As I walked away from the men over in the shop, my remark was OK I guess I'm D.U.N.
It brought a quick glance from my college grandson (home for summer). I guess he's been gone so long he forgot it was how Grandma paid honor to her dad.
After Mom died, my dad's grocery list read "ches, bred, eg, butr and prince Albert."
The man could tell you how many bushels made a wagon load, how much wood in a rick and how many acres in a section. The D.U.N. always came after he'd sent the last huge hay fork of hay up the side of the barn.
Clifford and Mom were in the hay mow and myself on the far side of the barn walking the drag rope mule that pulled the load up. We were always glad to hear it but it just meant going back to the field for another load.
After the load hit the roller up in the hay mow, it rolled until one of them pulled the trip rope to dump it where they wanted to tromp it down tight.
After Clifford went to the service, I had to work the hay mow and my sister had to come outside to lead the drag mule. It always seemed unfair to me that she didn't have to go to the hay mow. She wouldn't have lasted a day up there!
The word dun is my homage to a man that worked harder and longer than any one else I knew. He was also smarter than most men of that time. My mom was a South Dakota country school teacher and she never missed a chance to show us how to become smarter every day, but Dad never tried such a thing. But I knew he admired her intelligence.
After the war, they used a John Deere tractor and a Jay Hawk (a fork mounted on front of tractor). But, it didn't take long for balers to become popular. Clifford bought a used one that no one could buy the part for the knotter because of shortage of steel so I rode the welded-on seat and tied every bale. It wasn't any dirtier work than the hay mow and I could be outside.
That's how I spent my summers during high school.
Dad helped his son start farming and helped my sister's husband all he could but his second son-in-law had to leave the farm and took a job in town as he was about to become a daddy.
Farming became very modernized quickly and I don't feel like we could have made it on the farm with no more backing than he had.
But, Dad treated him with the same respect.
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Editors note: Edith Lammey has been a resident of the area for nearly 40 years. She can be contacted through The TIMES at 451-1196 or [email protected].
Editorial on 06/29/2016