Confessions of a Farm Girl

IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER: For protection of the innocent (cough... oh, excuse me) it is IMPERATIVE that Uncle Ross not be allowed to read the following.  Thank you in advance for your cooperation!

Signed,
The Management


From Jami:

So, being a "girl" in the farm-world is no small thing.  First off, no one thinks I belong (ask Grandpa Hurst) and secondly, no one expects me to be able to keep up and pull my own.  So I am already at a disadvantage and have to prove myself an asset.  I had to put forth 150% effort to be able to hang with the guys.  Up until now, I have been reluctant to concede that I may have gotten a little a tiny bit a smidgen of an iota of special treatment.

Aaron and Jim, you are gonna want to make sure you are sitting for this.

One hot summer day (I believe I was 14 going on 15) Jim, Aaron and I were loading the truck (I wanna say Old Blue, but why were there 3 of us loading Old Blue?).  I may have taken a few bales from the boys (WHAT???  Ross and Dad did it to me!!!)  Fed up, Jim and Aaron united in letting me know "Fine!  If you think you can load the truck by yourself, do it."  They both sat down and folded their arms.  

I'm sure they expected me to get backed up and beg for their help... Ha!  They don't know the determination of a farm girl.  I was loading that truck just fine by myself.  

However...

Not too long after they sat down, Ross happened to drive by to check our progress and found two strapping 16-year-old young men sitting idly with their arms folded while one ultra determined 14-year old girl carried out the work of two grown men.

He wasn't happy.

Like at all...

What was I supposed to say?  I apologized to them after Ross left...

Yeah I didn't.  

I giggled and smirked as the three of us finished loading the truck.  I probably didn't take their bales though...for the rest of that load...who can really remember though?

A little lesson about thought...

From Crystal:

One summer, I was more often than not, in charge of the morning milking.  I was, therefore, the last to arrive at the fields to help with the hay hauling.  They always left a truck behind so that when I was finished I could drive it to the fields.  

One day as I was coming in, driving along some dirt tracks that go around the fields, I came upon a fairly good sized puddle, I could have driven around it easily, but my truck was big and I thought I could make it …I did not.

     

     Dad must have been watching me come in, cause it didn't take him long to arrive in the tractor to bail me out.  He didn't say a word, just started hooking up chains.  Unable to bear the silence anymore I said, “I’m sorry Dad.”  I will never forget his tone of voice as he replied, “I know, but you've all got to try it.”

     It occurs to me to wonder just how many times he has had to pull his kids out of the mud or snow, probably 50 times for me alone.  Thanks Dad.

From Jami:

If it makes you feel better Crys, I did it with a loaded truck! ;)

LUCY! You got some 'splainin' to do...

From Ross:

Who remembers the white Dodge?

This incident happened in August 1987 as I recall. We will need some help from David Little to verify the date and some other important detail that I, to this date, have not been privy to.

As Sanford and I were running the combines (95H) harvesting the wheat on the “Big Field” on this particular August afternoon, we could see some unusual activity happening at the dairy.

The Dodge pickup had pulled out a short while earlier headed toward the flat, which was normal and expected. Then as I recall, the Massey pulled out headed in the same direction, followed a short time later by the K-8 winch truck.

As Sanford and I had both pulled up to a truck to dump our loads at about the same time we mentioned to each other what we had seen, and had seen the same things.

Sanford said that although we didn't know what was going on, “at least no one had been killed or else someone would have been up to get us.”

That was good enough for me, and we went on cutting grain.

Now this is where the details get sketchy to me and possibly in need of some clarification. Apparently as David was driving the pickup down the road in his usual “safe manner”, he entered the curve by Merrill Nelsons well at an unsafe speed, to which he lost control and rolled the vehicle, I’m not sure how many times. There were no injuries (that were admitted to) in the incident.

I would like to know just what happened sometime before I die, David and Ben.

Juniper Transit Authority

From Juel:

HAY, anybody know how many people you can put in the front of Old Blue?

From Crystal:

Rides back home to the farm were often uncomfortable.  Getting there, there was plenty of room for all to ride in the cab or on the bed, but once the trucks were full we all had to fit somewhere.  At the end of one crop of hay we sent home a truck that was not quite full and Doug and I, just kids, were thrilled when Dad said that we could ride on the top.  Before taking off Dad reminded us again that before we crossed under the highway we needed to get in the hole.  I remember thinking, ‘well, we’re not stupid.’ 

Douglas and I sat at the front of the truck enjoying the breeze and talking and laughing.  We were completely distracted.  All the sudden Doug yelled something and laid on his back.  I looked forward to see a cement wall coming fast toward my face, mere feet away.  I laid back just in time and watched as the cement roof of the underpass sped past a few inches above the end of my nose.  We were just kids, I remember giggling with Douglas as we rode underneath and again as we recounted the story to my father, who must have been sick to the stomach.

I recently reminded my father of this story and mentioned that my memories were probably distorted and that the underpass was probably not as close to my face as I remember it being.  He told me that the reason we stack our trucks as high as we do is because we cannot fit one more row of bales on.  I don’t think that wall could have been more than 6 inches above us. 

(Editor's note: And they think farming is unsafe for children... pssshh) :)

From Jami:

While old blue is a fine choice in transportation.  The 10-wheeler offers more comfortable, more luxurious, more passenger area.  As a kid I loved to ride on the overshot with my little fingers curled around the front of the worn planks.  Clearly, there is more space when not loaded with 7 (right?) layers of hay, however I can assure you, this fine piece of antique farm machinery could haul just as many bodies from the field as it did to the field.  Seating configurations were creative to say the least.  

I recall one day in particular we were riding back from the flat, there must have been 10-12 passengers in this 3 passenger vehicle.  Dad drove, I was in the middle, and I believe Doug and Brad were in the cab with us.  I'm not exactly sure who all was with us that day (Joe, Sam, Aaron, Steve, Jim, John, seems like maybe Tim that day...anyway), but it seems like we had a passenger on each running board (possibly two), and 4-5 boys on the hood of the truck   What's more impressive is that Dad handled all 3 pedals himself-which was not always the case in a crowded truck...lol.  I think I was in charge of the stick shift... teamwork folks, teamwork.  

Leave a comment for all to enjoy... what are your most memorable "transportation" moments???

Also, if anyone has a pic of old blue, send 'er my way... I'd love to have a visual!

Here piggy, piggy, piggy...

Here's one you are NOT gonna want to miss!  If you haven't heard it, you are in for a real treat.  If you have heard it, reading it will be that much better since you can "hear" Ross telling it as you read, his inflections and chuckle.  I love to hear Ross tell a story.  Here it is:

Traveling Pigs-April 1999

Ross Hurst

            I’m not sure how many of you have ever seen a stock rack with two pigs in it sliding down the freeway at 70 MPH, but I have ... and in my mirror, even. I don’t know just how the rack came out. We’ve hauled many animals in it with no incident.

On this particular day however, I got "LUCKY". It was quite a sight, a rack with those pigs doing 70 MPH and slowing fast (and staying in their own lane, each pig riding on their own plank, I might add.) with a semi right behind with his brakes locked, blue smoke billowing out from all the wheels. And I watched it all in my mirror as I was getting stopped myself.

When things finally stopped, and the smoke settled, the pigs were in the rack with the semi about 20 feet behind parked on the interstate. The pigs didn’t appreciate the ride however, and proceeded to get out of the rack where it is cut out for the pickup wheel wells. The one decided he would rather walk the rest of the way to the butcher, and so off he went. The other one stayed close.

The truck driver, another motorist, and I got the rack put back on the pickup and got the traffic going again.

There was a pickup pulling a horse trailer that wasn’t far behind that stopped. It just happened to be some team ropers on their way to a rodeo. They had never roped a pig before and thought they were up to the challenge. There were three men with their lasso’s and to work they went. One of them took off after the pig that was headed north while the other two stayed with me to get the pig that was still close to us.

Those guys were good. It didn’t take much time at all to have the first hog loaded up. Just throw the rope and then toss the pig in the pickup. As simple as that.

We caught up to the other pig about one-quarter of a mile away, heading back toward us. That third cowboy wasn’t having as much luck as we did, but then that second pig wasn’t in a very good mood and didn’t want to be messed with. We got him anyway, tossed him in, then tied the rack in so it couldn’t come out. And down the road I went on to the butcher. 

I never did get the names of any of the people that helped me that day.  They either left before I could ask them, or they refused to tell me. 

And what of the pigs?  One of them had a very small scrape on his rump but no bruise.  They came out of this with no injury whatsoever.

From Jami: Ha! Except that they were still on their way to the butcher!  And you thought your day was bad...  Also, can you imagine the stories told at the next several truck-stops and rodeos?

You Never Forget

From Juel:

I remember one day late in November, after Sanford was no longer able to drive in Logan, there was a couple inches of snow on the ground.   I was in a pick-up truck with Sanford behind the wheel; right there in front of the barn Sanford spun a cookie for the fun of it.  I was in the passenger seat and I just kinda looked over at Sanford and raised one eyebrow.  He looked back and said, “Once you learn, you never forget.”  Well, later that day we were headed down to the flat.  This time with me in the driver’s seat.  Due to slick conditions, I missed the corner there by Henrie’s and went into the borrow pit, up along Gordon’s fence for a way, then back through the borrow pit and onto the road without slowing down.  And away we go on down the road.  Sanford looks over at me with one eyebrow raised.  I countered, “Once you learn you never forget!”  We had some great times together.   

What's a mouses favorite game???

Hide and Squeak!!! 

From Crystal:

I was helping dad move some oat hay.  He was on the truck and I was on the stack throwing bales down to him.  Now, this was not a new stack of hay, in fact, it had been there so long now that it was totally infested with mice.  Each bale I moved sent another 10 or 15 mice scattering.  It was no surprise when I caught, out of the corner of my eye, a mouse running over my shoe.  It was a surprise, however, when I felt the pinching sensation of the little rat crawling up my right shin.  You may well believe that having a tiny ball of fur run up your legs would tickle a bit …it does not, you would be closer to the truth if you envisioned a very tiny crab in its place.  I dropped my bale and cupped my hands around my leg just below my knee and informed my father that I believed there to be a mouse in my pant leg.

“Well, do you want to drop them up there or down here?”  …we switched places; me doing a little hobble as I held my leg tight, trying to prevent the mouse from climbing any farther. 

Dad turned around giving me some privacy, but the beast was nowhere to be found.   I gave up the hunt, but just as Dad turned back around I felt the mouse nestled underneath my front left pocket.  Frustrated by this time and downright disgusted, I did not even give dad a chance to turn around again; I dropped my pants, grabbed the mouse with my now glove free hand and threw him hard.