Dick Herfindahl, Woods & Water

Whenever I have reason to venture south to the Emmons area I always think back to my days as a youth when I spent time with my cousin Richard on his family’s farm. I looked forward to this each summer but always with a little apprehension. Spending a week or two on the farm not only meant that I’d be away from home, but it also meant doing things the way my cousins did.

On the farm they all had certain chores to do. I always thought that feeding the animals and even cleaning the calf pens was pretty fun. But Richard had to do them all of the time so I know he must have been thinking that I was half nuts.

Once we got the chores done we could play or go fishing in the crick, which flowed right through the pasture on the farm. I thought that that was the greatest thing ever — a crick all your own. We used to spend hours checking under the banks and in the deeper pools of that stream looking for any sign of fish which always brought excitement when we’d spot one. Although there were mainly bullheads, suckers and an occasional bluegill in there it didn’t matter because when you’re a kid a fish is a fish.

When we’d tire of that we’d head to the woods and play — funny how there didn’t seem like there were that many bugs. I suppose that kids busy playing cowboys and Indians in the woods were almost oblivious to their presence. Swimming in the crick was always fun, but when the cows were in the pasture and you’d come around the bend and see them standing in the water upstream doing what cows do it kind of took the edge off.

Looking back to the start of my week’s stay I can remember the first night was always a little tough. They used to call it homesick and after having Richard’s mother Senora fussing over me when I feigned an upset stomach I would finally calm down and sleep like a baby. Once I had the first night under my belt things sailed along pretty smooth.

Breakfast, however, was a whole different story. When we had cereal for breakfast we’d sometimes have milk fresh from the milkhouse which was not only a little cooler than luke warm, but it seemed about as thick as buttermilk. I know they say cream rises to the top but I wasn’t quite used to that. This took a little getting used to but I eventually warmed up to it. I can remember how Richard’s dad Hartwick would laugh when he saw me trying to choke down that first bite of cereal.

The milk was poured into a stainless steel pitcher-like container with a filter on top and put into the refrigerator to settle. The filter was usually thrown on the floor for the cats to fight over before they were given their daily portion of milk. The rinse milk was used to mix with feed to give to the pigs, pretty much nothing was ever wasted. As the milk sat the cream would come to the top and would be skimmed off to be used for baking and cooking or on top of fresh strawberries. I also had my first taste of homemade ice cream on the farm. Now those are memories I can almost taste.

I can also remember when we’d get milk delivered to our house in glass bottles and the top of each glass container had a layer of thick milk, which I guess today you’d call half and half. My mother would pour off the top of those bottles and that was our cream for coffee and baking.

Those were some good times and fun times spent on the farm. Farmers back then, although it wasn’t an easy life, raised a few cattle, hogs, chickens, geese and were pretty much self-sustaining. Richard’s family had a few acres of crops and some milk cows which was pretty much a way of life for most farmers years ago. It’s kind of sad that when you look back at the days of the small farmer and realize how much farming has changed. Most small farmers eventually had to find full-time jobs to make ends meet. I am not even close to being very knowledgeable about farming, but it seems that today’s farmers who have to farm a lot of acres and need bigger and more expensive equipment just to make a descent living.

With pheasant season opening on Oct. 16 and waterfowl season already underway we need to be remember that whether afield or afloat always follow the rules and have a safe hunt.

Remember our brothers and sisters who are proudly serving our country so that we can enjoy the freedoms that we have today.

Dick Herfindahl’s column appears in Friday’s Tribune.