Flour Sack Towels Through the Years by Pam Crooks

 

Among the gifts I received for Christmas this year were flour sack towels. Three of them, to be exact.  Two were sweetly embroidered for my husband and me by our young granddaughters, and the third was screen-printed with a Christmas-themed gingerbread man with a stack of books from my sister.

With this towel came a slip of paper noting the history and benefits of flour sack towels. Of course, I suspect we all have a flour sack towel or two in our kitchen drawers right now, and we all probably have a pretty good idea how the towels came to be, but I especially found interesting the foresightedness of feed companies that led to their practical use and popularity.

I didn’t realize just how widespread that popularity was!

In 1850 or so, flour was shipped and sold in big wooden barrels to the general stores. Cumbersome and not particularly sanitary, right?  About this time, cotton was more easily harvested and became plentiful. Grain mills took to shipping the flour in thick-weaved cotton bags strong enough to hold fifty pounds and later, one hundred pounds.  Soon, sugar, animal feed, fertilizer, seeds, etc., followed in those bags, and it wasn’t long until frugal housewives, loathe to throw anything useful away, found new ways to use them.

Towels, aprons, diapers, bedding, and all sorts of clothing were just the beginning.  But alas, who wanted to wear a shirt or a dress with the flour company’s logo branded across the front?  Housewives determinedly removed the labels with rounds of soaking and washing with bleach and lye soap.  After the chain stitching was pulled out of the side of the bag, the cotton could be cleaned, starched, and pressed.

(These leggings were made by a Lakota woman sometime in the 1920s using leather and dyed porcupine quills on the lower half visible below a dress. On the upper part which would be hidden by the dress, she used flour sacks from Rex Flour.)

Eventually, seeing the growing popularity of up-cycling the feed bags and seeing a potential rise in sales, manufacturers switched to paper labels.  Housewives found removing the glue-backed labels with kerosene much easier but still a chore. The feed companies and flour mills took continued compassion (with an eye toward higher profits, of course) on housewives and began to print their logos using water-soluble vegetable inks.

Popularity for the bags soared in the 1920s when the cotton mills hit upon the idea of producing fabrics in colorful flower prints, designs for pillowcases and curtains, embroidery patterns, and even patterns for children’s clothing, teddy bears, dolls, and so on.

How fun, right?

(Isn’t this a pretty pillowcase?  Sacks were sewn with string and a large needle, and when the sacks were taken apart, small holes were left behind. Can you see the stitching on the edge of this pillowcase?)

Women had to compete for the bags, often bringing their able-bodied sons or husbands with them to the store to maneuver through a pile of heavy sacks to get to the bottom where the choice prints could be found. Rural wives, of course, had an advantage of plenty of bags on hand to feed their livestock. Others had to collect, save, and trade to have enough yardage for their projects.  Others bought larger bags called “empties” from bakers for only pennies a piece.

One 100-pound bag of feed netted a yard of 44 inch fabric. You can see how many bags would be needed for a large project or multiple clothing items.

Even President Calvin Coolidge, known for his frugality, benefited from the women’s enthusiastic creativity by receiving a gift of handmade flour-sack pajamas. It took five flour sacks to make the pajamas and were a show of support for his economic program.

During World War II, due to a shortage of cotton fabric, the government strongly encouraged use of the bags. Women sold their surplus bags for extra cash. After the war ended, rural women developed a sense of fashion from their frugality, and national sewing contests were held so they could show off their skills, netting prizes like expensive sewing machines, automobiles, or even a trip to Hollywood!

It’s easy to see how the cotton bags boosted the cotton industry.  Once the sacks were cleaned and readied for use, there were as comparable in quality and design as any new percale sold in stores, thanks to top textile designers from New York City and Europe who jumped on board to produce designs with colorfast dyes.  One of the earliest collections was by the Percy Kent Bag Company, still in business today in Missouri and have even done bag work for Disney films.

(Staley Milling Company of St. Louis and Kansas City was one of Percy Kent’s biggest customers. Here are packaged animal feeds in Percy Kent dress-print sacking.)

I don’t know that flour sack towels are used much to sew clothing these days, but they are the absolute best for drying dishes and being used in other ways in the kitchen.  They’re fun to use in crafts, too, like stamping, painting with paint pens, screen and digital printing, all things those 19th century grain mills and the cotton industry never dreamed of!

To win a set of these pretty flour sack towels, tell me how and if you use flour sack towels for anything besides drying dishes!

 

 

Have you gotten your copy of JOY TO THE COWBOY yet?  Book #2 of the Christmas Stocking Sweethearts series by the fillies!

She was sunshine. He was clouds.  Until a sprig of mistletoe changed everything.

Griff Marcello must live with the shame of the crime he once committed for his mobster father.  As he grows into a man, he’s found security as a cowboy living in Glory Hill, Nebraska, but the memory of his sin never leaves him.

Joyanna Hollinger is devoted to the community of Glory Hill, and with Christmas approaching, her plans for a special Christmas Eve service consumes her. All her efforts are falling into place–until she loses a key part of the celebration.

When Griff receives an unexpected gift from his former piano teacher, he never thinks her kindness will fill him with the spirit of Christmas, even when Joyanna needs him most.

Could the simplicity of a hand-stitched stocking and the Christmas carol tucked within chase away the clouds in his heart and warm him from the sunshine of Joyanna’s love?

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The Oldest Continuously Run Publication in America

Do you know what the oldest continuously published periodical is in the U.S? It’s The Old Farmer’s Almanac and goes on sale every year on the 2nd Tuesday of September. Farmers everywhere race to get a copy. It was first published in 1792 during George Washington’s first term as president. The founder and editor was Robert B. Thomas and it sold for six pence or nine cents a copy.

It originally carried the name of Farmer’s Almanac but the word “Old” was added to the title in 1848 after several other farmers almanacs came out by different companies. They needed to set theirs apart so people would know which one they were buying.

Farmers and city dwellers alike have depended on the Old Farmer’s Almanac to know when to plant and what the weather for the next year will be like. It also tells fishermen when the fish will bite. A lot of people have found it indispensable.

Robert Thomas came up with a complex formula using his observations of natural weather cycles to predict the forecast. He had amazing results and was said to be uncannily accurate 80 percent of the time. (Even today, his formula is kept locked away at the Almanac offices in Dublin, New Hampshire.)

In 1858, it’s said that Abraham Lincoln, a lawyer at the time, used the Almanac to defend his client and refuting an eyewitness who claimed to have seen the crime by the light of the moon. The Almanac recorded the moon was in the first quarter on this night and riding low in the horizon. It wouldn’t have given much light at all. Abe Lincoln won the case.

The Old Farmers Almanac has only had fourteen editors since its existence, the latest of which is the second woman to take the helm. Her name is Carol Connare and she took the reins in 2023.

In the beginning, the book focused mostly on farming but it does much more now. It has advice on gardening, cooking, and fishing in addition to lunar cycles, and horoscopes. Sometimes there is a blend of trivia and human interest stories and even recipes. You can find most anything in one of these books from anecdotes to fashion predictions for the coming year.

In 1942, the almanac came close to halting publication when a German spy came ashore on Long Island, New York and was apprehended by the FBI. They found a copy of the 1942 Old Farmer’s Almanac in his pocket. It appeared the Germans were using the Almanac as a source of weather forecasts because it was so accurate. Indirectly the book was supplying information to the enemy. From then on until the war’s end, the editor quickly changed the format to only show weather indications, not forecasts.

In September 2018, they predicted that Texas and Oklahoma would have the driest winter on record and, Lord knows, that certainly came true. The Texas Panhandle went 192 days without any moisture. I was living up there then. We had very bad fires and dangerous winds that year.

It’s very gratifying to see something that’s been around for 232 years and still going strong. It’s a great resource for writers.

Today the Old Farmer’s Almanac comes in paperback, trade size, and hard back and sells between $6.94 to $14.24 for hard back. And there’s a Kindle editor. Folks swear by the information inside each copy because it’s rarely wrong.

Have you ever or anyone you know ever used the Old Farmer’s Almanac? I’ve always found it interesting and full of valuable information. There’s wonderful recipes in it as well. I’m giving away a $15 Amazon gift card to a commenter so leave me something.

Regina Scott: In the Footsteps of the Pioneers

It’s not always possible to step into the shoes of a pioneer. I value a good history book that walks me through the social, political, and geographic changes of the nineteenth century. But my favorite way to research is hands on. Don’t make me read about the various ways to hitch a team of horses to a wagon. Take me out and let me hitch them myself. Don’t tell me how to make butter. Sit me down at a churn and let me make it myself. (And if I get to put it on freshly baked bread warm from the oven with raspberry preserves afterward, even better!)

So, I am blessed to have two living history museums within a short drive of my home. One is a re-creation of Fort Nisqually, the Hudson’s Bay Company outpost on Puget Sound. Though it was originally situated closer to the Nisqually Delta, in present day Dupont, some of the original buildings were moved to a wooded area in Tacoma’s Point Defiance Park, and other facsimiles were added to represent what the fort would have been like in the 1840s.

The other is Pioneer Farm Museum above the Ohop Valley, on the way to Mount Rainier. The clearing surrounded by forest re-creates an 1887 homestead, and two of the cabins date from that era. With live animals and a smithy, you can really get the feel of living on a pioneer farm. You can grind grain, scrub laundry, card wool, and even curl your hair with a curling iron heated down the chimney of an oil lamp.

Here’s a few of the things I’ve learned:

Make your space count. When you have to cut and prepare the logs, lift them into place, put in a chimney, and add a sturdy roof, you don’t build a 2,500-square-foot California split! The inside of some of these cabins is no more than about ten feet square, and the length often depended on the length of the logs available. You might have a loft or a second story, but the main room needs to do duty as parlor, dining room, kitchen, sewing room, and even bedroom.

Learn to scrape. Sugar came in cones rather than sacks. Cinnamon came in sticks. Even laundry only got clean by scrubbing it over something. Those pioneer ladies must have had strong hands, wrists, and arms!

Follow fashion judiciously. One of the first questions I asked one of the reenactors at Fort Nisqually, who was wearing a large-skirted gown from the 1850s, was about whether they employed the big hoop skirts so popular back East. She confided that petticoats were more the thing out West, and I’m not surprised. How would a pioneer lady have navigated those narrow ladders leading up to the sleeping loft or even squeezed through a door in one of those things?

Whatever I learn, I always factor into my books, and The Schoolmarm’s Convenient Marriage, out November 6, is no exception. My heroine’s schoolroom bears a close resemblance to this one from Pioneer Farm.

Alice Dennison travelled across country to start life over as a schoolteacher in Wallin Landing, north of Seattle. No one there knows the humiliation and hurt hidden in her heart. Then a storm forces her to seek shelter with a handsome logger for the night, and suddenly she’s facing marriage or scandal! Again! Jesse Willets had always hoped for a love match like his parents. But he steps up to save Alice’s reputation through a marriage of convenience. When Alice’s past intrudes, they must work together to discover that true love may not be so distant after all.

In celebration of the new release, I’m giving away a copy of Her Frontier Sweethearts (print in the U.S., ebook internationally), which introduces many of the characters in the new book. When feisty Ciara O’Rourke starts a frontier restaurant, someone thrusts a baby at her and disappears. Logger Kit Weatherly will do anything to protect the niece he never knew he had. Can he convince Ciara to take a chance on them both?

To be entered in the drawing, answer this question: How do you prefer to learn about history?

Bio

Regina Scott started writing novels in the third grade. Thankfully for literature as we know it, she didn’t sell her first novel until she learned a bit more about writing. Since her first book was published, her stories have traveled the globe, with translations in many languages including Dutch, German, Italian, and Portuguese. She now has more than sixty-five published works of warm, witty romance, and more than 1 million copies of her books are in reader hands. She currently lives forty-five minutes from the gates of Mount Rainier with her husband of thirty years. Regina Scott has dressed as a Regency dandy, driven four-in-hand, learned to fence, and sailed on a tall ship, all in the name of research, of course. Learn more about her at her website at http://www.reginascott.com

Sweet and Happy Autumn

It’s fall!

Well, not quite, but our fall calving season started early on the farm, because we put embryos in last November, and they started dropping mid-August.
I love calving season. I go out every morning on the four-wheeler and look for new babies hiding in the grass, standing on new, wobbly legs or trotting beside their moms, keeping a leery eye on the noisy machine that is interrupting their first breakfast!
I will never tire of watching a new little one enter the world.
Last week I got to see Cookie, a cow who was born on our farm in PA and who came down to Virginia as a nursing calf and who now has had two calves of her own for us, birth this year’s offering – a sweet little heifer. It was a bittersweet joy because earlier that day Cookie’s mom, #3, had a still birth.
I was able to grab a pic of Cookie and her newborn – so new she hadn’t even stood up for the first time – with #3 in the background. She’d been over to check things out, sniff Cookie and give her a little encouragement, before she went back to grazing, nearby, just in case her help was needed.
It wasn’t. Cookie’s baby slipped into this world pretty easily and under one of the most stunning sunsets in recent memory.
I usually think of spring as a time of new birth, but fall is when cooler temps kill off the flies and other insects that have plagued us all summer, giving us a welcome reprieve from their annoyance. (Just as an aside, my husband has a real issue with chiggers. His legs are covered with bites, and he even has them on his stomach and arms. He wears boots, socks, and pants everywhere. While I run around in flip flops, knee-length skirts and sleeveless shirts and they don’t bother me at all. I guess I just don’t taste very good. : )
Fall mornings just smell fresh and clean and pure, like the air had been run through a purifier all night long.
This time of year, I think about picking apples and long to go to an orchard and see the dark green leaves, the red apples and the blue, blue sky. I worked on an orchard with my kids when they were young, taking my youngest child in a pack-n-play and picking bushels of apples with my older kids. We’d get paid and go home, I’d get some buttermilk and we’d sit on the back porch and read poetry as we rested from our labors, enjoying the play of words and the rhythm of the stories in verse. Mom might show up with an apple pie – her specialty – and the boys would gather around Nana and brag about how many bushels of apples they picked. Beautiful memories of by-gone days that were so much fun.
The days are getting shorter, and I have my twinkle lights out, candles lit and my blankets ready to snuggle in. Fall evenings with the soft lights burning are the best times to write, to create the stories in my head and breathe life into them, sweet and gentle, in the safe warmth of our resting home. Spring and summer are so busy and winter can be harsh, but fall is the perfect time for stories to come to life.
Sometimes we play games in the evenings as well, and sometimes we take drives, watching the leaves as they blow across the road and we explore remote areas we see in the other seasons, but don’t have time to travel down.
Whatever season we’re in is always my favorite. But I definitely look forward to autumn! What do you do this time of year?

A Little Lesson in Voice Commands for Livestock

I recently read a wonderful book I couldn’t put down and that has stayed with me since turning the last page. As I often do when I’ve finished a book I loved (or one I hated), I go online and read reviews to see if people agree with me and if they don’t, why. Most reviewers raved about this book and felt the same as I did. There were a few one-star reviews, however, and I read those with curiosity. How could someone not like this awesome book?

One reviewer who gave one star stated they were annoyed by the main character constantly shouting, “Gee, gee,” at the mule she rode, calling the word gibberish. This was apparently enough for the reviewer to bash the book. I was shocked. As someone who’s owned mules, I know that ‘gee’ is a vocal command for equine, most frequently draft horses and mules, meaning turn right, and ‘haw’ means turn left. The main character in the book wasn’t shouting gibberish at her mule but rather instructing it.

Me being me, I decided to do a little research on vocal commands for equine. Turns out, horses, ponies, donkeys, and mules are quite smart and can learn a number of commands, including recognizing their name and coming when called. They aren’t the only ones. Bovine, such as cows and oxen, are also capable of learning commands. Goats, too. Pigs are incredibly smart. I once had a pot-bellied pig named Queenie who knew how to sit, stay, come, lie down, and followed me around like a dog.

So, what are the most common vocal commands? Because, you know, you can teach your horse or oxen or goat any command you want. But here are the ones people tend to use:

Whoa:                     Stop

Clucking:                Go or move up a gait

Kissing noise:        Go or move up a gait

Move out:               Go

Step Lively:            Pick up the pace

Walk:                      Walk

Trot:                       Trot

Canter:                  Canter

Gallop:                  Gallop

Easy:                     Slow and steady

Stand:                   Remain standing

Wait:                     Stay put

Back:                    Back up

Gee:                     Turn right

Haw:                    Turn left

Over:                   Move sideways or sidestep

Quit:                    Stop whatever you’re doing

Most horses are taught vocal commands on lunge line in or out of a round pen. Draft equine, oxen, and goats will more likely be trained by walking behind with a set of long reins. Just like teaching a dog, livestock learn well with the reward system. A treat and/or fond petting for a job well done.

What does all this mean? Well, for one, the saying, “Dumb as an ox,” is probably wrong. Seems oxen are kinda smart. Stubborn as a mule, however? That one is one hundred percent true. If a mule doesn’t respond to voice commands, it’s not because he doesn’t understand or is dumb. He’s just refusing!

We save one, we lose one

Today I wanted to share a story I wrote early last spring:

I talked last week about how slippery it has been in our pasture—especially with a skift of snow on top of a thin layer of ice on top of some wet mud.

We got a lot of rain last Monday night, so our creek was swollen, the pastures were saturated, and it was too muddy and slick for even Watson to drive through, so we walked out to check the cows.

We have around twenty cows that should freshen in the next six weeks or so, so we’re keeping a pretty close eye on them.

Tuesday morning, Watson fed the cows, then he came back to the house and got me.

Now, I talked some about Watson last week. He’s a machinery guy. He loves tractors and equipment and anything with a motor and wheels. He knows them, understands them, and is really intuitive at driving and fixing them.

I’m kinda the cow person.

Watson loves his cows. I mean, really, he loves them, but when it comes to actually knowing about them, that’s really me.

Anyway, it was too wet and muddy to drive, so we had to walk. I think that’s why he wanted me, but also in case we had a cow with a calf. I have a better knack for knowing what to do in a pinch, if that makes sense.

We have about ten or so cows who were bred to a Hereford bull who are going to freshen in the next few weeks—four of them already have. These cows will have black-bodied calves with white faces.

Our other cows who are going to freshen will have solid black calves. They’ve been bred to our Jesse James/Penn State bull, and these calves are going to be really nice beef.

So, as Watson and the two little girls and I were walking through the herd while they were eating the hay on the ground, we’re looking at the cows we know are going to calve and we’re counting the little white-faced calves. Watson and I think there should be four, one of our girls is insisting there should be five.

Ha.

So, we’re trying to figure that out, and we’ve counted three so far and we’re missing the solid black heifer that had been born the day before and was a little sluggish. We thought she’d eaten, but I like to keep an eye on them for a couple of days and make sure they can find their lunch okay. Also, we’d gotten a lot of rain overnight. We wanted to lay eyes on her and make sure she was good.

Well, we couldn’t find her—she wasn’t with the herd, and her mama, 116A, was down by the creek bawling.

Also, as we continued to head toward the creek, we realized there was another cow—122—who was down there bawling, too, and who hadn’t had her calf when we’d checked them Monday night.

So, we have two cows down by the creek—116A has a calf we can’t find, and 122 MUST have a calf, although we haven’t seen it yet. Cows on grass and hay aren’t really like women. I know I need to be careful here, because you can’t always tell when a lady has had a baby, but…let me say it like this: grass-fed cows have hay bellies, while grain-fed cows are usually sleeker with less of a barrel look.

And…moving RIGHT along, LOL, Watson and the girls and I reach the creek on the bottom corner of the pasture, and we start walking up along it, looking. It’s cold, and there are patches of snow on the ground, but the ground isn’t frozen and mud sucks at our feet with every step.

The girls get ahead of us (because, kids, right? LOL), and Watson and I are talking strategy and where we’d last seen 116A and her little girl and why we’d decided she’d eaten and where we think she might be.

So, the girls get about halfway across the pasture with Watson and I about twenty yards behind them.

They yell back, “We found one!” and Watson and I get to the bend in the creek and see the little heifer we were worried about, lying down at the edge of the creek at the bottom of a six-foot drop-off.

Now, I mentioned we’d gotten a lot of rain the night before. The creek is up—although not like it’s been in the past—it’s muddy and deep, but it wouldn’t be over my head and the current wouldn’t sweep me away. But it would be strong enough to knock a newborn calf down. Or, more likely, if the calf were to fall, the current would be strong enough to keep it from getting back up, since newborns have trouble balancing anyway.

The girls are ahead of us, and they go about fifteen yards up the creek to where the bank slopes down. We just need the heifer to get up and walk those fifteen yards to get out of the creek.

Well, the girls haven’t chased cows much, and I guess they really don’t realize how precarious the situation is.

They run to the slope, and my youngest plows into the water, splashing across (and realizing it’s a little deeper than she was expecting—over her boots).

The other girl is a little older, and she goes more slowly, which seems wise, but maybe wasn’t, because the mud is pretty deep there, and she gets both of her boots stuck in the mud.

The girls have made a lot of noise (they’re girls—there is laughing and giggling and squealing as they get wet and stuck), and the calf has gotten up and started running—in the exact wrong direction—and the creek goes from about 1-1/2 feet deep to about 3 feet deep.

It trips.

Its head goes under the water.

I race toward the bank, and I do something I never do—I yell at the girls.

I yell at my youngest to turn and face the bank (a cow will always choose to avoid a face, but they will run toward a back. I don’t know why, but this is a truth), and I yell at my other daughter to get out of there, because the calf isn’t going to run in that direction while she’s standing at the only spot where it can get out.

I didn’t realize that both of her feet are stuck, and in fact, as I look, I realize that she’s lost a boot and has one stocking foot in the freezing cold water of the creek while she’s trying to pull her other foot out, which is still stuck in the mud.

She yells, “I’ve lost a boot, and my other foot is stuck!”

I yell back (at the same time the calf has gotten its head out of the water and I’m reaching down the six-foot bank—I REALLY don’t want to go in the water—and waving my hand in front of its face, and I’ve gotten it partially turned, but it doesn’t want to move forward because my daughter is RIGHT where it needs to go), “Forget about your boot and get out of there!”

The water is icy—my daughter yanked her second foot out of her stuck boot and is now in two stocking feet struggling through the knee-deep mud to get out of the way—the calf is shivering and exhausted, and I’m shaking because while I didn’t run that far—only thirty yards or so—the mud was sucking at my feet the whole time and my legs feel like Jello, partly because I’m not used to running with suction cups on the bottoms of my feet and partly because my brain has already gone to pneumonia—in the calf and the girl—and I don’t want to watch this baby drown right in front of me.

I’m on my hands and knees on the bank waving my hands trying to get the calf to turn around. As my daughter leaves her boots behind and scrambles up the slope, she scares the calf, and it turns and starts back toward the deep water.

My youngest daughter scooted along the edge of the bank—with her back toward the calf—until she was well behind it, and she splashes across the creek toward the calf as Watson hands me a long stick.

Between us, we get the calf moving, and we pass the stuck boots as the calf climbs tremulously out of the bank and is reunited with her mother.

I go back and slide down the slope, grabbing first one boot, then the other, and pull them out of the mud. I’ve done that multiple times—lost my boots in mud. I’ve actually completely lost a pair of sneakers—like lost, lost, where I couldn’t find them. [And I’m saying mud, but where there are cows… : ) ]

I help my daughter get her boots back on, apologize to both of them for yelling at them—they said I could do it once every decade or so, LOL—and I send them up to the house to get out of their wet clothes and get dry, asking them to go by way of the deep gully and make sure there aren’t any calves in it, because, while we’ve gotten 116A and her calf reunited, 122 is bawling like her heart is broken, and we haven’t seen any sign of hers yet.

Watson and I follow the creek up to the other end of the pasture—he crosses it, and even in this normally shallow spot, the water is over the tops of his boots—and we walk both banks the entire way back down the pasture, checking the woods on the other side, in case it crossed the creek and got through the fence, and looking at the few spots along the creek where it might have gotten tangled up in tree roots.

Okay, I’m going to be blunt now and admit I’m also looking for any sign of black hair waving in the water. Our calves might be 60-80 pounds when they’re born, give or take, but newborns don’t have great balance, and it doesn’t take much—a little bit of current—to knock them down.

I know, if a calf fell in the creek the way it was up from all the rain, it would get carried downstream and drown on its way down. The body would be hung up on a rock or a root or a bunch of debris. Even though it was still muddy, I could tell the creek had gone down some from its overnight high, and I figured if the calf was born even a few hours before—or more—the current and depth would have been worse.

122 is still standing at the same spot—right beside the creek, almost in the middle of the pasture—bawling while Watson and I slowly walk the entire length of the pasture.

When I reach the fence, I climb through it into the next pasture. The creek flows the whole way around the bottom of that pasture and on through another one before it empties into the river. Watson says, “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to follow the creek on down.”

He kind of looks at me. I say, “Did you check the woods real good? The calf will be able to get through the fence while the mom can’t. It could be up there holed up in the woods.”

“If it’s up there, we’ll never find it.”

“Well, we have to, because she obviously has no idea where it is.”

He looks at me again, and then he looks down the creek where I’m going. It’s cold out, but I’m hot. I have sweat running down my back, which should make me shiver, but while I feel the trickle along my skin, I’m not cold.

I don’t have a good feeling—that upset stomach feeling that your heart gets when you know things just aren’t going to turn out the way you want.

Watson knows if I go down the creek and find the calf, it’s just going to be a body.

Watson doesn’t give up much better than I do.

He grits his jaw and looks back the way he just came. Then he calls over the creek, “I’m going to go back up through and just focus on the woods. It’s gotta be there somewhere.”

We both know it doesn’t have to be there.

It could be downstream.

I jerk my chin, then start slowly through the next pasture, following the creek, looking hard at any place along the edge where a calf might have pulled itself out and be lying there shivering.

I’m also looking at the water, watching for a wave of black fur. Or the graceful lift of a limp little tail moving up and down with the current.

I’ve made it a slow thirty yards—the creek deepens, and I’m really searching the water for a black shadow, when I’m scanning up the creek and I see Watson walking toward me.

I think he knows too. He looks all tough, but honestly, he’s softer than I am about this kind of thing.

He changed his mind, obviously, about going back up, and I don’t ask why, but I guess it’s because he doesn’t want me to find the body by myself.

We slowly walk downstream, across the creek from each other, him on one side, me on the other, going slow through this deeper part.

Watson swears.

My eyes fly to his face, judge the trajectory of his gaze, and go back to the water while my heart falls.

I’m still searching.

“It’s right there,” Watson says, and I see the fur, lifted by the current, before it falls again. The body is almost completely submerged.

Watson climbs down the bank, fishes in the water for a hoof, and drags a big, beautiful, dead bull calf out of the muddy water.

Up the creek, in the other pasture, 122’s bawling cry cuts through the air again, and as I stand there looking at her baby, I know she’ll be bawling all day today and all night and all day tomorrow, standing up there by the creek and hoping her baby comes back.

Of course, he’s not going to.

Now, I don’t know what everyone else thinks when something like this happens. Maybe they don’t. It’s probably easier that way. But I’m looking at the calf and I’m running through my mind, trying to figure out what we could have done to have saved him.

“What a waste,” Watson says. 122 bawls again. “She raised one of our best-looking steers last year.”

It’s pretty heartbreaking to hear her cry and to stand there looking at her baby and knowing her distress is in vain, but I’m not going to cry, and I’m not going to get angry (at what???), although I kind of feel like I want to do either or both.

“Man, this reeks,” Watson says, frustrated.

I agree, and I can hardly stand to hear 122. But I say, “I know the upper pasture is smaller and it’s going to be a muddy mess, but I think we should move the whole herd up there, close the gate, and keep them there. That way they only have access to about fifteen yards of the creek, and it’s all shallow.”

Watson is probably having just as hard a time as I am listening to 122. “I’ll feed them up there tonight, and we’ll shut the gate while they’re eating.”

We walk up and get the Gator—this pasture isn’t as muddy as the other—and we go down and drive across the creek, stopping where the calf is over the bank.

Watson goes down and grabs a leg; I stay up and pull Watson’s other hand as we drag it up the bank and over to the Gator.

He takes the front legs and I take the back, and we swing him up. He’s heavy, and I can barely get my end up. We stand there and look at him—a nice, beefy bull calf and a hard loss, from a business perspective and from a heart perspective.

Finally, Watson says, “I guess if it were all peaches and cream, everyone would be doing it.” He pushes away from the Gator and moves to the door. “Just gotta take the hit and move on. It stinks, though.”

Which, of course, reminded me of a verse from the Bible which also reminded me of something God’s nudged me about more than once over the years—that struggle and hardship and loss make us stronger, and they also make us appreciate our success more, as well as help us to put things that aren’t quite as important into better perspective.

It’s a lesson I need over and over, because any time things get hard, it’s always tempting to quit, to complain, and to pray that God gets me out of this or at least fixes it for me.

It happens with our kids, too, right? We want to fix everything for them. We hate seeing them suffer. We want to pad the playground and keep anything bad from ever happening to them. But just as God allows the rain to fall in our lives, we’re doing our kids a disservice if we protect them from the rain in theirs.

It’s funny because that night, Julia had an issue she was talking to me about, and as she was leaving my room, she said, “I love talking to you because you always make me realize that my problems aren’t as bad as I think they are. You’re just so chill.”

Ha. That was kinda funny to me since I had just yelled at the other girls that day, but that really is another good thing that comes from walking through pain and loss. We get to share the (very small bit of) wisdom we’ve learned with others. It’s a good feeling.

That’s actually just the tip of the iceberg of the week that we had last week, but again, the pain and the loss and the suffering is hard, but it’s always for our good.

Thanks so much for spending time with me this week!

Fun Farmer Facts ~ by Pam Crooks

It was National Agriculture Week a few weeks ago, and the small town where we have our lake cabin is surrounded by farms.  In celebration, the local newspaper featured interviews of local farmers, which made for interesting reading.

Here are a few observations about how farming has changed for these seasoned farmers, all well into their 70s and 80s, and who have farmed all their lives.

  • One of the biggest changes is GPS guided farm equipment.
  • Another – farmers now use computers to run their farms.
  • Automatic steering.  (I remember when my brother-in-law got air conditioning in the enclosed cab of his combine.  He thought he’d died and gone to heaven. I imagine he felt the same way about automatic steering.)
  • Irrigation and technology use has changed dramatically.

Back in the day, tractors were built to last. One farmer has a tractor that has been in operation for 71 years. (Can you imagine a car lasting that long?  Or your dishwasher? LOL.)

Another recalls his father giving him his own tractor before he was even 9 years old, and he’d operated one when he was younger than that.  Wow.

Advice:

Every farmer must have a strong work ethic and work at that work ethic. It’s a daily commitment, 24/7/365.  You really should grow up on a farm to develop a love for it.

It’s very difficult to get started in farming these days, and you almost have to acquire a farm through inheritance.

Some fun facts:

  • The average time a farm operator spends on the farm is 58.3 years.  (I couldn’t help but compare that to my husband who worked for Union Pacific RR almost right out of high school, and he retired after 39 years.)
  • 11% of today’s farmers once served in the military.
  • One bushel of corn produces enough syrup to sweeten 324 can of soda pop.
  • An acre of corn will evaporate 4,000 gallons of water per day.
  • Some golf tees are made from corn products.
  • Americans consume 17.3 BILLION quarts of popcorn each year.
  • Each soybean plant grows 60-80 pods, and each pod has three beans inside.
  • Each year, the average American consumes 112 pounds of beef.
  • The average person will eat twenty 240-lb pigs in their lifetime.
  • Horses drink 10 – 20 gallons of fresh water every day.
  • A cow’s udder can hold 25 – 50 pounds of milk.
  • It takes 10 pounds of milk to make one pound of cheese.
  • A person will eat about 250 eggs a year.
  • The longest recorded flight of a chicken is only 13 seconds long. (Not known for their flying, right?)
  • According to an online survey, 7% of US adults believed chocolate milk came from brown cows.  (Um, really?)
  • From 2007 to 2012, America had a net loss of 90,000 farms. (How’s that for depressing?)
  • Between 1840 and 2000, the percentage of the American labor force engaged in agriculture-related work plummeted from a robust 70 percent to a measly 2 percent. (More depressing.)
  • Women make up 36% of the total number of U.S. farm operators.
  • Due to their careful management, more than half of America’s farmers intentionally provide habitat for deer, moose, birds and other species, rewarding in significant population increases. (Cool, huh?)
  • Pigs can run a mile in 7 minutes. An average runner can do a mile in 7 – 10 minutes, a novice runner in 12 – 15 minutes.  (I wouldn’t try to race a pig.  You’ll probably lose.)
  •  It takes one hive of bees 55,000 miles of flight to produce one pound of honey.  It takes approximately two million flowers for bees to produce that one pound of honey. Fortunately, bees are fast flyers – up to 15 miles per hour, buzzing from flower to flower.  (Makes me appreciate the little bear bottle of honey in my cupboard even more.)

Have you ever lived on a farm?

Could you be a farmer or his wife? 

If you’re a woman alone, do you think you could manage a farm on your own?

 

The 2nd book in our Pink Pistol sweet western romance series is newly released!

Will romance hit its mark when true love is the target?

Desperate for a fresh start, Rena Burke journeys from Texas to Oregon with only her father’s pistol and a plodding old mule for company. She takes a job working with explosives at a mine, spends her free time emulating her hero Annie Oakley, and secretly longs to be loved.

Saddlemaker Josh Gatlin has one purpose in life and that is his daughter. Gabi is his joy and the sunshine in his days. Then he meets a trouser-wearing woman living life on her own terms. Rena is nothing like his perception of what he wants in a wife and mother for his child, but she might just prove to be everything he needs.

When tragedy strikes, will the two of them be able to release past wounds and embrace the possibilities tomorrow may bring? Find out in this sweet historical romance full of hope, humor, and love.

BUY ON AMAZON

 

Dryer Screens and Wrecked Fences

Happy April! It’s so nice to be here with you again today.

Now, I know some of you have figured out that a lot of the things in my books are based on my real-life experiences on the farm. It’s not just about the adventures we have, but it’s also about relationships and the care of them that I love including in my stories.

The real-life story I wanted to tell you today has a little of both – adventure and the care and handling of relationships. : )

It’s been wet here in Virginia, and the two connected pastures where our cows are rather muddy. They’re also very steep—too steep to plant—which is why they’re pasture.

Last Thursday as it started to snow, Watson drove out to check the cows. I rode along. I think he likes me to go, that way he has someone to try to scare while he’s driving. (Any of you have husbands like that?)

The temps were right around freezing, so there was mud, then a little bit of ice on the top of the mud. It wasn’t frozen solid, just had a slippery crust on it. Then, with the snow coming down, there was a dusting of even more slippery snow on top of the slippery ice on top of the slippery mud.

Did I mention it was slippery?

I’m going to complain about my husband a bit, so I think I’d better start out by admitting that I am not a good driver. I mean, I am a very courteous driver who absolutely never gets angry while driving. I just don’t. (No matter what some other driver does to me, I know I have done much worse—on accident—to someone else. How can I get upset at anyone?)

I know I’m a bad driver, though, because I have totaled two cars.

Enough about me. Let me tell you about my husband. : )

We drive into the pasture and pretty much slide almost to the bottom. By the way, at the bottom of the pasture is the creek. A fence separates the upper pasture from the lower one.

So, we have the Gator in four-wheel drive, and we drive along the creek, checking the other bank for mama cows who want a little privacy to have their babies.

There’s nothing there on Thursday, but because of the snow falling, it’s a really good day for a cow to freshen, so we go around the fence. Watson tells me to “hang on” while he goes through the bottom of the gully as fast as he can to try to get a run to make it up the other side of the hill.

It was a good idea.

We make it halfway up.

There’s a gully on our left side (it deepens fast and is a favorite spot for new mamas to have their babies), and the fence is behind us. We’re stopped, but the wet mud, ice, and snow has made it so if we start backward, then turn sideways, we’ll slid downhill.

Watson kind of excels in situations like this.

We’re sitting on the hill in the Gator, I’ve got a hold of the door handle and the handle (that was so thoughtfully provided) on the dash, and Watson looks at me and says, “Now what?”

You know how when you’re in a situation like that and your brain is going a hundred miles an hour and you have all these thoughts? Well, one of my thoughts was that I should have put my seatbelt on.

The Gator actually does have seatbelts, but while I wear it religiously in my car (and you know who doesn’t, right?), we never wear them around the farm because you’re getting in and out all the time, to check cows and open gates and roll bales out, etc. It would be a real pain in the tush to put a belt on and off.

I’m honestly not even sure they work, since no one has ever actually worn one.

Anyway, I’m sitting there thinking this would be a good time to test the seatbelt out, but while my brain is coming up with all these really good thoughts, I can’t get my hands to work. (It might have something to do with there not being a crowbar in the cab of the Gator to pry my fingers off the handles.)

Maybe I’m the only one who has this problem, but my husband never wants my advice before we get into trouble. It’s always when we’re sitting in the middle of a mess that he suddenly remembers that I might have something to add to the conversation.

So, he’s waiting on me to answer him. Ha.

So I say, “I’m pretty sure we’re going to hit the fence.”

He looks over his shoulder, behind us. The fence is about thirty yards straight down the slippery hill. “Yeah.”

“It’s old, and we’re going to flatten it.”

He doesn’t need to look this time. Instead, he looks at me and gives me that grin that says he knows he should be in deep trouble, but he’s really looking forward to this. His eyes kind of sparkle as he says, “Yeah.”

I’m not going to waste my energy getting upset. There’s no point. So I say, “But that fence needs to be replaced anyway, so really, someone needs to take it out. Why not us?”

“Good point,” he says, just before he releases the brake, yanks the wheel to the left, and guns the gas.

Watson’s goal is (apparently) to slide around parallel to the fence with enough momentum to run along the edge of it as we slide downhill, hitting the gully at the lowest point, just above the corner fence post, and slipping around the fence.

We almost make it.

We smack the fence with the hard plastic part of my door. To my great surprise, the fence holds, we slide around, and when we finally stop about three centimeters from the edge of the creek, I wind my window down and stick my head out, noting that there isn’t even a scratch on the Gator.

Our bull (all two thousand plus pounds of him) is in the creek, slightly disturbed at our untimely and rather rude arrival.

I don’t know how many of you have ever looked a bull in the eye before, but he’s got his head up and is staring right at us. I’m sorry, I don’t mean this to be rude, but bulls just do not look smart.

Anyway, Watson and I are staring at him, and I say, “I’m pretty sure in our marriage contract it says that if we get stuck in mud, it’s your job to get out and push.”

I’m also pretty sure that Watson never read our marriage contract. Actually, I know he didn’t, since there’s no such thing, but I’ve been using this line for years and he’s never caught on. Most recently, I’ve been using it about the dryer, since for the last ten months, our dryer hose has been plugged somewhere and our dryer hasn’t been getting the clothes dry.

This annoys me, since I’m the one who runs the dryer. I’ve asked him to fix it (since it states in our marriage contract that anything that needs to be fixed under the house is his job), but he insists that there’s no problem with the dryer, I’m just not smart enough to run it.

Hmm.

So, I was kind of patient about it for a while, but lately I’ve been folding his clothes wet and putting them in the closet like that. It annoys him, so then both of us are annoyed, which seems fair to me.

Last week, he was getting ready to leave for Pennsylvania, realized the clothes in the closet were wet, took them all back down to the dryer, and put them back in.

After he left, I realized he’d taken them out but hadn’t folded them or taken them back up or put them away. So…I’m annoyed again, and I carry the basket up (which I’ve already done once—I’ve also already folded the clothes, and I’ve already put them away!) So…I’d really like to say that I did it all again with a smile, but…I didn’t. Instead, I open up the closet and…dump my husband’s clothes on the floor before I slam the door shut.

Right. You know how you feel guilty about something even as you’re doing it, but you just can’t stop?

So, anyway, that night, the girls made me watch the movie, I Still Believe. I know it’s been out for a while, but I’ve never seen it. Has anyone who’s seen it watched it without crying? LOL. So, I’m sitting there while a trio of sobs is sounding from the girls, and I’m saying to myself, “I will not cry, I will not cry, I WILL NOT CRY.”

I’m not sure why it is so important that I not cry during movies, but it’s a thing for me. So, I don’t cry, but through the whole movie, God keeps reminding me about the clothes on the closet floor and how I should be grateful for what I have rather than being a brat about what I don’t.

That’s really not what the movie is about, but it’s funny how we see the lesson we need.

So, yeah, the girls go to bed.

I go upstairs and pick up the clothes from the floor of the closet, fold them, and put them away neatly.

Then I get my computer, sit down on the floor, and Google dryer vent hose.

After I’m done with that, the internet is (surprisingly) still working, so I watch a couple YouTube videos on replacing window and door screens. Even though it says quite clearly in our marriage contract that Watson is also responsible for fixing the screens (okay, it doesn’t say that, either), I’m still working on this kindness thing (that I’ve been working on for decades) and why in the world should I be getting annoyed about the dryer and screens when I’m quite capable of fixing them myself [I think : ) ]!

Anyway, I left off with Watson and I staring at the bull.

While Watson is probably never going to fix my dryer or screens, have I mentioned that he is a fantastic driver?

He managed (somehow) to get us out of there, without falling into the creek, without either of us having to push, and Mr. Bull only got a little bit of mud slung on him. I eventually got my fingers pried off the door handles, and eventually (several days later), Watson quit grinning.

Alright, I’m having a huge party in my Facebook Reader Chat this week and I would just love for you all to join me here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/jessiegussman

Thanks so much for spending time with me this week!

A Few Random Cow Facts

I love random facts (science teacher) and today I’m sharing some cow facts with you.

First the nomenclature–A cow is a female bovine. A bull is an intact male bovine. A steer is a neutered male. A heifer is a young cow that has not yet had a calf.  Cattle is the term for a group of various bovines. I’m calling them all cows today. 🙂

Now the factoids–

Cows can run up to 25 miles per hour, however, they only run in short bursts.

Cows can jump a 5-foot fence, often from a standing position.

Cows have eyes set to the side and have trouble seeing directly in front of them. They see very well to the side and behind, so it’s difficult to sneak up on them. Their panoramic vision is close to 360 degrees.

Cows are super social. They depend on the herd for protection, so they don’t like to be alone. Cows will sometimes make best friends.

Cows can smell up to six miles away.

Cows are good swimmers. A cow in the Netherlands swam 62 miles during a flood.

Cows live 15-20 years.

Cows can weigh up to 3,000 pounds. Most weight between 900 and 2,000 pounds.

Cows have no upper teeth in the front of their mouth. They grind their food between the teeth in their bottom jaw and a hard dental pad on the roof of their mouth. They have molars in both upper and lower jaws, however, and when they burp their food back into their mouths to chew for a second digestion (the cud) they chew with the molars to further break it down.

Cows do not really have four stomachs–they have a compartmentalized stomach with each of the four compartments having a different job in digestion.

Oxen are cows or bulls that have been bred to work. They are larger and stronger than the average bull or cow, thus the term “as strong as an ox.” If male, they are generally neutered.

Cows produce 20-40 quarts of saliva a day. They need this much saliva to get dry hay processed in their digestive system. The saliva also aids in cud chewing.

And finally…cow tipping is probably NOT a thing, because cows sleep laying down.

I hope you’ve enjoyed the random cow facts. If it weren’t for cows, we’d have no cowboys, so I’m grateful for this amazing animal!

 

 

 

 

The Just Man Falleth Seven Times, yet Riseth Again

This past week, we separated the last of the spring calves from their mothers. My middle daughter was in PA and Watson was with friends, so Julia and my youngest daughter and I got the herd moved into the corral behind the barn ourselves.

Once we got the bulls out, which was a little touchy, it wasn’t hard work to separate the calves.

I love working with my daughters. We laugh and have a good time. They’re considerate, and there’s never any argument about who’s doing more work. In fact, we kind of compete as to who can do the most. We’re still relaxed and don’t get crazy about stuff. It’s fun. : )

I did miss one calf—all my fault—and it started back out toward the pasture with a group of cows. Julia and my youngest daughter both said later that they didn’t realize I could run that fast, and I have to admit I didn’t realize it either, but I did catch the calf and managed to get him back so we didn’t lose him in the pasture.

We worked steadily and finally got all the steers in one pen and all the heifers in another with all the cows back out to pasture.

Once we had that done, we took a little break. The girls stood with me, leaning against the fence, hot and sweaty, but smiling and agreeing that it had been a really fun morning.

I love that when you do it right, work is fun, and I honestly enjoy that family time more than game nights or movie nights and almost as much as ice cream on the porch. : )

When Watson was ready to head to PA, he backed the trailer up to the chute and we ran the groups of calves through.

The chute is about 2-1/2 feet wide. Wide enough for a full-grown, one-ton bull to squeeze through. The calves we were working with were between 400 and 600 pounds, so there was a little wiggle room as they went up the chute.

My youngest daughter and I were pushing the calves into the chute, then she closed the gate behind me while I stayed behind the last calf, urging him to keep going.

Watson was at the trailer, running the end gate and keeping the calves on while also keeping them from turning around at the elbow at the end of the chute—the only place wide enough for them to turn.

Julia and Ethyl stood outside of the chute to the left, pushing the front calves up. Ethyl got a little carried away and bit a calf’s leg, which offended that calf and he kicked back. He missed Ethyl but hit Julia through the gap in the boards.

She’s not gotten kicked much, and that was a tough one—right on the knee. It’s swollen and black and blue, but she assured us she was okay and kept working.

The first two batches of calves went on without any other incident.

I was running the third batch up when Watson couldn’t keep the calves on the trailer and also keep them from turning. One got completely turned around and came back down the chute toward me.

There’s not much room to grab a toehold, but I managed to get up—one leg on each side of the wall of the chute—but not high enough.

That calf barreled down, went under me, and knocked my feet out backward, so I fell facedown in the mud.

Now, I don’t know if you all watch bull riding, but if you have, I’m sure you notice that when those guys get bucked off and land flat out on the ground, they don’t stay down. I’m not sure how old I was when I learned when you fall down, you get up immediately, but I’m glad I did.

I was at least standing when the second calf hit me.

I didn’t have time to get up on the sides of the chute, but I was very thankful for that little bit of wiggle room. It would have hurt a lot worse if it had been a cow trying to squeeze past me. I slapped against the boards but not hard enough to break anything.

Have any of you ever gotten a bruise on the callouses right below where your fingers join your hand? I never had before, but I had a nice black one, almost a rectangle, there from holding onto the rough-cut lumber when my feet were yanked out from under me. In my opinion, my bruise wasn’t quite as nice as Julia’s knee. Although to hear us both moaning and groaning later, I think we hurt equally bad. ; )

Thankfully, my youngest thinks quick on her feet, and when the first calf came back, knocking my feet out, she had opened the gate behind me, letting both calves back out into the holding pen, so they didn’t trample me again. : )

We brought those two up a second time, and they went on the trailer with no problems. I guess they just needed a practice run.

Anyway, Watson left, and that evening, the girls and I sat on the front porch and watched a beautiful sunset. We talked and laughed and discussed what makes working with someone fun, what kind of character it takes, and how giving grace when someone makes a mistake is right, since it’s what you want others to do to you (even if they don’t).

I have always loved picking out lessons from real life and “teaching” them to my kids as I make a statement that maybe is a little “off” according to what the world believes, but it makes them think more deeply and consider what the Bible says.

We actually talked a little about Nana as Julia mentioned that she was surprised that none of us were more upset at her death considering how close we all were to her.

We talked about how having God as Someone to run to only works if you actually have a relationship with Him to begin with, since a person never wants to run to a stranger for comfort.

How daily devotions and time with the Lord pay off when “something big” happens.

How Christians can be happy, even joyful, in the midst of sorrow, and how she kind of understood why people might need to turn to alcohol or drugs or other addictions to numb their pain if they couldn’t find succor in the Lord.

Deep thoughts, but fitting in that afterglow of hard physical labor. In the satisfaction of knowing you worked through fear and pain. The comfortable companionship of bonding through danger and working with people who make something that could have been hard fun. Something that could have been an odious job they couldn’t wait to be done with into something you can’t wait to do again.

With smiles and laughter and that happy glow that seems to mark the very best memories.

Somehow, all that seems to cultivate a desire to grow and be better. Not just for yourself, but because you get a glimpse of how good life can be. Of how knowing God and of how following the way He’s shown us makes a big difference in how much we enjoy everyday life, even work.

And as the moon shone down brightly and the stars came out and the night breeze brought all those sweet nature smells, it was simple and good to be filled with that happy, warm feeling when you’ve done a hard, dangerous, and necessary job and done it well with people you love.

As I write, those are the feelings I try to bring out in my books – the hard work, the fun and the feeling of satisfaction and pride in helping to feed a nation as the sun goes down on another good day, and you just feel the goodness of the Lord settle in your soul.

Thanks so much for spending time with me this week.