Farm Life

FARMING

The average farm was about one hundred acres in size, as previously mentioned the terrain was both hilly and stoney. Here and there on the high points the ledge stuck up through the thin earth. Yet, in the low lying parts the earth was very fertile and good crops were yielded. Even in these areas the front was eternally pushing stones up through the surface which had to be picked, a never ending process.

The barns throughout the entire community were all equal in one respect anyway, whether they were built of logs or sawn lumber. That is, they were all of one and the same color, silvery gray in dry weather and black in wet weather. This was from the weather-beating that they had received from the day that they had been erected. None of them had ever had the aristocratic protection of paint or even white-wash.

One thing on the farm in Dell that was not necessary was a pocket watch to tell when it was time to go to dinner, for, while working in the field one could always hear the “Scoot”, a mixed train, as it whistled for Milan, it would be a quarter to twelve. That train made a daily return trip from Sherbrooke to Megantic. It returned to Milan at a quarter to three in the afternoon, another whistle.

SPRING SEEDING: Papa was among those who never could afford a drill seeder and who sowed the fields of grain by hand. With a pail of grain under one arm and with the other hand full of grain he would scatter it in one direction with one step, and in the other direction with the next step, from end to end of the field, evenly, and in perfect rhythm.

The local farmers believed that peas and potatoes should be planted

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in the period of the rise of the moon. Also, that the butchering of pigs and cattle should be done during that same period, it supposedly had something to do with the conditioning and the flavour of the meat. They also thought that it was alright to seen grain in the springtime any time up until the rhubarb was ready for eating.

THRESHING: The farmers all did their threshing of their small crops within the confines of the barn, when neighbour helped neighbour. The smell of gasoline mingled with the oil from the gasoline engine and the dust from the grain mill remain in my nostrils forever, I believe.

Two men always travelled with the threshing outfit in order to spell each other off, of feeding the separator, which was done by hand. While one was so employed the other attended to the “half-bushel”, as they were paid by the amount of grain that was threshed. The pick of the threshing jobs was on the half-bushel, the worst one was “on the tail”, that was up in the mow pushing back the straw.

Norman Malavy and I made the round of the area one year threshing. We had used an old Star car that I had improvised, the engine only, put it on skids and painted it red (took a lot of kidding from the “Tories” for having it a liberal color). As a car it had belonged to a fellow from Marsboro. Norman and I sure thought that we were hitting the bull in the --- with our gasoline machine. We always carried a bottle of cod liver oil in our too-box and occasionally took a swallow to lubricate our throats against the dust. We chewed tobacco in between to spit out the dust that we had already swallowed.

FANNING MILL: This was truly a confounded contraption if there ever was such a thing. It was in evidence amongst many farmers and was sometimes

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called a “wind-mill”. This monstrosity was hand operated with a crank, totally made of wood with the exception of two metal gears. Overall it was about four feet wide by about five feet high by six feet long, it had a spout on the side which caught the cleaned grain. The chaff laden grain having been poured in at the top. The handle was turned and the whole thing shivered and shook and blew the chaff out of the grain. (a fan was enclosed). This treatment was only given to grain that was going to be used for seeding.

Each of these fan mills, anywhere that they might be seen, were always red in color. This particular shade of red was used in ancient times when red paint was made by mixing ox blood with buttermilk; this is a fact!

GRIST MILLS: By the time that the threshing had taken place in the fall we were getting peretty low in our larder as far as barley and buckwheat flour was concerned, which was out main-stay of staple foods. Also, our supply for meal for the pigs was getting pretty low.

A sleigh load of bagged grain was prepared, this load was to begin its journey to the grist mill in the wee hours of the morning, long before daylight, for Legendre’s grist mill in Winslow. This trip was an adventure to any by, and it was expected of him as soon as he was husky enough to wrestle a bag of grain alone. It was up over Doak’s hill, down the Tolsta road, on past the cyclone ruins and then on up the long grade that let to the highway towards Winslow. This point was reached by about the break of day, a distance of some seven miles. From that point on it was “Boo-oidh” (French) country. By about nine o’clock Legendre’s had been reached, a total distance of about fifteen miles. The grain was then unloaded and ground into flour and/or meal for the pigs.

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A portion of the ground product was taken pay payment.

Legendre owned the biggest pigs that I have ever seen, they must have stood four feet high, must have been ten years old and weighted about eight hundred pounds. They roamed at their leisure at large all around the mill and its grounds.

Around two o’clock in the afternoon the grist would be finished and time to head for home, generally arriving there about five o’clock in the afternoon. The poor horses had had a very hard day.

I can remember making this trip once and on arriving in Winslow, everyone there seemed to be dressed up, in the village, I had though that maybe I had made a mistake in the day. Surely not. It couldn’t be Sunday. I couldn’t understand. However, it turned out to be All Saints Day, a Catholic holiday, no work that day. Therefore, I would have to return home only to go back again the following day for the grist.

The French Catholics, at that time, were so over-saturated with their religion, in that part of the county, it was unbelievable the extent of their belief. I, personally, have been told by one of them that if they were to plow a furrow on All Saints Day that the furrow behind them would flow with blood.

HORSES: The farmers of Dell were not generally endowed with riches, consequently, had always to practice the art of doing without. Most farmers had one team of horses, a few owned three horses, still others had only one. The teams were frequently unmatched in size, color and temperament. It was not uncommon to see on horse a foot behind its mate all the time. The leading one being the crafty one of the two, leaving the one behind to do most of the pulling also to receive the punishment for not keeping up.

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Speaking of horses, the above presents an opportunity to refer to a team of horses once owned by Malavy’s. Even amongst teams such as would be shown at exhibitions, they would rate a prize amongst the est. They were a team of Clydesdales, a brother and sister, Jack and Topsy. They were perfectly matched, bay in color, black mane and tail, white face and both had white stockings. When hitched up they were a pleasure to behold, their harnesses were beautifully adorned with glittering brass buckles and ornaments, red, white and blue rein dividers, their manes and tails braided with red ribbons intertwined. In winter, on each were two of the most beautifully rich sounding horse-bells one could imagine. They could be heard and recognized by sound a mile away, truly a sight and sound to forever remember.

HORSE “CHARLIE”: Papa once owned a horse that he called Charlie. He was a beauty to behold, a Percheron, heavy set, high-spirited and dark bay. If ever he would be touched with a whip he would kick. By his stall was a pig pen. One time when papa along with an old neighbour, Mor-cull, were standing admiring the pigs, I, carrying a switch, struck Charlie’s legs with it because he was standing way back in his stall, (I was quite small at the time). Whereupon Charlie let fly and kicked m. Afterwards, brother Donald at school, anxious to make an impression his teacher, Miss Williams proceeded to tell her of the incident. Ending up his description with the following, “They were looking at the pig when out come the kick”. Even to this day he gets kidded about that.

The above happened during the first world war. At that time there toured the country people looking for choice horses to be conscripted to the war effort in Europe. Charlie was such a horse and fell in the chosen category, was taken away, and we never saw him again.

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When a horse took sick with distemper, or a cold, the common remedy seemed to be to go to Scotstown and there to buy a quart of linseed oil. This was put into a quart-size beer bottle, on account of its tapered neck, the horse's head held high, the bottle inserted into one of the nostrils and the contents poured in. This was supposed to have some sort of a magic effect, a cure-all. One thing was certain and with no magic attached, that was, that it was unsafe to walk behind said horse for a full week.

Papa once owned a mare whose attitude was quite emphatic towards work, which she reflected in the most positive manner, that of not being allowed to be caught in the pasture at times. Oats was always carried in an old porcelain wash basin to lure this creature, most of the time it worked. Sometimes she had to be cornered. On one such occasion she jumped slick and clean right over my head, and away.

CATTLE: One must never lose sight of the fact that this area was not a dairy farming area as such, as previously explained. The livestock were cross-breed, primarily Durhams and Herefords. However, each farmer did provide his own milk and butter indefinitely. In winter this was pretty meager. Usually each farmer had a "farrow" cow, which provided only about enough milk for tea throughout the winter. Sometimes this cow was milked only once a day. A farrow cow is a cow which had not come in heat throughout the year, in other words, she skipped a year having a calf.

CASTRATING CALVES: In the springtime before the calves were put out int their small pasture the bull calves were to become steers, such was the destiny. On one of these occasions I was giving papa a hand, everything

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was in readiness, legs secured, etc., snip, the calf in his struggle got one foot loose and let fly, hitting papa on the side of the leg, at the same time igniting a pocketful of Redbird wooden matches that he had been carrying, setting papa alight. Papa began slapping at his clothes, he could hardly be seen for smoke that seemed to be coming out from every opening in his clothes.

Results: One half-cut calf at large.

SHEEP: Sheep's wool was were clipped off in the spring of each year by hand. Later, it was done by a hand-cranked mechanical clipper. We kids always helped papa with this back-breaking job. At night, dead to the world with fatigue, we were often wakened by the bite of the sheep-tick, which had been picked up from the sheep in the process of shearing them. The wool, after shearing, was tied in bales and shipped to some company in Lennoxville, with the exception of one choice fleece, which was kept for the purpose of making woolen mitts and socks and things for our own use. First, the fleece that was kept was soaked in a strong soap solution in order to degrease it and to de-manure it, repeatedly washed, an awful job. When it was considered to be clean it was then sent to La Patrie to be carded. After due course it returned, carded, that is, in a series of long shreds of about one half inch in diameter. This was then spun into yarn with a spinning wheel, this was usually done by a grandma with a "coorag" on and with glasses worn down on the middle of her nose.

The fleeces of wool that were usually used were white although sometimes a black one was kept on account of the permanency of color.

In the raising of sheep it was not uncommon to have one or more pet lambs. These became genuine pets, they'd be raised for awhile on a baby's bottle.

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For any boy they were a special pet, warm and affectionate. To the lamb, the boy became its mother and it went wherever he would go, if allowed. Upstairs, to school, visiting, and would bleat when left behind by the boy. It was amusing sometimes to see a lamb following the family dog everywhere that the dog would go, the dog being sort of a second fiddle if the boy was not around.

A lamb becoming a family pet was brought on by some calamity, such as, being one of a set of triplets, (the mother being equipped for only a pair), or, that of being an off-spring of a mother that had died.

Almost every farmer had a few sheep. Once a community effort was put forth to build a "sheep-dip" to eliminate the sheep tick. The location that was chosen for the project was at Allan D's place. Its plans were supplied by some governmental branch and were followed precisely. It was built of concrete below ground level. The idea behind it was that twice a year each farmer was to drive his flock to this new device to be dipped in a solution that would kill the tick. However, as it turned out, the tick tank turned out to be tickless. It had filled with water the very first winter after it was built, froze and it split open before it had ever been used.

Any farmer who has raised sheep will appreciate the value of the sheep having a short tail which would not normally collect burrs, etc., besides, they are neater. Actually the long tail does not serve any known useful purpose. The tail bobbing operation is done while they are very small lambs. It is done by holding the lamb by the tail and with a sharp knife, snip and away, minus most of its tail.

Almost all farmers find it necessary to have their sheep branded, in order to prove their identity. This brand consists of a particular niche on one or both of the lamb's ears. Papa's mark of identification

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consisted of a vee on the left ear and a slit on the right. This operation was also done while they were very small, and was humane. Many a lamb I held in my arms as papa would take one ear of the lamb, fold it over on a board, lengthwise and cut a small slice off leaving a vee in the ear, the other just a plain slit.

Papa was anxious to keep the strain of his flock of sheep reasonably good. He would always buy pure-bred rams (we always referred to the ram as a "buck") which papa procured from a Mr. Bennett in Canterbury.

A curious thing prevailed amongst bucks, in that, whenever two would meet they always fought. Therefore it was always with caution that they were ever allowed to be together for any length of time. First, they would size each other up, then each would back up, say, about ten feet, then with heads down would charge at each other, and, w-ham, as hard as they could. This was repeated until one broke the other's neck and would lie dead. It was always a fight to a finish.

It happened that one time Jones, our neighbour, had a buck that was almost identical in looks with the one that we owned. Sometimes these animals had a tendency to visit another flock which only included the weaker sex. However, one spring morning, in our barnyard, our buck lay dead, with a jay broken neck. Both papa and I concluded that Jones' buck had visited our flock in the night, had gotten into a fight, killed our buck and returned home. Anyway, our buck was dead. Papa told me that if I would dress the buck, skin it, etc., take the carcass to Matheson's fox farm in Milan that I could have the money. I attempted this feat but I couldn't stomach the ordeal, so papa did it. I delivered the carcass and collected two dollars, happy as all get out, even if we had lost our buck, I had more money than I had ever had before. That evening I went over to Jones' supposedly to visit, but, actually to impart the details of the day and

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our misfortune. After I had finished giving the details, Jones took his pipe out of his mouth, quietly turned in his rocking-chair in my direction and said, "Your buck? Your buck is over here". I had sold the carcass of "his" buck.

HENS: These birds were a "Heintz" variety, a mixture of White-Wyandottes, Plymouth Rocks and Rhode Island Reds. Among the quaint and unusual beliefs among the natives was that if hens were fed oyster shells it would stimulate their laying habits. They seemed to think that the shell would form into egg shells inside the hen and all that the hen would have to do would be to fill the shell. At the same time the "yoke" would be on the hen, (what humour). Another encouragement was to place "nest-eggs", sometimes white china door-knobs were substituted for these, both were made of white porcelain. In the nest, these were used to suggest to the hens that laying eggs was a good idea.

It has never ceased to amaze me, even to this day, the effects of the following practice. Great preparations were always prevalent with respect to getting ready for the long winter months that lay ahead when many things would lie dormant. Sometimes among these were the hens who seemed to think that with the shortness of the days it wasn't worth their while to put forth the effort to produce eggs. In the fear of this happening and the thoughts of being without eggs altogether for cocking and so on, Mamma decided to preserve them. This was done by depositing the eggs in layers in some kind of a receptacle, small ends down, then packing them in course salt, not allowing one to touch another, then another layer and so on. This strange practice would keep eggs fresh by indefinitely.

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THE CREAMERY: Each farmer of this mixed farming community owned only from six to fifteen cows. Ordinarily the milk was separated and the cream taken to the Milan Creamery. This establishment was originally owned by one, Louis St. Pierre, but had been sold to Norman Doak a great many years ago. The place was usually operated by his brother, Johnnie. The farmers were paid according to the butter-fat content of the cream. Three or four farmers would ban together to convey the cream to the creamery, taking turns, which was on Tuesdays and Fridays of each week. To see the buggies go along the road with two cans of cream roped onto the back and one or two more in the front, up the hills towards Milan was a common sight to see. If it happened to be a boy reforming this duty, after he would leave the cans at the creamery, where he'd meet vehicles from every direction around Milan, doing the same thing, he would often proceed up the hill to the village to D.L's. or Saint Pierre's general store and there purchase a plug of one-cent licorice. Saint Pierre's son, Louie, was the only one that I, personally, was ever acquainted with, he was called "Ti-tue whatever that meant. What I remember best apart from the licorice on these expeditions when I was a mere child, in D.L's store was the stiff index finger of the right hand of D.L. himself, sticking out there, shiny, "like a sore thumb". (It is funny that I have remembered that).

The boy would then, following his purchase, return to the creamery, pick up the cans now filled with vile smelling buttermilk to be taken home, which was then mixed with bran and fed to the pigs.

CHURNING: Of course we had to make our own butter. As we would run out of butter we would have to skip one delivery of cream to the Milan creamery, would keep the cream to make butter for ourselves. The making

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of which was indeed a tedious job. Sometimes the cream would be temperamental; it would have to be of the right consistency, the right temperature and the operator of this outrageous thing in a proper state of complacency, all this to make the cream cooperate. The handle of this danged implement, the churn, was then pushed back and pulled forth in a steady rhythm of monotony, sometimes for hours, much like a piston on an engine that you knew full well would never start, or, like the connecting rod of a locomotive, say, number 750 of the way-freight.

Periodically the stopper had to be pulled out in the process, to let the air escape, that had built up at the beginning. Weary and near exhaustion, finally, the small pellets of butter and the swish of the buttermilk across the inspection glass on the cover of the churn would take place. In desperation the operator of this contrivance knew that the task which he had set out to do was just about accomplished. Hallelujah. Finally, the confounded butter. We had won!

As for preserving butter for the wintertime, the housewife would salt the butter as usual, then pack it solidly in one or two twelve quart-size earthenware crocks. As it would be required it was dug out in hunks.

WASHDAY: This day on the farm was always a hectic, murderously, hard day for the women. Even in the summertime a huge fire would have to be put on in the kitchen range on which was placed a copper wash boiler. This contained water, soft soap (made from beef suet, lye and wood ash) and dirty clothes. The dirt was supposedly boiled out. Water in many cases had to be drawn from a well by hand, then followed sweating over a scrub board for hours. The men folk would often help, many a half day that I spent scrubbing on that danged board helping Mamma.

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A blue rag tied with a string resting on a saucer was always in evidence close to where the washing was done. This rag contained a cube of washing blue which was supposed to get rid of the tattle-tale grey look.

THE HORSE-FOWER: This was in reality a machine, horse driven. It consisted of an endless wooden belt which was made up of wooden lags. These lags were two inches thick by eight inches wide and about six feet long. The thing was set up on an incline of about twenty degrees, on which a team of horses endlessly walked on. Also, on which was connected a huge belt pulley about five feet in diameter.

Several neighbours had banned together and purchased this monstrosity along with a threshing separator, a circular saw and a dragsaw. This equipment was used throughout the whole of Dell, neighbour helped neighbour. Therefore, not actually costing one cent for getting their threshing done and their firewood cut. The meals that were supplied at the various places more than compensated for the hard work which was involved during those bees; they were equal to the Feast of the Passover.

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