Memories: The Old Barn IV

There was a trap door with a ring on the second floor that we lifted to throw the bales down into the manger.  It sure made feeding hay easy.  I do remember one time going south with a bale, right onto the cement.  It went so quick, there was no thinking about it, just gone.  Glad I can’t remember the pain.

Most of the years in that barn, grain was fed from 100 pound bags.  The bags were poured in to a barrel and scooped from there into a wheel barrow for feeding in front of the cows.  Later my dad had a big steel grain bin put up in the barn for bulk feed to be blown in.  There was a slide door to let the grain out and the wheel barrow filled with a whoosh.  This was great unless the bin was empty and the door was left open by mistake.  I remember how hard we worked to bag up a couple of ton of grain when it was all in front of the cows in the manger.  If we forget once, somehow we are much more careful after that.  It was a long process plus we were quite concerned that some of the cows got too much feed.

In bag feeding times, there were always so many rats and mice around the barn.  We used to go out evenings and turn out the lights and wait a few minutes.  We would turn the lights on and the barn was full of the varmints.  We used to go after them with utensils to alleviate as many as we could.  I would have a heart attack doing that now. My dad told of one night when he was milking of seeing a rat’s tail hanging down through a crack in the second floor.  He got a knife and reached up and cut off the tail.  He said that rat really squealed.  It was a long time after that he had a rodent problem.

We used to stable heifers in part of the second floor.  The original stanchions still stood in the part of the barn over the present, refurbished cow stable.  Most of the original stanchions up stairs were gone as that part of the floor had fallen in.  My dad made run-ins for the cattle under that area.

 There was a time when my brother kept rabbits in that part of the stable.  It was closed in for warmth.  I can remember rabbits all over and they would go into piles of hay to have their babies.  This was definitely a not profit organization.  Seems to me as the rabbit herd grew, he would let them all out to run free.  There were always rabbits all over the door yard.  Some lived under the old garage, but most under the stable on second floor, and in the hay mows.

 My dad would find liters of bunnies as he was taking hay out in the winter. He would bring them in the house and warm them in the gas oven by the pilot light.  We tried to keep them alive by spoon feeing them.  Some were pretty young and survived, some did not.  We sure raised a lot of liters in the house.

My dad was so kind hearted.  He would always put his heart and soul in to trying to keep a struggling animal alive. He would give that animal so much time and energy trying to get it to eat.  I am similar to him, always worked along side of him, but as I get older, I am realizing that it is God’s will if an animal lives or dies and we sure aren’t going to save many of them.  The weak are weeded out in nature and that I believe is the same for domestic animals.  We interfere with the over all plan of things.

I think the most amazing thing my dad came close to accomplishing was saving a four to five month bovine fetus.  This tiny specimen did not weigh five pounds.  It did not have hair.  The eyes were formed, but not open.  I have never known one before or after to be born alive.  My dad brought it to the house.   He would feed from a spoon several times a day.  It survived several days.  It was one of the things that made an impression on me.  It takes so long to get a seven month fetus to grow.  We had a few of those through the years.  My dad did a good job with keeping those alive, though, they never matured into an animal that looked normal or produced very much.  I can’t imagine how long it would take to grow a small creature like this one was.  

Memories: The Old Barn III

Our house and barn were side by side and I think back about how wonderful as a child to be able to go there by myself or with my brothers and yet be yelling distance to the house in case of problems.  I can remember many hours of being in the barn with the stabled cows, sitting on one of their backs like they were a horse and pretending we were out in the west trail riding or rounding up the cattle.  It was always warm and the cows could not move two far as they were tied to posts by the neck. They seemed to accept us so wonderfully, standing and munching their hay.  We had the stanchions to grab hold of, but most of the time they were helpful in getting ourselves up on to the cow.  If you have never been around animals chewing hay, you have missed out on the most peaceful sound.  Just image Jesus, born in the stable, coming into the world with the sound of animals munching on hay, and the peace of the night all around.  All in God’s plan for us to enjoy the simple things he has given us all.

My dad converted this big old barn from its original design.  Originally the stable was on the second floor.  He cemented the basement and put the stable there.  He made cement troughs as mangers so the water would run through in front of the cows and out the other end of the barn.  He would switch a hose from one side to the other a couple of times a day to do the watering.  This was easy, because the water ran continually by gravity feed from the spring.  It was the best water and we never had to worry much about freeze ups because it never stopped running.  How simple compared to today’s water bowls and freeze ups.

  My dad used straight pipe for the stanchions and used neck chains that had a hasp for tying the cows.  I can still feel the movements of putting the chains around the cow’s necks.  Also I can still remember most of the cows.  I had a love for animals then as now, and must have studied each cow and knew them like they were my friend. 

 The chains attached to the stanchion posts in the center with a big loop type fixture that held the links of each end of the chain.  One end had a few round loops off the links for the hasp to go through.  The end loop was hung above the cow’s head, from the beam on a nail, the part with the hasp hung down loose.  You would take the loop end from the nail, and let it fall over the cows neck, while she stood and ate grain, and reached under her neck for the part with the hasp and brought it up and pushed the hasp through the loop.  It was such a continuous movement to tie cow after cow, until you had one that was a grain hog and ate a little here and then just as you’d go to catch her, she’d back up and move to another spot.  One could really get mad at a few of them. It was always the same cows that would leave.  I think that goes to show how different personalities are in cows as in people.  Cows are not know for their smarts, their brain is only the size of a small grapefruit.  I always said that calves are smarter than cows.  Possibly the brain is that size and as the animal grows, the size of the brain gets real small to body size.  If you have a cow that is sore in the feet, the brain moves down there!

Memories: The Old Barn II

Some of my fondest memories of growing up are in this old barn.   My brothers and I used baling twine looped together and doubled, and we would make ropes and throw them over the beams in the top floor of the barn. Throwing those ropes high enough to get them over the beams was a challenge in itself.  Off these we hung barrels.  We tied one end of the rope around each end of the barrel. We would swing on these back and forth and back and forth.  It was such a blast because we could swing so fast.  I remember one time putting a saddle on the barrel. Can you tell I loved horses way back then?  I also remember when the rope wore out and down we would come. Usually we were swinging pretty hard when this happened.  The barrel would just fly forward and we would land on the ground still on the barrel.  I can still hear the creek of the ropes on the wood as we went back and forth.  

We used to hang tires off the ropes also.  Those were so light that one could really fly swinging off those high beams.  One time we had an old buckboard hanging.  David and I were swinging and down we came.  It was so funny because it just stopped, though I had to say we dropped quite hard.  Guess the spring on the buckboard saved us from hitting hard.

The boys used to build hay tunnels with the bales.  I remember one tunnel that ended at the edge of the wharfing and then you had to jump down into the bay where the hay was lower than the barn floor.  I used to go through these tunnels with ease, but now I would die of claustrophobia.

One of the meanestt things we ever did was to be up on a beam in the barn and throw chaff or was it water down on a man who was working for my dad. His name was Norman, and he was an electrician.  I haven’t a clue why we did this, but I do remember him being angry and saying he was going to tell our dad.  We were a bit nervous and Lord knows what ever came of it.  I am sure we got reprimanded, but can’t remember how. I know I learned better of it and never did such a thing again.

Memories: The Old Barn I

 I have been told by many that I should write.  I a frustrated at times for the knowledge I have and the stories that go behind who I am.  I am hoping in time that my creative juices start flowing and I can somehow come up with a way of using this knowledge and these stories to make a difference in someone’s life. 

          I was raised in northern New Hampshire , in a small town named Clarksville . Clarksville is neighbored by Pittsburg , the largest township this side of the Mississippi (M, I, double s, I, double s, I, double p, I.)  We always told people that we live in Pittsburg , because it was much easier to see on a map and you didn’t have to explain where Clarksville was, as Pittsburg was right at the tip of New Hampshire and big enough to see that you didn’t have to squint.

The winters were cold, and we had the snow to go with it.  I can remember it being 50 below.  We lived upon a hill that over looked the town of Pittburg , on the East Side of the Connecticut River, which by the way starts between the towns of Pittsburg and Clarksville .  What a tremendous view we had.  Our property consisted of an old farmhouse and a huge barn with drive in wharfing to the top level.  So many of my childhood days were spent in the old barn and my memories recall it as if I was walking into it at this point.  The hay was dropped down two stories into the bays and stacked with bales until it would reach the third floor and the then the roof. I am sure that in years previous to baled hay, that hay was pitched in loose and tread to compress it down. 

The old barn was built post and beam style.  My dad spent many hours a year fixing the roof or jacking and putting in cables to keep the old barn in shape.  What a massive structure it was.  When my brothers and I were younger, we used to have no fear and would walk some of the beams.  I shutter to think NOW! 

My first pet!

One of my first recollections of an animal in my life was a cat named Little Bear.  This subject comes to mind because lately on secure sign ins, they ask you to pick a question and answer for security reasons.

In my thinking, I can only remember this lovely, loving black kitty, who I loved so dearly and that was when I was in first grade.  Most people have memory of things much younger.  I for some reason have none until age five.  

My dad was road agent for our town all my years of  being in school. My bothers and I loved being with him so much. We most often tagged along with him after big snow falls.  He would hire a local bulldozer or grader to plow through the heavy snow falls and drifts that occurred in northern New Hampshire and then in spring, he would hire the grader to smooth down the ruts from mud season.  

I remember the day I got Little Bear.  We were parked in a farmer's yard at the end of a long road.  My dad was off supervising the job of grading the road.  I remember going in the barn to see the cows, which was a passion of mine,  and then being outside where a little black kitten spent time with me.  Maybe I perused her, maybe she found me.  We spent the day together.

My bother on the other hand was off playing with their dog that was tied on a chain.  This dog often snarled and growled at people and was known for being aggressive.  My dad always laughed about the fact that my brother was able to pick the dog up and carry him around.  That just goes to prove that kind treatment conquers all evil.

The period of road grading was finally done, and I was dismayed to have to leave for home.  I had so much fun with that cat.  The farmer's daughter came out and told me I could have the kitty if I wished.  I looked at my dad and he let me bring her home.  My dad was a softy when it came to his kids and animals, especially me.  

A year or so I came home from school and my mom was in tears.  She had to tell me that my cat had been run over.  My dad backed the car around and "Little Bear" was under neath.  It was a sad day!

In the years after, we always looked under the car and if there was a cat nearby, we would shoo it away.  That was how we taught them the fear of being near a running motor.  That became a ritual in our family from the loss of Little Bear. 


 Today I feel as much love and warmth towards that Kitty as when I held her in life.