No. 123 December, 2009
Harold Ratzburg was born at the start of the Great Depression and raised on a Dairy Farm in Wisconsin. He served four years in the US Air Force in the 50's and was stationed in Germany, where he met his wife Anneliese, who helped get him through College to become a Civil Engineer. After a time as a Highway Engineer and College Instructor, he wound up as a City Engineer of a small town in New Jersey. Twenty four years later he retired to become an old geezer telling old stories on his new fangled computer.
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Christmas On The Farm
By Harold Ratzburg
I'd guess that as we all get older, the memories of long ago get more precious to us old Geezers and Geezerettes. We remember the Christmases of older, leaner times, especially as we go around nowadays and see what the kids of today haul out from under the Christmas trees. Seems like there is a "Toys R Us" store under every evergreen in the living rooms today.
Way back when, things were a little different.
The days leading up to Christmas on the farm were stressful to us kids. We were reminded everyday by my folks that Christmas was coming and Santa was watching us to make sure that we were being good.
And, we knew that he was watching us because most every year, before the holidays, he would actually show up. One of those Santa sightings that I remember very distinctly for some reason, happened when I was about 7 or 8. After milking one night, I was sitting at the kitchen table playing a game or reading, when I heard a noise at the window. Looking out the window, by gawd, there was Santa looking in!!!!!!!!! I got so scared in that moment, that I headed for the living room where the rest of the family was sitting, as fast as I could. I was slowed down however, cause one of my feet was sticking through the spokes of the back of the chair, and as I vaulted toward the door, the chair came with me, kinda locked to my foot. Nothing got broken in the rush, neither the chair or my foot, but somehow, that memory comes alive to me every Christmas. Maybe it was my fright at that moment, but when things like that happen, it sure makes a Santa believer out of you.
Later, I on, figured out somehow, that the hired man was nowhere to be seen in the house at that time, so it kinda damaged my belief in the "Santa's Watching You" story from my folks.
As the holiday got closer, and we got older, the game of my folks stashing the gifts before Christmas so's us kids couldn't find them got harder for Ma and Dad. Where can you hide a pair of skis so a snoopy kid can't find them??? They couldn't---we found them in the spare bedroom under the bed in nothing flat. (My Brother Lyle found that same pair of skis up in his attic a coupla months ago and I am gonna get them back after all these years. You see, I still don't want to throw out those old memories. I'm gonna put them up in MY attic, probably for my kids to throw out in a dumpster someday.)
Eventually, Christmas eve, ever so slowly, would come to pass. Somehow or other, Ma found an excuse that I had to go out to the barn and help with the chores that night, probably to water the horses or feed the calves or something, When we got back to the house later, Ma made sure we got all washed up, and then by Golly, the living room door opened, and low and behold, Santa Claus had been there while we were out working in the barn. How about that, but------AT LAST!!!!!!!
Most definitely, our Christmas' were not Toy R Us affairs. My parents always managed to give us at least one "good" toy, and most of the other presents were "sensible" presents like socks, or shirts, or a new pair of bib overalls---you know---stuff that we could really use but not necessarily play with. We hated that, but like I keep saying, times were tough, and my parents did what they had to do.
One of the "good" toys that I got one year, was a toy truck, made out of tin. What made that truck special was that it had real honest to gawd headlights that shone (shined???) in the dark. The lights were flashlight bulbs, and powered by flashlight batteries and that Christmas Eve, I spent a lot of time driving (pushing) that little truck around under the kitchen table in the darkened kitchen because I could see and miss all the kitchen chair legs while I drove between them. That was really something for this Kid. Sadly however, those flashlight batteries lasted about two evenings or less and I was back to daylight driving. Here comes my old song again----times were tough----and my folks couldn't afford a new set of batteries every two days. I don't believe that I ever got a second set of batteries for that toy truck.
Another Christmas got me a toy train set. It had a wind up engine with about three cars behind it, and it ran on a metal set of tracks, that when put together, the set made a circle about three feet in diameter. Not very fancy, but it was a toy train I could play with.
The next time I got to Milwaukee with my folks to visit relatives, I found that my "rich" cousin Eugene, had out scored me again at Christmas, cause he got a LIONEL electric train set. His train engine had an electric head lamp and the whole set could be controlled from a control box with buttons and a lever. That outclassed my train by a long shot.
My cousins Dad worked at a Dairy in Milwaukee, so he had a good steady income as compared to my Dad, the farmer, who was working his way out of bankruptcy when he took over the old homestead from his Dad. Here comes my song again----times were tough----and my folks did the best they could.
You have heard my story before about the Red Ryder Bee Bee gun (with the compass in the stock,) that I wanted so desperately ----where Dad kept telling me year after year----they are digging the iron for it,----but they never got enough iron dug out. So, I never did get that gun from my folks, but I never shot my eye out either.
Part of the Christmas Social Season on the farm was "visiting" where you were kinda expected to go around and visit friends, neighbors and relatives and "look at the presents." hopefully, before the Sheepshead card game started. Someone would be delegated to "show the presents" and the rest of us would have to sit and look on as every damn pair of socks, or toy, or bib overalls were shown and you got the information about who it was for and where it came from. Talk about exciting times down on the farm!!!!. My Ma usually took over that chore until I came home with my little German Frau. Then, as a special treat for my wife, my Ma would delegate that job to her. My Frau Annelie says today that she was honored at first, but after she ran through that routine five or six times a day when visitors "dropped in", the honor wore a little thin, and it became quite a bore. But she did hang in there and I gotta give her a lot of credit.
And so Folks, that is the end of my little Christmas Story. I hope you have enjoyed it and I hope your memories are as pleasant as mine.
Merry Christmas to all and to all a Good Night.
copyright 2009, Harold Ratzburg
By Harold Ratzburg
I'd guess that as we all get older, the memories of long ago get more precious to us old Geezers and Geezerettes. We remember the Christmases of older, leaner times, especially as we go around nowadays and see what the kids of today haul out from under the Christmas trees. Seems like there is a "Toys R Us" store under every evergreen in the living rooms today.
Way back when, things were a little different.
The days leading up to Christmas on the farm were stressful to us kids. We were reminded everyday by my folks that Christmas was coming and Santa was watching us to make sure that we were being good.
And, we knew that he was watching us because most every year, before the holidays, he would actually show up. One of those Santa sightings that I remember very distinctly for some reason, happened when I was about 7 or 8. After milking one night, I was sitting at the kitchen table playing a game or reading, when I heard a noise at the window. Looking out the window, by gawd, there was Santa looking in!!!!!!!!! I got so scared in that moment, that I headed for the living room where the rest of the family was sitting, as fast as I could. I was slowed down however, cause one of my feet was sticking through the spokes of the back of the chair, and as I vaulted toward the door, the chair came with me, kinda locked to my foot. Nothing got broken in the rush, neither the chair or my foot, but somehow, that memory comes alive to me every Christmas. Maybe it was my fright at that moment, but when things like that happen, it sure makes a Santa believer out of you.
Later, I on, figured out somehow, that the hired man was nowhere to be seen in the house at that time, so it kinda damaged my belief in the "Santa's Watching You" story from my folks.
As the holiday got closer, and we got older, the game of my folks stashing the gifts before Christmas so's us kids couldn't find them got harder for Ma and Dad. Where can you hide a pair of skis so a snoopy kid can't find them??? They couldn't---we found them in the spare bedroom under the bed in nothing flat. (My Brother Lyle found that same pair of skis up in his attic a coupla months ago and I am gonna get them back after all these years. You see, I still don't want to throw out those old memories. I'm gonna put them up in MY attic, probably for my kids to throw out in a dumpster someday.)
Eventually, Christmas eve, ever so slowly, would come to pass. Somehow or other, Ma found an excuse that I had to go out to the barn and help with the chores that night, probably to water the horses or feed the calves or something, When we got back to the house later, Ma made sure we got all washed up, and then by Golly, the living room door opened, and low and behold, Santa Claus had been there while we were out working in the barn. How about that, but------AT LAST!!!!!!!
Most definitely, our Christmas' were not Toy R Us affairs. My parents always managed to give us at least one "good" toy, and most of the other presents were "sensible" presents like socks, or shirts, or a new pair of bib overalls---you know---stuff that we could really use but not necessarily play with. We hated that, but like I keep saying, times were tough, and my parents did what they had to do.
One of the "good" toys that I got one year, was a toy truck, made out of tin. What made that truck special was that it had real honest to gawd headlights that shone (shined???) in the dark. The lights were flashlight bulbs, and powered by flashlight batteries and that Christmas Eve, I spent a lot of time driving (pushing) that little truck around under the kitchen table in the darkened kitchen because I could see and miss all the kitchen chair legs while I drove between them. That was really something for this Kid. Sadly however, those flashlight batteries lasted about two evenings or less and I was back to daylight driving. Here comes my old song again----times were tough----and my folks couldn't afford a new set of batteries every two days. I don't believe that I ever got a second set of batteries for that toy truck.
Another Christmas got me a toy train set. It had a wind up engine with about three cars behind it, and it ran on a metal set of tracks, that when put together, the set made a circle about three feet in diameter. Not very fancy, but it was a toy train I could play with.
The next time I got to Milwaukee with my folks to visit relatives, I found that my "rich" cousin Eugene, had out scored me again at Christmas, cause he got a LIONEL electric train set. His train engine had an electric head lamp and the whole set could be controlled from a control box with buttons and a lever. That outclassed my train by a long shot.
My cousins Dad worked at a Dairy in Milwaukee, so he had a good steady income as compared to my Dad, the farmer, who was working his way out of bankruptcy when he took over the old homestead from his Dad. Here comes my song again----times were tough----and my folks did the best they could.
You have heard my story before about the Red Ryder Bee Bee gun (with the compass in the stock,) that I wanted so desperately ----where Dad kept telling me year after year----they are digging the iron for it,----but they never got enough iron dug out. So, I never did get that gun from my folks, but I never shot my eye out either.
Part of the Christmas Social Season on the farm was "visiting" where you were kinda expected to go around and visit friends, neighbors and relatives and "look at the presents." hopefully, before the Sheepshead card game started. Someone would be delegated to "show the presents" and the rest of us would have to sit and look on as every damn pair of socks, or toy, or bib overalls were shown and you got the information about who it was for and where it came from. Talk about exciting times down on the farm!!!!. My Ma usually took over that chore until I came home with my little German Frau. Then, as a special treat for my wife, my Ma would delegate that job to her. My Frau Annelie says today that she was honored at first, but after she ran through that routine five or six times a day when visitors "dropped in", the honor wore a little thin, and it became quite a bore. But she did hang in there and I gotta give her a lot of credit.
And so Folks, that is the end of my little Christmas Story. I hope you have enjoyed it and I hope your memories are as pleasant as mine.
Merry Christmas to all and to all a Good Night.
copyright 2009, Harold Ratzburg