Christmas

Christmas was a very special time for the Peterson family. Christmas Eve was always spent in Grandmother Peterson’s home. After the usual meal of lutefisk, sylta, potatoes, assorted goodies and fruit soup, the gifts were distributed. Uncle Carl sat in his big leather Morris chair (the forerunner of the present-day platform rocker). The “height” of the evening was reached when the little white envelopes from Uncle Carl were distributed. During the war years, each of us kids received $18.75 to buy a war bond. The adults received larger amounts.

One year an envelope appeared with the caption “Ego” written on it. We didn’t know what it meant, but soon figured out that it belonged to Uncle Carl. This was one of the only times that I can recall when there was a sign of levity on his part. On Christmas Eve, it was his responsibility to read the Christmas story from the Gospel of Luke at our family gathering in the Peterson home. I can still hear him reading in a somewhat monotonous tone of voice “And in those days there went out a decree . . .” Following this reading, we sand Christmas carols and a Swedish hymn, “Glada Julafton, Harliga, Klara [Happy Christmas Eve, My friend, Clara”].

Christmas morning the schedule was to go to the early 6:00 a.m. “Julotta” service. In earlier years, this service was preceded by a Swedish service that began at 5:00 a.m. I can remember sitting through that service not understanding a word, and then after that, sitting through the English service. The one thing that stands out in my mind about the English service was that as the first strains of “AllHail to Thee O Blessed Morn” were played on the organ, Uncle Carl, who sat in the front pew of the church, would rise to his feet. In those days most all hymns were sun sitting down, but Uncle Carl rose up to sing this meaningful Christmas hymn.

Travels with Uncle Carl

There were two side trips with Uncle Carl that “livened” our lives. One was a trip to the Agronomy Field Days at Iowa State University. Ever one to try to raise new crops and learn new farming techniques, he would make the trip to Ames with some of us boys to tour the test plots and listen to the learned agronomy professors. The highlight of the day was to eat our meal at the Memorial Union buffet — a great treat for us who seldom ate anywhere except at the family table.

The other trip was one to the Iowa State Fair. This was also to be a learning trip for agricultural endeavors. The main interest there was in the farm machinery exhibits. Acres of machinery from various manufacturers were displayed and we got to inspect most of them. My interest in farm machinery was heightened by those trips, and probably influenced my college major in agricultural engineering. At the fair was also a chance to eat at some of the eating places if a picnic lunch was not brought along. The trip to Des Moines in Uncle Carl’s Essex Super Six was by present-day standards a tedious trip. At 35-40 mph, it took several house but was a treat from the days of weed pulling that was so much a part of the last days of summer.

This and That

Uncle Carl was a slight man of build, but could work harder and steadier than any man I have known. As I have noted, he ate sparingly and never to my knowledge did he smoke or drink alcohol. The only alcoholic beverage that passed his lips was the communion wine served in celebration of the Eucharist in church. By the time I knew him well, he was quite bald, and as the years progressed, he needed glasses, a hearing aid, and dentures. All of these aids to human frailties were obtained with a great deal of confrontation with the doctors. The local dentist gave up on supplying him with dentures, and calmly broke apart those he had made.

Later in life, he was picked up by a patrolman for not wearing glasses. Up until this point, he never wore glasses except for reading or close mechanical work. His glasses were kept in a case in the upper pocket of his bib overalls. His driver’s license was suspended for this laxness for a period of six months. Since he was not farming at that time, he decided to help me on the farm. He borrowed the Lutheran pastor’s son’s bike and pedaled the four miles down to the farm where we lived to help me pick corn. He was in his late 70s or early 80s at that time, but was undaunted by the trip. The offer to go into town to get him and bring him home went unheeded. At this time of life, it was hard for me to tell him what to do, even though I had received instructions from him so often in the past.

At sometime earlier in his life, Uncle Carl had purchased a 120-acre farm in Texas. The details of this business transaction I do not know, except that I recall some mention that he had attended a church convention in Texas. Also, on Grandfather Peterson’s side of the family, there were relatives who lived in Texas. I don’t think it was a very lucrative enterprise from the rental income standpoint. However, there was the possibility of an oil strike on the land, and there was great speculation among the family about a possible rich “oil baron” uncle in the family. But nothing ever came of that, and the farm was sold.

Tractors

After driving the tractor on the oat binder and disking in oats, the Strand boys were given the job of cultivating corn. This was a job with the main focus on dexterity — the turning on the ends of the field without knocking down the corn. As I recall, it was my brother Carl who came in for praise from Uncle Carl for doing the best job. Since praise was not forthcoming very often, brother Carl must have done a much better job that the rest of us.

Uncle Carl had been the instructor for us as we learned to cultivate, but when it came time to train my brother Verner, I was designated to train him. I imagine that by this time he was tired of seeing corn being covered or plowed out in the first few rounds. Uncle Carl seldom made mistakes, but once he got off on unmatched rows while cultivating. I then spent half a day walking on the south forty uncovering corn.

I was probably the only one of the Strand boys to use the little Hart Parr. This was an 18-36 H.P. tractor designed mostly for tillage use. I disked and plowed with it, and because of its sharp exhaust bark, you could hardly hear when you quit for the day. The hearing loss of Uncle Carl might be attributed to this tractor noise. I had several harrowing experience with this machine, particularly when trying to start it. It had a side crank outfit for starting and occasionally the crank would stick as the tractor would start. The instructions, if this happened, were to run like “hell” when it came off.

There was a water feed to the cylinders to take out the ping or knocking. So we would go out to the field with a ten-gallon can of water to replace the water used for the cooling system. On a trip to disk on the east side of the north forty, I forgot to engage the cooling fan and ran out of water in the cooling system. The Hart Parr got too hot and died. It was a long mile hike bak to the farmstead to tell Uncle Carl. Not a word was spoken by him. We brought water back to the tractor, and lo and behold, the tractor started and was not damaged.

It would have been better if he had said a few harsh words, but that was not his style. The only time that he came close to cursing was once when I heard him say “Sam-Hill.” He must have been mighty provoked to use this expression.