Chores 107

evenings. To see the milk and cream pouring out of different spouts was an eye catcher and a marvel of the old technology. Family cats never failed to assemble at milking and separating time to sing and cuddle in anticipation of their fresh new nourishment. Our cow stable had five stalls but our milking population seldom exceeded four. For many years we had the same faithful milkers with names or labels inevitably attached to each. In stall one was a brown and white animal, known simply as “the outside cow”. Next was an all-brown and homless one referred to as “the miley”. Then came the black-and—white and finally the most motherly of all, an old faithful of the Jersey type, known as “Ninny”. A regular winter chore was slicing turnips in the cellar for the cattle in late afternoon. A large hardwood block standing on end was. for years the favorite slicing place. These and water, when the way to the creek was blocked, were carried by hand to the barn. Throwing down hay and straw was always an evening chore, the hay for feeding horses and cattle and the straw for bedding after light cleaning of the stalls. Saturday was usually the day for major stable cleaning. Occasionally trips to the stable would be required after nightfall to check on thing. I have seldom witnessed anywhere such peace and contentment as found in the barn at night amidst the animals who always issued their own kind of welcome to nocturnal visitors.

The woodpile was the scene of daily chores, especially in the colder months. In winter a bulging wood box, with stakes in front to give it double height, was required each evening with suffi- cient kindling oven dried to light the morning fire. Frequently the wood was sawed in blocks and split on the spot to be carried in while still damp. At other times there would be a pile of already-split wood but we seldom had dry fuel stored indoors. Going to McCabe’s store for groceries was a task that fell to me very often while a pupil at the home school. Potato basket in hand, often with eggs for barter, I had a familiar path down across the front field and onto the road at the bridge. At one point I came up with what seemed a brilliant plan when I compiled a list of what was to me every grocery item under heaven and presented it to Mother to help her in deciding her needs each time. My project was unnecessary and unused. Mother knew quite well what was needed from the store and my Paper soon disappeared from the face of the earth. One not so Pleasant chore each summer was berry picking. Wild strawber- ries were fairly numerous back along the farm but it seemed to