Fond farm memories

Editor’s note: The Kansan asked readers to send in their farm stories. Here are their responses.

Wheat harvest days

were ‘long and hot’

This picture brings back fond memories of wheat harvest on the John and Marie Mosiman farm in 1938.

Their farm was in the far southeast corner of Harvey County, three miles south of Whitewater. Afternoons during harvest were long and hot.

Our mother took lunch to the field in the afternoon for the crews. On this day, she was able to get all eight of her children in this picture.

Johnny was the combine operator, Jerry was tractor driver and Willard was grain hauler.

Elizabeth, standing high on the combine, Eldon, standing by the truck, Don on top of the truck, with Wayne and Duane on the truck fenders, were there for lunch and the picture.

The equipment was a 1935 MandM 12-foot combine, pulled by a 1928 D John Deere tractor. The grain trucks were 1932 and 1929 Chevrolets.

The four older brothers — Johnny, Willard, Jerry and Eldon — are deceased. The four remaining siblings — Elizabeth Bowlin, Don, Duane and Wayne — still live in the Whitewater-Furley area.

— Don and Marilyn

Mosiman, Furley

Girl finds her place

driving the combine

I grew up on a farm near Zenda. My parents had two girls and then thought they would try one more time for a boy. Well, they didn’t get quite what they wished for, but all of us worked just as hard and well as a son would have.

My favorite memory, which continues today, is wheat harvest.

This is my family’s main crop,

and the energy that occurs during harvest including the lightning in summer thunderstorms is exciting.

Granted stress could make tempers flare at times, but the good always seemed to outweigh the bad.

I refused to drive the wheat trucks as we binned our own wheat, which meant lots of backing up to a hopper, running the auger, watching the level of wheat in the grain bin, etc. I had absolutely no interest in that.

So, I became a combine driver (I rode many hours as a little girl), and the master of our Gleaner A combine.

There were no fancy controls, no radio and only a simple water cooler to cool air in the cab.

The seat was not cushy in any way shape or form. A simple pad against the back of the cab and a seat filled with horsehair covered in vinyl.

I was never bored — the sound of the wheat thrashing through the combine and listening to the sounds of the combine all day was what I loved.

The main entertainment was watching for any stray sprouts of rye, finding wildlife and watching approaching thunderstorms.

The combine has since been sold and larger machines bought, but the memories will last a lifetime.

— Karen Tommer,

Newton

‘Depressed’ cow worries city girl

Thirty years ago, during the grieving time of the loss of our four beloved family members in a horrible semi truck-car wreck, I was struggling with depression.

The remaining members of our family had gotten together for a family dinner and, during the dinner, Griff and Glenna were talking about how a cow had gotten down in a depression and they couldn’t get her out so they had to shoot her.

Being a city girl, I sat there quietly, wondering how they knew a cow was depressed and what they would do to me when they found out I was so horribly depressed.

Finally, I asked how they knew she was in a depression.

They roared in laughter at my question, with the answer being, she was laying in the pasture in a depressed (lowered area) and because of an injury she was unable to get out and they were unable to pull her out.

Needless to say, I didn’t live that one down for several years.

— Cindy (Lowe) McAnulty,

Newton

Flax in full bloom

made sea of beauty

My father always had an appreciation for the beauties of God’s creations.

More than once over the years, he would send one of my brothers or me to the house to alert our mother to the glories of a fabulous Kansas sunset or a particularly wonderful cloud display.

But one incident has remained in my memory for 70 years.

Dad raised flax for the seed for a few years. One summer morning just after dawn, Dad came into the house to get us out of bed so he could take us to see a beautiful sight.

We went down to the field we all called “the Santa Fe land” because it was part of a grant given to the railroad in the 1860s that Dad rented from the company. The Meridian Road/U.S. 50 interchange is on part of that land now.

There we saw an incredible sight — several acres of blue flax in full bloom from the end of what is now Meridian Road westward to what is now Cow Palace Road.

We had to see it early because the blossoms closed up when the sun hit them.

I can picture in my mind to this day that wonderful blue sea of delicate flowers. Maybe that’s why blue is my favorite color to this day. Thanks, Dad.

— Patricia Vetter Randall,

Newton

City girls locks grandpa out

of farmhouse

I have been a city girl all of my life, but have great farm life memories.

My grandparents farmed east of Chanute and lived in a farmhouse purchased from the Sears catalog.

My sisters and I got to spend one to two weeks with them every summer.

I loved helping dress chickens. Fried chicken never tasted so good, although don’t think I could do that today and have chicken for dinner.

I remember my sisters and I trying to go to sleep one night and getting scared because of banging noises outside.

We called downstairs to grandma and asked her what it was. It was just the pigs using the pig feeders.

One of the funniest memories I have is locking my grandpa in the house. I grew up in Wichita, and we always locked all of our doors.

My grandparents did not lock any of their doors, and this really made me nervous. One night after everyone went to bed, I locked all the doors in the house.

The next morning, my grandpa headed out the door and couldn’t get out. He put up quite a fuss. I never locked another door there.

— Marsha Clark,

Elbing

Children’s shoes may have ended

up in bread

My sister and I have wonderful memories of spending a week on the farm with Grandpa and Grandma each summer.

Sometimes that would be during wheat harvest, which I’m sure they appreciated!

Dennis, who is our uncle but our age, was there, of course, and three cousins who lived close by would come, too, and spend a day to “help” Grandpa out in the field.

All of us little kids would stand on top of the grain truck and dive head-first into the wheat. Sometimes we’d lose our “thongs” (which are now called flip-flops, so don’t get too excited!) in the grain.

Then, when we went to the elevator, we’d have to stand by as the grain was being dumped through the grate and grab for them before they ended up in someone’s bread.

Grandpa must have thought we were all a bunch of ninnies, but he didn’t seem to mind too much!

I don’t know how he got any work done and how on one ever got hurt!

— Barbara Rexroat,

Valley Center

any work done and how no one ever got hurt!

— Barbara Rexroat,

Valley Center

‘Tucker’ on hay baler

had to take caution

I vividly remember the old Case hay baler my father used when I was 8 years old.

It was powered by a Wisconsin engine and pulled with a tractor driven by my brothers.

The hay crew was Uncle Neal Oliver, Earl, cousin Ed and a neighbor, Jake.

The men had built a seat for two on either side of the bale chamber and made a shade over the seats. There was a “feeder,” who usually was Dad or Ed.

As hay was picked up (mechanically) from a windrow, the feeder had to push the hay into a chamber, where the hay was packed into a 60-pound bale.

Factors that affected bale weight were kind of hay and moisture content.

There were several wooden blocks the width size of a bale. The feeder person would observe how long a bale was and holler “block.”

Sitting on the seats alongside the chamber were two people who pushed wire through the hay and two people who tied the wire on the opposite side.

It also was the responsibility of a “poker” to place the wooden block quickly when the feeder yelled “block.” If it wasn’t done at the proper time, the “tucker” could be seriously damaged.

I loved the many stories Jake would tell. I only wish I would have remembered them.

— Dan Baumgartner,

Hesston

Youngster survives

hay trailer accident

Growing up in the country is the best experience anyone can have.

My family moved to the country when I was about 6 weeks old. My Grandpa Vetter lived next door on the farm.

There are so many great memories from growing up on the farm, it is hard to pick just one.

I always preferred running around with Dad versus being inside cleaning house with Mom. I loved sitting up in the bed of the big truck during wheat harvest, chewing the freshly harvested wheat.

When I was 4 or 5 years old, I was run over by the hay trailer.

Grandpa Vetter was coming in to the farm with a trailer full of fresh-baled hay with my brothers Jerry and Mark and cousins Chris and Terry perched up on the trailer.

It was nothing for us to run and jump on the trailers — we had done it many times. Chris was reaching to help me up and lost his grip as I slipped and fell under the front wheel.

The wheel grazed the side of my head, but I was able to get up and run into the milk barn were Dad was. Dad rushed me to the emergency room, and I was very lucky.

If I would have not gotten up and moved, the back wheel would have crushed my head, and things would of turned out a lot differently.

I just want to say thanks to Mom and Dad for providing me with a great memorable childhood growing up in the country.

— Kim Fiessinger,

Newton

Grandpa’s ‘trap’

catches gas stealers

When my grandpa was still farming, he noticed one summer that the bulk gasoline tank, which was used for refueling the farm machinery, had to be refilled sooner than usual.

He suspected someone was driving onto the yard regularly and was filling up their car with his gas.

Since there always seemed to be some family member on the yard during the day and the windows of the house were always open at night (because the house was not air-conditioned), he wondered how someone could drive onto the yard and fill up their car without anyone noticing.

Then it dawned on him the only time there was no one at home was Sunday morning, when the family was at church.

One Saturday night, Grandpa used a ladder to crawl to the top of the bulk gasoline tank.

While up there, he opened the tank and used a garden hose to place several gallons of water into the gas supply. Since water is heavier than gasoline, it sank to the bottom of the tank where the refueling hose is connected.

The next morning, Sunday, when the family was in town attending church, two men drove their car onto the yard and proceeded to fill up with Grandpa’s gas.

By the time the car had left the yard and was proceeding down the road, the water from the car’s gas tank reached the carburetor and caused the engine to stall.

While pushing their car down the road, here came Grandpa and family coming home from church.

Grandpa asked, “You boys need any help?”

They replied, “No, we’re OK” and proceeded to push the car toward town.

— Rich Andres,

Newton

Corn ‘teepees’ made

great fun for children

When I was a kid growing up on the farm, my Dad used to grow Kafir corn. It grew to be a very tall plant and had heads of grain that looked a lot like the milo they plant now.

Since Kafir was so tall, they cut it off at the bottom. They didn’t want to grain to lie on the ground where it would get wet and spoil, so they tied a group of stalks together with twine.

Then they would stand the bundles and lean them against each other so they looked like an Indian teepee. There might be 50 teepees in a field.

One October, these “teepees” were in a field close to the house. The moon was full, and it was a beautiful night so my brother, sister and I pretended to be Indians.

We whooped and hollered and did war dances. We made bows from thin tree branches and string. We used pieces of the Kafir stalks for arrows.

We were having so much fun our mother let us stay out until 10 o’clock. It is such a wonderful memory I feel sorry for today’s kids stuck inside with a video game!

— Shirley Gosney,

Newton

Gig was no ordinary

pig to this family

Growing up on the farm, we always had a bottle animal around, and my mom (June Young of Halstead) always had a name for them.

We had Lily the Lamb, Frosty the Cow and then there was Gig the Pig.

Now Gig was no ordinary pig. First of all, he didn’t want to stay on the back porch in the cardboard box; he wanted to be in the house with the cats.

He especially liked in when he could tip the box over, push the door open, then drink the cats’ milk.

As he grew bigger and was outside, he and the dog, Duke, a German shepherd-malumute cross, became fast friends.

They would go to the fields. Gig would roll the irrigation pipes, and Duke would chase the rabbits out!

Gig also knew what to do when he was thirsty; he just went up to the water spout, rooted on it until it turned and the water came on. We could never teach him to turn it off, though.

When I first met my husband, Larry, it was a true trip to the farm the first time he came out.

Gig was now was a great big boar (male pig). Larry brought me home after I had showed at the county fair. We had just pulled into my parents’ drive, and Larry turned off the car when it started rocking from side to side.

Gig had walked up and was rubbing on the car. I reached over, rolled down the window and told Gig to get the heck out of here!

Larry could see his back and hear him grunt as he walked by. I then explained that was just my mom’s pet pig, Gig.

Larry wondered what he had gotten himself into!

After tearing up a lot of fences and most of Mom’s flowers, Gig went to the big meat market.

Larry and I have been married more than 25 years, and no, we have never had a pig on our farm!

— Debbie Church,

Newton

Woman proud to be

farmer’s daughter

I grew up on a farm southeast of Newton. There were things I liked about each of the seasons: watching my dad feed hay and silo to the cattle in the winter, milo harvest in the fall, new calves and garden planting in the spring, but my favorite was always summer and wheat harvest.

Before I was able to drive, I would ride along with my dad on the combine or with my mom in the old wheat truck.

The truck was notorious for break-downs. Since it wasn’t a dump truck, it had to be lifted up on a hoist to dump the wheat off at the elevator. Once it was back down, more often than not it wouldn’t start.

When it was retired, we then had a bigger Studebaker truck, but it, too, gave us trouble.

Once, when my mom was taking a load of wheat to Ross Mill, it stalled halfway up the overpass on Broadway and rolled down backwards with my mom inside, scared to death.

Another time my mom pulled up for the combine to unload and held the steering wheel up to the driver’s side window to show my dad it had come off.

She always tried to find humor in things, but I’m sure he didn’t think it was too funny!

I remember taking lunch out to my dad in the field, sitting in the shade of the tractor tire, watching him drinking tea out of a Tang jar wrapped in newspaper and put in a sugar sack and eating a cinnamon roll, bun or homemade bread sandwich that had been baked by my mom in the hot summertime in a non air-conditioned house.

Though I’m not involved in farming anymore, I still feel the excitement when the first combines go out into the fields and the trucks line up at the elevator.

I remember all the hard work but also the fun times we had and treasure the memories of life on the farm. I always have been and will forever be proud to be a farmer’s daughter.

— Becky (Gronau) Torres,

Newton

Farmer’s oats

made the newspaper

Years ago, The Newton Kansan published a story about my father’s unusual second oat crop harvested from the same field in the same year.

He, Rudolf B. Schmidt, was an innovative farmer who did things like taking the moldboards off the plow long before the “chisel plow” came along.

This left the straw on top, and the wheat did not blow out. He used it for 25 years before it became popular.

He fashioned an implement he called a “blade” with which to control bindweed in his fields. Later. he mounted a weed sprayer on his tractor and was in demand to spray for many neighbors.

He was one of the first, if not the first, to get a grain drill with fertilizer attachment in the community.

In Bible times, it was a requirement for the Israelites to not plant a crop every seventh year. Dad started summer fallowing the ground every seventh year — found it was good for him, too.

He raised as much as 70 bushels of wheat per acre on ground that was treated that way (1976). He thought someday others will find out you make more money that way than the old way, but I have not seen that happen in this area.

— Hildred Schmidt,

Walton

Pot of beans turns into coffee smell

My husband and his father were farming, just north of the family home, threshing oats.

My father-in-law, being widowed, had put on a pot of beans to cook.

Sometime later, forgetting them, my husband kept smelling coffee.

Too late to save the beans!

— Billie Vetter,

Newton