Memories of Dad

Alfred & Alvin Sather1938

Dad – Alfred Sather – and Al Sather – 1938

Written by my brother Al Sather

I remember one winter when the snow got too deep for the cows to be outside, so they had to be kept in the barn (on the Ole Sather farm).  Dad would load up an old wooden stone boat with manure in the barn and when it  had a big pile on it, he would harness up Babe and Jessie and out the west door they would go with the manure—sometimes that old stone boat would stick to the floor and the horses would slip and fall trying to get the old boat moving—but  Dad would holler get-up and they would get up and try again.

I remember one old Plymouth car Dad had that wouldn’t start in the winter and neither would the tractor so Dad would harness up old Babe and Jessie and pull the car to start it—Dad always said that darn  old car wouldn’t start after the sun went down.  But he finally figured out the problem and he would tell anyone who had the same problem with their Plymouth how to remedy the problem. I think that is how Dad became the neighborhood fix it man.

Do you remember the old Delco light plant out in the West shed—It had 12 glass batteries about 12 or 14 inches high? That is how we had electric lights on the old (Ole Sather) farm before we got REA— (electricity)

I don’t suppose you remember the time the old sheep buck tried to sneak up on Dad when he was carrying a feed bag on his shoulder from the South shed to the barn—I don’t know how Dad knew he was going to be attacked from behind but about the time the buck was going to get Dad, he pushed the feed bag off his shoulder right onto the buck’s head–that old sheep buck took a nose dive into the ground—I think that was the last time that old buck tried to sneak up on Dad. Talk about eyes in the back of your head!

(REA is an acronym for Rural Electric Association)

The Fire of Fall

Driving out on a bright and lovely fall day re-opened my eyes and mind to the great outdoors. The trees, even whole groves, were aflame with autumn colors. When had I last actually looked at the trees? Maybe at spring budding.

Seeing the trees afire with color reminded me of a poem I wrote some years back about walking through the crackling fallen leaves, thereby aurally rekindling the visual fire.

I have no idea where that poem is, but maybe I’ll dig it up one of these days and share it with you. Meanwhile enjoy the season. Fall is the best – but always too short.