Moving From Farm to Town

It was 1936 when Mama made a very wise decision, moving lock, stock and barrel from our farm north 50 miles to the county seat, Malta, Mont.

Mama related to me years later that during the winter of ‘35-36, our well ran dry and in the harsh winter, our cattle ran out of hay. Luckily, our grandpa and uncle, who lived on the adjourning farm, came to our rescue.

When our widowed mother had her cows shipped to Chicago, the prices were so low that she received a bill to cover the cost of freight – no profit whatsoever!

Our house was moved in as well as a couple other buildings. One tall wooden granary was cut in half and placed on two sides of our little house giving us an upstairs and two extra bedrooms. My oldest brother, Robert Richard, worked on the carpentry, meaning he missed a year of high school. He was such a blessing to our widowed mother and really to the entire family. I was the youngest of four children; two boys who were the older and my sister and I on the tail end.

Before we left our farm, there was the matter of butchering and canning chickens. I recall the day vividly. Mama wrung each chicken’s neck – a bloodless manner which I saw only once, but which was enough for me. Mama and the rest of the family were busy with the messy procedure while I sat by the brightly-colored oil cloth-covered kitchen table. Every so often a couple of dressed chickens were brought in, causing the pile of chickens to grow higher and higher. All at once, there was a movement from the pile – a rooster stood up wobbling as if he were drunk. I sat there paralyzed. Here this rooster had survived a neck wringing, scalding and lastly, the embarrassment of losing his feathers!

It wasn’t too long before a chicken feather picker came in from the cold and grabbed the dizzy rooster. It was a short reprieve, and I was one sad little girl as I had hoped that this one chicken would have a longer life.

Mama canned jars of chicken (with the help of my older siblings) in a pressure cooker which provided many delicious meals for our family in Malta, Mont. Oh yes, what remembrances we have from those Good Old Days!

Helen DePuydt is a regular contributor to the Courier and a member of a homesteading family in the Saco area. All of her stories are true.