A series of cautionary tales

In the interest of preserving oral tradition and coming to a better understanding of the things that have shaped and molded my psyche… ahem. Or just why I’ve turned out generally weird… I present to you a sampling of family lore and series of cautionary tales.  Also why I will never ever EVER let my kids play in the ‘corny bin’ at those pumpkin patch places.  Somethings are just ingrained and you Do. Not. Play. In. Grain. Piles. 

I suppose I should warn you that this is not the lightest fluffiest reading….  Hehe.

We didn’t farm with horses (obviously) but my Grandpa did. Sometimes when they were babysitting they would tell us stories about when they were kids.  I remember Grandpa telling us about the horses in the barn and how you should never walk up behind a horse you don’t know and who doesn’t know you, because horses can kick. One time when he was a toddler he was out in the barnyard with his Dad and Great Grandpa Ed looked up just in time to see him heading into the barn where the horses were in their stalls.  One of the horses was skittish and had a tendency to kick when he was startled and Grandpa Carl was standing right behind him.  Great Grandpa Ed had to get his attention quietly, so he pulled out his pocket watch and dangled it in the sunshine, enticing enough to get a toddler to quietly come out of the barn to safety.   Now imagine how nerve wracking going through the horse barns with old school stalls at the state fair was for me…

When we were kids, we were never allowed to play in the grain bins; no matter how full they were.  I don’t remember playing in the back of grain trucks in the field much either. Piles of grain can be very dangerous; the grain can crust over and collapse under you, trapping you like quicksand and suffocating you.  Grandma and Pearline told us a story about their younger brother who was playing in the corn crib and got trapped in the corn.  They pulled him out and he survived but he coughed corn afterwards… (“Dad was working on him and the women were all standing around crying…”)  Do not play in piles of grain. Ever.

We were always supposed to stay in sight of whoever was driving tractors and combines and make sure they could see us.  I’m not sure if I really understood until I was driving, but there are lots of blind spots.  And lots of nooks and crannies to keep out of and off of.  When my Grandpa was a boy, they were just starting to use mechanical combines and he often told us the story of his little brother Roy’s narrow escape.  He was helping a neighbor harvest; there was a narrow space inside the combine that would fill up with chaff that needed to be cleaned out periodically- so they got the little boy to do it.  One time they were just about to start it up again when someone looked around and said, ‘where’s the kid?’  He was still inside the machine.  Stay in sight. Count heads. 

That also extended to the lawn mower- we were to stay in sight or far away.  My mom knew a girl who was playing under a bush while her Dad was mowing and he mowed over her leg.  I don’t want the girls outside when I’m mowing- screen time is a decent trade for knowing they are inside and away from the blade.

I grew up with a healthy fear of lightning.  Grandpa talked about being out in the field on a steel wheeled tractor when a thunderstorm came up suddenly.  He made it home safely; a neighbor boy was struck by lightning and killed.

Tornados are scary whether you are upstairs or downstairs, but when you’re on the stairway in between… oh boy… I hustle.  When Grandpa was young there was a neighbor girl who was halfway down the cellar steps when tornado hit the house.  The house cut her in half.  …. And I think of that story every time I’m heading to the basement while the sirens are going off…

Stay far away from Sows with piglets because sows can be mean.  I don’t remember ever being too eager to go into pig pens because they are really big animals. Also, they aren’t exactly cuddly and they generally smell.  Baby pigs are pretty cute though, so we would spend plenty of time in the farrowing rooms where the sows were safely in crates.  Grandpa used to keep sows and piglets in small farrowing huts outside- Uncle Fred crawled in with the piglets once and Grove (the next door neighbor) saw him go in and got him out.  They were worried that he would pick up a piglet and it would squeal and the sow would tear him up…   (I mean, you all tell your kids and Grandkids these kinds of stories, right??) 

Once the corn grew taller than our heads, we weren’t supposed to play in the corn rows. I’m sure they didn’t want us breaking corn stalks, but also “Kids have been lost in cornfields for hours!” It is pretty disorienting when it’s tall, but we also all knew how to find our way out of a cornfield: follow one row to the very end and then start walking around the outside. 

You know how it’s fun to talk into a fan and it makes your voice sound funny? Guess who is nervous around fans.  Not just the obvious sticking your finger in the fan and regretting it. Once upon the 1970’s when long straight hair was the thing and school bus drivers had fans mounted right by the bus steps, my mom’s hair got sucked into a bus fan.  And they had to cut it to free her.  And I keep my hair far away from fans of any sort. 

I distinctly remember walking around the farm with my Dad and putting warning stickers near the PTO shafts and augers. Imagine large graphics of hook hands and THINK! In big bold letters.  I’ve known several people since then who have had PTO/Auger accidents.  It’s not pretty. The stickers are very faded now, but they’re still around the farm. 

Dad always told us to never stand under hydraulic lifts- they could fail and you could be crushed.  I remember when he and Grandpa would be working on the dump trucks, they would always have it braced just in case.  In college I ignored this rule and got a loader bucket full of water dumped on my head in return… moral of that story: always listen to your dad and never stand under hydraulic lifts. 

 

Jewelry is dangerous. I’ve never really been a girly girl or had much desire to wear jewelry or rings, and then I chose a career where it’s dangerous to wear jewelry in the lab (or loose hair, loose clothes, no bare legs, no sandals, etc…. ).  But I think the thing that most turns me off to the idea of jewelry is the stories of horrific accidents they told us.   Dad was in Sunday school with a girl who was on a hayrack ride.  When she jumped off, her ring caught on a nail and the ring and parts of the finger stayed on the hayrack while the rest of her body kept going down.  And the man who was working on the roof, slipped and his ring caught on the gutter on the way down….  Convictions aside, there is no way you will convince me that my finger won’t get torn off if I wear a ring. 

Never ever go down in a manure pit.  I remember watching Grandpa working on hog waters in the hog house and dropping a wrench down through the slats into the pit and him fishing for it with a magnet on a wire.  No matter how well-ventilated pits are, noxious gases will build up and can knock you out and kill you within minutes.  They told stories of men who went in pits and were overcome and then their would-be rescuers also succumbed…  somehow, it was okay to send Jake into the septic tank though.  :P 

I have a very healthy fear of power tools and am very fond of the all of the safety features.  When I was in middle school, Uncle Fred ran his hand through a table saw.  Yeah.  I’m glad we weren’t home at the time; I’m not very squeamish in general but I think that might have been too much for me.  Always use the safety guards! 

Mom and Dad would always be annoyed when we would wrap anything around our necks.  In my observation kids/humans tend to think that this or that awful thing will never happen to them so what’s the big deal…  Well, when Aunt Rita was in grade school, her classmate was playing with a rope in a closet and accidentally hung himself.  Now my girls are the ones who don’t get it when I get mad at them for tying jump ropes all over the basement…

In addition to all of the above, I’m finding myself telling my girls new horror stories.  My friends’ little brother was accidentally run over by their van- they thought he was inside the house.  He wasn’t.  It was so horribly sad and I’m extra paranoid if I am backing up and they are not all in the vehicle with me.  Just the other day they were messing with the van windows, and I heard myself saying “I knew a girl who was playing with the window buttons and the window went into her mouth and pinned her head to the ceiling and hurt her teeth really bad and they had to break the window to free her.”  Sooo…. Here’s to another generation of terrifying cautionary tales. 

Also, I had my family correct my fuzzy memories and was reminded of a few more tales that border more on the macabre than the cautionary- I will spare you. Who needs Struwwel Peter when you’ve got us??  Also how did we turn out so well adjusted and normal.  (Ha. Or perhaps… not… :P)

Blessings.