There was a kind of noble simplicity in farm life in the 1940s and ’50s — a life that has all but vanished, I guess. For those of us who lived through that era, we remember that a family on a small farm could have more than its share of isolation, loneliness and constant need for hard, physical labor, so the memories of simple, happy events and celebrations must realistically be tempered by the struggles endured.
When I look back from the present, farm life in the 1940s and 1950s often appears idyllic, but underneath the idyllic facade there was always the threat of storms or droughts, which could lead to ruined crops.
Many hardships had to be endured. Ill-timed rains could spoil a hay crop. Drought could rob us of a corn crop. High winds or hail could strip the heads of the ripening grain. Fluctuations in the prices paid for our milk or the products we had to buy, the possibilities of sickness (in us or our animals), and the almost inevitable accidents that came from working with equipment and animals could weigh heavily on farmers.
There were also the storms of life — the loss of friends and loved ones. When that happened, the whole neighborhood would pitch in to help the family who had suffered the loss. Those were the days when being a “neighbor” meant more than simply living next door.
Often when I look back on my childhood and teenage years living and working on the farm, my memories are sort of sentimental. I tend to overlook how difficult those times were.
Life wasn’t easy then, that’s for sure. For example, when I think about the life my mom had (and hers was not unique), I realize how hard she worked to help make the farm a successful enterprise. She didn’t have time to drive back and forth to visit her neighbors for morning coffee, afternoon tea or casual encounters. She didn’t belong to an afternoon bridge club, she didn’t play golf on ladies’ day at the country club. Mom worked in the fields and the barns in addition to her responsibilities in the home.
I can still see Mom using a wooden stick or broom handle to fish laundry out of a scalding-hot tub of soapy water in a wringer washer and then cranking the clothes through the wringers and hauling them out to hang on the line even in the coldest weather.
Mom was also in charge of the garden. Her garden was not a modest hobby that she enjoyed during her leisure hours (she didn’t have any leisure hours). Instead, it was a vital part of the total farm production, saving our family money on our food budget and sustaining us through times when income from crops and livestock was low.
Jars of fruits and vegetables had to be canned for the winter. Potatoes, carrots, beets, rutabagas, turnips and onions would be stored in the unheated basement to be used in the winter. If we had frozen meats, we had to go into town to the locker plant where we rented a compartment to store it. Virtually all of our food was home-grown, home-canned and home-cooked. No processed foods or fast foods. That was Mom’s life.
In the ’40s and ’50s, a hard-working farm family could make a living on a hundred acres of land. It wasn’t luxurious, but we were happy. I don’t know this for a fact, but today, my guess is that a farmer probably would need 600 to 1,000 acres to stay in business. As the costs of machinery, seeds and fertilizer increased and the prices farmers received for their crops stayed low, most small landowners and renters gave up and saw their land absorbed into larger farm operations.
I do not regret growing up on a farm. I learned humility and gratitude, and I developed a work ethic that carried through my entire life, long years after I left the farm to embark on a totally different occupation. I treasure the years I spent there with my wonderful parents and sister. It was a simple life, but a satisfying one.
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