the machines, the sinks, the walls and the floors with disinfectants and big brushes. Then by 5 o’clock in the afternoon wouldn’t you know those darn cows would be back at the gate wanting to be milked AGAIN!! So the whole process was started all over again. Now if Uncle Emil and his son were still out doing field work, that meant that Aunt Marion, Jean and I would have to take over the chore of milking from beginning to end. One of the most fun parts was feeding the cats and kittens right from the cow. Those little kittens learned quickly that if they sat up on their hind feet we would squirt milk right into their mouths and oh, how they loved that.

I specifically remember one Saturday afternoon/evening when everyone was helping to get the milking done because we wanted to go to town. Big Brother was there also and was moving milk machines, hauling milk, etc. I must have been about 8 or 9 at this time, too small to be doing that heavy work. BUT, I wasn’t too young to be walking in the central alleyway behind the cows and next to the gutter. I think I might have been after a kitten or something. Anyway, as I leaned over to reach for the kitten, the particular cow that I was standing behind decided to lift her tail and let go with a river of cow pee and several very large cow pies that splashed as they hit the gutter. Of course I didn’t see this coming, was close enough to get splashed and in my surprise slipped and fell into the gutter and all the very fresh leavings of the cow!! And THEN, as I was getting back up this darn cow swung her tail, which was also kind of messy, and hit me right alongside the head – AAACCCKKK! I just couldn’t win. And there was Big Brother, who should have come to my rescue, laughing so hard he couldn’t help me out. I still haven’t forgiven him for that (snicker).

Then there was the day I found out that eggs didn’t come out of a carton in the grocery store. We also had to pick eggs twice a day – that old rooster would be crowing at the crack of dawn and that must have been the signal for those hens to go into production. So after cleaning the milk machines and the milk house we would stop at the hen house and gather eggs. Now why it didn’t dawn on me where eggs came from when we were trying to get the eggs out from under those mean old hens I don’t know. But THAT light bulb didn’t come on until one day when I was in the hen house and this old hen started cackling, stood up and I actually saw her lay the egg. THAT did it right there – it was years before I would eat an egg. And to this day I have to smother them with ketchup in order to choke them down.

I can’t help it, Gang – I was raised a City Kid, not a Country Kid!! Here’s Jean and I with a couple of baby bunnies they raised.

Then there were those frickin’ turkeys. There is nothing dumber than a turkey. Back in those days the turkeys weren’t kept in long buildings in pens for their entire life. They had shelters that they were put into during storms and at night so that coyotes wouldn’t come into the yard and feast. Otherwise they were allowed outside; probably what you would call a free-range turkey today. But were the turkeys smart enough to go into these shelters on their own? NOT! If there was a rainstorm approaching we had to go out and actually herd the turkeys into the shelters. Otherwise they would stand out in the rain with their heads looking skyward, a heavy rain would fill their nostrils and they would drown!! Occasionally, they would find a hole in the fence and would escape, and we would have turkeys all over the countryside that we would have to herd back to the farm and into the fence. Fortunately we had a good sheep dog and a couple of horses that we could ride to do this.

Uncle Emil had been a horse lover since he was a young boy and always kept horses on the farm until the day he died. So my cousins were avid and experienced riders –bareback no less – but not me! I was never there long enough to become good at it and always was in awe of the size of the horses. I was a long ways down once you were sitting on that horse’s back. He had saddles, but the cousins never wanted to take the time to saddle the horses and would just hop on the bare backs and ride away, many times without even a halter – just giving direction to the horse with their legs or pulling on the mane. I could manage to get up onto the horse, and knew the basics of what to do, but one time they took off on a gallop and my horse didn’t want to get left behind. Needless to say before that ride was over I was more or less laying on the horse with both arms wrapped around his neck trying to hang on. It took awhile to get me back on a horse after that.

This was the horse I usually rode, with her colt standing behind her. Her name was Beauty.

Uncle Emil eventually retired from farming, but maintained his residence on the farm site for awhile and raised Palominos and Tennessee Walkers. What beautiful animals. Uncle Emil is gone now, but his son and grandson still have horses and ride them all decked out in a lot of parades throughout the state of North Dakota and the surrounding area.

Cousin Jean still lives a few miles from where she grew up, but unfortunately I don’t get back there too often anymore. And that’s too bad. We were so close, and at this point there’s more sand in the bottom of the hourglass than in the top. . .

Love, Lena