Jerry Apps

Feet Touching The Ground

2023-03-16T10:02:00.000-05:00

A column from yesteryear

When I was still teaching, we interviewed a young man from Florida for a position in our department. We talked to him in January when we had a couple feet of snow on the ground, and after spending a day with him, I asked him if would like to come work for us in Wisconsin. I’d noticed he seemed uncomfortable all the time he was here, and I couldn’t put my finger on his concern.

His answer told all. He said, “I don’t think I could work in a place where my feet wouldn’t touch the ground for three months of the year.” He was referring to our snow-covered landscape.

My feet touched the ground this week as our snow has mostly disappeared. Can there be a surer sign of spring? Several readers responded to my request for signs of spring. Here are a couple of them.

“We saw our first robin last week and our tulips and daffodils on the south side of the house are about three inches up. Always love your observations about nature and the seasons. I can tell that like me, you are longing for spring. I look forward to hearing the birds start singing at four in the morning, from the comfort of my bed of course.” Sharon of Plymouth

“A recent morning as I was getting into my car, a cardinal was carrying on nearby with such jubilation I had to smile! In spite of the chilly wind, his frisky notes held such positive hope of the nearly spring. I couldn't help but grin to myself. We in the Midwest don't appreciate the cardinals’ cheery songs. I've heard people in Texas express such joy when they've seen or heard a rare cardinal!” Kay Moore

THE OLD TIMER SAYS: The coming of spring, so much like all of life, is two steps forward and one step back.

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MARCH SNOW MELT

2023-03-09T07:06:00.003-06:00

On the home farm, when the snows began melting in March, a little stream of melt water trickled from behind the corn crib, continued on between the house and the barn, and finally curled under the barnyard gate to disperse in the barnyard.

One year Pa suggested we make a little waterwheel and place it in the melt water river. He made the waterwheel from a cedar wood shingle. He cut two pieces, each about three inches long and a half inch wide. He notched the two pieces and pushed them together making a waterwheel with four little paddles. With two other pieces of shingle wood he made a little frame that held the waterwheel in place while the running melt water turned it.

In early morning, when the temperature had fallen below freezing, the little waterwheel hung motionless in its frame, but usually by mid-day, with climbing temperatures and more snow melting, the waterwheel turned furiously, making a “flip ,flip” sound. The waterwheel turned for more than a week; Pa, my brothers and I would stop, watch and listen to it as we went about doing our various spring chores.

One warm, late afternoon day, we noticed the melt water river had stopped running and the water wheel no longer turned. On that day we knew that spring arrived.

THE OLD TIMER SAYS: Oft times the little things in life can provide the most pleasure.

A blog I wrote in November, 2015

2023-02-23T07:07:00.001-06:00

The Demise of the School of the Arts

An old friend left us this past week. The more than 50-year old School of the Arts held each year in Rhinelander, WI and sponsored by the University of Wisconsin-Madison, is no more. Robert E. Gard was largely responsible for starting the school. Bob’s philosophy was—the arts are for everyone. No matter what your income level, where you lived, or how much formal education you had.

I attended classes there in the 1960s when I had the opportunity to learn from Bob Gard. I participated in a fiction writing workshop with August Derleth, and learned basic skills about writing a novel that have proved invaluable. And much more.

Then in 1971, Bob Gard asked me to teach at the School of the Arts. I did this for 32 years. It was there that I met such national writing figures as Archibald McLeash (three Pulitzer prizes), Dale Wasserman, Henry Mark Petrakis, Studs Terkel, Robert Bly and Jesse Stuart, all writers of considerable note. All of whom taught workshops.

But now the School of the Arts is dead. Many of us are mourning.

Mark Lefebvre, longtime friend of Robert Gard, said this about the school’s passing:

Learning about the demise of the School of the Arts is hard. I broke down and cried. I thought of the many summers I spent with Bob at the School of the Arts. I think of all the people whose lives were awakened.

I think of the extraordinary faculty who in that very special place made real magic happen. Bob taught me so much, most of all, how the unexpected can happen through simple belief. I am so disappointed these days with the University of Wisconsin. Belief is no longer part of its vocabulary. No greater writer than Archibald MacLeish came to Rhinelander one summer. A sophisticated guy. He could not believe the world he had entered. Imagine these "students" being exposed to this man who could not thank Robert E. Gard enough for putting him so close to the creative process.

Long may the banner of The School of the Arts wave over the battlefields of ignorance!

THE OLD TIMER SAYS: The arts make a life worth living.

The Many Faces Of Snow.

2023-02-10T06:43:00.000-06:00

A column from yesteryear.

Snow, for all of its inconveniences—driving challenges, shoveling, and slippery walking—also has a lot going for it. The obvious of course is the beauty of a snowfall and the wonders of the countryside transformed from the drabness of late fall’s browns and grays to a world of white. Snow also provides an opportunity to ski and snowshoe and go sledding. And a chance to build a snowman or a snow fort or maybe even experience a friendly snowball fight.

I did a little digging, no pun intended, into the characteristics of snow, and came up with some interesting information, at least interesting to me.

Snow is not always white. It may also appear blue especially on a cold winter night when the moon is out.

Most of us have experienced how sound changes after a fresh snowfall. Sound is absorbed by snow, muffling it. But when the snow becomes hard and crusty, the opposite happens. Sound bounces off the snow’s surface and travels farther. Of course we all know the sound packed snow makes when we walk on it, especially on cold days when it creaks and crunches, and sounds like it is protesting our presence.

Snow is also a great insulator. Fresh snow is made up of from ninety to ninety-five percent air. Many animals know about snow’s insulating qualities as they burrow into snow to keep warm. Farmers know this as a good snow cover protects crops such as alfalfa from “winter kill.” A good snow cover also keeps my septic system from freezing—not a good thing as it happened a few years ago when we had a stretch of below zero weather and no snow.

Snow also stores water. Ten-inches of snow may equal one-inch of water. Or ten inches of snow could contain as little as one-tenth inch of water. It depends on whether a snowfall is enhanced by moisture from the Gulf of Mexico, or comes from the dry plains of Canada.

This is probably more than you wanted to know about snow, but I find it all interesting as we plow on into the new year with many more snowfalls to come.

THE OLD TIMER SAYS: Let it snow, let it snow. Nothing much we can about it anyway.

A Column from Yesteryear Horseshoes and Good Luck

2023-01-27T12:39:00.001-06:00

On the home farm, it was not difficult to find a horseshoe. After all, we farmed with horses until our first tractor arrived in 1945. Horseshoes are important for protecting horses’ feet, especially when they regularly walk on hard surfaces. But horseshoes had power beyond the practical application. Pa, along with everyone else, believed that a horseshoe meant good luck. Sort of in the same category as finding a four-leaf clover.

The horseshoe as a good luck piece goes back several hundreds of years. Some early Europeans believed that iron had magical powers and had the ability to drive away evil. And many people had great reverence for the blacksmith, who was believed to have a lucky trade because he worked with both iron and fire.

Pa did not hang a horseshoe over the doorway into our farmhouse. He didn’t go that far in his belief about this bent piece of iron as a good luck charm. But many people did, and still do. There was some argument as to whether the horseshoe should be hung with the heels up, forming a “U.” Others argued that to be effective, the heels should hang heels down.

When hung with the heels up, all of your luck is kept from running out of the shoe. But if you hung it heels down, good luck would flow to everyone who walked under it. Seems to me, if you want to cover your good luck bases, you would have two horseshoes, one pointed up and the other pointed down. 

THE OLD TIMER SAYS: Much good luck in 2023

Comment

Last Column Photo by Steve Apps

2022-12-30T06:37:00.002-06:00

With another year ending, I’m sorry to report that this will be my last column. It was a difficult decision to make, as I have been writing columns nearly every year since 1957. In that year I began work as a County Extension Agent in Green Lake County and wrote columns about Extension activities for the Berlin Journal. In 1960 I moved to Green Bay and worked there as an Extension Agent, writing columns for the Green Bay Press Gazette. Ray Pagel was Farm Director for the paper at the time. He would have made a good English teacher, for with a red pen he took my columns apart and showed me how to make them better. He showed me how to say something with 500 words or less. For his patience and instruction, I am forever grateful.

In 1962, I moved to Madison to become Publications Editor for the State 4-H Department, editing all the many 4-H bulletins that went out by the thousands to 4-H member around the state. Bulletins that ranged from how to raise a dairy calf, to tips for sewing and canning. I had no time for column writing, indeed no time for any of my own writing.

By 1964, I was teaching in the Department of Agricultural and Extension Education in UW-Madison’s College of Agriculture and married with three little kids. Learning a new job, and helping take of my family left little time for column writing. Glen Pound, then Dean of the College of Agriculture said I must earn an advanced degree before he could increase my salary. So, in 1966, I was a full-time in graduate school, learning the nuances of academic writing, which was informative, well researched, and often without much heart.

In 1966, in addition to my academic writing, I began writing a weekly column titled “Outdoor Notebook” for the Waushara Argus in Wautoma, and soon also for the New London and Hortonville papers as well as The Central Wisconsin Resorter. I wrote for these papers for ten years. A bit later I wrote weekly columns for the Country Today, and Agriview newspapers. And for the past few years, I wrote “Sit Awhile” for the Wisconsin State Farmer. I have also written this column for the past 15 years as both a blog and an entry on my Facebook Page.

I’ve learned much from my many years of column writing. I’ve learned the power of a story. I have learned that putting a little heart into a story will often take it from ordinary to something better. I have worked hard to do that. A little humor helps too. I write with the hope my words will get people thinking, and perhaps remembering. Memories are powerful tools to make a life more interesting.

I know I will miss reading all the comments and stories that my columns have evoked. Thank you everyone for reading my words. I plan to continue to write books and do TV and radio work, and perhaps write a few articles.

THE OLD TIMER SAYS. Thank you. Without readers, where would writers be?

UPCOMING EVENTS:

Saturday, January 7, 2023, 1:30 p.m. Patterson Memorial Library, Wild Rose, Wisconsin. Presentation on my newest book: More than Words. That book and others will be for sale and signing. I plan to be there in person.

WHERE TO BUY MY BOOKS (Including my newest one). As you all know, books make fine presents. See my website, www.jerryapps.com, for a listing of my books. Buy my books from your local bookstore, or buy online from the Wisconsin Historical Society bookstore, https://shop.wisconsinhistory.org/books, bookshop.org, or purchase from the Friends of the Patterson Memorial Library in Wild Rose—a fundraiser for them. Phone: 920-622-3835 for prices and ordering, or contact the librarian: barnard@wildroselibrary.
Patterson Memorial Library
500 Division Street
Wild Rose, WI 54984.
www.wildroselibrary.org

If you live in the western part of the state, stop at Ruth’s home town, Westby, visit Dregne’s. and look at their great selection of my books. Order a book from them by calling 1-877-634-4414. They will be happy to help you. If you live in northcentral Wisconsin, stop at the Janke bookstore in Wausau (phone 715-845-9648). They also have a large selection of my books.

A Christmas Memory Photo by Jerry Apps

2022-12-23T06:17:00.001-06:00

Christmas is a time for remembering. Some of my most vivid memories go back to 1939, when I was five years old and in first grade. I was attending Chain O’ Lake one-room country school, located about four miles west of Wild Rose. As my fellow students planned for the annual Christmas program at the school, I was terrified to learn that I would have to stand on the stage and say my piece. I was the shiest of shy little kids at the time. In fact, when someone stopped by our farmstead, I would hide in the woods back of the house.

Miss Piechowski, our teacher insisted that I, along with everyone else in the school, all eight grades, would be involved in the Christmas Program and be on the stage. I told Miss Piechowski I couldn’t do it and didn’t want to do it. But she wouldn’t change her mind, she said I must. And she gave me a copy of the words I must memorize. I practiced the words every night with my mother, worried that I would make a fool of myself in front of all of my classmates, and neighbors as everyone attended the annual Christmas Program at the school.

As the night of the Christmas program loomed every closer, Miss Piechowski noticed how disturbed I was. She said she’d share a secret with me to make my task easier. And she did.

The night of the Christmas program arrived. I was dressed in a new pair of bib overalls, and a new work shirt. I even combed my hair. I hated doing that. And now I was worried if my teacher’s secret would work, and if I would remember all the words I had tried to memorize.

In 1939, the school had no electricity. On this night, two gas lanterns hung from the ceiling on either end of the school room—casting shadows in the dimly lit room. The wood stove in the back of the room was keeping the building warm. The room was packed. All the seats were taken and people were standing in the back of the room.

I was first on the program. Instructed to use my outside voice, and scared to death. Then I remembered the secret Miss Piechowski had shared with me as I spoke the words I had worked so hard to memorize: “I would like to welcome all of you to our annual Christmas Program.”

Miss Piechowki’s secret, “Don’t look at the people seated in front of you. Look at the stove pipe in the back of the room. Everyone will think you are looking right at them, but you won’t see them.”

I spoke the words, smiled as Miss Piechowski said I should, and ran off the stage to loud clapping. I had my first experience with public speaking. I have been giving talks for more than sixty years, and I continue to look for the stove pipe in the back of the room.

THE OLD TIMER SAYS. A simple lesson can often be an important one.

UPCOMING EVENTS:

Saturday, January 7, 2023, 1:30 p.m. Patterson Memorial Library, Wild Rose, Wisconsin. Presentation on my newest book: More than Words. That book and other will be for sale and signing. I plan to be there in person.

WHERE TO BUY MY BOOKS (Including One Room Country Schools). See my website, www.jerryapps.com, for a listing of my books. Buy my books from your local bookstore, or buy online from the Wisconsin Historical Society bookstore, https://shop.wisconsinhistory.org/books, bookshop.org, or purchase from the Friends of the Patterson Memorial Library in Wild Rose—a fundraiser for them. Phone: 920-622-3835 for prices and ordering, or contact the librarian: barnard@wildroselibrary. www.wildroselibrary.org

Remembering Winters Past Jerry Apps Photo.

2022-12-16T06:45:00.001-06:00

Several years ago, I wrote a book titled THE QUIET SEASON. It was about winter. Here is a little of what I included in that book:

Many winters have come and gone since those days I spent growing up on a farm. Although these stories happened many years ago, the details are as vivid to me as if I experienced them yesterday.

I remember the feeling of walking back to the house after the evening milking on a below-zero night. I would look upward and behold a sky full of start, for there was no light pollution, nothing to block out the tiny slivers of light punching holes in the black night.

I remember trees in winter, the oaks and maples, aspens and birch, stark, thick gray trunks and bare branches like hundreds of skinny fingers reaching skyward, grasping for the unknown, embracing the unknown, embracing winter and allow it to paint ribbons of snow on their branches. Everygreens became pieces of art: the spruces tall and pyramidal, covered with snow from top to bottom; the red and white pines looking a bit tortured as their limbs sagged under the weight of the winter white.

I have always been intrigued by snowflakes, especially the large, cotton-like ones. I like to watch snowflakes falling en masse, and I marvel at how quickly they can turn a drab and brown landscape into a world of white. Most impressive to me is the close-up of a single snowflake: a frilly, fragile piece of frozen water that nature has arranged into the most intricate of patterns.

Winter brings sounds heard only during those cold months. A crow’s call in winter is one of my favorite sounds. Crows are tough birds. Songbirds pack and leave for the South in winter. So do the wild ducks, Canada geese, and sandhill cranes. But not the crows. On a cold day when I’m out walking, I often hear crows calling, a loneseome, solitary sound. When I hear it I am reassured; winter may be the harshest season, but the crows remain, withstanding the worst that nature throws at them.

Perhaps the most striking and impressive sound of winter is the sound of silence. In winter the birdsong and animal chattering and fluttering of leaves has ceased. On a windless day there is often no sound at all. I may not have understood the power of silence in those days, but I do today, when it is more difficult to find than it was when I was a kid.

Of all the seasons, winter is the most influential on the lives of people who experienced it. It is not just the length of winter that creates a group of people called “northerners.” It is the less tangible, often mythical characteristics of winter that forge a true northerner. Winter is much more than cold and snow.

THE OLD TIMER SAYS. Take time to remember how winter has influenced you.

UPCOMING EVENTS:

WHERE TO BUY MY BOOKS (Including the Quiet Season). As you all know, books make fine Christmas presents. See my website, www.jerryapps.com, for a listing of my books. Buy my books from your local bookstore, or buy online from the Wisconsin Historical Society bookstore, https://shop.wisconsinhistory.org/books, bookshop.org, or purchase from the Friends of the Patterson Memorial Library in Wild Rose—a fundraiser for them. Phone: 920-622-3835 for prices and ordering, or contact the librarian: barnard@wildroselibrary.
Patterson Memorial Library
500 Division Street
Wild Rose, WI 54984.
www.wildroselibrary.org

Finding the Perfect Christmas Tree Jerry Apps Photo

2022-12-09T07:08:00.000-06:00

We started the tradition in 1967, the year after we purchased our Roshara Farm. We have searched for the perfect Christmas tree every year in late November. That first year, our kids were five, four, and three. Finding the perfect tree was not a small task. We began planting pine trees at Roshara in 1966, mostly red pines. Some years we planted several thousand trees. It takes about eight-to-ten-years for a pine tree to reach Christmas tree height. So, during those early years we searched among the trees that were self-seeded—meaning nobody planted them. During the 1930s, the drought years in much of the country, the Coombes family who owned our farm at that time, planted two long rows of white pine trees to prevent wind erosion. By the 1960s, when we bought the farm, these white pines stood tall and thick, and were dropping white pine seeds on our sandy soil. Many little white pine trees were now appearing near these now “way too tall for a Christmas tree” white pines.

White pines are beautiful trees. They have soft, long needles that grow in clusters of five. But they grow fast and the branches are too far apart for a perfect Christmas tree. Sometimes there were exceptions, especially when they grew out in the open and had access to more sunlight.

We also have a considerable number of jack pines, which are native to this part of Wisconsin. They are tough trees, able to withstand drought and whatever weather Mother Nature brings to our farm. They have short, sharp needles. But not candidates for Christmas trees. And finally, Scotch pine trees grow wild on the farm. They do make nice Christmas trees.

During those early years the kids, with Sue, who was the oldest, leading the way on the Christmas tree hunt. “How about this tree?” Sue would ask, standing by a tree that was many times taller than she was. “It’s a dumb looking tree,” Steve would say, as Jeff tagged along not saying anything.

And so it would go as we moved from tree to tree, until we found one that the kids agreed would make a decent looking Christmas tree. We did this for many years, eventually including grandchildren in the hunt. A couple weeks ago, my son-in-law, Paul Bodilly, and I went searching for the perfect tree. By now we had planted more than ten-thousand trees at Roshara. They were of every size and shape. So, selecting the “perfect” tree was no small task. “What about this one?” Paul would say as he stood by a Scotch pine.

“How does it look on the other side?” I asked.

“A little thin,” he said, as he began looking for different one. And so the afternoon went until Paul had decided on two good looking trees, both Scotch pine. One was little, one was big. Upon returning home he brought the little one into their house.

“Isn’t the tree a little small,” Sue said with a bit of a concerned look on her face.

Before going too far with his little trick, Paul brought the larger, beautiful tree into the house. Sue was smiling. The tradition of searching for the perfect tree has remained intact. Hard to believe that we have been doing this for fifty-five years.

THE OLD TIMER SAYS: Searching for the “perfect” Christmas tree is a fun thing to do.

Talk About Crows Steve Apps Photo

2022-12-02T06:53:00.004-06:00

Back when I was a kid on the farm, maybe ten years old, I remember one Saturday Pa asking if I’d like to ride along with him to see a fellow farming on the other side of Plainfield. “Sure,” I said. Saturday usually meant lots of work to do, and riding along with Pa seemed a great way to leave behind the several chores I ordinarily would have to do on a Saturday.

“The fellow has something I want you to see,” Pa said.

“What?” I asked, always interested in stuff that Pa wanted me to see.

“It’ll be a surprise,” Pa said, smiling.

Now I was really curious, as I wondered what a farmer west of Plainfield would have that was different from what we had on our farm. Soon we were driving through the village of Plainfield and into farm country. Not long later, we pulled into a driveway of a farmstead, similar to many in the area. Nothing special here, I thought.

We got out of the car and the fellow Pa wanted to see came out of the house and began talking to Pa. I stayed near the car. I couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but Pa motioned for me to come with them as they walked toward the corncrib. Seemed like an ordinary corncrib. We had one just like it at our farm.

The fellow pulled open the corn crib door and entered, with Pa and me following behind. Then I saw it, a big black crow sitting on a little perch in the back of the corncrib. The farmer said to crow, “Hello.”

The crow, with a rather high-pitched voice, said, “Hello.” Wow! A talking crow. Then the farmer said, “Jimmy Crow,” And the crow said “Jimmy Crow.” I had never seen anything like it—a crow speaking words I could understand. This is what Pa wanted me to see and hear. I’ve never forgotten the experience. Now so many years later, I did some research on talking crows. One report I read said that a crow living in close company with humans can be taught to repeat as many as a 100 words and phrases.

A few weeks ago, on one of those summer-like autumn days, I was sitting outside the cabin at the farm, enjoying the day. “What are you doing?” my son, Steve, asked. There was work to be done and I was doing little of nothing.

“Listening to the crows talk to each other,” I said. And they were. Several of them were perched in the windbreak just west of the cabin, and several more were in the pine trees a hundred yards or so south of the cabin. Both groups were cawing loudly. Crows are highly social birds and they do try to stay in constant communication with each other. In addition to keeping in touch with each other, they have a variety of calls, including one indicating danger may be near. Crows are highly intelligent birds—it’s easy to ignore them and take them for granted.

THE OLD TIMER SAYS: There is much about crows that we don’t know.

UPCOMING EVENTS

Saturday, December 10, 1:30 p.m. Verona, Library. Launch of my new book, MORE THAN WORDS. I plan to be there in person.

WHERE TO BUY MY BOOKS. As you all know, books make fine Christmas presents. See my website, www.jerryapps.com, for a listing of my books. Buy my books from your local bookstore, or buy online from the Wisconsin Historical Society bookstore, https://shop.wisconsinhistory.org/books, bookshop.org, or purchase from the Friends of the Patterson Memorial Library in Wild Rose—a fundraiser for them. Phone: 920-622-3835 for prices and ordering, or contact the librarian: barnard@wildroselibrary.
Patterson Memorial Library
500 Division Street
Wild Rose, WI 54984.
www.wildroselibrary.org

Opening Day Steve Apps photo

2022-11-25T09:02:00.002-06:00

OPENING DAY Steve Apps Photo

Opening day of the deer gun season. Number 76 for me. “You’re still deer hunting?” A question I hear on occasion. “Yes,” I answer with a smile. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

I must confess that weatherwise, this opening day for the 2022 deer gun season was no prize. The temperature hung around 18 degrees, the wind blew from the northwest, and snowflakes fell. Fell so hard that at times I couldn’t see across the little field where I was sitting. We already had two-three inches of snow at Roshara, and within a half hour or so we added another quarter to a half inch. If you like to sit in a snowstorm—and believe it or not, if I’m dressed properly, and I was, I rather enjoy it.

In my early days of deer hunting, bagging a deer with bragging rights was always my goal. Then for a number of years, filling the freezer with venison was the goal. Especially when the family numbered five and my income was on the low side. For the past 20 years or so, bagging a deer was a secondary goal, being with family was first, and being outside, no matter what the weather was always a goal. I have always enjoyed the sights and sounds of nature—and deer season is one time to do that.

I remember so well the days when my dad hunted deer—he did it into his early 90s. In those days, the family hunters included my brothers, and my sons. Three generations. One of the stories passed on over the years was when my dad was 92, and he was standing on a little hill with my son, Steve. They spotted three deer running across a field some 100 yards away, maybe more depending on who was telling the story. “Is one a buck?” Dad asked. “The middle one,” Steve answered. Dad pulled up his 30-30 Savage rifle, and fired one shot. The buck deer dropped, shot through the neck. When asked why he shot it in the neck. His answer, “Didn’t want to spoil any of the meat.” He said it with a big smile on his face.

This year the crew hunting at Roshara included me, my son, Steve, my brother Donald; his three sons Marc, Eric, and Matt, and Matt’s son, Ian. Three generations once more.

I did not bag a deer. My nephew Eric did. He is a true deer hunter. But once more, we all have stories to tell. Deer hunting has always been and will always be storytelling—some of them even may be true.

THE OLD TIMER SAYS: There is so much more to deer hunting than bagging a deer.

UPCOMING EVENTS

Monday, November 28, 7:00 p.m. Watch “Jerry Apps: Food and Memories” on PBS Wisconsin. An hour-long documentary with my daughter, Susan, and based on our book, OLD FARM COUNTRY COOKBOOK/

Saturday, December 10, 1:30 p.m. Verona, Library. Launch of my new book, MORE THAN WORDS. I plan to be there in person.

WHERE TO BUY MY BOOKS. Buy from your local bookstore, or buy online from the Wisconsin Historical Society bookstore, https://shop.wisconsinhistory.org/books, bookshop.org, or purchase from the Friends of the Patterson Memorial Library in Wild Rose—a fundraiser for them. Phone: 920-622-3835 for prices and ordering, or contact the librarian: barnard@wildroselibrary.
Patterson Memorial Library
500 Division Street
Wild Rose, WI 54984.
www.wildroselibrary.org

First Snow Jerry Apps Photo

2022-11-18T06:57:00.000-06:00

The morning sky was slate gray; it was dark, and more than a little dreary. Shortly after eight a.m. I saw snowflakes flying on the wind, just a few of them, and then more and still more snowflakes. The first snowstorm of the season. Within an hour or so, grassy areas turned from green to white, and snow was clinging to the bare branches of the trees. The snow continued falling, reminding us that no matter what the calendar says, we have moved from autumn to winter.

And oh, how the memories have returned to the days of my youth on the farm. The coming of the first snow was bittersweet. On the plus side, it was time to crawl up into the woodshed attic and find our skis, sleds, and clamp-on ice skates. It was time once more to slide down the big hill back of our one-room country school on our sleds, to slip on our skis and ski to the back reaches of the farm, often with a rifle in hand as we searched for a rabbit for supper, or just skied for the fun of it, leaving the rifle at home. Or maybe, with a few school friends, grabbing up our ice skates and walking the mile and half to Chain O ‘Lake where we shoveled the snow aside and skated. We also would build a campfire on the edge of the lake, a place to put on and take off our skates, and to warm up a bit if the temperature, as it often did in those days, hung around zero.

On a snowy day like today, it was exceedingly quiet. I so enjoyed walk in the woods, especially by a row of pine trees. I listened for the subtle sound of snowflakes on pine needles.

The first snow had its down sides, too. Because the cows were kept inside all day, the barn chores increased. Besides milking and feeding the cows, there was always straw to carry for bedding, and manure to shovel from the barn’s gutters. A major task was shoveling a walkway from one farm building to another. From the house to the barn, from the house to the pumphouse, from the house to the chicken house. From the barn to the pumphouse, from the barn to the granary. From the chicken house to the granary. And the driveway from the country road to the milkhouse so the milk truck could pick up our several cans of milk every day.

I always welcomed the first snowfall of the season— remembering how our lives changed as the seasons changed.

THE OLD TIMER SAYS: Each year, the first snowfall marked important changes for farm kids.

UPCOMING EVENTS

Monday, November 28, 7:00 p.m. Watch “Jerry Apps: Food and Memories” on PBS Wisconsin. An hour-long documentary with my daughter, Susan, and based on our book, OLD FARM COUNTRY COOKBOOK/

Saturday, December 10, 1:30 p.m. Verona, Library. Launch of my new book, MORE THAN WORDS. I plan to be there in person.

WHERE TO BUY MY BOOKS

To learn more about winter, see my book THE QUIET SEASON: REMEMBERING COUNTRY WINTERS. Buy from your local bookstore, or buy online from the Wisconsin Historical Society bookstore, https://shop.wisconsinhistory.org/books, bookshop.org, or purchase from the Friends of the Patterson Memorial Library in Wild Rose—a fundraiser for them. Phone: 920-622-3835 for prices and ordering, or contact the librarian: barnard@wildroselibrary.
Patterson Memorial Library
500 Division Street
Wild Rose, WI 54984.
www.wildroselibrary.org

Red Sky in The Morning Steve Apps photo

2022-11-11T07:01:00.002-06:00

On my recent, daily, early morning walk, I noticed the red sky stretching from horizon to horizon. I remembered my father’s words, “Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning.” The meaning-- foul weather was on the way, be prepared (whether you were a sailor or a farmer). Two hours later. the storm clouds moved in and rain began. Cold, autumn rain, but nonetheless, appreciated rain. On the home farm it seemed we never had enough rain—our sandy soil required it; nothing much grew without goodly amounts of rain. When one of my brothers or I would complain about a rainy day, Pa would say, “Never curse the rain.” I have never forgotten that admonition, no matter how hard it rained, or how wet I got.

Rain was something we always appreciated—and this year, 2022, is no exception as we read about barges on the Mississippi getting stuck on the bottom of that mighty river because the water level is too low. The West and Southwest continue to experience severe drought. I also recently read that Texas cotton farmers have suffered because of the drought. Cotton is Texas’ largest crop. Cotton farmers are expecting half their normal annual yield this year.

In Wisconsin, for the most part, the rains have come regularly this year. At my farm. I had green grass in my lawn all summer-long. Often, by mid-summer the rains stopped and the grass turned brown until it rained again.

Checking the National Weather Service, Wisconsin State Records, I discovered that Wisconsin has had some record rainfalls in recent years. In 2019, 44.6 inches of rain fell, followed by 39.7 in 2018. The least rain fell in 1910—20.5 inches. During the Great Depression, the country saw the least annual rainfall for a five-year period, 1929 to 1933. These were the years of the dustbowl when the dry winds of summer filled the air with the soil from thousands of acres of farmland. The wettest five-year period for annual rainfall in Wisconsin was 2015 to 2019. The greatest 24-hour rainfall, in Wisconsin, 11.72 inches fell in Mellen, WI on June 24, 1946.

As farmers, young and old, have long known, ample rainfall can make the difference between success and failure on the farm. Remember, “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight, Red sky in the morning sailors take warning.”

THE OLD TIMER SAYS: Watching the sky is one good way of predicting the weather.

UPCOMING EVENTS

Saturday, December 10, 1:30 p.m. Verona, Library. Launch of my new book, MORE THAN WORDS. I plan to be there in person.

WHERE TO BUY MY BOOKS

To learn more about rain, see my book: Never Curse the Rain. Buy from your local bookstore, or buy online from the Wisconsin Historical Society bookstore, https://shop.wisconsinhistory.org/books, bookshop.org, or purchase from the Friends of the Patterson Memorial Library in Wild Rose—a fundraiser for them. Phone: 920-622-3835 for prices and ordering, or contact the librarian: barnard@wildroselibrary.
Patterson Memorial Library
500 Division Street
Wild Rose, WI 54984.
www.wildroselibrary.org

Pictures Have Stories to Tell

2022-11-04T06:57:00.001-05:00

It is often said that a picture is worth a thousand words. For me, a picture is also worth many stories, stories that may not have been told for many years. A couple weeks

ago, my brother Donald and I gazed at the picture of the home farm’s buildings. It was an aerial photo taken in the late 1950s, after my two brothers and I had left the farm, but our father and mother continued farming.

We looked at the photo of the old barn, really two barns in one. We had moved the larger barn to the farm shortly after World War II. What a task it was to move a barn of that size. Pa had purchased the barn from near Heffron, which was about five miles north of our place. Don and I talked about how we spent several days trimming back tree limbs along the country roads where we would haul the barn. Not an easy task. Then we talked about the day that the barn was moved. The mover had attached wheels to the corners of the big structure, and then with his truck along with our Farmall H tractor and our neighbor, Bill Miller’s John Deere B, we pulled the huge barn—it took up the entire road—from Heffron to our farm. It moved along at about three miles an hour. And what a sight to see. A barn moving down the road.

We noticed the big straw stack just beyond the barn, and commented that that the photo had been taken shortly after we had threshed. This brought back memories of threshing machines and threshing dinners, and moving from farm to farm during threshing season. Pa and Bill Miller owned a threshing machine together, so we had first had experience with that complicated machine with its pulleys and belts running every which way. We remembered how important the straw stack was to our dairy farm operations, as the straw providing bedding for the cows that remained in the barn throughout our long, cold Wisconsin winters.

We commented on the brooder house, just west of the barn, where we started all the baby chicks that arrived each spring by train. We looked at the machine shed on the west side of the farmstead, with its crooked doors built by a carpenter who had celebrated a bit too much the night before he worked on our shed.

So many stories buried in one picture. Stories of farm life in the1950s, when there were family farms everywhere. Now, all but a handful of them are gone.

THE OLD TIMER SAYS: So many stories from old photos—stories that should be told, and remembered.

WHERE TO BUY MY BOOKS

To learn more about family farms, see Wisconsin Agriculture: A History. Buy from your local bookstore, or buy online from the Wisconsin Historical Society bookstore, https://shop.wisconsinhistory.org/books, bookshop.org, or purchase from the Friends of the Patterson Memorial Library in Wild Rose—a fundraiser for them. Phone: 920-622-3835 for prices and ordering, or contact the librarian: barnard@wildroselibrary.
Patterson Memorial Library
500 Division Street
Wild Rose, WI 54984.
www.wildroselibrary.org

Cranberries: Wisconsin No. 1 Jerry Apps Photo

2022-10-28T06:54:00.003-05:00

This is the time of the year, when the trees are turning color and dropping their leaves, and there is frost is on the ground in the morning, when I think about cranberries. Maybe it’s because, in 1955, the first job I had when I graduated from college was raking cranberries. By hand in a bog near Wisconsin Rapids. It was before the modern cranberry harvesting equipment was commonly used by cranberry growers.

Wisconsin’s history with cranberries goes back a long, long way. Cranberries are native to Wisconsin. They were well known to the Native Americans long before the first Europeans arrived in the state. They grew abundantly in marshy areas, especially in Waushara and Wood counties. Native Americans ate cranberries fresh; they ground them and mixed them with cornmeal and baked the mixture into bread. They dried cranberries with wild game to make pemmican. Sometimes they mixed cranberries with maple sugar to soften the berries tart taste.

Native Americans also knew about cranberries’ medicinal qualities believing that they calmed nerves. They also were used as poultices to draw poison from wounds. These early people in Wisconsin used cranberry juice to dye blankets and rugs.

What is the source of the name for this tart, native berry? It is believed that the early Dutch or German settlers called the fruit “craneberries” because the cranberry stem and blossom resembled the neck, head and beak of the crane.

Early settlers in Wisconsin, who lived within easy traveling distance of a wild cranberry bog, picked cranberries for their own use long before anyone grew them commercially. Edward Sacket of New York is credited with starting the first commercial cranberry operation in Wisconsin. Around 1860 he purchased seven hundred acres of bog land covered with cranberry vines north of Berlin in Waushara County. By 1865 he was producing more than 900 barrels a year of cranberries that sold for $15 dollars a barrel. Soon other cranberry growers joined Sacket and Waushara County experienced a bit of a cranberry boom.

In addition to Waushara County, wild cranberries also grew in Jackson, Juneau, Monroe, and Wood Counties. In 1871, the first cultivated cranberries in the Wisconsin River Valley were planted near present-day Cranmoor in Wood County. By1895, the center of commercial cranberry growing had shifted to Wood County.

At one time, cranberries were associated only with Thanksgiving and Christmas. Not today. Cranberry juice and dried cranberries became popular throughout the year. An international market emerged for cranberry products, especially when the health benefits of consuming cranberries was promoted. Starting in 1994, Wisconsin led the nation in cranberry production out pacing long-time leader, Massachusetts.

Have you tried dried cranberries? They make a great snack. A glass of cranberry juice is a most refreshing drink. besides, it’s good for you.

THE OLD TIMER SAYS: Cranberries are a year-around treat, low in calories, high in flavor.

WHERE TO BUY MY BOOKS

To learn more about the history of cranberries, see my book, Wisconsin Agriculture: A History. Buy from your local bookstore, or buy online from the Wisconsin Historical Society bookstore, https://shop.wisconsinhistory.org/books, bookshop.org, or purchase from the Friends of the Patterson Memorial Library in Wild Rose—a fundraiser for them. Phone: 920-622-3835 for prices and ordering, or contact the librarian: barnard@wildroselibrary.
Patterson Memorial Library
500 Division Street
Wild Rose, WI 54984.
www.wildroselibrary.org

Halloween at the Country School. Jerry Apps Photo.

2022-10-21T06:49:00.002-05:00

Frost covered the country road, as my little brothers and I walked the mile to our one-room country school. We made the walk every day during the school year, no matter if it was ten below zero, raining hard, or just a pleasant cool day like this one in late October. It was a special day. It was Halloween. Halloween meant a party at school that afternoon, starting around 2:00 p.m. and going on until the end of the school day. The mothers helped the teacher with the party, and it was always fun—if a bit scary for the younger students.

It was hard for me to concentrate on my studies that day, because all I could think about was the party to come, and what fun activities the teacher had planned. The first mothers began arriving at 1:30. One of them carried a big wash tub, the kind we used for taking a bath on Saturday night in front of the kitchen woodstove. I knew what the tub was for. Every year we bobbed for apples. This meant the tub was filled with water and a bunch of shiny red apples were dumped in to float on the top. To get an apple, you had to stick your open month on one of the floating apples and chase it to the bottom of the tub, immersing your entire head in the water. Sort of fun if you didn’t mind getting a wet head.

When two o’clock finally rolled around, the party officially started. My fellow students and I stayed out of the way as the various party activities were set up. Then it all began. The apple bobbing, attempting to retrieve an apple that hung on a long string—almost impossible to do as the apples would swing wildly. Blindfolded, we would take turns as the teacher explained feeling grapes in a bowl of water (ghosts’ eyeballs), smelling vinegar (a witch’s brew) and feeling cooked noodles in a bowl (a witch’s brain).

After the “fun” activities, we all enjoyed Kool-Aid and cookies and shared with each other how much fun or scared we had been. There was no “Trick or Treat” in the evening. Only tricks that some of the young men in the community took part in—such as tipping over outhouses and harnessing a neighbor’s cows with horse harnesses.

Walking home that afternoon, I thought about when we would have our next party at school, and which cookies I liked best. They were wonderful, fun breaks from reading, ‘riting, and ‘rithmetic.

THE OLD TIMER SAYS: The Halloween party was a memorable break in the fall routine at the one-room country school.

WHERE TO BUY MY BOOKS

Buy from your local bookstore, or buy online from the Wisconsin Historical Society bookstore, https://shop.wisconsinhistory.org/books, bookshop.org, or purchase from the Friends of the Patterson Memorial Library in Wild Rose—a fundraiser for them. Phone: 920-622-3835 for prices and ordering, or contact the librarian: barnard@wildroselibrary.
Patterson Memorial Library
500 Division Street
Wild Rose, WI 54984.
www.wildroselibrary.org

Memories of Preparing For Winter Jerry Apps Photo .

2022-10-14T06:54:00.001-05:00

With the turning of the leaves and shorter days, my childhood memories on the farm come flooding back. In those days it seemed that almost everything we did was in preparation for the winter that never failed to come with its frigid temperatures, deep snow, and cloudy, dreary days.

By late October, the oat bin was full, as was the corncrib and the silo. The hayloft was piled high with hay, the straw stack stood tall outside the barn. We piled straw around the foundation of our farm house. “Keeps the cold out of the house,” Pa said.

We spent several days in the oak woodlot north of the house, cutting dead oaks with ax and crosscut saw. Making wood, it was called. We heated the house with two woodstoves, heated the pumphouse with a stove, and kept another stove going in the potato cellar to keep our potato crop from freezing before they were sold. The cellar under the house was filled with garden vegetables: potatoes, rutabagas, onions, carrots, and several shelves of canned fruits and vegetables that Ma had worked so hard on preparing during the hot days of July and August. A huge crock of sauerkraut stood in the pantry.

Usually, in late October, a cold rain began in the morning and continued all day. Pa would say, by late afternoon on such a day, “Looks like we should keep the cows in the barn tonight.” This meant carrying in forkful after forkful of straw so the cows in their stanchions would have a comfortable place to spend the night. Now I knew winter was close at hand, as the cows had been outside from late April, coming in the barn only for morning and evening milking.

The last reminder that winter was just around the corner was when we dusted off the woodburning stove that spent winters in the dining room and summers in the woodshed. With the help of several neighbors, we hauled the Round Oak heater, which was about five feet high into its winter place in the house. With the stove and its stovepipes in place, Pa opened the stove’s door, tossed in some rumpled-up paper, a few sticks of wood, and lit the fire. “By golly, she’s workin,” Pa said as a smile spread across his face.

We were ready for winter.

THE OLD TIMER SAYS: When I was a kid, preparation for winter consumed much of our time spent on the farm.

WHERE TO BUY MY BOOKS

Let's Hear It For Onions Steve Apps Photo

2022-10-07T07:02:00.000-05:00

This was a good year for onions at Roshara. Much better than last year. I have many memories of onions as a kid. I will never forget the first county fair I attended, which was in 1938 when I was but a little shaver. I remember so well the sights—cattle judging, the Midway. The sounds—the music coming from the Merry Go-Round, the roosters crowing in the poultry building, the ducks quacking. And the smell of onions frying in the food tents—or how I liked it and will never forget that smell.

Looking at this year’s onion crop, I realized that I knew little about onions and their heritage. And why they continue to be popular in the diets of many. As a kid I took onions for granted. I knew my mother grew them in our big farm garden. But they were no near as popular as tomatoes, potatoes, and sweetcorn—at least I never heard anybody in the family waiting for the first onions to be pulled.

So, I did a little checking and learned some interesting things. There is some debate about where onions were first discovered. Central Asia, Iran and West Pakistan were the likely places. Wild onions were in early humans’ diets before farming as we know it started. Onions have been cultivated for more than 5,000 years. One of the reasons for their popularity as a food was because they were less perishable than other foods, they were easily transported, and they would grow in a variety of soils and climates.

Onions, down through the ages, had many uses beyond food. Early Romans believed onions helped restore vision, induced sleep, and cured toothaches. In the Middle Ages in Europe, people believed onions prevented headaches and prevented hair loss. The first Pilgrims arriving in America on the Mayflower, brought onions with them. Onions became a popular commercial crop in New England.

Of course, onions remain popular today. The top five onion producing states are California, Oregon, Washington, Idaho and New Mexico. Wisconsin ranks number 11 among the states in onion production. I continue to enjoy the smell of onions frying.

THE OLD TIMER SAYS: Onions have remained a popular food item down through the ages.

WHERE TO BUY MY BOOKS

Lost a Long-time Friend Jerry Apps Photo

2022-09-30T06:48:00.001-05:00

LOST A LONG-TIME FRIEND Jerry Apps photo.

I lost a long-time friend a few weeks ago—David Kolka. He was 85. One of those “salt of the earth” persons as we used to call them when I was growing up on the farm. . The Kolka farm was about a mile west of our farm, across the road from my Grandfather Bill Witt’s place. Dave was a couple years younger than me. He along with his brother Jim, six months younger than me, were the first kids my younger brothers and I got to know. I’ve known the Kolka boys for more than 80 years, since we all were little guys and figuring out what having a friend was all about.

The Kolka boys, my brothers and I attended the Chain O’ Lake one-room country school. We played softball together; we performed in Christmas programs together. We helped each other with our school work.

When we got old enough, we hunted squirrels together on cool fall, Sunday afternoons. We hunted deer together and went ice fishing together. Dave and Jim were our best friends.

Dave was quiet, never said a lot, but when he said something, you’d best listen, because he usually had something to say. Society was—still is--filled with talkers. But many of them have little to say.

In fall 1955, when I was waiting to go into the army, and my brother Donald was waiting to go to barber school, Dave, Jim, Don and I raked cranberries by hand in a cranberry marsh near Wisconsin Rapids. It was a cold, wet, miserable, back-breaking job. Did Dave Kolka complain—nope. The rest of us did. But not Dave. He was one of the best cranberry rakers in the bog.

My two brothers and I, along with Dave’s brother, Jim, all left the farm. Dave stayed on the farm where he had grown up, and farmed until he retired. He was a supervisor for the Town of Rose, and for many years served on the Waushara County Board. Dave is survived by Lois, his wife of 57 years, two daughters and a son, his brother Jim plus several grandchildren.

I will miss him. He was a great guy.

THE OLD TIMER SAYS: It’s hard to lose an old friend.

WHERE TO BUY MY BOOKS

TELL ME A STORY Photo by Jerry Apps

2022-09-23T07:05:00.000-05:00

Those who know me are well aware of my love for stories. I grew up hearing them. My dad was a first-rate storyteller, so were several of our farm neighbors. Beyond the great meals, as the neighbors gathered for threshing, silo filling, corn shredding and wood sawing, were the stories. Told after the meals. Told during the breaks in work. Driving by a field of shocked oats triggers for me stories about threshing days. Corn shocks remind me of corn shredding crews.

Stories are important, well beyond their entertainment value. Stories help us recall the past while opening a window to the future. Stories tie us to our past and at the same time provide a platform for facing the future. By telling our stories, we are coming out from behind ourselves and letting other people know a little more about who we are.

The pictures formed in our minds when we hear a story are often far better than those we see in movies or on television. As a kid, I listened to radio programs: The Lone Ranger, Terry and the Pirates, Captain Midnight, Jack Armstrong and others. The stories tapped into my imagination. I lived the stories right along with the radio actors who were telling them. I saw the pictures in my mind as clearly as if they were printed on paper.

A story is more than words. A story can evoke feelings in people they have thought long forgotten, bringing tears and laughter, sometimes in the same paragraph. Our stories make us different from one another yet tie us all together.

Storytelling can change us forever. Our stories can help us discover meaning in our lives without defining or describing it. Stories ground us, give us pleasure, and provide a sense of purpose in our lives. Stories help make us human. When we forget our stories, we forget who we are.

THE OLD TIMER SAYS: Tell me a story.

WHERE TO BUY MY BOOKS

Potatoes, A Favorite Food Steve Apps Photo

2022-09-16T07:04:00.001-05:00

It’s potato harvesting time. Since 1967, when we began vegetable gardening at Roshara, potatoes have remained one of our main crops. Maybe it’s because the words of my father remain in my head—a meal is not complete unless it includes potatoes. Thus, as a kid, I remember fried potatoes for breakfast, boiled potatoes for dinner, and boiled potatoes for supper, at least six days of the week. We often had pancakes for breakfast on Sunday, as a special treat, but back to potatoes for dinner and supper. Another treat was baked potatoes, which we had when relatives came for dinner or supper, and especially if it was a holiday such as Thanksgiving or Christmas.

Potatoes have been an important food in the world for thousands of years. The Inca Indians in Peru were believed to have cultivated potatoes around 9,000 B.C. In 1536, the Spanish invaders in Peru discovered the taste of potatoes and took them back to Europe. In 1589, Sr. Walter Raleigh is believed to have introduced potatoes to Ireland. It wasn’t until the 1620s that potatoes made their way from Europe to the United States. Irish immigrants to the U.S. also brought potatoes with them. According to the USDA, in 2021 the top three states in potato production were Idaho, Washington and Wisconsin

Potatoes are a nutritious food; They are plant-based, cholesterol-free, sodium-free. fat-free, and gluten-free. The potato is about 80 percent water and 20 percent solids. An eight-ounce baked or boiled potato contains only 100 calories. They also are an excellent source of fiber and they contain antioxidants that help to prevent diseases.

The potato became the first vegetable to be grown in space—the year was 1995. NASA and the University of Wisconsin-Madison researchers created the technology. The goal was to provide a way of feeding astronauts on long space voyages, and perhaps feed future space colonies.

THE OLD TIMER SAYS: Listen to your dad. Potatoes are good for you.

WHERE TO BUY MY BOOKS

2022-09-09T07:19:00.001-05:00

Many will remember this poem, “September,” written by Helen Hunt Jackson in 1892. It was one of several poems we learned when I was a student in a one-room country school many years ago. The first lines are:

“The golden-rod is yellow;

The corn is turning brown;

The trees in apple orchards

With fruit are bending down.”

The goldenrods great claim to fame—it announces the coming of autumn with the happiness of beautiful yellow flowers.

There are more than a hundred species of goldenrod, which is native to North America. It will grow almost everywhere, but it seems to like infertile, sandy soil the best—the kind of soil we have at Roshara. It also likes lots of sunshine. It can grow up to five feet tall, and this time of year, it has an abundance of beautiful yellow flowers. We have solid patches of goldenrod in our prairie at Roshara. Its flowers attract an assortment of bees, and butterflies, which help the pollination of the goldenrod.

Historically, goldenrods had many uses beyond reminding us that summer was about to leave. Honey bees make tasty dark-colored honey from its nectar. It has been used to heal wounds and to cure a variety of other health problems such as indigestion and diabetes. The dried flowers can be used to make tea. A little-known fact, Thomas Edison used the milky juice of goldenrods to make tires for Henry Ford’s Model T Ford car. Native Americans used goldenrod leaves for toothache and other health problems.

A prevalent myth—goldenrod flowers cause “hay fever” type allergies.

Not so. Its pollen is a type that doesn’t fly through the air and attack our respiratory systems. Ragweed is usually the culprit in autumn. Ragweed pollen flies on the wind.

Enjoy the beauty of goldenrods, a time to recall the many memories of summer just passing and the beautiful autumn to come.

THE OLD TIMER SAYS: Goldenrods, nature’s paint brush at work once more.

WHERE TO BUY MY BOOKS

What I Learned About Growing Zucchini Steve Apps Photo.

2022-09-02T06:43:00.002-05:00

I don’t remember that my folks ever grew zucchini squash in their garden. They grew lots of other squash—winter squash such as Hubbard and Acorn, but no summer squash, I’m sure the idea of summer squash made little sense to them. They had lots of fresh summer vegetables from our big garden—lettuce, carrots, peas, green beans, and sweet corn.

When I first began gardening at Roshara in 1967, I decided to plant some Zucchini. Several of my friends said I should, that zucchini was the new popular vegetable to grow. I planted a long row of zucchini, alongside a row of butternut winter squash. The first important thing I learned about growing zucchini—plant only two or three hills, not a long row.

The second thing I learned, pick the zucchini before it is four feet long, which is the length it grew in my Roshara garden. Needless to say, with the long row, and the huge zucchinis crowding out the butternut squash, I had enough zucchini to feed the neighborhood.

The third thing I learned—check with your spouse about what to do with zucchini before you plant the seeds. I didn’t and when Ruth asked what she should do with our bountiful harvest, I suggested removing the seeds and baking it. That’s what we did with our winter squash. That is not what you do with summer squash. You don’t prepare zucchini that way.

The fourth thing I learned; it is easy to grow zucchini. A gardening friend said, “If you can’t grow zucchini, you’d best turn your efforts to doing something other than vegetable gardening.”

We continue to grow zucchini. Ruth has a zucchini bread recipe that is just the best—the grandkids will eat it before they eat cookies. We have three hills of zucchini in our garden—no more long rows.

THE OLD TIMER SAYS: Plant some zucchini. You’ll be surprised at what happens.

WHERE TO BUY MY BOOKS

See my book, GARDEN WISDOM. Buy from your local bookstore, or buy online from the Wisconsin Historical Society bookstore, https://shop.wisconsinhistory.org/books, bookshop.org, or purchase from the Friends of the Patterson Memorial Library in Wild Rose—a fundraiser for them. Phone: 920-622-3835 for prices and ordering, or contact the librarian: barnard@wildroselibrary.
Patterson Memorial Library
500 Division Street
Wild Rose, WI 54984.
www.wildroselibrary.org

An Afternoon at the Fair. Susan Apps-Bodilly Photo.

2022-08-26T07:00:00.000-05:00

I am not doing much traveling these days. But my daughter Sue and I did manage to attend the Waushara County Fair on a recent Saturday. I was there for an afternoon of signing my new book, SEE YOU ON THE MIDWAY: A HISTORY OF WISCONSIN FAIRS.

A huge crowd attended the fair on this sunny Saturday. As one fair goer who stopped by my signing table said, “So many people on the Midway you could hardly walk.”

Everyone stopping by my signing table, where a 4-H Leader and 4-H members from the Pine River 4-H club were helping me, had a story to tell. Of course, I had few to share myself as I first attended this fair with my dad when I was four years old. Dad had shown cattle at this fair back in the 1920s and he had many stories to share. As a 4-H member, I showed calves at this fair for ten years.

The story swapping was interrupted every few minutes, by the air shattering roar of souped-up riding lawn mowers in a lawn mower pulling contest. No such thing when I was a kid. I chatted with a fair director who stopped by to chat, and he said that events like this one, a demolition derby, tractor pulling contest and such bring the younger generation to the fair.

I talked at length with another fair director about the role of fairs these days and whether they had a future. We both agreed that fairs are an important way of telling the story of agriculture and country life to our urban friends, at a time when the number of farmers is small and declining.

Walking through the dairy barn, with well-groomed calves and cows all standing in a row, I spotted a little Jersey calf. A little girl, I’d guess maybe two years old, was petting the calf and she was smiling from ear to ear. The calf seemed to be smiling, too. What a wonderful way to begin telling the story of farming and farm life.

THE OLD TIMER SAYS: The fair is a great way to bring city and country together.

WHERE TO BUY MY BOOKS

See my book, SEE YOU ON THE MIDWAY: A HISTORY OF WISCONSIN FAIRS from your local bookstore, or buy online from the Wisconsin Historical Society bookstore, https://shop.wisconsinhistory.org/books, bookshop.org, or purchase from the Friends of the Patterson Memorial Library in Wild Rose—a fundraiser for them. Phone: 920-622-3835 for prices and ordering, or contact the librarian: barnard@wildroselibrary.
Patterson Memorial Library
500 Division Street
Wild Rose, WI 54984.
www.wildroselibrary.org

Sunflowers Add Beauty Steve Apps Photo.

2022-08-19T07:15:00.004-05:00

My father loved vegetable gardening. He was gardening just a few weeks before he passed away in 1993, at the age of 93. I learned a lot about vegetable gardening from him, as well as from my mother. One thing I learned from my dad, “Always grow something pretty in your garden.” By that he meant, grow some flowers along with all the vegetables.

During the several weeks that my mother was in a nursing home, almost every day dad picked a flower from his vegetable garden to take to her. This time of the year it was usually a big red dahlia, which brought back memories as well as a little beauty into her remaining months.

For the past several years, the flower of choice at Roshara’s garden has been sunflowers. I like them, my son, Steve and daughter-in-law, Natasha, the primary garden operators these days like them as well. They require little care—some hoeing to keep away the weeds when the sunflowers are little.

Being curious about things, the other day I asked myself, “Where did sunflowers originate?” They are native to America. The early ones were discovered in what is now Arizona and New Mexico. Native Americans grew them as a food source, crushing the seeds into flour for bread. They also knew how to extract the oil from the sunflower seeds, which they used for cooking.

Different cultures symbolize sunflowers in different ways—long life, vitality, good luck, a happy flower. Some people firmly believe that having sunflowers around the house can help relieve stress, anxiety, and depression.

The birds harvest our sunflower seeds as soon as they are ripe, we get what is left over. For more than half the summer, sunflowers add a touch of beauty to our vegetable garden. When I see them, I am reminded of my father and his words to always add a little beauty to your garden.

THE OLD TIMER SAYS: We all need a little beauty in our lives—planting sunflowers is one way.

WHERE TO BUY MY BOOKS

See my book GARDEN WISDOM, for tips on vegetable gardening. Buy it at your local bookstore, or buy online from the Wisconsin Historical Society bookstore, https://shop.wisconsinhistory.org/books, bookshop.org, or purchase from the Friends of the Patterson Memorial Library in Wild Rose—a fundraiser for them. Phone: 920-622-3835 for prices and ordering, or contact the librarian: barnard@wildroselibrary.
Patterson Memorial Library
500 Division Street
Wild Rose, WI 54984.
www.wildroselibrary.org