Mr. Ed
Be what you is not what you what you ain’t
- Location
- Central NY
As a kid, I vaguely remember being invited over to someone's farm for a meal. It seems I jumped into a pigpen and got chased by out by an enormous pig.
Got any farm stories?
- Thread starter Mr. Ed
- Start date
Victor
Senior Member
- Location
- midwest USA
Well you know farmers----men (and women) outstanding in their fields!
grahamg
Old codger
- Location
- South of Manchester, UK
Just a few,........., now where shall I start?
Did I tell you about my Landrace gilt, that happened to furnish me with the funds to start courting my first girlfriend and eventual wife?
.
I built a pen for her to use in the summer next door to a new neighbour's garden, making absolutely sure it was very strong, so she couldn't escape and root up their garden, (complete success on that score btw). The neighbours were a mother and daughter, "not used to the countryside" lets say, and the prospects of a pig living next to them didn't suit them to start with, nor their little Jack Russell dog who barked all night.
Next day I was confronted by the irate mother ready to tear a strip off me, as she proceeded to do. My only response was to mention my godfather Billy, who lived very close by, who kept pigs too he absolutely loved, and he was very good friends with this woman's husband before he died and the lady herself as well, (this story has some echoes of another thread on the forum doesn't it!).
Anyway, blow me down, though I did get a bit of ribbing from a few other neighbours, my father's new lady neighbour and her daughter very quickly grew to love having the pig at the end of their garden, so all was well, and the "slight smell" didn't bother them, and the little dog soon settled down too, ("Titty" my father called the new neighbour for reasons I wont go into!
).
Good enough story for you?
.
Did I tell you about my Landrace gilt, that happened to furnish me with the funds to start courting my first girlfriend and eventual wife?
.I built a pen for her to use in the summer next door to a new neighbour's garden, making absolutely sure it was very strong, so she couldn't escape and root up their garden, (complete success on that score btw). The neighbours were a mother and daughter, "not used to the countryside" lets say, and the prospects of a pig living next to them didn't suit them to start with, nor their little Jack Russell dog who barked all night.
Next day I was confronted by the irate mother ready to tear a strip off me, as she proceeded to do. My only response was to mention my godfather Billy, who lived very close by, who kept pigs too he absolutely loved, and he was very good friends with this woman's husband before he died and the lady herself as well, (this story has some echoes of another thread on the forum doesn't it!).
Anyway, blow me down, though I did get a bit of ribbing from a few other neighbours, my father's new lady neighbour and her daughter very quickly grew to love having the pig at the end of their garden, so all was well, and the "slight smell" didn't bother them, and the little dog soon settled down too, ("Titty" my father called the new neighbour for reasons I wont go into!
).Good enough story for you?
.
Last edited:
ManjaroKDE
Member
Back in the 80's we had a small 'Gentleman's farm'. Small not up to Texas standards. I raised a mixture of different animals from the normal pet models to edible bovine. The most interesting to me were the pigs, not as profitable as beef cattle but more so than the few horse models.
There was one time I was trying to get one to the slaughter house in the back of my pickup/rack. I was told that by putting a 5 gal bucket on their heads you could basically move them anywhere, I found out a 250 lb pig goes just about anywhere they want to.
I was backing it up the ramp, got it in the rack enclosure. At that time the drop gate decided to hangup, the pig was determined to get out. I was defenseless and could only use my fist to stop it. I did have gloves on, doubled my fist and 'whack' I hit it as hard as I could between the eyes. Down it went.
I slammed the gate shut, my right arm gone numb I drove it to the meat packer. By the time I arrived, it was up routing around in the rack, I still couldn't feel my arm, but right then and there I vowed to never do that again.
There was one time I was trying to get one to the slaughter house in the back of my pickup/rack. I was told that by putting a 5 gal bucket on their heads you could basically move them anywhere, I found out a 250 lb pig goes just about anywhere they want to.
I was backing it up the ramp, got it in the rack enclosure. At that time the drop gate decided to hangup, the pig was determined to get out. I was defenseless and could only use my fist to stop it. I did have gloves on, doubled my fist and 'whack' I hit it as hard as I could between the eyes. Down it went.
I slammed the gate shut, my right arm gone numb I drove it to the meat packer. By the time I arrived, it was up routing around in the rack, I still couldn't feel my arm, but right then and there I vowed to never do that again.
Gaer
"Angel whisperer"
- Location
- New Mexico U.S.A.
Up in Montana, my Dad would go out to milk the cow, but it was so cold that the milk came out like long, skinny icicles.
He would stack them up like firewood, so it was easy to carry in the house!
Don't expect ya to believe me, jest tryin to entertain ya!
He would stack them up like firewood, so it was easy to carry in the house!
Don't expect ya to believe me, jest tryin to entertain ya!
ROFLMAO!
Thanks for the laugh, Gaer!
I knew you were full of
when you mentioned how your dad stacked the icicles like firewood!
Gaer
"Angel whisperer"
- Location
- New Mexico U.S.A.
WHAT?ROFLMAO!
Thanks for the laugh, Gaer!
I knew you were full of
hahaha!
Pappy
Living the Dream
We had a few animals, ducks, rabbits, chickens and goat, but I was surrounded by farms and worked on several part time. I have tossed a lot of hay, baled and loose. Seems like I always got stuck in the barn stacking the hay bales. Hot, itchy job.
We had two barns which kept horses and pigs when my great grandfather owned the farm. These were torn down to make room for my grandparents new house.
We had two barns which kept horses and pigs when my great grandfather owned the farm. These were torn down to make room for my grandparents new house.
Sliverfox
Well-known Member
As a teen I made a hide out in the hay bales.
Was very handy to have place to hide from the boys I didn't want to see.
" Hi, Mrs Sliverfox is foxy here?"
"She took off after she came home ,, don't know where she's gone."
I would get heck for hiding in my hay bale fort, as parents afraid they would fall & smother me.
Was very handy to have place to hide from the boys I didn't want to see.
" Hi, Mrs Sliverfox is foxy here?"
"She took off after she came home ,, don't know where she's gone."
I would get heck for hiding in my hay bale fort, as parents afraid they would fall & smother me.
Kathleen’s Place
Senior Member
- Location
- Wisconsin
When I was a kid, we used to go to my Aunt Allie’s farm for dinners when they were done with the fields. All of the surrounding neighbors would help each other get the crops in. I remember long long tables made out of saw horses and old wooden doors, set up under the trees in my aunts front lawn. They were laden with every food imaginable. Heaping platters of fried chicken, pork chops, beef, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, green beans, carrots, homemade breads, salads of every kind. And then another one or two long tables filled with desserts and homemade ice cream. Everyone sat on benches, laughing and talking...lord how I loved that
. I bet there must have been 40 or 50 people there. Kids running around playing. It was a special day every year. And from then on, whenever anyone makes an extra big meal, we say, “ there’s enough for thrashers!” Good memories...thanks for reminding me
. I bet there must have been 40 or 50 people there. Kids running around playing. It was a special day every year. And from then on, whenever anyone makes an extra big meal, we say, “ there’s enough for thrashers!” Good memories...thanks for reminding me
When I was young my father took me hunting at the farm of his sister-in-laws parents. I remember walking into the kitchen all warm inside from a coal stove burning. In the kitchen was also the farmer's daughter, and although I was young she was exceptionally pretty. On the way to the hunt for rabbits, we passed by the cow barn and the cows were intimidating to this lad being unfamiliar with them and they being so large. During the hunt my father shot several, and I none. I must have gotten buck fever, because when a rabbit jumped out in front of me, I raised the gun to fire and pulled the trigger and nothing happened. In the excitement I forgot to pull the hammer back on the Stevens single shot shotgun. Dumb kid. When we got back to the farm house my father shared some of the kill with the farmer and we all bid adieu.
Repondering
Well-known Member
- Location
- Nebraska, USA
My cousins are all farmers....one of 'em tried to demonstrate how spry he was so he climbed up a pole but he came down a rushin'.
But then he always was the north end of a horse walkin' south.
They got lots of other corny jokes.
But then he always was the north end of a horse walkin' south.
They got lots of other corny jokes.
jujube
SF VIP
We used to visit my great-grandparents on their farm.
When they finally had a bathroom put in the house, my great-grandfather refused to use it to his dying day. "They call it an OUThouse for a good reason!" he'd exclaim. "It's supposed to be OUT of the house, not inside the house! Who wants to live with an outhouse IN the house?"
My great-grandma was so proud of that bathroom. All the fixtures were pink and there was pink fish wallpaper, pink towels on the racks (which, of course, nobody was allowed to use) and pink soap shaped like roses (not to be used, natch....) After living on a farm all her life, it was like heaven to her to have some luxuries.
There were no horses and the mule was mean, so we were always trying to ride the cows, which the cows didn't appreciate.
It was so much fun to run wild, jump in the hay, go swimming in the "branch" and eat watermelons out in the field.
When they finally had a bathroom put in the house, my great-grandfather refused to use it to his dying day. "They call it an OUThouse for a good reason!" he'd exclaim. "It's supposed to be OUT of the house, not inside the house! Who wants to live with an outhouse IN the house?"
My great-grandma was so proud of that bathroom. All the fixtures were pink and there was pink fish wallpaper, pink towels on the racks (which, of course, nobody was allowed to use) and pink soap shaped like roses (not to be used, natch....) After living on a farm all her life, it was like heaven to her to have some luxuries.
There were no horses and the mule was mean, so we were always trying to ride the cows, which the cows didn't appreciate.
It was so much fun to run wild, jump in the hay, go swimming in the "branch" and eat watermelons out in the field.
Ellen Marie
Member
I remember growing up on the farm..... in the 1950's and 60's... we didn't have running water... but we did have an outhouse. (I could post a pic sometime).... we grew chickens and pigs, but most of the remaining acerage was rented out. Anyway.... every spring my father would dig a new hole for the outhouse, then he would take the old tractor and pull the old outhouse to its new location for the year.
We were playing around one Memorial Day weekend... running around the yard. My brother had on his boy scout uniform, he was marching in the parade that day. Well, while running around the yard, he stepped too hard on the ground, and his foot pushed through the top layer of dirt into the "old" hole where the outhouse did sit before.
He had "crap" halfway up his leg. There wasn't time to wash the uniform. My mother rinsed it off and poured perfume on the leg... and he marched in the parade..... That was about 1960 or 1961.
Memories.
We were playing around one Memorial Day weekend... running around the yard. My brother had on his boy scout uniform, he was marching in the parade that day. Well, while running around the yard, he stepped too hard on the ground, and his foot pushed through the top layer of dirt into the "old" hole where the outhouse did sit before.
He had "crap" halfway up his leg. There wasn't time to wash the uniform. My mother rinsed it off and poured perfume on the leg... and he marched in the parade..... That was about 1960 or 1961.
Memories.
I've heard teachers tell tales of their annual visits to a local farm with elementary-aged school children. Raised on stories of the Berenstein Bears and Arthur (the aardvark), the children probably expected to see refined and gentile animals, yet during their farm visits, the animals were almost invariably seen eliminating or copulating. The kids certainly got an education, and guess what things they'd find most memorable about their farm visits?
Sliverfox
Well-known Member
My mother told me that she got me up from a nap,, cleaned me up,,put clean dress on me, let me outside to play.
Later realized I was quiet.
She went out , found me sitting with a sick cow head on my lap petting it.
Scared her as the cow had horns.
Another time she discovered me head first in the rain barrel.
I had climbed up on the shed roof ,,probably chasing a cat.
After while I was no longer put in dresses when send outside to play.
If I wasn't following grandpa around,, could be found trying catch the chickens.
Learned if I stomped my feet which made my shoes laces move, chickens would peck at them,,untiring them.
Later realized I was quiet.
She went out , found me sitting with a sick cow head on my lap petting it.
Scared her as the cow had horns.
Another time she discovered me head first in the rain barrel.
I had climbed up on the shed roof ,,probably chasing a cat.
After while I was no longer put in dresses when send outside to play.
If I wasn't following grandpa around,, could be found trying catch the chickens.
Learned if I stomped my feet which made my shoes laces move, chickens would peck at them,,untiring them.
grahamg
Old codger
- Location
- South of Manchester, UK
Thats a first for me on the sick cow front, and letting a child cradle them, (any corroborating evidence?)
!Sliverfox
Well-known Member
If I remember ,,my answer was she was lonely.
My mother wasn't used to living on a farm.
So finding me petting the cow was hair raising to her.
By time I was a teen ager she was helping with chores.
Dad & I came back from town to find a caress of young cow hanging in garage.
It choked, died & Mom had it hanging, all gutted, skinned.
She didn't tell us how she got it to garage or if she had anyone help her.
Has always been a puzzle to me as my mother wasn't 5 foot tall , maybe 100 lbs.
My mother wasn't used to living on a farm.
So finding me petting the cow was hair raising to her.
By time I was a teen ager she was helping with chores.
Dad & I came back from town to find a caress of young cow hanging in garage.
It choked, died & Mom had it hanging, all gutted, skinned.
She didn't tell us how she got it to garage or if she had anyone help her.
Has always been a puzzle to me as my mother wasn't 5 foot tall , maybe 100 lbs.
MickaC
Well-known Member
- Location
- Manitoba, Canada
I was 2 when we moved to town......but i still had farm animal curiosity.
I don't remember these questions......but my dad told these stories well.
I asked where milk came from........cows, he said.
Then asked where chocolate milk came from.......brown cows, he said.
Then asked where strawberry milk came from.......pink cows, he said.
Apparently, i was quick to correct him........no such thing as pink cows.......everyone knows strawberry milk come from strawberries.
I asked where eggs came from........chickens, he said.
Then i asked where do chickens get them from.......he admitted, he had no answer.
GREAT MEMORIES.
I don't remember these questions......but my dad told these stories well.
I asked where milk came from........cows, he said.
Then asked where chocolate milk came from.......brown cows, he said.
Then asked where strawberry milk came from.......pink cows, he said.
Apparently, i was quick to correct him........no such thing as pink cows.......everyone knows strawberry milk come from strawberries.
I asked where eggs came from........chickens, he said.
Then i asked where do chickens get them from.......he admitted, he had no answer.
GREAT MEMORIES.
We visited our friends who were dirt farmers and also had cows. They offered me a glass of milk straight from the cow .. it was thick and warm, and I didn't like it. I was invited to stay a few days, and found out very quickly that I had allergies to hay, but had so much fun playing in the barn. We were given potatoes from their dirt cellar. I liked the damp earth smell and how cool the cellar felt in the hot, dry Alberta summer.
In autumn, we joined them for a big bonfire, burning branches and toasting marshmallows. The eldest boy had a guitar, and sang "Water" (not sure of the title .. "all day I face the barren waste without a taste of water - cool, clear water". I had a crush on him.
We collected the dried cow patties for burning in our wood stove. My sisters and I screamed and ran from the cows. We were still "town kids", after all.
In autumn, we joined them for a big bonfire, burning branches and toasting marshmallows. The eldest boy had a guitar, and sang "Water" (not sure of the title .. "all day I face the barren waste without a taste of water - cool, clear water". I had a crush on him.
We collected the dried cow patties for burning in our wood stove. My sisters and I screamed and ran from the cows. We were still "town kids", after all.