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Nostalgia August 2016

Musings of an Undefeated Matriarch

An Old Cowbell Rings Memories

By Sharon Kennedy

Every now and then I come across something from my childhood that jolts the past to the present. It might be Dad's tattered and torn barn jacket hanging on a nail, or a picture of Jude feeding one of the workhorses. Perhaps it's one of Mom's fancy aprons tucked in a drawer. It could be the little stool Gram sat on while she milked the cows, or a dozen gunny sacks tied together with a piece of binder twine. 

The other day I was rummaging in the well house and came across an old cowbell hanging on a rusty nail. The bell was in good shape, as if Dad had just taken it off the lead cow. Maybe he planned on putting a new bell on Silver or maybe the strap needed mending and the bell was hung and forgotten. Dad had as many bells as he had chores, so my find was not unusual.  

My sister, Jude, would have wonderful memories about life on the farm because she spent as much time in the barn as she did in the house. I was just the opposite. I was the house cat. Like Gram, I loved to read. When I awoke on summer mornings, I reached for a book instead of my barn clothes. Seeing that old bell reminded me when Jude called the cows in from pasture. While I snuggled in bed, she was outside helping Dad with the chores.

If my bedroom window was open, the sounds drifting through the screen were familiar ones. I might hear the cry of a barn swallow as it swooped to discourage an inquisitive cat. Maybe the clang of a bell would echo through the air as the cows got closer to the barn for their first milking. There was something comforting about that sound. It meant the animals had spent another peaceful night beneath the stars and all was well.

When the milking was done and the cows put out to pasture, the milk cans were filled and hoisted into the water tank where they waited for the milk truck to take them to the dairy. Then the rat-a-tat-tat of Dad's tractor joined the early morning sounds of farm life as Dad headed toward the hay field.

When I finally got out of bed and looked out the south window, I could see the cows as they fed on grass or made their way to the shelter of the woods. Often during summer months I played in the woods when the cows were in another field. Sometimes I liked to sample their salt block and, of course, it was great fun to feel the squish of a fresh cow pie between my bare toes as I ran through a pasture. But when school started and cool autumn winds blew though the fields, my roaming days came to a halt.    

Our cows got the same good treatment as our pigs. The saddest days for me were when Dunbar's truck came to the farm because that meant something was going to auction. I didn't realize what that meant. I was simply told the animals were destined for someone else's barn. Looking back, my parents protected me from many harsh realities of farm life. As the second daughter, Mom didn't want another tomboy. While Jude helped Dad with outside chores, I played with my dolls and read books like Honey Bunch.       

Every now and then I come across something from my childhood that jolts the past to the present. It might be Dad's tattered and torn barn jacket hanging on a nail, or a picture of Jude feeding one of the workhorses. Perhaps it's one of Mom's fancy aprons tucked in a drawer. It could be the little stool Gram sat on while she milked the cows, or a dozen gunny sacks tied together with a piece of binder twine. 

I left the cowbell on the nail and continued rummaging through various boxes. I wasn't looking for anything in particular, just trying to straighten up the place. I use the building as a storage unit, and every summer I promise myself I'll give it a good cleaning, but somehow September rolls around and many chores are left undone. 

Although the days of awaking to the familiar sound of a cowbell are long gone, my old side road is still home to a few farm animals. Sometimes I hear the bray of the neighbor's donkeys. Like the clang of Silver's bell, it's a pleasant sound reassuring me another peaceful night has passed and all is well.

 

You know what I mean, don’t you? 

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