During World War 11 Dad lived at a hotel in Ypsilanti, Michigan when he was an electrician at the Bomber Plant there. He used his winnings from a poker game as the down payment on the 160 acre farm I remember from my teenage years. In those days you were frozen in your job for the duration of the war. Union electricians worked out of the AFL hiring hall in Grand Rapids, Michigan. He had been assigned to a rubber plant in Akron, Ohio. That was a hardship for our family living in Bay City, Michigan. I remember Dad bringing home a butyl rubber sample. That was the first time we had ever seen artificial rubber. Real rubber was imported from Indonesia, but with the Japanese occupying that part of Asia, it was unavailable. That is another story.
This story is about our two work horses. I don’t know what breed they were. I only remember they were brown, and characters, to boot. My brothers and I exploited that trait every chance we could.
A tractor was not affordable. Dad was barely able to scrape together enough to buy a couple of milk cows. Add to that, he had only worked with horses during his farming experiences. He knew horses. My brother and I didn’t.
However, we had fun getting acquainted with Molly and Sweetheart. My brothers did the chores before they went to school. That included milking the cows and feeding the horses. Molly and Sweetheart would be in their stalls on the upper level of the barn. The cows were on the lower level.
Picture this: My brothers, Rod and Russ would milk the cows first. They were to take the milk to the cream separator in the back room of our farmhouse, but would stop on the way to throw down hay from the loft. They would feed that to Molly and Sweetheart along with a scoop of grain. What did they do with the pail of milk? Why, they set it down on the barn floor, of course. Then they would lead the horses out to the horse trough for their early morning drink. Where they set that pail changed after Molly drank the entire pail of milk. I remember her milk “moustache” as she raised her head from the pail. Those milk moustache commercials never hit me the way they were intended. I would instantly think back to Molly. Do you have a memory like that?
My fun-loving brothers were very good at catching mice. No, not as pets, but as a horse snack. They would hold a live mouse by its tail and dangle it in from of Molly or Sweetheart. “Chomp! Chomp!” The mouse was history. They would laugh with delight as the horse chewed on the mouse, with mouse blood running down her chin. Our horses were not strict vegetarians, you know.
Do you have memories like that? You probably do. If you don’t, ask the old folks in your family. Don’t just say “What did you do to have fun when you were a kid?” Instead sort of lead into their childhood memories by relating something you had done that got you in a bit of trouble. Then encourage them to expand on their story. For Pete’s sake, write it down as soon as you can. My family wasn’t perfect and I seriously doubt that yours is either. Memories are made of this. Don’t lose them.