Every summer, my two older cousins and I spent a week with Aunt Mary, my dad's younger sister who did not have children at the time. Aunt Mary and my uncle lived on a farm about 70 miles from the ranch, but the surroundings made it seem a world away. The elevation dropped about 2,000 feet in that 70 miles and water enabled things to grow and prosper. My uncle farmed irrigated fields of corn and sugar beets. Huge old cottonwood trees shaded the house and lined the irrigation ditch. Green foliage lushness, water and shade--all such a contrast to the sun bleached windswept prairie of gramma grass growing on the treeless plains surrounding the ranch. We savored every minute of our time in this paradise.
We loved climbing the massive old cottonwood trees and because of the abundance of these trees, we each had a tree that we claimed as our own "house." We nailed boards for steps onto the trunk to climb up to the massive horizontal branches. The view from high up offered a perspective of many areas of the farm, so we could observe the comings and goings of activity while concealed in the leafy branches. We spent hours in the trees shouting to each other, climbing around to different branches. The spindly Chinese Elm trees at home in the windbreak couldn't offer such a hide-out.
Messing around in the water occupied hours of our time as well. The large irrigation ditch had a board to cross and was deep and fast enough that my aunt did not feel comfortable letting us into the ditch. But we made boats to send down the ditch and threw rocks to splash in the ditch. We weren't used to moving water--any water at home was in a metal tank pumped by the windmill.
Aunt Mary made sure we had some special fun times while we were with her. She usually took us into town to the swimming pool once during our time there. Since we did not have an outdoor pool in our hometown, we basked in the sun-warmed water at the pool. Once she even arranged for us ride the train, consisting of the engine, one car and the caboose, from their small community into town about seven miles away. We felt special and enjoyed our week at her house for a break from the summer routine at home.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Friday, March 22, 2013
Adjusting to Country Life
Lately I have read several books about city women adjusting to living in the country: Fifty Acres and a Poodle, Confessions of a Counterfeit Farm Girl, and Black Heels to Tractor Wheels.The first two books relate the experiences of two different city couples who choose to move to the country and how they cope with living a rural lifestyle, raising animals, and doing some farming. In the third book, a city girl tells her story of meeting a rancher, falling in love and marrying him. She experiences a multitude of adjustments because she moves into his sphere.
It isn't surprising for a county guy to marry a city girl--there aren't that many country girls. Even in my marriage with all the similarities between our two families and operations, there were still many differences which meant adjustments. Our daughter lived in a rural setting growing up near the family ranch, but her new situation as a ranch wife brings with it many new experiences as well. As my husband notes, life is a series of adjustments!
Distance proves a challenge for everyone new to the country. Distance means more time spent getting to everything--the grocery store, school, appointments. Growing up for me, twenty miles meant half an hour getting to town, but on my husband's family ranch the trip to town took twice as long. So instead of traffic jams you deal with long stretches of empty roads, my preference any day. Planning and anticipating needs is essential whether it means making a list or a menu. You can't run to the store for that essential recipe ingredient or for pepto bismol. I learned to plan menus for several weeks at a time and I kept the pantry well stocked. Distance also limits socializing; meeting someone for coffee or going out to lunch happens much less. When visiting friends would offer to take us out to dinner in town, we usually declined preferring to have them eat at our house rather than drive an hour to get to the restaurant.
Dealing with animals brings a whole new perspective on life--and death. The first thing my grandson asks about a new born calf is if it is alive. You also soon realize that you are not in control; animals get loose or into things they shouldn't, and you can't wait until it is convenient to take care of the situation. If you haven't seen branding or preg checking before it's an eye-opening experience. My family always used a branding chute, but my husband's family flanked all the calves. Our daughter has learned about chickens and pigs which we never raised.
Yes, life is as series of adjustments, but adjustments indicate learning and growing and I think that is a good thing!
It isn't surprising for a county guy to marry a city girl--there aren't that many country girls. Even in my marriage with all the similarities between our two families and operations, there were still many differences which meant adjustments. Our daughter lived in a rural setting growing up near the family ranch, but her new situation as a ranch wife brings with it many new experiences as well. As my husband notes, life is a series of adjustments!
Distance proves a challenge for everyone new to the country. Distance means more time spent getting to everything--the grocery store, school, appointments. Growing up for me, twenty miles meant half an hour getting to town, but on my husband's family ranch the trip to town took twice as long. So instead of traffic jams you deal with long stretches of empty roads, my preference any day. Planning and anticipating needs is essential whether it means making a list or a menu. You can't run to the store for that essential recipe ingredient or for pepto bismol. I learned to plan menus for several weeks at a time and I kept the pantry well stocked. Distance also limits socializing; meeting someone for coffee or going out to lunch happens much less. When visiting friends would offer to take us out to dinner in town, we usually declined preferring to have them eat at our house rather than drive an hour to get to the restaurant.
Dealing with animals brings a whole new perspective on life--and death. The first thing my grandson asks about a new born calf is if it is alive. You also soon realize that you are not in control; animals get loose or into things they shouldn't, and you can't wait until it is convenient to take care of the situation. If you haven't seen branding or preg checking before it's an eye-opening experience. My family always used a branding chute, but my husband's family flanked all the calves. Our daughter has learned about chickens and pigs which we never raised.
Yes, life is as series of adjustments, but adjustments indicate learning and growing and I think that is a good thing!
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Milking a Cow
Our son-in-law emailed us a picture of our daughter milking a cow today. She had opportunity to try her hand at milking a cow with her granddad as a kid, so it is not entirely new to her, but that was a long time ago. Her husband has been gathering the equipment for milking: an electric cream separator, a pasteurizer, butter churn, and directions on how to make various cheeses. So this is shaping up to be more than a one-time experience for them.
When I went to school, we learned about where our milk came from. The book showed a pristine dairy where cows were cleaned and milked by machines in sanitary conditions tended by men in white uniforms. The milk was loaded into shiny silver milk trucks, pasteurized, put into containers and sold at the store. None of this matched the picture of what went on in our barn. We had one milk cow. You do not milk a cow when you need milk or if it fits into your schedule; you milk a cow twice a day regardless. My dad eased his work load by putting two bull calves in with the cow in the mornings so he did not have to milk, plus these calves really grew with the added nutrition. At night, he would milk the hobbled cow who was switching her tail back and forth, surrounded by meowing cats, waiting for their share of the warm milk. Once he finished milking the cow, he would pour some steaming milk into a pan for the cats and hang the bucket of milk on a peg above the pen where the cats could not reach it. Once we had finished feeding and brushing our calves, one of us took it to the house to mom. I tested centrifugal force on my way to the house with the bucket, swinging it around horizontally and finally vertically over my head. I never did loose any milk.
I can remember mom using a cream separator which swirled the milk separating the cream into one container and milk into another. The machine worked very well, but cleaning it was time consuming, so before long the machine sat idle. (As an adult, I asked my dad if I could have the cream separator, and he thought I was crazy. Now it sits by my back door holding flowers.) Mom would strain the warm milk through cheesecloth into a gallon glass jar. When the milk cooled, the cream rose to the top so she could skim the cream off and we drank the milk. Mom used soured cream to make tender sour cream cinnamon twist rolls and an awesome sour cream chocolate cake. After dad quit milking and she did not have the cream, she didn't make the rolls or cake any longer because she did not realize that you could use commercial sour cream, which was nothing like our sour cream.
When we moved back my husband's family ranch on his grandparents place shortly after we graduated from college, my husband had a cow to milk. He milked first thing in the morning and the milk cow could be quite contrary, which did not get the day off to a good start. I used the same approach to taking care of the milk as my mother did straining it into a gallon jar. I made butter using a blender--quick and easy pressing the buttermilk out of the butter and shaping it into cubes. The butter was delicious on our homemade bread. I also made cottage cheese, which turned out better some times than others. There were times when it turned so rubbery that I think it would have bounced! I remember reading our kids a book about people who had car trouble and got help from a nearby farmer. The children in the story were amazed to see the cow and the milking process because they thought milk came from a carton. My son looked up from the book and asked me, "Mom, what is a carton?" He had no idea because that was not how our milk came to the house.
We enjoyed having the milk, but I know that milking was not an enjoyable task for my husband. It is such a daily task! Our son and daughter-in-law would also like a milk cow for their family's needs as well. It will be interesting to see how all of this works out in this next generation.
When I went to school, we learned about where our milk came from. The book showed a pristine dairy where cows were cleaned and milked by machines in sanitary conditions tended by men in white uniforms. The milk was loaded into shiny silver milk trucks, pasteurized, put into containers and sold at the store. None of this matched the picture of what went on in our barn. We had one milk cow. You do not milk a cow when you need milk or if it fits into your schedule; you milk a cow twice a day regardless. My dad eased his work load by putting two bull calves in with the cow in the mornings so he did not have to milk, plus these calves really grew with the added nutrition. At night, he would milk the hobbled cow who was switching her tail back and forth, surrounded by meowing cats, waiting for their share of the warm milk. Once he finished milking the cow, he would pour some steaming milk into a pan for the cats and hang the bucket of milk on a peg above the pen where the cats could not reach it. Once we had finished feeding and brushing our calves, one of us took it to the house to mom. I tested centrifugal force on my way to the house with the bucket, swinging it around horizontally and finally vertically over my head. I never did loose any milk.
I can remember mom using a cream separator which swirled the milk separating the cream into one container and milk into another. The machine worked very well, but cleaning it was time consuming, so before long the machine sat idle. (As an adult, I asked my dad if I could have the cream separator, and he thought I was crazy. Now it sits by my back door holding flowers.) Mom would strain the warm milk through cheesecloth into a gallon glass jar. When the milk cooled, the cream rose to the top so she could skim the cream off and we drank the milk. Mom used soured cream to make tender sour cream cinnamon twist rolls and an awesome sour cream chocolate cake. After dad quit milking and she did not have the cream, she didn't make the rolls or cake any longer because she did not realize that you could use commercial sour cream, which was nothing like our sour cream.
When we moved back my husband's family ranch on his grandparents place shortly after we graduated from college, my husband had a cow to milk. He milked first thing in the morning and the milk cow could be quite contrary, which did not get the day off to a good start. I used the same approach to taking care of the milk as my mother did straining it into a gallon jar. I made butter using a blender--quick and easy pressing the buttermilk out of the butter and shaping it into cubes. The butter was delicious on our homemade bread. I also made cottage cheese, which turned out better some times than others. There were times when it turned so rubbery that I think it would have bounced! I remember reading our kids a book about people who had car trouble and got help from a nearby farmer. The children in the story were amazed to see the cow and the milking process because they thought milk came from a carton. My son looked up from the book and asked me, "Mom, what is a carton?" He had no idea because that was not how our milk came to the house.
We enjoyed having the milk, but I know that milking was not an enjoyable task for my husband. It is such a daily task! Our son and daughter-in-law would also like a milk cow for their family's needs as well. It will be interesting to see how all of this works out in this next generation.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Dating as a Country Girl
In high school when I was old enough to date, I faced some challenges my city classmates didn't--twenty miles. In my high school of 1200 students, only about ten of us lived outside the city limits. You either lived close, or way out, and we were way out. We only went to town for church on Sundays and one other day of the week for groceries or appointments. This distance limited our extra curricular activities and that included dating. My dad was delighted at this prospect, but I agonized over it. Any boy who wanted to take me out for a date had to drive 20 miles out to the ranch to pick me up. Then we would drive back into town to a movie or activity and another 20 miles back to the ranch. Finally, my date would drive the 20 miles back to town for an 80 mile round trip. For a guy counting his pennies, the additional gas money made dating me a less attractive proposition. Then there were the guys whose mothers didn't want their little boys out in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night.
O woe, woe! That was until I met John. Now compared to where John grew up, I lived in the suburbs. His family ranch in southern Colorado was 45 miles out of town and 20 miles from school, located in a very small community consisting of two churches, a post office and a few homes. The kids in his family participated in every school activity because each person was essential to make it happen. So after we had met in Kansas City, John was not put off by the fact that we were 65 miles apart. In fact that was close since he was attending CSU and not at home, 365 miles from my house! He drove up to the ranch to pick me up, back into town, then home again to the ranch and then the long lonely trip back to college--a round trip of 170 miles, over twice what the local boys were willing to do. This delighted me on multiple levels, an awesome guy and willing to make the effort.
So twenty miles out in the country didn't deter the right guy, and I only needed one!
O woe, woe! That was until I met John. Now compared to where John grew up, I lived in the suburbs. His family ranch in southern Colorado was 45 miles out of town and 20 miles from school, located in a very small community consisting of two churches, a post office and a few homes. The kids in his family participated in every school activity because each person was essential to make it happen. So after we had met in Kansas City, John was not put off by the fact that we were 65 miles apart. In fact that was close since he was attending CSU and not at home, 365 miles from my house! He drove up to the ranch to pick me up, back into town, then home again to the ranch and then the long lonely trip back to college--a round trip of 170 miles, over twice what the local boys were willing to do. This delighted me on multiple levels, an awesome guy and willing to make the effort.
So twenty miles out in the country didn't deter the right guy, and I only needed one!
Monday, February 25, 2013
Meet Me in Kansas City!
In the fall of my senior year of high school, I attended the American Junior Hereford convention held in Kansas City during the American Royal Livestock show. As secretary of the Wyo. Junior Hereford Association, I went as one of the delegates to the convention. The other Wyo. delegates, which included my older cousin, and our sponser were to fly out of Denver on the evening of my high school homecoming football game. I had been asked to homecoming for a first date by guy I had liked for some time, making this a special date. Our flight left that evening, so unfortunately we were only able to attend the game. Troubles with the flight out of Denver meant that we arrived in Kansas City much later than expected, acutally just in time for the morning session of the convention. Euphoria from the nignt before and weariness from the trip swirled together in my mind during those opening sessions as I struggled without success to stay awake. However, I did make a mental note of the handsome tall blonde delegate from Colorado who was one of the presenters.
Lunch sponsered by a registered breeder from Nebraska included a slide show presentation on his operation. Following the lunch and presentation, delegates filed by thanking the host for his generosity. Near the last of the line, I thanked the host family and started the walk back to the hotel for the afternoon sessions. As it happened, the Colorado delegate I had noticed that morning was just behind me in the line and joined me for the walk. As we walked we found out about each other. His name was John and he was attending CSU planning on going to vet school. His family ranching operation had many similarities to ours including extended family and cousins. We sat together during the afternoon sessions, enjoying each other's company which resulted in his asking me to the dance that evening. I was delighted but also somewhat mortified because I had very little experience dancing, and certainly not western dancing. Thankfully, my paltry dancing skills did not deter him and we spent every available moment together during the rest of the convention.
All too soon, the convention came to a close and it was time to part and head back home. The Wyoming delegation was scheduled to fly out of Kansas City an hour before the Colorado group, so we came up with a plan for me to trade seats with one of the other Colorado delegates enabling us to fly to Denver together. The Wyoming group had a layover in Denver before catching the flight to Cheyenne where my cousin and the girl who traded seats with me were to have someone to take them back to UW in Laramie. Our plan would have worked out just fine except that a severe thunderstorm in Kansas City delayed the Colorado flight, which created a domino effect of complications.
The first group arrived in Denver just fine, but since the Colorado flight was delayed, I missed the flight to Cheyenne. John's younger brother, a freshman at CSU who had used his car while John was in Kansas City, was supposed to bring the car to the airport to take him and others back to Ft. Collins. However, he had an accident with his brother's car and so a fraternity brother was there to provide a ride instead. Oh my, how to work through all of the trouble we had created that faced us then. John ended up borrowing a car and taking me home to the ranch twenty miles beyond Cheyenne, a 130 mile round trip out of his way. My cousin assured my mother that he would not have let me trade seats if he had not thought John was a great guy. Although my parents had little reason to put much confidence in the decision making of seventeen-, eighteen- and nineteen-year-olds, everything eventually worked out.
In coming years, our younger sisters eagerly anticipated attending the American Junior Hereford Association convention in Kansas City hoping for a similar experience. However, each person's love story is unique, so none had the same experience there, and the homecoming date before Kansas City became a distant memory. Thus began a relationship that has lasted over 44 years!
Lunch sponsered by a registered breeder from Nebraska included a slide show presentation on his operation. Following the lunch and presentation, delegates filed by thanking the host for his generosity. Near the last of the line, I thanked the host family and started the walk back to the hotel for the afternoon sessions. As it happened, the Colorado delegate I had noticed that morning was just behind me in the line and joined me for the walk. As we walked we found out about each other. His name was John and he was attending CSU planning on going to vet school. His family ranching operation had many similarities to ours including extended family and cousins. We sat together during the afternoon sessions, enjoying each other's company which resulted in his asking me to the dance that evening. I was delighted but also somewhat mortified because I had very little experience dancing, and certainly not western dancing. Thankfully, my paltry dancing skills did not deter him and we spent every available moment together during the rest of the convention.
All too soon, the convention came to a close and it was time to part and head back home. The Wyoming delegation was scheduled to fly out of Kansas City an hour before the Colorado group, so we came up with a plan for me to trade seats with one of the other Colorado delegates enabling us to fly to Denver together. The Wyoming group had a layover in Denver before catching the flight to Cheyenne where my cousin and the girl who traded seats with me were to have someone to take them back to UW in Laramie. Our plan would have worked out just fine except that a severe thunderstorm in Kansas City delayed the Colorado flight, which created a domino effect of complications.
The first group arrived in Denver just fine, but since the Colorado flight was delayed, I missed the flight to Cheyenne. John's younger brother, a freshman at CSU who had used his car while John was in Kansas City, was supposed to bring the car to the airport to take him and others back to Ft. Collins. However, he had an accident with his brother's car and so a fraternity brother was there to provide a ride instead. Oh my, how to work through all of the trouble we had created that faced us then. John ended up borrowing a car and taking me home to the ranch twenty miles beyond Cheyenne, a 130 mile round trip out of his way. My cousin assured my mother that he would not have let me trade seats if he had not thought John was a great guy. Although my parents had little reason to put much confidence in the decision making of seventeen-, eighteen- and nineteen-year-olds, everything eventually worked out.
In coming years, our younger sisters eagerly anticipated attending the American Junior Hereford Association convention in Kansas City hoping for a similar experience. However, each person's love story is unique, so none had the same experience there, and the homecoming date before Kansas City became a distant memory. Thus began a relationship that has lasted over 44 years!
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Country Bible School
In our ranching community, everyone had to travel a number of miles to town, to school, shopping, church or to do anything. Many did not go to church very often if at all because of the distance, so every summer my mother organized a Bible School for the country kids. Bible school was held in an old two-room school house that my dad had attended as a child. The school house sat lonely on the wide-open prairie, no other buildings in sight, no trees. Two outhouses, one for boys and one for girls, anchored the barbwire fence which kept the curious cattle out of the small school yard. The school had no running water either, so it seemed like an adventure to go back in time in these surroundings. We kids enjoyed getting together with our cousins and other neighborhood kids that we either had not seen since school was out, or saw rarely because we went to different schools than they did.
Bible school began in the afternoons after lunch with all ages together. One child carried the American flag, one the Christian flag and one in the middle carried a Bible in the opening ceremony in which we all recited the pledge of allegiance to each. We then sang songs, accompanied by an adult playing on the old upright piano left behind. We vigorously acted out the songs with motions, Praise Ye the Lord Hallelujah, Deep and Wide, Happy All the Time, or robustly belted the lively tunes like I Have the Joy, Joy, Joy.
We separated into two age groups, one for the younger kids and one for the older ones. An adult leader would share a Bible lesson with questions for us to answer. We would memorize verses from the lesson. Each group had an age-appropriate craft that reflected what the story was about. We would take a break after this going outside to have kool-aide and cookies that our moms had baked, each taking a turn to bring refreshments. Outside we played games such as Red Rover or tag burning up restless energy before coming back in for a final large group session to summarize what we had learned. We had Bible Drills where we tried to be the fastest to find a verse in the Bible, or contests to see who could recite the memory verse for that day. We always had a missionary story and offering for that endeavor. Stories of sharing the gospel in foreign countries fascinated us with the unknown cultures and customs.
Bible school went on for two weeks in mid-summer. On the final day we had a program, inviting our dads and grandparents. Many a child in that rural area heard the gospel in Bible school for the first time, and in following summers. The seeds were planted for understanding God's love and the path of salvation. I know that these times helped me to understand biblical truths and impressed on me the importance of missionary work around the world and in our own community. We always looked forward to these two weeks in the summer. The adults who made this time possible will probably never know the impact on our young lives.
Bible school began in the afternoons after lunch with all ages together. One child carried the American flag, one the Christian flag and one in the middle carried a Bible in the opening ceremony in which we all recited the pledge of allegiance to each. We then sang songs, accompanied by an adult playing on the old upright piano left behind. We vigorously acted out the songs with motions, Praise Ye the Lord Hallelujah, Deep and Wide, Happy All the Time, or robustly belted the lively tunes like I Have the Joy, Joy, Joy.
We separated into two age groups, one for the younger kids and one for the older ones. An adult leader would share a Bible lesson with questions for us to answer. We would memorize verses from the lesson. Each group had an age-appropriate craft that reflected what the story was about. We would take a break after this going outside to have kool-aide and cookies that our moms had baked, each taking a turn to bring refreshments. Outside we played games such as Red Rover or tag burning up restless energy before coming back in for a final large group session to summarize what we had learned. We had Bible Drills where we tried to be the fastest to find a verse in the Bible, or contests to see who could recite the memory verse for that day. We always had a missionary story and offering for that endeavor. Stories of sharing the gospel in foreign countries fascinated us with the unknown cultures and customs.
Bible school went on for two weeks in mid-summer. On the final day we had a program, inviting our dads and grandparents. Many a child in that rural area heard the gospel in Bible school for the first time, and in following summers. The seeds were planted for understanding God's love and the path of salvation. I know that these times helped me to understand biblical truths and impressed on me the importance of missionary work around the world and in our own community. We always looked forward to these two weeks in the summer. The adults who made this time possible will probably never know the impact on our young lives.
Monday, February 11, 2013
A Special Sense of Humor
My dad was a very quite reserved person, a man of few words, but that reserve camouflaged a wry sense of humor. Rather than sing us to sleep, he would threaten to sing if we didn't go to sleep at night! His favorite song "Cranky Poodle" had humorous lyrics and a loud clap at one point that always surprised those who heard it for the first time: "Cranky Poodle bit my pa, cranky poodle done it, if there'd been a prize for runnin' fast, my pa would sure have won it!" Singing this song to a young cousin of mine who was riding in the front seat of the car next to him, Dad let loose of the steering wheel and clapped his hands together once very loudly while singing. My cousin's eyes were wide with surprise and fear that the car would go off the road.
Dad was in a play in grade school, a one-room schoolhouse out in the country. His character had a very long name which he would rattle off many years later that we never could catch in its entirety: Johonnas Hubbard Lubbard something something something Van Slackamore Jones. He would quickly slide the words by when we were not prepared, so we never figured out what the middle part was. His teasing smile and the twinkle in his eye let you know that he enjoyed this game, and he always won. We never did catch all of it. Mom made him promise to tape it so it would not be lost to posterity forever, but we cannot find the tape. I am sure he is smiling as us even now.
The birthday spanking ritual was another of his favorite escapades. All of us, cousins included, knew that we would get a birthday "spanking" from Dad. He would put the birthday boy or girl over his knee and ask how old you were and then begin to give gentle swats for how many years old you were. However, he would always stop part way through and ask again, "How old are you?" which meant he had to start over. Then he would loose track of how many swats he had given you and have to start over. The end result meant that you received many many more swats that you were years old.
Dad enjoyed wrestling on the floor with the younger kids. My brother and sister would try to wrestle him, but he always managed to get them wrapped in his arms or legs. My sister was famous for squealing, "I can't breathe, I can't breathe!" when he would have her legs or arms pinned against the floor. Years later he wrestled with his grandchildren in similar fashion. Everyone loved the fun of trying to be stronger than Dad or Grandpa.
Dad loved telling a good joke and was very effective with the punchline. At one family gathering there was a tape recorder going during the dinner. There were multiple conversations all muddled together, but everyone was silent when Dad spoke. He did not talk a lot, but when he did, everyone wanted to make sure they heard what he had to say. Dad was a man of few words, but he made them count and enjoyed the result.
Dad was in a play in grade school, a one-room schoolhouse out in the country. His character had a very long name which he would rattle off many years later that we never could catch in its entirety: Johonnas Hubbard Lubbard something something something Van Slackamore Jones. He would quickly slide the words by when we were not prepared, so we never figured out what the middle part was. His teasing smile and the twinkle in his eye let you know that he enjoyed this game, and he always won. We never did catch all of it. Mom made him promise to tape it so it would not be lost to posterity forever, but we cannot find the tape. I am sure he is smiling as us even now.
The birthday spanking ritual was another of his favorite escapades. All of us, cousins included, knew that we would get a birthday "spanking" from Dad. He would put the birthday boy or girl over his knee and ask how old you were and then begin to give gentle swats for how many years old you were. However, he would always stop part way through and ask again, "How old are you?" which meant he had to start over. Then he would loose track of how many swats he had given you and have to start over. The end result meant that you received many many more swats that you were years old.
Dad enjoyed wrestling on the floor with the younger kids. My brother and sister would try to wrestle him, but he always managed to get them wrapped in his arms or legs. My sister was famous for squealing, "I can't breathe, I can't breathe!" when he would have her legs or arms pinned against the floor. Years later he wrestled with his grandchildren in similar fashion. Everyone loved the fun of trying to be stronger than Dad or Grandpa.
Dad loved telling a good joke and was very effective with the punchline. At one family gathering there was a tape recorder going during the dinner. There were multiple conversations all muddled together, but everyone was silent when Dad spoke. He did not talk a lot, but when he did, everyone wanted to make sure they heard what he had to say. Dad was a man of few words, but he made them count and enjoyed the result.
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