Who's gonna prime my pump?

I recall in Nickerson that running water was more than just turning on the faucet.  709 North Strong Street had no faucets.  Out by the horse tank was a field pump.  When the tank started getting low someone, usually Jake, had to pump the water into the tank to fill it back up so the horses could drink.  At the bottom of the pump hung a can.  That can was filled with water from the horse tank and poured into the top of the pump while pumping in short, fast strokes.  With luck, the pump would "catch it's prime quickly" and water would pump out through the mouth of the pump.  If you understand the workings of a pump you know that there is a leather inside that when pumped up and down draws the water up from deep in the well. Occasionally the leather becomes worn and needs replaced.

The pump at the horse tank was a big iron pump.  The handle was long and we used to like to pump because if we could keep a rhythm going the pump handle would sometimes jerk us up off the ground by the sheer force of the water.  We were also allowed to get in the horse tank and play sometimes.  Can you imagine how dirty that water was in that tank?  That coupled with the fact that the horses might want a drink while we were in there scared hell out of me!  Have you ever looked at horse teeth?  They are big and very yellow and I lived in mortal terror that one of them would eat me.  Life was hard back then.

All the house water for cooking, cleaning, bathing or whatever was carried from the pump outside into the house in buckets.  The tea kettle that set on the wood cook stove was kept full at all times and a cup of tea was just seconds away in case one of the fancy ladies from town came.  (This did not happen very often, and to my recollection, never.  Mother did clean houses and sometimes a lady would come to discuss her availability, but they were usually in a car and stopped in front of the house and honked.)

Ah. but fate smiled kindly us. I do not remember who, why or when, but at some point in time someone decided that mother needed a sink and a pump inside the house in the kitchen.  It was then that we were blessed with what was known as a "pitcher pump."  Now this was the cat's meow in pumps.  It did not need primed!  When we wanted water, we just started pumping and very soon it would "catch it's prime."  Talk about uptown!  It set of the end of a big oblong enamel sink.  The drain pipe ran through a hole in the wall that extended about 8 feet into the back yard.  There the drain water ran out onto the ground where the Muscovy ducks played in it.  Boy, that was one stinking mess, but it was sure handy.

I have to go into detail here about the Muscovy Ducks.  Those are about the nastiest things I have ever seen.  When I had my 17 geese and 37 ducks here I had 4 Muscovy's.  Now to the best of my knowledge, Muscovy's are the only domesticated ducks that can actually fly.  The 4 of them used to fly up to the house, across the fence and roost on the air conditioner.  Nasty.  The hens were little and delicate, but the drakes were twice as big and their necks were as big as my upper forearm.  They did not quack; they sort of quibbled.  I did not like them and I think they actually broke the neck of one of my geese.  They even looked evil.  All this has nothing to do with pumping water, does it?

I attended my first 3 years of high school in Nickerson.  It was during those years that I made 2 discoveries; home brew and boys, in that order.  I had a friend named LaVeta (no last name) whose dad made and bottled home brew.  He liked to go to the big city and gamble on Saturday nights and we liked to stay home and sample his home brew.  Her mother helped us.  She would take all us kids to Sterling and there were boys there!  There were dances there.  Sadly, I could not drink and dance, so the dancing went by the wayside and I learned to worhip at the feet of the porcelain God.  I have not had a bottle of homebrew in 60 years, but I can still taste it.  Once more I digress.

In due time mother graduated from Salt City Business College and we moved to the big city of Hutchinson.  The rest is history.  Louella Bartholomew grew up and not longer exists, or so we think.
Some where deep in my soul, she lives.  Her memories are as vivid today as they were when she was living them.  Homebrew and boys are a thing of the past, but the wants and the needs of that skinny little girl are as alive today as they were in that stick and mortar house at 709 Strong Street.

Peace to all.

Hey! Where is the dog?

Have spent several days now wondering about why I can not remember having a dog when we were growing up.  We always had a bunch of mangy cats hanging around in the back yard and in the barn, but I can not remember any dog.  We had Muscovy Ducks that were always making a mess where the sink drained out through a wall in the house and dumped the water in the back yard.  Now there was one stinking mess if I remember right and I am pretty sure I do.

Now in the first place ducks are messy and Muscovy Ducks are the messiest ducks in the world.  They are black and white.  The males are very big and the hens are very small.  I had 2 males and 2 females many years back, but they are anti-social and I think they killed one of my geese.  Nobody home and in the pen but the geese and the ducks and there was the dead goose.  They could fly.  Most domesticated geese and ducks can not fly, but those suckers could.  What this has to do with a dog is beyond me, but you do know how my little mind wanders.

So we had the Shetland pony that kicked brother Jake in the head, Danny the brown horse that no one could ride but Josephine, and a bunch of old work horses that were good for nothing but eating hay.  Oh and the rabbits mother raised, but those were to eat.  The milk cow was not really a pet. The cats were what is known as "feral"  which meant they were born in the wild, raised in the wild and no way in hell were you going to pet one of them.  Try and you could lose a finger or an eye and usually both.

As I recall the only people on the block who had a dog was the Rienke family.  They had a white dog with brown spots.  I think his name was Spot.  His life was spent on the end of a chain where he spent the day barking and the only time he quit barking was when he was wolfing down his dinner.  Thinking back there were not many dogs in the town of Nickerson.  Walking home from school, I know the Redford family had a big, mean dog that was on a chain on the clothes line.  Ever so often he would escape and we would see him running through town dragging his chain behind him.  Used to scare the living pee waddin' out of me because I knew if he seen me he would eat me, but thank heavens he never did.

Maybe if I had been able to have a dog to play with I would be better adjusted today.  I guess there is really no way of finding out.  I know as soon as I met my first husband he gave me a little Chihuahua puppy and I have had dogs ever since.  I have two dogs and a cat now.  I have got to try to outlive them, because they would not know how to act if they went to a home where they were not rulers of the roost.  When we go to bed I have to put 5 cat treats on the dresser for Icarus.  Then I give Daisy a Milk bone and then Elvira a Milk bone.  Then I turn out the light and crawl into bed with Icarus protecting me and the dogs run out for a short bark at the moon before they fall asleep.

Thinking back, I bet we never had a dog because every scrap of food had some one's name on it.  The whole country was in a depression so food was scarce everywhere.  But then there was this picture.

There is my mother with a black dog.  I think my dad did not like dogs.  Whatever, it is a mystery that I can not solve since no one is around to guide me.  Maybe I had a dog and maybe it lived outside, so I forgot about it.  Yes!  I bet that is it.  I will stick to that story because I like it.  I bet he was a Collie dog and  his name was Rover!  Oh, finally, I will be able to sleep tonight.

I miss Rover.