A mind is a terrible thing to waste, I hear. I spend a lot of time trying to figure mine out, but I have decided it is best to just go with what pops into it from time to time. Take last night, for instance. I heard about a candlelight vigil at the River walk in honor of the policeman and 2 civilians who died in the fiasco at Planned Parenthood in Colorado Springs. It was advertised as unsponsored which told me it was a gathering of the community. As it turned out, it was a photo op for a church that shall remain nameless, but that is all beside the point. It seemed like a worthy endeavor, so I bundled up with 2 of everything on my frail little body and away I went!
Of course I went early since that is what I do. My friend Janet showed up and we lit our candles, sung hymns, said a prayer or two. Since all the cameras were finished rolling the leaders decided not to walk to the police station so we were dismissed. Janet and I made a stop at Coyote Jack's store on Union where he made us a cup of hot cocoa. (You will be hearing more about him in a later blog.) I dropped her at her car and headed home.
I decided to take South Road even if it was icy and deserted and wild animals hang out there and jump in front of the car. I just like to avoid traffic when I can and South Road was surreal with a soft snow falling. For some reason, my mind wandered back to the barn on the Stroh place where we lived when I was probably 6 or 7 years old. As I recall you came up the driveway to the house. There was a detached garage to the right side where the kitchen was located. Further to the right was a granary and a chicken house. And closing the circle going back to the drive was the barn with a long low loafing shed(?). I think that is what it is called. But the barn was prominent.
Bear in mind that this memory is 68 years ago and much has been through this old brain, but as I recall I stepped into the barn through an oversized door that barns have. On my right was a big wooden barrel. Inside it was grain. Directly in front of me was a stall for a cow to stand and her head was placed between two boards to hold her in place for milking. This was called a stanchion. A pitch fork full of hay was put in the manger and she could eat while she was being milked. Now milking was an art in itself. The milking stool was a board with 1 leg. The "milker"sat balanced on that while milking. Now let me see if I remember that process!
First you placed the bucket under the udder. Then you got yourself balance of the "stool". Then you grasped a teat with thumb and forefinger where it protruded from the udder and applied pressure as you "stripped" down to the end of the teat. I know this is not sounding like anything is going to happen, but it does. I am probably not your best source of "how to milk a cow not using a machine", but it does work and the milk squirts into the bucket, except some where in the process (and do not miss a beat or the cow will "hold her milk") you need to aim at the cat dish and fill it up because they are hungry. Barn cats are profuse in a barn and necessary to keep the mice thinned out so they do not get in the grain. Barn cats are that only. They are not for petting or holding. Most of them would just as soon rip your face off as look at you and you learn to respect their territory. Come in, milk the cow, fill their dish and leave. I think these are known as feral cats today. And ever so often a disease goes through the colony and they all die, but be patient and more will magically appear.
There were several stalls for milking, but as I recall we only used the one and only had one milk cow at a time. There was a hayloft up above that we were not supposed to go into because we might fall and break our neck, which, according to folk lore, happened a lot. There were rooms in the back where the other cows (and God only knows what purpose they served) and the one horse could hang out when a blizzard was coming. And in the spring we had to walk the fields and pull up poison weeds and burn them.
The low part of the barn was used for whatever it needed to be used for at the time. As I recall mother had geese and as I recall they were damned mean! If I strayed (and I did once) into their domain the big gander would attack me and I had to be saved. This is strange because I have 9 geese out back that love me. They have never attacked me and 3 of them let me pet them. I think that gander was just plain mean for the fun of it.
So this is what I thought about on the way home last night. If I could live my life in reverse I would go back to that place. It was where Donna stuck her finger in a turtles mouth and John Britan said it would not let go until the sun went down. It was where Mary set in the mud puddle and Dorothy was born. It was my brother in overalls and my sister got her first pair of glasses. It was the big yellow tomcat eating the baby chick. It was mother going to "club" and dad coming home drunk. It was my childhood and my roots. I want to go back there next summer and see if that house is there. I want to listen and maybe here the kids at play. Back to the days when someone took care of me. When I was cute and loved. Or at least that is how I remember it.
Of course I went early since that is what I do. My friend Janet showed up and we lit our candles, sung hymns, said a prayer or two. Since all the cameras were finished rolling the leaders decided not to walk to the police station so we were dismissed. Janet and I made a stop at Coyote Jack's store on Union where he made us a cup of hot cocoa. (You will be hearing more about him in a later blog.) I dropped her at her car and headed home.
I decided to take South Road even if it was icy and deserted and wild animals hang out there and jump in front of the car. I just like to avoid traffic when I can and South Road was surreal with a soft snow falling. For some reason, my mind wandered back to the barn on the Stroh place where we lived when I was probably 6 or 7 years old. As I recall you came up the driveway to the house. There was a detached garage to the right side where the kitchen was located. Further to the right was a granary and a chicken house. And closing the circle going back to the drive was the barn with a long low loafing shed(?). I think that is what it is called. But the barn was prominent.
Bear in mind that this memory is 68 years ago and much has been through this old brain, but as I recall I stepped into the barn through an oversized door that barns have. On my right was a big wooden barrel. Inside it was grain. Directly in front of me was a stall for a cow to stand and her head was placed between two boards to hold her in place for milking. This was called a stanchion. A pitch fork full of hay was put in the manger and she could eat while she was being milked. Now milking was an art in itself. The milking stool was a board with 1 leg. The "milker"sat balanced on that while milking. Now let me see if I remember that process!
First you placed the bucket under the udder. Then you got yourself balance of the "stool". Then you grasped a teat with thumb and forefinger where it protruded from the udder and applied pressure as you "stripped" down to the end of the teat. I know this is not sounding like anything is going to happen, but it does. I am probably not your best source of "how to milk a cow not using a machine", but it does work and the milk squirts into the bucket, except some where in the process (and do not miss a beat or the cow will "hold her milk") you need to aim at the cat dish and fill it up because they are hungry. Barn cats are profuse in a barn and necessary to keep the mice thinned out so they do not get in the grain. Barn cats are that only. They are not for petting or holding. Most of them would just as soon rip your face off as look at you and you learn to respect their territory. Come in, milk the cow, fill their dish and leave. I think these are known as feral cats today. And ever so often a disease goes through the colony and they all die, but be patient and more will magically appear.
There were several stalls for milking, but as I recall we only used the one and only had one milk cow at a time. There was a hayloft up above that we were not supposed to go into because we might fall and break our neck, which, according to folk lore, happened a lot. There were rooms in the back where the other cows (and God only knows what purpose they served) and the one horse could hang out when a blizzard was coming. And in the spring we had to walk the fields and pull up poison weeds and burn them.
The low part of the barn was used for whatever it needed to be used for at the time. As I recall mother had geese and as I recall they were damned mean! If I strayed (and I did once) into their domain the big gander would attack me and I had to be saved. This is strange because I have 9 geese out back that love me. They have never attacked me and 3 of them let me pet them. I think that gander was just plain mean for the fun of it.
So this is what I thought about on the way home last night. If I could live my life in reverse I would go back to that place. It was where Donna stuck her finger in a turtles mouth and John Britan said it would not let go until the sun went down. It was where Mary set in the mud puddle and Dorothy was born. It was my brother in overalls and my sister got her first pair of glasses. It was the big yellow tomcat eating the baby chick. It was mother going to "club" and dad coming home drunk. It was my childhood and my roots. I want to go back there next summer and see if that house is there. I want to listen and maybe here the kids at play. Back to the days when someone took care of me. When I was cute and loved. Or at least that is how I remember it.
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