Life Lessons from Growing up on a Farm

by Carolyn Dallman

Faster and faster, my brothers and I tossed hay from upper bins of the loft to the middle bin, then down the chute. The sooner we finished this task, the sooner we could begin jumping from the upper bin to the lower bin, like a trampoline.  Our play started with random jumps, but soon escalated to challenges: side jumps, butt jumps, belly flops, maybe a somersault … until the landing pad became packed solid and touchdowns hurt.

Hard work and hard play went hand-in-hand on our farm in North Freedom, Wisconsin, during the 1950s. This concept was likely instilled in children living in cities during the 1950s as well. However, the differences between living in cities and living on family farms were the unique tasks associated with farm life and experiencing the intricacies of operating a dairy farm. My parents taught these skills to my brothers and me by example, not by telling.

Daily tasks were assigned, but we were expected to adapt to specific situations. For example, the process of feeding our dairy cows changed with the seasons. When pastures were green with grass, cows did not need that forkful of hay at their stanchions. With their bellies full, cows were not inclined to return to the barn twice daily for milking. However, a scoop of ground feed on top of a mound of silage enticed the animals into the barn.

During long Wisconsin winters, huge mounds of hay were needed to supplement the green grass missing from the cows’ diets. (Each animal needed a bathtub full of hay each day.) These changes in feeding our dairy cows did not happen abruptly. Rather, the amount of hay, silage and ground feed were adjusted according to weather conditions. My brothers and I learned how to make these adjustments without directions from dad or mom.

We learned about planting and harvesting. Crops were rotated annually to naturally enrich the soil. I did not fully understand the reasoning behind this until I was in high school, studying earth science and biology.

Nitrogen-rich soil from our legume crops of alfalfa and clover was fertilizer for eventual fields of corn. Alfalfa was planted with oats. Oats grew fast, turning a rich golden color before the summer harvest. This allowed green alfalfa to continue growing in the same field and producing a crop of late summer hay. The following spring alfalfa sprang up to a bright green crop of hay in that same field. It could be harvested as many as three times during the summer. The following spring, that nitrogen-rich soil was tilled and became fertilizer for our newly planted corn.

Our equipment was not new. It worked well enough, but it was not unusual for something to break down. My brothers and I watch as dad did the repair, and we were ready and willing to collect tools that dad might need. Sometimes we were asked to assist with the repair under dad’s watchful eye. I learned how important it is to return tools to their proper place so they would be readily available the next time something broke.

Perseverance and the ability to adapt to unique situations came from those childhood experiences on the farm. I saw dad and mom go through myriad situations where they needed to adapt. I saw their work ethic and the methodical ways they accomplished tasks. They did not explain these things to me. It was a way of life absorbed into me through their examples.

Their examples carried me through coming-of-age moments when I had to stand on my own two feet. It gave me strength through the challenging years of raising a family. It gave me confidence in my professional career.

The diversity of tasks learned on our family farm served as important resources for me and continues to have a positive impact as I celebrate having my debut book, North Freedom, published.

Upon hearing a story of his grandmother’s childhood, Carolyn’s 7-year-old grandson said, “Grandma, you are so lucky. I can’t do those things. Life is different today.” The conversation with her grandson concerned Carolyn. Was the childhood of the baby boomer generation being lost? Could she use childhood memories to preserve the way of life she had experienced?

North Freedom is a collection of over 60 interrelated, nonfiction stories blending a variety of characters, activities and events that dynamically move on the static landscape of the village and the farm.

A Walk In The Woods

I've got a lot going on, and that's fine - I like it that way.

But it's 70 degrees in Ohio (in February, mind you) and my laundry is hanging on the line so yesterday it was hard to stay inside and work. Everything I do is tied to the computer. Writing, editing, blogging - and the new podcast I'm starting to go along with this blog - require me to sit inside and stare at a screen.

Sometimes it's not fun. Yesterday was one of those times.

I thought I'd go into the woods. It's not a stress thing, or a cathartic thing, or a break for freedom. It was simply hanging out the laundry and saw the woods and thought I might like to be in it. So I went.

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If you look you can see spot awesome things in the woods. And if you don't you're likely to miss a lot. I was taking my time yesterday, standing still even, when I spotted a drop (an antler that a deer has shed). Drops are hard to see, as they blend in so perfectly with the forest floor. I grabbed it to have an entire skull follow, shedding a few years worth of the leaf covering that had been hiding.

So I have a new friend. A dead friend, but a friend. He's in my office now, providing a wonderful focal point for me to zone out on when that's what work calls for.

My Scar Is A Meh Face & Other Mindy Updates

Judging by the click rates, comments and general entertainment value of my post about being seriously injured, I should probably try to almost die much more often. Apparently it would be good for my career.

Given the amount of scars I have (idea - scar inventory) I can say with a fair amount of conviction that I will get hurt again fairly soon, and I'll be sure to let everyone know. Just FYI - I am going fishing later this afternoon.

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I am healing quite well, thank you, and while I was inspecting the damage the other day I noticed that my scar is a meh face. It's not impressed. It thinks I could've done better. It's seen more dedication in divorce rates. It says, muscle was exposed but not bone, so stop bragging.

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Elsewhere in my life, if you follow me on Twitter or Instagram you know that I did a lot of canning last week. I made a vegetable ladder of priorities in my kitchen, a thing that once done, cannot be undone. Count so far: 4 pints honey pickles, 3 quarts zucchini dill pickles, 2 jars blackberry jam, 18 pints pizza / spaghetti sauce, 8 quarts tomato juice, 3 quarts tomato soup, 3 quarts dried corn. 

Yes, you can come over when the world ends, but you need to know ahead of time that it's going to be like the Fight Club Paper Street house - you have to prove yourself on the porch. I'm thinking some sort of skill other than enduring patience. Also, there is no whining in the apocalypse. People always ask me who I am most like of all my characters, and the answer is probably Mother. That should help you decide whether or not you want to come over.