I hope you have a successful, and not too stressful lambing season. We purchased a used cattle chute many years ago and it has been a lifesaver for us.
On a sad note, the last feed mill in our county is shutting down February 28th. Not enough business anymore for anyone to take it over. In the early 50's there were 12 such feed mills. I used to love going with my Dad to the local mill and hearing the hum of the feed grinding machinery that vibrated the whole building and taking in the smells of ground corn and oats and molasses that filled the air. The nice lady behind the counter would sometimes slip me a candy bar, if there were no other customers around.
The local feed mill replaced the general store. They had everything you needed to fix anything on a small farm, except lumber. Bolts, nails, window panes, fencing supplies, shotgun shells, fishing supplies, animal medicine, paint. You name it, they had it. All just three miles down the road. If I was desperate, I could get on my Hiawatha and pedal there for a dime soda and a dime candy bar. Now, just a distant memory.
That Berry is essay in ‘A Small Porch’ is such a rich literary journey through the past. Inspires one to take part in the succession of the agrarian peasant through the ages.
Good Morning Brian,
I hope you have a successful, and not too stressful lambing season. We purchased a used cattle chute many years ago and it has been a lifesaver for us.
On a sad note, the last feed mill in our county is shutting down February 28th. Not enough business anymore for anyone to take it over. In the early 50's there were 12 such feed mills. I used to love going with my Dad to the local mill and hearing the hum of the feed grinding machinery that vibrated the whole building and taking in the smells of ground corn and oats and molasses that filled the air. The nice lady behind the counter would sometimes slip me a candy bar, if there were no other customers around.
The local feed mill replaced the general store. They had everything you needed to fix anything on a small farm, except lumber. Bolts, nails, window panes, fencing supplies, shotgun shells, fishing supplies, animal medicine, paint. You name it, they had it. All just three miles down the road. If I was desperate, I could get on my Hiawatha and pedal there for a dime soda and a dime candy bar. Now, just a distant memory.
Good memories, Don. But I feel your pain on what gets lost in the rush of progress.
Ah, the life of a farmer. The rest of us don’t appreciate you enough.
That Berry is essay in ‘A Small Porch’ is such a rich literary journey through the past. Inspires one to take part in the succession of the agrarian peasant through the ages.
I'm looking forward to finishing it.