Tom Koenninger, Dec. 30: Farm life was rich, without luxuries

Winter time was always a special time on the farm at Sara. From the rear-view mirror of more than 50 years, I like to reflect on a lifestyle that was common in rural Clark County.

At the beginning of winter in late December, we tried to estimate whether we had enough baled and loose hay in the hayloft to keep a 20-cow Jersey dairy herd fed until spring when green grass returned. The same planning was needed with grain, and chicken feed.

We also had to worry about another kind of chicken feed: money. Our farm was like many small farms in the county during the 1940s and ’50s. During World War II, my stepfather Clarence worked as a carpenter at the Kaiser Shipyards in Vancouver. As a child, I remember some tense conversations between him and my mother. He wasn’t terribly thrilled with farm life, and my mother and I, who loved the place, did most of the chores.

Clarence wondered, with obvious sarcasm, whether his wages were subsidizing the farm operation. Nina, my mother, no shrinking violet, replied with some heat that our farm was turning a profit. Nothing big, but we were getting by.

After all, we grew vegetables in the Victory Garden, our chickens produced, we had milk, cream and butter, beef, and could even make our own ice cream. We also had apple and pear trees, with enough fruit left over to sell to the cannery. Prunes — ghastly prunes — were nearby.

Our 20-acre farm, six miles south of Ridgefield, a quarter- mile west of the Sara store, and north across Whipple Creek, consisted of the farm house in a fruit orchard on a hill above the weather-aged wooden barn. A 12-stall milking parlor was built on the south side of the barn, and connected to the milk house, where milk was run over a cooler and into 10-gallon milk cans. Regular stanchions for the cattle were in the barn, next to the hayloft. A daytime loafing shed, where the cattle could keep dry and feed on hay, was on the opposite side of the barn. The chicken house and storage shed were between the house and barn.

Technological wonders

When we moved to the farm in 1937, there was an unheated outhouse, which became part of accepted rural life until joyfully replaced by indoor plumbing. We used a party line telephone, with a hand crank to summon the operator and a long-neck speaker — at the Sara store. Thankfully, we had a Surge milking machine.

Keeping cows clean, and checking them for foot rot, a condition of their muddy surroundings, was an added problem. Mastitis, an udder infection of cows, was another.

Farm life in those times meant living without computers and television. President Roosevelt’s “Fireside Chats” about the war effort and homefront came via radio and, in the months that followed Pearl Harbor, were scary and depressing.

Cows had to be watched carefully for problems such as ingesting wire in their hay, which required a veterinarian and could be life-threatening. One of our cows once got loose and gorged herself on grain that fermented and bloated her four stomachs. Skipping the details, she had to be rolled from side to side all night to achieve relief.

With so many hardships, where is the happiness of farm life? After occasional snowfalls and freezeups, it was the fun of sledding down the “S” curve by the school and ice skating on Johnson’s pond. It was found in the miracle of birth, where the farmer is usually the midwife. It was working with livestock, being comforted by their positive reaction to your training. Anyone who tends a cow, sheep, horse or other farm animal knows of their bonding. It was found in tilling the fields, planting and watching crops grow, and in the harvest. It came with the help from neighbors, especially in emergencies, and their friendship.

Fundamental rules of life are found on the farm as well as positive lessons, attributes and values. The work ethic, pride of accomplishment, being polite, honoring elders, and gratification from helping others are permanent farm-fresh standards. Sara farm time provided a lifetime of enrichment and value.