Down below the Barn
.Out the back road. Down by the swamp. Over along the lane. Up behind the house. Across the apple orchard. Each of these phrases conjures up memories from our Sugar Hill farm when I was young in the !950s and ’60s. Lately, I’ve been thinking about what happened down below the barn.
A small stream, about 60 yards down below the barn, feeds into the swamp. Before electricity came to the farm, my grandfather’s cows had to lumber down the hill for a drink in the stream. In 1938, Claverack brought electricity to the barn, so by the 1940s, the cows could easily drink from water cups hung right by their stanchions. My father told me that milk production doubled with the addition of water in the barn. Why? Because the cows were too lazy to walk down the hill to the stream – often only drinking water every other day.
Unlike the lazy cows, my brother Lanny, cousins, and I raced down the hill to play beside, and often in, that same cold stream of water. We built dams and cautiously caught small crawfish being oh-so-careful of their tiny pincers. When we got too wet, too cold, or too hungry, we trudged back up the hill toward the barn already planning our next great adventure.
One of those great adventure we planned wasn’t nearly as much fun as it sounded. I can’t remember who came up with the big idea, but I was elected to sneak the raw materials that were needed for the plan out of the house. Once gathered up, my brother, cousins, and I met down below the barn to try smoking what was left of my mother’s partially smoked cigarettes. Just a few puffs convinced me that I’d never walk a mile for a Camel, that a Winston doesn’t taste good like a cigarette should, and that I’d never come to Marlboro country!
Despite the many fond and fun memories from down below the barn, it also marked an important place in the cycle of life for our farm pets. In the days before veterinarians figured out how lucrative small animal care could be even in rural areas, most centered their care on cows and horses. These were income-producing animals and most people didn’t spend money on pets. So, when one of our dogs or cats got hit by a car or got sick, my father took it down below the barn, and with his .22 rifle, sent it on its way. In today’s times, it may sound harsh, but as kids, we understood and accepted these swift and sad endings. ❤
Now, let me tell you what happened out the back road when…