When Tim and I were kids, we had many “out” buildings on the farm. The only ones left are the house and barn, which is a miracle in itself due to our antics. Back then, there were the following: the chicken coop, corn house, oat house, schoolhouse, the roost, privy, woodshed, and milk house. They all died of “old age”. All except the chicken coop that I burned down and the roost that Tim burned down. I would hasten to add that both of them were purely accidental (This time!) Although I certainly was a pyromaniac, the burning of the chicken coop was indeed an accident! Sadly, there’s no trace of any of the above buildings today. The only way I can get pictures of them is to crop backgrounds of other old pictures, which I did with the oat house. I sure wish now that someone would have thought to take pictures of those buildings when they were still standing. As kids, we just took it for granted that they would always be there. Alas, such was not the case.

 

This account deals with the oat house. Although, it also had wheat in the bins, we always called it the oat house. This was yet just another location for Tim and me to engage in our usual antics. It had 2 levels. The downstairs had bins holding wheat and oats. We loved to play in the wheat and oat bins. We would roll around and bury ourselves in the loose grain. Other times we had grain fights resulting in much grain all over the floor. I’m sure our father or Uncle Ned had to sweep it all up and return it to the bins, unless we played in bins of differing grains. I doubt they tried to sort out oats from wheat. In that case, they just left if for the rats to gorge on. Of course, it never occurred to US to do this after our frolics. In fact, knowing our father, I’m surprised he didn’t make us clean up the mess. I did and still like the smell of wheat and oats, especially when they’re newly harvested.

 

After completing our antics downstairs, we then ventured upstairs to resume mischievous endeavors there. There was a plethora of interesting things upstairs. It was full of antiques including an old horsehair swivel chair. The back was torn open and all the brown stuffing was hanging out which I always assumed was real horsehair, consequently a “horse hair” chair. There were also several old horse harnesses hanging on the north wall. In addition, among the antiques was an old sidesaddle laying on the floor. Tim would put it on his back and I would “ride” on him all around the chamber. Tim claims I would never put the saddle on MY back so he could “ride”. He’s probably right, since my mother always said that I was a “strong willed” (i.e. stubborn) child. What I can’t figure out is why he kept doing it. I guess we both needed something constructive to do, other than something destructive, which was the norm.

 

There also was an old round whetstone up there. It was thick and heavy. We would roll it around up there. It’s a wonder it didn’t break through the old wooden walls when it hit them at high speed. In time, it had small chunks broken off from it as a result of our rolling it and hitting everything. Now and then, we would roll it down the wooden stairs and it would hit the west wall with a lot of momentum. After doing this on several occasions, the stairs finally broke. After this, we had to climb upstairs. Apparently, no one ever needed anything up there, or we would have been in real trouble!

 

Against the south wall was a big stack of thin wooden ribs attached to a slat of wood on each side. We discovered later that they were used for baskets used for vegetables to prevent squashing and bruising when the baskets were stacked on each other. The ribs were made out of the same very thin material that baskets were made from. They looked just like small ladders. We would “climb the ladder” resulting in all the thin slats breaking apart. We went through the whole large stack and broke them all. Here again, it’s a good thing they didn’t “truck farm” anymore! It’s ironic, that in later years, I worked for the basket company in Berlin Heights that made the protectors and baskets. We locals always called The Berlin Fruit Box Co. “The Box Shop”, even though they ceased making wooden vegetable boxes years before and produced only baskets. I worked there for about 9 months or so in the mid 1970’s and during that time, I was a real “basket case”. Most would say I still am.

 

One of the vivid memories Tim and I have about the oat house is helping our father bag grain. He would make regular trips to Shinrock Elevator to “get feed ground” as he called it. He would load ear corn into the old Dodge truck, and then go to the oat house to bag oats in burlap bags that held around 50 lbs. of oats. We held the bags open for him as he shoveled the oats into them. He used a silver aluminum shovel. As he got a shovel full of oats, there would be a grinding sound as the shovel went into the oat pile and when he put the grain in the bag, it would make a “brinnnng” sound as it left the aluminum shovel.

 

In time, the upstairs was littered with carnage as a result of our activities up there. Apparently, no one cared what happened to any of the “old stuff” socked away out of sight and out of mind. However, NOTHING on the farm was out of our sight or mind! At least if we were in the oat house, we managed to stay “out of the hair” of every one else, at least for a little while!

 

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