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Renovating Memories
You know from my user name “Cow Girl” that I’m from the West. In fact, western Wyoming. But, despite the bronco buster picture, the “cow” in my name refers to the dairy cows that were the center of life during my childhood. My parents had six daughters and two sons. The sons came along in the second half of the family, so we four older girls spent a great deal of time and effort feeding, milking, and cleaning up after the cows. It was just about everything we did all summer–hauling hay, milking, hauling more hay, milking, etc., etc.
Then in the winter, the schedule was:
- get up and milk the cows,
- go to school,
- come home from school and milk the cows,
- eat supper and do homework,
- go to bed,
- repeat.
Our dad spent most of his day while we were in school taking all that hay back out of the sheds where we’d stacked it all summer, and spreading it out on the snow-covered pastures to feed the animals. The milk cows also got fed that hay, but they were a little more pampered, and got to stand at a covered manger adjacent to the hay shed. My dad filled it with hay every day while we matriculated.
The barn, then, was the center of our life. It was a classic red barn, just like you see in the toy department, with a pointed roof, Dutch doors, white trim boards. I think we even had a weather vane. We definitely had lightning rods.
This is me:
My first memories of the barn are from being the “babysitter” with my sister. I was five, she was four, the baby was our first brother, who was about six months old sitting in the red wagon while we watched over him. We were parked in the dirt yard near the open barn door, so our mother could keep track of us. She was being helped by our two older sisters who would have been nine and ten, while they milked the two dozen or so cows. My dad would have been irrigating alfalfa up in the fields. It was June, it was beautiful, we’d play with the baby, and make little leaf-boats to float in the shallow irrigation ditch just over the fence.
By the time I was eight, my mother no longer needed to help with milking, because we girls were old enough (13, 12, 8, 7) to do it in the evening on our own. Good thing, too, because she had another baby by then, and Daddy was still busy doing field work all summer. In the winters, Daddy would feed animals, then he’d come in at the end and help us finish up. He was always available for the mornings, so whoever was a “big sister” at the time would take turns going out to help him.
Mind you, this was a really long time ago — the ’50s and the ’60s. The year I graduated from high school and went off to college (which was a refuge from milking!), 1971, my dad built a new barn — a modern dairy, with pipelines and a big tank to store the milk. Previously, we’d carried the milkers from cow to cow, and put the milk into big cans, which were kept in a water tank overnight for pick-up by the cheese factory each morning after we’d milked. So, the old red barn was only used to store hay in the loft, and house calves where the milking had been done in the Old Days.
Naturally, it fell into disrepair. My grandfather, who’d been the painter, fixer, and builder had grown old and feeble and no longer could keep up with it. My dad was diagnosed with leukemia, and couldn’t keep working as a farmer. By then, we four “big” sisters were all married, and so were most of the “little” kids. The brother that I’d watched in the wagon took over the farm, and was able to have my dad around for a couple of years to give expert advice before Daddy passed at age 61. My brother made a living there for almost two decades before he faced the reality that there wasn’t a way to make a small farm profitable in that area, anymore.
Here’s where the renovation part comes in: 20 years after my dad died, we realized we’d better save that barn, or lose it forever. We sisters had all married Husbands-With-Skills, so on a long weekend one summer, we all gathered at the site of where we’d (literally) been raised, and renovated the old red barn. They put in new rafters to keep the roof up there; re-hinged the doors, and made a couple of replacements; laid an all-new tin roof; and, finally, we painted.
By now, many of our children were young adults, so they pitched in while Grandma/Mama supervised. It was a blast! Everyone told everyone else what to do, and then those people would ignore the bosses, and do a good job anyway, because they already knew what to do! So, the end result was a total face-lift for the farm!
One sister didn’t make this photo.
And…memories flowed like the irrigation streams that used to criss-cross our fields. We laughed and talked and told stories we’d shared a million times. We agreed to disagree over different versions of shared events. Our children were all so glad that none of their mothers had married farmers.
Less than a year later, one of our sisters (she’s in the pink shirt picture with the blonde hair) died suddenly from a heart condition. The year following that, our mother also died, but she was ready to go, as she had assured us those last few weeks.
Now, none of our family members actually live on that property. My brother moved to a better job, but he leases the farmland to a guy. Some of my sisters are neighbors. But, every time, I make it up there to the beautiful valley in the mountains, I cannot resist taking pictures of that place that made me who I am today. I feel lucky to have been born raised in a barn.
It’s so good that you did that. In a valley near where we lived in Western Michigan for a time, there were well kept red barns scattered around the countryside. I read somewhere back then that these red barns are disappearing little by little. I once saw a coffee table book about them whose purpose was to keep their image alive.
I might have heard a talk given by the author of that book, but perhaps not if there is more than one such book from our area. The auditorium at my old workplace in southwest Michigan has side walls lined with paintings of old barns from the area. I forget the name of the artist, or of the eccentric English publisher who was responsible for their being on long-term display there (though I remember him). So it was an appropriate place for an author of a photo book about barns to come and talk.
I take a lot of roadside photos of barns on my bicycle outings, though it’s not one of the main topics I stop for.
That might be him. The valley I spoke of is between Holland, MI and Grand Rapids. The area was settled by the Dutch, and everything is so neat and well tended.
Our speaker was a woman, so I guess that would be a different book. And her area of interest was not restricted to the Grand River Valley. More recently (i.e. within the past 5-8 years) we had another speaker who talked about the evolution of barn construction techniques in Michigan, and how to use that information to interpret what we see of local barns. I had a question about the old barns with louvered windows that you see in Berrien County (and maybe Cass as well). He didn’t seem to be familiar with those, but I did learn quite a bit.
Oh, wait. You said Holland and not Grand Haven, so that would be the Macatawa River valley. (The name Macatawa is based on the Odawa word for “black”, as in Black Hawk (Makataimeshekiakiak). I’ve done only a small handful of rides there, too. I was just now looking at the terrain layer on Google Maps to see how that river could flow from Grand Rapids to Holland, when the Grand River also flows through Grand Rapids. It seems the Macatawa originates close to a bend of the Grand, southwest of Hudsonville. But the “height of land” that separates the two drainages is practically imperceptible as seen on Google Street View. There must be some interesting post-glacial history about how that developed. It’s almost as though your valley is a down-flowing fork of the Grand River valley. (There is probably a technical name for that sort of thing, but I don’t know it.)
Back to the topic of barns. I see there are a few townships in that valley that I haven’t yet ridden to for purposes of taking township hall photos. When I get there I’ll be sure to be on the lookout for Dutch barns.
In Otter Tail County, Minnesota, the joke years ago (probably originating before my time) was that you could distinguish the German farmsteads from the Norwegian ones. The Germans would have a big, prosperous-looking red barn and a small dingy house, while the Norwegians would have an unpainted shack of a barn with a nice, brightly-painted house for the wife. The Frau of the German household might be seen working out in the fields with her husband, but the Norwegians would never allow their wives to do that. There may still have been a few traces of this phenomenon to be seen when I was young.
Lovely, Cow Girl.
Great post. You and the cows are outstanding in your fields.
Not necessarily from the West. One of our neighbors in Northern Va. (about 50 miles from DC) has a business card with the title “Cattle Man”. I’m sure his wife qualifies as “Cattle Girl”. They are both about my age (71) and work all the time. I think his cattle are all for Beef, not Dairy, so he spends most of his time hauling hay to his cattle. As the smaller farms have been given up, he has taken over the haying operations.
Very nice story and I loved the pictures. I am very impressed with the barn make-over.
It’s refreshing to see a barn without “See Rock City” on the roof . . .
I can see that you’ve driven across country…
And I’ve yet to visit Rock City!
Okay, got to put that on my bucket list . . .
Our favorite one was Prairie Dog Town!!! See the BIGGEST PRAIRIE DOG IN THE WORLD!! We finally stopped once…I won’t give it away.
Another wonderful story, linking physical renovation and family memories.
This conversation is part of our Group Writing Series under January’s theme: Renovation. There are plenty of dates still available. Have a great home renovation story? Maybe with photos? Have a terrible home renovation story? How about furniture, or an instrument, a plane, a train or an automobile? Are you your renovation project, or someone else’s? Do you have criticism or praise for some public renovation, accomplished or desperately needed? Are you a big fan, or not so much, of home renovation shows? Unleash your inner fan or critic. We have some wonderful photo essays on Ricochet; perhaps you have a story with before and after photos, or reflections on the current state of a long project. The possibilities are endless! Why not start a conversation? Our schedule and sign-up sheet awaits.
The February 2019 Theme Writing: How Do You Make That? Is up. Thanks for the great suggestions. I’ll likely use some of the others in March and April.
Hehe . . . I had to Google that one . . .