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Show This caused a great uproar when the uncut bundle hit the the cylinder, which spun with great speed and ferocity, making an awesome roar as the bundles were fed into it. This added to the great dread us kids had of the job, when Ben constantly reminded us of the time a kid band cutter accidently slipped and cut the hand of the man feeder, who promptly pitched the kid headlong into the cylinder. It shredded him to pieces and the feeder was hung from the end of the straw carrier. This story certainly promoted extra good work on the part of the kid band cutters. GOOD TIMES, TOO! There were good times, though, like when the entire threshing crew would wash up in a big tub on the lawn, then go into the house for the best meal of the year. Nothing was ever too good for the threshers. Roast beef, brown gravy, hot rolls, home-made butter, cheese, fruit and home¬made pies. Salads as such were scoffed at because they took up too much time and space from the real he-man food. Our first threshing machine had a straw carrier instead of a blower. It would dump the straw in a pile which would then have to be pulled onto the straw stack. This was done by a pole, two ropes, a cable and a tie rope. A man, standing on the pole, held onto the tie rope and pushed the straw on to the stack with his body. It was a very ugly and dirty job...the worst one on the crew. Just guess who got it most often...me. I was extremely happy when we bought a machine with a straw blower. I still shudder at the memory of barley beards, black wheat smut and oat down my raw, sweaty back. Then, too, a springtime bought straw hat always had gap¬ing holes in it by threshing time, letting the chaff and straw filter into my hair and up my nose. Ah! What memories for us kids! What fun it would be to spend just one more day a threshing in the old stack yard! That noisy, quivering monster with its oil can, belts, band knives, pitch forks, gunny sacks, a milk can of cold drinking water and a belching tractor manned by grumpy, sweaty workers is a thing of the past. No where in America can you find a like-experience. How lucky I was to have been a part of it and had the opportunity to work wity, goodly neighbors. 76 WALLACE PARRISH |
