Got any farm stories?

When hubby , sons & I moved to our present home.
My mother in law gave our sons some chickens.

One day my 'city' friend & I were in the chicken coup.
A hen was clucking , pre-egg laying clucks.
I mentioned she's about ready to lay an egg.

My friend put her hand under the hen as the egg came out.
" O,Its warm!" my friend exclaimed.

With a smile said ,,"Well, it was inside her."
 

From the apartments where I live now, if you go east about 12 miles you'll see where my German grandpa's (opa's) dairy farm used to be and 12 miles west of here is where my Italian grandpa's (nonno's) vineyard used to be. But what you'll see is a huge run-down trailer park and suburb housing, respectively. I have many fond memories of long fun-filled summers spent on their farms (and long work days that were just as fun). Developers were able to claim the land some years after opa and nonno died, forcing my grandmothers to move, though they were financially compensated and lived comfortably till they joined their husbands.

One memory from time on opa's dairy: oma told me the guy in the next farm over had lambs and I hiked through the pasture and climbed two fences to see them. I was 5. When I got sort of close to the pen where the lambs were I started seeing these odd, white fluffy hairy things laying here and there and gathered them up, probably 6 or 7 of 'em. When I got to the pen, I gave them to the farmer who owned the lambs. Turns out they were the lambs tails! I was kind of horrified. Never quite felt the same about that farmer.
 
A city gent was driving past a farm when he came to a ford in the road. He stopped and called to a farmer standing nearby,
"How deep is this ford?". "No more than 3 or 4 inches", replied the farmer.
The man drove on and soon was up to the top of his wheels in water. He shouted at the farmer, "I thought you said it was only 3 or 4 inched deep". The farmer said, "well, it only comes half way up my ducks"
 

My father in law (a tenant farmer), had a cartoon with a very dry humour behind it, you may struggle a bit to appreciate.

The local squire or landlord came across one of the farmers working away, and said to the farmer:
"Very good crops this year farmer Brown".

Quick as a flash came the response: "Yes, but its taken a lot outa the ground"! :)

(do I need to explain it?)
 
My pappy told me that when he was a boy on the farm that he tried riding a mule bareback once. He said that he thought that mule's backbone would saw him in two.

My mother told me she was running down the path barefoot and stepped on a copperhead snake. Because she was running neither she nor the snake realized what had happened until she was down the path past him.
 
I posted several of my farm stories from when I worked on my high school friend's farm for a few years.
Farm Stories

When I first started, it was hot, dirty work. Generally, I cleaned out the immense milking parlor before moving onto other jobs that the foreman or second in charge gave me to do. We had several men working on the farm in the summer. After the owner bought the farm next to his and even though he hired more help, we were always busy and time went fast. On most days, I started at 7 a.m. and would finish up before dark. The owner told me that because I was one of the younger guys that I should be able to work longer.

The best part of the day was lunchtime when the owner's wife and 2 daughters made our food. We ate good, but I found out early in my life on the farm that overeating was a bad idea. Twice, I overate and ended up feeding the crows. They eat anything.

We had 2 herds of cattle, 1 beef herd and 1 milking herd. I don't have my journal in front of me, but I can tell you that we had several of each. We also had a small herd of bulls that were used just for breeding. Our biggest bull went about a ton and we (I) named him Satan. We even put a plaque above his stall that I burned his name into a piece of pine. He was ornery. Never trust a bull, especially if he's an Angus beef bull.

My favorite cows were the Golden Guernseys that we milked and then sold it at a premium price. If you have never tried Guernsey milk, you should, if you can find it. We also took them to the fair each year for showing. They were all champion blue ribbon ladies. They were bred by a bull that the owner "rented" from another farm some 125 miles away. We kept the heifers and sold the bulls. I don't know how much the other farmer charged for the bull's services, but the owner told us that it was cheaper to pay the rent than to feed a bull for a whole year just for breeding.

I learned so much from working in the farm and not just about farming, but also about life and working together in teams and taking orders. It really built my confidence and I made some money while enjoying my job (most of the time). Cleaning out the hog sties were not fun. There is no worse smell than hog dirt. We had one old sow that was born to breed. She delivered some big litters. My friend, whose dad owned the farm raised 1 each year to take to the fair as his 4-H project. His problem was that he would become attached to the pig and then feel bad when he sold it.

Those were good times. Now when I drive past the farm, I kind of feel sad that it didn't last. The men would use me as their lackey. They would make a fool out of me sometimes, but it was always in fun and I had to learn to laugh with them. We were getting ready to clean out the stalls and the back up boss (Terry) told me to go into the other barn and bring back 3 left-handed pitch forks. I thought it sounded screwy, but I did as I was told. When I looked back and saw a few of the other guys kind of laughing, I knew something was up. When I got into the barn and I couldn't find any forks marked "Left Handed." I asked Randy, who was in the barn and he was the foreman where were the left-handed pitch forks. He kind of snickered and asked me if Terry sent me to get them. I told him that he did. He said that he's just messing with you. That's how you learn when you're young and dumb.

Like I said, those were the good times.
 
Another farm related experience, I had traded a Welsh pony for an adult size dirt bike. Being a complete novice with motor bikes and having no need for one I traded it to my BIL for an old used snowmobile. When it came time to deliver the bike I decided I wanted to get at least one ride out of it. Fired it up, a took off across the pasture. Stalled it in the corner, turn it around fired it back up.

My son who was more experienced was yelling that I needed to give it more gas. After several more attempts to finish the ride I decided maybe he was right. Rev'ed it up and let it fly, I done wheelies that Evil would have been proud of, bouncing on one wheel just hanging on the handle bars, with fear in my eyes I was flipping bouncing along with a large shed/barn looming ahead. I jumped/fell off just before the bike rammed into the side.

Somehow I managed to get to my feet, pick up the offending bike and ever so gently pushed it the rest of the way out of the field and into my waiting pickup. Not much was said on the ride over to my BIL's. Made him unload it and never looked at a motor bike with envy in my heart again.
 
ManjaroKDE said:
Another farm related experience, I had traded a Welsh pony for an adult size dirt bike. Being a complete novice with motor bikes and having no need for one I traded it to my BIL for an old used snowmobile. When it came time to deliver the bike I decided I wanted to get at least one ride out of it. Fired it up, a took off across the pasture. Stalled it in the corner, turn it around fired it back up.

My son who was more experienced was yelling that I needed to give it more gas. After several more attempts to finish the ride I decided maybe he was right. Rev'ed it up and let it fly, I done wheelies that Evil would have been proud of, bouncing on one wheel just hanging on the handle bars, with fear in my eyes I was flipping bouncing along with a large shed/barn looming ahead. I jumped/fell off just before the bike rammed into the side.

Somehow I managed to get to my feet, pick up the offending bike and ever so gently pushed it the rest of the way out of the field and into my waiting pickup. Not much was said on the ride over to my BIL's. Made him unload it and never looked at a motor bike with envy in my heart again.
Click to expand...
I'm laughing but truly am glad you weren't hurt ! (y)
 
Murrmurr said:
From the apartments where I live now, if you go east about 12 miles you'll see where my German grandpa's (opa's) dairy farm used to be and 12 miles west of here is where my Italian grandpa's (nonno's) vineyard used to be. But what you'll see is a huge run-down trailer park and suburb housing, respectively. I have many fond memories of long fun-filled summers spent on their farms (and long work days that were just as fun). Developers were able to claim the land some years after opa and nonno died, forcing my grandmothers to move, though they were financially compensated and lived comfortably till they joined their husbands.

One memory from time on opa's dairy: oma told me the guy in the next farm over had lambs and I hiked through the pasture and climbed two fences to see them. I was 5. When I got sort of close to the pen where the lambs were I started seeing these odd, white fluffy hairy things laying here and there and gathered them up, probably 6 or 7 of 'em. When I got to the pen, I gave them to the farmer who owned the lambs. Turns out they were the lambs tails! I was kind of horrified. Never quite felt the same about that farmer.
Click to expand...
What? Did the farmer cut them off??
 
911 said:
I posted several of my farm stories from when I worked on my high school friend's farm for a few years.
Farm Stories

When I first started, it was hot, dirty work. Generally, I cleaned out the immense milking parlor before moving onto other jobs that the foreman or second in charge gave me to do. We had several men working on the farm in the summer. After the owner bought the farm next to his and even though he hired more help, we were always busy and time went fast. On most days, I started at 7 a.m. and would finish up before dark. The owner told me that because I was one of the younger guys that I should be able to work longer.

The best part of the day was lunchtime when the owner's wife and 2 daughters made our food. We ate good, but I found out early in my life on the farm that overeating was a bad idea. Twice, I overate and ended up feeding the crows. They eat anything.

We had 2 herds of cattle, 1 beef herd and 1 milking herd. I don't have my journal in front of me, but I can tell you that we had several of each. We also had a small herd of bulls that were used just for breeding. Our biggest bull went about a ton and we (I) named him Satan. We even put a plaque above his stall that I burned his name into a piece of pine. He was ornery. Never trust a bull, especially if he's an Angus beef bull.

My favorite cows were the Golden Guernseys that we milked and then sold it at a premium price. If you have never tried Guernsey milk, you should, if you can find it. We also took them to the fair each year for showing. They were all champion blue ribbon ladies. They were bred by a bull that the owner "rented" from another farm some 125 miles away. We kept the heifers and sold the bulls. I don't know how much the other farmer charged for the bull's services, but the owner told us that it was cheaper to pay the rent than to feed a bull for a whole year just for breeding.

I learned so much from working in the farm and not just about farming, but also about life and working together in teams and taking orders. It really built my confidence and I made some money while enjoying my job (most of the time). Cleaning out the hog sties were not fun. There is no worse smell than hog dirt. We had one old sow that was born to breed. She delivered some big litters. My friend, whose dad owned the farm raised 1 each year to take to the fair as his 4-H project. His problem was that he would become attached to the pig and then feel bad when he sold it.

Those were good times. Now when I drive past the farm, I kind of feel sad that it didn't last. The men would use me as their lackey. They would make a fool out of me sometimes, but it was always in fun and I had to learn to laugh with them. We were getting ready to clean out the stalls and the back up boss (Terry) told me to go into the other barn and bring back 3 left-handed pitch forks. I thought it sounded screwy, but I did as I was told. When I looked back and saw a few of the other guys kind of laughing, I knew something was up. When I got into the barn and I couldn't find any forks marked "Left Handed." I asked Randy, who was in the barn and he was the foreman where were the left-handed pitch forks. He kind of snickered and asked me if Terry sent me to get them. I told him that he did. He said that he's just messing with you. That's how you learn when you're young and dumb.

Like I said, those were the good times.
Click to expand...
I remember and enjoyed your Farm Stories, 911
https://www.seniorforums.com/threads/working-on-the-farm.41948/
 
When cattle eat too much grain, especially a grain such as corn, they can take on an illness called Acidosis. We had just finished harvesting our last field of corn in late November that year. As we harvest the corn, the machine also chops the stalks and the machine then also grinds the stalks into very small pieces because these ground stalks have now become silage or fodder, which is fed to the cattle. We would feed the cattle with corn, as well, but a farmer will not over feed the cattle with any grain, especially corn.

On this occasion, some of us had been working in the fields almost the whole day, so we were dead tired. On taking our last load to the barn, we knew the large trailer full of corn had to be unloaded before we were done for the day. Randy, our foreman, told us to throw a tarp over it and we would unload it the next day.

In the meantime, we had to get the cows out of the milking parlor and move them back into the pasture. Somehow or someway, one cow was left behind. Overnight, she was able to find the trailer of corn and must have ate her fill. The next morning when I drove up to the farm, I saw the Vet’s truck parked in front of the barn. I thought right away that we either had a sick or dead animal. I went into the barn and found out that the cow that ate all the corn had Acidosis. Well, we couldn’t give her Tums, so it was a job for the Vet to handle.

He took a bucket (5 gallon) and put water and a few large boxes of baking soda into the bucket and mixed it together. Then he took a plastic pipe and put it down the cow’s throat, sat a funnel on top of the pipe and poured the mixture down the pipe and into the cow’s stomach. Next, after giving the cow a few gallons of the mixture, the Vet paused, the cow burped and he repeated the process. Problem solved? No, he had to return later in the day and do it all over again. Luckily, the cow got through it and survived.

We never figured out who let the cow behind or if she somehow escaped. The owner wasn’t happy about having a sick cow, but he was glad the situation worked out for the best. It would have been a major loss for the farm, is she had died. She was one of our better milking cows and had already produced 4 calves.
 
That's how Hippos mark territory and to impress the females. (Hmmm....How would that work if I did it?)
 

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