Back Home by Chris Hardie
All writers have an internal voice or muse that inspires their words and stories.
Sometimes that voice seems to be shouting. Sometimes it’s just a whisper. Sometimes I stare at a blinking cursor on the computer screen and desperately wait for the words. Sometimes they don’t come.
But my muse told me a couple of weeks ago that I should share the story about my mother’s dementia and her joy when we gave her a doll for Christmas.
It was the last conversation that we shared. Mom died Jan. 29 just eight days short of what would have been her 88th birthday.
My wife Sherry and I and other family members were fortunate to be at her bedside for most of her remaining hours. Marcia Adell (Anklam) Hardie is known to many as a longtime educator, spending more than 30 years as a teacher, guidance counselor, at-risk coordinator and principal.
She started her teaching career in 1972, but neither my brother Kevin nor me could recall when she officially retired, as she kept coming back to the Blair-Taylor School District to help.
Our family has been overwhelmed with the kind words coming from former students – some of whom became teachers – and others who said she was their favorite teacher. We received a heart-warming letter from a 55-year-old with a successful career who said he had no interest in graduating high school but was “prodded, cajoled, threatened and forced” into doing so by my mother.
“She did not give up on me when most others, including myself, had, and as a result I have had a successful and fulfilling life. I hope she was aware of how important she was in the lives of so many and certainly mine!”
I can share lots of these notes, but I want to write about Mom and another important role she played – the farm wife. What was true five decades ago on the family farm is still true today – behind every successful farmer is a strong, supporting spouse.
My late father was quick to acknowledge that Mom’s job provided health insurance and helped make ends meet during years when the milk checks were a little light. Without her employment the farm probably wouldn’t have survived.
My folks moved to the family farm in the spring of 1970 when I was 6 years old. Dad gave up his job as a mining engineer to milk cows. And for the first couple of years, Mom really didn’t have much of an interest in the farm.
Mom grew up on her grandparent’s farm in Highland, WI where she and her father moved after her mother died in childbirth when Mom was 2. But she wasn’t much of a farm girl, by all accounts. She and Dad met while they were students at Platteville – she enrolled in teacher’s school and Dad in the mining and engineering school.
But starting in the mid-1970s, Mom started to take a keen interest in the dairy herd. The folks bought their first two purebred Holstein cows in 1975. They started having the cows classified through the Holstein Association, a program that scores cows on traits like udder, frame, dairy strength, feet and legs. The scoring system is then used to match or align with scores from bulls.
I remember many evenings when Dad, Kevin and I would be watching TV and Mom would be poring over the catalogues that ranked bulls for artificial insemination breeding.
Part of the herd improvement was raising calves. Calves that used to be tied up and raised in the barn were moved to hutches outside. There were at least a dozen or more of the hutches scattered around the farm and Mom was in charge of the calf-feed program. The calves grew faster and were less susceptible to illness being out in the fresh air.
The efforts to improve the herd did not go unnoticed.
“Marcia was the epitome of a farmer’s wife and growing up on a family dairy farm in rural Alma Center, Hardie farm was a household name in the registered Holstein business,” said Megan Stuessel of Alma Center. “I marveled at your mother’s beauty and class as she showed us around the farm and looked at cows and calves with my father and I.”
There was more to the farm than cows. Mom also raised chickens and had one hen that she called “Pretty Chick” that would come running at the sound of Mom’s voice and follow her around the yard. She would bring eggs to sell at North Beaver Creek Lutheran Church – where she was a very active member – with the proceeds donated to the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America World Hunger program.
Mom loved dogs – she had many over the years – and all the farm animals. But the animals did not belong in her garden, particularly the cows. I have a vivid memory of having to jump out of bed to chase cows when it was discovered the herd had escaped in the wee hours of the morning. There was Mom, dressed in her robe and slippers running around waving her arms trying to protect her vegetable garden.
Mom was an excellent cook and during the haying season there would be additional nephews at the breakfast or lunch table. A couple of extra mouths to feed never seemed to be a problem. No food went to waste as she was a master at blending leftovers into another meal on the rare occasions there was actually food left.
During the school year Dad had to fend for himself for lunch, but Mom would cook after the evening chores and spend the rest of the evening grading papers or prepping for classes when she wasn’t looking at prospective bulls.
We usually had popcorn as an evening snack. One night we were out of cooking oil and Mom improvised with lard. The popcorn was delicious hot but as the lard cooled down, it sort of congealed into mushy greasy popcorn balls.
When the grandchildren came, they got to stay, help feed calves and chickens and develop a special bond with their grandparents.
The farm was as much a part of Mom as it was a part of Dad. Many times over the past few years, she said it was time for her to return to the farm.
If I close my eyes, I can see my folks sitting in their favorite spot on their back deck overlooking the valley, enjoying their nightly tequila gimlet.
They’re both home now.
Chris Hardie spent more than 30 years as a reporter, editor
