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Hook 'em and Pull em - video
¬July, 1967
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| Nancy, David, Daddy, Gramps July 1967 |
"See there, girl. Jets!" Gramps points upward. Three fighter jets fly over the back field, really close together, like geese heading south for winter. But it's not winter. It's the middle of July. The sun is shining. The sky is blue. There are no clouds.
"That there is Air National Guard, hundred forty-second fighter group." He takes a handkerchief from his pocket and blows his nose. "Oscar would like a jet like that."
He is talking about my Uncle Ozzie, his older boy, who died under mysterious circumstances a long time ago, before I was born. I don't know what mysterious circumstances are, but I heard my cousin say it, and now I like to say it again, because it has big words that sound important.
Gramps had two boys, and both of them were pilots. Uncle Ozzie joined the Air force, and Uncle Jimmy is in the Navy. Several of Gramps' girls don’t even know how to drive a car, but both his boys can fly planes.
Uncle Jimmy comes to visit when he is on leave, and I don't like that, because he tickles me. Sometimes Uncle Ozzie used to visit by buzzing the house. That’s what my aunt told me. Buzzing means flying your plane really low to the ground and near to the house so that all of your family looks up and says, “Oh, my goodness.” Everybody misses Uncle Ozzie, but I don’t know if I miss him, because I don’t know if he would tickle me.
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| Uncle Ozzie in his plane. |
We are harvesting bales of hay. Last winter Gramps announced that this year we would plant oats out in the back field. We all live with Gramps at his house. After my step Grandma died, Gramps asked us to move in and cook for him and do his laundry and pay the taxes, because taxes cost a lot of money. He has a barn and a tractor and lots of things you can hook up to the back of the tractor, like a plow and a disc, and also this thing that looks like a giant rake called a cultivator.
Last spring, way before first grade let out for the summer, he got out a special piece of equipment for the tractor. It was called a seeder, and this made sense because you put oat seeds in a trough on the back. Then as the tractor drove along, these little arm things went round and round and pushed the seeds out the bottom, where they fell to the ground. I know because I got to ride on the standing board that was mounted across the back of the seeder. My job was to make sure the seeds didn't get clogged up and that the arms kept pushing the seeds out, just so. Mommy wasn't sure I should ride back there, but Gramps said, "Nonsense. The girl is safe. I'll drive slow."
Now the hay is all grown up, and the baler came this week to cut and bale it all, and that was really good. I watched from the yard. There is one man who drives around from house to house, and on the first day he will cut and rake your hay, and then after that, probably the next day I think, he will come back to bale it. He comes with his baler machine, and it sucks up the hay, and it squishes it into a rectangle, and it automatically ties it up with string that’s hidden inside the baler somewhere. Then it spits the hay bale out the other end.
You have to hope it does not rain after the man cuts it and before he bales it. I heard Daddy say so. He said, “I sure hope it does not rain and ruin that hay.”
And then Mommy said, “Oh, Bill, don’t worry. The forecast is for sun.” And she was right.
Today Daddy helped Gramps pull the sled out and hook it up to the tractor. The sled is a special kind of trailer that doesn’t have any wheels. It is flat and made of boards. We grab hold of the bales of hay with this special hook attached to a wooden handle and pull them over to the sled and stack them on it. Gramps, Daddy, and I are doing the grabbing.
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| Daddy and Gramps lifting the hay bales. |
After we get all the nearby bales, Gramps drives the tractor to the next section of the field, and we grab some more. I am too small to stack the bales onto the sled, but I can grab and drag. When the sled is full, with bales stacked on top of bales, we drive to the barn and unload.
I am getting very hot, and it feels like we have been working forever. We are going to go back to get more bales, but Mommy says first go get a drink out of the hose and get your handkerchief wet to keep you cool. I go to find the hose. The water is cold and good and from our well, which tastes lots better than the water in the fountain at school.
I am wearing my farmer girl clothes. Some of our people used to be farmers. I know that because we studied about occupations in school. So I asked Daddy about our people and their occupations, because the teacher said to.
Daddy said, “Occupations? That’s a big word for a first grader.”
And I said, “That’s why I’m in school, to learn big words!” And he couldn’t argue with that.
I asked Daddy if any of my grandparents or great grandparents were firemen or anything exciting. He looked at Mommy and they both shook their heads. Mommy and Daddy are teachers, and Gramps is a carpenter. We are all kind of boring, except for Uncle Ozzie and Uncle Jim.
Daddy said, “My grandfather was a blacksmith. The rest of the family were farmers.” Then he looked at Mommy. “Your great-grandfather was a police officer, wasn’t he, dear?”
Mommy nodded. Then I heard her say, really soft like she was talking to herself, “A police officer, and a drinker.”
I looked in the library at school for books about farmers or blacksmiths or drunk policemen, and I found a book called, “Farmer Boy.” In chapter one they slaughter a pig. That means kill it and cut it up. We won’t do that, but I could still pretend to be a farmer girl today. I’m not sure exactly what a farmer girl would wear. I asked Mommy, but she said just play it by ear. That means, imagine what to wear and then find something like that in your dresser.
On the bottom I have blue jeans. It is my first pair of blue jeans, and I wear them almost every day. On the top I have a short sleeved shirt. This morning on my head I had a straw hat, but I took that off because my head got hot, plus the straw poked me. And also I have this handkerchief. It was around my neck, but it keeps falling off. I get it wet with the hose and then wring it out so it isn’t all drippy.
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| Gramps driving tractor. Nancy riding sled full of hay bales. |
We are going back out to the field. I am riding on the sled. I am singing to myself a new song that my friend Cheryl taught me. She lives across the street. I’m trying to remember all the words, but I can only remember part of the chorus. It goes kind of like, “La-la lah lah lah, now I’m a believer.”
The singers of this song are four boys on TV who are called Monkees, and they are very funny. I tried to watch them last week, but Daddy said, “Oh dear, is that Rock and Roll?” And I shrugged my shoulders because I didn’t know, and he said, “Rock and Roll is filthy. The origins of the phrase have to do with sexual ---“
And Mommy stopped him and said, “Oh, Bill, she doesn’t even know what that is!” And then I thought maybe I could still watch TV, but then she said to me, “Nancy, change channels. That’s junkie music.” So I had to switch to the Gomer Pyle show, because that’s all that was on, even though Daddy doesn’t really like that show either. Mr. Pyle says “Golly” a lot, and that is a substitute swear word. But Mommy lets me watch it, because Mr. Pyle also has a pretty singing voice.
Mommy and Daddy know a lot about the origins of words because of being teachers. I think if I’m going to learn the Monkees song, I’ll have to do it by listening to my clock radio at night before I go to sleep. I will turn it down very soft and keep it up close to my ear.
The tractor stops, and I climb off to drag in more bales. We fill up the sled and then Daddy says, “Look, this is the last bale!” I am excited, because I have been working and working and I am tired. I think I worked just as hard as Farmer Boy when his family cut up the pig.
We drive back to the barn and unload the hay. Gramps picks up the last bale and puts it on the stack in the barn. Then he reaches into his back pocket, pulls out his billfold, and takes out a dollar bill. “Come here, girl, and get your pay.”
I am flabbergasted. I don’t know the origins of that word, but I heard it on TV, and I really like it. Flabbergasted. The most money I ever got before was a quarter for washing the car. I look at Mommy, and she nods her head, and I take the dollar and say, “Thank you.”
I push the hair out of my face. I’m dirty and thirsty and so tired that my legs and arms might stop working, and also I feel really good, way down inside my bones. I am seven, going on eight, and I just earned a dollar.
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| David and Mommy. |
