Left Handed in the ACW

I know. now Im hungry for pie. and at this hour I don't see much chance of getting it.:D
I rarely eat sweets, so I can do without the pie, which allows me to be grumpy about it. (But I'll bet my mother could make pies as good as your grandmother's. Any kind of pie: fruit pies, banana cream, lemon merengue, sour-cream raisin, mince meat.)
 
I rarely eat sweets, so I can do without the pie, which allows me to be grumpy about it. (But I'll bet my mother could make pies as good as your grandmother's. Any kind of pie: fruit pies, banana cream, lemon merengue, sour-cream raisin, mince meat.)
Ha, nothing I would like to do better than to have them both in a pie making competition with me as the judge. If only we could go back in time.:smile:
 
Reminds me of a neighboring family back on the farm. I don't know how she did it, but she had eight kids. The three oldest boys would help their dad with the farmwork. Dinner time, there was a big dinner and a pie for each of the men-folks. Presumably, there was also a pie for herself and the youngers. Five pies every day, and that was just to feed the family.

If anyone cares, they were Irish. The area wasn't entirely Norwegian.
 
Reminds me of a neighboring family back on the farm. I don't know how she did it, but she had eight kids. The three oldest boys would help their dad with the farmwork. Dinner time, there was a big dinner and a pie for each of the men-folks. Presumably, there was also a pie for herself and the youngers. Five pies every day, and that was just to feed the family.

If anyone cares, they were Irish. The area wasn't entirely Norwegian.
That also brings back memorys for me. As a young boy I remember my Uncle Harry's working farm. They had breakfast and dinners that rivaled what we have at thanksgiving, only every day and on a wood cookstove.
 
In the old days, one farmer owned a thresher for the oats. All the farmers that wanted their oats threshed would move from farm to farm and thresh oats. Their wives would follow the group around and provide one of those dinners at noon every day, cooking the noon dinner on wood stoves. And yes, it was like thanksgiving. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, whatever veggie was in season and pie. The men would scarf down plates of it and then take a short nap. Then it was back to the field to work until it was time to go home and milk the cows. Supper was generally after dark.

Men who worked that hard all day long had to absorb large amounts of calories.
 
In the old days, one farmer owned a thresher for the oats. All the farmers that wanted their oats threshed would move from farm to farm and thresh oats. Their wives would follow the group around and provide one of those dinners at noon every day, cooking the noon dinner on wood stoves. And yes, it was like thanksgiving. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, whatever veggie was in season and pie. The men would scarf down plates of it and then take a short nap. Then it was back to the field to work until it was time to go home and milk the cows. Supper was generally after dark.

Men who worked that hard all day long had to absorb large amounts of calories.
I remember staying at Uncle Harry's and haveing been rousted out of bed at 0430. Harry came in with two buckets of milk and the breakfast table had everything you could think of to eat including three different meats. I would give anything to relive that monent in time.
 
I remember staying at Uncle Harry's and haveing been rousted out of bed at 0430. Harry came in with two buckets of milk and the breakfast table had everything you could think of to eat including three different meats. I would give anything to relive that monent in time.
I had to drive one of the tractors. Fortunately, I was clever enough to be a bad milker, so I was barred from that into a default position of feeding and watering the pigs and chickens and cows.

Sunup 'til sunset. Those of you who still farm know what I'm saying. But it was a good time and brings back warm thoughts. It's 40 below, but the animals still have to be fed and watered and milked. Throw down hay. Pump water and carry it to the coop or sty. Can't skip a step because you're tired or feeling poorly. It has to be done.

Are we missing something?
 
I had to drive one of the tractors. Fortunately, I was clever enough to be a bad milker, so I was barred from that into a default position of feeding and watering the pigs and chickens and cows.

Sunup 'til sunset. Those of you who still farm know what I'm saying. But it was a good time and brings back warm thoughts. It's 40 below, but the animals still have to be fed and watered and milked. Throw down hay. Pump water and carry it to the coop or sty. Can't skip a step because you're tired or feeling poorly. It has to be done.

Are we missing something?
You got a few years on me Ole, but here in West Virginia I got a good idea of what it took to make a living on a farm in the 50's and it was much as it probably was in the 1860's from my expierience as a kid. I thought it a hardship at the time, but as I get on in years I yearn to Go back and live in those times.
 
You got a few years on me Ole, but here in West Virginia I got a good idea of what it took to make a living on a farm in the 50's and it was much as it probably was in the 1860's from my expierience as a kid. I thought it a hardship at the time, but as I get on in years I yearn to Go back and live in those times.
I sure don't. Had to work my butt off, every day, every year. But that was good. I do not, however, want to revisit the time. There were nice times, like the pie.

Everyone grew up with some of that. Some with not enough; some with too much.

And them that came up through that are not the one's running the country.

And on that, I've hijacked the thread and will have to admonish myself.
 
I sure don't. Had to work my butt off, every day, every year. But that was good. I do not, however, want to revisit the time. There were nice times, like the pie.

Everyone grew up with some of that. Some with not enough; some with too much.

And them that came up through that are not the one's running the country.

And on that, I've hijacked the thread and will have to admonish myself.
At this time of day nobody cares what is discussed on the thread. I have enjoyed it. "Hardships of the past are fond memorys of the present." quote, me.:smile:
 
Forrest also liked pie...but the wife would rap his knuckles if he reached for it before his dinner! :D

Great conversations on farm work. Even though we've retired a few years ago and other people do the work mostly - although there's something about riding the cows can't be got over - we still get up at 3:30 and 4am. There's nothing like the air, the breeze...the cold, the razor wind...but it's a good feeling. Sometimes it's magic - that's when Hoss saw The Light. (Hoss is called that because he's the spitting image of Dan Blocker.) He's pretty sure it wasn't Jesus or angels or Stephen Spielberg - just a brilliant white light from overhead filled the whole place like broad daylight. Since he couldn't see what it was he went on about changing the irrigation. Then, click! It was gone. Hoss is left-handed....
 
thats true. I think he had a injury to his left arm so he tought himself how to use his right hand..

Don't know if there was an injury but he found it much more socially acceptable to use his right hand as much as possible, and it was a great edge in combat. He would lead a charge with the sword in his right hand - the men would take it as bad luck if it was the left! - then switch to the dominant hand. But he was reckoned to be an excellent pistol shot with either hand - so poor Gould didn't have much of a chance when Forrest filled both hands and came after him!

Once read an article long time ago about left-handed fighters - boxers, wrestlers, etc. - having a distinct edge on righties. It was not only their unexpected side but their internal organs were also placed just a smidge differently, giving them better balance and a different manner. Curious thing.
 
Reminds me of a neighboring family back on the farm. I don't know how she did it, but she had eight kids. The three oldest boys would help their dad with the farmwork. Dinner time, there was a big dinner and a pie for each of the men-folks. Presumably, there was also a pie for herself and the youngers. Five pies every day, and that was just to feed the family.

If anyone cares, they were Irish. The area wasn't entirely Norwegian.
Ole, private message me and I'll try to explain how she had eight kids!
 
Back
Top