Journal Entry about the Pony Incident

By Molly

This is my journal article from January 12, 1990. I wrote this in my journal after Mom broke her arm riding one of the new ponies. It says, "Last Monday my mom got on are horse and the horse reed (*reared) up and then it fell back on the left side of her then the horse bibe (*died) and my moms rom (*arm) got drockyd (*broke.)"

My Little Ponies

By Mary

Until I was about ten or so, we always had anywhere from four to six draft horses on the farm, percherons. They were big. We used them for farming. I was able to help harness them as young as four. Dad would have me drive them as we picked up hay or spread manure on the fields. Now and then we would get on their backs and ride them around the pasture, but the rides were short. These were not horses you took for long rides. I always wanted my own horse to ride. We had a horse named Buster for a couple of years, but we were warned to not ride him. He would throw us if he did. My cousin, Annie did ride him once; she was thrown, he went away soon after that.

Dad taking a group for a hay ride with the team of draft horse.
I was always asking Mom for a riding horse. When I was thirteen, the cattle man showed up one day. He bought several cows from us. The cows were to be sold right away. He had two horses in his trailer that weren’t going to be sold right away so he left the horses with us and took the cows.

The horses he left were riding horses, I don’t know what type, but they looked like quarter horses. I wanted to ride them so bad. I would go to the pasture and talk to them. One was red and other white. The white one ignored me, but the red would come up to me. I found an old bridle in the barn and I got it on him. He was tall and I couldn’t get on him bareback in the pasture. We had an old couch sitting in the yard so I brought him up to the yard. I got on one end of the couch and was able to take a run down the end of the couch and leap on his back at the last second.

He was wonderful to ride. I would ride him everyday. He would go really fast. Sometimes he got a little squirrelly, and I got scared but we always managed to make it back to the yard. I wanted him to be mine so bad, I wanted Mom to buy him. I would hurry home from school everyday to ride him. The last time I rode him Bridget and my cousin Erin wanted to ride him too. The three of us got on and it was going fine until I decided he should canter. We all fell off and landed under him. He just stopped and looked at us. We couldn’t get back on him because we weren’t in the yard by the couch anymore so we all walked him up to the yard and decided that was enough for one day and put him away. The next day when I came home from school he was gone. Mom said the cattleman wanted too much for him and that we couldn’t afford him. I was so sad. My time having a horse I could ride had come to end.

Mom knew I was sad. The neighbor, Shirley, said we could have their two ponies for cheap. I was fourteen at the time, too big for these little ponies, but they were horses. I went over to Shirley’s with Mom to see the ponies. Mom thought I should try to ride one before we took them home. Shirley said Red needed a lot of work but Bucky wasn’t so bad. Bucky? Seemed like an ominous name for a horse. I gingerly boarded Bucky as he skidded around and tried to prevent me. My feet hung just inches off the ground. We started at a slow walk which quickly turned into a full on run for the buildings; Bucky whipped around right before we hit the barn, bucking as he did and heading off in the other direction without me. I landed on a pile of sharp gravel rocks. I was wearing shorts and my legs were all cut and scraped up.

I imagine the conversation between Mom and Shirley went something like this:

Shirley, “That girl shouldn’t have been wearing shorts.”

Mom, “I know I told her that before we came over, she never listens.”

Shirley, “They’ve never done that to me. You can’t be afraid, if you are they’ll sense it, that’s why he took off.”

Mom, “It’s okay, I’ll just have to break them in. We’ll take them.”

A couple of days later Shirley walked both ponies over to our farm. They were put into the front pasture by the house. A couple of weeks after the cuts in my legs heeled, I got up the courage to ride again. This time I decided to give Red a go. It had to go better. These were my horses. I was determined to ride them. I hopped on Red’s back, and he promptly took off as fast he could down the driveway, rolled over a barb wire fence. (Yes, rolled, he was too small to jump, and he knew it). I ended up tangled in the barb wire as he rolled over me. That was it for me. I was done with both of the ponies. I caught Red and put him back in the pen but not before giving him a stealth look. Sure we horses now, two that were trying to kill me; I wasn’t so keen on these new horses.

No one else attempted to ride them that fall. Mom would say, “They’re fine, they just need to be broken,” but she didn’t attempt to ride them until the winter when our whole yard was a sheet of ice. It was so icy that I could strap on skates and ice skate around the entire yard.

Danny, Bridget, and I came home from school one winter day. The house was dark. Mom was leaning against the wood stove in the kitchen cradling her arm. Dad was sitting at the kitchen table. Neither of them said anything at first, and then my mom quietly said, “We have to tell you something. I tried to ride Bucky today, to break him. I got on him; he reared up right away, slipped on the ice, and fell on his neck on top of me. He died right away, and I think my arm is broken.”

Silence.

And then was all started laughing, “Yeah, right, you killed, the horse.”

“I’m serious, look out the kitchen window.”

We did. There lay Bucky, not moving. We all turned back around and looked back at Mom.

“We need to go the hospital to get my arm checked out.”

Stunned, nothing. “Okay.”

She came back hours later, her arm in a caste. The rendering man came to get Bucky a week later. No one ever rode Red again. We ended up selling him a couple of years later. I never did get a horse again.

Why Watching Jaws is Uncomfortable

By Bridget

When I was very little, hay for the hay barn was gathered loose. It wasn't packed into rectangular bales or big round bales. It was thrown into a wagon by pitchforks. The wagon had high sides all around to keep the hay in and this was pulled by the horses. One person had to drive the horses while one or more people would walk alongside, with pitchforks, tossing the dried and mown hay into the wagon. The hay would then get transferred to the hayloft by a clawlike contraption that would lower from a pulley at the top of the barn. This pulley was powered down below by a conveyor belt attached to the horses. The horses would pull on the belt, walking away from the barn, the claw would be lifted into the barn, then someone would pull the claw into the hayloft through the hayloft door. The hay would be released, then the horses would back up, lowering the claw down to the hay wagon again. The person in the hayloft would disperse the hay around the hayloft while the person down below would get the claw ready for another load. I loved the loose hay as it was perfect to slide down in the winter while bundled up in a snowsuit. We also had a rope string in the hayloft. We could climb onto a small ledge and swing from the rope into the mounds of hay.

Waiting for baled hay to come through the large barn doors. Pictured (I think) John Grobner, Danny, Mary Beth, and Uncle Steve.
One summer evening, right before dusk, my parents and Uncle Tim went out to gather hay. I didn't go with them at first. Maybe because it wasn't fun until the hay had started to pile up, and you could sit on top of it all or maybe because by staying behind I was able to watch Jaws on TV. After watching Jaws for awhile with my feet tucked underneath me so they wouldn't be bit off by some shark on the floor, I ran barefoot out to the field where they were gathering hay.

I was always barefoot, especially when I was running through a field of cut grass as some man had once told me that nothing was harder to run on than freshly cut grass. Personally, I felt that it was harder to run through the field once the cut grass had time to dry up and harden; regardless, I wanted to have tough soles.

I met the wagon and happily climbed up the sideboards to the top of the hay. Soon the wagon was full of hay, and Dad was driving the horses back to the barn. The ride back was the best part as the horses were allowed to trot and on top of the hay I was gently rocked by the creaking wagon.

Dad parked the wagon beside the barn, and we all started to get off the top of the hay. There was a pile of hay in between the wagon and the barn where I decided to jump. I jumped and landed on the tine of a pitchfork. I started screaming and screaming for someone to help me, and Uncle Tim came first and lifted me off. I was carried into the house and had my foot rinsed in the sink in the bathroom. I'm not sure how deep the tine had gone, but I must have jumped onto a pitchfork that was lying on the ground tine-up as it didn't go all the way through my foot.

Mom applied a scalding mixture of a slice of bread dunked in boiling milk. This was apparently her cure-all at the time as years later both Danny and Mary remember having this administered to them as well around the same time period. I believe the mixture was supposed to draw out impurities so we would not get infected, which I guess worked, but I mainly remember getting burnt by it.

After the mixture was taken off, my foot was wrapped up and I stayed off it for awhile. A few days later, I hopped on my good foot outside to the kiddy pool. Mom had told me it would feel good on my foot if I walked around in there. Our roving band of geese enjoyed the kiddy pool as much as we did, and they were always clouding it up with their poop, this time being no exception. I jumped right in anyways, and it did feel really nice to swish my foot around and even walk on it. My foot never got infected, and I never contracted tetanus, even though none of us had any of our shots as children. However, I can't watch Jaws without thinking of the pitchfork in my foot and I get sharp pains shooting up into my foot.

I got Gum.... Everywhere

By Bridget

Mary was right that when we were quite young, or at least when I was quite young, we were not allowed sugar or candy or anything good. Sometimes there would be carob, which just isn't the same, as say chocolate. I still hate carob, and I know this because Theresa eats it, and I keep tasting to see if I've changed my mind about it. I'll like it at first, but then I get hit by that carob aftertaste and know I'll never like it. Slowly my parents began to bring chocolate into the house, first with bags of semi-sweet chocolate chips which I would sneak when Mom had fallen asleep laying Theresa and Molly down for their naps. And, unfortunately, I was allowed to have gum every once in awhile.

On one such occasion, we were in Owatonna at the mall. I had a penny and was allowed to get a gumball out of the machine. This was very exciting and I wanted it to last, so I didn't take it out of my mouth when I went to bed. I awoke early in the morning and could not raise my arm. I could raise my elbow, but my armpit was sealed shut. I realized it was the gum and knew I was going to get into trouble. I slowly, scared out of my mind, went downstairs to my parents' bedroom. I stood by their bed and very timidly told them that my arm was stuck, and I couldn't lift it. Mom barely woke up and told me to go back to bed; she said she would deal with it later. So I went back to bed and waited until my parents got up. When I finally heard the get up, I went downstairs again and told them again that my arm was stuck to my armpit by gum. Mom felt bad as she had not realized what I was saying earlier, which is probably why I didn't get yelled at. At first my parents just tried to pry my arm open with strength, but that didn't work. The little gumball had a formidable force. So then they attacked me; one of them held me down while the other one tried to shove an ice cube into my armpit to freeze the gum and make it easier to remove. This was horrible and I cried and flailed and tried to get away until they stopped. They finally stopped and gave up for the day. Seriously. I walked around, unable to lift my arm, until that evening when Dad finally thought to use gasoline on it. This worked superbly, was much less traumatic for me, and finally the gum was removed.

This incident did not teach me a lesson, or perhaps, because I got gum so infrequently, I still would fall asleep with gum in my mouth. It never got into my armpit again, but would often get into my hair. I eventually learned to leave it on my bedpost, so I could have a nice hard, tasteless wad of gum as soon as I woke up.

Uncle Tim holding Molly, Bridget, and Theresa around the time of the gum incident. All the small children is probably the reason Mom needed all the sleep.

Best and Worst Birthday Ever

By Molly

My twelfth birthday was set to be the best birthday of my whole life. I had so many fun things planned. As children, we were only able to have a birthday party every three years, this was not a party year for me but I had more important things going on. I was really unhappy at the small Catholic school I was going to. After weeks and weeks of begging my mom to let me switch schools and go to the public elementary school she finally agreed to let me transfer.

I was set to change schools on October 14th, my birthday. It was to be the last day at Litomysl for me. The first thing I had planned was that I was going to serve mass. The great part about serving mass was being able to miss the first class of the day due to setting up for the mass. That morning I served with Jacob. I was not going to tell anyone about the school switch until later, but I had a crush on Jacob, so on the walk over to the church I told him. He was really surprised, and I would like to think a little heartbroken.

Mary and Molly reading petitions in church.

After church, I decided, I would pass out my birthday treats that Mom had made for my class. Mom and I had made my favorite cookies to pass out. They were sugar cookies with jam pressed between them and dipped in chocolate. After handing out treats, I would be given the honor of picking the activity for gym. I had contemplated all week but decided to play goose and fox. It was going to be awesome.

The mass was great. I remembered every cue. Midway through the mass I saw Mom walk in. She was just on time with my treats. I walked back to class with my classmates, and the news about my leaving was spreading like wildfire. Everyone was very surprised, but they knew it was what I wanted.

Mom came into my class a short while later and asked me to come with her. We went into the school library. "This is it!" I thought. But no, I was wrong, she told me that she had spoken with the priest and told him I was leaving. She said the priest had recommended that I stay. They had talked for awhile and somehow he was able to convince her to leave me in the school.

I was shocked. I started to cry and scream. I could not fathom how she could change her mind. While I sat and wailed with my head on the table the nun who lived above the school came down to use the laundry room attached to the library. That nosy little sister came in to see what was going on. Mom told her what I was upset about. Sister Monique sat down with me and tried to comfort me. She told me that sometimes life doesn't turn out how we want but things do get better. She then invited me up to her apartment, or maybe because she is a nun it was an abbey; I'm not sure. She made me some tea and started to show me pictures of her many mission trips. She had traveled to a lot of cool places and helped a lot of needy people, but I really didn't care. I will admit that she made me feel a little better, but I didn't let her know. I was civil but stubborn. I would not give in. I vowed to remain upset as long as I could.

Eventually Mom took me home. We had spent all day with Sister Monique because I refused to go back to class. When we got home, I sat myself at the kitchen table and started to cry. I wanted to cry until my parents changed their mind. Dad brought me a little puppy figurine, but I barely acknowledged it, even though I really did love it. He also brought me home some flowers, I knew he had taken them off of someone's grave so it was easy to ignore those.

I cried at the table all that night and all the next day. I did eventually go back to Litomysl, but I was embarrassed and pissed. I was completely horrible to the all the teachers. I tried everything to get my parents to switch me. Turns out, all I had to do was teach a boy in my class to belly dance. I switched schools on Valentine's Day that same school year.