Getting the Hang of Farming

When I was fourteen, I went to stay at Harry Higgins farm. He was my uncle, and I spent the summer there. I want to think that it was because my parents wanted me to see what the farm was like. In reality, they were probably tired of me and my lack of any desire to help keep a peaceful home.

One of my first jobs on the farm was to plow a field. I was given instructions and sent off in one of his tractors to disc the field. I was driving a little too fast and almost went off the road with the tractor. I finally got to the field safe, that means upright and alive. I lowered the disc and started my job. It may have been boring for others, but it was quite exciting for me. I had never driven before, at least not legally.

Jim Stubbs in Kansas Wheatfield

One of the exciting things about Kansas at that time was that at harvest and plowing season you were allowed to drive any vehicle at fourteen and it was legal. I was also allowed to drive an old Kaiser-Frazer car when work was done. I rode around with one of my cousins that had been hired by the state to measure the amount of crops a farmer might be growing. This survey was done to determine if the farmer was going to get money from the government for not growing crops. The government was trying to control how much wheat was grown to keep the prices up. I thought at the time that kind of farming would be a good job to have. You could just not plant crops and get paid.

I would go with my two older cousins, Manley and Duane, to different work sites for the farm. I drove a large wheat truck that followed alongside a harvester. When the truck was full, I would drive it to the granary where the truckload would be tested for moisture content. It would then be picked up and dumped into a pit and augers would lift the wheat into one of the siloes. Then you would return to the field and start the process all over again after the truck ahead of you pulled out. The first time I drove one of these large trucks full of wheat, I almost dumped it. It seemed to me that all of the roads in Kansas ran in straight lines, and they came to an abrupt stop at a road going across its path. I was going too fast and almost dumped one of Uncle Harry’s trucks and a full load of wheat. I barely made the turn and was much more careful from then on.

Uncle Harry was a Baptist, and so that is where we went to church. They had a large youth group, and they all wanted to know what a Mormon was. I was happy to inform them. There were several young ladies that wanted to know a little more. I asked one of them out to go to the show, and she accepted. I was excited about going on the date. My cousin was not, she, he thought, was his girlfriend. It all worked out, she brought one of her friends for me, and Duane promised not to get mad at her. The Baptists didn’t know about Mormons, but they did know how to kiss.

They had dairy cows and the milking needed to be done twice a day. A tanker truck would come by sometimes and would pump out the milk and haul it off to market. My aunt would make butter out of the cream from the top of the cans. She would add just a little salt, and it was great butter. She would bake bread, and we would have warm fresh bread with butter.

At harvest time there would be a crew of men traveling to the farms, my Aunt Inez would cook up chicken from her coops, and we would have fresh cooked bread and jam. We usually drank water except at the evening meal and then we had milk and bread.

One of the things I’m not so proud of is that I was allowed in the bars with my cousins. I didn’t drink there, but they would have let me. They had pool tables, and I would play pool. I was pretty good at it. Some of them thought that I was using magic because I was a Mormon. I’m not sure if they really believed that or if it was just sort of a joke.

When it was time to go home, I loaded my little suitcase with fireworks. When my parents showed up, after a short visit, we headed out for our home in Boulder City, Nevada. Partway home my father opened up my suitcase and found all of the fireworks that I was taking home. He took some of them and I kept the rest.

When my father passed away, we were cleaning out his garage, and I found my old fireworks. He had kept some of them. I know that he set some off but he kept some.

It was a great summer, and I got to do things I never would have at home. I’m sure that it gave my parents a little relief to have me gone, but they were willing to take me home and keep me.