I guess I am wandering down memory lane.  Perhaps, raising two more children has brought to mind a few lessons learned in my childhood. Lessons, I might add, that would probably send the lesson teacher to jail today, however, they were GOOD lessons, fair lessons, and lessons which I believe helped me to achieve the status called adulthood.

 

The year was 1964.  I was living with my grandparents.  I had a bedroom in the basement, which I absolutely loved.

 

My bed was lumpy and covered with extremely heavy quilts.  Homemade quilts.  It was cold in the basement.  To this day, I require heavy blankets and cold sheets to sleep well LOL.

 

My jobs around the farm were many and varied.  I had to get up in the morning and milk the cow.  Feed and clean the stall, then get ready for school.  At nine years old.  Doesn’t really seem fair, but I didn’t question it then, nor do I really now.  It was not hard work, but it was work.

 

I arose at about 5:30 a.m.  Got my overalls on, boots, and grabbed the two by four piece by the basement stairs.

 

Any farmer will understand the two by four.  You kept it in the back pocket of your overalls.  The two by four was roughly 18 inches long.

 

I would go out to the barn which wasn’t very far from the back door. Go into the stall. Say a gruff good morning to the stupid cow.  All cows are stupid. Trust me.  Unless they are a calf and want out of the fence. Then they are smart.

 

She would moo softly back at me in the predawn dark.  I would hit the light switch, a bare bulb hanging just north of the stall.  Walk through the muck from the night before and grab the pitchfork.  Muck out the stall, and then grab the hose and wash both the stall floor and the cow down.

 

I would grab the disinfectant and the paper towels. Wipe the udders off.  Move around the bulky cow and grab the milk pail. Rinse it out with diluted bleach water, then hot water again. Then wash my hands.

 

Grab the milking stool.  As soon as she saw the milking stool, she would get agitated. You’d think (but you’d be wrong) that she would be grateful that I was going to relieve her of the incredible pressure that she must have been feeling.  Having breast fed my children, I can certainly empathize with her.

 

But no, she was never a cooperative cow. Not her.  I would place the milking stool down on the side of the cow and sit on it, putting the stainless steel bucket under her udders. She would start shifting her weight.

 

I would reach up and grab the first two udders.  I would milk them for a few, then switch to the other two, figuring I would relieve all the pressure first.  A good idea.

 

At some point, the shifting of her legs would become more pronounced.  When I saw her weight shift to the far legs, I would reach into my back pocket and grab the two by four.

 

No, I wasn’t going to hit her.

 

But as soon as I saw her start to lean, I would whip up the two by four and place it perpendicular to the stall wall and the cow, thereby rendering the situation safe for me. See, she would consistently and consciously try to smash me against the side of the stall. Every single day.

 

And every single day I would thwart her efforts with my trusty two by four piece.  The 18” of wood saved me from a 2,000 pound squashing.

 

Then, I would carry the milk pail into the house, go back outside, feed the ungrateful milk producer and go back into the house, where I would clean up and get ready for school.

 

Leaving for school, I would grab the trash and take it out to the burn barrel and the trash can. Then I would get on the bus.

 

One night, about 3 AM, I was awoken by a bag of garbage dropped unceremoniously on my chest, in bed.

 

My grandfather was standing next to the bed.  He had done the dropping so to speak.

 

I looked up at him.  He said, “What’s this?”

 

I said, “the garbage I forgot to take out this morning.  I will take it today, I promise.”

 

He said “NO. You will take it now.”

 

You didn’t argue with my grandfather. Especially when you were in bed, with a bag of garbage on your chest.

 

I got up and grabbed the garbage.  He stopped me.

 

“What are you supposed to be doing when you take the garbage out?”

 

Perplexed, sort of, I answered “going to the bus.”

 

He replied, “what do you wear to the bus?  Your pajamas?”

 

Sighing, I got dressed for school. Took the garbage out. Came back in and got my pajama’s back on and went back to bed for a quick nap as now it was almost 4 and I had to get back up in an hour for the stupid cow.

 

I never forgot the garbage again. EVER.