Dang Stanton. I'm not a farmer. But every year from the time I was six until about 10 my Mom would ship me and twin-brother to southern Illinois to stay with my biological grandfather. He had a farm outside of West Frankfurt. I remember the roller squeegee on the washing machine where my step-grandmother would wring the water out of the clothes and the 100 degree dry heat and the wheat.
But my Great grandfather also lived on 80 acres just outside of Thompsonville. He was born in 1868, married in 1890 and farmed the same farm until the day he died in 1965. He and my great grandmother built the house and barn themselves and made pretty much all the furniture out of spools and the rugs. There was no electricity or running water except by about 1952 an outlet for a refrigerator and stove in the kitchen. The outhouse had a Sears Roebuck catalog in it for obvious reasons. The tractor didn't work but he had two horses Ted and Jim which were the biggest horses I've ever seen. They had no money; made their own butter; ate their own eggs that I had to gather. The house was lit by oil lamps and I, a southern boy, was terrified at the stories of tornadoes. Once he got angry at all of us and ran us off holding a shotgun (don't know the make).
Somehow, your farm doesn't sound like that.
Pictures taken from old 8mm movie film from circa 1954-56: (that's me age 12 in the second photo - 1953 Chrysler station wagon)
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