Do you know a farmer? I don't think they exist anymore. My Grandpa Jensen was a farmer and I always thought it was great to tell my childhood friends that I had a grandpa that was a farmer. My cousin, Ron, and my Uncle Paul were farmers too.
I remember:
* Looking for kittens in the haystack. There was always a new litter.
* Dipping my hand in a bucket of milk and letting a new calf or lamb suck my fingers.
* Drinking raw milk.
* Exploring the sheds that were full of old farm equipment.
* Fearing being eaten by pigs. They were supposedly little girl munchers.
* Pondering the slop bucket.
* Seeing my Aunt Rae's egg cleaning set-up on "the back porch."
* Being fascinated by a working butter churn, its clear shiny glass with the paddle and handle.
I remember:
* Looking for kittens in the haystack. There was always a new litter.
* Dipping my hand in a bucket of milk and letting a new calf or lamb suck my fingers.
* Drinking raw milk.
* Exploring the sheds that were full of old farm equipment.
* Fearing being eaten by pigs. They were supposedly little girl munchers.
* Pondering the slop bucket.
* Seeing my Aunt Rae's egg cleaning set-up on "the back porch."
* Being fascinated by a working butter churn, its clear shiny glass with the paddle and handle.
* Walking out back to feed the cows. It seemed like miles to "out back."
* Loving the farm, but hating the smell of Mapleton.
* Not daring to swing from the rope in the barn.
* Loving the farm, but hating the smell of Mapleton.
* Not daring to swing from the rope in the barn.
* Imagining climbing into the grainery and climbing around. You die if you do.
* Jumping from bale to bale on the haystack.
....sigh....
....sigh....
1 comment:
Clarkston is pretty much ALL farmers. All I remember about that is that they work so very hard for so very long.
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