Letters from Hillside Farm

by Jerry Apps

  At eight Miss Harvey stood up and welcomed everyone to our school. She spoke for a while about how important it is to know how to spell. I was so nervous I don’t remember what else she said. Then she introduced Miss Johnson, a plump woman with black hair and big arms. Miss Harvey said Miss Johnson was from the county superintendent of school’s office and was going to read the words to be spelled. Miss Johnson wore a dress all plastered with big red flowers. She looked like something was paining her; maybe that flowered dress was too tight.

  Miss Harvey introduced the Forest Grove School spelling team and their teacher, Miss Zilinski. Finally she introduced Amos, Rachel, and me. Grandma, my stomach was churning. I knew this team was no competition for us, but I was still scared. What frightened me most was standing up in front of so many people—every seat in the school was taken. Men were standing all around the woodstove in back and clear out the entryway doors.

  Our guests got the first chance to spell. Miss Johnson pulled down on her tight dress, cleared her throat, and, in a voice that sounded like she was sitting on a tack, said the first word: “library.”

  Violet from Forest Grove School stood up, and in a thin voice I could scarcely hear, spelled, “l-i-b-r-a-r-y.” Miss Johnson asked her to repeat with a louder voice. Poor Violet was so nervous. I saw her hands shaking.

  “Correct,” Miss Johnson said after she heard the spelling a second time. Compared to Violet, Miss Johnson’s voice seemed to hit the ceiling and bounce all around the room.

  Now it was our team’s turn, and Amos was first.

  “Whistle,” Miss Johnson said.

  “W-i-s-t-le,” spelled Amos. Whistle hadn’t been one of our practice words, and Amos spelled it like it sounds.

  “Incorrect,” said Miss Johnson.

  Amos stammered, “But, but . . . ,” but Miss Johnson told him to sit down.

  Amos was steaming. His face was as red as a male cardinal, and he was pounding a fist against his head.

  Joyce from Forest Grove School got “whistle” right without even stopping to think. I began wondering if this team was going to be the pushover that I had thought.

  After a few more rounds, just two of us remained unbeaten, Joyce from Forest Grove School and me. The next word was “liaison.” I spelled it l-a-y-s-o-n, but Miss Johnson said that was wrong. The only chance our team had was if Joyce missed it, too. She stood up, fidgeted a little, and spelled, “l-i-a-s-i-o-n.”

  “Incorrect,” said Miss Johnson. Then she told us the correct spelling: “L-i-a-i-s-o-n.”

  Since our teams were tied, Miss Johnson said we would do one more round of spelling to see if there would be a winner. It was Joyce’s turn to go first.

  The word was “chalice.” Miss Johnson pronounced it twice and even gave its definition: “a holy cup used in church services.” I have never heard the word before, and I tried to think how I would spell it in case Joyce missed.

  Joyce really took her time spelling the word. “C-h . . .” She took a deep breath and finished, “a-l-i-c-e.”

  “Now it’s your turn, young man,” Miss Johnson told me. I spelled, “s-h-a-l-l-i-c-e.” When I finished, I glanced at Miss Harvey, and from the look on her face I knew I got it wrong.

  “Forest Grove School wins the spelling bee!” Miss Johnson announced in her big voice, her dress starting to creep up above her knees again. “Congratulations to the winners and to the losers, too. I think we’ve all learned something about spelling this evening.”

  That was it. We lost. On the way to the car, I saw Amos Woodward’s pa yelling at him and cuffing him on the head. Then I heard Grandma Woodward telling Amos that he had tried and that she was proud of him. She spotted me and told me what a good job I had done, too. But I still went home feeling terrible.

  Ma said I had done well just by being on the team. But I learned more than how to spell “chalice.” Those poorly dressed kids from Forest Grove School sure know how to spell.

  Your grandson,

  George

  P.S. I’m so wrapped up in spelling that I had to look at my name twice to see if I spelled it right!

  Dear George,

  How I enjoyed your long letter of last Saturday! Thank you for sharing with me all the details of the spelling bee. I’m sure you learned a lot from it. Those were some very difficult words you had to spell.

  I know you’ve thought a lot about this, but when you meet people like the students from the other school who are obviously very poor, it’s easy to make judgments about them. I’ll bet you’ve heard the saying, “You can’t judge a book by its cover.” There is certainly some truth to it, especially when it comes to people, and I suspect especially when it comes to poor people.

  I’m learning a lot about poor people these days when I volunteer at the soup kitchen. Some of the smartest people I’ve ever met are now standing in lines waiting to get a bowl of soup and a slice of bread. It’s terrible what this Depression is doing to people. So many good people have been made to feel worthless.

  You mentioned Amos and how his father cuffed him on the head after your team lost the spelling bee. Do you suppose that the way Amos’s father treats him is one of the reasons that Amos acts like he does? It’s something to think about.

  Keep the letters coming.

  Much love,

  Grandma S.

  April 30, 1938

  Saturday

  Dear Grandma,

  Sorry I haven’t written, but we have been busy with spring planting and fixing fence so we can turn the cows out on pasture, at least on the warm days.

  The grass is “greening up,” as people around here say. In church last Sunday, I heard frogs calling in the nearby lake. Pa calls them spring peepers. I even heard a red-winged blackbird—saw it, too—perched on a cattail. Red-winged blackbirds look like someone fastened a piece of red cloth to each wing. Pa told me that only the males have red on their wings; the females are entirely brownish black. I asked him why women and girls always wear colorful dresses and skirts, and men and boys look plain and drab. He smiled and said he guessed people are the opposite of birds. Another thing for me to ponder, I guess.

  Remember Polly? She’s the cow that tipped me over when I was learning how to milk. Polly had been dry for several weeks—that means she was getting ready to have a calf, and I wasn’t milking her. She finally had her calf a couple days ago, a beautiful little heifer with a nearly all-white face and big dark eyes. She was standing up nursing inside of an hour. Pa said I should pick out a name for the little calf, and I decided on Jane.

  Polly seemed okay after the calf was born—she was standing up, eating hay, and letting Jane nurse—but Pa says things aren’t right with Polly and that we should watch her closely for a few days. I told Pa I’ll keep an eye on her, but I don’t really know what I’m looking for.

  Every time I watch Jane nursing, I have to smile, because the little calf seems so eager to eat. She pushes her muzzle into Jane’s udder and sucks like everything. While the calf nurses, her tail—white with a black tip—swings back and forth. It is something to see, Grandma.

  Yesterday we took Jane away from Polly and put the little calf in a pen. I am milking Polly again. Pa said she gives a lot more milk than Jane can drink, and we need the money from the milk we sell.

  It is my job to teach Jane to drink from a pail. What a project! Pa taught me to straddle the calf, which means I put a leg on each side of her neck. Then I hold the pail of milk in one hand and gently push the calf’s head into the pail with the other hand while at the same time letting the calf suck on my fingers. That little calf has a tongue that feels just like sandpaper.

  Once Jane tasted the milk, she gave a great push with her head. She almost spilled the pail, and she splashed milk all over me. Pa stood there laughing. He told me to keep trying—sometimes it takes several tries before a calf learns how to drink from a pail.

  By about the third time, Jane figured out that she has to keep her muzzle in the pail to drink.

&nb
sp; Polly still isn’t doing well, and Pa is worried. She didn’t give near as much milk today as she did yesterday, and she isn’t eating much. I surely hope Polly isn’t getting sick.

  I haven’t told you about Depot lately. Is he ever growing! He’s outside a lot now, and whenever I’m home we are together. He even comes into the barn when we’re doing chores. Just the other night, after I had poured some milk in the cat dish and the barn cats had gathered, Depot decided he wanted a drink of milk, too. Big mistake for Depot. He pushed his way up to the cat dish, and a barn cat scratched him on the nose. He yipped and ran toward me where I was milking a cow. I think he’s learned not to mess with the barn cats.

  We got the barn cats from our neighbor, Mr. Williams. He had more than he needed and gave us four. These cats aren’t pets, though—far from it. According to Pa, barns cats have one purpose, and that is to catch mice around the barn.

  Has spring come to Ohio? We are all happy to be through with winter here in Wisconsin. At least, I think we are through with it.

  Your grandson,

  George

  May 2, 1938

  Monday

  Dear Grandma,

  When I got out to the barn this morning, Polly looked like she was sleeping. Then Pa told me she had died sometime during the night. She had complications related to Jane’s birth. That’s what Pa said when I asked him what happened. She looked just like she did when she was resting. But she was dead. I felt her, and she was cold. It was awful, Grandma. I started to cry, but Pa said I shouldn’t cry because it’s a fact of life that farm animals die, often when we least expect it. He said we have to accept death and move on. Then he said something that I’ll always remember. He said that especially on a farm, we run into birth and death regularly.

  Farm life may be like that, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. I loved Polly. She helped me learn how to milk her when I didn’t know how. She let me sit under her and tug and pull until I figured out how to make the milk come. Polly and I had our problems, too. But she became my friend. Whenever I went out to the barn, she looked at me and mooed—her way of saying, “Hello, how are you?”

  Even though I knew I shouldn’t cry, I had my handkerchief out of my pocket and I was wiping my eyes. I noticed that Pa was blowing his nose, too. He wouldn’t let on that he felt bad about Polly, but I know he did. He liked this cow. She was gentle and gave lots of milk. I wonder if a calf feels bad when its mother dies. I fed little Jane this morning, and she didn’t seem to act any differently than on other mornings. But can we always tell how animals feel? I thought about that a lot today. Even Depot didn’t seem to be his bouncy self today. He saw Polly dead in her stall just like Pa and I did. I think Polly’s death is affecting him, too.

  A big truck came later in the day and hauled away Polly, and now there is an empty stall in the barn. I asked Pa where the truck was taking her. He said she was going to a rendering plant. When I asked what that is, he said I should look it up in the dictionary.

  It’s been a sad day, Grandma.

  Love,

  George

  Dear George,

  You can’t know how sorry I am to hear that your favorite cow has died. Death is never easy to understand, but it is a part of life, George. Every living thing—cow, chicken, tree—must die, some sooner, some later.

  You never knew your Grandfather Struckmeyer, who died in 1919. He was only fifty years old, far too young to die. He went off to his job at the bank here in Cleveland, and he never came home. The doctor said he had a heart attack.

  This happened nearly twenty years ago, and I still have trouble writing about his death. You probably are noticing the smudges on the paper—they are caused by tears. I still think about your grandfather every day, and I probably always will.

  One way to make things a bit easier when a person or an animal you love dies is to think of all the good times you had together. It’s hard to go on, but thinking good thoughts helps.

  Your letters help me to keep going. Thank you so much for writing them.

  I’m so sorry, George. Death is never easy.

  Much love,

  Grandma S.

  May 6, 1938

  Friday

  Dear Grandma,

  I had a hard time studying this week, but I must, because the seventh grade county tests are coming up in a few weeks. Still, all I can think about is Polly. Pa says he wants to buy another cow, but we just don’t have enough money. It seems we are always short of money. I asked Pa about that, and he reminded me that the whole country is in a Depression. Lots of people have no work at all, and they have to stand in bread lines to get food, just like you described, Grandma. Pa said that we were fortunate living on a farm because we always have something to eat and plenty of milk to drink. I helped Ma plant our vegetable garden the other day, so we’ll have lots of fresh vegetables by midsummer—green beans, peas, carrots, potatoes, lettuce, and tomatoes.

  I’ll quit asking Pa when he’s going to buy another cow. Even if he does, it won’t keep me from thinking about Polly. I never thought I’d miss a cow so much. Miss Harvey seems to understand. She hasn’t bawled me out for looking out the window when I should be practicing long division or studying geography.

  Jane keeps growing. When I go out to the barn, the little calf runs up to the side of the pen, sticks out her tongue, and licks me. It’s a strange way of saying hello, but I sure look forward to it. Jane takes my mind off Polly and reminds me of her, too, isn’t that strange? She is starting to look just like her mother, especially around the eyes and muzzle. Sometimes she butts me with her head when I climb into the pen to feed her, a calf’s way of having fun, I suspect. When I try to scold her, I just can’t. Jane tips her head to one side and looks at me with those big dark eyes, and all I can do is laugh.

  Jane seems to like Depot, too. Sometimes they stand looking at each other. Depot cocks his head to one side, and so does Jane. Is this one way animals talk to each other?

  Your grandson,

  George

  May 7, 1938

  Saturday

  Dear Grandma,

  A couple of weeks ago I noticed a big poster on the side of a barn as we were driving into Link Lake. The poster pictured a huge lion and a giraffe and in big red letters announced that the Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus is coming to Willow River, which is not that far from our farm. I’ve never seen a circus, and I asked Pa if we can go. He reminded me that we have lots of work to do, but he said he’ll think about it.

  Pa didn’t say another word about going to the circus until this morning at breakfast, when he said right out of the blue that we should drive over to Willow River and see what that circus was all about. Annie burst out with a big “yippee!” I was so surprised that Pa decided that we could go, I couldn’t say anything. I think even Ma was looking forward to seeing the circus, although she didn’t say so. She’s not one to say much, especially about things like a circus that require some extra money. She keeps track of all the money that we take in on the farm, and she questions every time Pa buys something. Circus tickets cost fifty cents for adults and twenty-five cents for kids, so it would cost our family a dollar and a half to attend.

  We hurried up with our chores because Pa said we should try to get to Willow River in time to see the circus parade, which started at eleven. While I helped with the chores, I made sure not to ask why we weren’t working in the fields today—Pa said just yesterday that it will soon be time to plant corn.

  Willow River was running over with people who had come to see the parade and the circus performance. We found a parking place not far from Main Street and elbowed our way through the crowd to a spot where we could see the parade.

  I did overhear Ma saying that maybe we should just see the parade, which was free. Pa said that as long as we were in Willow River, we might as well see the circus performance as well. Ma gave him kind of a frosty look, but there we were, about to watch the circus parade and then see the circus performanc
e at two o’clock as well.

  We hadn’t waited more than ten minutes when I heard band music and saw a man on horseback riding right down the middle of Main Street. Behind the rider came an enormous wagon pulled by six horses, with a band riding on top playing wonderful music. Next was a wagon with a lion inside. He looked like he was sleeping. And then came the most exciting thing of all: elephants! At least a dozen of them marched down the street, their handlers walking alongside. I’ve never seen an elephant before, except in books, and are they ever big! Grandma, they are enormous! Then came the clowns, all dressed up and with their faces painted silly, some of them wearing shoes way too big for them. Annie couldn’t contain herself. She was clapping and jumping up and down. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so happy. Even Ma was laughing.

  The parade went on for nearly an hour, and when it was over, we got back in the car and drove to a big field just outside of town. The field looked like a city of tents. Pa bought our tickets at a little booth, and then we walked over toward a huge tent—Pa said it is called the Big Top. On our way there we walked through a smaller tent called the Menagerie, which is a kind of zoo, I guess. Animals from all over the world were lined up in cages: hyenas and tigers, lions and wild hogs, zebras and long-necked giraffes, and snakes that if given a chance would crush you to death and eat you for lunch. At one end of that tent, the elephants were chained to metal stakes driven in the ground. They stood there eating hay and ignoring the crowds of people walking by.