The Squamidian Report – Aug. 30 / 08
Issue #327
Including:
From the Shores Of Lake Huron
The Ontarion
Hi All,
When I wrote a couple of weeks ago, about the miseries of picking raspberries in the rain as a kid, it brought back a lot of memories from ‘on the farm’. Long, long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, if you will. In fact, it seems like so long ago and so far away that I’m not sure if I’m remembering the events, or remembering the memories. Hard to tell.
The farm belonged to my mother’s parents and it was our destination of choice as kids and then as young adults. We were always expected to pull our weight, but we were also always treated like adults. So as kids we worked extra hard to earn that respect.
Rainy days didn’t just mean picking dumb berries while being eaten alive by mosquitoes. If the rainy day was a ‘work day’ it meant mucking out the stalls and pens. We, my brothers and I, never minded that at all. Shoveling shit built the kind of muscles that young boys were proud of, and it didn’t smell all that bad. Cow manure has an earthy aroma, pig manure is a bit more pungent but in their natural form they are OK. Its only when modern farms liquefy the stuff for spraying onto the fields that it becomes rather rank. One of the benefits of cleaning the stalls was that we would load the manure spreader, by hand, and then we would get to drive the tractor out to the fields and spread the manure as fertilizer. That’s how us boys learned to drive, and to back up. Just try backing a spreader behind a tractor through a muddy barnyard up to the stable doors when you can barley reach or push down the clutch.
On the dry days, the days we lived for, we would be included in the gang of men who were doing the haying or the harvesting. When we were still quite young, the haying was still being done the old fashion way. The hay was cut using a pull-behind mower and then raked into windrows using the neighbours rake and team of horses, a pair of Clydesdales named Major and Dainty. Nothing dainty about either, they were big, big animals. Gentle as kittens around us kids, but still very big. Once the hay had dried, it was conveyed onto the wagon using an old hay loader. This was a pioneer era device that was pulled behind the wagon on steel wheels. The frame was wood and the conveyor belt was canvas with wood slats. A rotating fork lifted the hay onto the belt and the belt raised it up about 10-ft where it then fell onto the wagon. The man on the wagon would fork it into place as he built the load, all the while keeping his balance as the tractor, wagon and loader bounced along the field as they straddled the rows of hay. Back at the barn the hay was unloaded using a special hook that came down from the just under the roof on a pulley and rope system. The wagon would be backed onto the thrash floor, the hook would be lowered and pushed into the hay. A tractor, or team of horses would then pull the hook and its bundle of hay up to the ceiling track where it would then move laterally until it was over the haymow. A pull on the trip line would release the bundle of hay and it would fall into the mow where a man would then fork it into its final place for storage.
Once in a while the hook would snag the wagon bed and it would start being lifted, causing a whole lot of yelling and excitement until whoever was doing the pulling came to a stop and let it back down.
As time went on, some aspects of the modern world crept into farm life. About the time we neared our early teens, hydro became available. This had a very big effect on how things were done and what things could be done. The old, dangerous coal-oil lanterns were no longer needed. Open flames were no longer needed. The old Dutch-over was still used for cooking and heating but the electric light revolutionized farm life. We could do the chores after dark. Wow.
Around that same time, they bought a new Massey Ferguson 35 diesel tractor and a hay bailer. They still had the old (even by back then standards) Ferguson 2085 tractor, the one that would always be my grandfather’s choice for puttering in the sugar bush in the winter. The bailer replaced the hay-loader, and was pulled behind the tractor, with the wagon behind the bailer. The bails would plop out of the bailer onto the wagon where we would then stack them. Once the load was full, the bails would be conveyed into the mows using the long hay conveyer belt thing. Stacking those bails was the dream job for us growing kids. We’d come back at the end of summer strong, healthy and happy.
Harvesting never entered the modern era of self-propelled combines. The grain would be cut and tied using a machine called a binder, a dinosaur looking contraption pulled behind a tractor or horse team that cut the grain, gathered it into bundles called stooks, and then drop the stooks out the back onto the ground. Power to the machine was derived by causing its wheels to turn as the binder was pulled forward. That rotational energy drove all the intricate mechanisms. The stooks were then ‘stooked’ by a gang of men who worked their way through the field, placing the stooks into upright groups. You can probably still see this kind of thing in the fields north of Waterloo this time of year.
On thrashing day, men would hand load the wagons using pitchforks, again, a great muscle building endeavor, or exhausting endeavor depending on you take. The stooks would then be forked into the thrashing machine. The grain would be shot into the grainer, and the straw would be blown into a mow. Being on the receiving end of either of those was the worst job on the farm. Sharp choking dust would fill your eyes, nose and mouth. If I had to choose, I guess I’d have preferred picking those raspberries in the rain over either mowing straw or shoveling oats in the greenery. Those were the only jobs on the farm I didn’t like.
doug
****
Greetings everyone. Well it was another great week in the Port Elgin area. The annual fish fry was another great success. We had 124 people there and managed to cook the fish up in about an hour starting at 5:30. Everyone brought food and we just finished eating when the sky got very black and a thunder storm came through about 8 pm. It didn't take long for the crowd to disperse.
The rain only lasted about an hour and a half then stopped. The fire pots still managed to last through the rain and a bunch of us sat around and shot the breeze until midnight and then I headed for home. Don't know how long the others stayed up but they were having a good time so I imagine it was a lot later. Next morning we had a brunch with eggs, bacon, sausage home fries, toast left over fish and any other thing people wanted to bring. Needless to say we over ate again.
This Saturday we are having a corn boil in the camp I expect another eating fest ah but there is nothing better than fresh corn on the cob which was just picked Friday afternoon. I have been told to make sure I bring in my 12-string guitar for a campfire sing along. Well there not much else to say so I will sign off for another week. Everyone have a great week and keep safe,
Brian
****
Hello
everyone!
Hard to
believe the summer’s almost over! It’s the final long weekend of the summer and
if I were still a kid, I’d be upset that it’s time to head back to school.
However since I am NOT a kid it doesn’t bother me in the least. The only reason
I even notice it is that it means the warm weather is drawing to a close. I
sincerely hope that we have a nice long fall with plenty of sunshine still in
the forecast. Actually the fall is a very pleasant time to enjoy riding one’s
motorcycle. Speaking of motorcycles, I attended a bike night at the local
Zeke’s restaurant on Tuesday and suddenly was face to face with an ominous
biker looking dude asking my name. “Is your name Greg?” he said matter of
factly. I hesitated for a few seconds wondering “Do I know you?” or “Now what
have I done? I hope I didn’t put a scratch on this guys bike while looking it
over!” Hahahah…. As it turned out, as I said “Yes my name is Greg!” he extended
his hand to shake mine and reminded me that he was Paul, Doug and Sue’s brother
in law. WHEW! I was relieved that it was a cordial confrontation! I’m much too
old to be getting into a fist fight in a parking lot! LOL! For a moment there I
had flashbacks of the 60’s and events of Saturday nights at Sonny’s. Ahhh heck,
I could probably take him anyway! I hope Paul doesn’t read this and make me
prove it! Hahahahahaaaaaaaa………Just Kidding Paul! It was good to see you and
Sherry again and I’m glad you said hello!
This
gathering is a weekly thing and is a mostly Harley event. They welcome all
makes of motorcycles and the attendees show interest and respect for whatever
make or model of bike you ride. If you’ve ever wondered how many different
models of motorcycle HD makes, all you have to do is attend one of these
evenings. I doubt even the most ardent Harley fan would be able to quote the
entire line of HD models. Even if your Hog is the same model as the one next to
it in a lineup of HD’s there is always an accessory that makes your bike “YOUR”
bike. HD has the most extensive list of add ons of any manufacturer and it
seems that no two riders have the same taste in accessories.
On the
other hand, I was happy to be able to show my bike to many who asked about it.
They all commented that it is the only one they’ve seen on the road. It was a
new model put out last year and I still haven’t seen another one during my
travels. I guess it’ll take a few years to get enough of them sold to make them
common on the streets of Ontario.
I know
this is the second week of motorcycle talk but I can’t help but feel like a kid
with a new toy and want to share my enthusiasm. I promise I’ll pick a different
subject for next week’s column.
In the
meantime, Adam has successfully wired my air horns for me and they do the job
just fine. They are enough to rattle the cell phone out of any driver’s hand
not to mention cause them to spill the coffee in their other hand all over the
news paper on their lap. I hope I won’t have to use them very often but when I
do, I know they’ll do the trick!
That’s it
for this week!
Thanks
for tuning in and I look forward to talking to you all again next week in The
Ontarion Report!
Bye for now……….Greg.
PS:
Something To Think About>
No matter
what name is on the label of your packaged meat product, do you really think
it’s not one big conglomerate company you’re buying from? Hmmmm….?
****
Have a good one..
the doug
The Fine Print!
The articles in these issues are the sole property of the persons writing them and should be respected as such.