By Emily Wilt, June 03, 2015 — Growing up on a farm has great memories. Being a family of ten, we had a wonderful life.
My mother did a lot of preserving in quart jars. We had a cellar which my father had built, a large shelf closet from floor to ceiling. My mother filled it with everything she had preserved, which helped during the long winter months. How I wish I had a camera then; it was beautiful. I can still see it! We also had a dirt cellar where coal was kept on one side and sweet potatoes on the other, which my dad had raised. My mother and father worked from morning till night, never complaining.
Mom had a washboard when she washed heavy clothes. Her iron was heated on a coal stove.
I was the baby of the family—so many years ago my mom bought bolts of material and made my sisters’ clothes, including pantaloons. I still have the pictures!
For recreation, my friend Helen and I had a chicken coop for our dollhouse. We would spend hours a day cleaning it up and washed the many tiny windows. We furnished it with old furniture our parents donated. We planted beautiful flowers to enjoy looking out at our clean windows.
The rest of the summer we walked a mile to go swimming in Ewan Lake. In the winter, we had the “high hill” to sled down. It was near my home. It was a big gathering and a bonfire was lit. Sometimes a pickup truck would let us hold on to take us to the top to start over again. Very enjoyable!
While sledding down a hill on our farm, my sled and little finger got caught between a corn stub, and I broke my little finger. Didn’t rush to the doctor in those days—so I still have the reminder! [With a sweet smile, Emily held up her slightly crooked little finger.]
Life on the farm was great!