COUNTRYSIDE YARNS
Tall Tale or Truth? You Decide!
Delaney's Story, Part 5
by Janis Stein

Join in the continuation as neighbors and friends join Delaney’s Papa in raising his barn in 1900.

I loved the farm, and Papa taught me more and more each day. Young though I was, I caught on quickly; as each day passed, Papa trusted me with additional chores, while he busied himself with his wood. The paper I had stashed for my schoolwork I used instead to write a how-to book, much the same as Maggie wrote down instructions for Papa’s building kits. My papers were filled with notes, everything I had learned on the farm: how to bridle the horse; how to hitch up the team; when to plant, and the dates we did. It seemed at the end of every day, I pored over those papers, over my notes. Mama couldn’t have been happier, seeing that I had applied this business of reading and writing to something I loved.

While I learned all I could about the farm, Papa used every light hour available to work on the frame of his barn. Papa even took the time to carefully carve the year, 1900, in one of the beams, telling me now we’d be able to easily remember the year we built the barn. I was pretty sure Papa would never forget with or without the carving, but still it added a bit of class, I thought.

Papa had helped several neighbors raise their barns the year prior and so he knew he’d have plenty of help on the day when they raised the walls. Until that day came, Papa measured and sawed and measured some more. Uncle Roman, too, came as soon as his daily work was done, helping Papa measure and cut. All summer, Papa worked on building the barn’s frame until at last he was ready.

Barn raisings drew crowds from miles around. Papa hand-picked those that would actually help with the work, while the others, some men, some boys, some babies, found shady spots to relax and watch. Papa’s love of carpentry showed, and when he gave the signal, teams of men using ropes and pulleys pulled all four sides of the barn up ever so slowly and in unison. Other men stood behind with poles to help guide the sides up. One man rode atop the frame as it was slowly lifted. I imagined it was quite a ride and, when he reached the top, armed with a mallet, he drove in his supply of wooden dowels that would hold the frame together. When the frame had been secured, the spectators applauded with great enthusiasm. Papa was well pleased.

While the men worked at raising the barn, the women and older girls worked in Mama’s kitchen preparing a feast for all, workers and spectators alike. Mama told me to hock Papa’s carpenter horses, and I then placed some of Papa’s boards atop the horses, making a suitable table for the food already being hauled out from the kitchen. My nose delighted at Mama’s cooking, and I spied meat, beans, potatoes and loaf after loaf of bread, fresh from the oven.

I couldn’t help but grin at Mama and her entourage as they carried out platter after platter of turnips. Mama’s turnip crop had been more than bountiful the previous year, and they stored exceptionally well in the cellar. We were so sick of turnips. Mama winked and whispered in my ear as she passed, saying surely with all these spectators she would finally get rid of the last of the turnips!

Then the desserts came. Pies and cakes and even doughnuts. My mouth watered when I spotted the blackberry pies. I had been picking blackberries every day for the past week for those pies, and I couldn’t wait to sink my teeth into a piece. Or two. I had never been part of such a grand party. Papa had even splurged and bought a small barrel of cider for his workers, though I can’t say Mama looked real impressed over that decision. Others sipped coffee while some smoked their pipes and watched the children play until dark. Even Maggie had to help all day – without complaint – and I smiled when she dropped into bed with exhaustion. It had been a gold-star day.

After what seemed like only a few hours of sleep, the rooster crowed his morning greeting. So automatic was my response to my wake-up call, I immediately got dressed to do chores. I looked back at Maggie and laughed for she had pulled the covers over her head. I tried to tell her if she didn’t stay up half the night reading, she’d be in the habit of getting up in the morning, but you couldn’t tell Maggie anything she didn’t want to hear. I guess maybe she ended up with a little of Mama’s Irish blood, too.

The days went by, and we each worked at our usual tasks. Maggie always complained when she had to help me hoe the sugar beets and, while I admit weeding wasn’t one of my favorite jobs, it was something we girls could do while Papa continued his work on the barn. Even Elsie helped. She did a good job, but because she was so much younger than either of us, she quickly fell behind. Ever so often, I would leave my assigned rows and hoe back towards Elsie to help her catch up. Looking back was its own reward, because the clean rows were incentive enough to keep hoeing, incentive enough for me anyway. Papa would be so proud of this field when we finished.

While Elsie moved her little self along, doing as best she could, Maggie complained nonstop. It wasn’t fair. It was hot. She was thirsty. I got pretty good at tuning her out, for days on end really, and then one day it occurred to me that Maggie was as miserable in the fields as I was in school. I found a bit of compassion for Maggie that morning, telling her that at the end of every round, we could take a break and she could teach Elsie the alphabet letters. I admit my idea was a bit selfish, for now Maggie would pester Elsie nonstop about schooling, but at least she’d be too busy to pester me!

As it turned out, the idea was a good one. Elsie would be well ahead of her classmates when it was time for her to start school, and the desire to share her knowledge at the end of every round gave Maggie enough incentive to move a little faster. Plus, I had a bit of peace and quiet as we hoed up and down the field. In just over two weeks, the sugar beet field was as beautiful as any Papa had ever seen, or so he told us anyway.

Join in the continuation next month as we three girls earned money hoeing sugar beets for our neighbor Mr. Brady since Papa’s field was already standing tall.