This was my Grandpa and Grandpa Scott's farm. I have so many good memories of my time spent at this farm. That is probably why I keep coming back to it. You can see the house and the wash house, the huge barn and other out buildings. The garden was behind the house and the clotheslines. The storm cellar and the chicken coop were also behind the house. We had many family gatherings in this house at holidays or just for Sunday dinner. I remember watching the "big kids" playing baseball in the front yard. We played hide n seek in the dark. We looked for the wild kittens and got ourselves scratched up, we played in the hay mow and were free to go anywhere. One time my grandpa called to us and motioned that we should come over to where he stood by the fence. On the ground was a dark lump of something that I could not identify. Grandpa told us it was a two-headed calf and sure enough if you looked you could see it. It was dead of course, but I think he was saving it to show everybody. Gross!
When I was about 12, Grandpa "hired" us to walk his beans. For those of you who do not know what walking beans means, here is my explanation. When the soy beans are first growing the farmer can use his machinery to hoe and keep the weeds under control, but once the beans reach a certain height you cannot use the machine. There were always plenty of weeds, most of which I cannot remember what they were called. There was also a lot of corn since the same machine that plants the beans also plants the corn and some corn seeds always are left in the machine. So walking beans is the process of walking up and down the rows between the soy bean plants and pulling or chopping the weeds. A nice clean field was a matter of pride for many farmers. I am not sure if it made a difference in the yield or quality of the crop. Now days, they use seeds that are resistant to round up and then use round up on the fields. Grandpa did pay us for walking his beans-$1.00 per hour plus lunch and cookies and Kool-aid for breaks. I got a great tan on my legs below the hem of my shorts which meant I had a farmer tan that was immediately evident when I wore my swim suit. My little brothers walked beans with us. We could have made more money walking anyone else's beans, but I don't think Mom would have let us. The farm life was not for me. Hot, sweaty, buggy, hard work.
I did try my hand at another summer job that kids always did when I was 16. I contracted to de-tassel corn on 3 acres. De-tasseling corn means walking down the rows of corn and pulling out the tassels on some of the rows. This was done to control the pollination. I believe it was August. Normal, intelligent people would have been out doing this in the morning before it got too hot, but I did not like the spiders that were out in the morning and I was a teenager who liked to sleep late so at 1 pm on a particularly hot, humid day, I finally took myself out to my field. I was old enough to drive and had my own car. I was not smart enough to wear a hat or to bring any water with me. The consequence of my poor decision making was Heat Stroke. I remember being hotter than I have ever been, but doggedly continuing down the row, pulling tassels. All of a sudden the world went white, I couldn't see anything but white light. I did not pass out, but I sat down in the shade of the corn, then I lay in the shade of that corn and soon I was crawling back up the row, staying in the shade and heading for my car. Why? There wasn't any water there. I am not sure how long I sat there until I had recovered enough strength to get in the car and drive to water. It was a while. Another experience I survived. I paid my little brothers to help me finish, gave them a share of the money. I think I got $90 bucks for that job. Like I said, I was not cut out to be a farm girl. Hay made me itch, the sun gave me a face full of freckles and burnt me to a crisp. Of course back then, we hadn't heard of sun screen. I had enough sun burns by the time I was ten to put me permanently at risk for skin cancer.
I spent a lot of time on this farm and if you ask me to describe a farm this would be the picture in my mind. Grandma and Grandpa stopped farming in the 1970's, bought a little 2 bedroom house in Maxwell and moved into town. I was gone at the time they did this so I never really got to say good bye. By the time I came home again, the buildings were gone and my Grandparent's farm did not exist any more in this world.
This is my Grandpa and Grandma Johnson's farm. I am not sure I ever spent the night at this farm. I don't know why but my family's relationships with our Johnson side relatives was different. I remember Grandma Johnson had lovely flower gardens on the side of the house that is facing us in the picture. This picture looks like it was late winter/early spring. Grandma had big gardens also, including a blackberry patch. Yummy. The first time I ever saw a humming bird was when I was walking along side that lovely flower bed. Grandpa Johnson had lost his little finger in one of the machines. I remember one time when we were leaving to go home I was in the car and I yelled out the window "bye bye 4 fingered grandpa" . Mom was very unhappy with me. Grandpa Johnson like to put on a fireworks show. I remember being there for one. We all sat in the grass and watched as he shot them off one by one. My dad says he did that every year. My Aunt Sandra was a horse nut and she had a horse. She also had a collection of toy horses. I think I remember some things about the inside of the house. The kitchen sink had a pump-that was how they got water in the kitchen. There was a big stove that burned corn cobs. That is where she cooked and heated up water. I remember them having a bathroom, too. I think there was a piano, since my Aunt Sheila liked to play piano. One time when we were visiting Grandma had a box of baby chicks in the kitchen next to the stove. One poor little chick was all pink and bloody from the others picking at it. Really, all I have is impressions, small snatches of memories. Dad says this farm was owned by his Grandma Hale. I remember Grandma Hale as being really old, but then I am older now that a lot of people were back when I thought they were really old. Grandma Hale was divorced from her first husband, my dad's grandpa. She remarried and that is why she was Grandma Hale instead of Great Grandma Johnson. I never met her second husband and don't know what happened to him. The few times we visited at Grandma Hale's house I was too young to wonder about any of that. Grandpa Johnson died when I was 17. Soon after I was gone away to Wisconsin and I never saw any of my Johnson side other than Aunt Sheila and her husband Jerry ever again. I got this picture from Aunt Sheila. She did not remember the farm looking so dreary. Dad did not remember all the buildings. Dad left home before Aunt Sheila started school so they did not live on the farm with their parents at the same time in any meaningful way.
The reason I titled this article as The Dale Scott farm vs the Robert Johnson farm is because of the totally different ways I remember them. One was a happy place where I spent a lot of time with people who loved me and influenced me. The other is a place I barely remember with people who may have loved my but never proved it to me, spent any time with me or had any particular influence on me. I do not blame them. Grandparents only have access to their grandchildren through the efforts of their grandchildren's parents. I do know I come from a line of prideful, stubborn people so who knows why. I guess that did influence my life. Like I always tell my kids, your parents can teach you how to act and how not to act.
My brother Mike added some details. Here are his comments.
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