I grew up in Canada on what was called a “mixed farm” although almost all of the varied things that were raised and grown were gone by the time I came along.
But even though they were gone, we would play in the empty henhouse where the chickens had been. There were unused beehives sitting beside the garage. I know we used to have geese as my Dad was attacked by a gander when he was five years old. He grabbed the big bird by its neck and hung on till the vicious pecking was over.
We had pigs, cows, beef cattle and horses along with the geese and the chickens. And in a 10-acre field west of the house there was a large orchard, all the trees in neat rows, though the fruit was never taken care of in my day and was often scabby. There were lots of apple trees of many varieties from red apples (maybe macs?) to yellow harvest apples and these huge “cooking” apples that were terrible to eat – very pulpy – but good for making pies and cider. The darned things were half way between a very large apple and a small pumpkin.
There were also some plum and pear trees in the orchard though the season was usually too short for the fruit on those trees to ripen. The branches of the trees hung low and when a friend brought his pony around one day and I got on it to ride a horse for the first time, the little dickens headed straight for the fruit trees at a fair clip knowing the branches would scrape me off its back, which they did.
My favourite fruit tree of all was a cherry tree located near the road. I remember the red cherries would be ripe by the last day of school in June and I would climb up there and fight the birds – and sometimes my siblings – for them. The birds were easier to chase away than the siblings. Even when the cherries were gone I would sit up in the tree and watch people come and go on the road. I always thought they couldn’t see me so that was kind of thrilling and mysterious.
All of these things were features of the way my grandparents farmed and they gradually went out of use when their day passed along with the mixed farm. One thing that did remain was a massive vegetable garden. That was a great place to go with a salt shaker. I’d pick tomatoes, wet them with my tongue, cover them with salt and eat them. Heaven.
The mixed farm is long gone almost everywhere now but can still be found in Mennonite Country north of where I grew up. It isn’t just their clothing and horses and buggies that harken back to a much earlier, simpler, quieter time. Most of them have no hydro, though some of their “modern” neighbours and relatives do. Their yards are impeccable and their fences are built with wooden posts and woven wire. And most of them have all the creatures my ancestors had including pigs, geese, chickens, cows and horses. Lots of horses.
Some may even “keep” bees. The only sweetener in the old days was honey. Even in my grandparents’ time, white sugar was not allowed on the table during our meals.
©2014 Jim Hagarty
©2014 Jim Hagarty
