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What are some of your stories from the farm, you know the ones that always make you laugh or smile? The ones that are often told at Thanksgiving Dinner every year because they always generate a laugh or smile no matter how many times you tell them?
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My story starts with a rock that used to be where my house is located now. The key words being USED TO. Now my Grandfather liked two things...dynamite and hard apple cider, and typically he liked to combine the two extremes when he could. After farming around this rather big rock for years and years, he decided us boys should learn "the proper way to blow stumps and rocks from the ground," after all it was a dying farm skill.
Now we all know when working with high explosives its best to be in the proper frame of mind, but I am here to say that after getting pretty hard into the hard apple cider he always had brewed up, the day we blew up the rock was NOT one of those days for my grandfather.
He decided that simple dynamite was not going to cut it being a big rock and all, so we added some ammonium nitrate to our growing list of supplies, copper sulfate, diesel fuel and some blasting caps. In hind sight, any of the two explosives probably would have been enough, but this was no ordinary rock, and as I said, we had farmed around it for years that day was our revenge!
Using the tractor to dig some holes around the rock, we added 7 sticks of dynamite, and then the concoction of fuel oil, ammonium nitrate and copper sulfate and inserted the blasting cap. No need to cover the rock with sand or a blasting mat or anything..."never did before" he said and then proceeded to run some speaker wire to a car battery. Now was the time we decided...time to blow the rock to smithereens.
Grandfather touched the wire ends to the battery cable and all of hades let loose from the earth. Instead of a big puff, there was an explosion as the dirt kicked out from each side and the rock began to go skyward. Unbeknown to us, the rock was not so big....well it was in size, but it was not very thick, being more of a slab of rock then a big boulder. So when the rather excessive charge went off, the flat rock caught the explosion underneath it rather flatly and instead of shattering, it hefted the entire thing right out of the ground in a nice circular arch.
Now if the power lines had not been there, it would have been just another rock-blasted-from-the-ground story, but the rock...having the aerodynamics of a flat slab of granite, decided that flying was not its forte and made an agreement with gravity to fall back to the earth. Now why it chose to do that as it hovered above the power lines we will never know, but after slicing through the power lines and the phone lines with amazing speed and accuracy, it landed on the shoulder of the road with a loud "womp". At the same time the explosion set up this shock wave that bent every tree over in a one mile area. It knocked our hats off as it rolled by us, and toppled several weak trees out in the forest.
With no power in the house, an explosion and a powerful shock wave buffeting the house, my Grandmother came out of the house...who incidentally had not been in the hooch and in no way, shape or form should have been considered jovial, and to top it all off was built like Napoleon; short, stocky and swearing like a sailor; she let loose with a tongue lashing that curled my Grandfather's hair...or would have been if he was not so darn happy from the aforementioned white lightning!
In the end we took the tractor and pushed the rock out of the ditch and onto the rock wall where it is too this day. Grandmother eventually grew hoarse from her never ending, not-so-jovial name calling, and the power company said they had never repaired power lines from a dynamited rock before, but were happy to do so provided we pay for all the expenses. And us boys...yes we learned the proper way to blow rocks from the ground for sure....now we only use SIX sticks of dynamite! [SIZE=1]
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I was a very petite little 7-year-old with ADD who liked to run and climb and get into mischief. Right behind the milk barn was a hill o' cow-poop, and I would run up and down that hill often. Until a Fateful day. (Can you see where I'm going with this?)
My father was out on the haystack about 40' away pitching hay. I started my brisk "jog" up that cow-hill and SANK right up to my chin!!! I panicked and screamed for my father. (Oh, thank GOD he was there!) I was terrified of sinking further to drown into that foul-smelling guck. I screamed and screamed.
Welp, my father descended the haystack to come see what happened, and instead of rushing over, first he stood there with his hands on his hips just laughing his a$$ off at my expense. (I imagine I did look pitifully hilarious!) He finally pulled me out, still laughing. I am covered from my chin to my feet in green-brown crap, and he told me to go home. So I walked like Frankenstein towards the house, terrified of what Mom would do to me. (Mom was bipolar, so I expected a beating.)
Mom also had a sixth-sense about things that used to give us all the creeps.
She had no way of seeing or hearing anything behind the barn. But when I emerged into view, she was standing at back door expectantly, hands on hip, just glaring at me without saying a word. She lead me to the laundry room, which was outside and had a trough. She hosed me down without saying a word, but at least she wasn't yelling. I figured that the beating would come afterwards.
Well, no beating at all.
Years later she told me that she felt sorry for me and fought to suppress a laugh herself.
Just a few years ago I spoke to a co-worker who told me of the time when, as a kid, she literally fell into the pool of cow dung on her friend's farm. She plunged into it, got "it" all up into her nose and mouth, and the angry father had to fetch her out.
I'd say that her experience was even worse than mine.
My great-grandfather was haying this field we call the Cates Place. Its a pretty big field, but it has this sag in the middle of it that is always wet. Even today we get stuck in it, and my great-grandfather was no different. As he was mowing the field, his tractor sank in the mud.
Well the John Deere dealer up in Newport was always after him to buy a John Deere, but my Great-Grandfather was a Farmall man through and trough. Anyway on this one day the John Deere guy showed up in the field and saw the Farmall stuck.
"Hey Fred, you're wouldn't have got stuck if you had a John Deere pulling that mower," he said.
Mad enough at the situation, my Great-Grandfather told the John Deere Dealer, "well if your John Deere can pull me out of the mud and finish the rest of the field without getting stuck I'll buy the darn thing."
Well the dealer had a John Deere hauled over and sure enough the John Deere hauled the tractor out of the mud and finished mowing the field. Well back in those days a man did what he said he would do and so my Great-Grandfather bought the tractor on the spot...that did not mean he liked it though! Oh no, he was a Farmall man through and through.
So all summer he loathed the John Deere more and more, but in the fall he got his revenge. The John Deere dealer asked him to say a few words at the Maine Potato Boards annual banquette about how much he liked his new John Deere. Well back in those days the potato board wielded some pretty good power. My Great-Grandfather tried to get out of it, saying he was too busy, and that he couldn't get a ride and whatnot, but the dealer was not about to let him off so easy. So they drove down and picked him up and drove him to Bangor, a ride over an hour away.
At the banquette they said, "Now this is Fred, the biggest potato farmer in Waldo County and he wants to say a few words about his new John Deere."
So my Great-Grandfather gets up there and says, "Boy's, I think you are a little confused. You see I got me 5 tractors and one John Deere!"
He said later on that it was a VERY quiet ride home that night! [SIZE=1]
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An old barn.
Newly put up hay.
16 year old boys.
lighter fluid.
a fascination with circus fire breathers.
one boy says, "Hey y'all watch this".
fire trucks.
Years ago when we not only hayed for ourselves, but also custom hayed...we would often be out haying at midnight or later. Well back then it was nothing to work an 18-20 hour day which could make a guy kind of groggy. Now the key word there is GUY because...well ladies just don't have the same issues men have sometimes which is the crux of this story.
Well this one night after pitching hay all afternoon and evening, my arms felt like jello and my mind was running on about 3 hours sleep. It was about 90 degrees outside and in the hay mound it was one degree under the melt point of cast iron. Needless to say I was hot and had been drinking my fair share of soda and water. Well even sweating like a woman of ill repute inside of church, there is only so much liquid you can get rid of...which is a long way of saying I had to go to the bathroom.
So down over the hay bales I went, rounded the corner of the barn and well went to the bathroom as no lady can do. But it was hardly a time to be proud that I could go standing up because unbeknown to me, and in my rather groggy head and limited light, I did not know there was AN ELECTRIC FENCE there!!!
I did when my stream hit the wire now I'll tell you.
I saw stars.
I saw Elvis
I saw God himself...well maybe not god or the tunnel but most certainly the white light. Oh yes I saw the white light...about ever second if memory serves me right...in time with the shock of the fence charger incidentally!
One has never experienced the full effect of 11,000 volts unless one tinkles on it. My goodness I thought I had died and at the time, I sure wished I had. Words cannot describe the pain, anguish and suffering a man in that predicament goes through, it is as if God himself hates you for allowing something like that to occur!
But I did live, and while I never thought I would ever be able to have children in 9 lifetimes, I have managed to sire one. I don't know how though. So yes laugh if you want, and even laugh at this...20 years later, when I am tired...I take all possibility of repeating that move again and squat...even if its just to go #1! (LOL) [SIZE=1]
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My sister's birthday is on April 14th which is in the Spring of the year and when it can get pretty cold in Maine...cold enough to still be snowmobiling in some years. Well my Dad decided to raise turkey's and when my sister was 10 and we had hundreds of these little chicks running around. All was good until her birthday came around and a cold snap hit.
Without heating lamps or any way to take care of these chicks, my Dad decided he could heat them up using the oven. Well the chicks wouldn't perch on the oven racks of course, so he used cookie sheets. That worked really well until the cookie sheets absorbed all the radiant heat.
In a matter of minutes these chicks were getting their feet stuck to the cookie sheet. Dad was just pulling them out and prying their feet off with a spatula and spraying down the cookie sheet with PAM as my sister and her friends came down from the bedroom to play pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey down in the kitchen.
The kids were mortified as my father spatuladed over the live chicks, squeaking and making a racket. Finally one kid said, "you don't pluck the feathers or kill the birds before you eat them?" Of course my Mom did not help the situation any as she knew all of these kids would run back to their parents explaining what was happening at HER household, and my Mom is one of these people who is overly concerned about what other people think! [SIZE=1]
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Well now here's a little story about my two cousins (Harold and Howard) and my uncle's farm. Seems as though my uncle's neighbor, Mr. Jackson wasn't too happy with my cousin Howard seeing his daughter, Susie, and one day he decided to come over to my uncles house to talk to him about it, only thing is, is that my uncle wasn't home when Mr. Jackson stopped by, as a matter of fact Harold was the only one home when Mr. Jackson showed up and he asked Harold if his Dad was home? Well Harold was only nine years old and said, No Sir, Dad's not home, he went into town, Mr Jackson asked if his mother was home, Harold said No Sir, she went into town with Dad, then Mr. Jackson asked if Howard was home, Harold said No Sir,he went with Mom and Dad. Well Mr. Jackson stood there for a few minutes mumbling to himself when Harold asked if there's anything he can do for him, he said he knew were all the tools were if he wanted to borrow one or he said he could take a message for his Dad. Well said Mr. Jackson, I really wanted to talk to your Dad, it's about your brother Howard getting my daughter, Susie, pregnant. Well Harold said he thought for a moment and told Mr. Jackson that he would really have to talk to his Dad about that, but if it helps you any, I know Pa charges $500 for the bull and $50 for the hog, but are really don't know how much he gets for Howard....
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