If there is one thing we here in south-central Wisconsin can all relate to, it is snow. For the first time in years, it seems as though we are actually getting use of our investments in snowmobiles and plows!
With all the snow that has fallen, and accumulated, here in Green County, life still goes on without interruption. Even on rural roads such as the one I live, plows have reliably maintained the roadways and intersections. Our road crews have effectively dispersed the six-foot albino dunes, making everyday life possible even in the rawest of weather.
Interested in learning how my grandparents would have dealt with such weather, I talked with some friends of mine about growing up in Wisconsin during the pre-World War II years. After all, I personally love to hear the line, "This is the first real winter we've had since I was a kid!" So then, my question would be, what were the winters like when you were a kid?
Daryl was born in 1927. His father worked as hired labor for farmers in the region, earning a comfortable wage of $25 per month. He was hired out for the year, and Daryl recalls spending his formative years in Orangeville, Albany and Browntown, as his father constantly relocated for work.
On one evening I sat with Daryl and his wife Marie. I wondered, how did the winters of the 1930s stack up to the cold weather season of today?
"As kids", Daryl said, "I think we were more inclined to remember the bad times." He went on to explain that he didn't believe the winters of his childhood were much worse than today - the difference lies in snow removal, which back then, was "nonexistent." Growing up in Cadiz Township, Daryl remembers the one plow that tirelessly steamed back and forth on county roads. It was an old Caterpillar with a wing, and only traversed the main, high-traveled county roads. It moved snow at a snail's pace of two miles per hour. "It took the township forever to clear anything," Daryl said.
One particularly brutal winter hit south-central Wisconsin in 1937. That year, Marie recalls walking to school on top of fence posts, not knowing they were there! She cut across fields and walked on top of snowdrifts that completely submerged fence rows. Along with the snow came ice, and the winter of 1937 must have been uniquely vicious - both Daryl and Marie shared insight to the conditions.
"It was so icy", Marie described, "That we couldn't even walk up the hill!" In order to get home from school, the kids wrapped barbed wire around their boots to get traction on the ice. Since roads were never salted in the 1930s, and since sand was rarely used, farmers took the initiative in making country roads passable. Daryl recalls, "No [farmer] in those days had rubber tires on their tractors. Everyone had steel wheels, and would drive up and down the roads with their tractors to break up the surface." At this time, Daryl was attending school in Cadiz Township. The schoolhouse was located on the near-vertical Cadiz Hill, the sides of which, when combined with ice, kids and sleds, became a widely popular recess destination. The kids were told not to sled down the hill; good grief, if a car came there was no way either party could stop! The warnings fell on deaf ears, and it wasn't until the entire hillside was sanded that sledding on Cadiz Hill subsided.
During this same season, Daryl recalls having to drive to Brodhead to get a vaccine. "We did it", he explains, "in (a neighbor's) Model T Ford. He had chains on the rear tires, and one chain on front - that was the only way you could steer." Four-wheel-drive was nonexistent, and three chains on a Model T was the only way Daryl was able to make the five-mile journey.
I asked how often schools were closed due to weather, to which I received a unanimous, "NEVER". Daryl remembers walking to school when "it was so [expletive] cold that if you stopped you froze." Nor was ice a deterrent from holding classes - kids simply donned ice skates and skated to school! In all her years of schooling, Marie remembers one day that she stayed home. On that day it was so ungodly cold, her mother did not even let her out of the house. At this occasion I asked the universal question: How far did you have to walk to school? Keeping in mind that classes were never canceled due to inclement weather, Daryl responded with, "a mile and a tenth."
Getting to school was not all bad for Daryl. The school in the next district over had been closed, and one of Daryl's neighbors consistently drove to and from classes. They would pass his house, allowing him a chance to hitch a ride. Talk about jumping from the frying pan and into the fire - these particular neighbors had just moved from the Oklahoma region, where America was at the height of the Dust Bowl. Daryl's neighbors had witnessed dirt storms, drought for years on end, and swarms of locusts that "blotted out the sun." The insects ate everything, including wooden shovel handles and leather harnesses right off the horses' heads. They came to Wisconsin, to Green County, and gave my uncle rides to school during winter.
Sitting here in my office today, I have seen three township snowplows drive past, on my rural dead-end road. Despite the weather and snow accumulations thus far, I know that I can drive across the county today to fulfill various commitments. Hearing stories like the ones told by Daryl and Marie puts a certain perspective on this seemingly minute fact of life that we now take for granted, so thanks guys! In the way of snow removal, we certainly have come along way from a single Caterpillar and steel wheels.
Tune in next week.
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes
a weekly column for Friday editions of
the Times. He can be reached
at dwegs@tds.net.
With all the snow that has fallen, and accumulated, here in Green County, life still goes on without interruption. Even on rural roads such as the one I live, plows have reliably maintained the roadways and intersections. Our road crews have effectively dispersed the six-foot albino dunes, making everyday life possible even in the rawest of weather.
Interested in learning how my grandparents would have dealt with such weather, I talked with some friends of mine about growing up in Wisconsin during the pre-World War II years. After all, I personally love to hear the line, "This is the first real winter we've had since I was a kid!" So then, my question would be, what were the winters like when you were a kid?
Daryl was born in 1927. His father worked as hired labor for farmers in the region, earning a comfortable wage of $25 per month. He was hired out for the year, and Daryl recalls spending his formative years in Orangeville, Albany and Browntown, as his father constantly relocated for work.
On one evening I sat with Daryl and his wife Marie. I wondered, how did the winters of the 1930s stack up to the cold weather season of today?
"As kids", Daryl said, "I think we were more inclined to remember the bad times." He went on to explain that he didn't believe the winters of his childhood were much worse than today - the difference lies in snow removal, which back then, was "nonexistent." Growing up in Cadiz Township, Daryl remembers the one plow that tirelessly steamed back and forth on county roads. It was an old Caterpillar with a wing, and only traversed the main, high-traveled county roads. It moved snow at a snail's pace of two miles per hour. "It took the township forever to clear anything," Daryl said.
One particularly brutal winter hit south-central Wisconsin in 1937. That year, Marie recalls walking to school on top of fence posts, not knowing they were there! She cut across fields and walked on top of snowdrifts that completely submerged fence rows. Along with the snow came ice, and the winter of 1937 must have been uniquely vicious - both Daryl and Marie shared insight to the conditions.
"It was so icy", Marie described, "That we couldn't even walk up the hill!" In order to get home from school, the kids wrapped barbed wire around their boots to get traction on the ice. Since roads were never salted in the 1930s, and since sand was rarely used, farmers took the initiative in making country roads passable. Daryl recalls, "No [farmer] in those days had rubber tires on their tractors. Everyone had steel wheels, and would drive up and down the roads with their tractors to break up the surface." At this time, Daryl was attending school in Cadiz Township. The schoolhouse was located on the near-vertical Cadiz Hill, the sides of which, when combined with ice, kids and sleds, became a widely popular recess destination. The kids were told not to sled down the hill; good grief, if a car came there was no way either party could stop! The warnings fell on deaf ears, and it wasn't until the entire hillside was sanded that sledding on Cadiz Hill subsided.
During this same season, Daryl recalls having to drive to Brodhead to get a vaccine. "We did it", he explains, "in (a neighbor's) Model T Ford. He had chains on the rear tires, and one chain on front - that was the only way you could steer." Four-wheel-drive was nonexistent, and three chains on a Model T was the only way Daryl was able to make the five-mile journey.
I asked how often schools were closed due to weather, to which I received a unanimous, "NEVER". Daryl remembers walking to school when "it was so [expletive] cold that if you stopped you froze." Nor was ice a deterrent from holding classes - kids simply donned ice skates and skated to school! In all her years of schooling, Marie remembers one day that she stayed home. On that day it was so ungodly cold, her mother did not even let her out of the house. At this occasion I asked the universal question: How far did you have to walk to school? Keeping in mind that classes were never canceled due to inclement weather, Daryl responded with, "a mile and a tenth."
Getting to school was not all bad for Daryl. The school in the next district over had been closed, and one of Daryl's neighbors consistently drove to and from classes. They would pass his house, allowing him a chance to hitch a ride. Talk about jumping from the frying pan and into the fire - these particular neighbors had just moved from the Oklahoma region, where America was at the height of the Dust Bowl. Daryl's neighbors had witnessed dirt storms, drought for years on end, and swarms of locusts that "blotted out the sun." The insects ate everything, including wooden shovel handles and leather harnesses right off the horses' heads. They came to Wisconsin, to Green County, and gave my uncle rides to school during winter.
Sitting here in my office today, I have seen three township snowplows drive past, on my rural dead-end road. Despite the weather and snow accumulations thus far, I know that I can drive across the county today to fulfill various commitments. Hearing stories like the ones told by Daryl and Marie puts a certain perspective on this seemingly minute fact of life that we now take for granted, so thanks guys! In the way of snow removal, we certainly have come along way from a single Caterpillar and steel wheels.
Tune in next week.
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes
a weekly column for Friday editions of
the Times. He can be reached
at dwegs@tds.net.
