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The Cheese Factory was at its height during these years as well.
Farmers hauled their own milk to the factory, which was a co-operative,
run by a Board of Directors made up of themselves. About 1924 and 1925
butterfat brought 400 a pound. Of course test was low, so a farmer
was lucky if he was paid $1.20 to $1.50 per hundred weight for his
milk. He paid $70 per ton for his corn which he had ground and mixed
with other grain for feed.
The horses caused problems, because they were western horses that were
accustomed to being outside in all kinds of weather. In the Wisconsin
winters they were kept in the wooden barns which were too warm and
humid for them. When they were put out and worked hard in the woods,
they would often develop "heaves".
Indians were a common sight before 1910. They would ask for "Pork"
which was originally a request for food, but later came to mean any-
thing good. Sometimes they asked for surplus dogs which were used
as food. The Indians were friendly, and were sometimes taken advantage
of. It was known that farmers sometimes stole from each other and then
blamed it on the Indians.
Indians usually had small ponies, upon which the man of the family
road. The women and children followed behind on foot. When asked why
his wife did not ride, he replied "Squaw got no pony".
Farmers and loggers alike enjoyed baseball games, walking from place
to plade for the games. They always carried a gun in the woods, no
matter where they were going, in case the opportunity might present
itself to do some hunting. There were always many more guns at a
baseball game than baseball bats.
Life was stark and brutal. When a mother of 10 was killed instantly
by lightning when she went into the cellar to get the milk for supper,
it left the home desitiute. When the funeral was over, the father set
about at once to find a woman to come into the home to care for his
children and to be his wife. It may have been a business deal at the
beginning, but their common need for each other formed a bond which
grew into affection.
The River's Symphony
Have you heard the beautiful symphony?
the symphony of tree and river?
As each smooth worn rock becomes a key
O'er which liquid fingers glide forever
Making a melody haunting and free
The song of a weary soul that is seeking
a better way to its destiny, and while seeking
At times a note of pleading, a note of triumph, defeat, despair
In turn, take up, take up the rivers song
And as its music fills the air
Old Maestro wind wafts it along
And sends it echoing through the trees, that
flank the river which unending, on wave on wave of harmonies