1947 when we moved from Winnipeg to the farm. No electricity till mid fifties, no running water. Burned wood and coal for heat. Feeding stooks into a thrashing machine to harvest the grain. Work horses were still used for a certain amount of work like hauling rack loads of hay on a sleigh to the barn in winter and other chores. Walked 2 miles to a one room school.
The good 'olden days'.
Makes me feel like I must be about 99 years old now.
This post was edited by Kittigate at March 15, 2019 6:23 PM MDT
Actually I should have said feeding sheaves instead of stooks. A binder machine cuts the standing grain and ties it into bundles called sheaves then a guy riding the stone boat behind the binder takes usually 6 sheaves from the binder, stands them up together, pushes them off the stone boat which makes stooks. Then a man comes along with a horse drawn hayrack to pick up the stooks and take the loads to the thrashing machine.
This post was edited by Kittigate at October 30, 2020 9:13 AM MDT
Every morning of each new day heralds another beginning. Every yesterday has become our "olden days", the vessel which safe-keeps our memories. Every tomorrow is the dream we eternally pray and hope and wish and strive to make come true.
This post was edited by Benedict Arnold at March 15, 2019 6:23 PM MDT
I was born in 1945, so my growing up years until I was around 50. Then the world started to change and not necessarily for the better. Still, this is the best country to live in.
I'm in 'em now. For six years I lived in my mother's basement, running up the stairs several times every day to take care of her. She died in 2014 and I moved to ground level, so I have had almost no exercise at all for the last five years. Suddenly I feel very old.
Kittigate 