Soapweed
Well-known member
My journal entry for Sunday, February 4, 1968
I rolled out this morning at 6:30 with the feeling I was "coming down with something." I grabbed an aspirin and sat down to a good breakfast, with French toast instead of the usual pancakes.
The day dawned damp and foggy, but turned out nice about 11:00. Dad went up north and caked the cows. I put out the grain for the calves and saddled up Jig to round them up with. She acted like a fairly experienced old cow horse and made no false moves of any kind.
Dad and I fed the cattle around close. We unhooked the sled and headed for the house on the tractor. Just as we left, the sled loaded with a fair-sized jag of hay started rolling down an incline. It gathered quite a bit of speed, before hitting a box corner in the fence which stopped it. No damage was done to either the fence of the hay sled.
As the tractor was low on hydraulic oil, we stopped a minute at the shop to fill it up. The minute stretched into a good half hour. It looks like an old reliable tractor manufacturing company like International would devise a better system to put in hydraulic oil. You need a funnel, a long hose, and a steady arm before you even attempt a job like this. While working away, I thought to myself, "Boy, Dad doesn't know it, but this job is going to keep us from 'getting to the church on time'."
My fears were groundless because every member of our family was either about half sick, tired to the point of exhaustion, or a mixture of both. No one even planned to go to church, but as usual, I was the last to get informed on any important event.
Sandra, Mom, and Dad took naps before dinner. Sybil and I played Monopoly, and Nancy Jean went around getting in everyone's hair.
For dinner we had steak. I had an awful big piece, so thought I'd better eat all of it before piling my plate full of potatoes, salad, and all the other good food. I got filled to the brim about two-thirds of the way through my steak. Sybil had to help me out. I was exclusively "carnivorous" except for one glass of chocolate milk.
Dad had to deliver two bulls to Gordon this afternoon. I went out and put gas in the new pickup while Dad shaved. We then drove to the north meadow, checked a heavy cow, and put bedding in the pickup. When we arrived back home, we loaded the bulls, and went in to change our clothes.
The ride to Gordon was relatively uneventful. When we arrived, Dad drove down Main Street to see if there was any "action." Sorry to say, there wasn't, so we took the bulls down to the sale barn. We backed our pickup up to Jack Lewis' four-horse trailer and transferred the bulls onto his outfit. Jack Lewis seems like a nice guy. He lives in Gordon, but has a ranch up by Manderson, South Dakota. He was real enthused about the bulls, and later we saw him showing them to a few other guys. Dad remarked, "That guy just might give us some good advertising."
On the way home, we stopped to see how Grandma was getting along. She is blessed with a much better back, but she was having a little trouble with an oil painting. Her present "work of art" is a picture of Mount Rushmore. Abe Lincoln seemed to be giving her trouble. Dad took the brush and started painting, so Grandma started showing me old heirlooms and antiques. Abe started to look more like himself, so Dad and I came on home.
Jerry Schneider, his wife, and their three children brought a load of corn out this evening. It was all unloaded by the time Dad and I arrived home. We got in the bulls, sorted out the one Schneiders bought, and loaded it on their truck. I did chores and came in to a lunch of ice cream and nut cake. The Schneider kids were about as wild as any in the country. They monkeyed with everything from the furnace, to the typewriter, to the piano.
Ronald Snyder is our guest tonight. He and Dad are "shooting the bull."
I'll probably be sick tomorrow.
I rolled out this morning at 6:30 with the feeling I was "coming down with something." I grabbed an aspirin and sat down to a good breakfast, with French toast instead of the usual pancakes.
The day dawned damp and foggy, but turned out nice about 11:00. Dad went up north and caked the cows. I put out the grain for the calves and saddled up Jig to round them up with. She acted like a fairly experienced old cow horse and made no false moves of any kind.
Dad and I fed the cattle around close. We unhooked the sled and headed for the house on the tractor. Just as we left, the sled loaded with a fair-sized jag of hay started rolling down an incline. It gathered quite a bit of speed, before hitting a box corner in the fence which stopped it. No damage was done to either the fence of the hay sled.
As the tractor was low on hydraulic oil, we stopped a minute at the shop to fill it up. The minute stretched into a good half hour. It looks like an old reliable tractor manufacturing company like International would devise a better system to put in hydraulic oil. You need a funnel, a long hose, and a steady arm before you even attempt a job like this. While working away, I thought to myself, "Boy, Dad doesn't know it, but this job is going to keep us from 'getting to the church on time'."
My fears were groundless because every member of our family was either about half sick, tired to the point of exhaustion, or a mixture of both. No one even planned to go to church, but as usual, I was the last to get informed on any important event.
Sandra, Mom, and Dad took naps before dinner. Sybil and I played Monopoly, and Nancy Jean went around getting in everyone's hair.
For dinner we had steak. I had an awful big piece, so thought I'd better eat all of it before piling my plate full of potatoes, salad, and all the other good food. I got filled to the brim about two-thirds of the way through my steak. Sybil had to help me out. I was exclusively "carnivorous" except for one glass of chocolate milk.
Dad had to deliver two bulls to Gordon this afternoon. I went out and put gas in the new pickup while Dad shaved. We then drove to the north meadow, checked a heavy cow, and put bedding in the pickup. When we arrived back home, we loaded the bulls, and went in to change our clothes.
The ride to Gordon was relatively uneventful. When we arrived, Dad drove down Main Street to see if there was any "action." Sorry to say, there wasn't, so we took the bulls down to the sale barn. We backed our pickup up to Jack Lewis' four-horse trailer and transferred the bulls onto his outfit. Jack Lewis seems like a nice guy. He lives in Gordon, but has a ranch up by Manderson, South Dakota. He was real enthused about the bulls, and later we saw him showing them to a few other guys. Dad remarked, "That guy just might give us some good advertising."
On the way home, we stopped to see how Grandma was getting along. She is blessed with a much better back, but she was having a little trouble with an oil painting. Her present "work of art" is a picture of Mount Rushmore. Abe Lincoln seemed to be giving her trouble. Dad took the brush and started painting, so Grandma started showing me old heirlooms and antiques. Abe started to look more like himself, so Dad and I came on home.
Jerry Schneider, his wife, and their three children brought a load of corn out this evening. It was all unloaded by the time Dad and I arrived home. We got in the bulls, sorted out the one Schneiders bought, and loaded it on their truck. I did chores and came in to a lunch of ice cream and nut cake. The Schneider kids were about as wild as any in the country. They monkeyed with everything from the furnace, to the typewriter, to the piano.
Ronald Snyder is our guest tonight. He and Dad are "shooting the bull."
I'll probably be sick tomorrow.