A Fond Memory of Spring: A Clever Old Porch

In Spring I always think of this beautiful climbing rose we had at the farm.  So, I’m sharing this post that I wrote about it two years ago again.

When we moved to the farm, we did alot of renovating.  And one of the things that really needed renovating was this little porch that had a door into the dining room.  We never used that door, in fact, we put the Christmas tree in that corner of the dining room each year.  The door was treated as just another window inside the house.

But, from the outside, it was obvious that this porch was in very bad repair, and really should be replaced.

But, apparently, you don’t get to the age of this old porch, without having developed some survival skills.  So, the porch had very cleverly cloaked itself in this beautiful climbing rose.  So, whenever we talked about tearing off the porch and building a new, prettier version of it, the debate would always eventually turn to the climbing rose that we enjoyed so much.  And, each time, we would come to the conclusion that there was no way that the rose would survive the upheaval of having its buddy the porch torn down.

So, each spring we looked forward to seeing the beautiful climbing rose, and we put up with its friend, the old porch, the rest of the year.

His mother’s apron strings

I took this picture of Hubby with his parents when he was about 30 years old.

An old saying refers to a “mama’s boy” as “tied to his mother’s apron strings”.

Well, Hubby wasn’t tied to his mother’s apron strings — he just liked to untie them! (I looked for a picture of his mother in an apron, but I remember that if pictures were going to be taken, she always took it off.  So, no picture of that.)

Hubby occasionally liked to tease his mother by walking behind her while she was working in the kitchen in her apron (the bib type that didn’t fall off just because it was untied) and just quickly tugging on one end of her apron strings to make them come untied.

When he would do that, his mother would just feign aggravation and then laugh and re-tie them.  No big deal, but a fun shared “tradition” between mother and son.

And when I first saw him teasing her that way when we were dating, I was charmed.  It’s interesting to see now that even though I’m sure I didn’t realize why my teen-age self was charmed, I think it was because of what this said about his good relationship with his mother  and also that it showed such a fun-loving side of his personality.

There is another old saying, “If you want to know how a man will treat his wife, watch how he treats his mother.”  That is certainly true with Hubby.  He teases me just like he teased his mother, although seldom in exactly the same way, because I hardly ever wear an apron!  But I enjoy him teasing me, just like I know his mother did.

A Hardworking Grandma

 

I ‘ve told you many stories about the history of my family, partly because of Mama’s book — there are lots of stories to tell.  But, I guess, the main reason is mostly because it is my family! 

But there are also some great stories I’d like to tell about Hubby’s family.  And today I’m remembering his Grandma Martha.

   This is a picture of Hubby’s grandparents, Martin and Martha, with their young family around 1912.  Hubby’s dad, Arthur, is the baby (here is a post I wrote last year about his life).

Of course, they are all dressed in their Sunday best, because I’m sure it was a big event when they had a formal picture taken.  But, don’t be fooled into thinking these were people of leisure.  They were hardworking farmers who worked from sun up to sundown to farm their land and raise their family.

And here is a favorite family story about Grandma Martha that shows that she had already developed her hardworking ways as a young girl. 

This story happened one year at harvest time when Martha was a very young teen. 

If I understand correctly, this is the way they picked the corn.  Each worker strapped a tool, something like the ones pictured below, to the palm of one hand.  In essence, it was a knife that you didn’t have to keep picking up or worry about dropping.

Then they walked down the line of corn stalks in teams of two, with each working the stalks on their side, removing each ear by using this tool to cut back the dry husks and silks (to minimize the contact their bare hands had with the sharp husks) so that they could then grip the ear of corn with the other hand and snap it off the stalk. 

I know there were wagons to put the corn in, but I can’t envision where they would have been, without knocking down the corn, so I’m picturing that maybe each worker wore some sort of bag that they would take to a wagon at the edge of the field and dump when it was full. 

Four workers were hired to help do the picking.  But, one day during the harvest one of the workers didn’t show up and Martha volunteered to fill in.  This wasn’t a job that girls and women normally did. 

I’m guessing that the three “pros” (strong young men who made good money during this time of year, hiring out to whatever neighbor needed help with his harvest) were all hoping they wouldn’t have to team up with the girl, but someone had to and it ended up being a young neighbor, Jim. 

Then the other two young men, suddenly enjoying what they saw as their friend’s disadvantage for having to be teamed with a very young girl, suggested a contest.  The two teams would start picking at opposite ends of the field, and they would see who could get to the middle first.  Jim agreed, but I imagine without much expectation of winning.

But, I’m sure you can guess what happened … Martha and Jim won!   And for the rest of their lives (they always lived in the same area, so knew lots of people in common) Jim loved to tell people the story about Martha and him beating those other two.  And he would always elaborate on how strong and fast Martha was and how hard she worked.  My guess is, that all three of those guys learned that day, “Don’t bet against Martha!”

When Hubby’s parents, Art and Vera, married, it was agreed that Art would begin purchasing the farm and he and Vera would live in the big family farmhouse with Martin and Martha.  I don’t know if there was ever any discussion about Martin and Martha moving to a smaller house in town, as Martin’s parents had done when Martin and Martha married and purchased the farm from them, but, for whatever reason, it never happened.  Both Martin and Martha lived out their lives sharing a home with their son, daughter-in-law and their children.  And, by the way, several generations living in the same house wasn’t at all unusual back then.

Actually, Grandpa Martin only lived long enough to know two of Art and Vera’s children, Hubby and his older sister.  The story goes that Martha and Martin were hosting a family get-together and there was a spirited Euchre game going on around the kitchen table (a favorite card game in this area).  Someone had just said something funny and Martin threw back his head and laughed, tipping his chair back on its back legs, but then he and the chair just continued to fall back.  He was dead from a heart attack before he hit the floor.  Hubby was 9 months old at the time.

But, Grandma Martha lived 16 years longer.  In fact, when I started dating Hubby, she was still alive.  I only remember meeting her a couple times.  What I remember most about her is that she called everyone by their given name — she called me Sandra, even though everyone else at that time called me Sandy.

   This is the only other picture of Grandma Martha I could find.  I would guess this was when she was in her 40’s. 

Apparently Grandma Martha’s demeanor was always one of  hard work and perpetual motion, going from one task to the next, without any down time.  My mother-in-law, Vera, a wonderful person who I’m sure would never have said this to Grandma, did tell me one time that there were times during the many years she lived with her hardworking mother-in-law, when she would have liked to just be able to sit down for a little while.  But, she said she never felt like she could do that when Grandma herself never “just sat down”!  No matter how wonderful her mother-in-law was, I’m sure there were times when Hubby’s mom, and I’m guessing Grandma too, wished she didn’t have to share a house with another woman.  But, overall, they had a good relationship.  

I’m told that when everyone sat down in the evening to relax, even then, Grandma liked to sit in a straight-back chair at the end of the sofa with her sewing basket and a stack of clothes that needed to be mended next to her so that she could do mending!  But, and this is a very big but, Hubby says he remembers that any time he or one of his siblings would take a book to her and ask her to read to them, she would stop what she was doing, and read.

Hubby says it wasn’t always fun to have a third adult supervising you, especially when you were a high-energy little boy, but he now looks back fondly on their live-in grandma who, even though a hard worker, still always had time for her grandchildren, and he recognizes the ways she added to all their lives, not the least of which was as an example of the value of hard work!

Are you lookin’ at ME?

 

Have I mentioned I was raised a “city girl”?  I think the fact that, by the time I came along, my family didn’t have a garden and bought all of our food at the grocery store was a direct result of  Mama’s childhood memories of usually only being able to afford food they raised themselves.  Consequently, she reveled in finally being able to afford already-canned vegetables, and already cut up meat like roasts, chops, pieces of chicken and ground meat that were purchased at the grocery.

So, the beginning of my education in the reality of the food chain came when I began dating Hubby-to-be, the farm boy.

After we had dated for a while, we started going to church together.  We would attend my Baptist church with my parents on one Sunday and his Lutheran church with his parents the next Sunday (we were equal-opportunity worshippers!). 

When we attended church with my family we would go back to our house for dinner, which was usually Mama’s wonderful pot roast that had been slowly cooking while we were at church.  I will forever remember the experience of walking into the house after church with the smell of that wonderful roast greeting us at the door.

And on the Sunday’s we attended his church, we would then go to his parent’s farm for his mother’s much-raved-about chicken dinner.  When he first told me what we would have, that sounded wonderful.  I loved chicken. 

But, when I began going there, I had a problem.  As we would drive into the barnyard, we would drive through a flock of chickens, and then we would go in the house and eat … chicken!!  Yikes!  Wayyyy too short a loop in the food chain for this city girl!!  I found myself avoiding looking directly at the chickens in the barnyard because I was afraid of making eye contact with next Sunday’s dinner!

I, of course, couldn’t refuse to eat the wonderful (to everyone else) meal his mother had made, but I certainly didn’t eat as “heartily” as I was capable of doing.  And, the chicken wasn’t the only food I had a problem with — the peas were crunchy!  Okay, maybe that is a slight exaggeration, but they were much firmer than any pea I had ever eaten, and bright green!  I was used to canned, Army-green, mushy peas.  I didn’t remember ever having fresh peas before, and they not only looked different but they tasted totally different too!  Now, it’s hard to imagine that I would have preferred canned instead of fresh peas, but, especially when you are young, it’s all about what you are accustomed to eating.

When I look back, I wonder if his parents and siblings looked forward to me coming to dinner because it was so entertaining to watch me experience “farm food”.  I’ve never had a poker face, so I’m sure every emotion I experienced showed clearly on my face.

Over the years, I did come to appreciate and enjoy my mother-in-law’s farm cooking, including her chicken which she fried and then baked slowly in the oven — fantastic!  Very different than my mother’s cooking, but every bit as good, in its own way. 

And, it did make it alot easier when Hubby’s parents quit raising chickens so that I at least didn’t have to avoid the accusing gaze of the condemned as we drove through the barn yard.

Just the beginning of many lessons learned when a couple start learning about the traditions and life styles of each other’s family.

Stop Eating … We’re Going to Talk Septic!

 

Our farmhouse that we lived in for 20 years had been built in the 1870’s by Hubby’s great-grandfather, Valentine.

Of course, the septic system wasn’t that old when we moved there, but it was old!  So, it was inevitable that we would have problems with it from time to time. 

The first time we had a problem (and I won’t go into detail … don’t bother to thank me), we looked in the phone book for a company that dealt with such things.  And we found one whose name inspired confidence in us … Golden Rule Septic Company. 

We called and asked them to come out ASAP (because when your septic system isn’t working, it is realllly important to get it working again fast!), and that was the beginning of a long, happy relationship between us and the father and son who were Golden Rule.

The first time they came out, we were a little surprised that they were black.  I don’t know why, but it just seemed to us, since septic systems are predominantly in rural areas, and most of the rural people in this area are white, that the people who would be experts at dealing with that rural system would be white too.  But, let me tell you, I don’t know where Dad and Son lived, but they did know “septic”!  Every time they came to our rescue, they found the problem, fixed it, were pleasant but professional while they were there, and always charged us a fair price.

Twice we had to call them on holidays.  That shouldn’t surprise any of us, because, after all, isn’t that the way things usually work?  If something is going to break, it will be on a weekend or holiday!

I especially remember the time the system stopped working on Christmas Day, just hours before Hubby’s large extended family would converge on our house for Christmas dinner!

I called Golden Rule hoping, but doubting, that even they would be willing to come out on Christmas Day.  Well, I shouldn’t have doubted.  They came to our house immediately, worked quickly and efficiently to find the problem and fix it (which always required digging out in the yard where the septic tank was — not an easy job even in warm weather, but cold, hard work in December!) and then were even reluctant to take the tip we wanted to give them because we so appreciated them coming out on Christmas day.

When we moved to this house six years ago, one of the great things we really appreciated, and still do, is city water and sewers.  But, there is one downside … we no longer have a reason to deal with Dad and Son at Golden Rule Septic Company.

The Golden Rule:  Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.  Luke 6:31

The great father and son team who named their company “Golden Rule” didn’t just say it, they lived it!

A Clever Old Porch

 

When we moved to the farm, we did alot of renovating.  And one of the things that really needed renovating was this little porch that had a door into the dining room.  We never used that door, in fact, we put the Christmas tree in that corner of the dining room each year.  The door was treated as just another window inside the house. 

But, from the outside, it was obvious that this porch was in very bad repair, and really should be replaced.

But, apparently, you don’t get to the age of this old porch, without having developed some survival skills.  So, the porch had very cleverly cloaked itself in this beautiful climbing rose.  So, whenever we talked about tearing off the porch and building a new, prettier version of it, the debate would always eventually turn to the climbing rose that we enjoyed so much.  And, each time, we would come to the conclusion that there was no way that the rose would survive the upheaval of having its buddy the porch torn down. 

So, each spring we looked forward to seeing the beautiful climbing rose, and we put up with its friend, the old porch, the rest of the year.

The Smokehouse

 

  The smokehouse had been built in the early 1900’s and was used by previous generations of Hubby’s family to smoke the meat from the livestock they raised for food.

But during Hubby’s parents’ generation, they stopped raising and butchering their own meat, so Grandpa cleaned out the smokehouse and let his grandchildren play in it.  

So, the little two-room smokehouse became a playhouse for our children and their cousins.  And, one of the games they frequently played when they were all together at Grandma and Grandpa’s was a version of hide and seek that involved the smokehouse.  The girls (there were quite a few more of them) would hide around the farm, and the boys would find them and put them in the back room of the smokehouse that they called the jail. 

    Hubby surprised some of the girls (DD’s the oldest one) one time when they were hiding behind the smokehouse from the boys.

 I don’t want to cast aspersions on the loyalty to the “girl team” of this niece, but she seems to suddenly be awfully buddy buddy with these two from the “boy team”!  Oh wait a minute.  They’re her brothers.  Maybe she’s brokering a deal.

DD mentioned to me one time that once in a while the “jail” room in the smokehouse had a funny smell and she suspected the boys sometimes used it as a bathroom.  But, I told her I felt sure they weren’t doing that and reminded her that it used to be a smokehouse, so it was to be expected that there might be some residual animal smells.  That idea seemed to satisfy her and she never mentioned it again.  But years later when Hubby had to dismantle the falling-down smokehouse, I remembered DD’s long ago comment and we had to chuckle.  When he got the door to the back room, aka jail, out in the bright sun, he could see faintly scrawled on it, “Jail and Bathroom”!  What is it they say?  “To a little boy, all the world is a bathroom!”

For almost a century that little brick building had served Hubby’s family, first to help put food on the table, and then to entertain our children (and apparently sometimes to save a little boy a trip to the house!).