12. Living in Clyde Township: My Early Years
My home of 75 years
I was born and raised in the Township of Clyde on what was a typical dairy farm at the time. Dad milked 28 cows, as did most farmers in the 1950s, soon the numbers started to rise. Early mornings before daylight, you could hear the sound of vacuum pumps and almost feel the vibrations from the farms across the creek.
On Friday nights, my parents often visited neighbors because TV was still brand-new. It seemed every family had children close to our ages, and we always found plenty to do while the parents visited. We knew each other’s homes as well as our own. For many years my dad served on the town board, and my mother was our 4H leader until her health declined. I was still too young then, but I remember the 4H materials tucked in our closet.
Life felt much simpler back then. We had party lines for phones, and when you were talking you could often hear someone else breathing quietly as they listened in. We usually knew exactly who it was. Our ring was two shorts and a long, and the polite thing was to leave it alone if it wasn’t meant for you. There were some long talkers on our line, and sometimes we’d have to interrupt them to ask for the phone. When we were first married, we still had a party line before finally biting the bullet and getting a private line.
Most farmers only had the basic equipment — a tractor, plow, disc, grain drill, corn planter, cultivator, and maybe a corn binder. Men traveled around with thrashing machines for grain or choppers for silage, and neighbors helped each other during harvest. The wives always cooked big meals for the crew and would eat in the yard with the food on make shift tables. I caught the tail end of this before everyone started buying their own harvesting equipment. It was similar to what the Amish still do today.
There were about five country schools, all first through eighth grade, close enough that parents could get children there without going far. One teacher per school, maybe twenty kids. My teacher was Miss Boch, who later was married and became Mrs. Delano Gilbertson. The schools had wood or coal stoves, hand pumps for water, and two outhouses. The older students took turns with the duties — sweeping compound on the floor, hauling water, loading the stove. And every day we were given a potassium iodide “goiter pill,” just in case of nuclear war.
Recess was quite simple with swings, rough-and-tumble equipment, and the same rule for every hurt — “Just be careful next time.” At Christmas we each had to recite a poem we wrote. One year mine was about wanting a BB gun, which I did get though Dad was not pleased when I shot out the yard light.
I remember the blizzard of 1957, when the town put a V-plow on the grader to fight the snow. The Walty School on County C was so drifted in that the eighth-grade boys had to dig a path for us to reach it. In warm weather I could climb the fence at the back of the schoolyard and see our farm, I saw my mother walking by the chicken house. The overgrown trees block that view now.
In 1960 the district consolidated and the Clyde School was built. My third grade was held at the Church School by St. Malachy. We were divided up by age at the various schools until Clyde opened mid-year. Everyone adapted quickly. Before Clyde, everyone packed their own lunches, but Clyde had a great cafeteria with homemade cinnamon rolls regularly and great food. Much better than the schools following this one. Our cook basically had free choice on what to make unlike today when the menu is dictated.
Clyde had two cheese factories when I was young, with another one earlier but torn down during my time.. Our milk went to Frank’s. We could walk right in and grab warm curds from the vat as it was customary. Trish Carroll’s store was the local place where you could catch up on everyone’s news. Farmers would come mid-morning, sit a while, talk, and stay long enough to avoid being the first one to leave for obvious reasons.
Before the dry dams were built upstream, Otter Creek washed out Highway 130. After repairs, the dry dams were added, which helped a lot, though heavy rains still occasionally flood the low areas. In the ’70s and ’80s, floods seemed almost a given. Some summer nights we’d be out in the dark moving cattle from the bottom pasture as the water continued to rise.
I miss those days of my youth. There are very few farms left that are still milking, and many of the old families are gone as well. We went from knowing nearly everyone to really not knowing most. We still have community get togethers, but they do not feel the same as they are larger and less personal. Back when the numbers were small, you could visit with everyone.
In the late 1970s or early ’80s, Eileen Price recorded “The Clyde Interviews.” I sat with Nordeen Gilbertson, Dan Bennett, and I believe Delano Gilbertson. Just listening to their stories alone was worth the whole thing. If anyone has copies of those tapes, we’d love to digitize them for the soon-coming Clyde Community Center webpage. I think we should do some new interviews today with anyone willing as it’s a good way to actually know our neighbors again.
I’m also putting myself out there a little bit by sharing the website for a blog I recently started. It covers farming life and much more. If you’d like to read or subscribe for free, it’s here:
www.getthekingoutofthegarden.com
The title came from a dream I had — about how easy it is to spend life doing small things while ignoring the important ones. Like a king spending all his time admiring his garden instead of tending to the needs of the kingdom.