The Farm That Built Me

Consider the fact that this comes from a Polaroid print.  I scanned it and was able to brighten it a bit and enlarge it somewhat.

This photo and four others came in the mail yesterday.  Jim Parsons, Jr., a local photographer and realtor, sent them to me.

He said he was cleaning out his desk when he found them. 

This one was labeled "Tibbs Farm."  The others included views of what we called the "Upper Place."  That was the old Harney Dairy.

Apparently at the time, Mother and Harold may have listed the entire 85 acres for sale, explaining the reason for the photos. 

We've tried to determine the approximate date of these photos.  Bill looked at the pickup last night and lamented that he could not really tell which pickup it was that Harold owned at the time.

Harold replaced pickups often---always feeling a need for a change.  

We know that the photo was taken before the airport runway cut off part of the hayfield in the foreground.  

All the outbuildings are there with the house partially hidden on the right. 

To its left is the woodshed; looks like the basketball hoop might have still been on its east side.

In the background, north of the woodshed, parts of the loafing sheds extending between two board corrals are visible.  Horses and bulls or weaner calves usually occupied those pens, and I can remember how deep the mud got in the spring.

Those were also the areas where illegal riding of horses and cows took place when parents were gone.

And, an image in the left corral stands out in my mind.   

I used to love to get up really early on spring mornings to be the first to see any baby calves that might have been born over night.  

One morning, I remember walking through that corral and feeling the presence of something behind me. I turned in time to see a coyote run under the fence and away into the pasture.  Definitely a spooky feeling.

The granary shows up well in this photo, and it sticks with me the longest of any building on the place.

I sat on its step during many summer mornings sketching stuff in the dirt with a stick and holding court with whatever horses were hanging around at the time.  Those moments may have been among my best in childhood.

Always relaxing, always warm, always a feeling of independence, always some four-legged friends looking for attention.

Harold's shop is in between the granary and the barn.  What stands out in my mind are the grease guns sitting among washers, nuts, bolts, staples, etc. 

I was always fascinated with those grease guns and loved watching Harold grease up his tractors.

It was interesting to see just how many little nubbins stuck up in strange spots all over those tractors.  He'd find them, fit the grease dispenser on top and start pumping away, feeding the tractor's lubrication needs. 

The barn, to the left, holds so many memories:  Harold at milking time, greasing up the cow's udder and deftly spraying milk into the bucket or maybe even at a cat with those fingers that had grown accustomed to squeezing on faucets belonging to Bossy, Guernie, etc. 

There was the time Billy the Bull, son of Millie squeezed me up against the boards in the box stall, and he wasn't doing that to be nice.

Billy went on to a bull sale over at the auction yard on Kootenai Cutoff Road.  Once unloaded,  he broke out and ran the neighborhood for several days before being rounded up and sold for round steak.

We spent hours in that barn brushing and combing our horses, shoveling manure and playing with little kittens.   

I remember the "slumber" party held in that haymow when I invited my friends to the place to celebrate our last day of high school.  Of course, we did not slumber!

Those buildings are gone, every one of them.  They've been replaced by big airport hangars.  I don't look that way very often anymore while driving down Boyer, which was eventually rerouted around the extended runway.

So far, progress, except for the Mickinnick Trail has left our Greenhorn Mountain, the bigger mountain in the background pretty much alone. Can't say the same for Schweitzer, which peeks up behind Greenhorn.

The big trees in the woods behind those buildings----most still stand as the only visible memory of the place that built me.  

All the rest is pretty much tucked away in my mind but revived on this morning, thanks to that picture Jim Parsons, Jr. sent me in the mail yesterday.

It may not have been the fanciest farm in the country and later in town, but it did its job, molding me and my siblings.  Plus, a lot of animals enjoyed a love affair with the family over the years.  

Thanks so much, Jim, for sending me the memories.