Letters from Hillside Farm

by Jerry Apps

  Last Saturday night I asked Pa if I could go off by myself while he went down to Johnson’s Hardware store to talk with the other farmers. He assumed I was going to the drugstore for an ice cream cone like I usually do, and I didn’t let him think anything different. But instead of going to the drugstore, I stopped at Wheeler’s Harness Shop, a couple of doors farther down Main Street. I could smell new leather and harness oil as I walked in the door, which has a little bell attached to it. A man was working at a huge black sewing machine on a wooden counter.

  “What can I do for you, young feller?” he asked me in a friendly voice.

  “Are you Mr. Wheeler?” I asked.

  “I am. And you are?” he said. I told him my name.

  “You’re Adolph’s son, aren’t you? I fixed one of your Pa’s bridles a few weeks ago,” Mr. Wheeler said. He stood up from his sewing machine, and I saw that he was wearing a long leather apron that came clear up under his whiskered chin and went well below his knees. He grabbed a badly worn wooden crutch that I hadn’t seen standing in the corner and tucked it under his right arm.

  “Got a bad leg,” Mr. Wheeler said, when he noticed me watching. “Horses ran away from me when I was a kid, and the leg never healed right.”

  “I’ve got a bad leg, too,” I blurted out. “Broke it when I fell out of a tree when we lived in Ohio.”

  “Don’t look too bad,” Mr. Wheeler said. He pushed his gold-rimmed glasses back on his nose. I told him my leg has been feeling a little better, but I still can’t run. He said he can’t run, either, and he held up his crutch and waved it around a little. Then he chuckled and asked how he could help me. I explained that I know something about making things from leather. I showed him my belt and my billfold and said I wanted to make a billfold for Pa for Father’s Day, but I didn’t have any leather.

  “No leather, huh?” Mr. Wheeler said. He was studying my billfold pretty closely, running his thick, callused fingers over the designs and opening and closing it. He must have seen that I didn’t have any money inside it. I asked Mr. Wheeler if he had leather for sale, and he said he did.

  “Problem is,” he said, “you’ve got no money. Nobody’s got any money these days. Times better get better soon, or we’ll all go broke.” He was quiet for a minute, and then he asked me, “You really made this billfold?” I told him that I did and that I’d used tools my grandmother had given me. He asked me if you had shown me how to do leatherwork. Grandma, he was really impressed and said that you taught me well.

  Mr. Wheeler turned and hobbled to the back of the harness shop, the crutch making a “clunk, clunk” sound as he walked. He returned carrying a hunk of new leather.

  “I figure this piece of leather is big enough for two billfolds,” he said. “You make one for your Pa and one for me to sell here in the shop, and the leather is yours.”

  I asked him if he was sure about that. He said he surely was. His blue eyes twinkled as he spoke, and a broad smile spread across his wrinkled face. I felt really good when he said, “I know good work when I see it. I expect to have my billfold finished in a couple weeks.”

  “You shall have it,” I said.

  I hurried to the car and tucked the brown package away on the back seat so Pa wouldn’t see it. All week I spent every free minute I had working on the billfold. I even stamped Pa’s initials, AS, on one side. I made a border all around the billfold that looks like little acorns all in a row. Then I made a tree design for the front. It really turned out great.

  After we got back from church today, I handed Pa the package and said, “Happy Father’s Day.” He carefully untied the string and unwrapped the paper. Grandma, you should have seen the look on his face! He usually has something to say, but this time he just sat there, fingering the new leather billfold and even holding it up to his nose. Finally he said, “Thank you. I don’t think I’ve gotten a nicer present.”

  It was a good day, Grandma. I sure am glad I got to meet Mr. Wheeler. Now I’ve got to get busy and finish the billfold that I owe him.

  My circus is next Sunday afternoon. I hope somebody comes! I have put up my posters in Link Lake and nailed a few to trees along our road.

  I hope you are enjoying summer.

  Your grandson,

  George

  Dear George,

  I wish I could have been there when you gave your pa a new billfold for Father’s Day. What a fine idea that was, and what a nice man the harness maker in Link Lake must be to help you get the leather you needed. Your pa must be very proud of you. You and your pa seem to get along a lot better than Amos and his pa. I hope that with all you have going on in your life, you can keep finding time to work on your leather projects. It sounds like you’ve got to finish another billfold to complete the deal you made with the harness maker, and I’ll bet you can work out other arrangements with him to sell your leather projects. I’m sure you’ve already thought of that.

  How is the circus coming along?

  Love,

  Grandma S.

  June 27, 1938

  Monday

  Dear Grandma,

  We put on our circus yesterday, and I’ve got to tell you all about it. It was really fun, until near the end.

  Here’s how we set things up. The barn has a big open area with a huge door at one end where we haul in hay. I arranged some bales of straw there so people could sit while they watched the acts we had put together. On either side of this open area are wooden beams about fifteen feet from the floor. A rope hangs from the ceiling of the barn. Ordinarily we use it for pulling hay up into the barn.

  Pa helped me clean up the upper part of the barn where we store hay. So far we have hauled only a few loads of hay into the barn, so it is mostly empty. But with that new hay up there, the inside of the barn sure smelled fresh and clean. Ma helped me make a big sign that we hung over the barn door that read: Struckmeyer Stupendous Family Circus. It was impressive.

  I was surprised at how many people came to the circus. I counted twenty-five! They were mostly kids, but a few of the parents came along as well. Most were kids I know from school, but a few came all the way from Link Lake.

  I charged one penny for admission. Just inside the barn door I had lined up a row of overturned potato crates with animals inside. Nearby I hung up a sign that read, “Menagerie.” A potato crate has plenty of space between the slats, so it was easy to see what was in each crate. Under the first one I had put one of Ma’s laying hens. On a little sign I had written: “Exotic Fowl from the Deeper Regions of Africa.” I heard one kid say, “Looks like an ordinary chicken to me,” but I didn’t say anything. Under the second crate, I put one of our barn cats. That sign read, “Ferocious Feline from the Mountain Regions of the Andes.” I picked one of our meanest barn cats, so if a kid got too close to the crate, it would snarl and show its claws. That old cat proved to be a wonderful actor.

  Next up was a garter snake I found near the barn, a little one about six inches long. I put it in a shoe box with some grass and covered it with a little piece of window screen so the snake couldn’t escape. The sign read, “Anaconda Snake from the Wilds of the Amazon. Known to Crush its Victims to Death.” After reading the sign, most of the kids wouldn’t even look in the box.

  Under the next two overturned potato crates were two English sparrows that Pa helped me catch. The sign read, “Rare Avian Specimens from Deep within the Jungles of Central America.”

  Depot was the last exhibit in the menagerie. I made a little leather collar for him and tied him to a board in the barn with a sign that read, “The Most Dangerous of All the Lion Species Known to Man.” I had to remind Annie that she shouldn’t pet Depot, or the kids wouldn’t believe the sign.

  After everyone had a chance to see my wild animal collection, I crawled up on a pile of hay and in a loud voice said, “Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, welcome to the first performance of the Struckmeyer Stupendous Family Circus.” Everyone took seats on the straw bales. The audience clapped as Annie
rode into the barn on Ginger’s back. Ma had dressed her in a frilly little red dress, and I had taught her how to hold on to the reins with one hand and wave with the other. Annie was smiling her biggest smile.

  When Ginger heard all the clapping and the cheering, he must have remembered his circus days, because he held his head high and pranced all around the barn. Next came Rachel, with Gregory draped over her shoulders. I heard one kid whisper, “Is that animal real?” Just then Gregory lifted his head, and the youngster had his answer.

  Annie slid off Ginger’s back and handed the reins to me, and I put Ginger through his paces. He stood on his hind legs, knelt down, lay down, and played dead. I have taught him how to count by stamping one foot when I call out a number. (The key to the trick is for me to gently tap him on the leg the same number of times as the number I call out.) That trick was a real hit with the crowd. Ginger is clearly a star performer.

  Next it was Gregory’s turn. Rachel had placed a little leather collar around his neck, with a short leash attached. She put Gregory on the floor, and he sniffed and looked around at the kids as they clapped and cheered. Next she put a little covered can in front of the raccoon. He looked at it and then used his front paws to lift the cover off the can. Everyone cheered again. Rachel put a little bowl of water on the floor in front of Gregory. I’m sure the kids thought she was giving him a drink. Instead he lifted the bowl of water with both paws and turned it over, dumping the water on the floor. The kids just howled with laughter.

  I had saved my aerial act for last. For the past several weeks, I have been practicing climbing up a ladder to one of the big beams, grabbing the rope that we use to pull hay into the barn, and swinging across an open area to another beam. I’ve gotten pretty good at it.

  I climbed up the ladder, forgetting entirely about my bum leg. I grabbed the rope with one hand and waved to the audience fifteen feet below me, just like the aerialists did in the Ringling Brothers Circus. Then I grabbed the rope with both hands, pushed off, and sailed across the open area, landing on the opposite beam with no difficulty at all.

  The audience loved it. They all clapped and cheered as I readied myself to swing back to the beam where I’d started. Both Pa and Ma were watching, and I must say, they looked a little concerned. I saw Ma hold her hand to her mouth when I grabbed the rope.

  I hadn’t noticed that Amos Woodward had arrived late, but all of a sudden there he was, glaring up at me. I took a sturdy grip on the rope and pushed off. But as I swung across the open area, Amos grabbed the end of the rope and stopped me from completing my swing to the opposite beam. I was stuck hanging above the audience. I didn’t know what to do. The kids all scattered, not wanting me to fall on them. Amos held on to the rope, smirking at the scared look on my face. I saw Pa get up from his seat when he saw what Amos was doing. Amos let go of the rope, but there I hung, fifteen feet above the floor. No one said a word. After a few seconds my arms grew tired, and I let go of the rope. I landed with a big swoosh in a pile of hay, which cushioned my fall. I saw Amos stomping out of the barn just as I stood up, brushed the hay off my clothes, and waved. Everyone clapped and cheered.

  I thanked everyone for coming and invited them to try some of Annie’s lemonade, which she was selling for a penny a cup. (Ma helped her make it.)

  We put on quite a show, Grandma. I hope the stunt Amos pulled didn’t spoil it.

  Your grandson,

  George

  Dear George,

  Oh, what a great circus you put together, complete with “wild” animals! From what you described, Ginger stole the show, but didn’t you expect him to? After all, he was a circus performer at one time. That raccoon, Gregory, is no slouch, either. It was nice of you to invite Rachel Williams to participate, and I’m so glad you involved your little sister, too. I’ll bet she had lots of fun being a part of the show.

  Swinging with a rope from the high beams in your barn—that really must have been something. Were you scared? I’ll bet you could have heard a pin drop when you were doing that.

  You are wondering if Amos spoiled the show. Believe me when I assure you that he didn’t. Children know when they’ve seen something they like, and his little stunt didn’t spoil it for them. I know you are disappointed that everything wasn’t perfect. Think about what went right, and how your audience clapped and cheered. You did a good thing, bringing laughter and joy to people during these hard times.

  Much love,

  Grandma S.

  June 28, 1938

  Tuesday

  Dear Grandma,

  I’m still thinking about how much fun I had with my little circus, despite Amos’s attempt to ruin my aerial act. I think everyone who came had a good time as well—they said they did, anyway. I was kind of tired yesterday, but I feel better today. Ginger doesn’t seem his old self, though. I was so impressed with what he did and how he did it. But today all he wants to do is rest in his stall. I wonder if he overdid it?

  Pa started making hay last week. He says the hay crop looks good, and he hopes it will be enough to last the cows and horses through the winter.

  He hitched Maud and Tony to the hay mower, and soon it was chattering around the hayfield, cutting off the alfalfa, clover, and timothy (that’s what Pa said grows in the field). By noontime, he had half of one field cut. He left the hay to dry in the field. Drying hay smells so good. I can’t say I’ve ever smelled anything like it.

  Late that afternoon Pa finished cutting the field and started raking the hay. Our hay rake is something to see. It has two high, narrow wheels, and between them is a row of steel tines that look like half circles. Pat sits on a high seat in the middle and pushes a lever with his foot every so often, leaving the raked hay in a ropelike row across the field. The rake must be easy to pull, because the horses really high-stepped their way around the field, swinging their tails. Before you knew it, Pa had ropes of hay strung all across the field.

  Pa said my job was to pile the ropes of hay into little stacks, which are called hay bunches. I used a three-tine fork to gather the hay and make hay bunches about as tall as I am.

  Pa says, “If you’re a good farmer, your hay bunches won’t tip over.” I haven’t decided whether I want to be a good farmer—or whether I want to be any kind of farmer. But I tried to do the best I could. If a hay bunch tips over, the hay will get wet when it rains and will spoil. Pretty soon I had hay bunches sprinkled all over the hayfield. This is the kind of work where you can see the results right away.

  The next morning, after the dew was off and the hay had a chance to dry some more, Pa finished raking and then he helped me make hay bunches. Soon the field was finished—hay bunches everywhere. On the hilltops. In the hollows. Along the fencerows. Pa said that if the sun kept shining and the breezes kept blowing, we could haul the hay to the barn the next day. And that’s what we did. But something happened that we didn’t expect.

  Remember the old steel-wheeled wagon that I used to haul seed oats home from the neighbors’? Well, we lifted the box off the wagon and replaced it with a hayrack. The hayrack is three times as wide as the wagon box—so there is room in it for lots of hay—and it has a tall wooden framework on each end to keep the hay from falling off the wagon once it is loaded.

  My job was to drive the wagon in the field and move the hay around on the hayrack as Pa pitched the hay bunches up to me. He’s good at pitching hay and can toss an entire hay bunch on the wagon with one throw. As the load of hay got higher and higher, far above his head, he continued tossing up hay bunches, until I was a little befuddled about how to keep the load even so it wouldn’t tip over. Pa kept telling me, “I think you need a little more here” or “You need a little more there,” pointing to places where he figured the load needed a little help.

  When the load was finished, he crawled up on the wagon with me and we slowly drove across the rough hayfield to the barn. I could see Maud and Tony leaning into their harnesses, sweat soaking them as they plodded toward the barn.

&nbs
p; At the barn Pa drove the load of hay onto what he calls the threshing floor, a place where earlier farmers threshed their grain by hand. Pa unhitched Maud, led her out of the barn, and hitched her to the end of a long, heavy rope that is threaded through a series of pulleys to the hay storage areas in the barn. Pa calls these storage areas haymows. (The word “mow” rhymes with “cow” and “now.”) Pa crawled up on the wagon and pushed a hayfork—a tool with two steel prongs about three feet long—into the load of hay. Then he yelled, “Ready!”

  I said “giddap” to Maud, and as she moved slowly forward, the big rope tightened, the pulleys squeaked, and a huge hunk of hay lifted from the wagon as Pa stood clear, watching it. When the hayfork reached the metal track in the ceiling of the barn, it rolled along above one of the haymows. Just as it was at the middle of the haymow, Pa yelled, “Whoa,” and I pulled on the lines to stop Maud. Pa pulled a smaller rope, called a trip rope, and the hay dropped with a “whoosh” and a cloud of dust and hay leaves.

  We did this over and over, until the hay wagon was bare. Then both Pa and I climbed into the haymow and began forking the hay into every nook and cranny of the barn. What a job. And was it hot! It must have been more than a hundred degrees up under the roof of the barn. Walking on loose hay, where you sink well above your knees, doesn’t make the job any easier. It’s about the hardest work on the farm. The good smell of the fresh hay didn’t make up for the hard work, and we are just getting started with the haying season. Pa told me that by the time we finish haying, the haymows will be filled with hay clear to the hayfork track.