CHORE BOY
One of the advantages of growing up on a farm is that there is practically never a time when there isn't something to do. As a boy it seemed to me that most of the time there was too much to do--that is, too much of things I didn't really want to do. Those activities were called "chores." We kids were all started on chores when very young, first being assigned the easier things that we could handle, and then growing into more difficult jobs. Just for fun, let me tell you of some of the chores I had to do, when about ten years old.
At this time I had a lot of chores to do, especially during the school term, because my father was a country school teacher. He taught in small rural schools, often located several miles away from home. Even in good weather he sometimes could get home only on week-ends, and often during severe winter weather, he would be away for several weeks at a time. My brother, Robert, had started high school, boarding (doing chores for his room and board) at a farm also miles away. Thus I got the full load, though my Mom was awfully good to help me.
Here's how a typical winter school day would go. Mom would get me out of bed about six o'clock-"time to go out and milk, John." She would help with the milking if we had more than two cows to milk. So I would get up, put on heavy overcoat and overshoes, take the milk pails with some warm water in one, the kerosene lattern in my other hand, and trudge down to the barn. Still dark out, the fifty or sixty yards to the barn seemed like a long way, especially if there were new snow drifts to tramp through. The lantern would throw long shadows--something which always made me feel slightly (or more!) scary.
We kept the milk cows in the barn winter nights. The first thing to do would be to clean the stable out, throwing the manure and soiled bedding straw out the wide door of the barn onto the manure pile. A messy job, believe me! Then fresh straw had to be brought in, and thrown under the cows, and some hay given them in the manger, so they would have something to chew on while we milked. Usually by the time I had this done Mom would have come down to the barn.
We next washed the udders of the cows (that's what the warm water was for), and began milking. We had to hurry, and often the old cows would give us a love switch across the face with their wet, dirty tails. Sometimes their teats would be sore and cracked from the cold weather, and a cow would kick--hard--upsetting me and making me spill all the milk. Usually one or two cats would be sitting around, begging for milk, and I might squirt a shot of milk at them. Some of them became pretty skilled at drinking milk "on the fly."
The milking finished, Mom would take the milk back to the house, and begin fixing breakfast. I next turned the cows out of the barn, threw a lot of hay over the fence for them and the other livestock in the barnyard, and then went to the well to begin pumping water for all of them. If you have never seen a big old milk cow drink, you can have no idea how much water each of them could put away. Pumping by hand, from a deep well, was a slow, cold business, and there were always ten or twelve head of cattle, and maybe two or three horses there to be watered. My body would be plenty warm, with the work of pumping, but my hands and feet would get awfully cold. But when all had been watered, and the wooden barrel (used as a water tank) left full, I would fill a bucket with clean fresh water, and head for the house.
Done with chores? Oh, no; after breakfast the chickens had to be fed and watered. Only then could I stop and get ready for school. Sometimes I would be so late I'd have to run or walk really fast to get to school by nine o'clock. We had about a mile and a quarter to walk to school.
In the evening it was pretty much the same routine, in reverse. The cows had to be brought in, watered, fed, the milk cows put in the barn, and milked again. Mom usually had fed and watered the chickens, and gathered the eggs before I got home from school, but if she hadn't, it was a chore for me to do. And, in addition, there was wood to chop and bring in, filling the wood box, and the slop bucket to be emptied. Only when all that was done, and the dishes washed and put away (we kids all took our turn at washing and drying dishes), would I feel my day's chores were done. And then sometimes I would have a weasel which I had trapped, or a jack-rabbit, to skin before going to bed.
Did I feel put upon, and sorry for myself? Of course I did at times. But I knew that all my friends in school had the same sort of round of chores to do, and that the tasks simply had to be done. I learned a lot from being a chore boy--particularly that when something has to be done, the best plan is to get right at it and do it. No use complaining, or feeling sorry for yourself. That lesson has helped me all my life. Now I can say that I'm truly glad that I had that background as a chore boy!