3rd Grade: I Learn to Work

By the time I was in 3rd and 4th grade I was helping with many chores on the farm both in the house and outside. Since I probably liked the outdoor jobs best, I will save them until last.

The first tasks I learned were helping with meals. My mom taught us how to "red up the table" (a country term) from the time we were able to carry dishes from the table to the sink. I can remember standing on a chair to reach the sink where we washed the dishes. I usually preferred washing to rinsing, drying and putting away. That was our division of labor.

Growing up before the days of polyester, we learned how to iron at an early age, but there was much more to the operation than just ironing. After the clothes were washed in a wringer washer and hung outside to dry, we had to thoroughly sprinkle each piece with water and roll it up so that it would stay damp while Mom was ironing other items. To keep me from ruining our good clothes by scorching them, I learned to iron by doing my dad's boxer shorts and handkerchiefs.

Most of my chores outside were much more enjoyable to me; that is, except for anything that involved our chickens. My mom loved to raise chickens for fresh eggs and home-grown fryers which meant that she expected me to help care for them. Have you ever tried to take an egg out of a hen's nest? Plus, when they were fattened enough to kill, my mom popped their heads off with a crowbar and had my sister and I pluck the feathers. Do you see now why I feared/hated chickens more than any other animal on the farm?

My dad had several hundred head of cattle which had to be checked even when they were turned to pasture to graze. Our pastures were fenced into smaller areas so that my dad could keep a count of the cattle in each one and be sure that each one was alive and healthy. Well, each fence has to have a gate for the pick-up to pass through. Dad took one of us girls with him to open each gate and close it after he passed through. Even though I liked being with my dad, the job was rather boring.

One of my favorite jobs was mowing the yard (the country term). Because we had to mow 1-2 acres around our house and I was a healthy, hearty country girl, I think I started mowing when I was 8. I liked the exercise, and I liked seeing the manicured yard after I was done. That was probably my first experience of knowing the satisfaction of a job well done.

I also liked to help my dad and grandpa "work the cattle". After they purchased a truckload of cattle, they had to be "worked" before they were put in the feed lot. This meant each one had to be branded and vaccinated. My dad de-horned and castrated those that needed it as well. My job was to keep the branding irons hot and hand them to my grandpa at the right time. (Kind of like a surgical nurse, right?) I learned where the expression "too many irons in the fire" came from. If I didn't keep the irons in the hottest part of the fire, they weren't hot enough to burn through the steer's hide and make a good brand. Then, my grandpa had to use a second iron to get the job done. He didn't seem to mind though. He always told me that I was as good a help as any man would be. Of course, that kept me coming back any time he needed help.

My sisters and I took turns burning the trash and slopping the hogs. We had a big barrel where we burned our household trash, and we took the garbage to the hog lot. (No worries about a landfill for us.) Other than a few aerosol cans which exploded in the trash barrel and a couple of hogs that scared us, we had no major mishaps.

I'm glad I learned to work and be useful at an early age.