Working On The Farm

When I was in high school, we always got a nice long vacation over Christmas. During my senior year, we were to start our Christmas vacation two days before the holiday. My friend, whose dad owned the farm that I worked for during the summers, came up to me and asked if I would be interested working over Christmas. He said that both of the winter helpers wanted off, so they were in need of help.

Boy, I didn’t know what to say. I was really looking forward to the time off, but remember, I was also greedy. So, I asked him what the hours would be and he said whatever I could do would be appreciated. So, I said OK.

The morning of Christmas Eve was just like any other morning that I worked on the farm. I started with cleaning the milking parlors and then over to the hog pens to clean them. That takes me to about 11:00 and I thought about leaving. As I was getting my stuff together, the owner comes up to me and asked if I would be able to fill the grain bins and bring in 30 bales of hay from the other barn. That meant that I would have to hitch the trailer to one of the tractors, which I really liked to drive. So, I told him sure, I would do it.

I went over to the JD (John Deere) and nothing. Dead battery. So, now I have to go get the battery charger, hook that up and try another tractor. The Farmall tractor was sitting next to the JD, so I jumped on it and prayed that it would start and it did. Ok, the wagon is hooked up and I’m on my way to the barn to get the hay. No more problems, I hope.

When I opened the doors to the other barn, I saw the ducks (there were 2 of them) huddled in a corner. The ducks never go into the barns, so I found my friend and asked him if he wanted me to put them back out. He told me that his one sister puts them in the barn when it is supposed to get real cold at night, so put them outside and he would put them back in before he went inside for the night.

When I got back to the barn and was going to move the ducks, they were quacking up a storm. The one duck wouldn’t get up and the other one was trying to intimidate me. I finally figured it out that the duck that wouldn’t get up was probably sitting on eggs. I got my friend to come over to the barn and check it to see if I was right. I was. We made the decision to leave them alone. The owner also was onboard with our decision to just leave the ducks alone. These were domesticated ducks, so we checked and found out that the eggs would need about 28 days to hatch.

The ducks were in luck. The area in which the ducks selected to lay their eggs wasn’t an area where it was going to be in anyone’s way for a month. I then backed the trailer into the barn (my first time backing up a trailer, so that took awhile), and unloaded the hay. At that point, it was now 2:00 in the afternoon and time to leave. Tomorrow is Christmas Day.

The only problem is that cows do not get a day off. They still need milked and all the animals need fed. The owner asked me if he would be seeing me in the morning. What am I going to say, NO? I could see that they were short on help and with all that needed done, I wasn’t going to let them hang. I told the owner that I would come over in the morning, but only do what really needed to be done and then leave. He said he understands. I would get there by 7 in the morning and work 4-5 hours and that’s the way it went for the rest of my “vacation.”

BTW, I did get 2 full days off of work before going back to school and on my last day of working on the farm during my Christmas vacation, which was a Friday, (I believe), the owner handed me a $20.00 bill. I know that doesn’t sound like much, but remember, this was back in 1970, so $20.00 wasn’t all that easy to come by. I also got a paycheck, but that got mailed to me.

As I look back at those days, I think how much I wanted to be off and hanging with my friends, but I think I did the right thing for both the farm and myself. My dad was really proud of me telling all his friends that his “boy” is working down at the Farm over Christmas. That was a big deal to those guys.
 

Did the ducks hatch their eggs?

My grandpa, who ran a small farm, always said that the worst part of farming was that you never got a day off, because , no matter what, the cows, etc. had to be taken care of. No sick days, no vacation, unless you could find someone to take over for you.
 
Did the ducks hatch their eggs?

My grandpa, who ran a small farm, always said that the worst part of farming was that you never got a day off, because , no matter what, the cows, etc. had to be taken care of. No sick days, no vacation, unless you could find someone to take over for you.

Yes. I was told that the Mama duck did hatch the eggs as Papa stood by.

While I was in Florida last week, we drove past a farm, (which is a rarity down there), and I noticed a farmer opening the gate to his small pen with some cows in it in front of the barn and I immediately had a flashback to an incident that happened one morning. I went into the milking parlor to clean the equipment and floors, but there were still 12 cows in there waiting to have the door opened so they could go outside and then be led to the pasture for grazing. The helper that was still in the parlor asked if I would take the cows out to the pasture. I never did that before, but I told him that I would do it.

You have to keep in mind that I never led the cows before, so this was a new experience for me. As soon as I unlatched the doors, it was like someone flipped a switch. The cows immediately began to come towards the doors and they wanted out now. It was like they knew exactly what they were doing. Almost as if it was automatic. I knew right away that I was in trouble. I was standing there trying to get the doors open while the cows were coming towards the doors and they were going to go out one way or another because they kept moving forward.

I yelled at the helper (Tim, I believe) and as he turned around, he could see something not so good was about to happen. Tim quickly ran over to where I was and began yelling (and I mean yelling) at the cows. They quickly stopped and stared at us. I looked at Tim and told him that I thought the cows wanted out. Tim told me, “No $hit, Dick Tracy. Of course, the cows want out.”

Tim soon changed his attitude when we turned around and he found out that the doors were either stuck or jammed. Together, we kept slamming the doors with our shoulders in an effort to get the doors open. Finally, we were able to open the one door far enough for me to squeeze out. When I got outside and looked down, I noticed that a big piece of pipe was blocking the doors. We had a spring running outside by the side of the barn and the owner was having pipes installed to have the water flow into the pond, which was located towards the back of the parlor. We had no idea how the pipe got there.

I was lucky that Tim was in the parlor with me at that time. I was sure that the cows were going to make me part of the doors. Another lesson learned. Never stand in front of a herd of cows when they want to go where you’re standing.
 

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911
Wow, great stories, I worked on a cotton farm in El Paso when I was a kid. I spent my summers on the end of a hoe, and in the fall I drug a cotton sack between my legs. We grew regular cotton and pima.
My time on the farm was a lot simpler than yours. It still made Navy life look good.
 
So, what is Pima? I drove to Florida once and passed through Alabama. This was back in the 70’s. I noticed seeing small shacks out in the cotton fields. What were they for? I also saw a lot of people picking cotton with large sacks around their neck. Were you paid by the hour or pound? How much? Just bring curious.
 
So, what is Pima? I drove to Florida once and passed through Alabama. This was back in the 70’s. I noticed seeing small shacks out in the cotton fields. What were they for? I also saw a lot of people picking cotton with large sacks around their neck. Were you paid by the hour or pound? How much? Just bring curious.
When I was hoeing weeds I was paid 50 cents an hour just like all the other local farm hands and the Braceros who came up from interior Mexico on a US Gov program to work on farms throughout the United States. That program was killed by our Government in the late 1960's for no good reason. It actually made a lot of sense. These guys came up for about 6 months and then returned to their homes during the winter months. We worked 50 hours a week and the summer temps were normally around 100F. It would kill me if I had to do that now.
When I picked cotton I did use a large cotton sack and was paid 2 cents a pound for regular cotton and 3 cents a pound for pima. Pima is a very high quality silky cotton that grows in a smaller 3 section pod than regular cotton that grows in a 5 section pod. It takes a lot of pima to fill one of those large bags. I was never very good a picking cotton, my younger brother was better than I was. Those pods open up and the tips of the pods are very sharp. My hands took it tough. I preferred to tie my sack around my waist and drag it between my legs rather than tie it around my neck
A regular Bracero would pick somewhere between 450 and 550 pounds per day. I was lucky to hit 200. I was in the field one time when an old Bracero picked over a 1000 pounds, that still impresses me as a serious athletic achievement.
If you ever get your hands on a pima shirt you can tell the difference right away, and they last a long time.
 
I know about Braceros. I would have thought that pay would have been based on the amount of cotton picked. Cotton is very light, so picking a 1000 pounds was a major accomplishment.

Are you saying that Braceros are no longer allowed into the U.S.?
 
I know about Braceros. I would have thought that pay would have been based on the amount of cotton picked. Cotton is very light, so picking a 1000 pounds was a major accomplishment.

Are you saying that Braceros are no longer allowed into the U.S.?

That program was abolished sometime in the late 60's as I recall. These braceros boarded buses in Mexico and were transported to processing centers in the United States where they underwent health exams and then were sent to farmers who participated in the program. Certain standards like housing had to be met. Most of these guys went back to the same farm year after year.

I heard that the program was cancelled because the Mexican police were robbing these guys when they returned home. I don't know if that is true,

The guy who picked 1000 lbs. would have earned $20, which was a lot of money in the 1950's.
 
I would not doubt for a moment that the Mexican police was robbing the Braceros. Back in those days, the Mexican police were very dishonest and corrupt. Things are supposed to be much different in Mexico with their police, but even so, I know of a few instances where a few of the police down there helped themselves to a few bribes.

On the farm that I worked, we had a few acres of tobacco that needed harvested. Tobacco is a pure cash crop. However, because we only had to work a few acres, the owner never bought any automated equipment. We harvested by hand. When the time came to harvest, we would go out into the field and take several thin and narrow long pieces of rectangular rods. At the end of the rod, we put a spearhead on it and then hand-pick the leaf of tobacco. Then, take the stem of the leaf and run the spearhead though the stem and push the leaf onto the rod. Normally, each rod would hold maybe anywhere from 6-10 leafs. When the rod was filled, we would then pull off the spearhead and put it on the next rod and so on and so forth.

When we were finished with the picking for the day, we would take the full rods, which were now on the wagon, to the barn and hang them on the hooks that were dangling from the ceiling. About halfway through the harvest, a tobacco trader or broker would come by and check out the crop. He would cut a deal with the owner and after the tobacco was dried, the owner would call someone, (I didn’t know all of the ins and outs of how the deal went down), but, I did know that when the the crop was dried and ready to go to market or a cigar maker, someone would come and pick it all up. How he was paid and how much the owner was paid, I do not know.

BTW, we also had to keep the rows weeded using a hoe and also check the leafs for tobacco worms. We sprayed the tobacco by hand using a pump sprayer to keep the beetles and grasshoppers from gorging the crop. All of us took turns working the tobacco field. Anytime we had like a half hour or so with nothing else to do, that was our fill-in job. Work the tobacco field.

The tobacco that we grew was used for the wrapper on cigars. At the time, there was maybe 3 or 4 cigar factories here in my area.
 
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A good friend of mine grew up working with tobacco and he wasn't any fonder of it than I was picking cotton.

But one thing the Braceros did that was very nice, was when they started singing those old Mexican ballets. We had several who had wonderful voices and they harmonized extremely well. I still remember the words to some of those old songs. This was way before the days of portable radios.

….. and you don't want to hear me sing. Trust me!
 
Back in probably the late 70’s, I had a Mexican in the back seat of my cruiser that I was transporting to the hospital to have a BAC taken when all of a sudden, he began to sing a song in Spanish, but the tune sounded familiar.

I asked him what song was he singing and he said, ”La Bamba.” He was really good and he was loaded. His BAC was around 1.8, if I remember correctly.
 
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Loving the farm stories! Farmer's daughter here and can relate to first tractor driving mishaps. I popped a wheelie at the turn row the first time I drove one of my dad's bigger John Deeres.

@911 ...you may have heard of Parchman Penitentiary in Mississippi--still called Parchman Farms locally. My granddaddy farmed cotton about 30 miles from there. Back in the day, lower level offenders could work out part of their sentence working for local farmers. The farmers provided room and board and the convicts got to serve time away from the pen. One of the guys working for my granddaddy--a huge, redheaded Scotch-Irishman with a temper--forgot to replace the oil pan plug on a tractor and burned up the engine. Granddaddy went looking for him around the farm but he was gone. When he called Parchman to report the missing convict, the official there was laughing so he could hardly talk. The guy had walked/hitchhiked 30 miles back to prison to avoid telling Granddaddy about the tractor! Granddaddy had a temper but was not a physically violent man. Guess the inmate wanted it to stay that way!
 
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Loving the farm stories! Farmer's daughter here and can relate to first tractor driving mishaps. I popped a wheelie at the turn row the first time I drove one of my dad's bigger John Deeres.

@911 ...you may have heard of Parchman Penitentiary in Mississippi--still called Parchman Farms locally. My granddaddy farmed cotton about 30 miles from there. Back in the day, lower level offenders could work out part of their sentence working for local farmers. The farmers provided room and board and the convicts got to serve time away from the pen. One of the guys working for my granddaddy--a huge, redheaded Scotch-Irishman with a temper--forgot to replace the oil pan plug on a tractor and burned up the engine. Granddaddy went looking for him around the farm but he was gone. When he called Parchman to report the missing convict, the official there was laughing so he could hardly talk. The guy had walked/hitchhiked 30 miles back to prison rather than telling Granddaddy about the tractor! Granddaddy had a temper but was not a physically violent man. Guess the inmate wanted it to stay that way!

I have heard stories of chain gangs and work crews from the older Troopers when I first began my career. Those guys, I never knew when they were just messing with me or keeping it real. The stories about these work details always included the words, “Down south.” Truthfully, I was never able to substantiate any of them until the late 80’s when I drove the family down to Florida.

As we were driving on one of the state routes, maybe 301 or 17, which I took instead of traveling all freeways, we came upon a chain gang in South Carolina and just like in the movies, 1 guard was on a horse with a shotgun and 1 guard was on the ground and standing maybe 50-60 feet from the closest prisoner. I slowed down to get a better look, but didn’t take a chance on stopping.
 
BTW, AnnieA, did you belong to 4-H?

Nope. :( We lived miles from the county seat. Dad farmed cotton and soybeans on a small scale (one full-time and a few seasonal farm hands), and my mom (CRNA) had horrible hours due to call. I'm the oldest so was babysitter, supper-cooker early on. They worked too hard to haul us around to extracurricular activities outside of school related stuff. We also didn't have animals; my dad sold his cattle when I was very young. For some reason, no one in our little town--even the ones with traditional farm animals--were involved much in 4-H. Not even my cousin who is now the 4-H agent for our county.
 
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Actually, 4-H is a really big deal here in PA and the way I hear it, 4-H is a big deal in many northern states. I enjoy going to the Pennsylvania State Farm Show each year in January and seeing the many animals that the 4-H members raise. If you are interested, s]check it out at pafarmshowcomplex.pa.gov. There is a lot of 4-H stuff going on there.

I have seen kids cry when their farm show animal gets auctioned off. Many of these kids raise an animal maybe for 1 or 2 years and then sell it at the auction. The money is supposed to go into their college fund. The 4-H also gives out scholarships.
 
I worked for the MS Extension Service years ago and there are some areas that have great programming, some not so great. It all depends on the county agent. My cousin has been our county 4-H agent for appx 15 years and she's super dynamic. She does the traditional farm 4-H activities, but also really reaches out to underprivileged kids with no farm background. She's passionate about that. Has gotten kids to college that would have never dreamed of getting to go without her career development programming and her help with scholarship applications.
 
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There’s also a program in our area called, “Step Up.” It us for mentally challenged youths and allows them to work with horses. I have no idea how or why horses were chosen, but it works.

When I worked the farm, it was the best time of my youth. I would rather work the farm then go on a date. No, not just to make money, but I learned so much about life and teamwork and connecting and interacting with people. I looked forward to going to work. I did a lot of dirty, tiring and even monotonous jobs, but I would do it all again.

The owner, my friend’s Dad, used to ask me how could I be so happy cleaning out the hog sties and shoveling cow dung. I would tell him what’s not to like? I have a job that I like and I’m getting paid to do it. I really seldom heard anyone complaining. Well, maybe bringing in the hay and when we painted the one barn. I learned early out that I would never be a painter.

I really enjoyed being around the animals. Another early lesson was that cows can’t kick backwards, but the can (and do) kick to the side. We had an old mule. Stubborn as they come. Another man and I was sent to bring “Old Earl” (the mule’s name) into the new barn for his yearly shots. For what, I never asked. Well, that mule wasn’t having any of it. We think he saw the Vet that came to check 2 cows for mastitis.

I tried luring him with food, no, carrots, apples, nothing worked. We were ready to give up when Old Earl just started walking on his own over to the barn. It was like he knew that he had to go over there. We looked at each other in puzzlement and just shrugged our shoulders. When he got to the barn, he stopped. We thought uh-oh, he’s going to turn around and go back. But, he stood there for probably 2 minutes and then he walked in. We didn’t get it, but whatever it was, we were glad he did what he did. Animals are like that, I learned. They are not predictable and will do some strange things.
 
Our housing development is being expanded by more and more homes being built. The whole development was built where a huge farm once stood, but is now down to a mere maybe 50 acres with just cattle, corn and grass, but no hay, just grass for grazing. (For those of you reading this and don’t know, hay is a grass.) The cattle is an all Angus herd and is only a breeding herd for beef.

I went out for a walk earlier this afternoon, and stopped for a few moments to watch the men putting vinyl siding on one of the new homes. (Kind of like watching paint dry. Yeah, I lead an exciting life.) Right behind the house is part of the huge cornfield, but what caught my eye was the one farmer walking really fast through the field. The farm is owned and farmed by 2 brothers. I watched to see what he was doing and when I saw him more clearer, I could see that he was also carrying a cattle prod. That kind of peaked my interest as I was also thinking, “Why the heck is he walking through the field carrying a cattle prod?”

I approached him and asked him what was going on. He told me that one of his bulls pushed through the gate and escaped. I asked him if he didn’t have the fence turned on and he said he did, except the gate isn’t electrified. I told him that I would give him a hand tracking down the bull. That’s when he asked me if I ever handled cattle before. I told him that I did, but it’s been awhile.

I told him that I was going to go back to the gate and start there. I hadn’t been in the field for more than 5 minutes when I heard a rustling noise. When I went over about 4 or 5 rows, I could see something through the corn stalks that was big and black and that’s when I knew that what I saw was the bull. I gave a loud whistle and the farmer came over to where I was and together, we chased the bull back to his pasture. There was no way we were going to put a rope around a 1200 pound bull and think we were going to pull him over there.

To me, at least, I had fun and a free trip down memory lane.
 
Cows can be funny. My grandfather had a ranch in Central Texas that we would visit during the summer. One Sunday morning I noticed that none of the cows were visible from the back porch. I asked my Grandfather where they were and he told me that they had gone to church. Sure enough, every Sunday morning the cows migrated over to the edge of his property and watched the church service being held in an outdoor tabernacle. I walked down there to see for myself and there they were, heads hanging over the wire fence soaking in that old time religion of the 1950's.
I don't know if it modified their behavior for the rest of the week or not. Come to think of it, I am not entirely sure that it affected the behavior of the humans either.
 
Cows are very funny.. my daughter and SIL who live out in the country, have afternoon cow visitors everyday (neighboring farm) at dinnertime, as the herd is making their way back to the barn for the night. They stop by their fence to check things out daily ... funny sight..
 
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I love these last 3 cow stories.

@Bonnie ask your daughter to play music for them next time they stop to say hi. I heard they like it.

Cows at the church service, how cute. Trying to find a bull? No way!
I saw some bull riding at a rodeo once, oh my gosh they're fierce.

We visited the UCONN School of Agriculture branch a few times; toured the milking parlor from a raised deck, saw all kinds of steel vats, equipment and machinery. They have a store and do deliver product to local markets. They have the best ice cream I ever tasted.
 
Cows can be funny. My grandfather had a ranch in Central Texas that we would visit during the summer. One Sunday morning I noticed that none of the cows were visible from the back porch. I asked my Grandfather where they were and he told me that they had gone to church. Sure enough, every Sunday morning the cows migrated over to the edge of his property and watched the church service being held in an outdoor tabernacle. I walked down there to see for myself and there they were, heads hanging over the wire fence soaking in that old time religion of the 1950's.
I don't know if it modified their behavior for the rest of the week or not. Come to think of it, I am not entirely sure that it affected the behavior of the humans either.

The were probably Baptists.
 

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