You know the old adage, only “61 days until spring.”
I look at this cold, frozen barren landscape and wonder how anything will ever emerge again.
Many times Driving home on the icy roads with the wind howling, I think about the people who came before me out here in rural Minnesota. I think about what the daily life for the woman was like as she worked to keep the house heated with firewood, feed the children, and also kept one eye on the old milk barn, knowing her husband was out there milking cows, feeding, and tending to his cattle all while there were days the temperature hovered around -30 below zero. The farmer also had to go to the pig shed and check on the pigs to make sure the bedding was deep and keep the pigs safe from the cold, check on the chickens, gather any eggs, and then come into the house. He would go into either the mud room or down into the basement to change out of the farm clothing before he could come into the house.
The old chicken coop is the size of a small building; this building has always been a coop, so the builders did it right. There are six windows for sunlight and fresh air in the summer, a small hatch door for the birds to go up and down, a ramp to go in and out of the coop, and nesting boxes and perches to encourage good egg production.
When I go out and check on the chickens each day, making sure they have adequate food and fresh water, I think about how many birds must have gone through this coop as a regular food source for the farm families that have lived here, with fresh eggs and fresh roasting chickens.
The farmhouse I recently purchased was built in 1901. I do know that the original family here had five children, so think about it: at that time in history, what conveniences did people have, and what was life like?
I wonder if it was a constant cycle of preparing for the seasons: in the spring, calving cows and pigs, planting and growing feed corn, and vegetable gardens. Through the summer, we made much-needed repairs to the equipment, homestead, and outbuildings we made, and as fall arrived, they harvested and put up as much corn, straw, and hay as the barns and corn crib could hold. All while the woman of the house was harvesting the gardens and canning everything to stock the pantry.
Winter is like an ever-looming presence that sits in the back of your mind; it’s a to-do list that starts to form in mid-August, as you know what needs to get done before the cold ascends and wraps us tightly like a heavy blanket.
There is a cookhouse that is the size of a small cabin. in the early days, the cookhouse originally sat 10 steps from the back door to the kitchen; however, it was moved many years ago to where it sits now by the garage, wrapped in a hedge of wild raspberries.
The women would use the cookhouse to cook, and during the summer months, some of the original stoves are still in the cookhouse. Old pots, pans, and utensils were also found, and a very old kitchen table.
Starting in mid-August, the women would spend many days harvesting, cleaning, preparing, and food for winter. As an avid canner, I have much respect for the amount of work it took for these women to get water from the outside well hand pump, build the stove fires, and process such a large amount of food into canning jars. I bet the pigs ate well during the canning season.
The amount of food that was canned and put up for winter must have been enormous, as this was the only way they survived, with canned garden fruits and vegetables, bunches of herbs, onions, and garlic, hung in the cookhouse to cure, and potatoes put into flour sacks put into cold storage. A few select chickens, cows, and pigs were butchered. Much of the red meat was salted, stored in barrels packed with straw, and put into cold storage. As far as I can determine, the cold storage here was in the basement, The walls are made of large rocks, cemented in. There are two original small wood windows and the very old original coal fireplace stack down there. This means someone had to bring in firewood and coal and keep the stove stocked and running day and night. I can tell you this: the stairs down to the basement are steep, and I can’t imagine doing those stairs more than twice a day. But when a person is given a task to do that guarantees survival, one just puts their head down and does it day after day after day; stopping is not an option.
My grandparents built a farm in the early 1900s in rural Wisconsin, which still stands today as it went through a total rehab 20 years ago. This is still a proud working farm.
There are many stories from my grandparents who spoke of taking the horse and wagon out to the big lake to get ice and bringing it back for the icebox in the farm kitchen.
How Grandpa would hitch up the horse team and wagon and once a month travel 10 miles across the frozen lake to trade potatoes for flour and sugar at the town store and drive the team back that same day to the farm. This was done in the winter when the lake ice was thick and frozen solid, the snow had fallen onto the fields and pastures, and the house was a sanctuary for these people, the only haven from the winter going on outside. I wonder if, while my grandma was doing her duties on the farm, she worried about Grandpa out there, going across the lake, and, when she heard the horses huffing and puffing and pulling the wagon back up the driveway,if she let out a sigh of relief.
I also think about how laundry was done during the cold months; how did the women manage to keep clothes and blankets clean? Was laundry not a huge priority? Maybe Ma just knew that everything would get a good wash in the spring, as it could flutter out on the clothesline after each washing.
This life was done without indoor plumbing, electricity, cellphones, engine-powered farm equipment, and so many other modern conveniences we think we can’t live without.
I enjoy the quiet, the lack of cellphone interaction, and the TV’s on in the house. Many days I like to listen to the milk barn moaning and groaning in the wind, the windchimes singing in the breeze, and the quiet that surrounds me. I can picture the original family sitting around the table in the evening and sharing stories of the day, and I see Ma in the kitchen and Pa in the living room, taking a moment to pause and reflect after supper as they get ready for the next day.
I have a real appreciation for winter now that I live in the Midwest. This kind of winter makes up its mind to stay cold and frozen; there are no days of almost winter or winter that can’t decide to be cold.
Old Man Winter comes in here and sits down and has no intention of getting back up until that magical date in March, when Old Man Winter slowly gets back up, shakes out the stiffness, and moves on to follow the sun.
I know that day is coming when winter will get up and leave us. I know the cycle is starting again as the sun shines brighter and longer each day. The list is starting to tickle the back of my mind, reminding me to enjoy the days now before the list and I become one.
Once the curtains are opened and the windows thrown open, the air is warmer. This is when the garden needs to be planted, the chicken coop needs to be cleaned out, the horse pasture needs to be opened back up, the fencing project completed, the cookhouse is being renovated and cleaned out, the shed doors opened, the tiller and mower awakened, and the …………………..
