106 It Happened in Iona

early 40$, our hogs were housed in really excellent quarters, in pens with sliding doors and cement floors with drainage. We kept one sow at a time which produced small to average litters out of which we normally held no more than half a dozen for market, selling the rest at six weeks of age. There was hardly a prettier sight among animals than a group of young piglets in their pinkish best clustered around their mother. In fact at all age levels the hogs were a treat to be with, so special was their friendly way.

Looking after the horses was an easy matter with the carrying of water to them in winter being perhaps the most strenuous task. Feeding them oats had to be done with caution. As soon as the granary door was opened these otherwise friendly animals began showing great impatience for their meal and could easily send the wooden box flying while it was being placed in the manger before them. Over the years our horse population remained steady at two. These occupied stalls one and three, the middle one being reserved for visitors. The fourth, against the inner wall and referred to as the box stall, was used for storage. Going to the stable after dark, before or after running the mail, one became skilled at harnessing or unharnessing the animal without the aid of lantern or flashlight. A special flat iron resting on the sill was used upon return for prying loose the packed snow from the horse’s hoofs. One of the most eerie sounds on the farm for me at least was that of a horse pawing the stable floor at night. That usually signalled a sick animal and a trip to the barn to investigate.

Cattle required considerable attention. Milking by hand was tiring but a proof of some maturity. In the heat of summer, whether in field or barn, this chore was more risky with flies numerous and the cows inclined to kick in any direction in self defense. During these interludes the bucket became an easy target, often getting severely battered with its contents sent flying to the fury of the milker. One of my fondest memories of childhood was my first milking experience in the company 0f both parents near the back of the farm. Assigned to a charmingly quiet and friendly cow, I used as container the cover of a creamer which enabled me to fill and empty reasonably often.

Separating was a delightful task. Early in my youth we purchased a new shiny red separator which purred like a kitten. Turning the heavy handle slowly at first and gradually faster until the bell stopped ringing, then maintaining that speed to the end was a much sought after pastime, especially in the