Notes

Papa called me a "towhead" because I had hair the color of straw. I was a bundle of life. Each day was a miracle. The chores I had to perform were completed while I imagined and dreamed.

I cannot remember when I did not carry wood. First it was a stick or two--finally six or seven. The farm stove had a huge appetite, ever hungry, never satisfied.

There were eggs to gather from the hen house and to be hunted in the barn. If possible I let someone more daring go up the ladder to the loft. There were gaping places in the boards up there. I was afraid I would fall through onto the sheep, cows, or the bull. That would have been deadly.

There was the task of carrying water from the well. The pump handle was high. I had to stretch as high as I could, then ride the iron handle down to the time of water splashing in the pail. Soon I would be yanked up off my feet and ride the handle down again until the pail was full.

My imagination was always busy. I wondered about the milkweed that grew along the country roads. Why could they not fill pillows with their downy softness? The little cheese plant filled my playhouse pantry. To me it was real creamy cheese.

Papa said the beehives must be skirted quietly and with care. I pictured the bees as unfriendly hordes of savages waiting to swoop down and wipe us out.



I loved to watch the hens wallow out cool holes in the dirt under the quince bushes. In the shade on a hot August day, they would sit with the lids of their eyes slowly opening and closing. They reminded me of the shutter on my sister's camera. They held their wings out from their bodies trying to catch any stray breeze that might come their way. I pitied them. It was like sitting under a feather mattress on a hot day. I wondered why we could not clip their feathers like we clipped Shep, our dog.

In my imagination, Shep was a wild lion with a ruff at his neck and a brush on the end of his tail. The rest of his hair was clipped close. I knew he was not a lion, but the back of my neck prickled when he laid his head in my lap.

I loved to follow Papa to the watering tank. Here the horses would slurp up the water between their velvety lips. Then they would toss their heads and snort as if they got their noses too far in.



Then Papa brought the pails of swill for the pigs. I would hang on the rail and watch them push and squeal, crowding close to where it was poured. Sometimes a greedy runt would go to the end of the trough where the rest would not bother him and gorge himself. After all, they were pigs!

Sounds had a special meaning in the quietness of the country. Early, the cocks started to crow. Our old rooster bellowed his "cock-a-doodle-doos." Then our neighbor's Banty put in his "two cents' worth." Others farther away "spoke their piece." Then the rest of ours joined the chorus. There was a bark of a dog in the distance. Shep answered with a howl. It was quiet for a minute. The tinkling of the lead sheep's bell sounded before Brindle, the cow, split the air with a "moo."

As the day advanced, the action in the barnyard picked up. Pigs squealed and grunted. Old hens clucked as they gathered their chicks for worms just scratched to the surface.

Papa came in from doing his morning chores all washed and combed. He drew up his chair. We were all washed and combed, too, and in our places.

One of us took Papa the family Bible. It was not a huge one with the records, but a big one given to Papa by the Sunday school he had directed for years and years.

Papa looked like Teddy Roosevelt's double. He would pull on his glasses as he read. He read in Psalms a lot. I can hear him now (Psalm 90:9-12), "We spend our years, as a tale that is told... so teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom."

Sometimes I would wander off in my own thoughts, but when I heard the chairs scraping, I knew it was time to kneel in prayer. At the end of Papa's prayer, we all repeated the Lord's Prayer. Now it was time for breakfast, more like our dinners today. We found our places at the table. Soon we were ready to start a new day.