Potatoes

Approaching the house with a 75lb. bag of potatoes on his shoulder, and another one under his arm, he heard the barking, snarls and growling. When he realized the dog was in the house instead of being chained up in the muddy filth of the back yard, he instinctively dropped both bags as the front door opened. The beast knocked over the old hag as she opened the door and lunged for his face! He was able to jump back enough that the huge curs' yellow teeth just caught the top of his bib overalls. As the 60-70 lb. mongrel fell to the ground he could hear the cloth tearing all the way to his groin. On the animals second lunge for his face, he made a lucky grab and caught a good grip on the beasts' throat. They both fell to the ground and on the way down he got a second grip with his other hand on its wind pipe. He held on for dear life as the animal thrashed violently about and gouged at his stomach with it's hind legs. After what seemed to be forever, he felt the dog going limp in his death grip. Without warning, the old woman jumped on his back, clawing and scratching his face with her fingernails. She was screaming at him not to kill her poor dog. He protected his face by shoving it into the fur on the dog's neck and kept on squeezing the windpipe until he was sure the animal was at least unconscious, if not dead.

This is the story as told by my old man when he came home from delivering potatoes. It may be true because he was wearing new overalls and had some terrible scratches on his face and stomach. A week or so later when he and I walked by the same house, the dog was chained-up in the back yard as usual. When it spotted the old man it started whining , slunk away as far as it could, and laid down in a submissive position.

Growing potatoes was usually more benign than the old man's story. Our farm was located on what was known locally as "potato mountain". This was a deposit left by the last ice age about ten thousand years ago. The land was a glacial till of sandy loam and loose stones ranging in size from that of a fist to ones weighing several ton. Just the right soil to grow the best tasting potatoes. They were called Chippawas. We planted about 5 - 7 acres each year. The seed potatoes had to be cut into two or three pieces so that each chunk had 2-3 "eyes". The eyes were the little indentations you see on a potato. This is where the sprout will appear when it is planted. The potatoes were planted in rows which were marked out by a horse drawn marker which left 5 rows of marks at exactly the right distance apart so that the horse drawn scuffler could fit between to cultivate the potatoes throughout the summer, and also accomodate the potatoe digger in the fall. Planting entailed chopping an appropiate sized hole with a hoe and the second person dropped the seed in and covered it by dragging his foot over the hole. After the potatoes started to grow, the first problem was potatoe "bugs" these were Colorado beetles. The adults had hard wings that covered their backs with stipes when folded. They laid their eggs on the underside of the leaves. The baby bugs were the ones that caused the problem. They were soft rounded eating machines that could strip the plant of all it's leaves. The farmers combated them with" Paris Green". This was a powdered poison that was mixed with water and applied by hand with whisk. This was a small broomstraw tool that you dipped in the mixture and sprayed on the potatoe plant with a brisk flick of the wrist. It usually required two or three treatments of Paris Green a summer to save the potatoes from being entirely eaten by this pest. Otherwise the spuds grew quite nicely on their own, only requiring the occasional "scuffling"by a horse draw cultivator to keep the weeds down.

In late September, the tops died down, indicating that the spuds were ripe. The horse drawn potato digger had a knife-like scoop at the front that dug them up and placed them on an endless chain that took the potatoes up through the machine with a shaking motion that shook all the soil off. They were then deposited back on top of the ground where they were left to dry.
Potato picking required all the help available. This entailed keeping the boy home from school to helpout. At first it was accepted with great joy when being allowed to stay home, but after a few days, the sore back made school look pretty good. The spuds were put into bushel baskets that were loaded onto the wagon and hauled home to be dumped down the shute into the huge bin in the basement of the house for storage. The darkness and tempature of potato storage was key to keeping them at peak until they were sold later in the fall and winter to the townspeople. Potatoes were a major source of income for the farm as well as a source of food for ourselves.
Next- Castration andPolling


May your troubles be as
few and far between
As my grandmother's teeth

-unknown.

The old man (dad)

Hitler and my father had the same birthday, April 20, 1889. Like Hitler, my old man was at the top of his game in 1940. He was 51 years old , I was 5 and he did not play with kids. He did however, quite often allow me to accompany him on many of his off-farm trips that were usually not more than 5 or 10 miles from home. His education consisted of grade eight plus the school of hard knocks. It would not be stretching the truth to say that he knew EVERYBODY within 10 miles of our farm and most people up to twenty miles away.

In those days, children were to be seen, but not heard. This gave me plenty of time to listen while on our excusions and I soon learned that while the old man exhibited a friendly face to all we met, he was always gathering tidbits of information and watching out for any"deals" that could make him a buck. Example-- A farmer was spotted working in his field perhaps a quarter of a mile from the road. The old man stopped the car and we walked across the field "just to visit George". Within a few minutes we learned that George's two sows had produced so many piglets that he did not have enough feed left from last year to fatten them all to shipping weight. George wanted $6 a pair for the six pigs he couldn't feed. The oldman took them off his hands "just as a favour" for $4.25 a pair. Because the old man had on his "good clothes", George ran around and caught the pigs, put them two to a burlap bag, and loaded them into the rumble seat of our old car while dad and I watched. In 1940 many people that lived in town had a small pen in their large back yard where they raised a pair of pigs for slaughter in the fall for their own meat supply. The old man knew who would be buying piglets that spring and on the way home for lunch we stopped at three different houses and sold the pigs for $7 a Pair. Again because of the "good clothes" dad let the housewives get their own pigs out of the rumble seat. The pigs he bought a half hour ago for$12.75 sold for $21 resulting in a profit of$8.25. Now that may not sound like much money, but in 1940 a labourer worked his ass off for .50c an hour or $4 for an 8 hour day. The old man had had made over two days' wages without lifting a finger and was home for lunch!!

In addition to "deal making", the old man was the secretary/treasurer of the local public school. He was also the" road foreman". These two positions gave him considerable sway over (and some jealousy from) the local farmers who were always vieing for the part-time jobs he handed out doing road and/or school repairs. As foreman, he hired crews to cut brush along the road right of way, put up and take down snow fencing spring and fall etc. At the school there was the supply of cordwood to buy, re-finishing floors and painting each summer. All these jobs were meted out to the local farmers by the old man.I must say that he made very sure to spread the work around in a fair and equitable manner. ( He wanted to be re-elected to the positions and he always was). Naturally, since the foreman had to plan and supervise the work, he could not be expected to actually do any labour himself. To get to our community in was necessary to go up a steep hill no matter which route you took. Thus the largest amount of road money was spent sanding the hills in winter. The job took two men, one to drive truck and the other to shovel sand onto the road. The old man kept this job "in house" and it was performed by him and my older brother. You guess who drove the truck.

Politicly, the Conservatives were, and still are in power in our area, naturally the old man was a card carrying member,never missing a political meeting, yet never attempting to run for any office. As you might guess, he always made money on elections. He had the jobs of locating polling locations, hire of election workers, delivery and pick up of ballot boxes etc. for federal, provincial and municipal elections.

He used to tell a story about attending a convention at the Royal York Hotel in Toronto when a horse was brought in by way of the elevator and was ridden at full gallop around the second floor balcony over looking the main floor ballroom. At the same convention a grand piano was thrown out a third floor window onto Front St. below.

Next-Potatoes
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May you be
in heaven
Half an hour
Before the devil
Knows you're dead.

Canning

I don't know why it was called canning, because, in the 40's, down on the farm, all we used was jars. At that time if you wanted to eat vegetables or fruit in the winter, canning was it. There was no refrigerated trucks, or airplanes, hauling in the spoils of summer from 3000 miles away. Even if there had been the cost would have been laughed at by a farmer.

The days were hot and the air was sticky. Thats the way it always was at Canning time. Perhaps the need to crank up the old wood stove in the kitchen didn't help.

Try to picture the effort that was required. Haul wood in to get the fire going. Pump up water from the well and carry it in to boil. Clean and cut up the vegetables, fruit or what ever was on the agenda that day( they usually had been picked the previous evening). This activity only got underway after the morning chores of getting the cows from their pasture, milking, separating the cream in the hand cranked separator, washing the separator, feeding the men breakfast and sending them off to their work in the fields, and washing up breakfast dishes. If fresh bread was to be had, a batch had to be made up and set aside to rise. Looking back, I guess I can see why mom enlisted the aide of the small boy(me) to help. After all, I was a pro at fetching wood and water and I even liked grinding up the produce in the hand-powered grinder. While mom sterilized the jars, I produced all kinds of future winter delicacies. Jams, jellies, relishs, applesauces etc. magically came out of my grinder. Dill pickles were a favorite of mine, while they did not require grinding, they did need something called alum. This stuff looked like a large crystal. Some would be carved off and put in each jar to give the bitter taste of pickle. I always managed to get some and put it in my mouth. Your cheeks would immediately pucker-up till you could not even talk.

This work went on throughout the summer as each new vegetable or fruit became available and when we could no longer eat it as fast as it ripened. The surplas was "canned" for winter. The result was a bountiful supply of preserved summer which looked and tasted damn good in january or february. Next- How the old man (dad) operated off the farm.

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May your right hand
always be stretched
out in friendship
and never in want
Unknown.

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School Days

School was great. After I got over the blister caused by my new shoes it was even better. I did not wear shoes all summer in those days and while I was proud of my new ones, they damn near ruined my feet on the two mile walk to school.

Miss Haney was my teacher. It was a one room school that contained all eight grades and Miss Haney was the only teacher. I guess she was "an old Maid" , and she ruled the school with an iron fist, but she treated me very well. I wondered later if the treatment I received had anything to do with the fact my father was the secratery-treasurer of the school and signed her pay cheque? Homework was unheard of in public school in those days. While the teacher taught one grade, the other grades had plenty of time to complete their assignments . Boys were given the " strap" for any infraction of the rules, while the girls merely had to sit on a tall stool at the front of the room. It was a kind of badge of honour to get the strap, especially if you could take it without crying. Not crying usually resulted in more strokes of the strap. After an unusually severe strapping, one boy, whose sister was the school janitor, got the keys to the school on the weekend and he nailed the strap to the hardwood floor. He used about 40 four inch spikes !! My father had to cut a cheque for a new strap which was just another item in the school supplies catologue. It did not pay to mention at home that that you had received the strap at school because, in most cases, this would result in more severe punishment at home. ( This is quite a change from to-day when a teacher could be charged for even touching a student, however none of the kids seemed to be adversely affected by the swift justice that was handed out in those times.) There are numerous school stories which may appear later in this blog. Next-Canning.

After the first week of school, the small child said to his mother "I am wasting my time. I can't read and I can't write and they won't let me talk."

Chores For The Boy

Everyone on the farm had jobs to do. Work around the barn and house that had to be repeated every day was called" chores". Chores started when you were very young and were just a part of life. A small boy could feed the chickens and gather eggs, pump water for the house and keep the wood box full behind the stove. As the boy grew, so did the complexity and number of "chores". I do not remember chores as being a burden, as there was always plenty of time to play and daydream . By the time I was five, one of my favorite times was the chore of fetching the cows. The cows were at pasture in a separate property dad owned across the concession road from the main farm. They could be found in one of several fields, some open pasture land, or "in the bush". It was also a favorite time for Collie the farm dog. In fact it would have been impossible to leave to leave without him because he knew exactly what time of day to get the cows and would always be waiting to get going. Collie was an excellent cow dog. He knew how to round them up and bring them home without running them which was important because the cows udders were full and running could cause inflamation of the udder and teats. While Collie seemed to enjoy rounding up the cows, his real love was hunting the groundhogs that lived in the fields and pasture where the cows grazed. As we looked for the cows, we worked together on the groundhog hunt. The fields were fenced in by either pine stumps or stone fences. We would quietly approach each field and I would climb up on the fence to check for any groundhog that might be out of it's hole eating. With my height advantage, I could signal Collie by whispering "sic em". Collie knew this meant a groundhog was out. He would look at me while I pointed the direction. He then cautiously started off in the direction of the groundhog until he could visually locate it. I always stayed back on the fence where I could observe without alerting the grounghog. Groundhogs have good eyesight and an even better sense of smell. Collie knew this and once he had spotted the prey, he would lower his body to almost a crawl position and slowly made his way around until he was downwind. He would then approach the groundhog very very slowly and carefully until he felt he was close enough and then he would make a mad dash to catch his victim. Most times the quarry let out a whistle that could be heard for a great distance and escaped down one of his two entrance holes to the safety of his burrow. The whistle warned all the other groundhogs of the danger and there was no use in attempting to hunt down any other groundhogs that day. On the rare occasion when Collie was succsesful, there would be one hell of a fight. A full grown groundhog weighed between 15 and 20 lbs. and was equipped with long claws for digging and had a good set of teeth. Collie sometimes came away bloodied from one of these encounters, but his technique was to break the groundhog's back. When he was successful in killing the animal, he would bring it back to where I was and lay it at my feet. Collies' pride in his prowess was obvious. He would then carry on to find the cows as if nothing had happened.

Collie would often return to the scene later and carefully bury the dead. Unfortunately, his reason for the burial was to let the carcass "ripen" for a week or so then he would dig it back up and bring it home as a delicacy to eat. Needless to say, this did not go over too good and he would get a scoulding. Someone then had to take the putrid body and bury it deeply and cover the hole with stones to prevent a repeat. Next- School days.

may the best day of your past
be the worst day of your future

Irish saying