Boon Lake – Part 5
The farming in Boon Lake was going well. Were we getting rich? I had no idea. There was always food on the table. We butchered our own beef, pork and poultry. The fruit cellar in the basement was filled to the brim as the first winter began in 1966.
Orlin had scored countless dozens of quart and pint fruit jars at the sales barn in Hutchinson. There was one Sears chest freezer in the furnace room. We canned crates of fruit into sauces. When Ginsberg’s grocery in Hector had crates of pears, peaches, plums, and apricots in, and on sale, Orlin’s mom let us know and we were there. The hardest part was peeling pears. Those skins were tough. Peaches could be scalded and they slipped right off. Sugar was bought in 50 lb. bags. I was getting money each week by the fall of 1966 from the eggs that the egg fellow picked up. That was the grocery money. Sweet. Tomatoes were scalded and precooked and packed tight into quart jars. The enameled canner held eight quart jars at a time. With Mom’s instructions, I knew how long each batch had to be in boiling water. Cold-packing was the in thing. Pressure cookers were more than my family dealt with. When each of the two part lids did their thing, the audible ping of each jar as it cooled was priceless.
Orlin’s nephew, Frank, loved to spend time with us. During the summer of 1966, he was a usual and man could he eat. He was also very willing to pitch in. We had a lot of grass that needed mowing. At first he was quite frisky with speed but soon learned . . . what Orlin said needed to be adhered to. Frank was also good entertainment for Carrie.
Winter came and it didn’t scare us. Dad had built his own snowblower that attached to the Allis tractor via a power take-off shaft. When Dad had their yard blown out, he made the three mile drive to our farm and took care of the snow in short order. We had a huge loop of a driveway from the initial run off of the tar road. Carrie was able to stand at the window sill and watch grandpa. She was also just tall enough to bite down on the window sills. Little teeth marks in the varnish. If the snow was too deep and Dad had not gotten to our yard as yet, the cans of fresh milk, one at a time, were put on the aluminium scoop shovel. Orlin pulled the make-shift sled and I made sure it didn’t topple off the the shovel. It was a good thing both Orlin and I had toned up. Many trips and a few into the house to check on Carrie to see how her Cheerios were holding out. God willing, Carrie was entertained enough watching us through various windows that she didn’t get into trouble. Having had her one year birthday in October of 1966, she was curious and a daredevil in trying to climb. Doors going upstairs or down into the back entry were secured. Whatever she decided to do was contained on one level. The bottom portion of our gas cooking range was storage of pots and pans. Those could well be found anywhere when I got back in the house.
Winter months were set with the same schedules each day. The dairy barn, pig barn and chicken barn were top priority. The possibility of getting bored . . . not!
—— to be continued.
“There rose such a clatter, I jumped from my bed to see what was the matter . . . ” Yup, that is how I awoke this morning. I thought the entire house was coming apart. Dennis had gotten up earlier than usual and had decided to tidy up his bed. What the heck! It is small quarters in his bedroom and he usually doesn’t venture into bed making. He knew that I was really weary last night as I had put in a strong day on the quilt that is in the sewing studio. Yup, I was dead to the world.
Dennis had gotten behind his bed which is pushed up against the west wall of the room. He brushed against the cabinet that is on the west wall that holds 20 of the Heston belt buckles that he has been collecting since 1975. The slender latch was pushed open by his sleeve and there were belt buckles flying off and out of the narrow shelves. Heavy metal buckles hitting the laminate flooring . . . it had sounded as if the storm that had been predicted for early Friday morning was ensuing. That was the start of a Friday morning on Stauffer Avenue. It’s almost time to start supper and the buckles have been picked up and are still on Dennis’ bed. The problem . . . he doesn’t trust himself to get back between the bed and wall while reading the continuation of years that are on the buckles that need to be returned to their rightful places. I’m chuckling. I’ll take care of them before he is ready for bed.
My hope is that the weekend is enjoyed, relaxing can be done by doing things that were put off during the work week . . . for those that still have a job to go to. For the rest of you that are housebound . . . text me. I will deliver one ole cowboy that will fill your day with unexpected events.