A Memorial Day Conversation

Background:  My family and my wife's family are cemetery visitors.  We have been and always will be, I think.  Personally, I can't imagine doing anything else on Memorial Day besides visiting graves of loved ones.

For the last several years, and due to the fact that there are so many cemeteries for us to visit, we break it up.

If we are going to visit the graves of my mother's family, we usually try to do that on the Saturday before, but it's usually not a mass visit - turns out to be one or two of us is all.

Sunday is the day to visit my wife's relatives resting places.  We meet at the Garland Cemetery where my wife's sister is buried.  Then we travel to East Garland to decorate the graves of her father's grandpa and grandma.

After that, we travel to Bear River City where my wife's mother's dad and a brother are  buried.

Then on to Honeyville where my wife's dad's biological father and his mother are buried, as well as his adopted father.

The last stop of the day is in Brigham City where my wife's mother's grandparents are buried.

This year we gathered at the home of a sister after the Box Elder Cemetery visits were done and had supper there.  It was a great day.

Each year on the official holiday, my brothers and sisters gather in Newton to visit our dad's grave as well as his parent's and grandparent's graves.

My dad's mother came from a polygamist family, the patriarch of which was William F. Rigby.  He had 7 wives and households full of children and grandchildren.  Check the link for a small bio of his life.

A large part of his family is buried in the Newton, Utah Cemetery, and we can spend a lot of time walking from plot to plot remembering where each person fits into the overall picture.

I know we don't do a lot of recreational things on Memorial Day, but as I look back over the last several years I notice that Memorial weekend is right up there in my list of favorite times of the year.

So, enough background, let's get into the specific conversation:

Oh, one last note:  My wife's family has a lot of graves to visit and they like to leave a flower on each one so they have gotten into the habit of using artificial flowers - the kind you would buy and then use in a larger arrangement - instead of buying the mums that proliferate at the stores each May, just to save money.

At the Garland Cemetery on Sunday just past, as we were beginning the trip across Box Elder County, my father-in-law said, "When we get to heaven, our relatives will be upset with us because all we have used is fake flowers on their graves".  A moment later he continued, "Well, they'll be upset with all of you when you get up there because I won't be there, I'm going somewhere else".

At this point, my 11 year old son, ever compassionate, ever helpful, said, "OH!  I know where YOU'RE going ......."

Of Farming and Other Things: Part 2

Continued From

Having been employed by a friend's family to help with chores at his family's dairy since I was old enough to do such things, I was asked if I wanted to join their Dairy 4-H group as well.

I was excited to do that, because that meant I got to "adopt" one of the calves each spring and prepare it for the cattle shows over the summer.   I had seen my next oldest brother show calves and heard about the other things the group did, I was glad to be part of it.

The time came to select the calves we would show.  The dairy's registered name was Bridgerland Holsteins, or something like that.  If I remember correctly the calf I would show was "Bridgerland Rocky something or other" ....

I had been around cows and horses since I was young.  It was no surprise to me that animals don't always like to be interact with people, especially if a halter or rope is involved.  It was a surprise, however, at how similar putting a halter on a calf can be, compared to say, water skiing.  That is, if you can stay on your feet for any period of time after said halter is attached to the calf.

On this much anticipated day, we herded the group of calves into a corner of the corral and went to work attaching halters to the ones selected for showing.

It wasn't too terribly difficult to walk up slowly and get the halter on, but once it was on, leading the animal anywhere was another matter.  A calf that doesn't want to be led will generally pull back, or bolt, or otherwise express it's anxiety.

This is where the similarity to water skiing comes in.  If you were agile enough to stay on your feet you could enjoy quite a ride, manure rooster tails included.  What usually happened is the calf would soon head off for the fence and use it to try brush you off the end of the rope.  It was a rather successful ploy.

After a while the calves would tire of this game, and we could start to acclimate them to human contact.  Each day that we worked with the calves it was pretty much the same story, with some improvement in the tame-ness that was displayed by the animals.

Before long we would be able to walk in and put the halter on our calves without a rodeo. Once that was accomplished we were able to leave the corral to a nearby field or dirt patch to teach advanced leading skills such as stopping in the perfect stance, which is a required element in the show ring.

Of course there would be the occasional time when one of the calves would sense freedom and make a break for it, leaving the fellow at the end of the rope little choice but to hold on until the road rash became too severe or some other obstacle suddenly prevented him from maintaining a grip on the rope.  After the aching stopped, retrieval of the escapee became an entirely new drama.

It was finally time to take our prodigies to the first show of the season, Black and White Days in Richmond.  This particular year, my friend and I would go up to the show grounds earlier than the rest of the group and spend the night in the stalls with the first load of animals.

This was the real fun of being in 4-H!  Skipping school for a couple of days, and getting to stay out with the calves, what a treat!  My friend and I were deposited at the show barn with a few calves and some equipment, and we settled in.  A bit later another 4-H group from another part of the valley came in with a few animals and left a couple of kids with their animals for the night.

I shudder at the thought of it all, I mean, I couldn't of been more than 13 years old.  I don't know how our parents let us do this all by ourselves.  But we made the most of it.  Before long we had hatched some plan to play a joke on the kids from the other 4-H group, and we implemented that plan.  I don't think it was anything malicious, just some 4-H humor of some sort.  The problem was, the other kids were a few years older than us ....

Well, we were severely chased around the cow stalls until my friend - who they believed to be the instigator of the prank - was captured and hauled kicking and screaming to the indoor arena where he was deposited into a very large barrel of wood chips, and left there.  I was lucky enough to be spared the same fate, but I had my share of wood chips covering me by the time I had rescued my friend from the barrel.

After laughing over the fun we had just had we decided to go to the bathroom of the indoor arena and brush off as many wood ships as we could.  While doing that we heard some motorcycles pull into the arena and a moment later into the bathroom came two of the scariest fellows I had seen up to that point of my life.

They must have known that there was restroom access in the arena, I guess, and had no other intention than to use the facilities and leave.  But for a couple of 12 year olds basically alone in the wilds of Richmond, Utah, we were quite taken back and we quickly went back to where our calves were tied.  Okay, our exit from the bathroom/arena was probably way more dramatic than that ....

Somehow we were able to get some rest that night, even with one eye open watching for further prank-revenge attempts - or unfamiliar visitors.

Of Farming and Other Things: Part 1

I grew up in a Mecca of agriculture.  If you lived in that community and were not involved in farming of some sort it was because you moved in or had decided not to continue what your father or grandfather began.

I'll spend some time on the history of my dad's side as it relates to this topic, here:  My paternal grandfather came from Denmark when he was very young and my paternal grandmother came from a prominent Northwest Cache County LDS polygamist family.

My grandfather ended up in this community working for farmers; my grandmother's family helped settle that part of Cache County and were farmers of that region from the get-go.

There are stories in grandma's family history about living in the area now known as the "Long Divide" (the NW Cache to NE Box Elder thoroughfare), and how they had to deal with bears and lions and other predators, to prevent losses to the sheep and cattle.

My grandfather met my grandmother and the rest is history, so to speak.  With my grandmother's significant number of siblings - and she being a she - most of the farm ground the family owned went to the boys of the family. 

My grandfather loved farming and helped my grandmother's family on their land as often as he could.   With grandma's family land all tied up, he looked to other occupations for income.  He worked with the railroad for many years, as well as starting a chicken and egg producing family business to sell the products.

My grandmother was a teacher in NW Cache County schools to augment the family income - leaving an awful lot of the work in the chicken project to my dad and his two sisters.

My dad served in Korea during the war; once back home he completed an LDS mission to his dad's homeland of Denmark; then met my mother and the rest is almost history. 

Dad wanted to farm, but lacked the ground to call his own, so he helped relatives as often as he could.  My mother grew up in Smithfield, UT, also a daughter of a farming family.  She was no stranger to the work required to farm, but she did not retain any rights to the land her dad farmed.

To provide for the family dad finished his education degree at USU; taught school in Garland Utah for awhile; decided that was not his life's dream so he operated the service station in our town for several years; he sold insurance somewhere in there as well, finally he worked at Cache Valley Cheese in the shipping department.

He loved his horses, he loved to have a cow or two around to feed out and then use for beef in the freezer.  He started a family food project in the backyard (a BIG garden).  We raised chickens and turkeys just as he had when he was young.  We had a supply of eggs which we ate as well as sold to others; we would process the turkeys in the late fall and sell them for holiday dinners.

The three of us boys (2 sisters, but they didn't work for farms) were involved in agriculture from when we were young.  Taking care of our garden and animals, milking cows for various dairy farms in town, moving irrigation pipe, and all the other summer farm work.  We had an almost endless supply of income opportunities within the small 2 mile radius of our town.

Later on my dad returned to his farming roots a bit when he started a side business to provide an opportunity for the middle son and myself to have summer work and more income for the family.  We were custom hay haulers.

Dad bought a New Holland bale wagon (back when bales were hauled by hand and were small and manageable), and we went to work.  We would contract with a farmer to haul their hay/straw bales from the field to the barn for a price per bale as well as mileage in cases where there were long transit times.

A year or so later we added a piece of equipment lovingly called a "stack retriever".  I was the main operator of this device, and jokingly I still wonder why anyone - after having placed a stack of hay somewhere would care at all to have it "retrieved".  Nonetheless it was a nice addition to the business, allowing us to save wear and tear on the bale wagon by using this vehicle to haul hay long distances.

The implementation of large bales and other circumstances terminated the usefulness of the operation, but it served it's purpose for our family while in operation.

What a life it was for a boy growing up in the outback of Cache Valley, to have a summer income working for farmers or working for my dad's contract hay hauling business.  We learned a lot and we know how to work and get things done and we had fun.  Who wouldn't enjoy perks like an afternoon swimming trip to the irrigation pond?

Now you have the basis for the next part of the story, which will include a description (as best as I can remember) of an event that happened in Richmond, Utah while I was in Dairy 4-H, at the famous Black and White Day's which is currently under way this week.

Continued Here

Highlights of the last several days

1.  I love to watch Ghost Hunters on Wednesday nights, and last Wednesday's programs were quite spooky.  I mean, watching (crazy) people walking around all night in an old abandoned building that is reported to be haunted, and then watch the analysis and see video footage of what appears to be paranormal activity - that's enough to make me check twice in the closet, under the bed, etc.

2. Last Friday night I didn't go home right after work because I had a meeting in North Logan at 7:00.  Chief's Association (Cache Valley Fire Chiefs) is always a good meeting, but it was on Friday night and I was glad to finally get home.

3. I rooted for the Jazz, vicariously.  As mentioned above, I was at a meeting during the Friday game, and we were with family and on the road during the Sunday game.  Tonight I'll be at fire training and will miss most of the first half, but I get so keyed up when the Jazz play because I want them to win, so it's probably best.  Go Jazz, steal away a game in LA!   I'll also miss Ghost Hunters - boo, hiss (pun intended).

4. Saturday we did some work around the house and yard, took my mom to Logan for a pre-Mother's Day lunch.

4. Sunday we went to Orem for a family get together (wife's side) to wish a nephew well as he leaves soon for a mission.  That was fun.  On the way back we stopped at a grandma's house to visit for Mother's Day.  A long day in the car, but it was nice.

5. Monday night I took out the new fire engine for a little drive around town (first time I've driven it), then waited at the station to meet the Fire District officer who was taking it to Salt Lake to get the radio installed.

6. Last night I fixed my brother's tiller and delivered it back to him.  My kids wanted to go over with me, and on the way home we went over and looked at the 2 way radio just installed in the new fire engine.  I am surprised a bit that my kids were interested in seeing the new engine and finding out how to operate it.

Of course there are the every day monotonous tasks of feeding the cows, cleaning up the house, etc.

Nothing earth shattering pops to mind as I complete this list, and I don't have anything really spectacular planned for the future either.  (Sigh) I guess my wife is right, I really am a boring person who likes strange things - ghosts, firefighting, etc.

The Woes of the Gardener

It's Spring time in the Wasatch, and we have begun the season of gardening at our household.  It has not been as serene as it could have been, though.

We inherited a tiller from my wife's grandmother.  We used it last year and it was wonderful.  It's old and showed signs of wear, so over the winter I took the handle off and stored it in the garage until my wife could transport it to her dad's shop and have it welded in prep for this year's use.

After that was accomplished, I put the tiller back together and discovered that the cable from the handle to the pulley that engages the tines was not moving through the sheath, and once I engaged the pulley the cable would not release, so it was all tines all the time.

Not a terrible problem, I tilled until something inside the gear box broke, maybe the chain that drives the tines after the pulley is engaged.  Nonetheless, no more all tines all the time, no more tilling.

I eyeballed the design of the frame. It would require lengthy de-construction just to get into the gears that the chain runs on, so I went looking for other options until I can get up the motivation to tear down this old tiller.

I didn't have to search far.  My brother heard my dilemma and rescued me by letting me borrow his tiller Saturday just past.  What a nice machine it is!  2 years old, smooth and neat.  I had the garden patch whipped into shape in no time, ready to plant, then I decided to do just a bit more in some hard packed ground.

Well, I now have two broken down tillers at my place, and am awaiting shipment of the part that broke on my brother's tiller so I can repair it and return it.  I hate borrowing expensive things and I should have realized that something would go wrong, but I still hate it.

Now I just have to focus on the end results that we will get and let it offset the work and trouble we've had with the tiller drama.

Those tomatoes and other things better be really good this year!