Well, according to the USDA Planting Report issued, May 13, 2013, the corn belt as a whole has been able to plant 28% of the planned corn acreage, with my state of Ohio at 46%. At this same time last year, 83% of Ohio’s corn was in and the corn-growing belt as a whole was at 85%, but 2012 was a year with an unusually early spring.

It seems that when I was a kid, we routinely didn’t begin planting until near the end of May. Of course we had to first plow under last year’s hayfields, then disc it a couple of times, and finally harrow it with a spike tooth before the soil was considered fit to plant corn. With a 2-bottom plow, 7-foot double disc, and a 3-section spike tooth, soil preparation took a while.

Our old No. 919 John Deere, 2-row, horse drawn corn planter didn’t put the seed in the ground very fast, either and I remember many years planting corn well into June.

To get straight, evenly spaced corn rows in those days depended upon the skill of the driver and the planter’s row markers. Those row markers! I’ve told the story of when I was just a little shaver of four or five and Dad was planting with a team, turned at the end of the field and dropped the disc row marker right on top of my head. Of course, I shouldn’t have been where I was and, although there was enough blood to make my mother faint when she saw me come screaming, there was no permanent damage except for the scar.

After the horses were sold, we shortened the tongue of the planter and pulled it with the tractor. When I was old enough to drive the tractor, Dad rode the planter and he often had to yell at me because my mind would wander from the task at hand and the tractor would wander off the mark.

After a while, a 3-point hitch was welded up for the planter and corn planting became a one-man operation. I don’t remember the row markers being used after this so by this time I guess I was old enough to make straight rows without prodding.

Last spring, I had the opportunity to see how a larger-scale farmer plants corn in the modern, tech-savvy world. Martig Farms, near Salem, Ohio, where I live, puts in more than 2,000 acres of corn each year and they were hard at it when I was there.

The large field where they were working had been in wheat the previous year and had been chisel plowed in the fall. A Cat Challenger tractor was pulling a 36-foot wide Krause field cultivator and a Great Plains seed-bed conditioner with open basket crumbler rollers, ahead of the planter, leaving the soil in excellent condition for planting.

A John Deere 1770, 16 row planter set for 30-inch rows was doing the planting behind a John Deere 8320T tracked tractor and I rode in the tractor cab for about an hour, getting my first look at GPS planting.

Remember how I said that back in the day the only assurance of straight, evenly spaced rows was the driver and row markers? Well, this planter had row markers but they were never used, and amazingly the driver never touched the tractor’s steering wheel while crossing the field. In spite of this, the rows were arrow-straight and each pass was spaced exactly 30 inches from the previous one.

This was accomplished through the miracle of GPS (Global Positioning System), which I don’t really understand. Briefly, there are a number of satellites, owned by the U.S. Government and circling the earth while continually transmitting a signal giving the satellite’s position and time. A receiver in the Martig’s tractor cab grabbed the signals from several of these satellites and, by means of a computer program and other wizard-like stuff, kept the tractor and planter in a straight line and in exactly the correct position to assure no missed or overlapped spots.

At each end of the field, the driver raised the planting units, clicked a button to turn off the GPS control and manually turned the rig on the headland into position for the next pass. He clicked on the GPS again, let go of the steering wheel and the tractor was automatically steered a little left or right into the precise position for the next sixteen rows, where it stayed with no further driver input.

Back and forth we went across the field at a steady 4.5 MPH, planting about 15 acres each hour. I think that on our hilly Pennsylvania farm, the largest field we had was maybe 17 or so acres and I’m sure it took at least a couple of days to plant the thing.

Actually, the Martig’s 16-row planter is small compared to some of the behemoths out there; a 1260 planter from Case-IH is available in a 36-row, 30-inch spacing configuration – of course, it costs more than a quarter of a million dollars to buy – a far cry from our old John Deere 2-row that undoubtedly cost less than $50 new. Think of it! With one of these babies, around 50 acres could be planted every hour!

My grandfather, and even my father, would be astonished at the progress that has been made in agriculture, and they would be appalled at the cost of the equipment, fuel, seed and fertilizer necessary to plant crops today.

I can hardly believe it myself.

Probably twenty years ago, I was prevailed upon by my (now deceased) cousin Peg Townsend, to record my childhood memories. At first I was reluctant, but finally I did it. The following ramblings are excerpted from those memories, and they concern what we ate on our farm during the 1940s.

Before the war, Mom made root beer, which we all loved. She bought Hires (I think) Root Beer Extract, mixed it with sugar and water, and sealed the concoction in Mason jars that were stored on a shelf in the cellar. Sometimes a jar would burst because of the carbonation, but most of them turned into excellent root beer. Unfortunately, due to wartime sugar rationing, she had to stop brewing her root beer.

For the same reason, we stopped using sugar in our iced tea; I still prefer my iced tea unsweetened.

Even though we had our own milk, Mom seldom churned butter. It probably just took too much time; once in a while she'd give me a half-gallon jar of milk and tell me to shake it until it turned to butter. It took a long time and a lot of shaking. We mostly ate oleomargarine on our bread. In those days, because of the dairy lobby, they weren't allowed to sell oleo that was yellow colored. The oleo was dead white and came with a small cellophane packet of orange food coloring that you could mix in it if you wanted. Sometimes Mom would go to the trouble of mixing it, or make either my sister or me do it, but most of the time we spread our bread with white oleo. I don't think it bothered us.

My sister and I ate a lot of what we called milk toast for breakfast. It was homemade bread toasted and buttered, and covered with sugar and milk. Our favorite snack was a slice of bread with oleo and sugar.

We also ate warm rolled oats, probably in the winter, and dry breakfast cereals with milk and sugar. I remember Wheaties and Jack Armstrong, the "All-American Boy." We ate Shredded Wheat, and some kind of a Ralston cereal that was promoted by Tom Mix and his "TM-Bar" ranch. I saved box tops and, when I could either save up or con Mom out of the 10, 15, or 25 cents needed, I sent away for some of the great offers that were touted on the backs of those cereal boxes. I had a Jack Armstrong pedometer, a round metal gadget, about 3 inches in diameter, painted blue with a yellow dial, that you hooked over the top of your shoe or sock and it recorded how many miles you walked. I had at least one Tom Mix pocket knife that had the red and white checked colors of the Ralston Purina Company, along with the brand mark of the TM-Bar Ranch on each side. I also remember a "Secret Decoder Ring" put out by someone, probably Little Orphan Annie.

My favorite meal was meat, potatoes and gravy, and Mom's homemade bread or rolls. I wasn't much for vegetables, although I know I ate some of them, and we had lots of corn and tomatoes from our large garden. I would pull the soft inside out of a fresh, homemade roll, smear butter all over it, and gobble it down. Then I'd stuff the outer crust with meat, or whatever, and eat that. Really good!

I loved hot cakes. I had a child's book called "Little Black Sambo," in which the small hero ate stacks and stacks of hot cakes and Mom teased me about being just like him. She used a long black griddle that covered two lids on the coal range, and on which she could probably make 5 or 6 cakes at a time. After everyone had eaten their fill, there was usually a cake or two left over which our dog really enjoyed.

In the spring we often ate dandelion greens. Mom would pick the tender young dandelion leaves over which she'd pour a concoction of vinegar, crumbled bacon, and hot bacon grease. She also fixed leaf lettuce the same way.

We raised a lot of strawberries; several of the neighbors paid to pick them for themselves and we picked some for sale, while we ate tons of them while they were in season. I didn't enjoy picking strawberries, but I loved to eat 'em. Mom sometimes made shortcake, but most of the time she just mashed the berries with sugar and I ate them with bread and butter.

For Sunday dinner we frequently had pork and baked beans, probably out of a can, I suppose because Mom could put them in the oven before church and they'd be ready when we got home.

In the summer, she'd sometimes pack a picnic lunch and after church we'd take off on a long afternoon drive, stopping along the road somewhere to eat. I only remember the destination of one of these drives; we went to the Allegheny County Airport near Pittsburgh and got to see a plane or two take off. I think we also once went to see Brady's Leap on the Allegheny River northwest of Butler, PA.

We always carried our lunches to school in a tin lunch box with a Thermos bottle. I can't remember what Mom put into the Thermos but I remember I often managed to drop mine and break the glass liner, much to my mother's chagrin.

My favorite lunch sandwich was Velveeta cheese with Heinz brown mustard and leaf lettuce. We usually had carrots, celery, or cucumber sticks in the fall. Once, I was eating a cucumber and one of my small schoolmates, who didn't speak too plainly, said, "Hey! Where'd you dit dat tutumber, tid?"

It's fun to write down your childhood memories – I recommend that everyone do it. Not only will it bring back a lot of memories, but it will afford your kids and grandkids a lot of amusement.  

Detail from a 1940s magazine ad for the shredded wheat breakfast cereal made by the National Biscuit Company. We ate this with milk and sugar, although we usually tore the biscuits into chunks first. 

Here are some more Lazy Farmer rhymes from my collection. Enjoy.

6 February, 1954  

Mirandy once was fond of pets, but with each passing year she gets less patient with the mischief that comes nat’ral to a dog or cat. For instance, Fido used to be okay with her as well as me; but now a harmless little trick will make her grab her broom or stick and use a thousand words to say the pooch must go without delay. The poor mutt might do nothing more than scatter knitting on the floor or barely get a snarling start at pulling her rag rug apart before she’s screaming into sight demanding that he be shot tonight.

There’s no use arguing, of course, I’d only be unheard and hoarse; so I just nod my head and smile and send the dog to hide awhile; Mirandy soon calms down and then the pup can show his head again. But even if she stayed irate, I’d never follow her mandate; why, Fido is this man’s best friend, he’ll stay right here until the end. That hound’s the only person here from whom I never need to fear a sassy word or plaintive guff about how I don’t work enough; he’s treated me, throughout his life, much kindlier than has my wife.  

18 October, 1952  

I never have quite understood why ev’ry man, however good, is made to suffer pain like sin because of whiskers on his chin. I’ve asked the preacher why it is and all he says is, “Well, gee whiz…” You’d think that Adam was the one who swiped that bright-red Jonathan; by rights it ought to be the girls who have long beards to match their curls, but all the suffering they do is listening while me and you stand in a pool of blood and soap and try our level best to cope with stubborn stubble made of wire and wind up with a face like fire.

A thousand men have spent their lives, no doubt without help from their wives, a-tryin’ to invent some tool for making shaves both quick and cool. But I’m afraid I’ll have to state their progress ain’t been very great; in fact, they’re farther off the track, instead of forward they’ve gone back. The old straight-edge had this appeal: You could at least use it by feel; I’ll swear it meant a lot less woe than either mower or a hoe. And yet a plain blade also slips to slice your nose or cheeks or lips, so all you do is stand and scrape, then grab for some adhesive tape.  

21 April, 1951  

You’ll never catch me looking sour about a little April shower; I never feel regret at all when gentle rain begins to fall, because I figure that I git a double benefit from it. For one thing, all those raindrops mean that things will soon be turnin’ green and winter’s bare, depressing sight will disappear ‘most over night. The smell of ozone in the air foretells days that are warm and fair, with tree buds poppin’ out all o’er and flowers bloomin’ by the score, with pastures carpeting the land while small grain grows to beat the band.

But there is still another gain provided by an April rain which tickles me ten times or so as much as that it makes things grow. Whenever ground is soaked and wet, why then, of course, I cannot set upon a tractor seat all day and work my happiness away. As soon as it begins to storm, whenever puddles start to form, it means that I can quit right then and rest until it’s dry again. So I say, let the rain pour down, why should I growl or fret or frown? If crops ain’t in, that is no crime—it means less work at harvest time.  

5 April, 1952  

Most folks have never recognized that of the things man has devised, not many cause so little harm as Sunday dinner on the farm. Of course, I know you understand that there’s no vittles quite so grand as those your mother, then your wife, have fixed on Sunday all your life. No boy or girl can ever grow up on a farm and still not know the special pleasure that comes when the Sabbath bustle starts again, or when they sit, all scrubbed and neat, at linen-covered board to eat—with “comp’ny” plates and silverware—the best food you’ll find anywhere.

But there’s another merit, too, that maybe hasn’t dawned on you: Except for Sunday, when you must dress up until you think you’ll bust in coat, white shirt and choking tie, perhaps you might grow old and die and still not know how un-sublime such rigging would be all the time. I’ll bet you’ve never stopped and thought ‘bout those poor devils who are caught in city jobs and have to wear their fancy duds ‘most ev’rywhere. That’s something I could never do, and so a Sunday’s useful to remind me once again that I can go six days without a tie.  

I have an issue of the The Ohio Farmer paper from August 14, 1858, in which are some interesting tidbits:  

“Mr. James Hall, of Atwater, Portage County, sold recently 100 mutton sheep for the sum of $800.”  

“G.C. Beardsley, of Trumbull County, has sent us a sample of wool from a Spanish buck that he purchased in Vermont in 1856. He writes, ‘the fleece weighed in the dirt, twelve pounds; washed, it weighed ten pounds.’”  

“The New York State Agricultural Society is offering a $250 premium for a machine that will plow satisfactorily by steam power. One application has been received.”  

“Accident - On July 29th, Mr. John Bratton, while mowing on the farm of H.C. Belden, in Howland, incautiously stepped in front of the mowing machine, and his leg was cut off just above the ankle. Mr. Bratton is a very industrious, steady young man, and his misfortune is to be regretted.”  

Dr. M.L. Wright, of Cleveland, advertised his newly patented porcelain false teeth, which he claims are held in place “without the aid of Metallic Plates, Clasps, or Springs.”  

D.D. Duty, of Cleveland, “takes pleasure in announcing that he can furnish a casket, of his own manufacture, that is highly ornamented, with a thick plate glass running the entire length of the top. A full length view can be had with ease.”  

“CLEVELAND INFIRMARY. There are in this Institution, as a charge upon the city, a number of boys and girls, including infants, whom the Directors will bind to service until they come of age, with suitable persons, upon their producing testimonials from the Clergyman, Magistrate, or Trustees of their town, that they are suitable persons to have the care of, and bring up such children. Application may be made to: R. Hussey, Acting Director, Cleveland, Ohio.”  

Wyandts, Putman & Son, from Milton, in Stark County, Ohio, offered the Pitt’s Grain Separator and Thresher, with Carey’s Double Grand Horsepower, which they claimed to manufacture. The ad says: “They will thresh and clean, in the most perfect manner, from 300 to 600 bushels of grain per day, and are without any doubt THE threshing machine of the country.”  

Under the heading, “Anecdotes and Fun,” are the following gems:

“Why is a chicken sitting on a fence like a cent?  Answer - The head is on one side and the tail on the other.”  

“A duel was fought in Mississippi, last month, by S. Knott and A.W. Shott. The result was Knott was shot and Shott was not. In these circumstances, we would rather have been Shott than Knott.”  

Seth A. Bushnell and William P. Hudson, of Hartford, Trumbull County, Ohio, advertised themselves as, “Breeders of Durham Cattle, Jacks and Jennets, South Down Sheep, Chester, White and Suffolk Pigs.”  

On the front page is a letter from a man named James Johnston about conditions he observed as he travelled through Ohio during 1857. Mr. Johnston writes in part:

“In travelling through your state last summer, I seldom saw a barn for hay or grain, or even shelter for cattle. This I think very bad economy. There is a very great waste of grain from letting it stand in shocks. I was told it stood thus for months, until the farmers got time to thresh it, and then they generally took the straw away from the machine by horse-rakes, and left it laying in heaps on the fields to rot.  

“The hay put in barns would be a great deal more profitable to feed than when put into stacks. I think barn hay is worth one-half more than stack hay, but not when put up in such small stacks as I saw in Ohio, the majority containing not over two to three tons. If farmers would put from ten to thirty tons in a stack, there would be much less waste. If the hay was cut earlier, and put in large stacks, it would be much better; but houses for both hay and grain soon pay for their cost.  

“Their poor cattle and sheep have no shelter in winter, but have to stand out in all storms, and often to lay in snow, with the thermometer at from 20 above to 20 below zero. This is very unprofitable to the owners, and also unmerciful to the dumb brutes.  

“If they would erect good sheds for their sheep and cattle, and barns for their grain and hay, then they might keep their stock as it should be kept, and make large quantities of valuable manure. I did not see a manure heap in Ohio, only where the cattle had stood and been fed, and the manure left there to waste. 

“I read in the Cincinnatus, that large sums have been expended in Ohio in building schoolhouses and churches, which is laudable as a state without education and religion cannot prosper. Still, with the temperature at zero, and my cattle and sheep exposed to the pitiless storm, I don’t think I could sit very comfortable in a church, no matter how elegant and warm, even while hearing the most eloquent preacher.”  

Sounds as though Mr. Johnston wasn’t much impressed by the way farmers in Ohio did things. It doesn’t say, but Johnston was probably from the east, where farmers had had a lot more years to improve their farmsteads with barns and other amenities. In 1858, Ohio was only about five short decades from being a part of the western frontier.

I hope you enjoyed this brief glimpse of Ohio farm life on the eve of the Civil War.

Illustrations: Two new farm implements advertised in the 1858 Ohio Farmer.

Maybe it’s a good idea to start off the new year with a couple of the Lazy Farmer’s homilies, especially as the first is a paean to his wife’s sauerkraut, and although he doesn’t tie it to the holiday, pork and kraut are New Year’s Eve traditions in many families, including ours, as Miss Nancy is of decidedly Teutonic heredity. My own Swedish ancestors on the one side probably leaned more toward lutefisk, while the Scotch-Irish Moore’s most likely ate haggis, black buns and cheese, washed down with a dram of Scotch whiskey.

Of all the works of cooking art that in my mind are set apart, there’s none I’d rather talk about than my Mirandy’s sauerkraut. That stuff is so all-mighty good, I’m certain that she never could have learned to make it on her own; instead I’ll bet, if truth were known, that her Teuton heredity includes kraut-making genes, by gee. The secret is, you’ll never catch her op’ning cans, she starts from scratch; she grows her cabbages with care, you’ll find no better anywhere, and no one knows, save her alone, what she puts in those crocks of stone. 

When she has let a batch ferment, the outcome is so succulent that I can never stop until my plate has had a triple fill. With frankfurters, it’s extra good, but even by itself it could inspire the most ecstatic prose that finest writers could compose or generate a lilting rhyme to rank with poems of all time. Some boobs, like the neighbor, like to tell they won’t eat such “fodder” with a “smell,” but from Mirandy’s kraut I get the most heavenly aroma yet, and there’s no taste, by all the odds, more like the nectar of the gods. 

Then is his essay on “punkin pie,” with which I completely agree (although Miss Nancy does make a passable pumpkin pie of canned pumpkin and store-bought crusts; still the pies of my youth, with real pumpkin and flakey crusts made with lots of lard were the best).

By far the greatest of the crimes, committed in these modern times, is the concoction some folks try, to pass off as a punkin pie. I think it is a crying shame, the way most cooks have helped defame, the greatest dish devised by man. The loafers open up a can, and out of it they dare to scoop, some evil–looking, tasteless goop; they plop it in a soggy crust, and then before its served they must, pile whipped cream of two inches thick, so that their victims won’t get sick, when they force down an extra bite, or two just so they’ll be polite. 

Thank goodness, I don’t get that swill, ‘cause good old Jane Mirandy still, knows how to make the real thing, and loves to do it, too, by jing. She doesn’t have a can in sight, when she starts out to do it right; I bring a punkin from the field, and then, somehow, she makes it yield, a tantalizing golden meat, the taste of which just can’t be beat, especially when it’s mixed up good, with lots of spices like it should, then baked just right in flaky crust; I eat so much I almost bust. When it comes time for me to die, I hope I’m filled with punkin pie! 

Happy New Year!

Song of the Lazy Farmer illustration accompanying the sauerkraut song in the September 4, 1954 Ohio Farmer. (In the author’s collection) 

My parents were married in October of 1931 and while I don't know how they spent that first Christmas, I'm pretty sure that by the time Christmas of 1932 rolled around they were living in the farmhouse, owned by my grandfather, where I grew up. The Townsends (Dad's sister, her husband and their little girl) also lived there. At that time, Mom and Dad were probably rejoicing in the news that their first child (me) was expected the following summer. Of course by then they had most likely both lost their jobs at the Freedom Oil Works in Freedom, Pennsylvania due to the Great Depression, and any rejoicing may have been tempered somewhat by feelings of apprehension about what the future would bring.

My family wasn't the only one facing hard times that December of 1932 – many, many others were in the same boat. Although Dad undoubtedly couldn't afford the 50-cent yearly subscription price of Successful Farming magazine, I have a copy of that month's issue that gives us a glimpse of what conditions were like for America's farm families that Christmas.

The editor wrote: "For many thousands of people this is going to be a different Christmas. It is fellowship, love, understanding, sympathy that is most needed this year. All the tinsels and lights, all the extravagant show, cannot take the place of the real spirit of Christmas. This should be predominately a children's Christmas. And that need not be done extravagantly (as) the greatest happiness comes from the simple things of life."

Under "Tips You Can Use Today," was the information from the Iowa Engineering Experiment Station that 39 bushels of ear corn had the same heating value as one ton of Iowa coal. As coal was selling for $12 per ton, and corn for about 13 cents per bushel, it made sense for farmers to burn their corn instead of buying fuel.

There was an article describing how to make inexpensive stuffed toys, such as the "Little Clown", the "Gingham Dog," and "Hattie, the red-checked elephant." Another recommended making spicy fruit cakes or plum puddings and packing them "...in colorful foil or glossy cellophane with perhaps a modernistic box or two, tied with the gayest of ribbons." Another inexpensive gift could be "A washcloth that is lovely and soft for use on a baby or an invalid (and that) may be made of several thicknesses of gauze stitched together on the machine. Colored thread may be used to add a decorative touch."

An inexpensive gift suggestion came from the "Our Girls" column aimed at young ladies. "Purchase a bar of white soap of good quality (and) place it in a warming closet until it becomes easy to cut. With a sharp knife cut it into small soap bars, possibly 2 inches long, 1 1/4 inches wide, and about 1/2 inch thick. The beauty of these bars comes with the wrapping. Cut your decorative paper to size, fold it around the soap and glue the flaps in place."

Then there was a letter from an Ohio woman telling how they had done Christmas in 1931. She wrote: "Do you remember all the gloom most of us hung on our Christmas trees last year – if we had a tree at all? We were so weighted down with the depression and the slump in the markets that our Christmas Spirit went up the chimney along with our stocks and bonds.

"The Christmas tradition is a very vital part of the American family (and) we ought to try to keep it alive. As far as gifts are concerned, Christmas will probably be very small in many homes for the next few years. But there is a lot we can do without money to make it a happy occasion.

"I want to tell you what a lot of fun we had last year without spending a penny for gifts. There are fifteen in our immediate family – uncles, aunts, cousins. All live on neighboring farms or the nearby town. Last year financial losses made it necessary to omit the usual exchange of gifts (so) we decided to have a "white elephant" Christmas party (at) our farm.

"Each member brought some article for which he had no further use, or that he especially wanted to get rid of. I placed a number on each package and a corresponding number on a slip of paper. The slips were well mixed and each guest drew one.

"Grandpa acted as Santa Claus, wearing a costume that he'd scraped together somewhere, and the children loved him. He read the number off each package and the person holding that number received the gift. In this way all personal element was eliminated and no feelings were hurt. No one was to open his package until all had been distributed. Then the fun began.

“Arnold, the big six-foot athlete drew a tiny pair of baby socks. Henry got an old-fashioned corset cover. Myra, an elaborate cut-glass whiskey decanter and glasses. The biggest laugh came when Grandpa opened his enormous box. It contained a blank check book on the bank which had closed its doors, and in which all the family had lost money – a real white elephant.

"I served dinner afterward, but this year we plan to make it (carry-in dish) style (and) we plan for a bigger and better white elephant party. And the password at the front door will be, not 'Ain't times awful?', but 'A MERRY CHRISTMAS.'"

I guess what strikes me most about those times of great hardship was how farm people coped and made the best of a bad situation, without massive government intervention. The so-called hard times of today pale in comparison with what folks went through back then.

Merry Christmas, and don't forget to thank the present and past members of the Armed Forces for the privileges we all enjoy.

A window shopping scene from the cover of the December 1932 Successful Farming magazine. 

During the early 1900s, improvements to the then-fledgling motor car provided a fertile field for inventors. Many of their ideas became standard on later cars, some didn't, and some are considered today to be new innovations.

Under the heading, "A Wonderful Electrical Automobile Equipment," was the following account, written in 1908 (keep in mind that car lights at this time were fueled by acetylene gas and had to be lit with a match):

"The Witherbee Igniter Co. of New York has just finished the most complete electrical  installation ever put on an automobile.

"This electrical equipment consists of two Witherbee batteries connected in series, located under the rear seat of the machine. The batteries are charged by a dynamo situated under the front floor boards. A wood split pulley, attached to the shaft between the clutch and the gear box, together with a belt, drives the dynamo and an air compressor, which inflates the tires and operates the pneumatic jacks for raising the machine. In addition to the dynamo, there is a Wico charging device located on the running board, which enables the driver to charge the storage batteries from any electric light socket.

"The headlights are equipped with stereopticon incandescent lights, which can be turned off or on at will. The side and rear lights are fitted with small incandescents.

"By each of the side doors of the tonneau there is a lamp turned on automatically when either door is opened, lighting the way into the tonneau, where another lamp operates simultaneously by the same means, illuminating the interior.

"By raising the hood of the engine four lamps on either side of the motor are automatically turned on. There is also a lamp in the pan under the engine, and also lamps beneath the chassis which are turned on from the switchboard.

"On the dashboard are five lamps, illuminating the speedometer, ammeter, voltmeter, pressure gauge, oil feed drips and clock.

"Attached to each wheel rim is a device which indicates when the air pressure in the tires is below 60 pounds by sounding one of the electrical horns attached to the dash, while an indicator on the dash instantly locates the trouble. The same horn blows, and the same indicator operates, when any bearings are hot, the water in the radiator gets low, the oil in the oil box gets half empty, or when the gasoline gets down to five gallons.

"Putting on either the emergency or foot brakes blows an electric horn attached to the rear of the car, and drops a sign that reads "STOP." As soon as the brake is released, the horn stops and the sign disappears.

"There are four lights in the folding top which are turned on when desired. On each end of the rear seat, and on the back of the front seat, there is an electric cigar lighter. Near each of the wheels are extension lamps, for use about or under the chassis. In the rear of the car is an illuminated box with a celluloid front, through which the license number is visible.

"The signaling equipment consists of three Klaxon horns. A chain attached to the steering column operates these electric horns, and when all three are going, they can be heard for a mile distant. If the occupant of the tonneau wishes to speak to the driver, a special telephone transmitter is used, and an electric speaker horn on the dash proceeds to talk in a loud tone. If the driver wishes to say a few things to a teamster, it is not necessary to waste strength shouting. He simply speaks into his transmitter and the speaker horn on the fender repeats his words loud enough to be heard several blocks."

Quite a list of gadgets. Have you ever wished for a loudspeaker so you could "say a few things" to another driver? I have!

Another innovation was the cartograph:

"American automobilists will soon be crying for the Cartograph, an almost human invention, if it comes up to the claims made for it. Think of an attachment resembling the contrivance by which self-playing pianos are made to produce music. The cartograph, instead of being a perforated music roll, is a map of the roads to be traversed by the motor car, unrolling (on) a panel in front of the chauffer, so that he can tell at a glance where he is and which turning to take. The speed of the car governs the motion of the map, so that it always indicates – or should – the exact point where the traveler is. Moreover, the cartograph is provided with perforations just ahead of where the short turns and corners are, and these perforations ring a bell to warn the motorist in time. Even on the darkest night, it is claimed, a wholly unknown route can be covered without danger of being lost or ditched. The next logical step would be a contrivance to attach the cartograph to mechanical means of controlling the steering gear and levers so that the motorist can set it going and look for the machinery to do the rest."

Today we have GPS, which essentially does the same things claimed for the "cartograph" of 1907 – and even speaks to us as well.

Finally, from 1909:

"Something new was developed the other day during an automobile reliability run between San Antonio and Dallas, Texas. Among the entrants was D.A. Walker, president of the telephone company, in a big Rambler car carrying a portable telephone. By means of a long fishing pole with a hook at the end, Walker was able to ring up any point along the lines without getting out of his car. If a car broke down, the wire along the roadside was tapped and messages for relief were promptly sent. Points ahead were kept informed of the cars' progress and the usefulness of the plan was demonstrated many times."

Today the fishing pole has been dispensed with – which may not be such a good thing; at least with a pole the driver had to stop to talk on his phone.

Again, proof that there's nothing new under the sun.

 

Part of a Detroit Electric Appliance Company ad for their Deaco Dynamo (generator), which appeared in the December 28, 1911 issue of Motor Age.  (Magazine in the author’s collection) 

In November of 1952, farmers and farmer’s wives were reading the Farm Journal magazine, which cost 20 cents. Times were good, although the Korean Conflict was dragging along after more than two years of see-saw fighting. Your humble correspondent was just five months away from becoming involved in that conflict as a member of the U.S. Army. Another Presidential election had just been decided, with Republicans the winners. Although the outcome of the election was unknown when F.J. went to press, the conservative editor was hopeful and wrote: “We believe that a truly sound prosperity must be based on a new majority in Congress, devoted to peace, honesty, and economy, with Eisenhower and Nixon in control of the executive branch.”

The November cover of the magazine featured a smiling young farm couple who had just voted and were dropping their paper ballots into the “secure” ballot box, a wooden frame covered with chicken wire.

Auto and truck ads included Oldsmobile (“Park with just 1 finger” with new power steering), and Chevrolet and GMC trucks, while Chrysler showed off three “idea cars,” the Phaeton, K-310 and C-200. Also featured were Studebaker’s 100th anniversary, Dodge “Job-Rated” and Ford trucks, Willys 4-wheel drive trucks and station wagons, and the famous Hudson Hornet.

Farm machinery ads touted International Harvester’s “5-Star Service,” as well as Massey-Harris Colt and Mustang tractors and the new Ferguson 30, while farmers were urged to bring their New Holland balers to a dealer for “Triple-Check Service” to prepare for next summer.

Other vintage magazine ads included Firestone, General and Goodyear tractor tires, Camel cigarettes, Sanka coffee, GE radios, Coleman and Duotherm oil-burning heating stoves, Hammond organs, U.S. Royal work boots, Cities Service, Pennzoil and Texaco oil, Prestolite batteries and anti-freeze, Tru-Temper cutting tools, AC fuel pumps and Perfect Circle piston rings, and Remington and Ithaca arms and ammunition. Just in time for Christmas were ads for Lionel trains and Western Flyer bicycles.

There were feature articles on sorghums, how to conduct yourself while travelling by train and a new method of harvesting alfalfa seed by spraying the plants with a chemical when the seed pods are ripe but the plant still green, causing the plant to quickly die and be ready for combining.

Farmers were advised to buy corn and raise hogs which would be high during the coming year. Milk prices were predicted to be higher, and soy bean prices would rise, with “$3 beans by April.” Prospects for farm prices were predicted to be generally higher all through 1953.

Under “Now Is the Time to:” were the following recommendations. Vote; Kill rats; Saw wood; Rise early; Read Matt. 25; Fix the chimney; Repair your credit; Put in window panes; Mulch the strawberries; Build a shed for the sheep; Buy anti-freeze; Eat six pancakes for breakfast; Order Mom’s Christmas present; Get Shorty a tool box of his own; Clean the fertilizer spreader—good; Be sure there’s no water left in sprayer tank or hoses; Tell Sister’s young man to put a muffler on his jalopy, or you’ll let the air out of his tires; Be thankful—for home, family, community, and for the American concept of liberty.

In "The Farmer’s Wife" section one could find recommendations for “Built-in storage (to) get rid of clutter,” a story about Paris fashions and a new house plan. An article on how to make “Thanksgiving dinner in the best Southern manner,” included, beside the roast turkey, recipes for frozen ambrosia, sauerkraut (“The kraut tartness helps cut the richness of the rest of the dinner”), baked dressing and lima beans in piquant sauce.

Under “slick tricks” were these hints to farm wives: To open a sugar sack place sack with straight stitching, rather than the chain stitch, toward you. Start pulling the string from the right side. Wear rubber gloves over light-weight gloves when hanging out wet clothes in finger-freezing weather. Store small matching buttons on a fine hairpin; twist ends together to hold buttons. Melt shortening for a cake right in the mixing bowl by setting bowl in pan of hot water.

Ads were for Tide detergent and Clorox, Westinghouse, Norge and Frigidaire kitchen ranges, Karo syrup, Jell-O, Nabisco Shredded Wheat, Quaker Oats and Post Toasties, Maytag and Hotpoint washers, Lysol, Bactine, Tums, Pepto Bismol and Castoria, and IH and Victor chest freezers.

In “Up in Polly’s Room,” a teenage girl told how she’d broken a date with one boy to go out with another and both guys found out and dropped her. Polly told her she’d asked for it and that she should resolve never to do it again. Another was writing to a boy in the service and wanted to know how long her letters should be. Polly replied that there was no set length; it depended upon how much she had to say.

Movies reviewed included “The Quiet Man” with John Wayne and Maureen O’Sullivan; “On the ‘cute’ side, but worth seeing.” “Son of Ali Baba” with Tony Curtis and Piper Laurie was deemed “Not intended to be taken seriously.” “Four Poster” with the only two actors being Rex Harrison and his wife Lili Palmer reprising a 45-year journey through a marriage; “Not recommended for men.” Finally, “Crimson Pirate” with Burt Lancaster; “Tops in light entertainment.”

On the “Passed by the Non-Sensor” page were these gems:

“Percy—“This scientist says the inside of the earth isn’t as hot as we thought.” Flage—“No, and neither is the outside!”

Peebles—“I see the FBI is arresting people for playing slot machines.” Jeebles—“Yep—it’s a serious crime to throw your money away before Washington can get hold of it.” Uncle Levi Zink asked “Is there such a thing as politics in Heaven? Don’t be silly—how could you have politics without politicians?”

It’s fun to glance through the old magazines and see what was important to farm folks at that time.

Happy Thanksgiving.

 An old-fashioned Thanksgiving feast in the making. (From November, 1952 Farm Journal magazine in the author’s collection.)

Two hundred years ago this month, during a mostly forgotten U.S. war (the War of 1812), two of my ancestors became actively involved in the conflict.

On 18 June, 1812, the U.S. Congress passed a bill declaring war on Great Britain, and President Madison signed it the same day. The reasons given were the “…mad ambition, the lust of power, and commercial avarice of Great Britain…” in her quest for complete domination of the oceans.

William Henry Harrison, Governor of Indiana Territory, commanded what was then called the “Western Army,” responsible for the Indiana and Michigan Territories and the state of Ohio. Both sides in the war recognized the importance of Lakes Ontario and Erie so Harrison was ordered toward Detroit, then in British hands.

In 1812, the United States had a regular army of less than 12,000, with few trained officers. Each state had a militia and it was expected that these forces would be used to do the fighting. The war was unpopular in the east, especially in New England, and militia units from those states refused to serve, except to defend their own states from enemy attack. The British weren’t much better off, with most of their powerful army and navy busy fighting Napoleon in Europe.

President Madison was determined to invade Canada and, after the Americans suffered several defeats at various points along the border, he asked for volunteers from Pennsylvania and Virginia to join those from Indiana, Illinois and Kentucky, plus some newly recruited regulars, in Harrison’s Western Army for an attempt to retake Detroit and then a thrust into Canada.

After a lot of skirmishing with British troops and Indians, and a serious defeat at the Battle of Frenchtown (now Monroe, MI), part of Harrison’s army reached the Maumee River in northwestern Ohio. At this point two of my ancestors on my mother’s side of the family entered the story.

William Blaney and John Ganoe were born in 1780 and were my multiple-great-grandfathers. John’s son married William’s granddaughter and their son was my maternal grandfather, whom I remember well.  Both men lived in Fayette County, PA, and entered Federal service in October of 1812.

John Ganoe belonged to the “Fayette Greens,” a militia company commanded by Captain Peter Hertzog, while William Blaney was in Captain Joseph Yeager’s company. Both units were assigned to the 2nd Regiment, under Lieutenant Colonel Richard Patterson of Brigadier General Richard Crooks’ 2nd Pennsylvania Brigade, and my grandfathers were enlisted for six months.

The brigade was organized at Pittsburgh, and began a long march to join the Army of the Northwest on 19 October, 1812. From Pittsburgh the brigade headed west, crossed into Ohio and by November 3rd was in Wooster and on November 13th entered Mansfield, Ohio.

From here, the brigade split, with Hertzog’s and Yeager’s companies assigned to a battalion ordered to the Maumee River rapids southwest of Toledo where they helped build Fort Meigs near present day Perrysburg, Ohio. While the 2nd Pennsylvania Brigade did no fighting while there, and was discharged from the Army of the Northwest on 2 April, 1813, Grandfather Blaney received a serious injury that handicapped him the rest of his life.

In 1854, William Blaney, an illiterate blacksmith then nearly 74 years old, appeared before a Justice of the Peace in Uniontown, PA, to apply for a disability pension based upon his Army service. His affidavit, which he signed with his mark, tells the sad tale.

After reaching Fort Meigs, Blaney was part of a scouting party that in February was ordered to go about twenty miles up the Maumee River to a small village called Priskeel(?), to retrieve two small boats to be used when the ice melted in the spring. The plan was to load the boats on sleds that would be pulled on the river ice back to Fort Meigs by the men.

As the party travelled back down the river on the ice, picture the men with ropes over their shoulders straining to move the heavy sleds. While doing this, Private Blaney’s feet slipped and he fell heavily forward, striking the left side of his face on the ice and fracturing the cheek bone.

The 1854 document reads: “Deponent (Blaney) says that he suffered severely from said fracture for a month or six weeks — the left side of his face was swelled very much — and for several Months thereafter he could only eat soft food — and in fact … has never since been able to eat any hard food.”

The deposition went on: “Ever since … he has suffered severely and frequently from Rheumatism and Neuralgia in his face and head … that sometimes — as he is now quite old — he has attacks of Rheumatism in his back or limbs — and that these attacks now occur so frequently — causing him such extreme pain — and general Debility of Body — that he is totally unable to obtain a subsistence from manual labor.

“Deponent further saith that he is very poor — that he will be aged seventy four years of age on the 10th Day of March — that he has no other occupation than that of Blacksmithing which he is now unable to do … that he has an aged wife — utterly helpless from years and infirmities — depending upon himself and the charity of the community.”

Unfortunately, the muster rolls of the units to which he belonged carried Pvt. Blaney as “present” with no reference to an injury, so the pension was denied. In one deposition, Blaney, with some pride I believe, said that after his injury and until his discharge “… he continued to attend to his duties as a soldier as well as he could.” Perhaps had he reported himself sick the records would have supported his pension application?

The Fayette County property tax rolls for the last six years of Blaney’s life show he had no property and virtually no income, so in 1859 the old soldier with the misshapen face died a pauper.

 A present-day reconstruction of part of Fort Meigs.
(Image by Triple Tri, via Wikimedia Commons) 

We’ve all heard stories about the neighbor, uncle or grandfather, who after farming with horses all his life finally bought a tractor. Following careful instructions from the dealer, the new tractor owner got the machine started, and was going along pretty well, when some unexpected occurrence (such as the end of a row) demanded an immediate stop. All thought of clutches and brakes fled the operator’s mind and he hauled back mightily on the steering wheel and hollered “Whoa!” for all he was worth, while the tractor continued merrily on through the fence, into the creek, or whatever.

I don’t have any such stories of my own to tell. My grandfather never drove a motor vehicle as far as I know. He owned cars, which were driven by his sons, but always farmed with horses. When my dad and my uncle took over the farm and bought a tractor, Nandad was content to ride the mower or the binder and leave the driving to others.

Sometime ago, a friend sent me an account of his grandfather’s experiences with his first tractor and gave me permission to retell the tale.

Here’s the somewhat edited story:

“My grandparents, who were getting on in age, were ‘dyed in the wool,’ small mom and pop farmers. Their annual income, which was probably less than we spend in a month, was derived from sales of milk, butter, eggs and vegetables taken to a curb market in Franklin, Pennsylvania. With that, the stage is set!

“Sometime about the end of World War II, Grandad was persuaded to get a tractor, as it would make life a bit easier. Tractors were scarce and in great demand, as were a lot of consumer goods after the war. In order to buy a tractor you had to register and you couldn’t get one of the scarce machines until your name came up.

“Well, Grandad’s name finally came up. Oh my! That was a big day! My dad and I went with Grandad to finalize the arrangements. I was pretty young and, while I knew all about what was going on, I don’t recall any of the details.

“The tractor, which I believe was a Ford 8-N (Author’s note: The Ford 8-N came out in 1947. Before that, it would have been a Ford-Ferguson 2-N), was delivered to the farm and that’s when the transition from team to tractor became interesting. Grandad could only afford to spring for a tractor, so all the old horse-drawn implements had to be converted. My dad told him (Grandad was hard of hearing) that we would have to cut off the tongues and bolt on steel to hook to the tractor’s drawbar.

“Grandad at first didn’t want any part of this because he wasn’t sure the tractor would work and he might need to go back to using the team. We got past that and cut off the tongues of the rake, mowing machine, wagon, and binder, among other implements.

“Now, all these machines needed an operator and I’ll tell you about the mowing machine and that’s all.

“Grandad had a car and did a limited amount of driving, which was understandable with the wartime scarcity of tires and gasoline. So, Grandad was proud of his driving ability and determined not to mark or scratch the shiny new tractor. However, Grandad just couldn’t get the hang of stopping the tractor, he was so used to saying “whoa” to the horses.

“I was ten or twelve and not big or heavy enough to lift the cutter bar of the mowing machine unless I slid off the seat, stood on the lift pedal with one foot, and pulled back on the lift lever with all my might. This seemed to work OK and we started mowing hay.

“Remember I said that Grandad was hard of hearing, and he just couldn’t get his brain to instinctively tell his feet to depress the clutch and brake in order to stop quickly. Many times while mowing, the hay would ball up on the cutter bar and I would have to holler Wooha! several times before Grandad heard me. He then would holler WOAHA! a couple of times before it came to him to push in the clutch.

“This caused no real problems in the field, but after you finish mowing a field it’s nice to clean up by mowing around the edge of the field in the other direction. Grandpa hadn’t made a boo-boo in several days of mowing, raking and hauling in hay and he was getting real proud of himself, however this was the final test.

“As you know, there are often surprises when going around the outside edge of a field and we found one. As we were going along, I saw we were getting too close to an old stump and began to yell “Whoa!” When Grandad heard me, he lost it and reverted to the old horse mode by yelling “WOAHA!” By the time we got stopped, the cutter bar looked like a pretzel. I can still remember how the cutter bar hooked to that stump and began to twist and tear itself up as the entire machine swung hard to the left. Yea man! We had an original thrill ride way ahead of its time.

“We found another old mower and robbed enough parts to get back in business, but I remember that after that I was the “designated driver” for some time.”

It’s fun to read these old stories of the real experiences of real people. If anyone has a tale that has to do with using horses, tractors or farm machinery, send it and I’ll see that it gets told.

 
Border Collie and Kelpie sheep dogs mustering sheep in Queensland, Australia.
Image Courtesy Figaro/Wikimedia Commons 

The first time saw Josephine Roberts’ article about working sheep dogs in the June 2012 issue of Farm Collector, I was delighted. I’ve been interested in working dogs and the work they do since I was about eight or nine years old, the first time I met the working cattle dogs (Blue Heelers in this case) on my grandparents’ ranch. These were tough dogs, focused on the cows while working and not always open to being petted by small children when there weren’t any cows around (although one of them did deign to walk beside me, and ended up alerting me that I was about to step on a rattlesnake. Taz made sure to keep the snake in his sight and too frightened or busy to strike while I backed away to try and find an adult with a forked stick). It was clear that those dogs took their jobs seriously and were proud of their contribution to the work on the ranch, a sense of security and purpose that I hadn’t seen in the city dogs my neighbors kept.

Well-trained working dogs can make a significant contribution to the daily life of  a farm or ranch (read more about that in Associate Editor Beth Beavers’ blog on the subject), but the sheep dog article intrigued me. How do you train a working dog? Where do you start? And after that time and effort, what can a well-trained sheep dog do? Well, I found a few answers.

For the first question, there are many answers.  There are, of course, many ways to train a dog, and often the training method changes based on the dog’s personality and what you want them to do. But most dogs start young (sometimes at six to eight weeks), both with basic obedience commands and with their introduction to sheep (often at around four to six months), and training for a good sheep dog seems largely focused on positive reinforcement of behaviors the dog often already knows how to do. There’s a short video overview you can watch here that includes a demonstration of what Josephine means when she says a working sheep dog must be brave. If you want something a little more in-depth, the late Ted Hope (a decorated sheep dog trainer) filmed a short series of videos covering how he teaches young sheep dogs.

As for what a working sheep dog can do, well there are a few options. The first is, of course, to herd sheep on a farm, but there are other venues where these dogs can show off their skills. If you’ve never seen sheep herded before you might watch this video of Becca, the World Sheep Dog Champion of 2011. 

If you’re looking for something a little more exciting (the sheep dog trials are a little like watching any other sport– they’re exciting if you know all the rules and understand what’s happening, but if you don’t then a lot of the commentary won’t mean much to you), you might watch the video below. The dogs aren’t listed as the stars of this display of shepherding talent and creativity, but it definitely wouldn’t be possible without them.

For the amateur historian interested in early farm practices in America, a surprising number of resources give a glimpse at life 100 years ago. Vintage magazines and newspapers, journals, letters, photos and tales passed from generation to generation help us flesh out a picture that’s probably fairly accurate. But we are inevitably left hungry for more – more detail, more context, more description of the minutia.

So when I recently got a look at a 10-minute video of a 1919 ice harvest, I almost quit breathing. The video was created at the end of the silent movie era so it has no sound. But the cameraman knew his stuff. The story was carefully scripted from beginning to end, from gauging ice depth to determine suitability for harvest to loading the blocks into a storage building using a very novel horse-powered elevator.

To see an actual ice harvest underway is remarkable (see for yourself at www.FarmCollector.com/1919iceharvestvideo). Bonus thrills came from careful examination of everything else … style of dress, the horses’ studded shoes, the midday routine of feedbags and blankets for the horses, the workers’ lunch break (one man even used a fairly new contraption of the day – a thermos-style flask), the relationship of the site supervisor and the workers, the wagons used to haul mammoth blocks of ice, the handsome manor house and storage facility.

Like a wormhole in the universe, the video gives an astonishing glimpse of a scene irretrievably lost to time. Equipment we prize today as “antiques” represented state-of-the-art technology in 1919. The workers and horses that we tend to take for granted when considering farm practices of a century ago became real. We see the horses’ breath as they pull a heavy load, and watch the workers pour a cup of hot coffee during a lunch break taken outdoors on a bright winter day. The men chatted, joked perhaps. No one jumped in the pickup to run errands over the lunch hour; no one pulled out a cell phone to call home.

If you have a computer, view the video. If you don’t, enlist the help of your local librarian. Be prepared to be mesmerized. But that’s okay. When it comes to old iron, looking backward is generally the right direction.  FC 

I have a confession. I grew up in the city. And while my knowledge of farm life and old iron has expanded in my few months as an assistant editor at Farm Collector, there are still some things I just don’t know or understand about life on the farm.

Specifically, there are a lot of terms that get used without much explanation about what they mean, and the answer isn’t as obvious as it seems. One I’ve encountered quite a bit in the past month is hedgerow tractor. I’d gathered from context that hedgerow tractors are in pretty bad condition, but they are often good for restoration projects. And I know what a hedgerow is – a series of hedges used to form a boundary or fence line that tends to be overgrown – so I assumed that a hedgerow tractor was used to remove the hedgerow or try to maintain it, which led to the tractor’s subpar condition.

But we all know what they say about assuming … so I went to the best expert I know, Farm Collector editor Leslie McManus, who clarified for me.

“Farmers historically were reluctant to throw anything away, even if it didn’t work anymore. So to get it out of the way, they’d park it in the hedgerow – where it was often abandoned for decades, which almost always caused further deterioration. So, hedgerow tractor is a term for a tractor that is complete, or close to it, but very rough cosmetically and often mechanically.”

So it turns out, I was completely wrong. But now I know that hedgerows are great places to find complete tractors, ripe for restoration. For proof, look no further than these articles I found in the archives of Steam Traction and Farm Collector.

1934 Plymouth Tractor Gets Loving Restoration
Woodbury Steam Engine Restoration Project
Easy Recovery for Overgrown VAC Case 

It seems everyone enjoys a good mystery. For proof, look no further than "What Is It," one of the most popular monthly features in Farm Collector.

Every issue, readers contribute photos of items for the section and others pitch in to identify the items, often sharing memories of personal experience with long forgotten tools. We recently compiled more than 150 of our favorites over the past 12 years for a special edition "book-a-zine" we've called Farm Collector Field Guide to Mystery Farm Tools.

When it comes to antique farm tools it's not surprising that many remain stubbornly unidentifiable. Chapter 6 in the Field Guide addresses those Odd Lots that remain a mystery. We're giving these tools one more chance to be identified and you could be the hero that sheds some light on these stumpers.

Below are the photos and descriptions for 24 unidentified tools. At the bottom of this post, you'll see a field inviting you to "Add Your Comment." Simply post a comment with your thoughts and guesses as to what these tools were used for, referring to the number assigned to each item. We're hoping to get a lively conversation going so feel free to post whatever comes to mind.

So, come on - we've got some mysteries to solve!

	1 . Possible harrow part or milk cow shackle.
2 . Unidentified crank pulley: The piece with the thumbscrew slides up and down; the hooks open and close slightly. There are no markings.
	3 . Undetermined device: Weighing about 4 pounds, the piece is 19 inches wide both closed and open. The pulleys, handle, brackets and hinges are made of lightweight wood. the screw and bolts are metal.
4 . Possible leather harness machine
	5 . Unknown hammer: Found by a Dakota Territory homesteader in 1883. About 10 inches long; head is 3 inches wide.
6 . Unrecognized tool: Wood, perhaps maple, reinforced with steel on both sides; measures 14-by-16 inches. Carved into one side: "POT.8."
	7 . Unidentified cage
8 . Unknown odd lots: The owner set in the following clues: "I got them in a box of tools at a farm auction. I have asked many old-timers, and nobody knows what they could have been used for. They are 13, 18 and 27 inches long plus a 5-inch handle."
	9 . Unknown tool: Two views of the item found in a sextant's shop.
10 . Unidentified knife: Measures 14 inches long by 3 inches wide. Less than 1/8-inch thick with sharpened bevel on top and bottom. Blade sharpened on both sides and slightly cupped. "G.W. Proctor" cast into blade center, twice, in a "V" configuration.
	11 . Unidentified small stove
12 . Unknown tool
	13 . Possible washing machine
14 . Possible stove part
	15 . Unknown device: Cement-like base measures 4-by-6 inches. Only remaining markings on serial number tag: "Mfg. Co. New York. Serial number 180875."
16 . Unknown tool
	17 . Possible crate or fence tool: Measures 14 inches long; cast with "R 58."
18 . Unrecognized tool: Mostly wood with a hinged part; movement limited by a chain. The other end of the long member has a 1-1/4-inch round wood peg through it protruding from each side about 1-inch. Height indicated by yardstick is approximately 30 inches.
	19 . Unknown tool: Found buried in a farm grove. Measures about 10 inches wide when opened. One of the round ends rotates.
20 . Unidentified clamp: 1-1/2 inches long and 1 inch in diamater; the spring returns the piece to the closed position.
	21 . Possible baling tool
22 . Unidentified lathe
	23 . Unknown implement: Made of very heavy wood, the piece is 30 inches long with a 1-inch handle attached to a cylinder 4 inches long and 4 inches in diameter. The movable cylinder is 4-1/2 inches long and 6 inches in diameter.
24 . Unrecognized device: Weighing 4 pounds, the piece is 19 inches wide both closed and open. The pulleys, handle, brackets and hinges are made of lightweight wood. The screw and bolts are metal.

As for the music on the album, here's a taste of what you'll hear. This song is called "Smoke on the Prairie," and was written by Chas. L. Genter:

I'm sure that many of you don't know that I'm a folk musician in my spare time. Over the last three years, I've recorded and released five albums of original folk music, and recently had the unique opportunity to combine my interest in folk music with my interest in old iron.

While looking through issues of Iron-Men Album from the 1950s and 60s, I came across several poems written by actual steam farmers, threshermen and their wives reflecting on their experiences with steam farming. Farmers are often characterized as tough and stoic, so I was struck by how romantic and funny these poems are. And, in addition to being well-written accounts of a fascinating chapter of American history, I also thought they'd make pretty good songs. So, I chose 12 of my favorites and set them to original music.

To give the album an old-time American feel, I used instruments unique to American folk music including banjo, washtub bass, steel resonator guitar and autoharp. I played all of the instruments myself and recorded the album in my bedroom studio. From start to finish, the album only took me about two weeks, mostly because it was very easy to fit the words to music. These poems were written from the heart so they already carry a certain kind of tune. All I had to do was read each one a few times before matching the words with a complementary tune in my head.  

Though the album is focused on steam farming, the sentiment behind the poems and the music is something that everyone with nostalgic feelings toward the good old days of farming can relate to. In the technology age, it's easy to lose sight of how we used to things five years ago, much less 100 years ago. Many folks believe that when steam farming disappeared, so did the romantic view of farming. And while farming is definitely quicker and more efficient than it's ever been, the close relationships that farmers once had with each other and the land have been replaced by mega-capacity combines operated by one person in an air-conditioned cab. These poems help us remember that at one time, things were different.

As you can see from the album cover, Farm Collector coordinating editor Jeannine Snyder put the finishing touches on the project with an outstanding album design and layout that complements the music perfectly. The photo that Jeannine used for the cover features a Waterous steam engine threshing crew, and was provided to us by John F. Spaulding. You'll find more photos like that one in the book he put together with Dr. Robert T. Rhode, Steam Tractor Encyclopedia, available in the Farm Collector store.

And as for the music on the album, here's a taste of what you'll hear: This song is called "Smoke on the Prairie" written by Chas. L. Genter in 1955, and is being offered as a free download for a limited time.

Songs of the Iron Men is now available in the Farm Collector store for just $10 plus shipping and handling.

Read the original poems in their unedited entirety.