Farm Days...

(The names have been changed to protect the innocent.)

All of my siblings and I always wanted to have a farms when we were little kids.
We used to spend entire afternoons drawing picture of our farms to be. We'd draw pens where the cows were kept, Coupes were the chickens would nest...etc. Then we had the "Good Experience" to go work on a farm. Now I say "Good Experience" ...cuz that's what my mom called it.
It was about five or six years ago.
All of us little home-schooled kids were doing our school, when mom called out, "Ok, kids were going to a farm". Now because of our fixation with farms...we were excited yet...unsure.
My older sister Claire, was not home that day so we all thought, "AHHAH...She doesn't get to go to the farm!". It turned out later that she would be the one laughing. So it was Just my mom (?), Laurel (11), Me, (9), and warren (5).
We jumped into our old, huge, gray Chevy van and rumbled off.
This farm was located in Brady, making it a long enough drive for us to imagine what it would be like. Now remember...we had a Picture perfect farm in our minds. Red barn, pretty black and white cows, baby chicks, and horses.
We were in for a SHOCK.
As we drove through the front gate, I knew this wasn't gonna be fun. And as we approached the barn in the van, our dreams of farms were "Utterly Destroyed". Excuse the play on words. Speckled across the surrounding area were a few pooped stained, dirty cows. There was one huge bull that was very intimidating. We later found out that he was half crazy. Our large van slid to a stop in the foot of deep manure. We hesitatingly stepped out, but we came prepared. Our knee high boots fared well against the mounds of manure. Us kids looked around; still in shock. The barn looked like it had been through a hurricane. It's red paint chipped away. Bare boards stared out. Giving it a very...old impression.
We walked into the barn, in search of the lady that owned the farm.
As you enter this place, you nearly die from over exposure to toxic fumes.
To the left of the doors you entered through was a large fridge, which kept all of the fresh milk. Straight ahead was a long hall type room. It was the milking room.
Thirty some cows stood, bottoms out, munching hay in a trough. A small women appeared from behind one of the cows. Now when I say small, i mean height wise. Her arms where like small trees. Her legs like pillars. She could easily beat Hulk Hulgan in a cage match.
Her name was Willma. She lived on her farm with her mother, in a little yellow house.
She was a nice lady, but boy did she see us coming.
Our lovely mother, volunteered all of us to help clean up around the farm.
Willma quickly excepted , for she was the only one working on the farm, apart from this old guy, named Blue. He was always undergoing heart surgeries. Our job for that day, and for many days to come was to scrub the wall behind the cows in the milking room. Now she had us work while the cows where in there being milked.
So thing were very close quarters. This room was maybe a hundred feet long, and maybe twenty feet wide. Like little surgeons, we slipped on our plastic gloves and began to work. She thought we were pansies for wearing gloves. HA!



With brushes in hand we cleaned the wall. It took around two to three hours. This was really hard. Because, once and a while there would be a big glob of dried manure stuck to the wall. They would take a long time to get off. And in the process Laurel claimed that I sprayed her with my brush. Which i did...but wouldn't admit to it. :) Then to make things worse, the cows would occasionally...poop right next to you. You could sense it first. Then came the noise, (Plop, plop, ploooooooooop). We'd stick our selves against the wall trying to avoid being covered in steaming manure.


While a few of us got that fun job, one lucky person got to man the the shovel.
There was another trough besides the one the cows ate out of. One behind them. So they could take a dump right into it.
You guessed it. That lucky person had to use that shovel and load a wheelbarrow full of manure.
Then take it out into the field and dump in on the world biggest pile of poo.


This continued for Months. Once in a while we got a fun job. Like getting to lead a baby calf around on a rope. We though that was the best...(anything is the best compared to scrubbing walls free of manure.) Although, one time we did get to name a new baby bull.
We called him....RAMBO!!! And every week we went out there; we played with our little Rambo....till he got sent to the slaughter house. :(
Then we got to take home brand new baby ducks. I still remember sitting in the back of the van holding my new baby duck in my "Gloved" hands. He pooped in them on the way home. My older sisters had to share one....but i got my own. They called theirs, 'Mango". I called mine, "Precious".
I don't know why i called it that...i couldn't say my R's. So when i called my pet duck I'd say, "Pweciouse!".


After we had been going to this farm for about a year of so, Willma got another worker...that she paid! ;( This was a girl about 16, her name was Blossom.
Every time we came out to the farm, and started to work, Blossom would come in and lean against a wall. She'd say stuff like, "Good work...keep it up."
We think she never worked. She never worked when we were there at any rate!
Another one of the few perks was this pleasant little stream near one of the pastures.
Laurel and I would beg my mom to let us go down there while she, Warren, Claire, and Melina did the work. Only once in a red moon would mom let us go. But when she did....oh it was so much fun. We'd wade through the water in our rubber boots. Climb nearby trees. A bonus about the creek is the smell. It didn't smell like manure. It smelled like fresh air. Good fresh air.

Those are a just a few of the stories from my farm experiences.