Grocers in town were a bit more generous when we paid our bill; then they slipped in a bag of candy for us kids. Those little striped bags contained peppermint, lemon drops, or if really special, some of those choice raspberry candies. We measured our popularity by the number of gaudy calendars we received from the merchants. Most of them were frosted and we had one in every room; the homeliest ones hung in the out-house. We couldn't bear to throw them away even when out-of-date.

Peddlers of Walkins and Raleigh's made their rounds and Mama bought her spices and vanilla and salves then. When she hesitated to buy, they assured her," We'll take hens!" And hens they got!

Tramps roamed the countryside and invariably stopped and asked for a meal. If they offered to work for their mealS, I don't remember. Perhaps, Mama knew she had trusted hands a'plenty amidst her own flesh and blood. Feed them she did. We little ones were aghast when one tramp gulped down a whole tasty glass of apple jelly. That glass would have served eleven of us for two meals. Papa taught us how to spread it thin! To get the last bit of food, he could also scrape a cook pan cleaner than you could wash it!

With the exception of horses, pigs and cows, the animals roamed at will. The sheep were the lawn mowers and they did a good job. We had no long grass around our place. Tall grass invited flies and mosquitoes. How helpful it was to us milkers, the mixture ( perhap DDT ) that papa put in the can with the sprayer and applied as a quick whisk of "bug-begone" to the cow's legs, so that they would stand still during milking. The cows welcomed it too.

A true menace on the farm was the male sheep, or ram, called "Buck" who liked the rear approach. He'd watch till you had your posterior handy while gathering wood or carrying pails of milk, then he would charge and "ram" without mercy. If you could keep your eye on him, he'd leave you alone. Off and on we'd get a fiery rooster that felt his job was to protect the nests against all comers. He'd jump on our backs in a bundle of fury. Mama would shortly make good soup out of him.

Going berry picking at Cranberry Lake, fishing in Lake Poinsett, or Lake Norden, spring cleaning with no vacum cleaner, cooling off and cleaning the pot-bellied stove, and moving it to the "corn-closet" upstairs, hatching a batch of fluffy chicks in an old, unpredictable incubator were experiences that bring to mind pages of memories. Enough to mention them.

I do remember the more fortunate people who could order their chicks from the catalog and come spring, our rural mailman had a chirping concert his whole delivery. Some aroma too, when certain chicks couldn't take the long trip. Neither can any of us forget the bottle-fed lambs, and especially our orphaned pig. He was such a nuisance as he would follow us around like a dog.

King our horse would be hitched to our one -furrow sulky plow; it was guided by hand by Papa or Mama or whichever offspring was handy; it looked like we were pushing the horse. Papa would confer with the Farmer's almanac, but didn't plant by its predictions.

Who would forget butchering time, with the umpteen crocks of rendered lard? Lard was also used as a preservative of salted fried pork, then stored in the basement. Ground beef had to be perserved by canning or by being salted down.

We could mention the trees which we were privileged to saw down at the Neighbor Kirby's place and hauled home to expect further treatment; the call to awaken in the early dawns, to dress in the cold, help milk, eat our oatmeal or pancakes, help pack lunches for school and set off on the two and a half mile trek.

The schoolmarm thawed out the frost-bite when we arrived, and Mama used the same procedure when we arrived home with more frost-bite. It was the accepted treatment, using snow, and it worked. All nine of us attended a one-room schoolhouse with grades one through eight taught with many distractions for concentrations.

Oh, we remember the May flowers on the school section, the band that Papa trained and had them rehearse in our house; the flinch and carom games; Papa turning off the motor to save gas when coasting down the little hills, our old phonograph, the organ (oh, how we loved to hear Mama play it and sing), the typical expressions of any Norskie, or Norwegian, such as "uff da!", "ah nay-men," "ja," "ya-da," "ver-saa god," also calling the youngest girl "Tuta" and the youngest boy "Tupin".

Links to other sites on this Website

MAMA AND PAPA'S STORIES
WHAT FOREBEARS KNEW
THE STADEM'S GENEALOGY
TALES FOR A LITTLE TUPIN
OUR LINKING PAGE
THE TRIBUTE TO PEARL

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