Letters from Hillside Farm
Page 4
Love,
Grandma S.
April 11, 1938
Monday
Dear Grandma,
When I got home from school today, Pa asked me to drive the team over to the Williams farm and pick up ten sacks of seed oats. The Williams family—and my schoolmate Rachel—live about a mile north of our farm. You’ll remember that Rachel picked me to be on her softball team a few weeks ago.
I have been practicing driving the team, and I was proud that Pa wanted me to drive them over to the neighbors’ place all by myself. I’ve also learned how to harness the team by myself; harnessing a horse is a lot more complicated than it looks.
Soon I was seated on the wagon and on my way down our driveway with the team walking out front with their heads high. I waved to Pa and then returned to keeping a tight grip on the driving reins. Maud and Tony are fast walkers. In a few minutes we were out of sight of our farm. The wagon’s steel wheels bounced along the gravel road, making interesting sounds as they ran over stones. The weathered gray wagon box rattled and shook, but I was quite comfortable on my driving seat with springs. I relaxed a little and let the team have their heads as they stepped off down the road.
Mr. Williams saw me coming and motioned for me to drive up to the granary door, which I did. I said “whoa” to Maud and Tony, and they stopped as nice as you please. I crawled off the wagon seat and tied the team to a post by the granary door. Pa has told me never to leave the team without tying them, because you never know when something might scare them and they’ll run off. I had never seen anything scare Maud and Tony, but I tied them to the post anyway and helped Mr. Williams drag the sacks of seed oats onto the wagon.
Mr. Williams asked if Pa is about ready to sow oats. I told him that we’ll be putting the seed in the ground just as soon as Pa works up the oat field—which means plowing, discing, and smoothing the field. One thing I’m learning, Grandma, is a new language. Maybe because you grew up on a farm you already knew “work up,” but it is new to me.
When we were just about finished loading the sacks of seed oats, Rachel came from around the barn carrying something furry in her arms. It didn’t look like a barn cat. She said hi and asked if I’d like to meet Gregory, her pet raccoon. I’d never seen a pet raccoon before. She told me she found it when it was a baby. Something had happened to its mother, and it was all on its own.
Grandma, I wish you could see Gregory. He is about the cutest animal you’d ever want to look at. He’s got big bright eyes, a nose like a puppy dog’s, and two cute little ears that stand straight up. And do you know what? He has a black mask that makes him look like a furry little outlaw. Rachel says he knows all kinds of tricks, like begging for food and holding his paws together like he is praying.
I wished I had more time to spend with Rachel and Gregory, but I knew that Pa was waiting for me at home, so I untied the team and headed back down the road toward home. With the ten sacks of oats on the wagon, Maud and Tony walked a little slower. It was a pleasant time to be on the road. I could smell the soil in the fields that had already been plowed. I even saw a wedge of wild geese winging north. Grandma, what a wonderful sound they make, honking as they fly. I watched the great Vs change as new geese took up the job of leading the flock.
Then I saw something in the underbrush alongside the road up ahead of the team. Suddenly a fox jumped out in the road, its big bushy tail sticking straight out behind it. The horses saw the fox at the same time I did. Tony snorted and reared on his hind legs, and then Maud did. Wow—it was scary seeing the team on their hind legs pawing the air and snorting like everything!
I pulled on the lines and yelled “whoa” at the top of my lungs. But it did no good. The team took off on a gallop toward home. I yanked on the lines as hard as I could, but there was no stopping them. I kept yelling “whoa, whoa,” but they didn’t slow one bit. Then we got to a little turn in the road, and that’s where it happened. The wagon flipped over on its side, throwing me into the neighbor’s plowed field and spilling the seed oats in the ditch.
When the wagon tipped, Maud and Tony finally stopped. I got up from the muddy field and hobbled over to the wagon. I was muddy from one end to the other, but I wasn’t hurt. Maud and Tony seemed all right, too, although they were breathing pretty hard. Pa had been watching me driving down the road, and he came running when he saw what happened. He grabbed the team by their bridles and calmed them down. Then he unhitched the team from the overturned wagon and said that we’d need some help in righting it, and that’d we’d have to shovel up as many of the seed oats as we could. I thought he was going to give me the dickens, but he didn’t. He just asked if I was hurt and what happened. I told him about the fox running in front of the horses.
He said it doesn’t take much to spook a team. I know one thing, Grandma, I’ll never let the lines rest in my lap again. I didn’t tell Pa that I wasn’t holding the lines tight when the fox jumped in front of the horses.
Your grandson,
George
Dear George,
Depot appears to be a normal little puppy, getting into all kind of things he shouldn’t. If you want to stay on your Ma’s good side, you’ll need to do a better job of watching after him. I’m sure you already know that.
I’m glad your Ma gave some food to the man who stopped by your house. This Depression is a terrible thing, indeed, and it just keeps hanging on, month after month, year after year. I know it’s tough for farmers like your Pa who have to contend with low prices. But I think it’s even worse in the big cities, like here in Cleveland. Twenty-five percent of our people who want to work do not have jobs. Can you imagine that? One-fourth of the people have no income, just like the fellow who stopped by your house asking for something to eat. Most of these men who are on the road have families, too. It’s just terrible. I know you don’t have it easy living on a farm, but at least you and your family have a roof over your heads and plenty to eat.
I spend some of my time volunteering at a soup kitchen in downtown Cleveland. A soup kitchen is a place where people can get a free meal. You should see the line of people waiting at noon each day. Every week the line seems to grow longer. You can tell by people’s clothes, all faded and patched, that they have no money. About all we’re able to give them at the soup kitchen is a slice of bread and a bowl of hot soup, sometimes with a little meat in it.
I’m lucky to have a little money from your grandfather’s savings. It’s enough so I have food to eat. So many people have nothing—no money for food, no money for clothes. I just don’t know where it’s all going to end. I’m trying to stay cheerful about it all. Your letters help me. Keep them coming. After a few hours of work at the soup kitchen, I need all the cheering up I can get.
Much love,
Grandma S.
April 15, 1938
Friday
Dear Grandma,
Good news, Grandma: Miss Harvey selected me for the spelling team! Rachel Williams and Amos Woodward are the other two members. Amos didn’t want me on the team, so he said the spelling team shouldn’t have any new students on it. Because I have attended Rose Hill for only a few weeks, I shouldn’t be eligible, he said. Miss Harvey didn’t see it that way and shushed Amos when he complained.
I felt like holding up my hand and telling Miss Harvey that Amos shouldn’t be on the team because he doesn’t spell all that well, but I thought better of it. Pa always says that there are times when it’s best to keep your mouth shut. I figured this was one of those times.
We’ve been practicing every afternoon. We started out with easy words like “dessert” and “antique.” Miss Harvey keeps making them harder, and we three compete against each other. The first day Rachel won, and the second day I won. So far Amos hasn’t won any of the practice matches. He isn’t too happy about it, either.
Miss Harvey came up with the word “epistemology” one day. I asked if it really is a word. She smiled and said it surely is, and that it means the study of knowledge. None o
f us could even pronounce the word, so Miss Harvey wrote on the board: epis-te-mol-o-gy. Amos said it’s a dumb word and asked why we should practice a word that will never be in a spelling bee. Miss Harvey said you can never be too sure about that, so we’d best learn how to both pronounce it and spell it.
Another word we have practiced is “chrysanthemum.” Now I know why most people say “mum” when they talk about this flower. “Chrysanthemum” is a mouthful. Miss Harvey wrote the syllables on the blackboard: chry-san-the-mum.
Practicing for a spelling bee is kind of fun, except for having Amos on the team. He hates me, Grandma.
Your grandson,
George
Dear George,
It’s another rainy, dreary day in Ohio. All the people out of work here in Cleveland don’t help matters, either. One bright spot for me is receiving your letters and hearing all about what you are doing.
Congratulations on being selected for your school’s spelling team! Good luck at the upcoming spelling bee with the neighboring school. Spelling bees are lots of fun.
You are lucky you didn’t get hurt when the horses ran away when a fox frightened them. That must have been a scary experience for you. I know it would have been for me. Whatever work you are doing, especially if it involves animals, you must never let your guard down. Of course, you know that now without me having to point it out to you.
Keep practicing your spelling. I’m sure you know that being a good speller will help you become an even better writer. I’m rooting for you, and I can’t wait to hear how the spelling bee turns out. And keep trying to ignore Amos Woodward.
Love,
Grandma S.
April 16, 1938
Saturday
Dear Grandma,
Today Pa hitched Maud and Tony to the grain drill. (Remember that Pa won the grain drill at an auction last month? It has two big iron wheels and discs that cut little trenches in the soil where it places the seed oats.) Then he sowed the big field just south of the barn with seed oats. I was afraid that because I had spilled some of our seed oats when the team ran away, Pa wouldn’t have enough. But he did. With the seed oats in the ground, Pa says that we now must wait for the crop to come up. But we don’t really sit around and watch the field as you might think; we are always doing other things, like fixing fence. Winter snows always knock down fence posts and wire, and we can’t turn the cows out to pasture until the fences are in good shape.
Pa says you never know what you might find in a fencerow. Most of our fencerows are piled with rocks that were hauled off the fields by previous farmers on this land. These rock piles make great dens for foxes and homes for cottontail rabbits. Pa said he saw a jackrabbit near one of the fencerows where he sowed oats. Jackrabbits are about twice as big as cottontail rabbits, which are more common around here. During the winter Pa says jackrabbits turn all white, except for the tips of their ears, so they are better camouflaged in the snow. In the spring, their coat turns brown again. I’d sure like to see one of those big rabbits.
Before Pa could sow the field to oats, we had to haul off the stones. New stones rise to the surface every year. We have to get them out of the field, because if you strike a stone with a piece of farm machinery, there is a good chance you will break the machine. Pa says the stones came to our farm all the way from Canada. The great glacier brought the stones to Wisconsin thousands of years ago.
Picking stones is hard, dirty work, Grandma. We hitched Maud and Tony to the stone boat, which really isn’t a boat at all. It is made from several boards that are bent up in the front and bolted together. Pa says that white oak makes the best stone boat because it’s tough and doesn’t wear out. Our stone boat is about eight feet long and four feet wide. It looks like a sled without runners.
It’s a real trick to ride standing up on a stone boat. There is nothing to hold on to as the boat glides along the plowed ground. Sometimes when the boat hits a bump, I fly off and land in the newly plowed ground, which is as soft as a feather bed, so I don’t get hurt, only dirty. After we pick stones, I am dust and dirt from the top of my straw hat to the tips of my shoes.
Pa showed me a trick for keeping my balance while I bounce across our plowed fields in the stone boat. He said I should bend my knees and lean forward a little. I tried doing that, and it helped. Most of the time I’m able to keep standing, but my bad leg doesn’t help matters. It doesn’t bend as easily as my good leg.
Do you know what, Grandma? We picked fifteen stone boat loads of field stones in one day. Can you imagine that?
Time to do some homework and be off to bed. I am really tired.
Your grandson,
George
April 17, 1938
Sunday
Dear Grandma,
We just got home from Easter services at church. I don’t think I told you that we go to a Norwegian church on the shores of a little lake. Although the people who go to church there are mostly Norwegians, the service is in English. Pa said that if we’d been going to this church ten or fifteen years ago, the service would have been in Norwegian. Ma said she would be happier if we could go to a German church, because we are German, but it sure doesn’t make any difference to me. We always sit three rows from the front, near a window. Since it has gotten warmer, the windows usually are open a little, and I can look out at the lake. I saw a fish jump this morning. I told Pa about it when we got home, and he said it was probably a black bass. He said we should take our fishing poles over there sometime and see if we can catch it. He also told me not to mention seeing the fish to Ma, because she’ll say I should be paying attention to what the preacher has to say and not be gawking out the window.
I don’t think little Annie cares much for church, either. I think she would rather be digging in the dirt lot out in front of the church, but she sits next to Ma, fidgeting and squirming until Ma gives her one of her looks, which is the kind of stare that will sour milk. When it comes to church, you don’t disagree with Ma.
We had a big Easter dinner, and then Ma gave us the little packages you sent for Annie and me. Thank you so much for the chocolate rabbit—it’s the only Easter present I got. Thanks for your letter, too.
Your grandson,
George
April 18, 1938
Monday
Dear Grandma,
Yesterday I met Grandma Woodward. She lives only a half mile from our farm and is Amos Woodward’s grandmother. On my way to school I walk past her neat farmstead with its red barn, a few outbuildings, and a little white house with a porch across the front. Pa told me she doesn’t have a car and doesn’t get out much.
Pa had offered to plow her garden, and that’s what we did yesterday after we got home from church and finished dinner. We loaded the walking plow onto the stone boat, hitched it up behind the team, and drove them the short distance down the road to Grandma Woodward’s place.
Grandma, I think you would like Grandma Woodward. She reminds me so much of you. She is little—I’m taller than she is—and has white hair fashioned in some kind of knot on the back of her head. Ma says you call that a bun. (I thought buns were for eating, but I didn’t question it.) She has a thin face and blue eyes and is always smiling. Pa says she is “as skinny as a split rail fence.” And she is so nice. While Pa was plowing her garden, she brought out some white sugar cookies for me, and I sat with her on the porch, talking.
She likes to talk, Grandma, just like you, and she also listens. She wanted to know how I am doing in school, and I told her about the upcoming spelling bee. I got a little nervous when she asked if I know Amos. I said I do, but I didn’t tell her how Amos picks on me. She said she worries about Amos. I didn’t know what to say, but I wondered what she meant.
Grandma Woodward asked me about my leg, and I told her the story. She asked me what I like to do, and I said I like reading, writing, and making leather projects. She said she’d like to see some of the leather work I’ve done and asked me to stop by again sometime soon. She is suc
h a nice lady.
Well, it’s time to go to sleep, so I must quit writing.
Your grandson,
George
April 23, 1938
Saturday
Dear Grandma,
Last night we had our spelling bee at school. Everyone from the community was invited, and I think most of them came, along with lots of folks from the Forest Grove School District. Forest Grove School is only a couple hills and three bends in the road away.
With all our practicing, our team thought we could spell just about any word that came along. Miss Harvey set the starting time for eight o’clock so everyone would have time to finish their evening chores. When Pa, Ma, Annie, and I got there at seven-thirty, cars were already lined up on both sides of the road. Pa said it looked like a Christmas program crowd, but I’ve never been to a school Christmas program, so I don’t know what that’s like. A lot of parents were there, and I spotted Grandma Woodward sitting close to the front of the room.
When Miss Harvey saw me, she took my arm and introduced me to the spelling team from Forest Grove School: two girls, Violet and Joyce, and a boy named Herman.
Grandma, I thought the kids in our school were poor, but you should have seen these kids. Herman’s flannel shirt was so faded it didn’t have any color at all. His worn-out bib overalls came halfway up to his knees because they were too small for him. I tried not to smile when I saw this big, tall, gawky looking kid with the high-water pants—that’s what Pa calls pants that are too short. (He means they’re so short they’ll stay dry even in a flood.) The girls’ clothes weren’t any better. Their dresses had been washed so many times that they had no color at all. Well, I took one look at this threesome and figured our team wouldn’t have much trouble at this spelling bee. It looked to me like these kids have trouble just finding enough to eat, and they surely must not have time to practice for a spelling bee.