Writers' Corner

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"Rain"
A Nursery Song
Rain, rain, rain in my meadow
Rain, rain, rain in my field
Rain, rain, rain in my garden
Give us a good yield.
Rain, rain, rain, rain
Rain again tomorrow.
Rain, rain, rain, rain
All day long!
Rain, rain, rain in my meadow
Rain, rain, rain in my field
Rain, rain, rain in my garden
Give us a good yield!
Give us a good yield!
By Diann Deselles

TREED!

Everything always seemed to go wrong when the men of the family were away working at a neighbor's farm or at the rental farm a few miles away. Mother and I were always left on the home farm to cope as best we could. Most of the time things went well, but sometimes it got a little hectic.

It was harvest time, and we had got along well all week while the men were putting up hay on the rental farm and Mother and I were spending a restful afternoon when we heard a crashing and bawling commotion out at the barn and the sound of splintering wood.

The barn was old and some of the siding had cracks between the weathered rough boards that were a little warped in places.

In our area, herd bulls had to be confined and were not allowed to roam free in the pastures and our bull was kept in a large stall on the side facing the house.

As it happened, every so often the penned up bulls had the urge to butt something, usually butting their heads on the walls of their stall, or on their manger. Our bull chose today to take aim at the barn siding, and after a few good shots, he had splintered a board enough to poke his head out. Liking the view, he backed up and hit it again and again.

Mother and I headed for the barn in hopes of stopping him before he did any more damage and got out, but we were too late. One more blow and he was out and heading right for us!

The granary was close by and had four stone steps up from the ground, so we got up the steps and took refuge in the granary and the bull took watch at the bottom of the steps. It was clear he knew the feed was there and he wasn't going to move until he got some. It was also clear that we weren't going to come down and give it to him. So, it was truly a standoff, and we settled down for along wait.

About half hour or so later Daddy, Grandpa and my brother John drove in and got a good laugh about us being treed in the granary by a bull as gentle as a lamb who only wanted a handout -- but how were we to know that?

by Dorothy M. Birdwell