Many readers of this column grew up on what were known, however quaintly, as "family farms." A square mile, or "section," of 640 acres, was commonly divided into four 160-acre plots. Thus, many farms around here were 160 acres, miniscule by today's standards.
Our farm was a bit larger, 160 rocky acres bordered on two sides by the old County Farm, plus another 60 acres of slightly more productive land across the road, bordering Wisconsin 69, just west of the Monroe Town Hall and recycling center.
Typical farms of that era constituted a small dairy herd supplemented by a hog enterprise using the nourishing whey, a byproduct of cheese factories. Farms were augmented by a flock of chickens, care and management of which was the responsibility of the hard-working farm wife. The chicken yard served dual purpose with an orchard containing apple, cherry, and plum trees. Chickens were thought to keep the insect pests partially under control, benefiting the fruit trees.
With the milk, meat, eggs, fruit trees, and a vegetable garden, these farms grew much of their own food. Farms were self-contained recycling centers. The cats enjoyed meat scraps, and the farm dog anxiously awaited bones. Vegetable and fruit peels and seeds were tossed out to the chickens. Nothing was wasted, including expired vehicle license plates.
These farms grew their own alfalfa, oats, and corn for the livestock and chickens. Corn and oats were stored in wooden cribs and bins. The top floor of barns contained a bin for ground feed to supplement hay and silage for the cows.
These farms are romanticized in stories and books - to the extent that one wonders if some of these authors had ever spent much time on a working farm. Yes, there are some nice memories, particularly of threshing time even though it was hard work. But some work was not pleasant - I especially hated grinding feed with that old hammer mill. It was noisy, dusty, and dirty. It was that process by which a mixture of corn, oats, bran, and oil meal was stored in a bin above the cow area.
I wasn't the brightest kid around, but some things did not escape my notice. I often wondered, "If farm life is so wonderful, how come I'm out here with this manure fork in my hand, and the guy who gave that speech at the FFA banquet last night, extolling the virtues of farm life, is making his living doing something else?"
Speakers characteristically seem to think they have to patronize rural audiences. But then, I have always been a skeptic of sorts.
Which brings me to my point - how many of these characters who claim a rural background are legitimate?
I have devised a simple one-question test to determine authenticity of those claiming a Midwest rural background of several decades ago. But I had never administered it to validate its legitimacy, until recently.
As part of Turner Hall's Swiss Heritage program, a bunch of us were on a wonderful trip to Switzerland last September. At one of our always-exceptional dinners at a hotel in Unterbach, I was at a linen-covered candle lit table with Randy Schneeberger and his wife, Joey; his brother Delbert and wife, Nancy; and his sister, Ginny. As would be expected on such an occasion, we were reminiscing about our Swiss ancestors, their migration to America, and our childhoods on a Wisconsin dairy farm.
Readers will recall that Randy was a former director of the Monroe High School band. In retirement, of sorts anyway, he directs the Monroe City Band and participates in many other activities, musical and otherwise. I never had any reason to doubt Randy's veracity on his farm background or anything else. But this was the prime occasion on which to affirm both his farm background, and the validity of my test.
"Randy, I would like to test you - to authenticate your farm background." He agreed to take the test.
"OK, Randy, in the "old days,' what did farmers do with their expired license plates?"
In the soft glow of the candlelight everyone was quiet, waiting with anticipation. With a sip of wine Randy thought for a few moments. Then slowly, thoughtfully, deliberately, he said, "Well, I'll tell you what we used to do with them. We used them to patch up the rat holes in the grain bin."
Bingo ... That was precisely the answer I was looking for. Only an authentic farm boy of that era could possibly answer that question correctly. No lame guesses like "nailing them on the garage wall," or other eyewash that would expose the interviewee as a naive impostor.
Never to my knowledge was this low-key technology for dealing with rodents heralded in any romanticized literature of rural life. Never was it offered as recommended technology by Agricultural Experiment Station publications in any land grant college with which I have been associated, University of Wisconsin-Madison, University of Arizona, University of Minnesota, New Mexico State, or University of California-Berkeley - yes, although not usually thought of in those terms, UC Berkeley is a land grant university with a College of Agriculture (now the College of Natural Resources).
And never have any county agricultural extension programs featured that simple technology as recommended practice.
No reference to this low-key technology in the literature, fiction or non-fiction; never featured in extension programs or ag experiment station publications. I don't even recall it discussed by farmers talking among themselves. Either the topic was deemed unworthy of discussion, or there was implicit agreement among its practitioners to keep it behind a veil of secrecy. Fading with passage of time, this unsophisticated technology seems to merit not even a footnote to agricultural history.
It is thus that Randy's authenticity as a farm boy is verified beyond doubt. And my one question test was validated, though its validity is diminished now that the secret is out.
- John Waelti's column appears every Friday in the Times. He can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net.
Our farm was a bit larger, 160 rocky acres bordered on two sides by the old County Farm, plus another 60 acres of slightly more productive land across the road, bordering Wisconsin 69, just west of the Monroe Town Hall and recycling center.
Typical farms of that era constituted a small dairy herd supplemented by a hog enterprise using the nourishing whey, a byproduct of cheese factories. Farms were augmented by a flock of chickens, care and management of which was the responsibility of the hard-working farm wife. The chicken yard served dual purpose with an orchard containing apple, cherry, and plum trees. Chickens were thought to keep the insect pests partially under control, benefiting the fruit trees.
With the milk, meat, eggs, fruit trees, and a vegetable garden, these farms grew much of their own food. Farms were self-contained recycling centers. The cats enjoyed meat scraps, and the farm dog anxiously awaited bones. Vegetable and fruit peels and seeds were tossed out to the chickens. Nothing was wasted, including expired vehicle license plates.
These farms grew their own alfalfa, oats, and corn for the livestock and chickens. Corn and oats were stored in wooden cribs and bins. The top floor of barns contained a bin for ground feed to supplement hay and silage for the cows.
These farms are romanticized in stories and books - to the extent that one wonders if some of these authors had ever spent much time on a working farm. Yes, there are some nice memories, particularly of threshing time even though it was hard work. But some work was not pleasant - I especially hated grinding feed with that old hammer mill. It was noisy, dusty, and dirty. It was that process by which a mixture of corn, oats, bran, and oil meal was stored in a bin above the cow area.
I wasn't the brightest kid around, but some things did not escape my notice. I often wondered, "If farm life is so wonderful, how come I'm out here with this manure fork in my hand, and the guy who gave that speech at the FFA banquet last night, extolling the virtues of farm life, is making his living doing something else?"
Speakers characteristically seem to think they have to patronize rural audiences. But then, I have always been a skeptic of sorts.
Which brings me to my point - how many of these characters who claim a rural background are legitimate?
I have devised a simple one-question test to determine authenticity of those claiming a Midwest rural background of several decades ago. But I had never administered it to validate its legitimacy, until recently.
As part of Turner Hall's Swiss Heritage program, a bunch of us were on a wonderful trip to Switzerland last September. At one of our always-exceptional dinners at a hotel in Unterbach, I was at a linen-covered candle lit table with Randy Schneeberger and his wife, Joey; his brother Delbert and wife, Nancy; and his sister, Ginny. As would be expected on such an occasion, we were reminiscing about our Swiss ancestors, their migration to America, and our childhoods on a Wisconsin dairy farm.
Readers will recall that Randy was a former director of the Monroe High School band. In retirement, of sorts anyway, he directs the Monroe City Band and participates in many other activities, musical and otherwise. I never had any reason to doubt Randy's veracity on his farm background or anything else. But this was the prime occasion on which to affirm both his farm background, and the validity of my test.
"Randy, I would like to test you - to authenticate your farm background." He agreed to take the test.
"OK, Randy, in the "old days,' what did farmers do with their expired license plates?"
In the soft glow of the candlelight everyone was quiet, waiting with anticipation. With a sip of wine Randy thought for a few moments. Then slowly, thoughtfully, deliberately, he said, "Well, I'll tell you what we used to do with them. We used them to patch up the rat holes in the grain bin."
Bingo ... That was precisely the answer I was looking for. Only an authentic farm boy of that era could possibly answer that question correctly. No lame guesses like "nailing them on the garage wall," or other eyewash that would expose the interviewee as a naive impostor.
Never to my knowledge was this low-key technology for dealing with rodents heralded in any romanticized literature of rural life. Never was it offered as recommended technology by Agricultural Experiment Station publications in any land grant college with which I have been associated, University of Wisconsin-Madison, University of Arizona, University of Minnesota, New Mexico State, or University of California-Berkeley - yes, although not usually thought of in those terms, UC Berkeley is a land grant university with a College of Agriculture (now the College of Natural Resources).
And never have any county agricultural extension programs featured that simple technology as recommended practice.
No reference to this low-key technology in the literature, fiction or non-fiction; never featured in extension programs or ag experiment station publications. I don't even recall it discussed by farmers talking among themselves. Either the topic was deemed unworthy of discussion, or there was implicit agreement among its practitioners to keep it behind a veil of secrecy. Fading with passage of time, this unsophisticated technology seems to merit not even a footnote to agricultural history.
It is thus that Randy's authenticity as a farm boy is verified beyond doubt. And my one question test was validated, though its validity is diminished now that the secret is out.
- John Waelti's column appears every Friday in the Times. He can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net.
