Working on a Farm

M

moosehead

Member
Location
South western Ontario
I remember spending some summers on a farm when I was a kid, sent there by my parents I'm assuming to give them some peace and quiet. Anyway, I recall having to get up about 5:30 AM and go out and collect the eggs from the chickens. That was my job.

The chickens used to make so much racket and would peck at me and there was one chicken in particular that didn't like me....and the feeling was mutual.

It would ambush me from the chicken coop, waiting for me to reach for the eggs and then would crap on my hand...and then peck at me, as I stood there cursing the damned bird.

One day I decided to change my routine. This particular "Fowl" tempered bird was near the door so usually I collected it's eggs first. I started at the other end of the shed and worked my way up to this bird. It was waiting. We stared at each other. It had beady eyes. I think they glowed too.....

I started to reach for the eggs and it stood up ready to do battle with it's crap and peck routine. I had an egg in my hand from another chicken and promptly threw the egg at this chicken, hitting it in the head. The egg broke, this chicken flew out of the coop, all the other birds, seeing the excitement, all started to fly about, if that's the word...And all hell broke loose. There were chicken feathers everywhere, dust flying..Along with the chickens... I turned and ran to the door.

As I reached the door Mrs. Jenkins, the owner of the farm, opened the door to see what was going on and I ran into her, going full speed, and knocked her onto her back..With me on top, eggs flying everywhere and me yelling that the chickens were going crazy! Mrs. Jenkins was not amused.

That evening, around the supper table, I was told they would find something else for me to do.

That something else to do was to feed the pigs. Now, I like pigs...They are smart, loved to have their backs rubbed but...And I say this in a kind way...Are really somewhat messy.

And aggressive, as I found out.

I was told that to feed them one had to pour the feed into their trough from outside the pen...I was only about 10 or so. I decided to go into the pen, with the pigs, to feed them and to get closer to them..To get to know them....

Well, I lug in the feed and try to get to the trough to put the feed in there. The pigs, all 6 of them, really do have beady eyes and they all started to stare at me....And then, realizing I was going to feed them, started toward me. I started to back up as they approached me....The faster I backed up the faster the porkies went....my feet got tangled up, I fell backwards into what could only be described as a quagmire of pig poop, mud and, now, pig food, as the buckets, two of them, went flying into the air. Fortunately the pigs, seeing the food scatter everywhere, went for the food and ignored me, as I struggled to get out of the pen.


That evening, around the supper table, Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins said they would find something else for me to do.

That something else was to go out into the fields and "collect" the cows, bringing them in for milking. It seemed simple enough.

Find cows, call out "Bossy Bossy Bossy" and they would make there way to the barn. Parts one and two accomplished.

Now, the cows, when they get to the barn, walked down a passageway which leads to the pens. I, in my infinite wisdom, decide that I am going to stand in the passageway and pet each cow as it goes by...wrong.

After first 7 cows go by and I have patted each one, number 8 comes along and gives me a look that said "boy, don't touch me, hear." I patted it...It then decides to turn and give me a look...Unfortunately it is a very narrow passageway and this cow has me sandwiched between it and the wall....I could not breath. This was serious....I was in deep trouble...I poked the cow in the eye. Fortunately that worked and it sauntered along to the pen. I was sore for a few days and, as Mr. Jenkins told me, lucky not to be crushed.

That evening......…

New job was milking the cows. Never did it before and Mr. Jenkins showed me how to do it. Next day, after HE had brought in the cows, it was up to me to help milking the cows. And, wouldn't you know it, it was cow number 8, the one now named "Crusher"...that I had to milk.

I could swear that this cow remembered who it was who had poked it in the eye.

As much as I tried there was no milk forthcoming. The cow was holding out.

So, I squeezed the teat really hard...Wrong move yet again. Did you know that a cow can jump AND kick at the same time? Not me! It did just that, causing the cow next to it to be startled, that one did the same thing, knocking Mr. Jenkins, who was milking it, off the stool onto his back, spilling the almost full bucket.

With that the other cows got agitated and, once again, all hell broke loose with mooing and kicking and spilled milk everywhere along with dust and curses.

At dinner that evening.....

New job was to cut the front and back lawns with a push mower. That seemed easy, no animals to get into trouble with. First day out I go to mow the lawn.

After about 10 minutes I notice, in the barnyard is a rather large pig...really large, waddling along. Now, I had never heard of a boar. It is, apparently, a male pig that has one mood...bad.

This pig looks like it could use some attention..it looked lonely. So, out I go into the barnyard to say hello to my new friend. As I approached the pig it slowly raised it's rather large head, which, I noticed, became larger the closer I got.

It started to grunt and, being young, I thought it was saying hello. It actually was not.

Well, I did not know that a pig this large could run so fast...that said, I didn't know I could run that fast! It started at a very slow trot that turned into a full out gallop....I figured out that it was not running toward me to be friendly.

This pig chased me around the barnyard, through the front yard, over the flowerbed....flowers flying everywhere, through the vegetable garden and I made it into the outhouse....where I stayed...with the pig waiting for me to emerge.

After a very long time I heard Mr. Jenkins yelling that, if anyone was in the outhouse, to stay there as the Boar was loose. No kidding. I yelled out that it was me. I heard Mr. Jenkins say " I'm not surprised." Whatever that meant.

Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins eventually rounded up the boar and put him back in his pen. They released me from the outhouse, surveyed the damage done by Mr. Pig and myself and stood shaking their heads.

What was left for me to do. Around the supper table that night the family... Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins, their daughter, who was 19 and two older sons aged 23 and 25, had to decide what it was I could do and not destroy the farm. I think they had a vote and it was decided that maybe I could paint the fences with the understanding I NOT visit any pigs, leave the chickens alone, don't go near the horses and stay away from the cows.

Next morning out I went, pail of white paint, brushes and the family probably praying that nothing go wrong.

So, I painted.....And then I saw the pond with the ducks......
 

Great story, Thanks!

Reminds me of an old friend.

I asked my friend what he did at work and he said: "I do whatever they ask me to do but I don't do it very well and I don't do it very fast so they don't ask me to do very much!" :eek:nthego:
 

Its a case of do the job you are supposed to do and things will be okay. My jpb was to feed the chickens and then come into the house as there was a mean rooster out there. One look from him made me do my job and get to the house!
 
Gotta love a moosehead story
Never know where it’s gonna go, but the ride is great

TPfEL3s.jpg


anyway

Reminds me of getting left off at Mrs Schmidt’s place
Seems she’d always ask how old I was
I was three
She’d say ‘thdddddrrrreee?’

She had a turkey farm
Turkeys are mean
And tall

….whatever, savoring the thought of what happened to little moosehead with the pond of ducks


more please

K5GDkR0.jpg
 
Farming, hogs and chickens...…….know all about it from my teen years. Would choose to take care of beef cattle long before I'd choose to take are of hogs. A mother hog can be quite aggressive when she hears her babies screaming.

I absolutely knew that I wasn't going to be a "career" farmer, but totally support those that do choose it. Also support ranching families.
 
Thanks for the memories. We had a goat that hated my guts and was bound to come after me whenever he saw me. We had two Banty roosters that thought I was their pecking tree. They hated me too. But our rabbits loved me and our ducks were fine too. Great times in the country.
 
I went to high school that was probably at least 50% made up of kids coming from a farm family. The FFA was a big deal in school and some of the projects the kids worked on and made to show at the exhibitions were really good and educational. Some of the exhibitions had to do with crop growing, animal husbandry and taking care of the milking herd and what all happens from the teats to the store. Really good stuff.

One of the farm kids was in our little clique and he asked me if I would like to help with the farm during one summer. I didn't have a job for the summer yet, so I grabbed it. I didn't know what I got myself into. I worked at the local gas station in the evening, but I didn't want to pass up on this offer. The farm had over 2000 acres with three herds of livestock; one breeding herd, one milking herd and a small herd for raising to sell on the market for meat. They were Angus and Herefords and all were males that were turned into steers. The milking started between 4:00 & 5:00 a.m., too early for me. I never got to the farm before 7 or so. I started out the day with cleaning the milking parlor and then checking and cleaning any stalls that needed done. Then, I had the best, well, actually the worse job on the farm, cleaning out the hog pens. I have never found anything that smells worse than hog crap. Nothing even comes close to it.

There were some chickens, but they were free range and they were just there for the owners of the farm to eat or get the eggs. There were a few roosts and I always thought it kind of weird that the hens knew where to go to lay their eggs. In the afternoon, we would work the fields. Most of that was driving a tractor, which I learned fairly easily. It gets pretty dry around here in the summer, so a few crops would need some water now and then. Corn grows the easiest and doesn't need a lot of water. Unearthing all of the potatoes was always a real chore. I liked doing the tobacco best. I always thought it was kind of neat spearing the stems and hanging the sticks in the barn until the broker would come and work out a deal with the owner to buy the dried tobacco.

It was pretty busy on the farm most days. The milk truck would come and if I wasn't busy at the time, I would give him a hand connecting the hoses to the tanks to be drained. Each cow would or should put out about 5-6 gallons of milk a day, so we had a lot of milk that needed to be shipped to the local processor. We had three breeds of cows; holsteins, jerseys and guernseys. Jerseys brought a higher dollar per gallon (or pound) because their milk was richer, meaning that it was higher in butterfat and good for making cheese. The Guernseys were more for just taking to shows. We only had 10-12 head of Guernseys, all were cows, but maybe one or two heifers. I never knew how they figured what they paid the farmer because we only pasteurized the milk. The processor homogenized it. I overheard the milk guy talking to the farmer once and he was talking about how much they figure for the butterfat. They have some kind of equation that they use when it comes to paying the farmer. Milk is weighed before they skim it.

When it rained, it didn't matter. We still had to do what needed done. The animals don't stop breathing, eating or giving milk because it's raining. Every now and then, the farmer would ship a few of his meat herd off to the auction to be sold. It was sometimes sad to see some of them go. I would find myself giving some of them a name and they became more like a pet. Then, as the cows would get older, they would be sold too.

I had to give up my evening job during the summer months. Maybe just work now and then as needed. I would drag my butt home from the farm. We had nine of us working the farm. They fed us really good at lunch. The older guys would pick on the few younger ones of us. Sometimes, they would play practical jokes on us, like when we were moving the cows one day from one field to another and the boss told me to open the gate ahead of us. There was a wire strapped to it and when I grabbed it, I felt a shock. The boss then said to m that he forgot to tell me that it's an electric fence. I think it was only 5 or 6 volts, but it was enough to startle me.

The best day was payday!!! We earned every nickel we made.

Good memories.
 
911 said:
I went to high school that was probably at least 50% made up of kids coming from a farm family. The FFA was a big deal in school and some of the projects the kids worked on and made to show at the exhibitions were really good and educational. Some of the exhibitions had to do with crop growing, animal husbandry and taking care of the milking herd and what all happens from the teats to the store. Really good stuff.

One of the farm kids was in our little clique and he asked me if I would like to help with the farm during one summer. I didn't have a job for the summer yet, so I grabbed it. I didn't know what I got myself into. I worked at the local gas station in the evening, but I didn't want to pass up on this offer. The farm had over 2000 acres with three herds of livestock; one breeding herd, one milking herd and a small herd for raising to sell on the market for meat. They were Angus and Herefords and all were males that were turned into steers. The milking started between 4:00 & 5:00 a.m., too early for me. I never got to the farm before 7 or so. I started out the day with cleaning the milking parlor and then checking and cleaning any stalls that needed done. Then, I had the best, well, actually the worse job on the farm, cleaning out the hog pens. I have never found anything that smells worse than hog crap. Nothing even comes close to it.

There were some chickens, but they were free range and they were just there for the owners of the farm to eat or get the eggs. There were a few roosts and I always thought it kind of weird that the hens knew where to go to lay their eggs. In the afternoon, we would work the fields. Most of that was driving a tractor, which I learned fairly easily. It gets pretty dry around here in the summer, so a few crops would need some water now and then. Corn grows the easiest and doesn't need a lot of water. Unearthing all of the potatoes was always a real chore. I liked doing the tobacco best. I always thought it was kind of neat spearing the stems and hanging the sticks in the barn until the broker would come and work out a deal with the owner to buy the dried tobacco.

It was pretty busy on the farm most days. The milk truck would come and if I wasn't busy at the time, I would give him a hand connecting the hoses to the tanks to be drained. Each cow would or should put out about 5-6 gallons of milk a day, so we had a lot of milk that needed to be shipped to the local processor. We had three breeds of cows; holsteins, jerseys and guernseys. Jerseys brought a higher dollar per gallon (or pound) because their milk was richer, meaning that it was higher in butterfat and good for making cheese. The Guernseys were more for just taking to shows. We only had 10-12 head of Guernseys, all were cows, but maybe one or two heifers. I never knew how they figured what they paid the farmer because we only pasteurized the milk. The processor homogenized it. I overheard the milk guy talking to the farmer once and he was talking about how much they figure for the butterfat. They have some kind of equation that they use when it comes to paying the farmer. Milk is weighed before they skim it.

When it rained, it didn't matter. We still had to do what needed done. The animals don't stop breathing, eating or giving milk because it's raining. Every now and then, the farmer would ship a few of his meat herd off to the auction to be sold. It was sometimes sad to see some of them go. I would find myself giving some of them a name and they became more like a pet. Then, as the cows would get older, they would be sold too.

I had to give up my evening job during the summer months. Maybe just work now and then as needed. I would drag my butt home from the farm. We had nine of us working the farm. They fed us really good at lunch. The older guys would pick on the few younger ones of us. Sometimes, they would play practical jokes on us, like when we were moving the cows one day from one field to another and the boss told me to open the gate ahead of us. There was a wire strapped to it and when I grabbed it, I felt a shock. The boss then said to m that he forgot to tell me that it's an electric fence. I think it was only 5 or 6 volts, but it was enough to startle me.

The best day was payday!!! We earned every nickel we made.

Good memories.
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Like the OP's, your story is really, really good also.

Heck, I didn't even know there was anyone on this forum that knew anything about farming or ranching...…..except me. Very nice surprise!
 
Thanks for the kind comments about my farm adventure. I actually almost drowned in the pond that day. Nobody told me it was so deep...Of course, being only 10 years old....Maybe they didn't tell me on purpose.....I don't know why....
 
moosehead said:
Thanks for the kind comments about my farm adventure. I actually almost drowned in the pond that day. Nobody told me it was so deep...Of course, being only 10 years old....Maybe they didn't tell me on purpose.....I don't know why....
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It probably wasn't so deep if you were fifty!:eek:nthego:

Keep those stories coming!
 
I remember collecting eggs, too. Seems like there's always one old settin' hen that isn't going to give up her eggs without a fight. That old hen, who was meaner than a sack of bobcats, would see you coming and just as you got close enough and thought maybe she was sleeping or something, she would fly up in your face (my mother called that behavior "flogging," and would always say "watch out that old hen doesn't flog you and scratch your eyes out." which gave rise to all sorts of nightmares. I was only about 6, and in the case of that old hen, my job was to carefully take her real eggs and replace them with wooden eggs before the hen noticed. It usually didn't go too well. I wasn't sad when that old hen ended up on the stew pot.

And to whoever said above that turkeys are mean, Amen to that!! They can run pretty fast, too.
 
I've worked on two farms and looking back I kinda enjoyed farm life.

My uncle was a sharecropper on a farm in Kentucky, he raised hogs and tobacco and got a percent of each come market time.....I got shipped down to him on a Greyhound bus and worked on the farm for little over a year when I was around 13 or 14 till we had a disagreement and I packed a bag left.

Hitchhiked back to Wisconsin, stayed home a bit then left home and got a job up in the northern part of the state working nights in a canning factory for awhile and lived in their bunkhouse.....later got on and traveled the state as a laborer with a small carnival part of one summer and fall and then ended up working on a dairy farm for around 18 months or so after that till I was 17 and old enough to join the Army.
 
moosehead said:
You got PAID? Well, I did get free food, a place to sleep and a lifetime of memories. Thinking back I probably caused a bit of excitement....:)
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Heck yeah, I got paid. Seventy cents an hour and lunch.

We had a really bad Angus bull that was used only for breeding. Some of the other guys had asked the owner to get the horns taken off, but he refused. The bull scared the crap out of me just looking at him. He was named "Satan" and he even had a nameplate over his stall. We had a real dangerous situation where we were tying a rope through the ring in his nose, so he could be led to the other barn to breed with one of the cows. The hand wasn't watching where he was going and tripped over a pail that was left lying on the ground. We think that when the hand tripped and tugged on the bull's rope, it must have excited him and he came at the hand. His horns got him in the back and an ambulance had to be called. A month later, that bull was gone.

We separated some of the calves from their mothers shortly after birth. I always thought this was mean, but after I learned why it's done, it made sense to me, but I still didn't like it. Dairy cows are more docile than a beef cow. Dairy cows are easier to work with, especially when we had to move them from one field to another. I watched a lot of calves being born. It's a beautiful thing to see. As soon as they hit the ground, the hands that are in charge of that herd will put on an arm glove or bag and reach up inside the cow to make sure that all of the after birth has been expelled along with the calf. Then, the cow will lick the new born calf and life begins. The calf must suckle asap, so that it gets the colostrum necessary to maintain a healthy life. I learned a lot working on the farm, not only about farming, but also about life.
 
I remember the time, back in the mid 90's, when I worked at a Oklahoma Stockyards. On auction/sale day, it was always "hit the gate" (climb up it) when a bull was being put into a Holding Pen, before going into the auction/sales area. I was told how the bull was, before opening the Holding Pen gate, but a few times, I came close to being nailed in the back/butt. Just made it up the gate in time!
 
Today's milking cows have it made. Automatic milking machines and heated interiors. Would rather be a milking cow today than "way back when".
 
RadishRose said:
911, those cows had a "milking parlor" ? That sounds so cute! I enjoyed your memories.
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Don't get excited, Rose. It's not like a beauty parlor, although they are treated pretty good while being milked. Here is a picture of a milking parlor that I found on the internet. I wanted to find one similar to what we used. I didn't do much of the milking, just the cleaning. I did learn how to hand milk. The owner's son had some goats (his 4-H project), so I learned on them before trying to milk the cows. We also had some generators in case the power went out. We would have been there forever trying to hand milk all the cows that we had.

Milking Parlor II.jpg
 

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What a lovely clientele the Parlor has, 911- and I appreciate the photos!

When I visited the UCONN Agricultural school here in CT, there was no milking going on, but what a huge farm! The Dairy is open to the public too, and the ice cream is fantastic!
 
When I was in either grade school or high school, I went on a class field trip to a local dairy products processing company. I still remember that day, because cottage cheese was being made. The smell..........just plain stinky. I thought I'd never eat cottage cheese again, but that sure didn't happen.
 

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