​When I was a kid growing up on a farm, my parents dragged me along to all kinds of places. I’ve written about making my own fun while Mom and Dad left me with a bunch of cows (Keeping Company with Cows), riding on the tractor with my dad (Tractor Tunes) and checking fence with Mom (Lost).
 
Well today I’m remembering a very noisy (and smelly) place from my childhood: the sale barn. It was the place my parents took cattle for auction.
 
One step inside and you were hit with the strong aroma of manure. I followed my parents up the steps and took a seat. All around us were men in coveralls wearing seed corn hats and manure-covered boots.
 
The whole place was a flurry of activity. Cattle bawled from the ring. The auctioneer scanned the crowd, shouting some strange language I couldn’t understand. Old farmers bid on cows. Finally the auctioneer would stop and yell the one word I could understand. “Sold!” 

In a way it was fun, listening to the rhythm of the auctioneer and trying to figure out what in the world he was saying. But as a quiet little girl with a big imagination, it was also terrifying.
 
I always sat very still, convinced that if I raised my hand or even scratched my nose I’d end up bidding on a cow. Dad would be so mad if I bought a cow. I always breathed a sigh of relief when the auctioneer yelled, “sold” and he wasn’t pointing at me.
 
Some guy in a plaid shirt and a long switch prodded at the cows and followed them out of the ring. Like clockwork another bunch came in and took their place. Dad gave me a nudge and pointed. “Look Sis, there’s our cows.”
 
I gave him a nod. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that “our cows” looked like every other cow I’d seen that day. 

My favorite part of the sale barn was the restaurant. Actually, it was a greasy diner that smelled like pork tenderloins. I’d crawl onto a tall barstool and sit at the counter. Then I’d spin around and around. That is, until Mom told me to stop it.
 
I usually ordered a cheeseburger, which felt like a treat. Mom always made stuff like roast, potatoes and gravy and creamed peas. As I ate my lunch, men talked of market prices and the weather forecast.  
 
Finally, it was time to go home. On the way, mom and dad discussed their thoughts on “what the cows brought,” and discussed which chores should be done as soon as we got home. Honestly, I didn’t pay much attention. I was just glad I didn’t accidentally buy a cow. 

I spent much of my early childhood years hugging my mom’s leg. I know, call me a mama’s girl, but sometimes you just need your mom close by. Like when a strange man talked to me at the grocery store. Or when I waited for the bus on my first day of school. Or even the time I got lost in the middle of nowhere when I was four years old.

Checking fences is a never-ending job when you live on a farm. The last thing a farmer wants is the cows to get out. This was usually my mom’s job. But I’ll never forget one particular time when I tagged along.  

Mom and I walked together, following the fence. Before long we came to some timber. Mom plopped her hand on her hip and looked down at me.  

“I need to check the fence back in the timber, but I want you to stay out here. Keep walking and follow these trees until you get to the end of the timber. I’ll meet you there.” 

I looked at the wide, open space around me. “But I want to go with you.”

Mom shook her head. “The timber is too rough for you to walk through. Just follow these trees and I’ll meet you there soon.”

A lump formed in my throat as I watched my mom disappear into the woods.

At first everything was fine. I walked along, peering through the trees every so often, just to make sure she was still nearby. 

Then the vegetation grew thicker. Tall weeds and sticker bushes blocked my view.

“Mom! Where are you?”

I stood motionless, straining to hear Mom’s muffled voice. “I’m here, Sheri. Just keep walking.”  

“Mom … I can’t see you!”

Tears blurred my vision and my heart beat faster. Was I even going the right way? What if I got lost and Mom never found me? A faint voice echoed through the timber.

“You’re alright. Just keep walking.” 

Over the next few minutes, Mom hollered to me from deep in the woods and encouraged me to keep going. Finally, I spotted the edge of the timber. I started running through the grass.

From behind me, I heard a rustling sound. I stood still, frozen. I turned around ever-so-slowly, and saw my mom tromping out of the timber. She swiped her hand across her sweaty forehead and smiled.

Of course, later I realized Mom was right. The timber wasn’t the best place for a little girl. It was for my own good. This became even more clear when Mom broke out with a miserable rash the following day. Poison ivy. Itchy, red blisters spread across her face and down her neck. Within days, both of her eyes were nearly swollen shut.

You may be wondering why I’m sharing this slightly embarrassing story with you today. Two reasons, actually. First, I love telling stories about growing up on a farm. And second, I wonder if you may need a bit of encouragement today. You see, I think this story is a great illustration of our relationship with God.

I’ve had times in my life when I felt completely lost in a difficult situation. I couldn’t see God anywhere in my circumstances. But the fact was, He’d been with me all along. Maybe I felt scared and confused, but He never left my side. Looking back, I can imagine Him saying, “I’m here, Sheri. Just keep walking.”

Maybe today you’re walking through a difficult time. Let me encourage you. God is near. He’s even closer than you think. And He wants the best for you. I invite you to call out to Him and He’ll show you the way.

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you." 
-Deuteronomy 31:6 NIV

If you enjoyed this story, perhaps you’d also enjoy reading another one of my embarrassing farm stories: “Keeping Company with Cows.” Check it out! 

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Hi everybody! 

Thanks for stopping by. This week I'm writing for the Quad City Moms Blog. Click on over and check out Sheri’s top five ways snow tubing was even better than sledding as a kid. If you're suffering from cabin fever, hopefully this post will encourage you to get out and have some fun!

Take care and have a great week,

Sheri

Every cow was in the corral – except one – and I knew what that meant. Even if my parents had to walk the entire 80 acres of pasture and dense timber, they had to find that cow.

I would only slow them down, so my job was to stay in the truck and keep watch. Mom gave me strict instructions.

“Now if the momma cow comes up, you need to honk the horn. Then we’ll know we can stop looking and start heading back.” Mom gave me stern look. “But DON’T honk that horn unless the momma cow shows up. Got it?”

My throat felt thick as I watched my parents disappear into the timber, leaving me alone with a bunch of cows.

At first I just sat in the truck. I snooped through the glove compartment, but found nothing interesting.

I hopped out of the truck, climbed over the tailgate and scrambled into the back. Then I looked out at the crowd of cows and took a deep breath.

“So how y’all doing today?”

They stared at me, silent. 

Tough audience.

I grabbed a corn cob and held it like a microphone. “I want to thank you all for coming.”

They continued to stare. Two or three chewed on some grass.

I cleared my throat and pretended to flip my long, Chrystal Gale’ish hair. I imagined myself in a tight, sparkly dress with a slit up the side. Before I knew it, I was singing my heart out.

“You … you light up my life … You give me hope … to carry on … you light up my days …”

One cow near the back relieved herself.   

I threw my hands on my hips. “Don’t like that, huh? Well how about this one?”

Snapping my fingers, I danced around the back of the truck.

“Love … Love will keep us together … Think of me babe, whenever ... Some sweet talkin’ girl comes around ...”

For the next several minutes, I belted out song after song. I sang some ABBA ...

“Knowing me, knowing you, Uh-huhhhh … There is nothing we can do, knowing me, knowing you ....”

Still no reaction. 

So I stomped my feet and clapped my hands to: “We will, we will, ROCK YOU!”

Finally, I plopped onto the side of the truck. Mom and Dad had been gone a long time. I was tired. And hungry. And very much alone. Why couldn't that momma cow just show up?

I took a deep breath and crawled into the front seat of the truck. With both hands, I pressed hard against the horn. The cows jumped a bit, startled. I honked it again. And again.

About five minutes later the momma cow came walking up the path toward the corral. My parents were right behind.

Mom shook her head in disgust. “We told you NOT to honk unless the cow came up. Why did you honk the horn?”

I knew I’d done wrong, but what could I say? Mom wouldn’t understand. Truth was, I was a fabulous singer, but it was ever-so-boring keeping company with cows.

And here's the rest of the story ...

When I realized I'd be needing some pictures of cows for this week's blog, I decided to revisit Mom and Dad's 80 and take them myself. (I hadn't been there in years.) It was the perfect fall day, so I took Taylor and Madison with me.  

As we walked together, I shared various childhood memories - including my rather embarrassing, "Keeping Company with Cows" story. They couldn't imagine their mother doing such a goofy thing!

However, I found it amusing ... when we saw a group of cows, they couldn't resist giving it a try ...

but guess what the cows did when they started to sing?

I can’t believe it’s already strawberry picking time! This time of year always reminds me of my great-grandma. We picked strawberries every summer at her house when I was a kid.  

We’d pull into the driveway, chickens squawking and scattering across the barnyard, while the lingering dust followed us in from the gravel road behind. I’d unlatch the picket fence gate, walk past an old water pump, and head up the wooden steps of the big, white farmhouse. Almost always, a fat yellow cat snoozed on the top step, requiring a firm scoot before we could push open the squeaky screen door. 

“Come on in,” Great-grandma’s shaky voice would call. She’d walk over to greet us, drying her freckled wrinkly hands on her apron. Then she’d dig out her white enamel pan and reach for her flowered bonnet hanging by the back door. Aprons and bonnets were part of her, like her gentle smile or thinning gray hair. Like a real pioneer woman, she’d tie her bonnet securely under her chin. Peeking out from under the brim, she’d stroll out with us to the strawberry patch. 

My mom, brother and I would pick the plump, ripe strawberries and listen to the clatter of chirping birds, and the occasional crowing of an ill-tempered rooster. Of course, some of the juicy berries ended up in our bellies instead of the pans. 

After awhile we became bored. That’s when my brother would start thinking of ways to make his own fun, like flinging strawberries at me when mom wasn't looking, or shouting “snake,” just to see if I’d shriek. I’m sure we fussed about aching backs or sweaty foreheads, but when the job was done, Great-grandma gave us a special treat that made it all worthwhile – an ice-cold bottle of Mt. Dew from the bottom of the fridge.

Today, one of Great-Grandma’s aprons hangs in my laundry room. Her apron reminds me of those carefree days of picking strawberries. Back then, life was easy. I had no responsibilities, and my biggest problem was my older brother’s pranks. 

But Great-grandma’s life wasn't easy. In her lifetime she’d scrubbed clothes on a washboard, pumped water from a well, and even baked cakes in an iron cook stove. Oh how I appreciate modern conveniences like microwaves, washers and dryers, and air conditioning! 
 
My great-grandma never ventured far. She lived in the same small community all 95 years of her life. But she loved her neighbors and her family. She was humble and kind - and her faith got her through the hard times. Though she lived a difficult life, she handled the hardships with courage and strength. Thinking of her life inspires me to strive for the best in mine.

Join the conversation! I'd love to hear about your childhood memories. Did you visit your grandparents (or great-grandparents) over the summer? What's your favorite summertime memories?

The other day Emily and I stopped by a store I hadn’t visited in a long time. From the moment the automatic doors slid open, I noticed a very distinct aroma. Let’s see, how should I describe it? It’s probably a mix of new tires, livestock feed and various agricultural supplies.

I took a deep breath. “Ahhh … smells like my childhood in here.”

Emily wrinkled her nose. “It smells disgusting.”

Oh my dear teenager. She has no idea.

As someone who grew up on a farm, I’ve encountered a wide variety of odors – everything from pleasant to downright awful! But whether good or bad, they always trigger childhood memories for me.

Freshly plowed dirt reminds me of riding with Dad on a John Deere tractor. Dusty hay bales remind me of playing in the haymow with my brother. Lilacs remind me of walking barefoot to the mailbox on a warm summer day.

As my day continued, I thought about my own kids. I wondered what smells might evoke memories for them someday. Would the smell of fresh cut grass remind them of days we played at the park? Would the smell of old books remind them of our many trips to the library? Would the smell of chlorine take them back to afternoons at the pool? No matter what ends up triggering their memories, I hope they'll always remember how much they were loved.

That night before going to bed I stopped by Madison’s room to say goodnight. I sat down next to her and leaned in for a hug.

“Love you,” I said, squeezing her tight. She wrapped both arms around my neck and inhaled.

“You smell good,” she said.

I couldn't help but smile.

So how about you? What scents transport you back to your childhood? Do share!

Snow days. Funny how those words sound very different to me as a mom compared to when I was a kid.

Before I begin, let me give you a warning. Some portions of today’s blog may make me sound old.                           

Okay, I’m ready now.

When I was a kid, even the smallest little flurry on a school night gave me hope. My brothers and I would gather around the radio (yes, a radio … sounds like the Walton’s, doesn’t it?) as the announcer read the school closings.

Since the name of our school began with the letter “W,” we were always at the bottom of the list. Somewhere around the “S’s,” we’d start shushing each other and crossing our fingers. Finally we’d hear the glorious news. “Yes, he said it! No school!”

When I was a kid, snow days felt like a little gift from heaven. Who cared if we’d already had two weeks of Christmas break? This was a free day – and we had so much to do!

First of all, I needed to break in those stiff, white ice skates that Santa had brought me. I was so anxious to wear them; I slipped them on and tromped around the house. That is, until Mom caught me. “Take those off. You’re going to cut the linoleum,” she scolded.

Once we got to the pond, my brother tested the ice. He’d walk across slowly, then race back at the first sound of cracking. I remember teaching myself to turn corners like Dorothy Hamill (I know … I tried to warn you) by crossing one leg over the other without wiping out.  

We built forts, had snowball fights and made snowmen. I was usually the one that ran back inside for one of Mom’s scarves and a carrot for the snowman’s nose.

We went sledding. I remember crawling over the barbed-wire fence and heading out to the pasture. Sometimes we’d hit a ridge of ice (or as my brother would call it, “a frozen cow pile”) that sent us all flying. The creek at the bottom of the hill also added an extra dose of excitement.

Playing outside was so much fun when I was a kid.

But now that I’m the mom, all of that fun looks very different. For example, just getting the kids out the door can be a challenge.

“Where’s my gloves?”
“Those are my snow pants.”
“My boots are too tight!”

Once outside, you’d think they’d be set. But just wait.

“It’s too windy out here!”
“I’m freezing!”
“I've got snow down my back!”

Want to know the other thing I never noticed when I was a kid? The big mess we left when we came back inside. Inevitably, there’s a massive pile of cold, dripping clothes inside the door.

During the last couple of weeks we've had some extremely cold temperatures around here. Too cold to play outside. (As I type this, it’s a whopping -13 degrees!)

But a few days ago, the temperatures actually climbed into the thirties. I thought we’d better take advantage of the milder temps.

“Hey girls, do you feel like going sledding?” Their eyes grew wide. It had been a long time since they’d seen me on a sled.

Before I knew it, I was sailing down a hill behind Madison. Turns out, it was super fun to relive a few of those childhood memories!                                                                              

Yes, when you have three kids, someone is bound to complain about being cold. And yes, there will always be a mess by the back door. But do you know what I've realized?

Memories last forever. And it only takes a few minutes to clean up the mess. 

As a young girl growing up in a big old farmhouse, there were certain places in my home I’d learned to avoid. I’m not sure when it began, but I know who’s to blame. My brother. His favorite pastime was to tease and ultimately scare the daylights out of me. 

First, there was the basement. I was absolutely convinced that some evil monster was lurking among the cobwebs and dark shadows beyond the steps. It was cold and damp, and strange noises echoed from the furnace room. Every now and then, my mom would send me downstairs for some canned green beans or tomatoes. If speedy stair-climbing had been an Olympic event, I’d have won the gold. I’d grab that jar, then spin around and take the steps two at a time until I reached the door to safety.     

The monster that hid under my bed was even worse. I knew he was there, just waiting for the right moment to reach out and grab my ankle as I stepped into bed. But I outsmarted him. Each night I’d turn off my light and with a running leap, jump into bed with a height and form most long-jumpers could only hope to achieve.      

But how remarkable it was, those monsters disappeared whenever someone was with me. If a friend of mine stayed overnight, that leg-snatching monster under my bed didn’t give me a bit of trouble. And trips to the basement? Well I was confident - even downright brave if I wasn’t alone. 

Now that I’m a grown-up, I realize there are still scary places I try to avoid. But this time, they’re in my mind. When I send my kids off to school, I’m fearful for their safety and well-being. Sometimes I’m afraid of the future and what might be in store for me and my family. The very thought of three teenaged daughters with drivers licenses and boyfriends makes me very afraid!

But here’s the good news. I am not alone. I have the ultimate secret weapon. God is with me wherever I go.

So the next time I head toward a dark and scary place, I want to turn my fear into faith. Next time I’ll invite God to go along.  

"Fear not, for I am with you." - Isaiah 41:10

Last weekend Curt and I found ourselves in unfamiliar territory. We looked at our calendar—and found nothing on the schedule! It was a beautiful day, so we decided to take the girls fishing at Grandma’s house.

Whenever I visit Mom and Dad’s house, memories of my childhood hit me from every direction. Seriously. There’s not one place on that farm that doesn’t hold some kind of memory for me.

Most of those memories are good. Especially in my younger days. We’d go swimming in the creek. Ride horses through the pasture. Play in the barn. Fish in the pond. I could go on and on.

But to be honest, I do remember a time when I didn’t care much for farm life. My teenage years. Suddenly, life on the farm felt very un-cool.

Now that I’m grown up with a family of my own, my perspective has once again changed. It's funny how differently I now see my parents' farm. I thought I’d share a few examples with you.

  When I was a teenager, living on a farm was too much work. Now it seems like a great place to play.

  Back then, I thought farm life was boring. Now I remember how it can be pretty fun.

At 15, I couldn't wait to get my drivers license. I felt very isolated in the country. Now I think it’s peaceful.

An old farm house, dusty barns, chicken houses … it all seemed so shabby and unsophisticated.
Now I like to say it has lots of “rustic charm.”

Mom and Dad’s farm hasn’t changed over the years. But it looks different to me.
Especially now that I see it through my daughters’ eyes.

I'd love to hear about your childhood home. Do you see it differently today? Leave me a comment and share some of your favorite memories!

We had a creek, but they had a pool. So why did they think we were the lucky ones?

My heart pounded as my bare toes inched toward the edge of the steep ledge. I peered over the side, watching the water cascade down the eroded bank below me, and inhaled a slow, deep breath.  

“Come on! Just jump already!” My older brother squinted up at me, hands propped on his hips, water up to his cut-off jeans.  

My cousin, Cathy, crawled up the bank toward me on her hands and knees. “What if I jump with you?” Water dripped from her long, dark hair. I faked a smile and nodded. She positioned herself next to me, bent her knees and leaned forward. “Okay ready? One, two, three!” Cathy leaped off the edge, hugging her legs and plunging into the water with a loud splash. Her hair floated to the top; then she burst out of the water, looked up at me and shook her head.

“Next time,” I said, shrugging. I slid down the muddy bank and waded out into the water until it reached my chest.  

The water hole was a great place for us kids to play on a hot summer day. It didn’t have ideal swimming conditions, but it was better than nothing. And it was definitely better than the cattle tank. My brother and I learned that lesson earlier that summer. We had finally accepted the fact that Dad would never buy us a pool, so we improvised by trying the cattle tank instead.  

We didn’t mind the green gunk on the bottom of the tank. It held water, so it met our criteria. My brother crawled into the stagnant water first.

“Not bad,” he said, skimming some floating scum off the top. “Come on in.”   

I crawled into the warm water, but soon realized that swimming in a galvanized cattle tank wasn’t a good idea. First, it stunk. Second, two kids in a 1,000-gallon, oblong tank didn’t leave much room for swimming. And third, it wasn’t worth the nasty ear infections we endured a few days later.

So the water hole became our preferred swimming spot. Sure, the water looked dingy, and snakes were always a possibility, but it was the closest thing we had to a pool on our family’s farm.

If only we could have a pool like our cousins from Peoria. They didn’t have to trek through the pasture, dodging sticker bushes and protective mama cows just to go for a swim. They could take one step outside their door and dive into a refreshing, sparkling-blue pool. They were so lucky. Their pool smelled clean, like chlorine. Ours smelled like mud. They had inflatable pool toys. We had bullfrogs. To us, the Peoria cousins had a backyard paradise.

That’s why, when they came to visit a few weeks later, we were shocked when they wanted to see our creek. Why would they care about our cruddy creek when they had a beautiful pool in their own backyard? Even more shocking, they loved it.

At first, they stood along the bank; tossing sticks and leaves into the water and watching them roll swiftly downstream. But the temptation became too great. Before long, they kicked off their shoes and waded into the shallow end. They tromped through the water, occasionally stopping to lean over and examine an interesting rock or watch a water bug zip across the surface. Sometimes they scooped their hands underwater, trying to catch a tiny, silver minnow racing around their legs. Within minutes they were kicking and splashing, and drenching each other with water and mud.     

“You are so lucky,” one cousin said, giggling as the cool mud oozed between her toes. “I wish we had a creek.”  

Suddenly, I saw our old creek in a brand-new way. After all, it offered adventures no pool could provide. At the creek, we explored all sorts of rocks, plants and creek critters. We learned about strategy and determination while capturing slippery frogs in mid-jump. We didn’t need chlorine and pool toys. We had waterfalls and mud slides.

Maybe our creek wasn’t so bad after all. It wasn’t a pool, but it was still pretty fun. Maybe our cousins were right. Maybe we were the lucky ones.

(As printed in Farm and Ranch Living Magazine June / July 2013)