South of Nickerson?

When dad worked for John Britain, it seems like the farm was South of Nickerson.  When I look at a map of anywhere, I immediately become directionally challenged.  Seems the only time I was sure which way I was going was when we pulled off of 50 Highway into South Hutch, crossed the river and drove North on Adams to mom's place on Jackson.  When we left Hutch to head west to Colorado, I was fine.  As long as the sun was in my eyes and I knew what time it was, I was good to go.  When we pulled into Pueblo, I was fine in my house, but when I leave, it is God only knows what direction I am headed.

So when I talk about across the river in Nickerson, I am pretty sure it was south of town.  The only time my dad had much to do with me was when he took me, and sometimes Jake, to John Britain's farm when he went to work.  It was not really a farm, it was an acreage that was used to grow crops.  The crop it grew was wheat.  When the rains came, there was a slough that filled with water and ran across the land.  Jake and I liked to play there and he built little wooden boats for me.  Jake was actually 4 years older than me.  I think his job was to keep me amused while dad was busy doing whatever it was he did.  I think it must have been either planting the wheat or getting the tractors and combines in running order for when the harvest came.

The day for going to the farm was always planned well ahead, as was the date of harvest.  I have always been fascinated with the wheat because that was at that time the mainstay of Kansas agriculture.  The fields would turn green in the springtime of the year and everyone watched the progress of the tiny green shoots.  They soon covered the ground and then began to grow upward towards the sun.  The fields were checked regularly for progress and soon the wheat would begin to "head out".   As it began to turn from green to an amber and then to dry, it was checked more often.  Dad would rub a head between his hands to determine several things.  One was how full the head was.  Another was how dry the wheat kernels were.  And then the time came that he and John determined that it was ready and harvest would be in so many days.  And then the work began.

The combine was greased and readied for the field.  Trucks were lined up and every man, woman and child had a job to do.  Dad and John ran combines.  Mother drove a truck.  I remember that one year she had to take one of the younger girls with her (I think it was Mary, but it could have been Dorothy.) She had to work.  Josephine stayed home with us younger kids.  Hell, she was just a kid herself, but that was back in the days when about the only thing to worry about was starving to death.  Jake carried fresh water to the workers.  He had to pump it with a hand pump on a well in the yard.  Somebody brought sandwiches at noon and again at night to keep the job going.  The process was slow and the old trucks crept into town and lined up with the other farm trucks to dump their grain in the elevator.  I never knew how they kept it all straight, but some how it worked.

Harvest is a damn serious business in wheat country.  I think now it has been mostly taken over by custom harvesters.  The farmers just have to be able to predict a year ahead to know when their crop will be ready.  They plant in cycles which vary by just a few days depending on who your harvester is.

Somehow it never left my mind and when I go down in the Spring, I watch to see how far along the wheat crop is.  If I go later in the fall the fields looked like they were raped.  And then winter the fields are barren.  I am not sure, but I think they used to plant in the fall and then graze cattle on it.  Then the wheat would "spool" and make double or triple the crop.  One seed would produce several stalks of wheat in the spring.  Not real sure about that because my job was to play in the dirt and watch the chickens lay eggs.

I have been gone from Kansas over half of my life, but some how I know life is going on without me.  Out here, I watch the chile pepper plants and the workers in the fields bending over in the hot sun, nurturing the plants that are so vital to this area.  Home is where the heart is and sometimes I wonder just where my heart actually lives.

It is a conundrum! 

Today is October 28.

And this is my brother Jake when he was in about the eighth grade.  See that scar on his cheek?  Do you know how he got that?  I remember.  We were living on the Stroh place on the edge of town.  Lot of memories there.  Donna stuck her finger in a turtles mouth and it was the general consensus that they could cut the head off, but the turtle would not release her finger until the sun went down.  Seemed nothing ever stopped until the sun went down.  Kill a snake and it would wiggle until the sun went down.  And then when the sun did finally go down, the boogie man would come out and get us if we were not very, very good!
I was going to write about Jake, but memories of that period are very fresh today, so I am just going to remember them.
The year must have been 1947.  Sister Dorothy was born while we lived on the Stroh place.  Mom laid in bed for 10 days and missed harvest.  Dad was not happy about that, but 10 days was how long one laid in bed after giving birth.  At that time Josphine was in charge of us while mother helped with the farming.   That would have made her 12 years old at the time.  About right.
Mother always went to "Club" once a month.  I do not know what "Club" was, but she drug us along and we all had to set in a row up against a wall with all the other little kids until club was over.  And we had to stay clean.  That was not hard to do unless there was a mud hole on the way to club, where ever it was.  I know it was close because we walked.
The chicken house was where all the action was.  Something was always getting in and stealing a chicken.  Once dad thought it was a fox, but laid a trap and found out it was a weasel.  No way to keep a weasel out of the hen house. 
Once while we were setting in the back yard, the old yellow tom cat came up with a baby chicken in his mouth.  Mother immediately sent Jake and the tom cat into the forest.  Jake carried a hatchet and was under the strict orders that the tom cat must never be seen again.  Shortly after that mother could not find her potato peeler. It seemed I recalled Jake taking that to the forest and told mother so.  She said I was a trouble maker.
The best part of the whole day was when we brought the cow up.  See, we had a milk cow and the grass was very green along the road that ran in front of the house.  So each morning Jake would take her out and stake her along the road.  He went several times and moved her, but when it was milking time, I went with him to bring her up to the barn to be milked.  She was very slow, but if we grabbed her tail she would run.  Sometimes we did that.  More fun than you can imagine, but sure made milking her hard because she was upset and would not release her load!
Dad had three sons before he married mother.  They had been placed in an orphange when his first wife died, as I recall.  I remember when Gene Barthololmew, the oldest got out of the Army and came for a visit.  I do not remember Richard or Earl coming during that period, but they had been adopted and had thier own family.  I did meet them in later years.  Richard Nichols and Earl Siefert.
One memory that is so vivid it hurts of that period is our hair care.  When we needed a hair cut, mother would set us on a box on a chair, place a bowl over our head and cut our hair to that length.  Then she trimmed our bangs.  Wish I could find one of those pictures! But the worst part was the washing of the hair.  We did not have running water, hence no hot water.  What we did have was a pitcher pump that pumped water by raising and lowering the handle.  When hair needed washed mother would grab the kid that was next in line which in this case was me and tuck me under her arm.  Josephine would pump the handle up and down and water would pour forth and mother would jam my head under the water, the apply soap which I am sure was lye soap and work it into my poor scalp.  Then back under the pump I went and my God that water was cold!    Since I was only 6 years old at the time my memory of a lot of things is not real clear, but on that one thing I am sure.  Bath time was once a week and it occured in a galvanized tub.  Littlest kid got the first bath and the reasoning behind that was that the younger they were, the cleaner they were.  Josephine always got the last one and by that time there was a soap scum floating on the top and bath had a whole new meaning.  To this day I stand under the shower with the water as hot as I can stand it.
I remember the old cow dying and we had to move her body to the pasture because there was some sort of disease and the only way to get rid of it was to burn and bury the carcass.  Must have been anthrax, since I think that occured about that time.  Not sure she had it, but we did it anyway.
That was also the first time I was ever allowed to go to the store.  I felt so big walking that mile to Flemings grocery with my hanky in my hand and the money for the loaf of bread tied safely in the corner.  I remember Mr. Fleming gave me a piece of candy because I did such a good job.  I recall that it was very scary being alone out in the big world when I was 6 years old.  But I look back on that simple life and it breaks my heart that our kids today will never know the simple joy of a mud puddle, a dying turtle, or a trip down the dirt road to bring the cow up!