By Joann M. Ringelstetter
It’s the middle of summer and there are many fairs and community festivals going on all over the state of Wisconsin. A week ago marked the end of the Dane County fair and this coming week marks the start of the Wisconsin State Fair. All of these fairs make me think of carnival rides and the do-it-yourself ride we created for ourselves on the farm when we were kids.
I’m sure most of you are wondering what this contraption is, but if you grew up on a farm and you’re a baby boomer like me, you might just know what it is. In the days before automated barn cleaners, farmers used these to remove the manure from the barn.
They were called manure carriers or litter carriers and there were a number of different styles and manufacturers. The one pictured below was made by the Louden Manufacturing Company of Fairfield, Iowa and this photo was taken at a barn in Boone County, Iowa.
During my Internet search, I located the patent application for the Louden manure carrier, which was submitted in 1904 by inventor David B. Cherry of Knoxville, Iowa. The patent was granted in 1905 and it was an improvement over the design Mr. Cherry patented in 1897. This new design allowed for the carrier to be raised and lowered for more easily filling it and emptying it.
Notice the overhead trolley system and the two trolley wheels, which support the hopper box. The farmer would lower the manure carrier to the floor of the barn and then shovel manure from the gutters into the hopper box. Then the carrier was raised back up and pushed out of the barn onto an outside track or cable, which extended out into the barnyard.
Once outside, the hopper box could be tripped to dump the load of manure, either into a manure spreader or onto a pile. Eight years ago, Ruth and I discovered a rusty old manure carrier sitting on a track outside a barn in Crawford County, Wisconsin. It was sitting upside down in the dumping position and it was the first time we had seen a manure carrier since we were kids.
Rather than a track like this one, our manure carrier had a long cable that ran from the barn to a pole beyond the barnyard. At a certain point on the cable, there was a triplock that caught a lever on the carrier causing the hopper to flip over and dump its contents. Since that discovery, we have seen more of these carriers in barns in Iowa.
By now, you’re either wondering what all this has to do with carnival rides or you’ve realized how this hopper bucket could be used for something other than its intended purpose. One day when our dad was away from the farm, my brother Dave, my sister Phyllis, and I decided that the hopper box flying along the cable might make for a fun ride.
We lowered the hopper to the ground and Phyllis and I got inside. Oh, I should have warned those of you who are faint of heart…not because of the danger, but because of the thought of getting inside a big bucket that was used to haul….well, you get the picture.
Dave then raised the carrier back up, put his hands on the back of the carrier, and gave it the biggest push he could muster. The carrier went flying over the barnyard along the cable, which rose higher the closer it got to the pole beyond the barnyard. There we were, flying and laughing, just like the thrill of a carnival ride…until it hit the triplock and stopped in mid-air.
Fortunately for us, the hopper box didn’t dump. What were we thinking?! Unfortunately for us, the carrier was stuck and we couldn’t get it free so that it would travel back to the barn. So there we sat, gingerly trying to get the carrier unstuck, but trying not to cause it to sway back and forth. Below us was a stone pit where Dad dumped stones that were unearthed during field work, along with manure he didn’t need for the fields. I repeat, “What were we thinking?!!”
At this point, you’re probably wondering how we got ourselves out of this incredible predicament. The funny thing is, we’re wondering the same thing. The only thing we do remember is that Mom eventually discovered our failed “high wire act” and came running from the house. We also remember her threat of punishment when Dad got home, but we don’t remember how we got down or how we were punished (which is just as well).
One final word: Don’t try this at home!
Happy Shunpiking!
Joann
Shunpiking To Heaven Backroads Blog
Showing posts with label farm equipment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label farm equipment. Show all posts
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Sunday, August 30, 2009
From One Generation to the Next
By Joann M. Ringelstetter
In early August, we posted a blog entry about tobacco growing in Wisconsin. Last weekend, we returned to tobacco country (around Edgerton and Stoughton) to photograph the harvest. Most of the tobacco barns had their side vents opened up and some of them were full of drying tobacco, while others were awaiting the hanging of the tobacco.
Along the way, we discovered an antique tobacco setter and stopped to ask the owner, Sandra, about it. She was very gracious and gave us a detailed explanation of how the setter worked. There was a water tank with a seat on top of it. This is where the driver of the horse team sat. Later, the setter was converted to be pulled by a tractor. Then the seat on the top of the water tank was used by kids who wanted to ride along. On the back, very low to the ground, were two seats for the tobacco planters. Sandra said she sat on the left and planted with her right hand and her mother sat on the right and planted with her left hand.
As I talked with her, a car pulled in and her daughter got out and joined us. Sandra explained that I was inquiring about the tobacco setter. “Did you work in the tobacco field too?” I asked. “Oh, yes,” she said, “I remember planting tobacco with that setter. Mom sat on one side and I sat on the other.”
In our blog post entitled “August Meanderings,” we mentioned our visit to the Cooksville General Store. Sandra told us that they used to buy tobacco seed that had been sprouted in wool socks at the Cooksville Store. She also showed us a very old and worn ax that was used to chop the tobacco plants off at ground level and several hand-made spears. The spears were placed over the end of the lath board and then 5 tobacco plants were speared onto the lath, which was later hung in the tobacco barn for curing.
Shortly after our visit with Sandra, we discovered a tobacco harvest in progress and another gracious owner, Dan, allowed me to photograph the process. He told me that it was very hard work and that he was only doing it because it was “in his blood.” Dan grew up raising tobacco and now continues the family tradition. He stressed to me that tobacco growing and harvesting hasn’t really changed in all these years. It’s still a very manual process, but today he hires a lot more help for the harvest than his family had when he was growing up.
As we mentioned in our previous Tobacco Time post, although we do not in any way advocate tobacco smoking or chewing, tobacco growing is a significant part of Wisconsin’s agricultural history. Therefore, we honor and respect the tobacco growers who toiled long hours in the tobacco fields to support their families.
Happy Shunpiking!
Joann
In early August, we posted a blog entry about tobacco growing in Wisconsin. Last weekend, we returned to tobacco country (around Edgerton and Stoughton) to photograph the harvest. Most of the tobacco barns had their side vents opened up and some of them were full of drying tobacco, while others were awaiting the hanging of the tobacco.
Along the way, we discovered an antique tobacco setter and stopped to ask the owner, Sandra, about it. She was very gracious and gave us a detailed explanation of how the setter worked. There was a water tank with a seat on top of it. This is where the driver of the horse team sat. Later, the setter was converted to be pulled by a tractor. Then the seat on the top of the water tank was used by kids who wanted to ride along. On the back, very low to the ground, were two seats for the tobacco planters. Sandra said she sat on the left and planted with her right hand and her mother sat on the right and planted with her left hand.
As I talked with her, a car pulled in and her daughter got out and joined us. Sandra explained that I was inquiring about the tobacco setter. “Did you work in the tobacco field too?” I asked. “Oh, yes,” she said, “I remember planting tobacco with that setter. Mom sat on one side and I sat on the other.”
In our blog post entitled “August Meanderings,” we mentioned our visit to the Cooksville General Store. Sandra told us that they used to buy tobacco seed that had been sprouted in wool socks at the Cooksville Store. She also showed us a very old and worn ax that was used to chop the tobacco plants off at ground level and several hand-made spears. The spears were placed over the end of the lath board and then 5 tobacco plants were speared onto the lath, which was later hung in the tobacco barn for curing.
Shortly after our visit with Sandra, we discovered a tobacco harvest in progress and another gracious owner, Dan, allowed me to photograph the process. He told me that it was very hard work and that he was only doing it because it was “in his blood.” Dan grew up raising tobacco and now continues the family tradition. He stressed to me that tobacco growing and harvesting hasn’t really changed in all these years. It’s still a very manual process, but today he hires a lot more help for the harvest than his family had when he was growing up.
As we mentioned in our previous Tobacco Time post, although we do not in any way advocate tobacco smoking or chewing, tobacco growing is a significant part of Wisconsin’s agricultural history. Therefore, we honor and respect the tobacco growers who toiled long hours in the tobacco fields to support their families.
Happy Shunpiking!
Joann
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Summer Memories
By Joann M. Ringelstetter
Several times every summer, on our travels along the rural backroads, we are treated to the smell of fresh-cut hay. And this always takes us back to our childhood and baling hay on our dairy farm.
When we were young, we had a baler that produced rectangular bales that were stacked by hand on a flat rack hay wagon. It was hot, dusty, and noisy. One of us kids would drive the tractor and Dad would stand on the wagon and stack the bales as they came out of the baler. The noise from the tractor engine and the thrashing of the baler would drown out Dad’s voice (much to his frustration as he tried to holler out instructions to the one driving the tractor).
I began driving the John Deere tractor with the baler and flat rack behind it when I was in third grade. I remember not being tall enough to push the clutch in without standing up. I also remember wishing that my third grade teacher, Mrs. Wipperfurth, would drive by on the highway and see how grown up I was.
When we were in middle school, we moved to a much bigger dairy farm and Dad bought a throw baler like the one pictured here. This eliminated the need for more than one person in the field. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean we got off easy. It meant we were back at the barn trying to unload heavier bales that had been jammed into the wagon by the force of the throw baler.
Today’s balers produce a much bigger bale. Some are rectangular and some are round and they must be transported by machines because they are too big and heavy for a person to lift. Years ago, a friend of mine told me that she loved seeing the fields full of big round hay bales. She also told me she was pretty sure that they changed places by rolling around in the middle of the night. Who knows, maybe she’s right.
Happy Shunpiking!
Joann
Several times every summer, on our travels along the rural backroads, we are treated to the smell of fresh-cut hay. And this always takes us back to our childhood and baling hay on our dairy farm.
When we were young, we had a baler that produced rectangular bales that were stacked by hand on a flat rack hay wagon. It was hot, dusty, and noisy. One of us kids would drive the tractor and Dad would stand on the wagon and stack the bales as they came out of the baler. The noise from the tractor engine and the thrashing of the baler would drown out Dad’s voice (much to his frustration as he tried to holler out instructions to the one driving the tractor).
I began driving the John Deere tractor with the baler and flat rack behind it when I was in third grade. I remember not being tall enough to push the clutch in without standing up. I also remember wishing that my third grade teacher, Mrs. Wipperfurth, would drive by on the highway and see how grown up I was.
When we were in middle school, we moved to a much bigger dairy farm and Dad bought a throw baler like the one pictured here. This eliminated the need for more than one person in the field. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean we got off easy. It meant we were back at the barn trying to unload heavier bales that had been jammed into the wagon by the force of the throw baler.
Today’s balers produce a much bigger bale. Some are rectangular and some are round and they must be transported by machines because they are too big and heavy for a person to lift. Years ago, a friend of mine told me that she loved seeing the fields full of big round hay bales. She also told me she was pretty sure that they changed places by rolling around in the middle of the night. Who knows, maybe she’s right.
Happy Shunpiking!
Joann
Sunday, July 19, 2009
The Simple Ways of the Amish
by Joann M. Ringelstetter
The unseasonably cool weather of the past few days reminds me that my favorite time of year, autumn, is just around the corner. Last year, on the last Sunday of September, Ruth and I spent the day photographing in Vernon County, Wisconsin. Our favorite part of Vernon County is the Amish area, which we love to visit every year, especially in the fall.
As I stood on the gravel road in the waning daylight photographing an old red school house, I heard the clip-clop of horses’ hooves in the distance. As the Amish horse and buggy approached, it slowed to a stop and the young Amish man said, “Good evening.” The two young girls, one on each side of him, nodded and smiled. I have always found the Amish to be very polite, and often a bit shy, but very enjoyable to talk with. We conversed for a few minutes and then with a “Giddy up!” they continued down the road.
There are lots of “signs” to tell you when you’ve entered an Amish area. The easiest ones are the yellow signs displaying a silhouette of an Amish horse and buggy, the buggy tracks on the road (both gravel and pavement), and, of course, the tell-tale horse apples along the road.
Also look for hand-painted signs offering things like quilts, furniture, harnesses, baked goods, candy, honey, vegetables, and night crawlers. The give-away on these signs is “No Sunday Sales,” because the Amish are firm in their opposition to doing business on the Lord’s Day.
Finally look for farms with old fashioned windmills and no electric wires, pastures filled with draft horses, and horse-drawn farm machinery, like the red corn binder in this photo.
The corn binder is used to cut corn stalks near the ground, which are then hand-gathered by the hundreds, stacked vertically into a tepee-shaped structure, and bound into shocks that are maybe five or six feet in diameter at the base. This allows the corn to dry in the fields while the farm family tends to more pressing needs, such as cutting wood for the long winter or planting winter wheat. It also allows the shucking to be postponed until the less busy winter days.
When you decide to go shunpiking on the backroads of Amish country, remember these things: Drive slowly and watch for buggies on the road, be mindful of “No Sunday Sales,” and respect the fact that the Amish do not want their picture taken if their face is visible.
Happy Shunpiking!
Joann
The unseasonably cool weather of the past few days reminds me that my favorite time of year, autumn, is just around the corner. Last year, on the last Sunday of September, Ruth and I spent the day photographing in Vernon County, Wisconsin. Our favorite part of Vernon County is the Amish area, which we love to visit every year, especially in the fall.
As I stood on the gravel road in the waning daylight photographing an old red school house, I heard the clip-clop of horses’ hooves in the distance. As the Amish horse and buggy approached, it slowed to a stop and the young Amish man said, “Good evening.” The two young girls, one on each side of him, nodded and smiled. I have always found the Amish to be very polite, and often a bit shy, but very enjoyable to talk with. We conversed for a few minutes and then with a “Giddy up!” they continued down the road.
There are lots of “signs” to tell you when you’ve entered an Amish area. The easiest ones are the yellow signs displaying a silhouette of an Amish horse and buggy, the buggy tracks on the road (both gravel and pavement), and, of course, the tell-tale horse apples along the road.
Also look for hand-painted signs offering things like quilts, furniture, harnesses, baked goods, candy, honey, vegetables, and night crawlers. The give-away on these signs is “No Sunday Sales,” because the Amish are firm in their opposition to doing business on the Lord’s Day.
Finally look for farms with old fashioned windmills and no electric wires, pastures filled with draft horses, and horse-drawn farm machinery, like the red corn binder in this photo.
The corn binder is used to cut corn stalks near the ground, which are then hand-gathered by the hundreds, stacked vertically into a tepee-shaped structure, and bound into shocks that are maybe five or six feet in diameter at the base. This allows the corn to dry in the fields while the farm family tends to more pressing needs, such as cutting wood for the long winter or planting winter wheat. It also allows the shucking to be postponed until the less busy winter days.
When you decide to go shunpiking on the backroads of Amish country, remember these things: Drive slowly and watch for buggies on the road, be mindful of “No Sunday Sales,” and respect the fact that the Amish do not want their picture taken if their face is visible.
Happy Shunpiking!
Joann
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