You learned a bit about my school life…now I’ll tell you more of my home life. Here are some farm memories..in no particular order:
- My dad was a farmer when I was growing up. He was busy all the time. My parents did a good job of hiding it from us kids, but there was a lot of financial stress. It was at that time that my dad went to school to learn how to “talk fast” (to be an auctioneer). He also referreed basketball in the winter. He did odd jobs for other farmers. He worked hard (still does).
- I remember long, hot, busy summers. My brother helped my dad in the field…I helped my mom in the house. Often we had teen boys living with us during the summers to help my dad on the farm. I always thought that was fun. My mom didn’t. I think it was something about all the extra laundry and cooking they caused. :) Those summers, I would bake a batch of cookies every day. By the time I was a fifth grader…I could bake them with my hands tied behind my back (er, so to speak).
- I remember taking lunches to the field during wheat harvest. I loved it. My mom didn’t. Sometimes I would spend the day at my grandma’s helping her get food ready to take to the field. I also spent a lot of Saturdays at Grandma’s when my dad had auctions before I was old enough to help. I LOVED being at Grandma’s. I got my love for baking and cooking from her.
- When I was old enough to learn to drive, my dad tried teaching me to drive a stick shift. I have extreme traumatic memories of that. Driving a stick shift vehicle was harder for me than popping a balloon with my bootie….and we all know that the balloon never popped. Neither did I learn to drive a stick shift. I still break out in hives just thinking about it.
- Kevin and I were in 4-H…and raised pigs each year. I always started the summer pretending that my cute little pigs were my pets. After a long…oh, I don’t know…two days or so…the pigs weren’t cute anymore. They were big, smelly, and a lot of work. And one summer….they kept getting out of their pen. Sometimes I would be the only one home. Like I could get big, fat, snorting pigs back into a pen by myself? Oh the stress.
- And also….about the pigs? We took them to the fair every year to be judged. Have you ever tried to walk a pig around in a big pen in front of judges and before a big crowd of people? (hives, again) Anyway, one year, both mine and Kevin’s pigs looked exceptional to the judges. He got grand champion pig, and I got reserve grand champion pig. We both got Golden Pig Trophies (if you think I’m kidding, I’m not). It was one proud day when I walked away from the fair with my golden pig trophy. Wonder what ever happened to that trophy?
- Here’s my most favorite memory of growing up on a farm: Oh wait…that’s going to take too long to write. I think that will be a part of chapter three. :)
Sooo…did any of you grow up on a farm? Anybody break out in hives driving a stick shift? Ever have any pigs in your yard? Have any Golden Pig Tropheys to brag about?!