Back to Main Page     THE WINDMILL'S MESSAGE Dad, you didn't tell me What the silent signal meant, I knew not the fear within you Or the fragile health of Mom; A life within her forming Could threaten to be lost, But an open turning windmill Would bring you dashing home. The day was dry and windy, A fresh cold drink would taste so good; I lift the wooden handle- I turn the windmill on- It spins and whirs and sings In its own mysterious way, A sentinel of life and hope On a Dakota country hill. Dad sees the windmill turning, His heart leaps to his throat! The team unhitched- He rides one horse, the other by his side. Dick and Dolly gallop home Unaware of why the rush, Just faithful to a kind and loving master Who has always been their friend. Why is Dad hurrying home- What happened in the field? "Is Mom okay?" "Who turned the windmill on?" I did, I turned the windmill on. I'm sorry. I didn't know- The message it relayed, The fear that it would bring. No punishment was given, Just a silent prayer of thanks; That Mom was well And a daughter was forgiven. Life went on as usual On our quiet simple farm, But the windmill lives on forever As a beacon in the night. Its majesty is awesome As it towers above all; Providing life, providing hope, For the living and the land. As the wind so turns the windmill So the Spirit guides our lives; As it flows and blows and whispers, Gently leading followers home. © copyright Darlene (Stadsklev) Cox. All Rights Reserved. CHRISTMAS ON THE FARM Christmas time is coming fast, My heart is filled with joy- Oh, the great anticipation, Oh, the wonder of it all; A simple Christmas on the farm! A time of celebration, A time of family fun; The house to clean- The baking done- The waiting has begun. Oh, the pretty dresses Mother sewed for us four girls; Colored ribbons, Lace and sashes, Thrill us with delight. My sisters-LaVonne, Ellen and Beverly, We share the household tasks; Sometimes friction, Mostly harmony, As we plan and sing and work together. All the house is cleaned and dusted, Wooden floors are swept with pride; linoleum scrubbed- With wax it glows- What a gorgeous home we have! The lefse has been made, Fried on the iron cook stove; Mom mixed and rolled- Dad tossed and turned- The golden, tasty Norwegian bread. Dad brings home a Christmas tree, A small one, bought in town; How festive, how exciting- How Christmasy it smells- What fun-the tree to trim. Colored streamers made of paper, Fluffy popcorn on a string, Candles of wax- Just clip them on- What a simply splendid sight! The presents have been wrapped, Maybe one or two for each; Bought with care- Homemade with love- His greatest gift to know. Christmas Eve arrives, The chores have all been done; The cows are milked, Pigs and chickens fed, All is peaceful on the farm. Our home is warm and happy, Sweet aromas fill the air; Lutefisk and lefse, Mashed potatoes too, A feast fit for a king. We gather 'round the kitchen table And pray a prayer of thanks: "God is great, God is good, Give us Lord our daily bread." Supper finished-the dishes must be done; Us girls, we take our turns- "Wash, wipe, Pile up and put the food away." It's easy when it's fun. We sing some Christmas carols Or maybe say a poem; Excitement swells, Hearts dance with joy, Remember whose birth we celebrate. Just once we light the candles, Colored candles on the tree; Flaming bright- Dancing lights- Oh please, be very careful! The time has come to open gifts, Let each one take a turn; The presents small, They mean so much, God's blessings so abundant. Oh good, mine is a doll- A beautiful blue-eyed doll! With curly hair And eyes that shut, I'll love her forever and always. Big sister she will be To my little family- Esther, Betty and Lois, My lovely, pretty dolls; A mother someday I'd like to be. The paper dolls are also fun, Shirley Temple is my favorite; The color book With pictures grand, Gives hours of childhood pleasure. Christmas Eve is over, It's time to say "good-night"; The lamp is lit, We climb the stairs, And say our bedtime prayers. Lord, thank you for my Christmas, A quiet Christmas on the farm; Bless my family, Bless our home, Sheltered in your love forever. © copyright the author. All Rights Reserved. DAILY TOILS OF FARM LIFE I loved my childhood on the farm, A quiet simple way of life; We took our turns, All helped with tasks To make our days more pleasant. Dad worked so hard with chores and fieldwork; Mom never had an idle day- Plowing, planting, harvesting, Cooking, laundry, gardening Were tasks they seemed to love. We four sisters always did our share To help around the farm; Dishes, laundry, ironing, cleaning, Field work and outdoor chores Were done with little or no complaining. I liked to help with work outside, See the beauty of nature around me; Horses, cattle, sheep and pigs, Chickens, geese and turkeys too; Needed care, food, drink and watching every day. When old enough I helped milk cows, Early morning and again each evening; Hot summertime-flies were bad, Tears flowed down my cheeks When dirty tails swished me in the eye. After milking we took turns on the separator, Round and round we turned the handle; The warm milk spinning- Out came cream, out came milk, And what a job to wash and clean all those separator pieces! About once a month our own butter we made, Poured thick cream in the little wooden churn; Round went the paddle, As we turned and turned Until it thickened to soft golden butter. Our pets consisted of several cats and a loving faithful dog, They always stayed outside or in the barn; Cats to keep the mice away- A dog to guard the home- Always on duty to help herd and control the sheep or cattle. Monday was our laundry day, Pretty dresses starched and ironed on Tuesday, Wednesday eve-to town to shop, watch people, or walk, Thursday P.M.-Ladies Aid in neighbor's homes (once a month); We cleaned and baked and sometimes shopped on Saturday. Sunday was always set aside for rest and worship, Meat and potatoes cooked while we attended church & Sunday School; The ten mile ride each way was long, But we seldom missed services, And often visited family or friends in the afternoon. The big copper boiler of soft water from the cistern Was heated for washing clothes on laundry day; Each pail-pumped, carried, poured, Homemade soap of lye & lard-sliced so thin, Soft cleansing suds warmed on the kitchen cook stove. Now to get the gas-powered Maytag running, Over and over we stomped on the foot pedal starter; It spluttered and choked, It started and stopped; But finally chugged merrily along. Whites always got the clean hot water, Then colored, dark overalls and rugs; Through wringers into rinse- Through wringers into basket- To be lined up single file on the yard clothesline. What a joy to hang clothes in the soft summer breezes, But winter was a different story; Hands painfully cold, noses red, Clothing freezing on the line, Underwear and overalls standing in a row! On rainy, stormy days our house became the dryer, Lines were strung from door to door wherever space provided; The living room a jungle, A walkway hard to find, As we dodged damp towels, sheets and underwear. Gardening was quite a chore, The soil hard and rocky; Mom never gave up As she hoed and pulled weeds, Praying for a harvest to feed her family. How we girls loved the fresh green peas And picked them by the apron-full; Canned carrots, beans and corn Lined shelves in Mason jars, Potatoes stored in the cellar until Spring. Dad needed help in the fields at times, If easy, one of us girls did the task; The sun often hot- The hours sometimes long- But no protesting do I ever recall. The hay is ready to be stacked- One stacks, one bucks, one rides the stacker horse, As the horse pulls forward The load of hay goes up and dumps, So we girls ride forward and back for each bucker of hay. Our new Farmall tractor pulls the binder As golden sheaves of grain are cut and tied; The bundle carrier fills- My job to release and dump it In semi-perfect rows along the stubble hillsides. Sometimes the fields were rough and rocky, And sunflower weeds would plug the gears; But I hung on tightly To the metal binder seat, With hours to think and dream and pray. What a busy exciting time when the threshers came, Bundle wagons and teams, threshing machine and crew- Bundle haulers, spike pitchers, bosses and helpers, All scurried to do their jobs As the valuable grain was separated from the chaff. The women in the house never had an idle moment either, With meals to prepare for all the busy workers; Baking, cooking, serving and cleaning up- So many hungry mouths to feed- Made loving labor for all in this final phase of harvest. A few years grasshoppers came in dark swarms, Fields and roads were covered with the hungry flying insects; Large hail, strong rain storms, Twisting winds of roaring tornadoes, Often destroyed a beautful crop just ripe for reaping time. A farmer learns to trust in God, It all depends on Him- Rain or shine or wind, Hail, disease or drought, Can make or break a year of loving toil. Farming was an endless job from morning until night, And Dad was ever faithful to his call; Depressing years-drought of the '30s, Bumper crops-good years of the '40s, God always provided and blessed. "Behold, the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth, being patient over it until it receives the early and the late rain." James 5:7 © copyright the author. All Rights Reserved.