Bringing Home the Cows

I have heard the saying, “. . . this and that till the cows come home.” The cows will come home on their own if their herder shows up very tardy.

I do have pleasant memories of going after the seven or eight cows we used to have when I was a young girl living with my parents and Sister Katie. Katie was three years older than I.

Our farm had a day pasture and a night pasture. The first part of the pasture lane would get very muddy in the spring because of a rainy season. To keep shoes or bare feet clean, I would inch up real close to the fence, while the cows’ udders would get real messy at such times and would have to be cleaned up before milking.

When the days became cooler and the mornings a bit crisp, I would run to the spot where the first cow got up to warm my bare feet while the other cows got started. Sometimes, too, there was a newborn calf by its mother’s side; it was a thrill to be the first one to find the calf and share the news.

In the night pasture there was one lone tree along the lane, and in the pasture thistles, milkweed, goldenrods and a half-dozen small green mounds which I could not figure out how they got there. This lane came off the big lane and at this junction there was a nice gate, while across the way a makeshift gate was made by stretching two barbed wires across two poles guarding the larger day pasture. Further up along the lane stood an old neglected tree which had never been trimmed or pruned, yet produced its share of good eating apples, gnarled and yellow. Most apples had several good bites in them and the cows tasted them too. Farther along the south fence stood a big bush of green and reddish gooseberries, ripe in late summer. Any time when I came for the cows I would detour over to that bush and enjoy its fruit, while I called for the cows, still hidden below the rise which led to a low spot. One by one, they would show up.

Soon all were home in the barnyard. Now I would pump by hand this good cold well water till the wooden trough was full and every cow’s thirst was satisfied.

Then they willingly went to their stanchions to devour their gallon tin of chips. Either Katie or I would hand spray each cow with fly spray to relieve them of the pesky flies and to reduce the switching of their tails while milking. Now we took our pails and the one- or three-legged stools and sat down to milk. Sometimes singing or whistling, we enjoyed milking fast so the milk would rise fast and foam into our two-and-a-half gallon pails. The three or four cats in the rear would need to have their dishes filled a time or two.

The milk was carried to the milk house, back of the pump house, and poured into the big hopper, which then flowed into the strainer through the neck of the ten-gallon milk can. When the milking was finished, we tried to hurry the cows out of the barn as fast as possible to avoid having the concrete floor all splattered [with their droppings], back again to the lane leading to the night pasture.

Another landmark was the wild cherry tree along the line fence in the big hill field. From the top of this hill, you could see over two fields out to the road and far beyond for miles around. It was delightful to be there. The tree was a haven for the blackbirds and many other birds to feast on, and to nest in.

Along the far edge of this field, my father decided one year to plant our potato patch. Dad had his color-matched team, Maude and Bell, hitched to a neighbor’s borrowed potato planter. The seed potatoes were in the hopper on the back, and I was to sit in the back to see to it that each piece of potato would find its right niche in the rotating blade. I took my chore gloves along to wear, because I did not like the feel of those dry potatoes. On the next-to-the-last round, my glove got caught in the wheel and took my finger where it was not supposed to be and cut it badly, making it bleed profusely. I did not say anything till we got to the end of the row. When Dad saw it, he said, “You go home and let Mother fix it. I can finish this up.” It healed well, only a little crooked, but I can still wear a thimble on that finger. That was a good memory of working with my Dad on a nice summer day. At that young age, had I been asked to do an errand after dark, the screech owl’s mournful voice would have given me the creeps, but the friendly whippoorwill was music to the ears.

by Clara Miller

This collection of writings by and about Clara Yoder Miller has been gathered by her children and grandchildren, in honor of her ninety-ninth birthday. Buy the book at Amazon.com:

http://www.amazon.com/Celebrating-Clara-Miller-Words-Images/dp/1456532596/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1297169028&sr=8-1

Janette

She sits in the crowded hall, alone in her wheelchair. As we approach, her eyes light up and she begins to smile. Unfortunately for her, she knows where she is and has her full mental faculties. But she is surrounded by other patients who are unaware of their surroundings, and nurses busily doing their jobs. Her name is Janette. We were privileged to meet her and her husband Roland when my daughter was five years old. They were always kind and hospitable and now we are trying to return the favor.

Janette was born in 1926. She grew up on a farm close to Lake Lure, NC. Her father was an excellent carpenter and her mother a talented seamstress. Unlike many of the surrounding families, she only had one sibling – a younger sister who died at the age of five. Janette said her mother never recovered from her sister’s death. Suddenly she was the only child and had to take on the extra responsibilities that come with being raised on a farm. She never had time to play and, sadly, the innocence every child should experience was stolen the day her sister died. She went to school in a one-room schoolhouse, which is where she met Roland, her husband of fifty-seven years.

Roland came from a family of eight. Like Janette, he was raised on a farm. They married soon after they finished school and had one son. They always remained close to their families, and never moved more than thirty miles away from their birthplace. Like many men in this area, Roland worked at a furniture factory for most of his life. When we first met Roland and Janette they were in their late seventies, and still very active. Roland was usually outside working in the garden, cutting wood, or maintaining his old tractor. Their well-maintained brick home was always warm and cozy. A few years later, Janette fell and broke her hip. She was sent to a nursing home to recover, and even though her hip healed, she still prefers her wheelchair.

Eventually, both Roland and Janette were put into a nursing home. Soon thereafter, we went for our first visit and were saddened to find out that Roland had died. Janette was left alone. Her only surviving family members are her son and granddaughter, who live hundreds of miles away. She always looks forward to their visits, but they are few and far between. After spending time with her, we are always sad to leave. In the back of our minds we know this may be the last time we see her, but we still hope that when we return and walk down that long, crowded hallway, her smiling face will be there to greet us.

So what forgotten wisdom have I learned from Janette? That life can be lonely for the elderly. So far all my interviews have been with people who are still active and have amazing support systems. Janette doesn’t have either of those. She is blessed and cursed to have outlived most of her family and friends. Like many residents in the nursing home, she has been left behind.

I also realized that if I make it to eighty and my children put me in a nursing home, I hope I lose my mind first! Having your mental faculties does have its advantages when you have a meaningful life and are surrounded by those you love. But when you are confined to a wheelchair in a house of strangers, it can be worse than death itself.

by Aubrey Avila

Janette is someone who you always want to be friends with. She is sweet and considerate. Seeing her in that nursing home makes me realize that growing old is sad. Janette is always happy to see us and has been kind to us. Visiting her feels like we are returning the favor. She has a very good sense of humor and makes everyone laugh. At eighty-four, she is someone I look up to.

by Ansleigh Avila

Viola

Viola is as pretty as her name. At eighty-two, her blue eyes still sparkle against her silver hair. She is quick to smile and even though she may not consider herself a “southern belle,” she has all the qualifications. She was born and raised in the same small town where she still resides – Old Fort, NC. She came from a family of eleven children. Her father was a soldier in the Navy and fought in World War I. Her family didn’t own a horse and buggy, so they would walk the two-and-a-half miles to town each day. During the summer, Viola and her brothers sold berries to the townspeople. This required picking the fruit and walking to town with gallons of berries. Each gallon sold for fifteen cents. All eleven children worked hard on the farm. They had no electricity, no indoor plumbing, no radio or television. So what did eleven children do without all the modern conveniences that we take for granted today? They got creative! All eleven are self-taught musicians. Viola and her sister both play the guitar. Her brothers learned to play the fiddle, guitar, and piano, all by ear. Music was their entertainment. With eleven children, there was always plenty of fun to be had!

Viola married at eighteen and had three adored sons. After twenty-five years of marriage, her husband Duane divorced her. She was heartbroken, because he was the only man she ever loved. He remarried, but she did not, and she always held out hope that Duane would have a change of heart. Her faithfulness paid off. After seventeen years of separation, Viola and Duane remarried. Adding to the happy occasion, their oldest son performed the wedding ceremony. This was by far the happiest time of her life. Although in his sixties, Duane worked hard to build a beautiful mountain home for them to live in. They would have celebrated their twentieth (really their forty-fifth!) wedding anniversary this last spring, but unfortunately Duane died shortly before that day came. This has been Viola’s saddest time. Staying busy has helped with her loneliness.

So what Forgotten Wisdom did I learn from Viola? Most importantly, I learned that patience and forgiveness will always bring unexpected blessings. Viola regained the love of her life. During their second marriage, she never brought up the past. She forgave Duane completely, and even during their seventeen-year separation, she never spoke badly about him. That is grace in its truest form. Her patience was rewarded and her forgiving spirit allowed her to find peace and happiness. Her only regret was that Duane didn’t come back to her sooner.

It also made me realize that love should be cherished. If you have it, appreciate it! It’s not just about romance; it’s about forgiveness, loyalty, honor, and perseverance. It’s hoping for the best, and sticking through the worst. Viola is an amazing example of this, which is why she will always be as pretty as her name!

by Aubrey Avila

Viola has always and will always be one of the sweetest women you will ever meet. After we sat down and talked to her, I learned two things from her. First of all, I learned that people, and especially children, can live, survive, and function without television, electricity, the internet, cars, and video games. The second thing I learned from Viola was that patience pays off. She waited seventeen years for Duane to come back, and finally she got what she wanted! AI think Viola is someone that everyone should look up to.

by Ansleigh Avila

Herb & Evelyn

There has always been something soothing about my grandparents. Being around them was like applying Aloe vera after spending a blistering day in the sun. They give me comfort and peace.

Now, this may seem ironic to those who know them, because, after 57 years of marriage, my grandparents still mix as well as oil and vinegar. Yet their constant bickering is familiar and still quite amusing. They offered me stability and wisdom when I needed it most. Though they are not perfect, I am forever indebted to them. I am also thankful that they have been such an influential part of my life. So who better to start my blog with? The following is gleaned from a recent conversation with them.

My grandmother was born in St. Francisville, Illinois. She is 76. Her mother was German and her father was French. She’s the oldest of three girls. She was raised in a single-parent family, which at the time was very rare. My grandfather was born in Flint, Michigan. Now 77, he also came from a strong single mother of Scottish descent. This is their first similarity: both my grandparents came from broken homes, a fact I realized only recently. They both agreed that they were happy, or more accurately, that they were not sad. Perhaps “content” would be an accurate description.

My grandmother feels her talent is crafts: doing needlepoint, sewing, and crocheting. My grandfather feels his talent is his ability to talk (all who know him can attest to this!). My grandmother can’t decide the best thing that ever happened to her. It’s a close tie between meeting my grandfather and learning about God. The best thing for my grandfather was meeting my grandmother. Interestingly, my grandmother has said that as a child she had no imagination: she was focused on surviving day to day, and dreams and aspirations were not an option. At the time, it was expected that a girl would get married and have children, so that is what she did. My grandfather, on the other hand, readily admitted he was a dreamer. His biggest dream was becoming a concert harmonica player.

The happiest time in my grandmother’s life was her teenage years. They were poor, but she had her mom and three sisters. The saddest time was when her mom died. This was over twenty years ago, but it brought tears to her eyes thinking of all the good times they enjoyed. This reaffirmed in my mind that no matter how old we are, we still need our parents. The happiest time for my grandfather is now. The saddest time in his life was when my mom (his oldest daughter) and my dad got divorced. He had to try to mend the broken hearts of his grandchildren, reaffirming the fact that divorce damages the hearts of all involved.

So what forgotten wisdom do my grandparents offer? First of all: grandparents are powerful! They may have regrets about their own children, but they have a chance to redeem themselves with their grandchildren and great-grandchildren. If they choose to, they will be able to influence lives of future generations long after they are gone. They can offer support, guidance, and unconditional love. That is something every child needs more of.

Secondly, life is not about finding bliss; it’s about finding contentment. My grandparents are satisfied with what they have and with the life they have chosen. In a world that is constantly striving for more, this is an amazing accomplishment. They are not out searching for something better; they’ve already found it!

by Aubrey Avila

I learned a few things I will never forget after interviewing my grandparents. First of all: don’t get married young. That is one of my grandma’s biggest regrets. The second thing I learned is that they never regretted serving God. They said it is one of the best things they have done with their life. Lastly, even though they fight and bicker, they will always love each other.

by Ansleigh Avila