I'm a Nut

I guess it comes as no surprise that I love stories about family.

And having a treasure trove like my parents' and grandparent's (and a few others) journals is a true treasure trove for me.

But today, the picture's the thing.

Though 'family' is still the theme!

Years ago, when Husby was in school and I was still a new twig in the Tolley family tree, I scratched my head for projects every time Christmas came around.

Something inexpensive.

And something fairly easy.

I crocheted blankets.

Cross-stitched pictures.

Glued.

Painted.

Sewed.

And you have to know that these were things I had never before done in my life!

And really wasn't good at.

Well, recently, in a box of things given to Husby and me after his mother passed away, I found several of the gifts I had made for her over the years.

The memories were thick about me.

This is one.

My favourite, made the year I joined the family.

And FYI, when I gave it to my MIL, the family voted me the nut.

Go figure.

It's not a plaque. It's memories.

Breaking the Jail

Mischief-maker extraordinaire!

Halloween was a time of hijinks and high-spirited fun in Milk River in the 60s.
Much like it was everywhere.
My brother's stories always surpassed anything my friends and I could dream up, however . . .
Our lone constable tried hard to keep order in his town.
By different techniques . . .
1. Keeping a strong presence. Rather hard when you are the only cop in  town.  And the 'hooligans' (his word, not mine) know that as soon as you've driven past, you can't see them.

And
2. Locking everything up. Also only effective if one actually . . . locks . . .
But I am getting ahead of myself.
One group were especially rowdy.
My eldest brother's group.
Oh, they didn't do actual damage, unless you count the time they burned down a rickety old shed and, along with it, the power lines to the entire town.
But that is another story.
They just had fun.
One Halloween, our intrepid, lone policeman decided that the best defense was a good offence.
And the only way to do that was to round up the troublemakers before they actually . . . made . . . trouble.
No sooner thought than done.
My brother and his friends were escorted, under protest, to the local jail and locked into one of the cells.
Throughout the evening, many more were brought in.
The cell was getting crowded.
Our policeman was quite proud of himself. He had single-handedly stopped the mischief in our town.
Genius.
What he hadn't considered was the imagination and daring of this particular group of young men.
And the security of his police station.
With its back door that was never locked.
Ever.
Something that all of the kids in town knew.
Partway through the evening, one of the mayor's sons sneaked in by that door and gave the 'prisoners', which included his brother, a file.
An actual file.
I am not making this up.
Then he left.
The boys locked in the cell immediately went to work and, in short order, filed through one of the bars.
Turns out it can be done . . .
One by one, they sneaked through the opening and out the back door.
One of them, however, refused to leave. He wanted to see the face of the constable when he discovered the empty cell.
He got his wish.
The constable came in to collect one of the young men for delivery to a waiting parent.
He found, not a sound cell full of potential law-breakers; but instead, a cell minus one bar and most of his prisoners.
Consternation warred with chagrin in his expressive face. (Ooh! Good sentence!)
The lone young man was laying back on a bunk, both hands behind his head.
He sat up. "Sir! There's been a jail-break!"
And you thought Milk River was a sleepy little town!

The Monster in the Hay Loft

Monster Hunter

A guest post by Baby Brother, Blair. Who's really not such a baby any more.

While growing up on the ranch, we had many daily chores. 

One of those chores involved getting up early in the morning, feeding the bulls and heifers.

And caring for the milk cow. 

We kept such a cow for nursing any orphan calves and for fresh milk. 

It just so happened that this particular spring we didn’t have any orphan calves so she had to be hand-milked.

The milking barn had about 4 stalls.  But thank goodness, only one cow. 

There was a gutter that ran down behind the stalls and was used for catching . . . cow-by-products. I learned one day that I should always keep the gutter clean because the cow and I had a disagreement which I lost. I ended up in said gutter and was . . . not happy. 

And every once in a while I would pawn the milking off on my older sister, but I found out that she could beat me up so milking the cow stayed my responsibility.

Back to my story . . .

One beautiful spring morning I got up earlier than normal and went out to do my chores.  I have no idea how I managed it. It was hard for me to get up in the mornings when I was a teenager. My body seemed to want to sleep for 20 hours a day.

However, this particular morning I got up and went out to milk the cow.

Mornings in the spring in Southern Alberta were usually cold, but the air was fresh and clear.

I chased the cow into the barn, locked her in the stall, set down the bucket, sat on the stool and proceeded to milk.

It was nice sitting close to the cow. She was warm and, like I said, it was a cold spring morning.

Our dog had followed the cow and I into the barn and was sniffing around the barn at things that dogs are interested in.

I hadn’t been milking long when I heard a faint moan. I stopped what I was doing and listened.

But I heard nothing more so I started milking again.

Then I heard a slightly louder moan. 

I stopped and listened.

I heard the moan again.

It was coming from the hay loft.

It kind of sounded like a cross between a moan and the sounds that the monsters make in the horror movies that I had seen.

I thought: Surely that can’t be a monster!  It is early in the morning and monsters only come out and chase poor defenseless people at night. And usually this chasing happens in a dark hallway or alley. I was in a barn. I couldn’t think of a single scary movie where monsters or bad guys hurt poor defenseless people in the early morning in the milking parlor in a barn.

I decided that the noise was just my imagination.

Or the wind.

Even though the wind wasn’t blowing.

I continued milking the cow. 

Suddenly, there was a loud moan that definitely came from the loft.

The dog seemed to notice.

I quit milking and watched the dog.

Then there was a chillingly loud moan. It sounded like someone was being tortured.

Badly.

The dog paused and looked intensely in the direction of the loft. If the dog was hearing something then there must be a monster up there.

I leaped up and headed for the barn door before whatever it was could jump down from the loft and get me.

As I left the barn and headed for the corral gate, I realized I had just left the cow for the monster.  I thought, I’ll get reinforcements and come back to rescue the cow.

Now that I think about it, the cow seemed calm and not at all concerned about the noise.

I wasn’t calm.

I may have been whimpering or screaming.

Who can remember when you have a monster that is going to do bad things to your person?

I got my brother George and, armed with a pitch fork and a 2x4, we headed back to the barn to investigate. 

But when we got up into the loft there was nothing there. There was a place that looked like someone/monster had been sleeping. But there was no sign of anything else.

But just in case you think that I was imagining things, I have proof. The depression in the straw where the monster had been sleeping and the dog’s reaction to the noise.

That is my story and I’m sticking to it.