Tender Childhood Memories of an Olde Farte

This series is a collection of memories from my childhood growing up on a farm in Iowa. I hope they bring a smile as we reminisce together those days gone but not forgotten. Except for those with Alzheimer’s. Now where did I leave my keys?

Episode 2. Ol’ Doc Patterson, Dad’s ’55 Buick, and Facebook… in the 60’s?

In our last episode we learned about Uptown/Downtown and Intatown terminology, how to check for rotten eggs and the best chicken soup ever.

As you may remember, I grew up on a farm outside of the small, inviting town of Mediapolis in Iowa, complete with tree-lined streets and a town drunk. The town, not the farm. The farm was 100 acres of perfectly flat, prime farmland. The rich, black soil was 3 feet deep, making the area some of the most fertile land in the world. It also made it quite messy when it rained.

This was the farm my mom grew up on, and we were lucky to have such good farmland to sustain us. I have fond memories of plowing, discing and harrowing that rich black soil. The musty sweet smell of the fresh earth tantalizing my olfactory senses. The Redwing Blackbirds feasting on worms that had been turned up from underground. But that came later when I learned to drive the tractor; when I was 10. Maybe 12.

In spite of the hard work and the smell and not having any friends and the dust from the gravel road and the smell (did I mention the smell?), the farm was a great place to grow up. In the spring Dad would plow and prep the land for planting. We always grew corn, oats and alfalfa. The corn provided grain that was ground and mixed with other nutrients at the grain elevator for use as feed for the pigs and the cows. The oats provided feed for the cows as well as straw for bedding. And the alfalfa gave us hay used for feed for the cows.

The cows ate a lot, now that I think of it. Pretty much non-stop, as they grazed in between the 3 square meals we served them every day. You know, combined with the cow story in Episode One and the constant eating mentioned in this episode, I have no idea why we even had cows. There’s no way a little milk and cream paid for their room and board. And the never-ending milking twice a day? What the hell was Dad thinking!? ….. Moving on…

I loved the spring when the soil was turned with the plow, exposing soft, black earth to be worked into a fine seedbed for planting. It was magical to watch a field, brown and desolate from a long winter, turn black within a few days. Then a few weeks after planting, a green carpet would begin to appear as the seedlings sprouted. And weeds. Lots of weeds. We should have just raised weeds. It would have been easier.

The summer was a time for cultivating the crops (removing weeds) and tending to the livestock. Those damned cows again. It was also my favorite time because I was out of school for 3 months, which left me endless hours to explore and play and spend all my time with my best friend Abbey (my Collie).

Main Street in town was just 1 ½ blocks long, yet still had many of the amenities needed for day-to-day life. There was the Mediapolis Bank & Trust, a grocery store & butcher shop, 2 beauty shops and a barber shop, and a Gambles store. There was even an apothecary with a soda fountain counter, though I never recall actually having a soda in there. Upon reflection I think maybe it was run by the town drunk. Hey, everybody has to have a hobby.

There were 2 doctors in town. One MD and an OD. The MD was our family doctor. The other, Ol’ Doc Patterson, was an OD. He was about 6’4, and had been old for many, many decades. He was my Scout Leader when I was a teen, and he stitched up my knee once when I fell on gravel and it was a Saturday and no one else was home and I was only 12 and I had to drive the manual transmission truck ‘Uptown’ myself and back home again and it really hurt when I used the clutch because it was my left knee. But that really has nothing to do with the story. Sorry. ….. He was very, very, very old.

There were 3 full-service gas stations, when that meant Full Service. Gas, air, windshields cleaned, oil checked, oil changed, new wiper blades, belts adjusted and changed, new batteries, new tires, tire repair & balancing, water pumps, starters, shocks, bulbs, maps, atlases, fuses, free coffee, candy bars, pop, brakes, filters, tractor & wagon tires, those little smelly things that hang from the rear-view mirror… All in a 2-bay station with a showroom and a bathroom. It was also the hangout for the farmers that weren’t in the field… drinking the free coffee. And the owner still had time to run out when the bell rang to fill your tank with a smile. I think it was a smile. Maybe it was only a grin. Or a grimace, thinking of all that free coffee they were drinking.

At that time, Dad had a 1955 4-door Buick Special. It was a 2-tone sort of pale & deep green as I recall. A ‘Three-hole Buick’, in Buick terms, with dual chrome bullets on the grill and sweeping lines. It seemed to me that it was cavernous inside, with 2 bench seats and room for, what I figured was about 16 adults and all their kin. My dad referred to the trunk as a 4-body trunk, insinuating that it was so big you could stack 4 bodies in it. I always thought that was hilarious. I’m pretty sure that warrant has expired by now.

It was a big, heavy car, but it was fast, and I loved it when dad would pass on the highway. He’d yell, “Hold on!”, and then he’d ‘Punch it’. I would be thrust into the back of the seat from the power of that big V-8 engine. Then he’d ask, “You still with us back there?” I’d be laughing and shout, “Do it again, dad!”. …Mom was not amused…

It was a tradition, of sorts, for Mom, Dad & me to ‘go intatown’ nearly every Friday night. This weekly sojourn was primarily for the purpose of stocking up on groceries, buying clothes and shoes, buying things we couldn’t find ‘uptown’, and maybe even splurging on a dinner out for the family. This was Dinner, as in sit down and be served. There were no fast-food restaurants yet. Going out for dinner was a real treat.

On those Friday nights we’d jump into the Buick and head down the highway to the big city. Much to Mom’s disapproval, I liked to climb into the huge back window shelf, and I’d stick my face against the window and make faces at the cars behind us. Sometimes, the drivers and passengers would wave and make faces back. Except for their kids, of course, who were in the back window making faces at the cars behind them. I guess this was kind of like “The Facebook of the 60’s!”

There were many things that I remember about these trips downtown. The storefront windows sparkling with lights, the people crowded along the streets, the traffic lights (Mediapolis didn’t have any traffic lights, just a flashing red light at the 4-way stop), the restaurants, the car dealership with the gleaming new cars, Sears, Western Auto. So many wonders for a young boy to marvel at.

But, these are stories for another time.

Next time on Tender Childhood Memories of an Olde Farte.

Episode 3. Tenderloin Sandwiches, The Flintstones, and Where the Hell is my Car Door?