Peter had a bicycle that wasn’t in very good repair. Mother had heard of a family who

would trade a calf for a bicycle, so she loaded the bicycle on a wagon and after

several miles arrived at the farm where the trade was made. I was very young when

the white and red calf was loaded on to the wagon for the return trip home. The calf

had not yet been weaned from its mother. As much as we tried to make it drink

milk from a pail it refused. This went on for almost a week, when it finally took a swallow of

milk from the pail. Then, it seemed to devour the milk in huge amounts, after which it

bawled for more. This calf was be beginning of my little herd of calves and young horses.

One summer I had a summer job with an English family who farmed two miles east

of us. My work was general farm chores and fieldwork. They were not too friendly. I was

treated more like a slave than a farm hand. One morning after doing the chores and after

having a simple breakfast of cooked oatmeal, I went to do the fieldwork. I must have had a

breakdown and had to return to the house. On entering the house I found Mr. & Mrs. Farmer

at the breakfast table. They were enjoying a fine breakfast with bacon, eggs, and toast, jam,

coffee, and the lot. I went home on Sunday and told Mom about this and never returned to

work there again.

I worked for another farmer. This time it was a German family to the east of us.

They were good farmers, who worked hard, and always seemed to get along very well even in

the thirties. I learned how to care for horses in the field. They were fed well and did not

weaken as the fieldwork continued.

In the wintertime all the cattle were fed in the evening and again at 10 p.m. This was

to compensate for the lack of sufficient grain in the daily intake of food. I admired the

routine of the work on the farm. I also enjoyed and appreciated the nourishing meals and the

generous supply that filled our plates.

An elderly farm gentleman visited our home on occasion, often in the evening or on

weekends. At times he would come around during the day, if he passed by. Just after I

acquired my first calf I remember him talking to Mom about this. He said, "That is the way

to start – by buying young stock." That way the animals cost less initially, but soon grow and

before very long a small herd would be established. During one of these visits he said that he

had a mare that had recently foaled, and he was willing to sell both for a very reasonable

price. So, together with Mom’s financial help, I purchased them. I called the mother Sally.

Dad was in on the picture as well, for it cost me nothing to feed the animal from the farmproduced

feed. The following year or so, this man had two colts to sell. These were fine

looking animals, less than a year old, so I paid the agreed price for them and brought them

home. By this time, several more calves were bought. Now, I had four young horses and a

small herd of young calves. The last two colts were given the names of Bud and Rod. It was

hard to tell them apart. Finally, as they grew, it became apparent that Bud was getting

slightly larger, and they were easier to identify. In the second year, though a little early, my

brothers and I started to train them for horseback riding. By this time they were halter

broken. They were a great pair to ride and race. We engaged in racing them on a mile run

down the road, when we were sure no one was around.

Before my older brother Peter died, he had helped Dad with the harvest. He was two

years older than me. The harvest was done with a binder, which would cut the grain and tie it

into sheaves. These were then expelled onto a carrier attached to the binder. When a number

of sheaves had accumulated, the operator would unload them on to the ground.

The next task was to gather the sheaves into little piles called stokes, to dry. Stoking

was hard work. It took a long time to finish a quarter section of land when there was a heavy

crop. I used to help Peter with this work, but now that he was not around, the younger boys

helped.

In 1936, when all the cutting and stoking was done, it was time to do the threshing.

The community farmers helped each other on the threshing crews. By working this way,

labor was calculated in payment of threshing each farmer’s crop.

This year, Dad figured that I was old enough at age fourteen to have a team of my

own, as Peter did in the previous year. I worked very hard to try and fill the rack and be in

time at the threshing machine to take my turn. As I remember, it was not too hard to do in

the mornings, but as the day progressed and I got weaker I started to fall behind. Dad would

try and help and we were able together to make it work. Then there was a farmer’s field that

was very heavy with straw. It was all I could do to lift each sheaf unto the rack, with all my

strength. The other crewmembers grumbled about me falling behind, until the field was

finally finished.

At this time it was impossible for a young man of my age to eat enough during meals

to last in the interval. The mid-morning and mid-afternoon lunches were very much

appreciated. Because on most occasions I was pressed for time my lunch was usually on the

go. How I wished for a rest at the mid-day lunches!

One harvest I recall working for a relative a mile from our farm. The wages for the

day were 75 cents. Not too bad for a fifteen year old boy. This particular day I worked hard

as usual, stacking the stokes. We all went for dinner, as was the custom. After dinner it was

back to work for the afternoon, until 6:00 pm. My impression was that as a hired hand I was

entitled to supper. I was very surprised however, when I arrived at the house and was told by

my cousin that they couldn’t afford to pay me 75 cents and also feed me. So with that

happening I went home to report this to my parents, who kindly asked me not to go back

again. We stopped being good friends after that.

The farmers in those early years were given opportunity to work on repairing and

improving municipal roads. This work was then credited to the payment of municipal taxes.

The tasks consisted of clearing the road allowance of shrubs and trees up to the farmer’s

property by cutting and burning the cuttings. Another task was to use a two-horse team or a

four-horse team to draw an earth-moving scraper to repair low spots in an existing road, or to

build a new road. Dad usually took advantage of this opportunity, as cash was very scarce.

Only a portion of taxes could be paid by the work projects. I recall being on these road job

crews in my later teens, sometimes to take Dad’s place when he was not able to join in the

work.

One season, at haying time, after the home farm hay was cut, Dad and I were off to a

rented quarter two miles north of Togo, a distance of about 8 miles from home. To get to the

farm one had to cross the Assiniboine River Valley. On each side, as is often the case, was a

hill down to the river level. Taking a wagon of any kind down a hill was tricky if the

harnesses were not equipped with breechings. Our harnesses were not so equipped. So

without this equipment, and no brakes on the wagon itself something different needed to be

done. A chain was fastened to one or both rear wheels, and anchored for the front, so that the

wheels would not turn but slide on the ground. This worked very well, but one needed to be

careful not to wear out the metal tire in one spot. To get up the hill on the other side was

quite another matter. It took horsepower in larger measure to reach the top. When the horses

needed a rest, blocks would be placed at the rear of the wheels so that the wagon would not

roll back down the hill. In this way the tired horses could be given a period of rest before

proceeding farther on.

This trip went smoothly. By the end of the day we were on location and ready to

begin the cutting of hay. Most hay put up in those years was slough grass, as well as wild

field hay in cleared areas.

As I remember our experience on this occasion, the day was hot and dry. There were

no buildings on this farm. The food for our meals was prepared on a stove, which we

brought out in the open air. One of the meals that I vividly remember was mashed potatoes,

mixed with home canned pork meat taken from glass jars. It was a simple nourishing meal.

Dessert was canned fruit and home baked bread, with homemade butter.

I liked being out alone with Dad in this new experience. The first task was to set up

camp. Next, the hayfield was surveyed. Then it was time for the evening meal. The horses

were let loose for a couple of hours then were brought in and tied to the wagon or a tree. We

then prepared to bed down in the open air. At nightfall it became imperative to make a fire of

wet straw, so the smoke would give the animals and humans relief from the pesky

mosquitoes. I recall almost being eaten alive with the swarms of those hated creatures.

Often one wondered which was worse, the smoke or the mosquitoes. We were glad for the

sunrise, when the mosquitoes would retreat to a shady location.

Breakfast would have been a bowl of cooked oatmeal and a cup of milk, with some

bread and jam. The mowing of hay would begin early and continue all day. Dick and Nelly

were the horses that were used on this job. I recall that in the mid-afternoon as Dad was going

around a bog, he attempted to get as close as possible to the water’s edge. Nelly was on the

side closest to the water. Suddenly she began to sink in the soft muck to a point where it was

necessary to unhitch the team from the mower in order for her to become unstuck. To assist

her Dick was moved away a few yards to become an anchor for Nelly. As a rope was

fastened to her halter, by a slight pull, after a rest, Nelly was able to release herself from the

mud hole. From then on Dad stayed a little farther from the water or soft spots in the hay

field.

Haying in those years was done the old way. After the hay was cut and had time to

dry, it was raked in rows by a horse drawn rack. Then these rows would be pulled together in

piles with the same rack. After this was done the piles of hay were loaded unto a hayrack and

hauled to larger piles of hay. The hay was usually hauled into the farmyard for easy access

for winter-feeding of cattle. Bringing the hay from Togo was left until winter rather than

taking time to do this in the busy summer days.

This was the year I recall that as the haying was being completed, the outlook for bad

weather was evident. Dad wanted to complete hauling the remainder of the hay crop into the

yard. The plan was that after supper a fresh team of horses would be used to work as long as

necessary to complete the job. As I recall we finished the task long after midnight just as the

rain clouds were coming in. It was nice to complete the various jobs on the farm without

having crops perish because of bad weather.

By working for other farmers I learned how they did things. Some of the lessons

learned I purposed to put to use on our farm. As stated earlier Dad usually had insufficient

feed by springtime to properly feed the workhorses. They became weak, so fieldwork was

very slow. In the late thirties I was out of regular school, but continued by correspondence,

so my days could be free to help Dad with the fieldwork. I suggested to Dad that I would do

the major work with the four-horse team that I selected. He could do the harrowing and

gathering of stones from the fields that had been cropped.

Well, I had learned from a neighbor farmer that horses are like humans. They need to

be introduced to fieldwork gradually, and rested often until they had become conditioned to a

full day’s work.

The first day the team would be put to work for a couple of hours. The next day they

would work a little longer and so on for a whole week. The horses would be rested at the end

of the field until they began breathing evenly. This would continue until the operator was

confident that the team was hardened for a full day’s endurance. This was particularly

important if the horses had to graze, to supplement a lack of feed. After a week of gradual

breaking-in, I was confident that the team was ready to perform effectively over a full day’s

schedule. I felt quite satisfied that the fieldwork under my control would be done efficiently

and would be completed on time.

I recall hearing Dad one day complaining to mother that Sam would never get the

fieldwork finished unless more hours were spent in doing so. Well, to my great satisfaction,

Mom replied, "You leave the kid alone to do the work. You have never been able to handle

the team so that they could frisk around after a day’s work as they are doing now."

After hearing that encounter I was more determined than ever to succeed. I was

worried that Dad would take over from me, if he had a mind to do so. Well, that didn’t

happen. I continued the daily routine. To my great delight, the spring work was satisfactorily

completed long before our neighbors. The horses remained in excellent physical shape.

They had no blisters on the shoulders whatsoever. Dad had to concede that I was coming of

age, but nothing to that effect was ever said.