My First Solo on a Tractor

As well as my Grandfather’s farm and others that I stayed on, my Uncle and Aunt had a farm about 25 plus miles away. As all the area farms in that era, it was a mixed farm. Mixed farming meaning that you raised all types of livestock, horse, chickens, geese, etc. as well as cultivating and growing grain, hay fields, etc. With the exception of salt, sugar and flour (guess some even milled the flour) most farmers were self sufficient. I actually did many of my ‘firsts’ on this farm. Both my Uncle and Aunt having passed away (Bless their souls) I can even relate some of these events that I had never admitted to them. Don’t get the wrong idea, nothing real bad – but things that would have upset my Uncle. My first solo tractor is not one of the ‘secret’ ones, as it was my Uncle that put me through the excruciating pain. The farm house sat a long way from the country road that passed in front, and there were fields on either side of the long driveway. When working the land, if the weather was nice, and no repairs were needed, often my Uncle would leave the tractor in the field for the night, then return the next morning to continue plowing, seeding, mowing, whatever the task was. After leaving the tractor one night, the next morning my Uncle took his car down the long driveway to finish up the field work. My cousin and I had walked down with his lunch, but he was just finishing up and was ready to return to the house. “Davie, do you want to drive the tractor back?” Yes – yes – yes!! I get to drive the tractor – Yahoo – finally, after all I was all of 8 years old. The tractor was a case with tip-toe* front wheels. My Uncle got me partially seated, partially standing at the steering wheel of the tractor. He then put it in the lowest gear it had, and opened the throttle to ‘one’ and let out the clutch – he then jumped off and got in his car and drove to the house. There I was – driving my first tractor at the break-neck speed of perhaps ½ mile per hour. Look disappointment up in the dictionary – you will see a picture of a kid steering a case tractor (with tip-toe* front wheels) going soooo slow that the worms on the ground are passing him. It took forever to finally arrive at the house, where my Uncle jumped on the tractor and stopped it. I have to give him credit, he did let me drive the tractor – many would not have. But ½ mile per hour – come on… my cousin thought it was very funny!! I would get even with her, just wait and see.

*tip toe – I am not sure what the correct name for this type front axle on a tractor is. We used to call them ‘tip toe’ which is when the front tires are only inches apart. This type of configuration was good for driving down rows of garden, with the front wheels and each back wheel straddling the rows. What benefit it had on a prairie farm, I am not sure, as on a side hill they had a far easier chance of tipping over than a tractor with a wide wheel base at the front.

Back To School

Before I relate what it was like on the first day of a school year, I will explain how and why I may be referring to different types of schools in my blogs. My family lived on the edge of a small village, and I went to a two room school (grades 1 – 5 in one room, I think). After my first grade, they had built another school with an additional two rooms, and then from there they kept expanding. So as I progressed in Grades, there were more class rooms. But, I would also end up going to school from my Grandfathers home (which was 12 miles north of where I lived). This was a one room country school with grades 1 to 12 and had a barn for our horses. Also, for some reason I was ‘farmed’ out a lot when growing up and would stay with families on farms for weeks on end and would take a school bus to school. These are the reasons that in one blog I may talk about walking to school, another on the bus or on horse back. Now, that I have completely confused you! In September, when we went to school on the first day – we were not given a list of supplies that we had to buy. The teacher would have everything that we needed, pencils, crayons, work books, paper, rulers, straight pens and ink (although early versions were available we were not allowed to use ball point pens). The teacher would also give us all the text books that we would need for the year. To my knowledge no parent paid for any of these supplies. It was part of what people got for their taxes in those days. Rather than use the straight pens provided, you could use a fountain pen*, but it was your responsibility to buy it. Not having to purchase any of the school supplies had many advantages besides not costing anything. Regardless of a student’s ability (or not) to purchase ‘neat’ pencil boxes, binders, etc. – everyone had the same. This procedure also did not cause any of the turmoil and stress that I witnessed in some of the Office Supply stores at the start of this school year. Mind you, if you lost something or needed more supplies during the year, the teacher would usually put you through the 3rd degree and lecture you on the evils of chewing on your eraser, or breaking your pencil. At a later time I will write about how the black boards were actually black, the sometimes “adventure” of being the pupil who got to mix the ink powder with water, why the schools always had the smell of oil - unless there was the wonderful smell of hot soup or hot chocolate and why there was a need for three and four holer outhouses!

• A fountain pen carried a supply of ink in a reservoir, which was a rubber, sac-like container inside the pen’s barrel. On the side of the pen’s barrel is a lever. When you pull out on the lever, its other end pushes inside the pen and presses against the sac. This forces out the air from the empty sac. Then when you place the tip, or nib, of the pen into a bottle of ink and release the lever, the ink is drawn up through tiny tubes into the sac. This is called the vacuum method, since the vacuum inside the sac draws up the ink.

The Comfort Of A Clock

I have a clock on the wall beside my desk – it is a battery operated dial clock, but still makes a ticking noise as it hits every second. Often when I am sitting here at night, when the house is quiet, this clock has the same effect as those I listened to over 60 years ago. Before we had electricity, coal oil lamps were our main source of light for the long winter nights. After the last meal of the day until we went to bed, the dim light from these lamps was what we used to do homework, read, play games, knit by, etc. The lamps gave off a warm glow, and along with the well stoked stove, helped to make you forget about the cold temperature outside and perhaps the snow storm that was going to make it difficult getting to school the next day. If everyone in the house was either reading or just sitting (also hypnotized by the clock), slowly the ticking would seem to get louder. Like a heartbeat, it added to the sense of safety we got from the lamp and stove. You noticed that I did not say a snow storm “would close” the schools, because that never happened, unless it was a full blown blizzard. Whether a country one room or the town multi room school – you were expected to get there.. I have just paused writing for a few minutes, letting the clock take me back to the coil oil lamp and stoked stove – and yes, its heartbeat is still here, keeping me safe.

Job’s Aplenty

This week, I am finally retired – no where to go – no deadlines – no excuse to ‘just leave the house’ – no co-workers and/or customers. Wow, this is quite a shock, as I have worked from before my teens (60+ years). When I was 7 or so, my allowance was earned by being paid a penny for every pail of peas and beans I picked for my father. I will talk about the size of our garden in a future story. One of my first jobs was working for a lady who had opened a little gift shop. She had the neatest little ornaments. When I was around 9, I would go to her store and sweep the floor, dust the shelves and merchandise, and if I was real lucky she would have some reason to leave (I am sure she did it just for the look on my face – that I was going to be in charge). I felt so important and if anyone ever made a purchase when “I was in charge”, I was an “Entrepreneur Extraordinaire” in the making! There never seemed to be a shortage of after school jobs, and if I did not like a place that I was working, I could leave (never seemed to be any hard feelings) and know another job doing something was available. The least suited job I had was working the gas pumps at a service station on the main highway that went past the town. I had a very good friend who’s Dad owned a garage in town and my friend could change large tractor tires in a jiffy – was he ever good, he could take the tire off the rim, remove the tube, fix the leak, put the tube back in then use these heavy bars and a huge hammer to force the tire back on the wheel. I had watched this many times and he actually made it look pretty easy (not so). Anyway, there I am at the gas station, and a car pulls in for gas. I ran out and filled the gas tank, pop open the hood and checked the oil and water, washed the windows and asked – “how are your tires?” When you have never actually fixed a flat tire, don’t ask ‘how are your tires’. The reply was – “Oh, I almost forgot, I have a flat in the trunk and will leave it here and pick it up in a couple of hours, just put in a new tube”. So far so good, a new tube, I would not have to try to find the leak and repair it. O.K. now, how did my friend do this? I am sure if they had video cameras in the 50s, I would have been on some ‘how to screw up’ show. After much effort I actually got the tire off of the rim, now for the easy part, just take out the old and put in the new tube, which I did. I lined up the valve stem to the hole in the rim, then took a big metal bar, and force the tire back on – done – now proudly filling it with air, I hear this ‘not good’ noise and how come it is not inflating? Off comes the tire (getting better at it now – practice makes perfect) and much to my dismay, when putting it on, I had (with the big metal bar) ripped the new tube to shreds. O.K. pretend you are setting up Ikea furniture – and it reads “to assemble this section, follow the same directions as Picture B”, which it seems I was about to do – exactly the same. Once more, another new tube and being more careful this time when replacing the tire, everything looks good haha! (Look at me - I did it!!!). - Now where is that air hose? Nooooo – again that noise! Well three times right (or something like that) – finally I ended up with a tire complete with a new tube, filled with air – with my clothes completely filthy, and two brand new tubes in shreds! I am basically a very truthful person, but I am sorry folks – any trace of the two ruined new tubes, were never to be found – ever. For the rest of that job, when a car pulled up and I would rush out - I always seemed to forget to ask “how are your tires?” Another job was when I was around 14, my father was hospitalized for a few weeks. I was allowed to stay out of school to look after his hardware/lumber yard business. Like the store keeper and the cigarettes, I got to enter the items in customers ‘books’. I had to rely on the honesty of people when they purchased lumber – I truly had no idea. The hardest part of looking after Dad’s store was when someone would buy bags of cement – damn those things are heavy, and at the time, I was built like the ‘skinny kid at the beach’ that was having sand kicked in his face. Many of my other paying jobs were working on farms, from about age 12 until I left for the Army on my 16th birthday. My farming experiences were many, which I hope to relate over the life of this blog. Another after school job (that many of the town’s kids had) was hauling wood, coal and water (no indoor plumbing) for various ‘real old’ townswomen, who I now realize were most likely still in their 50s. When we had sub zero temperatures and it would be snowing, sometimes it was very difficult to give up our warm homes to haul the wood etc, but we did (for all those old - old women), and I am sure for the rest of our lives it has and will continue to help us realize the value of dependability and promptness.

When Did I First Ride a Horse?

As you can see by the picture, I literally grew up with no fear of horses. Naturally the photo was posed, and I am sure someone was off to the side to catch me if and when I fell off. This particular horses name was Jim – yup plain ole Jim. Jim was a retired RCMP horse that was actually used in their line of work and not just for the famous RCMP Musical Ride http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gAOeGLiTvBk. I have memories of riding Jim on my own when I was 4 years old. I would go into the pasture with a cube of sugar and a halter, give Jim the sugar and then he would patiently wait until I buckled the halter. We would then go beside a wooden fence (so I could get on) and once aboard ride around, bareback and with just a halter. We rode around the farm yard and most often up the “mountain” and across the ‘river’ that I mentioned in an earlier blog. Jim, although very tolerant with me, had certain rules that I had to follow – and once taught I never forgot. The main rule was the proper way to mount a horse is on the left – NOT the right! I learned this rule, when I took him beside the fence on his right side, climbed up to the top board and he turned his head and nudged my leg enough for me to have to regain my balance, once more he nudged me – then finally he bit my leg. A horses jaw does not move – it is just a clamp – teeth onto teeth – and damn does it hurt! Since then, I have never, ever tried to mount a horse on the right hand side. As with many farmers of the 40s, most did not have the luxury of more than one riding horse (if that) and often you would ride work horses. Although Jim was a riding horse, he was also teamed with ‘Molly’ to do the heavy work. I have many stories where Jim and I both rode and worked together – although a few are somewhat scary they all are fantastic. I was so lucky.

Choosing Sides

Although I refer to growing up in a town, it was actually a village, which even then was stretching it – the population was shy of 300. Today, they have it right, and it is now officially a Hamlet, with a population between 300 and 400. For the ‘town’ to still exist is an accomplishment, as in the past 60 years many of the small ‘towns’ have disappeared. I will continue to use ‘town’ when relating any events that happened there. Because the majority of school pupils were bussed in from their farms, there were not many kids that actually lived and played in the town. Any time that we played a game that consisted of teams, the normal procedure was to pick the teams. I hated this procedure, as I was usually one of the last picked. Normally the two most popular or best players would get to be Team Captains.  Everyone would be standing around in a group, knowing pretty well exactly the order each was going to be chosen. Even knowing this order, deep down I would hope that perhaps “this time”, something magical would cause me to be moved up in the order of picking. As it happened so often, it was not really an embarrassment, and I am sure none of the other kids gave it much thought - except those that were still standing, waiting with me to be picked. I know that today there are still kids ‘standing and waiting and hoping for the magic to happen. Hey – Team Captains - put everyone’s name in a hat - pick your teams that way! I am sure being one of the last picked, has had an effect on how I dealt and still deal with life as an adult. Through my life I have, on many occasions, been an ally of someone who I felt was not being treated as an equal, and was being ‘one of the last to be picked’. So – although at the time it hurt, it gave me the compassion to understand the pain of others, and to try to help.