As 2017 ends, bitter cold weather and heavy snowfall affect a large part of the United States. We pulled this blog out of the freezer to remind ourselves that "even in the dead of winter, a Midwest farm could be a vibrant playground."
The Cabin Fever App
Dad, my
uncle, and my grandparents farmed together and lived on three homesteads that
were spittin’ distance from each other. The combined kid-count for the families
eventually reached fourteen, so we could move like a swarm of locusts from
house to house--playing in the yards, spilling kool-aid in the kitchens, and
tracking in enough mud to start small indoor gardens.
Before
we were old enough to chore and drive tractors, the adults tolerated this
mayhem, but winter must have been a “hell freezes over” situation at times. As
Mom recalls, “On a snowbound day, you kids could wreck my house in the morning
and then move on to Aunt Ruth’s place for a second shift in the afternoon.”
With no video games, cartoon networks, or battery-driven toys, we built pillow
forts, played hide-n-seek, and concocted games with marbles, plastic army men,
and knicked-up Lincoln Logs. When cabin fever reached a certain point, the
folks would relent and let us brave the snow and cold. Even in the dead of
winter, a Midwest farm in the 60s could be a vibrant playground.
The
creeks and pastures called us further afield even when they looked like silver
arctic zones. The two streams on our farm provided a Jack London setting, and
we would walk on the ice looking for muskrat trails and rare beaver dams. As in
London’s famous story “To Build a Fire,” one of us would occasionally break
through the ice and fill a boot with frigid water. Unlike the story’s main
character, we all survived, although I’m sure we entertained the shivering
victim on the fast walk home with tales of frozen fingers and amputated toes.
Survival
was tougher when we became old enough to skate and play hockey on the creek.
We’d make holes in the ice for goals and the pucks were rocks, clods, or maybe
a frozen “road apple” from an old cow pie on the bank. Scores were low but wet
clothes and near concussions came regularly from our awkward falls and lack of
skating ability.
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| Click here for a blog about farm work in winter. |
When
cold winds started to numb our cheeks, we might seek refuge in one of the
barns. Hogs and cattle provided a type of bio-heat that came from warm animal
bodies and the steamy straw-manure bedding they lay on. The heat rose into the
haymow where we’d make tunnels and play some type of king-on-the-hill turf war.
It was a bonus if we found a nest of baby kittens and a bummer if someone
crawled through a tunnel that the raccoons had used for a litter box.
A
classic winter day on the farm ended with a peel-and-pain routine. We’d peel
off wet gloves, four-buckle boots, and ice-laden coveralls and then complain as
our fingers and noses burned with the stinging pain of the thawing-out process.
We then huddled in front of the furnace vent and got warm with the help of
fresh-baked rolls. Mom knew how to cure frostbite. She also knew how to acquire
some sanity on snowbound days. In an era long before smartphones, Mom had an app
for kid cabin fever: it was an aperture called the front door, and she knew how
to download it—you dressed the kids in warm clothing, turned the door handle,
and let them access the winter wonderland that came already installed on a
Midwest farm.
by dan gogerty (top pic from richmond.com and bottom pic from iasoybeans.com)
