As a child Christmas at the Manor was a wonderful time.
All the old relatives came, the Great Aunts and Uncles, and there was food, and fun. And there were chores. The cows still needed milking and dogs still needed fresh water and the pens cleaned.
Much of the farm slowly grew to become dog kennels. The old horse barn was completely converted to kennels. There were runs on the outside, and small cubbys on the inside with a sliding drop trap door to each.
Everyday, they need to be let out in the morning, some kibble put into the inside dish and fresh water in the water dish. Everyday someone had to go in to each pen and use a pooper scooper to remove the droppings. Sometimes we were paid for this and sometimes not.
The handful of cows still had to be milked, by this time it was done by hand. The machinery having long been disused. But during Christmas the chores seemed less burdensome.
The kerosene heaters needed filling, someone had to go stand outside to fill the little cans form the big 55 gallon cans.
But after the chores, that was the time for sun. Everyone was in a good mood, the tables were set, and the Holiday dishes brought out, and it was usually allowed to have the TV on. The TV was never on during daytime, so that was a special occasion.
In the afternoon the old folks would start arriving, loaded with gifts to be put under the tree. Early in the morning we kids opened some gifts, but the real gifts were saved until after dinner was eaten, dished put away, and everyone was ready in the living room. Names were read, and gifts passed out. What a time.
When I was really young, our grandfather would even hitch up the horses, dress as Santa, and arrive at the Church to hand out gifts to the kids. I do have some old 8mm films from one of those occasions. We suspected it was our grandfather but weren't completely sure.
So many fond memories from the Manor over the holidays. But there are some dark ones as well. Our father was an alcoholic, and that always meant when he hit the tipping point, from being light hearted to ugly. The trouble was you didn't know where that tipping point was. You had no way to know when it would switch and you become the wrath of his anger. But it always came.
As the years moved along, the older folks slowly passed along as well. Each year there were less relatives arriving with armloads of gifts. Eventually they were all gone, and Christmas at the Manor was not the same. We moved away, and it become less practical to get there as well.
There is no way to recapture those days, they are gone, time has changed. Today each of us holds our own Christmas separately. Each year I drive past the old Manor on Christmas day just so I can grab those memories and hold them a bit longer. Our Uncle lives there now, and he is a grump, and wont let anyone in or near the house. No one visits him due to his unsocial behavior. This I struggle with deeply. He was a fun Uncle when we were small, at least he seemed so. We called him Uncle Al, kiddies Pal. Today, not so much. He says his goal is to let the Manor crumble around him, then bulldoze it down!
Seems his memories weren't nearly as fond as ours. His goal is close to being met, all of the barns have fallen down, and the house is barely standing now. Each time I drive past, it brings tears to my eyes to see it that way. Each time I think I could find a way to force him out of the house and bring it back. But I always just drive past and realize I will have to rely on my memories.
Thursday, December 24, 2015
Friday, February 27, 2015
That Dutch Heritage
Blockhead, that was a word we heard often.
No, not directed at us, but perhaps in conversation, reminiscing, or towards the cattle. He always told us that was a favorite term of his father towards him. He being our grandfather of Dutch ancestry.
We didn't know much about his dad, our great grandfather, but what little we did know was that he was a hard working farmer, just like our grandfather. As far as I recall I never met him. He was gone by the time I came around.
There is a copy of the family tree around, and it details the family back to a guy coming from Amsterdam in 1651. So the family is firmly grounded in it's roots and the Dutch heritage. Some interesting characters in there as well. The Dutch tended to follow a very specific naming convention when naming children, so there are many Adams and Abrams in there.
Knowing all this is reassuring, and explains some of the family dynamics. Being able to trace the family back that far is pretty cool as well. This year I have hopes to perhaps extend that knowledge if possible, by going to Amsterdam and exploring the family a little deeper. I understand that task was done twice already and nothing but dead ends there. So I don't have any delusions about finding a "smoking gun" so to speak. But i do look forward in walking around and exploring those regions in the Netherlands.
There was some turmoil in the Netherlands back in the 1600's and that led to folks heading to the New World, New Netherlands as NYC was know. And that there was little land to be had unless you were of the upper crust. New opportunities were available if you could get yourself to the new world.
Our ancestor not to be deterred, hitched a ride by agreeing to be a farm laborer for a wealthy family here in the new world for 3 years, and the end of that 3 years he would be free to pursue his own opportunities. Somewhere along the way he married into a family of means and ended up with a large tract of land. From there the family thrived.
However, today not one parcel of that land remains with the family. They have scattered and set up residence elsewhere. In my grandfathers case, he bought a new farm a few miles away and that farm was the Dutch Manor. It was not on any of the original lands.
Built somewhere around 1800, it had many barns and out buildings. There was also a family cemetery on the grounds. It is said that a Senator built it for his family and are all buried in the cemetery. A large Greek Revival style home.
Those barns gave us kids many adventures. Running through them, building forts in the hay lofts, and creating our own imaginary armies.
A small parcel of the old farm was used primarily to get fire wood and do a little hunting on. We would hunt deer and small game there, and sometimes cut up loads of fire wood. There were a few buildings left at the time, a large barn, and a smaller shed, that to this day houses a few old farm implements.
As things go, that land too was eventually moved out of the hands of the family. It was donated as part of a larger nature conservatory that has been growing around it. Sometimes a drive down there and wander around a bit. The shed is still there with a few old implements in it, and the old foundation where the house was is still easily found. A very large and ancient Maple tree sits in the open area, and it is easy to walk around and visualize how things might have been.
Farming life is a hard life, there are no fairy tales there. You worked for everything you had and if you didn't work you didn't have anything. There are no hand outs on a farm, and you confront the brutality of daily living.
I come from a long line of farmers, but my grandfather did not push us to pursue it. If anything he pushed us away from it, always telling us how hard it was and that no one in their right mind would choose it as a living. I don't think he liked being a farmer, but it was all he knew.
He was born quite a bit later than his brother and sister, and did not grow up with them. His older brother was not a farmer, he lived quite long to 98. I may have met him when I was very young and do not have memories of him at all. Same with his sister, she passed long before I could recall her.
These things become important as my son ages. I want to pass this heritage on to him. He can know firmly where he came from and who his people were. Even though they have all passed on now, he should still have a firm understanding of who they were.
No, not directed at us, but perhaps in conversation, reminiscing, or towards the cattle. He always told us that was a favorite term of his father towards him. He being our grandfather of Dutch ancestry.
We didn't know much about his dad, our great grandfather, but what little we did know was that he was a hard working farmer, just like our grandfather. As far as I recall I never met him. He was gone by the time I came around.
There is a copy of the family tree around, and it details the family back to a guy coming from Amsterdam in 1651. So the family is firmly grounded in it's roots and the Dutch heritage. Some interesting characters in there as well. The Dutch tended to follow a very specific naming convention when naming children, so there are many Adams and Abrams in there.
Knowing all this is reassuring, and explains some of the family dynamics. Being able to trace the family back that far is pretty cool as well. This year I have hopes to perhaps extend that knowledge if possible, by going to Amsterdam and exploring the family a little deeper. I understand that task was done twice already and nothing but dead ends there. So I don't have any delusions about finding a "smoking gun" so to speak. But i do look forward in walking around and exploring those regions in the Netherlands.
There was some turmoil in the Netherlands back in the 1600's and that led to folks heading to the New World, New Netherlands as NYC was know. And that there was little land to be had unless you were of the upper crust. New opportunities were available if you could get yourself to the new world.
Our ancestor not to be deterred, hitched a ride by agreeing to be a farm laborer for a wealthy family here in the new world for 3 years, and the end of that 3 years he would be free to pursue his own opportunities. Somewhere along the way he married into a family of means and ended up with a large tract of land. From there the family thrived.
However, today not one parcel of that land remains with the family. They have scattered and set up residence elsewhere. In my grandfathers case, he bought a new farm a few miles away and that farm was the Dutch Manor. It was not on any of the original lands.
Built somewhere around 1800, it had many barns and out buildings. There was also a family cemetery on the grounds. It is said that a Senator built it for his family and are all buried in the cemetery. A large Greek Revival style home.
Those barns gave us kids many adventures. Running through them, building forts in the hay lofts, and creating our own imaginary armies.
A small parcel of the old farm was used primarily to get fire wood and do a little hunting on. We would hunt deer and small game there, and sometimes cut up loads of fire wood. There were a few buildings left at the time, a large barn, and a smaller shed, that to this day houses a few old farm implements.
As things go, that land too was eventually moved out of the hands of the family. It was donated as part of a larger nature conservatory that has been growing around it. Sometimes a drive down there and wander around a bit. The shed is still there with a few old implements in it, and the old foundation where the house was is still easily found. A very large and ancient Maple tree sits in the open area, and it is easy to walk around and visualize how things might have been.
Farming life is a hard life, there are no fairy tales there. You worked for everything you had and if you didn't work you didn't have anything. There are no hand outs on a farm, and you confront the brutality of daily living.
I come from a long line of farmers, but my grandfather did not push us to pursue it. If anything he pushed us away from it, always telling us how hard it was and that no one in their right mind would choose it as a living. I don't think he liked being a farmer, but it was all he knew.
He was born quite a bit later than his brother and sister, and did not grow up with them. His older brother was not a farmer, he lived quite long to 98. I may have met him when I was very young and do not have memories of him at all. Same with his sister, she passed long before I could recall her.
These things become important as my son ages. I want to pass this heritage on to him. He can know firmly where he came from and who his people were. Even though they have all passed on now, he should still have a firm understanding of who they were.
Thursday, September 11, 2014
Hauling Cattle
To sustain the farm my grandfather (Apa) drove a cattle truck. He was
an independent driver but hauled for several different meat packers
over the years.
My memory is not the keenest, but I will do my best. The most recent meat packer was Como's. A meat packer located in Cohoes NY. Near the end of his driving he was only driving a straight truck, or a short box truck and no longer the 18 wheeler. And the trips as we called them, were all mostly local.
As I said my memory is blurry, but I think he had trips Tuesdays am, and evening, and Wednesdays and evenings. In the day time he would head up to Argyle NY and pick up mostly one load but sometimes two loads of calves from the auction house there. Then in the evening he would pick up one or several loads of cows. Wednesdays the same only he would go to Cambridge NY. It may have been the other way around.
He would drive the loads down to the Cohoes meat packers. There, they would be unloaded and processed. Mostly he did the unloading, but daytime, sometimes the workers there would help him out.
The times when we lived at the Manor, or summer time when we stayed there, we would almost always go with him. Even the night time trips when he would not get home till well after midnight. And when we were very young, we would sometimes ride in the back with the calves on the day trips. Never with the cows though, as they would have easily crushed us.
Riding with him was always a treat, and always something to look forward to. He would make it a point to stop at Stewart's a sandwich shop, and get us their brand of soda. We each had our own flavors. You would return four quart bottles and get four more for a buck. We did not get anything else in the store only the four soda bottles. And only every now and then would he indulge in one for himself.
Riding in the truck was always special, and it was mostly because he made it so. He would entertain us with songs and sayings. He had these old sogs he would bellow out as we drove. Sonamongrundy being a favorite.
There was also an 8 track player and there were several tapes. Mostly Hank Williams and country ones. But somewhere along the line a tap showed up of Arlo Guthrie. I don't know how it got in the truck, but I am sure it was not his idea. But one entire track or side, was Alice's Restaurant. We would listen to that over and over again. But as we grew to teens we listened more to the pop 40 on the radio station.
The day trips were very special also in that the guys working at the auction houses got to know us, and seemed to look forward to it when we kids arrived with Apa. They were always welcoming and willing to spend a moment to talk to us and see what we had been up to. We had pocket knives back then, they were popular, and they would ask us for them and sharpen them for us. It was important to keep a sharp pocket knife :-)
And the night trips were really great. We would arrive while the auctioneer was calling out the cattle or pigs, or sheep. Listening to his rattle was something. He would call so fast we had no idea what he was saying, but all the buyers sitting in the corral seemed to know. After a few moments of listening to that we would wander off around the barns and look at all the animals there. There would be huge hogs, sheep,a and cattle and Bulls. The big black Angus were a sight to behold.
Sometimes a bull would be in the pen with cows, and they would attempt to do what bulls do when penned with cows. We were quite fascinated by that. And sometimes we would go see the pens where the huge hogs were. We could not imagine hogs so big. There was always much to see.
After we loaded up the truck and headed home, most of time he would stop for a gallon of ice cream. So when we got home we would all sit around the kitchen table and have a bowl. His favorite seemed to be vanilla with canned peaches added. That was always a time to look forward to.
When we were very young he had larger trucks 18 wheelers, and his trips would be longer. He would travel as far as Canada and bring cattle back. Discarded around the farm were remnants of those trucks, several sat in bushes no longer usable. And we used them as play forts.
He also drove for some other packers, I know one was called Carrs, down in Albany. I do not know if he drove for Como, and Carr at the same time though. I was too young to know. But for Como, he also was paid extra if he drove what was called "the gut truck".
The gut truck was a small tanker truck. When the animals were processed, the fluids ran into a drain in the floor. Some soft tissue as well. The tank had to be emptied often, and that was the gut truck. He would hook up the hose, suck out the goo, and then off we went. We drove it to a few towns away, Scotia NY, and there was large pig farm.
He had to take care to open the gate and drive into the field, and then take care to stay up on the walkway on the side of the tank. You did not want to get down in with the pigs. They were quite anxious to get at the truck's contents, and I don't think they cared if you happened to be in the way!
After turning on the pressure then driving around the field to empty the tank, the pigs would go wild chasing the truck and fighting over any soft tissue. The noise was frightening and the smell was the worst thing I have ever experienced. We were not allowed to leave the cab or open the window. Well, opening the window was not an option, you wanted to do anything to get away from the smell.
Apa finally stopped driving after his final accident. It was in the early 80's I was off in Germany having joined the Army. But my two youngest brothers were with him when it happened. He was headed to Argyle, and the route took him up through Schylerville NY. A small town on the Hudson river far up north. He would cross the river and head up a pretty steep him to near where tthe fair grounds were. Washington County fair grounds I believe. Many time he pressed his luck running one fuel tank dry or close to dry. Then he would reach down between the door and his seat and move a lever to activate the second fuel tank.
Generally he timed this while he was crossing the bridge just before hitting the hill, as the hill would move the fuel and the engine would stop drawing from the low tank. Well, on this day we aren't sure, or I should say I am not sure. He either forgot, or something happened. The results were that when he got about halfway up the hill the engine shut off with no fuel.
Without any steering and very little brake power as the steering and brakes were power, they were very hard to control. So the truck started rolling backwards down the road. Unfortunately for him a car came up behind him and did not see the situation and would not move out of the way. So he tried to steer around it.
So there he is hanging out the door as he had to open his door and hang out while trying to steer backwards and rolling backwards down the hill. The situation was pretty grim. My two brothers the entire time are in the cab with him a bit scared as you may imagine. So he ended up crossing over to the other lane to avoid the car behind him, but could not get the truck back on the road.
It went off the road and down an embankment. It rolled over on the driver side while sliding down pressing him in the deep snow. The truck rolled over on the driver side ripping off the drivers door, and continued to slide down the embankment into a field.
My two brothers struggled to remain in the cab as they fell down to the drivers side. They watched as he disappeared under the truck and into the snow, and truck slide over him. He was gone and they had to figure out how to not to fall out as well.
A car was on a side and watched the situation unfold. He ran out and down to the truck. When he arrived the truck had stopped on its side, thankfully Apa was on his way to get cattle so there weren't any animals in the back. This man saw the two boys and no driver. So he took the two boys to his car. His did not use much common sense, or he was panicked who knows. But he drove off with the two boys assuming my grandfather was dead.
Someone called the police and when they arrived to the scene all they found was a truck on its side and empty. So they scrambled to find a driver. They eventually found him under the snow. as the truck slid completely over him pressing him into the snow thus saving his life. I small tree ran up into his back though.
So when they called my grandmother they told her he was in the hospital. So when my mother asked about the two boys, were they hurt, the police said there aren't any boys. Panic ensues and she tells them her two youngest boys were in the truck then they must be in the snow as well. Surely they did not walk away.
Finally after a few hours the man who picked them up and took them home decides to call the police. Or he called my mother I am not sure. But he only did so after several hours of complete panic had ensued. I cannot imagine what was in his head that he did not think to bring them to the police or call right away or wait at the scene. But the boys were uninjured and safe. Quite the ordeal for them as well, not knowing if Apa was dead or alive.
That was the end of his driving career. Without that income the farm simply deteriorated more and more. Less Caws, more dogs, and he was finally forced to sell the land. Today when I drive past and I see all those new houses on the land, I feel a deep lose.
My Uncle who lived in a part of the house with his family took it over after my grandparents passed, and well, he is letting it collapse. It is a tragedy to see it in such a state. An old Greek Revival with the columns, and the barns. I don't think a single barn stands today.
I always thought one day I would repair the house, bring it to its rightful condition, but it is not to be. I will have to live with the fond memories only. But that's how life is, it moves on, with or without us.
My memory is not the keenest, but I will do my best. The most recent meat packer was Como's. A meat packer located in Cohoes NY. Near the end of his driving he was only driving a straight truck, or a short box truck and no longer the 18 wheeler. And the trips as we called them, were all mostly local.
As I said my memory is blurry, but I think he had trips Tuesdays am, and evening, and Wednesdays and evenings. In the day time he would head up to Argyle NY and pick up mostly one load but sometimes two loads of calves from the auction house there. Then in the evening he would pick up one or several loads of cows. Wednesdays the same only he would go to Cambridge NY. It may have been the other way around.
He would drive the loads down to the Cohoes meat packers. There, they would be unloaded and processed. Mostly he did the unloading, but daytime, sometimes the workers there would help him out.
The times when we lived at the Manor, or summer time when we stayed there, we would almost always go with him. Even the night time trips when he would not get home till well after midnight. And when we were very young, we would sometimes ride in the back with the calves on the day trips. Never with the cows though, as they would have easily crushed us.
Riding with him was always a treat, and always something to look forward to. He would make it a point to stop at Stewart's a sandwich shop, and get us their brand of soda. We each had our own flavors. You would return four quart bottles and get four more for a buck. We did not get anything else in the store only the four soda bottles. And only every now and then would he indulge in one for himself.
Riding in the truck was always special, and it was mostly because he made it so. He would entertain us with songs and sayings. He had these old sogs he would bellow out as we drove. Sonamongrundy being a favorite.
There was also an 8 track player and there were several tapes. Mostly Hank Williams and country ones. But somewhere along the line a tap showed up of Arlo Guthrie. I don't know how it got in the truck, but I am sure it was not his idea. But one entire track or side, was Alice's Restaurant. We would listen to that over and over again. But as we grew to teens we listened more to the pop 40 on the radio station.
The day trips were very special also in that the guys working at the auction houses got to know us, and seemed to look forward to it when we kids arrived with Apa. They were always welcoming and willing to spend a moment to talk to us and see what we had been up to. We had pocket knives back then, they were popular, and they would ask us for them and sharpen them for us. It was important to keep a sharp pocket knife :-)
And the night trips were really great. We would arrive while the auctioneer was calling out the cattle or pigs, or sheep. Listening to his rattle was something. He would call so fast we had no idea what he was saying, but all the buyers sitting in the corral seemed to know. After a few moments of listening to that we would wander off around the barns and look at all the animals there. There would be huge hogs, sheep,a and cattle and Bulls. The big black Angus were a sight to behold.
Sometimes a bull would be in the pen with cows, and they would attempt to do what bulls do when penned with cows. We were quite fascinated by that. And sometimes we would go see the pens where the huge hogs were. We could not imagine hogs so big. There was always much to see.
After we loaded up the truck and headed home, most of time he would stop for a gallon of ice cream. So when we got home we would all sit around the kitchen table and have a bowl. His favorite seemed to be vanilla with canned peaches added. That was always a time to look forward to.
When we were very young he had larger trucks 18 wheelers, and his trips would be longer. He would travel as far as Canada and bring cattle back. Discarded around the farm were remnants of those trucks, several sat in bushes no longer usable. And we used them as play forts.
He also drove for some other packers, I know one was called Carrs, down in Albany. I do not know if he drove for Como, and Carr at the same time though. I was too young to know. But for Como, he also was paid extra if he drove what was called "the gut truck".
The gut truck was a small tanker truck. When the animals were processed, the fluids ran into a drain in the floor. Some soft tissue as well. The tank had to be emptied often, and that was the gut truck. He would hook up the hose, suck out the goo, and then off we went. We drove it to a few towns away, Scotia NY, and there was large pig farm.
He had to take care to open the gate and drive into the field, and then take care to stay up on the walkway on the side of the tank. You did not want to get down in with the pigs. They were quite anxious to get at the truck's contents, and I don't think they cared if you happened to be in the way!
After turning on the pressure then driving around the field to empty the tank, the pigs would go wild chasing the truck and fighting over any soft tissue. The noise was frightening and the smell was the worst thing I have ever experienced. We were not allowed to leave the cab or open the window. Well, opening the window was not an option, you wanted to do anything to get away from the smell.
Apa finally stopped driving after his final accident. It was in the early 80's I was off in Germany having joined the Army. But my two youngest brothers were with him when it happened. He was headed to Argyle, and the route took him up through Schylerville NY. A small town on the Hudson river far up north. He would cross the river and head up a pretty steep him to near where tthe fair grounds were. Washington County fair grounds I believe. Many time he pressed his luck running one fuel tank dry or close to dry. Then he would reach down between the door and his seat and move a lever to activate the second fuel tank.
Generally he timed this while he was crossing the bridge just before hitting the hill, as the hill would move the fuel and the engine would stop drawing from the low tank. Well, on this day we aren't sure, or I should say I am not sure. He either forgot, or something happened. The results were that when he got about halfway up the hill the engine shut off with no fuel.
Without any steering and very little brake power as the steering and brakes were power, they were very hard to control. So the truck started rolling backwards down the road. Unfortunately for him a car came up behind him and did not see the situation and would not move out of the way. So he tried to steer around it.
So there he is hanging out the door as he had to open his door and hang out while trying to steer backwards and rolling backwards down the hill. The situation was pretty grim. My two brothers the entire time are in the cab with him a bit scared as you may imagine. So he ended up crossing over to the other lane to avoid the car behind him, but could not get the truck back on the road.
It went off the road and down an embankment. It rolled over on the driver side while sliding down pressing him in the deep snow. The truck rolled over on the driver side ripping off the drivers door, and continued to slide down the embankment into a field.
My two brothers struggled to remain in the cab as they fell down to the drivers side. They watched as he disappeared under the truck and into the snow, and truck slide over him. He was gone and they had to figure out how to not to fall out as well.
A car was on a side and watched the situation unfold. He ran out and down to the truck. When he arrived the truck had stopped on its side, thankfully Apa was on his way to get cattle so there weren't any animals in the back. This man saw the two boys and no driver. So he took the two boys to his car. His did not use much common sense, or he was panicked who knows. But he drove off with the two boys assuming my grandfather was dead.
Someone called the police and when they arrived to the scene all they found was a truck on its side and empty. So they scrambled to find a driver. They eventually found him under the snow. as the truck slid completely over him pressing him into the snow thus saving his life. I small tree ran up into his back though.
So when they called my grandmother they told her he was in the hospital. So when my mother asked about the two boys, were they hurt, the police said there aren't any boys. Panic ensues and she tells them her two youngest boys were in the truck then they must be in the snow as well. Surely they did not walk away.
Finally after a few hours the man who picked them up and took them home decides to call the police. Or he called my mother I am not sure. But he only did so after several hours of complete panic had ensued. I cannot imagine what was in his head that he did not think to bring them to the police or call right away or wait at the scene. But the boys were uninjured and safe. Quite the ordeal for them as well, not knowing if Apa was dead or alive.
That was the end of his driving career. Without that income the farm simply deteriorated more and more. Less Caws, more dogs, and he was finally forced to sell the land. Today when I drive past and I see all those new houses on the land, I feel a deep lose.
My Uncle who lived in a part of the house with his family took it over after my grandparents passed, and well, he is letting it collapse. It is a tragedy to see it in such a state. An old Greek Revival with the columns, and the barns. I don't think a single barn stands today.
I always thought one day I would repair the house, bring it to its rightful condition, but it is not to be. I will have to live with the fond memories only. But that's how life is, it moves on, with or without us.
Thursday, September 4, 2014
Out of the way
Well I need to go ahead and get this out of the way.
Back in '76 I think it was when I was in seventh grade life took some crazy turns. The year started off normal enough, well as normal as life could be for us. My memory is all I have from those times, and it seems as I age that memory gets sharp on certain things and seems to be dull on others. So knowing that then, this is how I see it.
We started school that year here in NY, and I think we lived near the Manor but not on it. Our father took a job working on a Dam out near Cincinnati Ohio. He went alone with the promise he would get a place and send for us. He changed those large tires on the construction equipment. So life was moving along and we did not hear from him regarding coming down there. I know there were many nights of hushed phone calls between he and my mom though.
School was broken up in four parts, after the first report card we were told finally we would be moving down to Ohio. My oldest brother David was already there I do not recall how he got there and all those details, but he was there ahead of us. I know because we grilled him about how television might be different there!I guess we thought TV would be all different somehow, but not really sure how.
When I told the School I was leaving they had us go though a process, and part of that was to report to the librarian and turn in our library card. It was beyond me at the time but she was a nice lady and followed students lives at School, or at least was in tune with them. When I tried to turn in my card she said I should keep it as she was sure she would see me again. I assured her we would not be back, but she insisted I keep it anyway. it struck me as odd, because up to that point I never looked at the teachers or Faculty as people. She made me see that they were actually people!
So, we packed up in a U-Haul truck and headed southwest. It was a long nightmarish trip, and I do recall it not being very pleasant. However, our arrival was certainly to be remembered. Apparently my mom was assured we had a place to stay upon arrival. So the lesson there might be, define a place to stay involving five kids and two adults. Seems there might just be different interpretations about that. One interpretation is, a one room sleaze hotel! Yup, we arrived to this converted house hotel place, and it took my mom a bit to figure out we were in deed in the right place. But once she realized that we all were to squeeze into this one room apartment, well, we were all sent outside while there were some very loud words exchanged inside! Pretty typical so we knew go find something to do other than hover around.
My mom was very industrious I suppose is the word, and it did not take her long to find us a new place to stay. Well, when I say new I am in no means referring to the place itself. The place was well out of town and it was in fact an old abandoned farm house, complete with old tobacco barns and outhouse! Yup, a working out house. That would be our bathroom now. To top it off there was a well nearby for our water. First order of business was to gut the house. Having been abandoned for the last 50 or so years it was filthy. And seems some of the local teens liked to use it to store all their beer cans there, thousands of them.
So, a few days gutting and cleaning and we moved in. No electricity, no indoor plumbing, but it was ours. A place to call our own. As kids, it was a great place. Barns to play in, fields to run in, and creeks to build dams, it was near perfect. Of course a down side was having again to share a room with my brothers, that was never fun. Especially my oddest, he wanted the room to himself so did his best to make our lives miserable and try to take all the space for himself.
The place itself wasn't much, my mother was a farm girl so she knew how to make due. She set to getting the place usable, the kitchen did not have any appliances, no stove no fridge, nothing like that. The place did not have electricity so if there were appliances they weren't going to work. She had the foresight to bring an old cast iron stove with her, one of those really old cook stoves. That stove is now in my home waiting to be cleaned up and restored.
We went out in the woods and cut wood for the stove, so my mother could cook dinner and heat the house. There was an old bathtub out on a porch and she would heat water to take the chill out of the cold water for baths, using that stove as well.
The day's in Ohio were fun as 13 year old's, and we did make the best of them. But times were tough, and in the back of my mind I knew they were tough. We were short on food, I know a neighbor gave us chickens, some we kept for eggs, others we put in the pot for dinner. We had to prepare those chickens, and it was a gruesome process, but we needed to eat. We were familiar with the process of preparing our own food from The Manor. The best thing my mother cooked was corn bread in a cast iron pan in the cast iron oven. It was a great dish. Of course there were other favorite dishes. Some of the food was brought in from a food pantry, very large commercial cans of whatever was donated that day. Hit or miss I guess.
At one point we moved again, this time to another town not far from the first. Another dilapidated farm house, and again no facilities. And of course yet another new school. We made the best of it. We went into the woods and cut wood for heat, and did what had to be done to make do. Moving schools was hard though, just when you got to know a few kids off we went.
Finally at some point my mother had had enough and we all packed into a U-Haul and headed back to NY. A trip for the century. My next older brother and I walked down the driveway, just getting home from school, and were rushed into the back of the U-Haul. That's right, we climbed up on all the stuff already packed in the truck, including the dogs, cats, and chickens!
That was the fourth quarter of school. And sure enough that old librarian was there to reprimand me for not having kept my library ID card. Secretly I really liked it that she cared. She was one of the first teachers I recall who truly seemed to care. I think she knew we had it bad, and I think she was trying to reach out. Of course I was so shielded and guarded I was not going to let her in.
The time in Ohio was also a time of respite. It was my sanctuary, my salvation. Though I am now an adult and have lived for a day or two, it is still a hard thing for me to say and write. But, just before we left for Ohio, there was a monster who took advantage of a naive lost boy.
He took things from me that I may never get back, trust, love, and safety. I did not know that men could use boys in such a way, I knew boys and girls had relations, and was unclear how those relations worked, but I knew what this man was doing was wrong. I knew he was taking something from me, but what I don't know was why and how I was unable to free myself. I was trapped somehow.
There was none I could trust to tell, and felt very alone and lost. He took advantage of that. He also pressed me to bring my younger brother who was a bit chubby and blond, and that really seemed to strike this monster. He would promise this and that and pressed really hard. None of promises mounted to anything though, and after time, I grew to know that. I was not about to drag my younger brother into this perverted situation. Until finally this monster started to make threats to my life and that of my family. He swore he would come after all of us and kill us in the night if I did not comply. He made it clear if I were to speak of this to anyone I would not live to see the next day. I believed him.
So, when my mom announced we were moving, it was a glorious day. And that we were moving right away was even better. I did not tell the monster and he would just have to deal the fact that one day I did not show up. I do wish I was able to see his face when he learned we were gone. Ans today, to sit here any publicly type this, it is still a very very hard thing. Still an open wound.
So being back in NY brought on a whole new meaning. I loved Ohio, and wished we could have stayed there. I felt home there, I felt connected. Though we had nothing, we had each other. And without all the trappings of life I felt open and free. Sometimes I think I am still trying to get back to Ohio, to that place, to that safe place. Yes, The Manor was a safe place and our grandfather was a wonderful person. He always made us feel welcome and at home, never as though we were second best. And after we came back home, once or twice I made a very feeble attempt to tell my friend, my confidant, my grandfather. But I never could quite get it out. I though he would think less of me, he would think I was flawed and damaged. I could not allow that. Now looking back I know he would have been accepting and he would have still loved me just the same.
So we were back home. We made it through another round of madness that our father was famous for dragging us through. Now, to just kick back and wait for the next round that was sure to come. And they did. Over the years it was the same repeated again and again.
Back in '76 I think it was when I was in seventh grade life took some crazy turns. The year started off normal enough, well as normal as life could be for us. My memory is all I have from those times, and it seems as I age that memory gets sharp on certain things and seems to be dull on others. So knowing that then, this is how I see it.
We started school that year here in NY, and I think we lived near the Manor but not on it. Our father took a job working on a Dam out near Cincinnati Ohio. He went alone with the promise he would get a place and send for us. He changed those large tires on the construction equipment. So life was moving along and we did not hear from him regarding coming down there. I know there were many nights of hushed phone calls between he and my mom though.
School was broken up in four parts, after the first report card we were told finally we would be moving down to Ohio. My oldest brother David was already there I do not recall how he got there and all those details, but he was there ahead of us. I know because we grilled him about how television might be different there!I guess we thought TV would be all different somehow, but not really sure how.
When I told the School I was leaving they had us go though a process, and part of that was to report to the librarian and turn in our library card. It was beyond me at the time but she was a nice lady and followed students lives at School, or at least was in tune with them. When I tried to turn in my card she said I should keep it as she was sure she would see me again. I assured her we would not be back, but she insisted I keep it anyway. it struck me as odd, because up to that point I never looked at the teachers or Faculty as people. She made me see that they were actually people!
So, we packed up in a U-Haul truck and headed southwest. It was a long nightmarish trip, and I do recall it not being very pleasant. However, our arrival was certainly to be remembered. Apparently my mom was assured we had a place to stay upon arrival. So the lesson there might be, define a place to stay involving five kids and two adults. Seems there might just be different interpretations about that. One interpretation is, a one room sleaze hotel! Yup, we arrived to this converted house hotel place, and it took my mom a bit to figure out we were in deed in the right place. But once she realized that we all were to squeeze into this one room apartment, well, we were all sent outside while there were some very loud words exchanged inside! Pretty typical so we knew go find something to do other than hover around.
My mom was very industrious I suppose is the word, and it did not take her long to find us a new place to stay. Well, when I say new I am in no means referring to the place itself. The place was well out of town and it was in fact an old abandoned farm house, complete with old tobacco barns and outhouse! Yup, a working out house. That would be our bathroom now. To top it off there was a well nearby for our water. First order of business was to gut the house. Having been abandoned for the last 50 or so years it was filthy. And seems some of the local teens liked to use it to store all their beer cans there, thousands of them.
So, a few days gutting and cleaning and we moved in. No electricity, no indoor plumbing, but it was ours. A place to call our own. As kids, it was a great place. Barns to play in, fields to run in, and creeks to build dams, it was near perfect. Of course a down side was having again to share a room with my brothers, that was never fun. Especially my oddest, he wanted the room to himself so did his best to make our lives miserable and try to take all the space for himself.
The place itself wasn't much, my mother was a farm girl so she knew how to make due. She set to getting the place usable, the kitchen did not have any appliances, no stove no fridge, nothing like that. The place did not have electricity so if there were appliances they weren't going to work. She had the foresight to bring an old cast iron stove with her, one of those really old cook stoves. That stove is now in my home waiting to be cleaned up and restored.
We went out in the woods and cut wood for the stove, so my mother could cook dinner and heat the house. There was an old bathtub out on a porch and she would heat water to take the chill out of the cold water for baths, using that stove as well.
The day's in Ohio were fun as 13 year old's, and we did make the best of them. But times were tough, and in the back of my mind I knew they were tough. We were short on food, I know a neighbor gave us chickens, some we kept for eggs, others we put in the pot for dinner. We had to prepare those chickens, and it was a gruesome process, but we needed to eat. We were familiar with the process of preparing our own food from The Manor. The best thing my mother cooked was corn bread in a cast iron pan in the cast iron oven. It was a great dish. Of course there were other favorite dishes. Some of the food was brought in from a food pantry, very large commercial cans of whatever was donated that day. Hit or miss I guess.
At one point we moved again, this time to another town not far from the first. Another dilapidated farm house, and again no facilities. And of course yet another new school. We made the best of it. We went into the woods and cut wood for heat, and did what had to be done to make do. Moving schools was hard though, just when you got to know a few kids off we went.
Finally at some point my mother had had enough and we all packed into a U-Haul and headed back to NY. A trip for the century. My next older brother and I walked down the driveway, just getting home from school, and were rushed into the back of the U-Haul. That's right, we climbed up on all the stuff already packed in the truck, including the dogs, cats, and chickens!
That was the fourth quarter of school. And sure enough that old librarian was there to reprimand me for not having kept my library ID card. Secretly I really liked it that she cared. She was one of the first teachers I recall who truly seemed to care. I think she knew we had it bad, and I think she was trying to reach out. Of course I was so shielded and guarded I was not going to let her in.
The time in Ohio was also a time of respite. It was my sanctuary, my salvation. Though I am now an adult and have lived for a day or two, it is still a hard thing for me to say and write. But, just before we left for Ohio, there was a monster who took advantage of a naive lost boy.
He took things from me that I may never get back, trust, love, and safety. I did not know that men could use boys in such a way, I knew boys and girls had relations, and was unclear how those relations worked, but I knew what this man was doing was wrong. I knew he was taking something from me, but what I don't know was why and how I was unable to free myself. I was trapped somehow.
There was none I could trust to tell, and felt very alone and lost. He took advantage of that. He also pressed me to bring my younger brother who was a bit chubby and blond, and that really seemed to strike this monster. He would promise this and that and pressed really hard. None of promises mounted to anything though, and after time, I grew to know that. I was not about to drag my younger brother into this perverted situation. Until finally this monster started to make threats to my life and that of my family. He swore he would come after all of us and kill us in the night if I did not comply. He made it clear if I were to speak of this to anyone I would not live to see the next day. I believed him.
So, when my mom announced we were moving, it was a glorious day. And that we were moving right away was even better. I did not tell the monster and he would just have to deal the fact that one day I did not show up. I do wish I was able to see his face when he learned we were gone. Ans today, to sit here any publicly type this, it is still a very very hard thing. Still an open wound.
So being back in NY brought on a whole new meaning. I loved Ohio, and wished we could have stayed there. I felt home there, I felt connected. Though we had nothing, we had each other. And without all the trappings of life I felt open and free. Sometimes I think I am still trying to get back to Ohio, to that place, to that safe place. Yes, The Manor was a safe place and our grandfather was a wonderful person. He always made us feel welcome and at home, never as though we were second best. And after we came back home, once or twice I made a very feeble attempt to tell my friend, my confidant, my grandfather. But I never could quite get it out. I though he would think less of me, he would think I was flawed and damaged. I could not allow that. Now looking back I know he would have been accepting and he would have still loved me just the same.
So we were back home. We made it through another round of madness that our father was famous for dragging us through. Now, to just kick back and wait for the next round that was sure to come. And they did. Over the years it was the same repeated again and again.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Bringing in the Hay on the Manor
Late summer was always the time to cut, rake, bale and bring in the hay. Our grandfather was a typical farmer and very frugal. His tractor and mower and rake, and baled were all from 1942, and we weren’t too sure how they still operated. They were a testament to the man who cared for them for over 40 years at that time.
There were times when we were asked to put our foot on the clutch and engage it while he got off the tractor to clear something. That clutch was a tough one, and we had to use all our weight and booth feet to engage it to stop the equipment from operating. If we let that pedal out, then it could have injured or worse our grandfather. We were both thrilled to asked to do this as well scared to do it. The enormous responsibility to engage that pedal was immense.
The process of baling was easy enough, as kids we rode on the fenders of the tractor, but there could only be one or two kids at a time. He had a mower, it was a cycle type, the blade dropped to the ground and he went around the field cutting the hay. He would leave the hay down for awhile, and then rake it. This was to dry out the grass otherwise baling green grass would cause it to heat and mold or even catch fire in a barn and….
Eventually he raked up the hay in rows so the baler could pick it up and make bales. People were using the little square bales, but he stuck with the round ones. After baling it might take a few more weeks to pick them all up and get them to the barn. Well, the picking up was a challenge. First we would walk up to the bales and kick them over. We did this so that we could catch the mice. The filed mice made nests under the bales, and if we were fast after rolling them over we could get the parent mice. If not we would rut around and find the nest and get the little pink babies and stuff them in our shirt pocket.
We has two hooks, we would hook the bales on each end and haul them up on a trailer. Someone on the trailer would grab them and stack them. Our grandfather used one of those old two prong pitch forks and jab the bale and toss it up on the trailer like it weighed nothing. We were awed by his power and strength how he could toss the bales up like they were feathers. Someone would always get the task to run back to the house and fill some old jars with water from the hand pump well in the yard. That water was crisp clear and cold, and we would run the water out to the field and pass it out.
Sometimes he would need a part as well, and he would send us back to the barn and tell us exactly where the part was. One of the fields has honey bees. He let a bee keeper keep them there, and for that we would get cans of honey. Cutting the hay was a challenge there, he would rev up the tractor and we would duck and race past the honey bees. We never did get stung by them though.
Once the bales we stacked on the wagon we would head to the barn. Most of the time it was an uneventful ride to the barn. However every now and then, perhaps the stack was unstable, but at times the trailer would tilt too far and still the load. One time when this happened, my sister disappeared. We were all on the bale's messing around, next thing we knew the bales were tumbling, and we went everywhere. That one time when my sister disappeared, we were frantic to find here.
Our grandfather was flinging bales everywhere and we were tossing them as fast as we could assuming she was under the pile dying. Well after turning over the entire load and not finding her, Apa, as we called my grandfather, sent one of to the house to see if she was there. Sure enough she was there at the kitchen table having some sort of snack! She fell with the bales and ran home, none seemed to notice her run. I can tell you Apa was both relieved and quite mad. What a waste of time looking for her and the panic thinking she was under load squished!
Well, we would get the wagon backed into the hay barn and unload. Sometime Apa would allow us to unload the bales in such a way as to make little forts in the hay mound. We made tunnels and pockets so we could later climb in them as forts.
Unloading was mostly uneventful as well. However there were a few times that there were some incidents. Once my brother fell through the bales, he went all the way down to the bottom off the barn. We ran up to the house and had to get Apa so he could rummage down there and haul him up. Another time my younger brother was messing around with the pitch fork and stabbed it right through the top of his foot. Apa yanked it out and carried him up to the house where there was some very loud screaming when they applied antiseptic to it. That was the norm, I mean he the pitch fork went through his foot impaling it, and all they did was pour antiseptic on it, no hospital no doctor.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Life on the Farm
Ah, life on the farm, sunshine and rosy days. well, maybe not so much!
It was good to be a kid on the farm most days, this time of year the hay would be in the barns, the leaves are turning and the crisp air feels good from the summer heat. My grandmother was not one for kids under foot, so she would kick us out of the house and we were to fend for ourselves all day. Only come in when called in, otherwise out of site.
On many of those occasions it may have been best that the parents did not know what we were up to. One day while playing hide and seek or some such game, we hid back under the rear foundation wall of the horse barn. Well, to our surprise, someone has put a stash of old Playboy magazines there. I may have been the first time my eyes saw such sights. So that was what woman looked like. I mean its not the same to see your mother or sister in the house with nothing on. That was completely different and it did not even occur to me to make the connection that they were female also. The magazines were something altogether different.
Mostly we simply found games in the barns or down by the creek to keep us entertained, and most of the time we were safe. We knew better than to climb the ladder to the silo, well at least I did I can not speak for my brothers though. There was an old barn owl who lived up in there and we didn't want to bother it so much. My grandfather would get mad if we messed around with his cows, he said it agitated them. That did not stop us from time to time trying to ride them though.
The creek was a long winding thing that ran through the entire property, and has great pockets of shrubs, where you could always count on finding a big snapper turtle. Sometimes it took a few of us to wrestle it out of the mud, and carry it up to the house to show it off. Of course we were always told to not play in the creek, so well might imagine the first stop for us.
Sometimes we lived on the farm for months or years,I guess it depended on my fathers work, or if he was fired again. Maybe it was because my mother left him again and we headed back home. Home of course being the farm.
My grandmother took to keeping collies, and she raised them bred them and took them to dog shows. She would get lots of ribbons or trophies, and sometimes we went along. She had kennel dogs, ones who were not show dogs and she had breeder dogs. The horse barn was converted to a dog kennel and they had runs they could run out into. At night though they were lured into the barn with a bone and we dropped a trap door preventing them from going outside in the runs. We had chores to clean the pens and refresh the feed and water for them, and we were lucky to get fifty cents a week for the work. In addition we had to clean the barn and help milk the cows.
The best times were taking what we called "Trips" with our grandfather. These were the special times. He would take a straight truck up to one of the Auction Houses and we would haul the cattle back to the meat packers, aka slaughter house. The ride was the best, there was an old eight track in the truck and we would listen to Arlo Guthrie doing Alice's restaurant mostly. How he put up with us I will never know. We were an unruly bunch.
At the Auction house especially the night trips, we would wander the barns there looking at all the animals and always amazed at the size of the pigs. These things were enormous and grunting and so forth. It wasn't all of that could take the trips at once, there were too many of us to do that, so that was what made it even more special. Sometimes we would even ride in the back with the cattle if it was a day trip with only the calves. Never with the full grown cows.
Life on the farm was full of work, but it was also full of play and adventure.
It was good to be a kid on the farm most days, this time of year the hay would be in the barns, the leaves are turning and the crisp air feels good from the summer heat. My grandmother was not one for kids under foot, so she would kick us out of the house and we were to fend for ourselves all day. Only come in when called in, otherwise out of site.
On many of those occasions it may have been best that the parents did not know what we were up to. One day while playing hide and seek or some such game, we hid back under the rear foundation wall of the horse barn. Well, to our surprise, someone has put a stash of old Playboy magazines there. I may have been the first time my eyes saw such sights. So that was what woman looked like. I mean its not the same to see your mother or sister in the house with nothing on. That was completely different and it did not even occur to me to make the connection that they were female also. The magazines were something altogether different.
Mostly we simply found games in the barns or down by the creek to keep us entertained, and most of the time we were safe. We knew better than to climb the ladder to the silo, well at least I did I can not speak for my brothers though. There was an old barn owl who lived up in there and we didn't want to bother it so much. My grandfather would get mad if we messed around with his cows, he said it agitated them. That did not stop us from time to time trying to ride them though.
The creek was a long winding thing that ran through the entire property, and has great pockets of shrubs, where you could always count on finding a big snapper turtle. Sometimes it took a few of us to wrestle it out of the mud, and carry it up to the house to show it off. Of course we were always told to not play in the creek, so well might imagine the first stop for us.
Sometimes we lived on the farm for months or years,I guess it depended on my fathers work, or if he was fired again. Maybe it was because my mother left him again and we headed back home. Home of course being the farm.
My grandmother took to keeping collies, and she raised them bred them and took them to dog shows. She would get lots of ribbons or trophies, and sometimes we went along. She had kennel dogs, ones who were not show dogs and she had breeder dogs. The horse barn was converted to a dog kennel and they had runs they could run out into. At night though they were lured into the barn with a bone and we dropped a trap door preventing them from going outside in the runs. We had chores to clean the pens and refresh the feed and water for them, and we were lucky to get fifty cents a week for the work. In addition we had to clean the barn and help milk the cows.
The best times were taking what we called "Trips" with our grandfather. These were the special times. He would take a straight truck up to one of the Auction Houses and we would haul the cattle back to the meat packers, aka slaughter house. The ride was the best, there was an old eight track in the truck and we would listen to Arlo Guthrie doing Alice's restaurant mostly. How he put up with us I will never know. We were an unruly bunch.
At the Auction house especially the night trips, we would wander the barns there looking at all the animals and always amazed at the size of the pigs. These things were enormous and grunting and so forth. It wasn't all of that could take the trips at once, there were too many of us to do that, so that was what made it even more special. Sometimes we would even ride in the back with the cattle if it was a day trip with only the calves. Never with the full grown cows.
Life on the farm was full of work, but it was also full of play and adventure.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Christmas at the Manor
Christmas at the Manor a special time of year.
Yes, each year at the manor Christmas was made special. All the relatives would arrive the night before or the next morning, and it was a festive time. Christmas eve the adults would gather around the bar that took up most of the main room, and drink and be merry. The kids would run around all excited and be happy as can be.
Sleeping was hard for Santa was on the way. The house guests were always up and about all hours of the night and we kids, found it quite hard to sleep.
The house guests mostly were made up of great aunts and uncles. And always the following morning, Christmas Morning after the farm chores were done, our grandfather would drive out to get the even older generation.
Looking back I should have spent more time with them to get to know their stories a bit better. Uncle Jack, the WWII veteran and pilot was sure to get your ear and tell you all about the fighting and the air battles and mystery of it all. As we tried to run past him, every now and then he would reach out and grab hold of one of us and sit you right next to him and off he went with the war. The other kids would tease and laugh about how you were the one to get caught this time, knowing it easily have been them.
Doing the farm chores on Christmas eve and on Christmas was easier for some reason, it didn't feel as cold or the work as hard. The cows seemed more cooperative with the milking and the dogs seemed more cooperative in the kennels.
Christmas morning we were only allowed to open two or three gifts each. The rest had to wait until the evening when all the family was gathered around the tree. And that was only done after the dinner.
Christmas dinner was a big affair, there was a Turkey and all the fixins, and a few special things my grandmother did. She would always prepare some poached wine pears well ahead of Christmas and they were a big part of the dinner. Desert was a tall glass with vanilla ice cream topped with creme de menth, but only for the adults. We had the ice cream only.
Then finally after the dinner was all cleaned up and put away and everyone was seated in the living room, only then would the ladies of the house start handing out presents. It was done one item at a time the name called and the gift handed out.
Those who could not make the event were sure to call the house at some point. The phone would ring and everyone got all excited wanting to talk to the person who was not there. As the phone was passed and the presents passed out, the excitement would grow, and the air was filled with that excitement. Oh it was just as hard to sleep that night as it was the night before.
Christmas at the Manor was a special time.
Yes, each year at the manor Christmas was made special. All the relatives would arrive the night before or the next morning, and it was a festive time. Christmas eve the adults would gather around the bar that took up most of the main room, and drink and be merry. The kids would run around all excited and be happy as can be.
Sleeping was hard for Santa was on the way. The house guests were always up and about all hours of the night and we kids, found it quite hard to sleep.
The house guests mostly were made up of great aunts and uncles. And always the following morning, Christmas Morning after the farm chores were done, our grandfather would drive out to get the even older generation.
Looking back I should have spent more time with them to get to know their stories a bit better. Uncle Jack, the WWII veteran and pilot was sure to get your ear and tell you all about the fighting and the air battles and mystery of it all. As we tried to run past him, every now and then he would reach out and grab hold of one of us and sit you right next to him and off he went with the war. The other kids would tease and laugh about how you were the one to get caught this time, knowing it easily have been them.
Doing the farm chores on Christmas eve and on Christmas was easier for some reason, it didn't feel as cold or the work as hard. The cows seemed more cooperative with the milking and the dogs seemed more cooperative in the kennels.
Christmas morning we were only allowed to open two or three gifts each. The rest had to wait until the evening when all the family was gathered around the tree. And that was only done after the dinner.
Christmas dinner was a big affair, there was a Turkey and all the fixins, and a few special things my grandmother did. She would always prepare some poached wine pears well ahead of Christmas and they were a big part of the dinner. Desert was a tall glass with vanilla ice cream topped with creme de menth, but only for the adults. We had the ice cream only.
Then finally after the dinner was all cleaned up and put away and everyone was seated in the living room, only then would the ladies of the house start handing out presents. It was done one item at a time the name called and the gift handed out.
Those who could not make the event were sure to call the house at some point. The phone would ring and everyone got all excited wanting to talk to the person who was not there. As the phone was passed and the presents passed out, the excitement would grow, and the air was filled with that excitement. Oh it was just as hard to sleep that night as it was the night before.
Christmas at the Manor was a special time.
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