Farm Life by Allen Huseby
Aaron Huseby was born on the Huseby farm on the north edge of Adams, Minnesota June 30, 1920. His parents, Bennie and Amanda, had moved there just two weeks earlier as they felt it was important to be closer to town. Aaron would grow up on this farm and eventually take it over along with Byron, his younger brother. He married Eunice, raised four children, and remained on the farm until he retired. When he suffered a stroke in 1989 his doctor recommended writing as therapy for hand and mind. He wrote a history of the farm, and the therapy worked well. His writing was easy to read and he had an amazing memory for the details of raising crops and livestock. His story ended when horses and threshing machines were replaced by tractors and combines. Continuing the story is important as my generation was the last to be raised on the farm. When I was born in 1943 major changes had taken place. The horses and sheep were gone. Oats and hay raised for feeding the livestock were replaced in part by cash crops- corn and soybeans. And so my story begins.
I was born September 15, 1943 at Saint Mary’s Hospital in Rochester, Minnesota. Mom said I had three moms when I was young, as we shared the house with my grandparents, and Uncle Byron and Aunt Helen. When I had my first baths in the kitchen sink, Helen was posted by the back door so no one would come in and create a draft on me. They were careful with me as I was premature and a bit frail. I also spent a lot of time with my maternal grandmother, Clara Torgerson, so maybe I had four “moms”. Apparently no one was watching me when I rolled my little stroller through the open cellar door and down the steep steps. I landed upright and wasn’t hurt at all, so maybe someone was watching over me. Of course I don’t remember this and I’m not sure when memories begin.
One of my earliest memories was of pedaling my tricycle with Mom walking beside me as we went to check on the house Grandpa and Grandma were building on the north edge of town. I remember the framework and the opening into the basement before the steps were put in. They moved in before I started school as we had to make room for the growing families.
A mixed breed dog I called Putsy was my constant companion. She raised a litter of pups under the granary, and I remember that newborn puppy smell. My great Uncle, Melvin Lewison, still did some farming with horses. We visited his farm, and he put his granddaughters, Billie and Barbara Lewison and me on the broad back of one of his horses. That was the first time I smelled warm horse flesh, and perhaps the earthy fragrance of horses and puppies triggered my love for these animals.
Our house was a square, two story building- common construction from the early 1900’s. There were four bedrooms upstairs and a kitchen, dining room, living room and “back room” downstairs. The back room served as a mud room, laundry room, and closet. The dining room also served as our living room, as the living room, which we called the front room, was used mainly for company. It could be closed off with a sliding pocket door. The front door, facing the road, opened unto a porch that ran the length of the house. There was also a second story porch that was fun to play on. The only time I can recall the front door being used was when Ruth Thune walked up from town to visit. The back door facing the farmyard was used by everyone. The attic was unfinished and was a place to store all sorts of treasures to explore. A ladder led to a trapdoor in the roof that opened unto a small, flat area. I would climb up when I was a little older and I felt I was on top of the world when I sat there. The basement was unfinished. An old cistern had a wall removed and was used for storing home canned goods. A simple shower was installed and was sometimes used during the haying and combining seasons. A second basement stairway led outside and was covered by a storm door. A door at the bottom of the steps made this storm cellar into a dark, secret cave. The original purpose would have been to carry out wet laundry to hang on clotheslines after they’d been washed in the old wringer washer. These doors were never locked, so it would be easy for someone to break in. But it would be so much easier to just enter the house doors which were never locked. I didn’t even know we had a house key until I was in high school. Also, the only place car and truck keys were stored was in the ignition.
Our milk house, just east of the house, was unusual because of our milk business. We bottled and sold our milk in town, and had been doing this since the horse and wagon days. We delivered door to door, to the schools, stores and cafes. We had a walk-in cooler to keep the bottled milk cold. Our bottling equipment was stainless steel. Milk was poured into a vat and pumped up to a long perforated trough near the ceiling. Milk drained out over a wall of pipes that had cold water running through them. The cooled milk drained into a bottom trough and then to a ten gallon bottler tank. The hand cranked bottler had four stations that moved a quarter turn with each pull of the crank handle. A bottle was placed on the first, half filled on the second, full on the third, and capped with a paper cap on the fourth. Mom did most of the bottling. I stuck my hand in the gears when I was just a little guy and tore up a finger. A photo of me riding on an old John Deere tractor with Uncle Byron shows my right hand all bandaged. I was maybe three years old, but to this day my fingernail doesn’t grow out, and it hurts in the winter cold. Big sinks of hot water were used for bottle washing . An electric motor powered the brushes that cleaned the bottles. The bottles were placed on the middle brush that washed the inside, while two other brushes did the outside. I can remember only Grandma Huseby doing this job. Pasteurization laws were passed in 1949 so we could no longer sell raw milk. The exception was for customers who brought their own containers to be filled at the farm. We did some of this after we installed our bulk tank. Our best customer was Mr. Christensen, a Danish gentleman from town who brought his metal jugs to be filled. He smoked a pipe with sweet smelling cherry tobacco so we always knew when he was around. We sold our raw milk to Rochester Dairy, and bought back the finished product so we could continue with milk delivery in town. They marketed the milk with the Polly Meadows brand, and Byron used to tease the delivery driver, Hans Musolf, about being caught in the cooler with Polly.
A large covered concrete water tank ran along the east side of the milk house, and would originally have been used for cooling cans of milk before hauling them to the creamery. We called it the horse tank and I suppose horses were led up to drink from it in the past. The well with submersible pump was next to it, but the windmill was still standing and the hand pump worked when I was young. The tank supplied gravity feed water to the watering cups in the dairy barn and calf barn. I got in trouble when I caught some bullheads in Neus’ creek and thought it would be neat to turn them loose in the horse tank. One got caught in the outlet pipe so the cattle were without water until we were able to remove it.
The dairy barn was a well built hip roof barn with about 16 stanchions on the east side and 12 on the west. A pen in the northwest corner was originally a maternity pen, but later temporary individual calf pens were put in. Cows learned their places in the barn, always using the same stanchion. If a heifer or another cow got in the wrong stall it would have to be moved while the rightful owner waited impatiently. Long registry names were given to the cows, but they also had short “barn” names like Bessie or Kit to identify them. Cows were fed hay, silage, and grain. Hay was stored in the hay barn and thrown down through sliding trapdoors in the floor. Silage was put up in a small wooden stave silo, a 30 foot glazed block silo, and a 40 foot cement stave silo. Silage was thrown down by hand, loaded in a silage cart, and pushed through the aisles. Each cow got a heaping silage fork full. A covered shed held a mixture of ground corn and oats with salt, mineral and perhaps soybean meal added. Each cow was fed grain according to their lactation and production. Heavy producers got 3 scoops and dry cows just a taste. This was poured on top of the corn or hay silage and the cows relished it. When this was gone hay was served. Hay was mixed alfalfa, clover, and timothy, and in later years alfalfa was more prevalent. Crushed lime was spread on the barn floor to keep it fresh and clean and less slippery. This lime was also good for the fields when it was spread with the manure. Ideally, spreading the lime in the barn was a two person job, one to wheel the old wheelbarrow backwards, and the other to spread the lime. This took talent as both hands scooped the lime and the upper hand threw and spread it nice and evenly. That was all that was needed in the warm months when the cows were outside on pasture. In the winter the cows were kept in and they needed a nice warm bed of straw. Gutters were cleaned with a scoop shovel. Manure was shoveled into a carrier bucket hanging on a track that ran the length of the barn, and out the south barn door to be emptied in the manure spreader. It had a chain on a gear to raise or lower the bucket, and a trip lever to dump it. I recall another use for this rig. Dave Boyum, Art or Jim Osmundson or I would climb in the bucket. (It wasn’t clean but it was dry.) We’d start at the north end of the barn and push the bucket as hard and fast as we could. Out the south door we’d fly, hit the stop at the end of the track and swing back and forth. Cheap entertainment! I don’t remember when the round roof barn was added, but I was quite young. I rode in the pickup with Dad and Byron when we went to Meservy, Iowa to pick up used stanchions. Originally there were stanchions only on the east side, and the west side was a calf pen that opened into a calf pasture. Later we added stanchions on the west side. A mechanical gutter cleaner was added as we were milking more cows. The original one was only on the east side. Paddles connected by chain moved the manure out a chute at the south end of the barn and into the manure spreader. They wrapped around a drum at the end of the chute and back into the barn where they would be positioned back in the gutter. This was a two man job to keep everything in line. One morning when I was old enough to be of some help we had the coldest day I had ever experienced- close to 40 below. Wet manure froze instantly as it went up the chute, so we had to keep chipping away to prevent buildup. Also, we had to keep the manure spreader in gear and running slowly so the apron would not freeze and bust. A few years later the calf pen was replaced by another line of stanchions so we could milk more cows ,and a new, more modern gutter cleaner was installed with a drive chain on only one side so it could go around corners.
We installed a bulk tank in the old milk house to keep and cool the milk. Milk had to be carried from the barn to the milk house. The milk was dumped from milking machines into 4 gallon “shotgun” cans, tall, narrow cans that enabled you to walk with one in each hand. When I was old enough I struggled with carrying these cans. A lot of milk was carried across the yard this way, twice a day, 365 day a year in all kinds of weather. It may have been a Grade A milk requirement to have a modern milk house connected to the barn. The milk house was built and a pipeline system was later installed to pump milk directly into the bulk tank, so we didn’t have to carry those shotgun cans anymore. We even built a bathroom on the milk house. I rode to Rochester with Byron to pick up chicks (the feathered kind!) and also a used toilet for the milk house. It was sitting in the back of the Metro milk van, and when we got to the hatchery the guy helping us load the chicks asked “Is that thing hooked up?”
The north barn was a smaller version of the dairy barn and was originally the horse barn. When the horses were gone it became the calf barn. One of my jobs was feeding the young stock. I was about 12 years old when I tripped on a twine string and fell out of the full hay mow. Fortunately I had just thrown down a bunch of bales so the landing was soft. Unfortunately I fell head first and ripped my forearm on a nail sticking out of the wall. I had the wind knocked out of me, and when I could breathe again I brushed myself off and discovered a deep 4 inch gash spread about an inch apart on the underside of my arm. There was very little blood, but it really scared me and I was young enough to cry. It was closed with 12 stitches and I still have the scar.
Our cattle were all registered Holsteins, and in the days before artificial insemination and for sometime after we always kept a breeding sire. He was kept in a bullpen, his own little slant roof apartment with a corral made of 2” by 10” planking. A half door opened into a concrete manger with a large pipe framework imbedded in it to keep the bull from coming through. Feeding him was one of my duties and he was often ornery. Dad was the herdsman, checking on the condition of the cows and separating cows in heat. Sometimes the cow was herded into the bullpen, but usually it was safer and simpler to bring the bull to the dairy barn. The bulls had brass rings in their noses and were led with a bull staff. This was a 5 foot long metal pipe with a snap on one end to connect to the nose ring, and a handle on the other end to open the snap. If a bull got rambunctious Dad could drop the staff and the bull would be in a world of hurt and learn to behave. Sometimes if we were busy haying Dad would turn the bull out with the cows. Once I had horses I looked for any excuse to “cowboy”. The bull was with the cows one evening at milking time, and we didn’t want him to come in the barn with the cows. I saddled Dixie, my good bay mare, intending to separate the bull and drive him to the bullpen. He was in the corner of the barn and gutter cleaner chute, so I went in to move him. He turned on us, got his head under Dixie’s belly, and lifted us off the ground. No one was hurt, but I gained a lot of respect for a bull’s power. We sold a number of young registered breeding bulls, usually delivering them with our old International pickup. We were loading a yearling bull from the bullpen, and Byron was in the pickup pulling on the halter and newly placed nose ring. Dad and I were encouraging the bull from behind. He pulled loose and turned on me as I scrambled up the plank fence. He caught me at the back of my knees and easily tossed me over the fence. They are very powerful animals.
The old sheep barn was just east of the cow barn, and the south side had once been used for hogs. Both were gone by my time so it was used to store straw bales. A lean to on the north and east sides made it easy to scramble to the top. There were always a lot of rats around and I hunted them with my BB gun and set out traps and poison. A very small old corn crib was right next to the wood lot and was a haven for squirrels. The main corn crib just to the west had an aisle down the middle where wagons could be parked. In the days before combines, corn was picked on the cob and had to be air dried. Cribs provided as much ventilation as possible. Ear corn and oats were loaded into a large wagon and then shoveled into the old hammer mill and ground into livestock feed. I don’t remember the ratio, but I shoveled a lot of grain. Virgil Bergene owned a corn sheller and would haul it to the farm to shell corn to be stored in the small metal bins. The cobs were hauled to a cob pile in the wood lot. New, larger bins were added as combines replaced corn pickers and we no longer used ear corn for feed. Shelled corn was dried in propane fueled corn driers before being stored. Oats were stored in the old granary in four separate bins. A lean to on the north and east sides of the granary provided storage for some of the smaller equipment, balers, plows, etc. I suppose most machinery was just stored outside until the new machine shed was built. I remember the round rafters and some of the cement work being done on the new shed when I was quite small. I must have been fascinated by the cement mixer as Byron started calling me Cement Mixer. He liked to hang nicknames on folks, perhaps because he had so many himself - Peanuts, Jumbo, Junior. The front part of the shed had a cement floor workshop and storage area with a small balcony above for more storage. Large machinery was stored at the back. We raised a few chickens in the chicken house west of the machine shed. I never liked chickens but one of my early chores was to feed and water them and pick eggs. Straw was stored upstairs and kept the chicken house warm in the winter. Chicks were raised in a small brooder house. An outhouse next to the chicken house was used occasionally. I recall peach wrappings as a toilet paper substitute. No harsh Monkey Ward catalog here!
Another small building that may have originally used for fuel, oil, and lubricant storage was converted into a nice little play house and moved up in the yard. A number of trees in the yard provided shelter, shade, and entertainment. A pine grove bordered the north end of the yard. Four apple trees graced the north yard. Two large white cedar trees stood in front of the house and were excellent for climbing. A horse chestnut tree provided good throwing material. One tree held a tire swing, another a little tree house with a slide made from an old corn picker chute. A basketball backboard was attached to another. Best of all was a tall tree with a long chain swing so we could swing real high. The cow yard was mainly burr oak and much of this was taken down and bulldozed into a long pile to dry and burn. This provided great recreation for young boys. We often made our own fun. Insert 3 chicken feathers into the soft pith of a corn cob and it became a hand grenade or rocket. Dad made a stick for rolling a barrel hoop by nailing a cross piece to a stick of snow fencing. He showed me how to whittle an arrow and sling from old cedar shingles. We made sling shots with inner tube rubber and a forked branch. The best leather pouch came from the tongue of a worn out work shoe. I always had a pocket knife, absolutely necessary on a farm.
This was the layout of the farm place as I remember it, and there was plenty to keep me busy and entertained.
I enjoyed the hard work and sense of accomplishment while growing up on the farm. My favorite time was haying. Hay was cut in long windrows, raked, baled, and put up in barns. Part of the joy was having a big crew together- the Sathre’s, Neus’ and hired hands. Mowing was a bit dangerous so that was an adult’s job. Sometimes there were nesting pheasants that wouldn’t leave the nest and were killed. I had a dog named Peggy that would follow the John Deere tractor in the field, chasing birds, field mice, and striped gophers. One day she followed my Uncle Bernie Neus while he was mowing with his Farmall tractor. She ran into the mower, her legs were cut off and she had to be put down. Bernie really felt bad about this and I felt worse. Side raking was a safer and easier task, and was usually the first tractor field work a kid did at age 9 or10. A small tractor, usually a Farmall H, was all that was needed to pull a rake. Dave Boyum and I were sharing raking duties one day. One would drive while the other rode behind the seat on the drawbar. Once when Dave (Twink) was driving, I crouched down so he couldn’t see me. When he looked back he thought I’d fallen off. The first baler I remember was a Case with a manual knotter, and someone had to sit at a little seat on the side and thread the knotter. Very dirty work! Self tie didn’t come until about 1950. We had a Minneapolis Moline wire tie baler with a Wisconsin engine that made very heavy bales. They were harder to feed than twine bales and cows could get “hardware disease” if they ingested a piece of wire. Cow magnets were administered-to keep sharp objects from injuring the cow’s digestive system. We had New Holland balers when I was old enough to help, simple, reliable, and easy to work on. We always stacked our bales on a wagon. Usually the driver and stacker would trade off, but sometimes a young buck with a senior driver would end up stacking every load. A bale hook was often used to pull the bales from the baler and stack them in place. Handling bales was hard on blue jeans. (I don’t think we called them jeans- usually overalls or work pants) Holes would be worn in the front upper legs, maybe fashionable today but bad for handling hay bales. Mom would save the back part of the legs from worn out jeans and sew them over the front from pocket to below the knee. Maybe this is where Carhartt got the idea for double knee pants.
Hay was stacked in the hay mows. A steel rail ran the length of the barn and a carrier transported the hay to where it would be dropped. The bale forks were four sickle shaped knives with trip chains. They were inserted strategically into two layers of bales so eight could be lifted together. As they rose to the haymow door the pulley would fit into the socket on the carrier and the hay would be on its way on the rail. When the stackers hollered the wagon man would pull the trip rope and the load would drop. A massive hay rope, about an inch and half in diameter, pulled the hay into the barn with a system of pulleys. The last pulley, outside the barn at ground level allowed the rope to be tied to a tractor to power the whole procedure. This was a kids job and the old hand clutch John Deere was used. Pull up slowly near the pulley and the rope was slack enough to reach the hay wagon. When the forks were set, the wagon man hollered to back up. As the tractor was backed slowly the hay was lifted into the barn. When the stackers hollered you stopped the tractor, and the load was tripped. Drive ahead slowly and the forks were returned to the wagon. All this had to be coordinated and done at the right speed to work efficiently. Pretty simple, but sometimes the old hand clutch was set too tight and a young boy had to drop the steering wheel and use both hands and all his strength to disengage the clutch. Panic! Often the barns weren’t completely empty when haying began. However, if you started stacking on bare floor the bales had to be stacked on their side so the strings would not rot on the floor. Each subsequent layer was stacked with twines up, alternating direction to make the stack strong. When the barn was filled to the top kids could catch pigeons out of the copulas at night. Hay was thrown down the chutes through sliding trap doors to the barn floor. Enough hay was thrown down for a few feedings and extra bales were stacked in the aisles in front of the mangers. The round roof barn, or south barn as we called it did not have a carrier so bales had to be lifted by elevator through two doors on the west side and carried to the far corners. We tried to get the barn completely full and piling those last bales under the tin roof was unbearably hot. It felt good to slide down the elevator after a wagon was unloaded, feel the cool breeze, and get a drink of water. A full crew of 8 or 10 workers was needed to get the hay from the field to the barn. Hay was cut a day or so before baling so it could dry. It was raked when it was “ready” and baled when it was “ready”. This meant it had to be just dry enough to handle. Damp hay would spoil and perhaps start a barn fire. Too dry and a lot of the alfalfa leaves would drop off. Weather was always an issue and rain was the biggest problem. This was all good hard work, but I enjoyed it and was able to do all the tasks as I grew older.
Filling silo in the fall was another neighboring venture but didn’t need as many workers as haying. In the early days it was all corn silage- the whole stalk chopped when still a little green and the kernels were in the “milk” stage. A field chopper blew the silage into wagons to be hauled to the silos. Our wagons were hay wagons fitted with homemade sides and a back that lifted for unloading. A false front positioned at the front of the wagon was connected by two cables on the floor to an axel mounted at the back. This was connected to a drive shaft powered by an electric motor with an old truck gearbox to shift it in or out of gear. As the false front pulled the silage back, one or two men would rake it into the blower hopper with forks that looked like manure forks with tines at a 90 degree angle. When the load was emptied the false front was pulled back to the front of the wagon. The hopper lifted up so the tractor and wagon could be driven through. The silage blower was belt powered and blew the silage though pipes and into the silo. These pipes were not set up permanently, so they had to be taken down, unbolted, and set up for the next silo. The wood stave silo and cement block silo had outside ladders so we could climb to a small platform to hook up and raise the pipes. The glazed block silo had only inside doors to climb, so someone with little fear of heights would go up and shinny around the top to hook up the pipes. Silage was thrown down by hand when I was younger. It often froze around the edge in winter and had to be broken up with a pick axe. Later on we installed electric unloaders with an auger that ratcheted around the silo, moving the silage to a blower positioned at the door. They saved a lot of hard work, but could not be used in the wood stave silo where silage had to be thrown down by hand. That silo smelled like an empty beer bottle in the winter! Silage was loaded into a 3 wheeled cart to be pushed up the aisles and dished out to the cows. The calves in the north barn and the bull required toting silage in bushel baskets.
The Harvestore silo was built when I was in high school. Silo crews are usually young and ready for adventure. I went to feed the herd bull one morning and he didn’t come to the manger, which was unusual. I went around the building to check on him and discovered one of the silo crew in the corral. The bull was facing him, pawing dirt and slobbering, ready to charge. I told him he better get out, but he said he had a $5.00 bet with another crew member that he could stay in the pen for 5 minutes, and he was not about to lose the bet. He lasted the 5 minutes and collected the bet. The 60 foot Harvestore was made of glass lined steel sheets and was almost air tight, eliminating spoilage. Also, it unloaded from the bottom so silage was first in-first-out. Actually it was haylage- chopped hay, not silage that was put up in the Harvestore. There was little fermentation so haylage was fresh and sweet smelling and the cattle loved it. Haylage was augered out into a long concrete feed bunk and the cows were turned out to feed. This was a great labor saving system. We fed green chop in the summer. A field chopper harvested young hay, blown on a hay rack to be hauled to the cows. By this time we were also using a portable mixing mill to grind feed so feeding the livestock was much easier. The wood stave and glazed block silos were taken down.
Combining oats, corn, and soybeans did not require a great amount of manpower. Dad or Byron usually ran the combine, and the hired help and I would haul the grain and unload it. Initially we had combines that were pulled behind a tractor, but later on combines were self propelled. Combines separated the grain from the straw. Corn and soybean “straw” was spread on the ground, but the spreader was taken off for oat straw, so it came out in windrows to be raked and baled. Oat straw was used for bedding and we needed a lot of it. Straw bales were often stacked outside. One stack at the Woods farm was as big as a barn. This was quite an accomplishment as the corners had to be perfect to stack bales that high.
I’ve put the cart before the horse, describing harvesting before planting. I was much more involved in harvesting that took place in the summer, and less with the planting in the spring when I was in school. I did some plowing, disking, and dragging, but dad and Byron did the planting. My earliest memory of planting as a young child was riding in a small grain wagon broadcasting oats. The oats were shoveled into a hopper with a ground driven spreader that “broadcast” the oats over a large area. A tractor with a drag followed to rake the seed under. A later development was a seed drill that dropped (drilled) seed oats and hayseed in the ground, partially covering them. We planted our own seed oats, and Dad would bring samples in the house to test them. One hundred seeds were counted out, placed on a paper plate and covered with a moist paper towel. They were placed on top of the refrigerator where it was quite warm, and kept moist until they germinated. The oats with the highest percentage of germination were used for planting. I’m not sure there was much difference and I suppose we planted different varieties, but it was a good lesson in agronomy and mathematics. Farmers used to plant their own seed corn before hybrid varieties were developed, greatly increasing yields. Corn planters planted corn at the prescribed rate, and dry fertilizer was applied at the same time. A neighbor, Edwin Bergene, used to check plant his corn, using check wires to lay out the rows so they could be cultivated both ways. The rows were kept almost weed free, but the drawback was fewer plants per acre and smaller yields. Edwin even got after the few remaining weeds with a hoe. His fields looked great, but didn’t produce near as much as his less particular neighbors. I did a lot of cultivating with a 4 row cultivator mounted on the John Deere. It was a bit boring, but you had to be alert to keep from plowing up corn. I was cultivating corn at our Lodi 80 one spring day. O.M. Peterson had the 80 west of ours and he was cultivating with a two row on a little Ford tractor. He had been a high school teacher and football coach in Iowa before a divorce and drinking got the best of him. He lived in a small, run down trailer on the south end of his 80. Limpy Anderson was helping him that day. O.M. would do a few rounds while Limpy sat in the shade with a cold North Star beer. Then Limpy would drive while O.M. took a break. Then they would take a beer break together, I suppose to rest the Ford. We bought that 80 from O.M. a few years later and plowed up blue North Star beer cans from one end to the other. We grew some soybeans as a cash crop and they grew better if they were inoculated with nitrogen fixing bacteria. We bought cans of inoculant that looked much like black, mellow soil. We mixed it with the beans and a little water in washtubs, stirring it with our bare hands until the beans were covered. I don’t know if it helped us grow.
Dad was the herdsman and very proud of his Purebred Holstein herd. Meticulous records were kept, and cows that did not produce were culled. We used the Dairy Herd Improvement Association (DHIA) for record keeping. A certified inspector (milk tester), Rueben Sorenson, came once a month to test the milk. Morning and evening milk from each cow would be weighed and a sample taken to test the butterfat content. A premium was paid for milk with higher butterfat. All this information was entered into a large book so each cow’s production could be tracked. Dad was never in a hurry to milk the cows in the evening when Rueben was there, adding a bit more milk on each cow’s record! Rueben was an old bachelor with some strange ways, but he was part of the family when he stayed overnight and took meals with us while he tested over a two day period. He was an avid baseball fan and could quote scores, batting averages and all sorts of records. Of course there were fewer Big League teams in the 40’s and 50’s.
Cows sometimes needed help when they calved. I was quite young and alone one afternoon in the winter when I noticed a cow in labor in the barn. I got the O.B. chain and put it on the calf’s feet when they appeared. I felt proud when I delivered a calf all by myself. I was surprised when two more feet appeared, and I delivered twins. Calving was done year round to even out milk production. One summer day a calf was born at the far end of the pasture by the woods. I loaded up that calf on Dixie and climbed back in the saddle just like a real cowboy. That’s a lot harder than it looks! The first few meals of colostrum milk are important for a calf’s health. After that, the milk goes in the tank and the calves are put on milk replacer, foul smelling dry powder that is mixed with warm water. Newborn calves have the sucking instinct but don’t know how to drink from a pail. You trained them by letting them suck on your fingers as you lowered your hand into the milk. They soon caught on and would get real rambunctious at feeding time. As they grew they would be moved to the north barn and started on grain, silage, and hay. Bull calves were herded up to Byron’s to be fed out. We ate some young bull meat as “beef”. After we got rid of the chickens the chicken house was converted to a calf barn. A calf got out one day, and I suppose I could have caught it and had it back in no time. But I was 15 and I was a cowboy. So I saddled up Pat, one of Doc Huseby’s horses. I roped that calf and got off to put a halter on him. Pat was a very tall half Thoroughbred , old and blind in one eye. He spooked and took off at a run across the north yard, dragging the calf behind. The calf stayed on its feet, skidding across the yard until they hit the ditch. Then he went down, was dragged across County 7 and up the ditch to the north where they finally stopped. When I caught up with them I was sure the calf would be dead. Fortunately he was alive, but skinned up on one side. I made sure I was the only one feeding the calves until his hair grew back. There were some bad skid marks across the wet lawn, and Mom asked me how they got there. I told her I rode the horse across the lawn, which had a very small element of truth. She told me I should know better. My first horse was a spotted mare I named Scout. Uncle Doc found her for me and started my interest in horses. I got Doc’s horses, Pat and Dick, and later Grandpa bought my mare, Dixie, from Roy Smith.
I enjoyed feeding livestock, but cleaning up after them was far down on my list of favorite tasks. Cleaning the chicken house was like removing toxic waste. Pitching manure out of calf pens was better, but still not much fun. This was a summertime job, done when there was a lull in other activities, and required only two elements, a pitchfork and muscle. A hayfork has only 3 tines for light lifting. A manure fork has 5 or 6 tines for heavy lifting, and there was a lot of heavy lifting. Straw is used for bedding in calf pens, and as it gets dirty, more straw is added creating a layered effect. When it gets too deep, it’s time to pitch. (Good life lesson here!) Two worked better than one and our hired man, Joe Schneider, was often my partner. One hot summer day we were cleaning pens in the north barn. Joe wore striped bib overalls and he had taken his shirt off. His side buttons weren’t buttoned and I remember thinking “Joe, I think you forgot your underwear.” Another monumental pitching event occurred after we purchased the neighboring Woods farm. The barn there was unusual construction, a 2 story haymow at ground level surrounded by a lean to on 3 sides. The two long sides had stanchions for milk cows, and apparently when the manure got so deep the cows backs were touching the roof, Mr. Woods moved them to the other side. When we bought the place both sides were full. Joe and I went to work and discovered that soybean “straw” had been used for bedding. Joe said it was like pitching willow roots, and he was right- very difficult. Another unusual “building” at that farm was a large straw stack cowshed- warm in the winter and cool in the summer.
Rainy days were used for fixing fence, repairing equipment and so on. Dad always said the best hired men were those who could find something to do on their own. All scrap iron was saved to be used for repairs. Both Dad and Byron were skilled at welding and fixing and making things. Dad’s main interest was the livestock and I think Byron favored machinery and field work. He was also the milk man Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday mornings.
Byron usually found kids to take over the milk route so he could concentrate on farming. Maynard Lewison and Andy Anderson did this when I was young, and Butch Smith was the milkman before me. The milk route was passed to me when I was old enough to drive the pickup, age 14. Dave Boyum and I learned the route by going with Byron as he drove. The milk delivery pickup had running boards and Dave and I would stand on each side, grab milk cartons and run them to the houses. And I do mean run. We’d often take off and get back on while the truck was still moving, so the route didn’t take long. When I took over I would get up early on weekdays and deliver as much of the route as I could before school, then Byron would take over. Saturday and summer I did the whole route, usually with Dave, and he took over when he was old enough to drive. By this time we had bought a used Metro milk van and the pickup was retired to farm use. We didn’t make much money with the route, but it was an important service to the community. We delivered door to door, to the schools, stores, and cafes. I learned about the basics of running a business, keeping records, ordering milk, and dealing with and respecting people. I sometimes wore a matched work pants and shirt like Byron, and we always wore milk hauler aprons. These were canvas bibs with open legs to the knee closed by snaps. I felt very professional with this outfit.
An International ¾ ton pickup with a floor shift was our main farm truck and the first one I learned to drive. It was used for everything from delivering bulls to hauling loads of hay and grain. I rode with Dad and Byron when we delivered a bull one cold winter day. The heater didn’t work, there was no defroster, and I wished I’d stayed home. But riding along was always an adventure and I never passed up a chance. The milk route Chevy pickup was of course used on the farm but for lighter, cleaner work. We often used the International for hauling loads from the Lodi farm which was 3 or 4 miles away. I was stopped by the highway patrol in Adams for exceeding legal load length- 3 empty hay wagons hooked to the pickup. I didn’t even have my license with me, and fortunately the patrolman just warned me of the infraction. We actually had two Internationals, one replacing the first. The second one was missing part of the floorboard on the driver’s side. Byron chewed Copenhagen snoose and would spit through the floorboards when he was driving. He sometimes forgot he was driving the Chevy so there was snoose juice on the floor. Grandpa Bennie (B.J.) thought his nice ’57 four door Chevrolet was a farm vehicle. He had his insurance businesses and owned the post office building where he had an office, but he still considered himself a farmer. Wearing suit pants, dress shirt, and his high top dress shoes didn’t keep him out of the hayfields. He would come out and straighten up the loose hay that the side rake missed on the corners, and pick up rocks he came across. I would see his car parked at the post office with a hayfork out the back window and rocks on the floor. Riding with him was an adventure as he tended to “pump” the accelerator causing a jerky ride.
The home place was about 160 acres, and Grandpa had also acquired the Moberg farm, an L shaped 92 acres a half mile to the west. There used to be a well and windmill there and I vaguely recall young stock pastured there when I was very young. There were old foundations and a shallow well still visible on the wooded hill where the farm place once stood. I don’t know when the original Lodi 80 was purchased but I recall them blasting a huge rock with dynamite when I was a youngster. The 120 acre farm where Byron’s family lived was purchased perhaps after Gloria was born. I’m sure county records would clear up these dates. The adjacent Woods farm, O.M. Peterson’s 80, and some small lots on the north edge of Adams, including Doc Huseby’s horse pasture, brought the total to 700+ acres. Most farms in the ‘40s, ‘50s, and ‘60s were 160 to 320 acres so this seemed large. However, it was supporting two families.
We always had hired men, and living next to town provided us with a steady stream of good kids wanting to make a little money and learn farm work. My preschool memories are of Fritzie Krebsbach and his fast motorcycle. He took dad for a ride and supposedly went 100 miles an hour. He also flew an open cockpit plane and I think Dad rode with him once. I have a picture of me wearing a flier’s helmet and goggles that he gave me. Warren “Farmer “Mattson worked for us. He was a bit older and a good man. Maynard Lewison, related on Mom’s side, and Andy Anderson, Dad’s cousin, worked on the farm in the late ‘40s.They were and are great guys and lifelong best friends of Mom and Dad. Grandpa sometimes hired help through the employment agency in Austin. I remember one nice old guy with a heavy Norske accent who unfortunately had a drinking problem, so he didn’t last long. The best ones were the town kids. I would like to compile a list of all those who worked on the farm. Some stories stand out. Richard (Junior) Battey fell asleep plowing the field east of the cow yard. The John Deere he was driving bounced over the dead furrow, over a barbed wire fence, and halfway up an oak tree. We have pictures to prove it. Art Osmundson and I were checking it out and I’d guess we were about first grade. Fortunately Battey wasn’t hurt and the plow was only slightly bent. Zeno (Joe) Schneider from South Dakota was one of Grandpa’s hires and lived at Byron’s. He was strong as a bull but had a crippled arm and leg that slowed him down some. He stuttered badly and sputtered when he talked so you needed to keep out of range.
Al (Pappy) Mullenbach was the only hired man who lived with us, and had the room across from mine. He was only four years older than me, a nice good looking kid and popular football player. His dad died when Al was 12 and his mother remarried 5 years later and moved from town. I suppose Al wanted to finish school in Adams so he became our live-in hired man. We had a barn radio usually tuned to WCCO. Dad thought the cows milked better with good music playing. Radio shows came on during the evening milking so we listened to “Suspense” and “Dragnet”. (This was before television.) Sometimes Al would turn the dial to polka music. How could cows milk to that stuff? Then rock and roll came along and Dad said that was nothing but a lot of noise.
It was great to be alive in the 1940’s, 1950’s, and 1960’s, and I am thankful and proud to have grown up on a farm. These pages tell a little about the work we did and the adventures we had. The memories are old, but the lessons and values we learn last forever.
I was born September 15, 1943 at Saint Mary’s Hospital in Rochester, Minnesota. Mom said I had three moms when I was young, as we shared the house with my grandparents, and Uncle Byron and Aunt Helen. When I had my first baths in the kitchen sink, Helen was posted by the back door so no one would come in and create a draft on me. They were careful with me as I was premature and a bit frail. I also spent a lot of time with my maternal grandmother, Clara Torgerson, so maybe I had four “moms”. Apparently no one was watching me when I rolled my little stroller through the open cellar door and down the steep steps. I landed upright and wasn’t hurt at all, so maybe someone was watching over me. Of course I don’t remember this and I’m not sure when memories begin.
One of my earliest memories was of pedaling my tricycle with Mom walking beside me as we went to check on the house Grandpa and Grandma were building on the north edge of town. I remember the framework and the opening into the basement before the steps were put in. They moved in before I started school as we had to make room for the growing families.
A mixed breed dog I called Putsy was my constant companion. She raised a litter of pups under the granary, and I remember that newborn puppy smell. My great Uncle, Melvin Lewison, still did some farming with horses. We visited his farm, and he put his granddaughters, Billie and Barbara Lewison and me on the broad back of one of his horses. That was the first time I smelled warm horse flesh, and perhaps the earthy fragrance of horses and puppies triggered my love for these animals.
Our house was a square, two story building- common construction from the early 1900’s. There were four bedrooms upstairs and a kitchen, dining room, living room and “back room” downstairs. The back room served as a mud room, laundry room, and closet. The dining room also served as our living room, as the living room, which we called the front room, was used mainly for company. It could be closed off with a sliding pocket door. The front door, facing the road, opened unto a porch that ran the length of the house. There was also a second story porch that was fun to play on. The only time I can recall the front door being used was when Ruth Thune walked up from town to visit. The back door facing the farmyard was used by everyone. The attic was unfinished and was a place to store all sorts of treasures to explore. A ladder led to a trapdoor in the roof that opened unto a small, flat area. I would climb up when I was a little older and I felt I was on top of the world when I sat there. The basement was unfinished. An old cistern had a wall removed and was used for storing home canned goods. A simple shower was installed and was sometimes used during the haying and combining seasons. A second basement stairway led outside and was covered by a storm door. A door at the bottom of the steps made this storm cellar into a dark, secret cave. The original purpose would have been to carry out wet laundry to hang on clotheslines after they’d been washed in the old wringer washer. These doors were never locked, so it would be easy for someone to break in. But it would be so much easier to just enter the house doors which were never locked. I didn’t even know we had a house key until I was in high school. Also, the only place car and truck keys were stored was in the ignition.
Our milk house, just east of the house, was unusual because of our milk business. We bottled and sold our milk in town, and had been doing this since the horse and wagon days. We delivered door to door, to the schools, stores and cafes. We had a walk-in cooler to keep the bottled milk cold. Our bottling equipment was stainless steel. Milk was poured into a vat and pumped up to a long perforated trough near the ceiling. Milk drained out over a wall of pipes that had cold water running through them. The cooled milk drained into a bottom trough and then to a ten gallon bottler tank. The hand cranked bottler had four stations that moved a quarter turn with each pull of the crank handle. A bottle was placed on the first, half filled on the second, full on the third, and capped with a paper cap on the fourth. Mom did most of the bottling. I stuck my hand in the gears when I was just a little guy and tore up a finger. A photo of me riding on an old John Deere tractor with Uncle Byron shows my right hand all bandaged. I was maybe three years old, but to this day my fingernail doesn’t grow out, and it hurts in the winter cold. Big sinks of hot water were used for bottle washing . An electric motor powered the brushes that cleaned the bottles. The bottles were placed on the middle brush that washed the inside, while two other brushes did the outside. I can remember only Grandma Huseby doing this job. Pasteurization laws were passed in 1949 so we could no longer sell raw milk. The exception was for customers who brought their own containers to be filled at the farm. We did some of this after we installed our bulk tank. Our best customer was Mr. Christensen, a Danish gentleman from town who brought his metal jugs to be filled. He smoked a pipe with sweet smelling cherry tobacco so we always knew when he was around. We sold our raw milk to Rochester Dairy, and bought back the finished product so we could continue with milk delivery in town. They marketed the milk with the Polly Meadows brand, and Byron used to tease the delivery driver, Hans Musolf, about being caught in the cooler with Polly.
A large covered concrete water tank ran along the east side of the milk house, and would originally have been used for cooling cans of milk before hauling them to the creamery. We called it the horse tank and I suppose horses were led up to drink from it in the past. The well with submersible pump was next to it, but the windmill was still standing and the hand pump worked when I was young. The tank supplied gravity feed water to the watering cups in the dairy barn and calf barn. I got in trouble when I caught some bullheads in Neus’ creek and thought it would be neat to turn them loose in the horse tank. One got caught in the outlet pipe so the cattle were without water until we were able to remove it.
The dairy barn was a well built hip roof barn with about 16 stanchions on the east side and 12 on the west. A pen in the northwest corner was originally a maternity pen, but later temporary individual calf pens were put in. Cows learned their places in the barn, always using the same stanchion. If a heifer or another cow got in the wrong stall it would have to be moved while the rightful owner waited impatiently. Long registry names were given to the cows, but they also had short “barn” names like Bessie or Kit to identify them. Cows were fed hay, silage, and grain. Hay was stored in the hay barn and thrown down through sliding trapdoors in the floor. Silage was put up in a small wooden stave silo, a 30 foot glazed block silo, and a 40 foot cement stave silo. Silage was thrown down by hand, loaded in a silage cart, and pushed through the aisles. Each cow got a heaping silage fork full. A covered shed held a mixture of ground corn and oats with salt, mineral and perhaps soybean meal added. Each cow was fed grain according to their lactation and production. Heavy producers got 3 scoops and dry cows just a taste. This was poured on top of the corn or hay silage and the cows relished it. When this was gone hay was served. Hay was mixed alfalfa, clover, and timothy, and in later years alfalfa was more prevalent. Crushed lime was spread on the barn floor to keep it fresh and clean and less slippery. This lime was also good for the fields when it was spread with the manure. Ideally, spreading the lime in the barn was a two person job, one to wheel the old wheelbarrow backwards, and the other to spread the lime. This took talent as both hands scooped the lime and the upper hand threw and spread it nice and evenly. That was all that was needed in the warm months when the cows were outside on pasture. In the winter the cows were kept in and they needed a nice warm bed of straw. Gutters were cleaned with a scoop shovel. Manure was shoveled into a carrier bucket hanging on a track that ran the length of the barn, and out the south barn door to be emptied in the manure spreader. It had a chain on a gear to raise or lower the bucket, and a trip lever to dump it. I recall another use for this rig. Dave Boyum, Art or Jim Osmundson or I would climb in the bucket. (It wasn’t clean but it was dry.) We’d start at the north end of the barn and push the bucket as hard and fast as we could. Out the south door we’d fly, hit the stop at the end of the track and swing back and forth. Cheap entertainment! I don’t remember when the round roof barn was added, but I was quite young. I rode in the pickup with Dad and Byron when we went to Meservy, Iowa to pick up used stanchions. Originally there were stanchions only on the east side, and the west side was a calf pen that opened into a calf pasture. Later we added stanchions on the west side. A mechanical gutter cleaner was added as we were milking more cows. The original one was only on the east side. Paddles connected by chain moved the manure out a chute at the south end of the barn and into the manure spreader. They wrapped around a drum at the end of the chute and back into the barn where they would be positioned back in the gutter. This was a two man job to keep everything in line. One morning when I was old enough to be of some help we had the coldest day I had ever experienced- close to 40 below. Wet manure froze instantly as it went up the chute, so we had to keep chipping away to prevent buildup. Also, we had to keep the manure spreader in gear and running slowly so the apron would not freeze and bust. A few years later the calf pen was replaced by another line of stanchions so we could milk more cows ,and a new, more modern gutter cleaner was installed with a drive chain on only one side so it could go around corners.
We installed a bulk tank in the old milk house to keep and cool the milk. Milk had to be carried from the barn to the milk house. The milk was dumped from milking machines into 4 gallon “shotgun” cans, tall, narrow cans that enabled you to walk with one in each hand. When I was old enough I struggled with carrying these cans. A lot of milk was carried across the yard this way, twice a day, 365 day a year in all kinds of weather. It may have been a Grade A milk requirement to have a modern milk house connected to the barn. The milk house was built and a pipeline system was later installed to pump milk directly into the bulk tank, so we didn’t have to carry those shotgun cans anymore. We even built a bathroom on the milk house. I rode to Rochester with Byron to pick up chicks (the feathered kind!) and also a used toilet for the milk house. It was sitting in the back of the Metro milk van, and when we got to the hatchery the guy helping us load the chicks asked “Is that thing hooked up?”
The north barn was a smaller version of the dairy barn and was originally the horse barn. When the horses were gone it became the calf barn. One of my jobs was feeding the young stock. I was about 12 years old when I tripped on a twine string and fell out of the full hay mow. Fortunately I had just thrown down a bunch of bales so the landing was soft. Unfortunately I fell head first and ripped my forearm on a nail sticking out of the wall. I had the wind knocked out of me, and when I could breathe again I brushed myself off and discovered a deep 4 inch gash spread about an inch apart on the underside of my arm. There was very little blood, but it really scared me and I was young enough to cry. It was closed with 12 stitches and I still have the scar.
Our cattle were all registered Holsteins, and in the days before artificial insemination and for sometime after we always kept a breeding sire. He was kept in a bullpen, his own little slant roof apartment with a corral made of 2” by 10” planking. A half door opened into a concrete manger with a large pipe framework imbedded in it to keep the bull from coming through. Feeding him was one of my duties and he was often ornery. Dad was the herdsman, checking on the condition of the cows and separating cows in heat. Sometimes the cow was herded into the bullpen, but usually it was safer and simpler to bring the bull to the dairy barn. The bulls had brass rings in their noses and were led with a bull staff. This was a 5 foot long metal pipe with a snap on one end to connect to the nose ring, and a handle on the other end to open the snap. If a bull got rambunctious Dad could drop the staff and the bull would be in a world of hurt and learn to behave. Sometimes if we were busy haying Dad would turn the bull out with the cows. Once I had horses I looked for any excuse to “cowboy”. The bull was with the cows one evening at milking time, and we didn’t want him to come in the barn with the cows. I saddled Dixie, my good bay mare, intending to separate the bull and drive him to the bullpen. He was in the corner of the barn and gutter cleaner chute, so I went in to move him. He turned on us, got his head under Dixie’s belly, and lifted us off the ground. No one was hurt, but I gained a lot of respect for a bull’s power. We sold a number of young registered breeding bulls, usually delivering them with our old International pickup. We were loading a yearling bull from the bullpen, and Byron was in the pickup pulling on the halter and newly placed nose ring. Dad and I were encouraging the bull from behind. He pulled loose and turned on me as I scrambled up the plank fence. He caught me at the back of my knees and easily tossed me over the fence. They are very powerful animals.
The old sheep barn was just east of the cow barn, and the south side had once been used for hogs. Both were gone by my time so it was used to store straw bales. A lean to on the north and east sides made it easy to scramble to the top. There were always a lot of rats around and I hunted them with my BB gun and set out traps and poison. A very small old corn crib was right next to the wood lot and was a haven for squirrels. The main corn crib just to the west had an aisle down the middle where wagons could be parked. In the days before combines, corn was picked on the cob and had to be air dried. Cribs provided as much ventilation as possible. Ear corn and oats were loaded into a large wagon and then shoveled into the old hammer mill and ground into livestock feed. I don’t remember the ratio, but I shoveled a lot of grain. Virgil Bergene owned a corn sheller and would haul it to the farm to shell corn to be stored in the small metal bins. The cobs were hauled to a cob pile in the wood lot. New, larger bins were added as combines replaced corn pickers and we no longer used ear corn for feed. Shelled corn was dried in propane fueled corn driers before being stored. Oats were stored in the old granary in four separate bins. A lean to on the north and east sides of the granary provided storage for some of the smaller equipment, balers, plows, etc. I suppose most machinery was just stored outside until the new machine shed was built. I remember the round rafters and some of the cement work being done on the new shed when I was quite small. I must have been fascinated by the cement mixer as Byron started calling me Cement Mixer. He liked to hang nicknames on folks, perhaps because he had so many himself - Peanuts, Jumbo, Junior. The front part of the shed had a cement floor workshop and storage area with a small balcony above for more storage. Large machinery was stored at the back. We raised a few chickens in the chicken house west of the machine shed. I never liked chickens but one of my early chores was to feed and water them and pick eggs. Straw was stored upstairs and kept the chicken house warm in the winter. Chicks were raised in a small brooder house. An outhouse next to the chicken house was used occasionally. I recall peach wrappings as a toilet paper substitute. No harsh Monkey Ward catalog here!
Another small building that may have originally used for fuel, oil, and lubricant storage was converted into a nice little play house and moved up in the yard. A number of trees in the yard provided shelter, shade, and entertainment. A pine grove bordered the north end of the yard. Four apple trees graced the north yard. Two large white cedar trees stood in front of the house and were excellent for climbing. A horse chestnut tree provided good throwing material. One tree held a tire swing, another a little tree house with a slide made from an old corn picker chute. A basketball backboard was attached to another. Best of all was a tall tree with a long chain swing so we could swing real high. The cow yard was mainly burr oak and much of this was taken down and bulldozed into a long pile to dry and burn. This provided great recreation for young boys. We often made our own fun. Insert 3 chicken feathers into the soft pith of a corn cob and it became a hand grenade or rocket. Dad made a stick for rolling a barrel hoop by nailing a cross piece to a stick of snow fencing. He showed me how to whittle an arrow and sling from old cedar shingles. We made sling shots with inner tube rubber and a forked branch. The best leather pouch came from the tongue of a worn out work shoe. I always had a pocket knife, absolutely necessary on a farm.
This was the layout of the farm place as I remember it, and there was plenty to keep me busy and entertained.
I enjoyed the hard work and sense of accomplishment while growing up on the farm. My favorite time was haying. Hay was cut in long windrows, raked, baled, and put up in barns. Part of the joy was having a big crew together- the Sathre’s, Neus’ and hired hands. Mowing was a bit dangerous so that was an adult’s job. Sometimes there were nesting pheasants that wouldn’t leave the nest and were killed. I had a dog named Peggy that would follow the John Deere tractor in the field, chasing birds, field mice, and striped gophers. One day she followed my Uncle Bernie Neus while he was mowing with his Farmall tractor. She ran into the mower, her legs were cut off and she had to be put down. Bernie really felt bad about this and I felt worse. Side raking was a safer and easier task, and was usually the first tractor field work a kid did at age 9 or10. A small tractor, usually a Farmall H, was all that was needed to pull a rake. Dave Boyum and I were sharing raking duties one day. One would drive while the other rode behind the seat on the drawbar. Once when Dave (Twink) was driving, I crouched down so he couldn’t see me. When he looked back he thought I’d fallen off. The first baler I remember was a Case with a manual knotter, and someone had to sit at a little seat on the side and thread the knotter. Very dirty work! Self tie didn’t come until about 1950. We had a Minneapolis Moline wire tie baler with a Wisconsin engine that made very heavy bales. They were harder to feed than twine bales and cows could get “hardware disease” if they ingested a piece of wire. Cow magnets were administered-to keep sharp objects from injuring the cow’s digestive system. We had New Holland balers when I was old enough to help, simple, reliable, and easy to work on. We always stacked our bales on a wagon. Usually the driver and stacker would trade off, but sometimes a young buck with a senior driver would end up stacking every load. A bale hook was often used to pull the bales from the baler and stack them in place. Handling bales was hard on blue jeans. (I don’t think we called them jeans- usually overalls or work pants) Holes would be worn in the front upper legs, maybe fashionable today but bad for handling hay bales. Mom would save the back part of the legs from worn out jeans and sew them over the front from pocket to below the knee. Maybe this is where Carhartt got the idea for double knee pants.
Hay was stacked in the hay mows. A steel rail ran the length of the barn and a carrier transported the hay to where it would be dropped. The bale forks were four sickle shaped knives with trip chains. They were inserted strategically into two layers of bales so eight could be lifted together. As they rose to the haymow door the pulley would fit into the socket on the carrier and the hay would be on its way on the rail. When the stackers hollered the wagon man would pull the trip rope and the load would drop. A massive hay rope, about an inch and half in diameter, pulled the hay into the barn with a system of pulleys. The last pulley, outside the barn at ground level allowed the rope to be tied to a tractor to power the whole procedure. This was a kids job and the old hand clutch John Deere was used. Pull up slowly near the pulley and the rope was slack enough to reach the hay wagon. When the forks were set, the wagon man hollered to back up. As the tractor was backed slowly the hay was lifted into the barn. When the stackers hollered you stopped the tractor, and the load was tripped. Drive ahead slowly and the forks were returned to the wagon. All this had to be coordinated and done at the right speed to work efficiently. Pretty simple, but sometimes the old hand clutch was set too tight and a young boy had to drop the steering wheel and use both hands and all his strength to disengage the clutch. Panic! Often the barns weren’t completely empty when haying began. However, if you started stacking on bare floor the bales had to be stacked on their side so the strings would not rot on the floor. Each subsequent layer was stacked with twines up, alternating direction to make the stack strong. When the barn was filled to the top kids could catch pigeons out of the copulas at night. Hay was thrown down the chutes through sliding trap doors to the barn floor. Enough hay was thrown down for a few feedings and extra bales were stacked in the aisles in front of the mangers. The round roof barn, or south barn as we called it did not have a carrier so bales had to be lifted by elevator through two doors on the west side and carried to the far corners. We tried to get the barn completely full and piling those last bales under the tin roof was unbearably hot. It felt good to slide down the elevator after a wagon was unloaded, feel the cool breeze, and get a drink of water. A full crew of 8 or 10 workers was needed to get the hay from the field to the barn. Hay was cut a day or so before baling so it could dry. It was raked when it was “ready” and baled when it was “ready”. This meant it had to be just dry enough to handle. Damp hay would spoil and perhaps start a barn fire. Too dry and a lot of the alfalfa leaves would drop off. Weather was always an issue and rain was the biggest problem. This was all good hard work, but I enjoyed it and was able to do all the tasks as I grew older.
Filling silo in the fall was another neighboring venture but didn’t need as many workers as haying. In the early days it was all corn silage- the whole stalk chopped when still a little green and the kernels were in the “milk” stage. A field chopper blew the silage into wagons to be hauled to the silos. Our wagons were hay wagons fitted with homemade sides and a back that lifted for unloading. A false front positioned at the front of the wagon was connected by two cables on the floor to an axel mounted at the back. This was connected to a drive shaft powered by an electric motor with an old truck gearbox to shift it in or out of gear. As the false front pulled the silage back, one or two men would rake it into the blower hopper with forks that looked like manure forks with tines at a 90 degree angle. When the load was emptied the false front was pulled back to the front of the wagon. The hopper lifted up so the tractor and wagon could be driven through. The silage blower was belt powered and blew the silage though pipes and into the silo. These pipes were not set up permanently, so they had to be taken down, unbolted, and set up for the next silo. The wood stave silo and cement block silo had outside ladders so we could climb to a small platform to hook up and raise the pipes. The glazed block silo had only inside doors to climb, so someone with little fear of heights would go up and shinny around the top to hook up the pipes. Silage was thrown down by hand when I was younger. It often froze around the edge in winter and had to be broken up with a pick axe. Later on we installed electric unloaders with an auger that ratcheted around the silo, moving the silage to a blower positioned at the door. They saved a lot of hard work, but could not be used in the wood stave silo where silage had to be thrown down by hand. That silo smelled like an empty beer bottle in the winter! Silage was loaded into a 3 wheeled cart to be pushed up the aisles and dished out to the cows. The calves in the north barn and the bull required toting silage in bushel baskets.
The Harvestore silo was built when I was in high school. Silo crews are usually young and ready for adventure. I went to feed the herd bull one morning and he didn’t come to the manger, which was unusual. I went around the building to check on him and discovered one of the silo crew in the corral. The bull was facing him, pawing dirt and slobbering, ready to charge. I told him he better get out, but he said he had a $5.00 bet with another crew member that he could stay in the pen for 5 minutes, and he was not about to lose the bet. He lasted the 5 minutes and collected the bet. The 60 foot Harvestore was made of glass lined steel sheets and was almost air tight, eliminating spoilage. Also, it unloaded from the bottom so silage was first in-first-out. Actually it was haylage- chopped hay, not silage that was put up in the Harvestore. There was little fermentation so haylage was fresh and sweet smelling and the cattle loved it. Haylage was augered out into a long concrete feed bunk and the cows were turned out to feed. This was a great labor saving system. We fed green chop in the summer. A field chopper harvested young hay, blown on a hay rack to be hauled to the cows. By this time we were also using a portable mixing mill to grind feed so feeding the livestock was much easier. The wood stave and glazed block silos were taken down.
Combining oats, corn, and soybeans did not require a great amount of manpower. Dad or Byron usually ran the combine, and the hired help and I would haul the grain and unload it. Initially we had combines that were pulled behind a tractor, but later on combines were self propelled. Combines separated the grain from the straw. Corn and soybean “straw” was spread on the ground, but the spreader was taken off for oat straw, so it came out in windrows to be raked and baled. Oat straw was used for bedding and we needed a lot of it. Straw bales were often stacked outside. One stack at the Woods farm was as big as a barn. This was quite an accomplishment as the corners had to be perfect to stack bales that high.
I’ve put the cart before the horse, describing harvesting before planting. I was much more involved in harvesting that took place in the summer, and less with the planting in the spring when I was in school. I did some plowing, disking, and dragging, but dad and Byron did the planting. My earliest memory of planting as a young child was riding in a small grain wagon broadcasting oats. The oats were shoveled into a hopper with a ground driven spreader that “broadcast” the oats over a large area. A tractor with a drag followed to rake the seed under. A later development was a seed drill that dropped (drilled) seed oats and hayseed in the ground, partially covering them. We planted our own seed oats, and Dad would bring samples in the house to test them. One hundred seeds were counted out, placed on a paper plate and covered with a moist paper towel. They were placed on top of the refrigerator where it was quite warm, and kept moist until they germinated. The oats with the highest percentage of germination were used for planting. I’m not sure there was much difference and I suppose we planted different varieties, but it was a good lesson in agronomy and mathematics. Farmers used to plant their own seed corn before hybrid varieties were developed, greatly increasing yields. Corn planters planted corn at the prescribed rate, and dry fertilizer was applied at the same time. A neighbor, Edwin Bergene, used to check plant his corn, using check wires to lay out the rows so they could be cultivated both ways. The rows were kept almost weed free, but the drawback was fewer plants per acre and smaller yields. Edwin even got after the few remaining weeds with a hoe. His fields looked great, but didn’t produce near as much as his less particular neighbors. I did a lot of cultivating with a 4 row cultivator mounted on the John Deere. It was a bit boring, but you had to be alert to keep from plowing up corn. I was cultivating corn at our Lodi 80 one spring day. O.M. Peterson had the 80 west of ours and he was cultivating with a two row on a little Ford tractor. He had been a high school teacher and football coach in Iowa before a divorce and drinking got the best of him. He lived in a small, run down trailer on the south end of his 80. Limpy Anderson was helping him that day. O.M. would do a few rounds while Limpy sat in the shade with a cold North Star beer. Then Limpy would drive while O.M. took a break. Then they would take a beer break together, I suppose to rest the Ford. We bought that 80 from O.M. a few years later and plowed up blue North Star beer cans from one end to the other. We grew some soybeans as a cash crop and they grew better if they were inoculated with nitrogen fixing bacteria. We bought cans of inoculant that looked much like black, mellow soil. We mixed it with the beans and a little water in washtubs, stirring it with our bare hands until the beans were covered. I don’t know if it helped us grow.
Dad was the herdsman and very proud of his Purebred Holstein herd. Meticulous records were kept, and cows that did not produce were culled. We used the Dairy Herd Improvement Association (DHIA) for record keeping. A certified inspector (milk tester), Rueben Sorenson, came once a month to test the milk. Morning and evening milk from each cow would be weighed and a sample taken to test the butterfat content. A premium was paid for milk with higher butterfat. All this information was entered into a large book so each cow’s production could be tracked. Dad was never in a hurry to milk the cows in the evening when Rueben was there, adding a bit more milk on each cow’s record! Rueben was an old bachelor with some strange ways, but he was part of the family when he stayed overnight and took meals with us while he tested over a two day period. He was an avid baseball fan and could quote scores, batting averages and all sorts of records. Of course there were fewer Big League teams in the 40’s and 50’s.
Cows sometimes needed help when they calved. I was quite young and alone one afternoon in the winter when I noticed a cow in labor in the barn. I got the O.B. chain and put it on the calf’s feet when they appeared. I felt proud when I delivered a calf all by myself. I was surprised when two more feet appeared, and I delivered twins. Calving was done year round to even out milk production. One summer day a calf was born at the far end of the pasture by the woods. I loaded up that calf on Dixie and climbed back in the saddle just like a real cowboy. That’s a lot harder than it looks! The first few meals of colostrum milk are important for a calf’s health. After that, the milk goes in the tank and the calves are put on milk replacer, foul smelling dry powder that is mixed with warm water. Newborn calves have the sucking instinct but don’t know how to drink from a pail. You trained them by letting them suck on your fingers as you lowered your hand into the milk. They soon caught on and would get real rambunctious at feeding time. As they grew they would be moved to the north barn and started on grain, silage, and hay. Bull calves were herded up to Byron’s to be fed out. We ate some young bull meat as “beef”. After we got rid of the chickens the chicken house was converted to a calf barn. A calf got out one day, and I suppose I could have caught it and had it back in no time. But I was 15 and I was a cowboy. So I saddled up Pat, one of Doc Huseby’s horses. I roped that calf and got off to put a halter on him. Pat was a very tall half Thoroughbred , old and blind in one eye. He spooked and took off at a run across the north yard, dragging the calf behind. The calf stayed on its feet, skidding across the yard until they hit the ditch. Then he went down, was dragged across County 7 and up the ditch to the north where they finally stopped. When I caught up with them I was sure the calf would be dead. Fortunately he was alive, but skinned up on one side. I made sure I was the only one feeding the calves until his hair grew back. There were some bad skid marks across the wet lawn, and Mom asked me how they got there. I told her I rode the horse across the lawn, which had a very small element of truth. She told me I should know better. My first horse was a spotted mare I named Scout. Uncle Doc found her for me and started my interest in horses. I got Doc’s horses, Pat and Dick, and later Grandpa bought my mare, Dixie, from Roy Smith.
I enjoyed feeding livestock, but cleaning up after them was far down on my list of favorite tasks. Cleaning the chicken house was like removing toxic waste. Pitching manure out of calf pens was better, but still not much fun. This was a summertime job, done when there was a lull in other activities, and required only two elements, a pitchfork and muscle. A hayfork has only 3 tines for light lifting. A manure fork has 5 or 6 tines for heavy lifting, and there was a lot of heavy lifting. Straw is used for bedding in calf pens, and as it gets dirty, more straw is added creating a layered effect. When it gets too deep, it’s time to pitch. (Good life lesson here!) Two worked better than one and our hired man, Joe Schneider, was often my partner. One hot summer day we were cleaning pens in the north barn. Joe wore striped bib overalls and he had taken his shirt off. His side buttons weren’t buttoned and I remember thinking “Joe, I think you forgot your underwear.” Another monumental pitching event occurred after we purchased the neighboring Woods farm. The barn there was unusual construction, a 2 story haymow at ground level surrounded by a lean to on 3 sides. The two long sides had stanchions for milk cows, and apparently when the manure got so deep the cows backs were touching the roof, Mr. Woods moved them to the other side. When we bought the place both sides were full. Joe and I went to work and discovered that soybean “straw” had been used for bedding. Joe said it was like pitching willow roots, and he was right- very difficult. Another unusual “building” at that farm was a large straw stack cowshed- warm in the winter and cool in the summer.
Rainy days were used for fixing fence, repairing equipment and so on. Dad always said the best hired men were those who could find something to do on their own. All scrap iron was saved to be used for repairs. Both Dad and Byron were skilled at welding and fixing and making things. Dad’s main interest was the livestock and I think Byron favored machinery and field work. He was also the milk man Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday mornings.
Byron usually found kids to take over the milk route so he could concentrate on farming. Maynard Lewison and Andy Anderson did this when I was young, and Butch Smith was the milkman before me. The milk route was passed to me when I was old enough to drive the pickup, age 14. Dave Boyum and I learned the route by going with Byron as he drove. The milk delivery pickup had running boards and Dave and I would stand on each side, grab milk cartons and run them to the houses. And I do mean run. We’d often take off and get back on while the truck was still moving, so the route didn’t take long. When I took over I would get up early on weekdays and deliver as much of the route as I could before school, then Byron would take over. Saturday and summer I did the whole route, usually with Dave, and he took over when he was old enough to drive. By this time we had bought a used Metro milk van and the pickup was retired to farm use. We didn’t make much money with the route, but it was an important service to the community. We delivered door to door, to the schools, stores, and cafes. I learned about the basics of running a business, keeping records, ordering milk, and dealing with and respecting people. I sometimes wore a matched work pants and shirt like Byron, and we always wore milk hauler aprons. These were canvas bibs with open legs to the knee closed by snaps. I felt very professional with this outfit.
An International ¾ ton pickup with a floor shift was our main farm truck and the first one I learned to drive. It was used for everything from delivering bulls to hauling loads of hay and grain. I rode with Dad and Byron when we delivered a bull one cold winter day. The heater didn’t work, there was no defroster, and I wished I’d stayed home. But riding along was always an adventure and I never passed up a chance. The milk route Chevy pickup was of course used on the farm but for lighter, cleaner work. We often used the International for hauling loads from the Lodi farm which was 3 or 4 miles away. I was stopped by the highway patrol in Adams for exceeding legal load length- 3 empty hay wagons hooked to the pickup. I didn’t even have my license with me, and fortunately the patrolman just warned me of the infraction. We actually had two Internationals, one replacing the first. The second one was missing part of the floorboard on the driver’s side. Byron chewed Copenhagen snoose and would spit through the floorboards when he was driving. He sometimes forgot he was driving the Chevy so there was snoose juice on the floor. Grandpa Bennie (B.J.) thought his nice ’57 four door Chevrolet was a farm vehicle. He had his insurance businesses and owned the post office building where he had an office, but he still considered himself a farmer. Wearing suit pants, dress shirt, and his high top dress shoes didn’t keep him out of the hayfields. He would come out and straighten up the loose hay that the side rake missed on the corners, and pick up rocks he came across. I would see his car parked at the post office with a hayfork out the back window and rocks on the floor. Riding with him was an adventure as he tended to “pump” the accelerator causing a jerky ride.
The home place was about 160 acres, and Grandpa had also acquired the Moberg farm, an L shaped 92 acres a half mile to the west. There used to be a well and windmill there and I vaguely recall young stock pastured there when I was very young. There were old foundations and a shallow well still visible on the wooded hill where the farm place once stood. I don’t know when the original Lodi 80 was purchased but I recall them blasting a huge rock with dynamite when I was a youngster. The 120 acre farm where Byron’s family lived was purchased perhaps after Gloria was born. I’m sure county records would clear up these dates. The adjacent Woods farm, O.M. Peterson’s 80, and some small lots on the north edge of Adams, including Doc Huseby’s horse pasture, brought the total to 700+ acres. Most farms in the ‘40s, ‘50s, and ‘60s were 160 to 320 acres so this seemed large. However, it was supporting two families.
We always had hired men, and living next to town provided us with a steady stream of good kids wanting to make a little money and learn farm work. My preschool memories are of Fritzie Krebsbach and his fast motorcycle. He took dad for a ride and supposedly went 100 miles an hour. He also flew an open cockpit plane and I think Dad rode with him once. I have a picture of me wearing a flier’s helmet and goggles that he gave me. Warren “Farmer “Mattson worked for us. He was a bit older and a good man. Maynard Lewison, related on Mom’s side, and Andy Anderson, Dad’s cousin, worked on the farm in the late ‘40s.They were and are great guys and lifelong best friends of Mom and Dad. Grandpa sometimes hired help through the employment agency in Austin. I remember one nice old guy with a heavy Norske accent who unfortunately had a drinking problem, so he didn’t last long. The best ones were the town kids. I would like to compile a list of all those who worked on the farm. Some stories stand out. Richard (Junior) Battey fell asleep plowing the field east of the cow yard. The John Deere he was driving bounced over the dead furrow, over a barbed wire fence, and halfway up an oak tree. We have pictures to prove it. Art Osmundson and I were checking it out and I’d guess we were about first grade. Fortunately Battey wasn’t hurt and the plow was only slightly bent. Zeno (Joe) Schneider from South Dakota was one of Grandpa’s hires and lived at Byron’s. He was strong as a bull but had a crippled arm and leg that slowed him down some. He stuttered badly and sputtered when he talked so you needed to keep out of range.
Al (Pappy) Mullenbach was the only hired man who lived with us, and had the room across from mine. He was only four years older than me, a nice good looking kid and popular football player. His dad died when Al was 12 and his mother remarried 5 years later and moved from town. I suppose Al wanted to finish school in Adams so he became our live-in hired man. We had a barn radio usually tuned to WCCO. Dad thought the cows milked better with good music playing. Radio shows came on during the evening milking so we listened to “Suspense” and “Dragnet”. (This was before television.) Sometimes Al would turn the dial to polka music. How could cows milk to that stuff? Then rock and roll came along and Dad said that was nothing but a lot of noise.
It was great to be alive in the 1940’s, 1950’s, and 1960’s, and I am thankful and proud to have grown up on a farm. These pages tell a little about the work we did and the adventures we had. The memories are old, but the lessons and values we learn last forever.