Eighth Grade

During the school year beginning in the fall after our move to the farm we had the new experience of being transported to the school in Gowrie by the school bus, and of course taking along our noonday lunch each day. The school buses were considerably less elegant than the school buses of today and would generally be regarded now as being exceedingly unsafe and unsuitable.

The bus we rode in, at least for the first few years, was a locally constructed one of wood mounted on a used truck chassis. It probably accommodated fewer than 15 to 18 pupils. Even at that the younger children might have to sit on the laps of the older children. I believe our first bus driver was a Mr. McCubbin and I recall him exercising his disciplinary authority to quiet unruly pupils. Later we had Ernie Anderson for a driver but by then we had a better bus, though still deficient by present-day standards.

I was in eighth grade and my teachers were Mrs. Knapp as principal and Miss Nagel. Mrs. Knapp was a widow and a very earnest person though somewhat fluttery. Miss Nagel was younger and a rather large-bodied blond Nordic type with a brusque manner. But from the first I preferred her to Mrs. Knapp. At that time it was still the practice for the eighth-grade students to take the county tests. The tests included reading, spelling, English, arithmetic, history, geography, etc. which, if passed, would signify satisfactory completion of the primary grades and would also permit the student to enter high school. The tests were taken relatively late in the school year. I remember that my friend John Woodard (who with his two brothers lived as orphans across the road from is with his aunt Annie and uncle Will Lines) did not pass out of eighth grade by the Gowrie school standards but did pass the county tests so was allowed after some argument to enter high school the next fall.

The seventh and eighth grades were together in a large classroom with the two classes separated during the actual instruction periods by one class going into a smaller adjacent classroom. However any self-study periods were normally in the larger or assembly room. I recall a few incidents from the school year. Once during the music instruction (vocal) the music teacher noticed that my voice was changing and that I was singing in a rather tenor-like manner and singled me out for attention. I was never very comfortable or adept at singing so any interest that might had been engendered by her attention soon disappeared.

Another time after an essay-type question on a test I wrote “abridged” at the end of what I wrote not being aware of what the term meant. I was duly apprised by the teacher who indicated that she wanted complete answers. The last recollection was more significant. Toward the end of the term the teacher of arithmetic (I can’t recall whether it was Miss Nagel or Mrs. Knapp) gave me a last personal assignment that contained a few rudimentary elements of algebra. I was entranced by these new concepts and my interest was aroused more than I can recall it had ever previously been.

On Wells and Water

There were two wells on the Peterson farmstead — one near the house (actually on one of the two back porches) that supplied water to the house. The other was on the edge of the barnyard and was considerable deeper so it never ran dry. The lower pump which supplied water to the stock tank was as indicated much deeper than the pump near the house. The latter was 40 feet deep whereas the lower well was considerably more than 100 feet.

During dry spells or when heavily used the house well would occasionally run dry — then a wait would be required for the water level at the bottom of the well to restore itself. The lower well never ran dry in my memory. Because it was much deeper a much greater effort was needed to operated the lower pump manually. Usually the lower pump was operated by an electric motor and a pump jack, but I have a dim recollection during the coldest winter spells that I had to pump by hand. This effort which taxed my physical ability added to the difficulty of keep space for water in the stock tank (which by spring was almost a solid chunk of ice).

Uncle Carl, when working in the summer time, always drank water from the lower well. Sometime or other he had convinced himself that this was better for him. Actually the water from the lower well had sort of a bitter taste (it was high in dissolved salts and actually contained considerable iron, judging from the deposits of iron oxide in the stock tank). When we were working in the field, water for drinking was carried along in a stoneware gallon jug. The jug was wrapper with gunnysack material which was wet when the jug was filled before going out in the field.

Uncle Carl typically never drank coffee or milk though he would drink fruit ades such as lemonade. Mostly he just drank water. One of the few occasions when he didn’t was once during threshing season. One evening before going to bed he drank a glass of buttermilk. It must have been spoiled because during the night he had a severe stomach ache upset with vomiting and diarrhea. Typically he did not call of the threshing but kept the rig going. That day all he drank was water from the lower well which he brought along in a jug. As I recall he ate nothing.

How to Construct an Oat Shock

To me as just of the age to have finished seventh grade there was a sense of excitement and change connected with the move to the farm from the little brown house in Gowrie out to the old farmhouse. To conserve funds, the move was made on wagons, a hayrack, etc. furnished by uncle Carl. One of the wagons he had equipped with special springs and the piano (which my father had given to my mother as a gift sometime in the past) was transported in this wagon. I don’t recall if more than one trip was made — however the hayrack was a fairly capacious vehicle so perhaps only a single trip was made, I didn’t assist particularly in the moving — I transported myself on my bicycle.

I don’t recall particularly working in the farm work that summer though I suspect I helped at least with the oat shocking and perhaps I drove a bundle wagon for my father when the threshing operation was in progress. I remember uncle Carl describing how to make an oat shock one day when we were at my grandmother’s house for a Sunday dinner. As usual he was sitting in his particular chair in the northwest corner of the parlor.

The oat shock is made by first standing two bundles leaning slightly against each other. Then two more bundles are added at each of the sides of the two initial bundles, four more are then added two each between the second two on each side of the shock and finally a ninth bundle was taken and shaped to form a cap on the shock. The latter served to shed rain from the short sort of like a small thatched rood. The shock after a rain would need a day or so to dry out suitable for threshing but would shed rain fairly well — rain could of course come at any time during the summer through July and August. July and August though were usually somewhat drier than June and the spring months.

During a rain the cap bundles might be dislodged by an accompanying wind and depending on the circumstances it might be desirable to replace them. When my grandfather started farming after his marriage, binders were not yet in use. The reaper was used — it cut the grain and conveyed it into a windrow. Then the bundles had to be made by hand. This was achieved by using a small handful of oat straws and twisting them around a larger number of straws of an appropriate amount to form a bundle. This when was presumably used in making a shock as just described.

Uncle Carl's Work Ethic

In connection with the use of hybrid seed corn, uncle Carl had the idea of making some crosses himself and testing out the seed corn for its productivity. So we detasseled corn in the process of these experiments — I believe he harvested and segregated this corn but to what extent he ever carried through on the project I have no idea. Vincent and I also worked detasseling corn for a production program (as I recall) by the county farm bureau. Again I don’t know just how successful this project was in producing good seed corn. In more recent years seed corn production has been entirely in the hands of the commercial seed companies.

Uncle Carl can only be described as a prodigious worker — on the other hand he often became distracted as his interests took him down various bypaths and he neglected more important tasks. Many times when he was doing custom corn-picking his own corn would not be harvested until the following spring. One year he became intrigued in making a potato planter and spent several weeks on the project when other work called. He followed agricultural advances closely and I recall accompanying him and Vincent in visiting at Iowa State College for their agronomy days, at which new development would be demonstrated.

The Peterson farm had been tiled for drainage by uncle Carl and other of his brothers. I still recall the surveying level used in this that was kept in the tool shed along with his other tools, grease guns, etc. The only exposure to tiling during our years on the farm was when some additional tile was put in by uncle Carl in the low end (along the southeast corner) of the south forty. Whether I actually participated in the digging I don’t recall but I must have. I remember uncle Carl laboring way deep in the ground and I can’t imagine being in the vicinity of the activity had I not been digging also.

All of the Peterson farm was “tiled out” into the drainage ditch which ended close to the southeast corner of the east forty. This include the west half of the north forty, a low area that according to Vincent should have been drained in another direction. Uncle Carl used intakes which projected close to the surface or actually above ground — these were always a nuisance in field work as they had to be noticed and steered around.

Haying

One last task on the farm should not be overlooked — haying. Generally hay was not baled in Iowa, rather it was harvested as loose hay, hauled into the barn in the hay rack and lifted into the barn in slings. Early in my days on the farm it was my duty to drive the horses as the hay rack trundled down the field, with the hay loaded delivering the hay up at the rear of the hay rack. Another dusty job though not as bad as corn shelling or threshing. A newly mown field of hay is a delight visually and by smell — the hay loses its sensuous appeal later one. The hay field was alfalfa directly across the road from the front of the farmhouse and when the hay was ready to cut it had started to blossom and the field was a sea of light purple.

Haying provided an insight into my uncle’s background and experience, a sort pf glimpse of a repressed part of his character that except for this one event I never saw. In haying, the hay, if gathered loose as was the practice uncle Carl used, was conveyed into the barn on a sling. Typically three of these were used for each load of hay, a sling being laid on the floor of the hay rack, with the other two being laid on top of the hay in the partially loaded rack one after the other. At the barn the two ends of a sling were attached to a carrier which was attached to a rope which first carried it vertically to the level of the large hay door of the barn and then through the hay door into the hay mow. Once inside the barn the middle of the sling was tripped open and the hay fell down in to the hay mow. The tripping was done by a small rope that followed the sling as it went into the barn and trailed along for some distance outside the barn. The rope pulling the hay up and into the barn was pulled by a team of horses. During my haying days with my uncle it was my duty to drive these horses and to stop them when my uncle called from the barn to stop (i.e., when the sling with the hay in it was in the proper position to be dumped).

One time Clarence Blomgren (the Chevrolet dealer in Gowrie) had come out to the farm for some reason to see my uncle and he was standing hear the end of the trip rope when my uncle yelled “Stop” within the barn. Clarence seized the rope and pulled, apparently tripping the hay in the wrong place. (The first “stop” from my uncle might be just a preliminary positioning.) From within the barn came one loud cry “SHIT.” It is the only time I ever heard my uncle use a four-letter word. A sidelight is that I never remember hearing my father, grandfather, or my maternal or paternal uncles every using such an expletive, I wonder to this day where my uncle picked it up and to what extent it was part of his previous experience.

About Potatoes

Uncle Carl under the farm programs of the 1930s also grew sorghum, and various clovers (which he sometimes harvested for seed). He had also before we ever moved to the farm engaged in growing potatoes.

Potato culture entailed two disagreeable tasks that had a lasting effect on all of us boys who had any contact with them. The first involved the preparation of the potatoes for planting — this involved removing the potato sprouts that had started to grow from the eyes of the potatoes and then cutting the potatoes into pieces of appropriate size (preferable with a single eye to each piece). The second involved the harvesting of the potatoes. The potatoes were dug by the mechanical digger but were then discharged onto the ground from where they were picked up by hand — a back-breaking chore.

Another disagreeable aspect was catching the potatoes as they came down the metal chute into the basement storage, catching them in a suitable bucket and tossing them onto the pile of stored potatoes. My brother Verner has a vivid recollection of this — along with the time he and Marold were asked by my uncle to leave school one cold wintry day to aid in helping finish the potato harvest.

Uncle Carl grew his potatoes primarily in some low-lying peat ground either in the southeast corner of the south 40, or across the fence in some land he rented from another farmer. The dust in this peat ground was especially disagreeable, being capable of causing much itching where it collected on neck, legs or arms — perhaps because of the decaying vegetable matter in the soil.

The first year or so we were on the Peterson farm, my uncle Carl gave my father the use of a four-acre plot of land to grow potatoes on. The plot was one of several fenced areas directly east of the barnyard. I think my father peddled his potatoes to neighboring farms. That is the way my uncle marketed his potatoes.

The potatoes were stored under non-freezing conditions. On the farm they were stored in the oldest part of the basement under the house — the part that was lined with bricks on the floor. One time my uncle stored some of the crop in a small room in the preacher’s house — I have no idea how this was arranged, it sounds to me like a very peculiar arrangement. The potatoes did not keep well there, the house was too warm. During the time the potatoes were stored they tended to “sprout” — new growth from the eyes of the potatoes. These sprouts had to be removed before the potatoes were sold or used for seed — another disagreeable task.

Although uncle Carl peddled some of his potatoes he also advertised and people came by to purchase them. I recall once a farm by the name of Joe Johnson bought 10 bushels of small potatoes that =ad been sorted out for $1 a bushel. This was the same Joe Johnson that Jean and I bought the first farm acreage we have from. Two of his several children were in my confirmation class — the twins Harris and Delores.

Flax

During FDR’s first administration the program for helping farmers offered incentives to try other cash crops and as usual uncle Carl tried these out. On occasion he grew flax. Some of the flax that uncle Carl grew was mixed with oats, perhaps the oats had been used as a cover crop and the two were harvested together (although my recollection is that the flax ripened later). These mixed oats/flax were stored for a while in the old granary and he couldn’t find a market for the mixture very readily. I think he finally managed to dispose of the mixture for feed in some way.

On another occasion the flax was windrowed and then because of rain it didn’t dry out enough to permit combining. We had to walk the fields turning over the windrows by hand, a tedious task. That may have been the year when the flax was finally threshed sometime in September. For some reason there was a proliferation of crickets in connection with the flax and the ground in the vicinity of the threshing rig was literally blanketed with the insects.

The Introduction of Soybeans

Although oats and corn were the principal crops in the early to mid 1930s in Webster County, soybean cultivation was beginning and as usual uncle Carl was in the forefront in starting this new trend. In these early soybean days, some beans were harvested for hay, but quite soon the harvest was for mature beans only. I can recall however the last summer I was home from college between my junior and senior years at the University of Iowa spending the last week of summer before school was to resume working for our neighbors putting up soybean hay.

By the time WWII started I think uncle Carl had largely stopped growing oats and was into a basic corn-soybeans rotation. It was in this period that he purchased his first (perhaps only) combine which he used for the balance of his farming career. Soybeans are best harvested by combining as they can be safely left standing in the field until they were dry enough to store after combining. I believe uncle Carl did some combining of oats in later years, perhaps using a windrowing technique.

Corn Cultivation and Picking

Corn was planted in early to middle of May. Prior to planting the plowed land was disked, perhaps harrowed. When we were first on the farm the planting was done with a two-row horse-drawn planter. Later on my uncle invested in a four-row planted what was attached to the Farmall tractor. The seed corn in earlier times was selected from the corn as it came out of the crib into the corn sheller “drag” (the conveyer that took it to the corn sheller)—good well-shaped ears were chosen. This procedure was followed only with open-pollinated corn—it could not be a good practice with hybrid corn. Uncle Carl would test the selected ears for germination in the corn room—a small room in the upstairs of the farmhouse just north of the boys’ bedroom.

The corn room contained racks for holding the individual seed corn ears, and I believe the germination test equipment. Uncle Carl started to use hybrid seed corn shortly after it was first introduced in the 1930s and after that the corn room no longer received its yearly charge of seed corn ears.

He was also one of the first farmers to use artificial fertilizer—when he started to use it the fertilizer was applied at the same time the corn was planted. For all his lack of ability in personal contacts with people, my uncle was quite up-to-date in following advances in agricultural technology. Another example of this was his early use of rubber tires on his Farmall.

Originally corn was planted in “checked” rows — i.e. the corn plants were at the intersections of squares all through the field. This pattern was achieved by having a wire run through the planter that had wire knots on it that tripped the planted at the appropriate time. Thus the corn could be cultivated (or plowed) in either of two directions at right angles to each other.

The first cultivation was simply known as the first cultivating. The second cultivation (at right angles to the first) was called “crossing the corn” and if a third cultivation was done it was called “laying by.” By the time we were on the farm my uncle cultivated the corn with a two-row cultivator mounted on the Farmall. This displaced the old one-row cultivator drawn by two horses or the old two-row cultivator drawn by three horses. The first cultivation was done when the corn was 2 to 4 inches high (weather permitting) and the laying by when the corn plants were not more than 2 feet high.

Oftentimes uncle Carl was late getting the work done and I can remember laying by the corn when it was 3-1/2 to 4 feet tall. When the corn was this tall, turning the tractor at the ends of the field usually resulted in considerable damage to the corn plants. One of the few direct compliments I ever had from my uncle was when I was laying by this tall corn on the east forty. He came out to the field to see how I was doing and he remarked at how little damage I had done to the corn in turning the cultivator around at the ends of the field.

After the corn had received its final cultivation, it received no more attention until corn harvest except for walking through the corn rows pulling sunflower weeds and milkweeds. Corn picking by hand was on the way out by the early 1930s for my uncle — he had be then a mounted two-row cornpicker and often did custom picking in addition to picking his own corn. One year after hard winds, enough corn had blown off the stalks to make machine picking impracticable and I received my first and only real taste of picking corn by hand. However, even with normal conditions enough corn was missed by the picked so that uncle Carl and one or more of us boys would glean the fields for the missed corn.

Corn was stored in the large corn crib — a building designed and I think constructed by me uncle who made the internal elevator. This latter worked quite well with oats (which were stored in two large over-bins in the corn crib) but was relatively inefficient with ear corn. The elevator was powered by a large one-cylinder gas engine. The corn was shelled for delivery to the elevator in Gowrie along in the later part of the summer. Here uncle Carl used his corn sheller (with which he also did custom corn shelling). Corn shelling was a dusty disagreeable job, even worse than the dusty oats threshing.

After the corn had been picked and the missed ears gleaned, the cows were turned out into the fields to find whatever they could to eat. Despite the gleaning there were always ears that were still missed and the cows would find many of them. Cows eat corn on the cob in a different fashion from horses. Cows put the whole cob into their mouths, sort of lengthwise and proceed to masticate the entire unit. Horses on the other hand carefully bite off the kernels, leaving the cob.

Iowa Geology

Iowa land consists of the deposits left by glaciation. When the glaciers melted they left behind the accumulated debris in them that had been scoured by them in proceeding south. Much of this well-ground-up material was topsoil but there would be also some good-sized rocks. Some of these would have been buried rather deep in the ground, but they would gradually work up closer to the surface, as a result of the land being tilled and cyclic freezing and thawing of the ground.

The first evidence of these buried rocks would be when a plowshare would hit one, perhaps breaking the pointed end of the plowshare. I remember uncle Carl hitting one of these buried rocks with the plow, digging the soil away around it, putting a heavy chain around it and pulling it with the tractor to the pile of rocks in the hog yard. The rocks there had accumulated all during the time the farm had been owned.

Recently (1987-88) one of these large rocks surfaced on the old Joe Johnson farm that we own in Iowa, Vincent’s Jean took a picture of it that I have somewhere.

A Little More about Oats

The yield of the oat crop would vary, 60 bushels per acre being considered a very good yield. The average was probably closer to 45 bushels per acre, and might be for poorer land and cultivation be 25-30 bushels per acre. Uncle Carl described one year back in the 1890s when the yield was very good—90 bushels per acre. It may have been a year following a drought when the yield was low. He described the grain crushed down by the big “bull” wheel when the field was opened up as just a solid row of oat kernels on the ground.

Oats is not grown much nowadays since the monetary return is poorer than with soybeans (even though the current average yields are well above 60 bushels per acre). Oats was used mostly as a feel grain particularly for the horses when they were being used for fieldwork. Actually, nutritionally, it is a better feed than corn or soybeans.

The “bull” wheel of the binder was the large wheel near the middle of equipment that provided the motive power for the sickle and binding mechanism.