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Then I had fun as I threw bottles in the river, ran downstream and threw rocks at them. I also sometimes took my 22 single shot rifle down to the timber and shot blue jays and blackbirds. On other occasions I would take a bucket down to the river and try to drown out foxes from their dens on the hillside above the river. I was never successful at doing this. The fox was either never home, or was really thirsty, because I never got him to come out. Maybe he was just smarter than I was.

Occasionally I would catch a few carp or small bullhead catfish. It didn't make much difference, because I don’t think we ever ate any of them. Instead I'd take them up to the barnyard and place them in the livestock water tank next to the windmill. I don't really know why I did that unless it was to prove to someone that I had caught them. I'm not sure any of my family cared but I think about it and I bet the cows and mules must have noticed and wondered what in the world the fish were doing in their drinking water.

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 Despite the painful learning experience, I really enjoyed our new possession. I'd sometimes take off in the summertime and ride about 1/2 mile down to the Mackinaw bridge and throw rocks. I can also recall how hard it was to ride up the hill before getting to the bridge. To an 8-year-old it seemed like a mountain. Every time I drive by the old homestead and look up that lane where I first learned to ride, I begin to ache all over again.

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Gym Flicks: Some of the very first movies I saw were on Friday nights in Cooksville. They didn't have a theater in the big city but they had a large grass vacant lot on the south side of the high school gym.

The local merchants would sponsor a movie on Friday night, weather permitting. Everyone would bring a blanket and spread it out on the grass and sit down. The main features were westerns and were projected onto a screen (maybe a bed sheet) hung on the side of the brick gym wall. A news clip (often an update of the 2^nd world war which was still being fought) usually preceded the main feature.

We saw lots of Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, and Billy the Kid films, but not without many unplanned interruptions caused by the old projector or the poor quality of the film. Sometimes the delays were so long that I thought I was watching a serial. The only planned interruption was an intermission when everyone would go get a soda, popcorn, candy, etc. (Those clever Cooksville merchants had a reason for sponsoring those free movies).

After 20 minutes or so everyone would scurry back to where they thought they had been sitting. You would soon begin to hear voices in the dark saying things like "is that you Mildred? ", "stop that", or oftentimes shrieks and giggles. You just knew not everyone, intentionally or otherwise, ended up on the same blanket they left before intermission. Soon they would crank up the projector once again and the film would stutter, jerk, and jump for about 5 minutes and finally Roy and Dale would reappear lurching along in their saddles atop Trigger and Buttermilk and always about to burst into song. Despite all of this it was still better than lying under the console radio in the dining room at home listening to Jack Armstrong, the All-American Boy.

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Upsy Daisy: My first airplane ride occurred in about 1946 in a most unusual setting. We were baling hay at a farm about 3 miles west of Cooksville, near the LeRoy/Lexington road. A man by the name of Elmo Batterton swooped down in his piper club plane in a hay field where we were baling. He apparently was a friend of the farmer who had hired us to do the baling. Elmo asked if anyone wanted to go up for a ride. I'm not sure if I volunteered or got talked into going, but in any event, I ended up being the lucky guy. If I had known what was about to happen I would have fled into the nearest cornfield and hid. The flight lasted about 20 to 25 minutes, but seemed like days. The flight included loops, flips, stalling the engine and spirals. I thought I was a goner. It was the only time I was ever happy to be baling hay.

It wasn't until 1967, living in Lafayette Indiana, that I flew a second time. That was on behalf of State Farm and was not nearly as exciting as my first flight had been.

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We were pretty much spared physical damage from storms, although I can remember lots of downed tree limbs in the grove in front of the house, and also in the timber across the road. During one summer storm, one of dad's cows was killed by lightening under a big oak tree on top of the hill in the timber. It was the only time I ever saw a death resulting from lightening.

Two really bad tornadoes occurred when I was about 8. The first hit the south edge of Pekin. Dad drove us kids over to Pekin on a Sunday afternoon to see the aftermath of the storm. One of the sights we saw were oat straws from a nearby hay stack that were driven into live, standing hedge trees. The tree trunks looked like a porcupine's body with the straw standing straight out from the trunk. There was also lots of debris left behind from what had been houses, barns, trees, etc.

The second tornado occurred when I was about 12. The storm hit the southeast edge of Bloomington. There was a farm that set alongside of what is now East Oakland Ave. At that time, Mercer Ave. was the last north south street on the east side of Bloomington. This farm was about a quarter of a mile east of the intersection of Oakland and Mercer. The farm would have been just about where the original State Farm Illinois Office Building is located.

After the tornado passed and took off the roof of the corn crib, destroyed a barn, downed lots of trees, etc., they discovered a live sheep or goat (I'm not sure which) inside one side of the still standing corn crib. The only way the animal could have gotten into the closed crib was for the tornado to have lifted it at least 30 to 40 feet in the air and then set it down inside the roofless crib.

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Times They Were A-Changing: Summertime was always my favorite season. It always seemed like there were more things to do in summer, even when you lived on the farm. When I was in high school at St. Bede, summertime was even more special for me because I got to spend three months at home. During the school year, I only came home about three times; generally at Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter.

During my high school years, things were changing very rapidly on the farm. When I left for school in the fall of 1946, I believe Dad still had a team of mules, we still had no indoor plumbing, no running water, no electricity, and I believe Dad still owned and used the old 1020 International Harvester steel wheeled tractor. Nearly all farm equipment was designed to be used to plant and harvest two or four rows of corn or beans. Each row of corn was planted in hills about 24 to 26 inches apart. The field gave the appearance of a checkerboard. Planting in hills made it possible to cultivate the cornrows in both directions to cut out the grass and weeds. Cultivating was necessary because herbicides were not yet available.

The windmill was still used to pump the water (when the wind blew) for the livestock water tanks and for in house use. If the wind didn't blow, either Dad or us kids would hand pump the water.

Nearly all the straw was placed in straw stacks somewhere near the barns. Most hay was still loose (unbaled) and placed in the hayloft of the barn by large hayforks operated by hay ropes run through a series of pulleys. The lifting power was supplied by the rope tied to a horse (I guess that was one horsepower). Oh how things have changed!

A Summer Retreat: When I was about 10 or 11, Kenny and I were invited to spend a few days with Uncle Walter and Aunt Alta. They lived on a farm about 1/4 of a mile east of the Barnes grain elevator, east of Normal. They were the parents of Billy and Donny.

Walter had an old two wheel cart that us boys loaded a 50 empty oil drum into, filled it with water, and pushed the cart out into the cow pasture in front of their house. We also took two five-gallon buckets and an old gas tractor funnel that no longer had a filter screen in it. This was the gear required for drowning out ground squirrels in the pasture.

The procedure was to first find the ground squirrel hole, take the funnel and place it in the hole, take the buckets and fill them with water, and pour the water into the funnel. We were having great fun and success, having drowned out about 3 or 4 squirrels and eradicating them with a large club when they ran from the flooded hole.

The fun ended after we came across a fifth hole that looked just like all the others. We placed the funnel in the hole and began pouring in the water. Without warning a swarm of bees about 5 foot long came streaming up through the funnel. They were upset; and we were instantly in full retreat. We took off for the house leaving all of our gear behind. It was the next day before we could go back and get the cart. That was the last time I ever went ground squirrel hunting!

The Hay Baling Blues: Dad purchased a Case hay baler when I was about 14. For the next 5 summers, Kenny and I, and later Roger, spent many of our summer days doing custom hay baling. Our territory ended up covering an area from Chenoa to the north, to LeRoy to the south, and from Towanda to the west, to Sibley to the east.

The money Dad made from our baling was mostly used to pay our tuition at St. Bede. We boys were paid 1 cent per bale. That doesn't sound like much today but I can recall making $10.00 on a really good day. In the 1940s that was a pretty good wage.

Hay baling was probably the dirtiest, hardest work on the farm, and also one of the hottest jobs. I would return home after a day of baling with 1/4 inch of dust covering my upper body. Kenny and I would race each other from the car to the old wash house where we had rigged up a make shift shower. The "shower" consisted of a galvanized bucket with a spigot that hung over an old bathtub. The tub drained through a hole cut in the floor of the wash house (before EPA regulations). When people talk about the good ole hazy, lazy days of summer, I recognize immediately that they grew up somewhere far removed from hay baling and weedy cornfields.

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We couldn't tell for sure where the smoke was coming from, so we jumped on our bikes and headed for his house. When we got about 1/4 of a mile away, we could tell it was a major fire, and sure enough, it was Bob's house. When we pulled into the front yard Ben Grimsley, (Bob's Grandfather) who was probably about 65 years old, came out the back door of the burning house carrying a full size, four legged, bathtub. Why he was carrying a bathtub is still a mystery to me. It seems impossible that anyone, even a young man, could do that but he did. I've since learned that often in crisis, people seem to gain added strength and perform acts they could never do under ordinary circumstances.

Bob's house burned to the ground that day. The house that was built to replace it, is still standing today, and was the house that Bill and Jeannine Weber lived in for many years. Bill and Jeannie's son, David, now lives in this house and farms the land.

Dog Days Of Summer: When I was 8 or 9 years old I was helping Dad and some neighbors thrash oats. I was the water boy. My job was to keep the large crock water jugs filled with water. It was a hot summer day and I was lying under a hayrack, out of the sun, watching the men unload a hay rack full of oat shocks into the threshing machine. It turns out I wasn't the only one there. There also was a large German Shepherd dog owned by Neil Felkamp, a cousin of Mom's, who lived in a farm across the road from where we were threshing. I don't know why the dog turned vicious but the next thing I remembered was the dog standing straddle of me and chewing on my head. By the time I managed to get him off of me, I was a bloody mess. Dad took me to the doctor in Lexington where they shaved my head and cleaned it up as best they could, and bandaged it. I still carry a head full of scars from that incident.

I know this will sound like Ripley's Believe it or Not, but about 10 years later, Mom and Donna went over to the Felkamp's to visit on a hot summer day. Donna was outside in the yard and turned the corner of their house and their German Shepherd dog (not the same one that bit me) jumped on Donna and bit her on the face near her eye.

Causes one to ponder the actual meaning of the phrase 'the dog days of summer!

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Air Force One: One of the most exciting events in our farming community north of Cooksville occurred about 1940 when we lived on Uncle Henry Weber's farm.

The pilot of an Air Force fighter plane, having engine problems, made an emergency landing in a cornfield just north of our house and south of the Mackinaw River. It was late winter, or very early spring. I remember the field was very muddy and the airplane's wheels were almost buried in the mud.

Because it was during the 2nd world war, and because it was an Air Force plane, the Chanute Air Force Base at Rantoul sent out 3 MPs every 8 hours to guard the plane, day and night. It seemed really weird to think of these MPs standing out in the middle of a cornfield miles from civilization guarding a plane that couldn't fly and was half buried in mud… but they did. This incident was really a big deal. Our little gravel road that ran in front of the house had more traffic in 2 or 3 days than we had seen for 2 years! Many of the housewives (no one ever heard of a homemaker in those days) would take turns supplying the lonely, mud caked, MPs with pies and cakes and lots of sandwiches.

After several days and a hard freeze Dad and two nearby farmers managed to pull the plane from the field with their tractors. They broke several hay ropes in the process, but the Air Force had their plane back. They loaded it on a flat bed truck and hauled it to Chanute Air Force base. In the process they also knocked over our mailbox.

The Air Force showed up a few days after the plane was removed and presented dad with a new mailbox and a hay rope to end all hay ropes. It took 2 men and a boy to carry it and it was as big around as my leg. I'm not sure what ever happened to the rope. I know it was so big it couldn't fit through any of the hay pulleys in our barn. I really believe the Air Force may have stolen the rope from the anchor of a naval Aircraft Carrier.

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Better Late Than Never: Just prior to our move from Yuton to Uncle Henry's farm in 1940 the school parents at Yuton arranged a going away pot luck dinner. Dad had already begun the fall plowing on Uncle Henry's farm. It was the afternoon of the day of the pot luck dinner and Dad was returning from plowing. He was driving the 37 Chevy and came over a hill on the Cooksville - Towanda gravel road. Immediately in front of him was a tractor. Dad ran off the road and into the ditch and hit his head on the rear view mirror. It punched a hole in the top of his head. This happened about 5pm. The rest of the family was waiting for Dad so we could go to the potluck. When he didn't show up and it was past 6:30, one of the neighbors, who was already at the school, got concerned and drove to our house. Since we didn't know where Dad was, we assumed he was just running late. Mom sent us kids to the potluck with the neighbor and she waited for Dad. Mom and Dad showed up a few hours later and ate dinner. I remember that evening for another reason. A neighbor brought venison. It was one of the two times in my life I ever remember eating venison.

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On The Road Again: During my childhood I can only recall one trip out of state. That was in the summer of 1944 or 45. Mom's youngest sister, Mabel, and her husband Sherm, lived in Lafayette Indiana for a few years before moving back to Bloomington in the late 40s. The entire Weber clan piled into the car and headed for a day in Lafayette. I remember being impressed to see Purdue University football stadium.

We left to return home in late afternoon and it was beginning to cloud up. We got to about Hoopeston or Paxton and ran into a really bad summer thunderstorm. It rained so hard that Dad couldn't see to drive. He pulled off of route 9 onto a gravel road and we sat there in the car while the lightening flashed and it poured down rain. When we started again, the water was about a foot deep in places on route 9 and we had to detour several times. It was great to get back home again.

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The Pony: Delmer Vance was one of my grade school friends. His family lived one mile east of our farm, just beyond Mount Guiliud School. Delmer had a pony that he often rode over to our place. I was always happy to see Delmer and the pony coming up the lane because we never owned a pony.

The pony had a mind of his own (he was smarter than either Delmer or myself). We could never get that pony to go anywhere that we wanted to go. It was like riding in a motor boat with no one steering. The pony had a nasty habit of trying to rid himself of anyone or anything on his back. That was always a dangerous trait when riding in a grove of low hanging trees.

Delmer and I both jumped on his bare back one day for a ride in the grove of trees in front of the house. The pony took off at a gallop and headed for the lowest branches. We saw the first branch, ducked our heads, and just escaped only to see another branch that the pony had already sighted. We ended up being scraped off his back onto our backs on the ground. We were lucky to not have broken our necks. The pony stopped a few yards away and turned around and looked as us as it to say 'don't ever try that again'. I didn't and that was my last pony ride.

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