Erve Forrest Romaine

I think I could spend the rest of my days recalling memories of my grand father, Erve Forrest Romaine.  My grand parent s raised me from about 4 years old until I was 12 when I moved off the farm to Moravia, NY.

He had moved from Wisconsin where he and another man had started a saw mill, but a fire destroyed everything that had built.  He and his wife and two little children moved to central New York where he began to farm the almost barren land.

I can't remember him every praising me in person, but when we took his team of horses down into Groton to have our corn, wheat, and oats ground into food for our animals, the men who helped us unload our burlap sacs full of grain, would usually say to him, "I see you have your little man with you today"...he would smile just a little bit, place one hand on my head and say, "Yes, I don't know what I would do without him...."  And that would be it as we drove our team of horses back up Savacool Hill, stopping once at an older watering trough for the horses to rest and quench their thirst.  At our old barn yard, I would help him lift the burlap bags full of ground feed (mixed with a little molasses) and carry them into the barn and stack them one on top of the other in one corner.

I can't remember him every really laughing out loud;  but the gleam in his grey-blue eyes I could almost hear a chuckle down there somewhere.  He never threw a ball to me or chased me in just play, but always looked forward to working as hard and as long as day light would allow.  That was his fun...work!

I remember him getting ready to go in the house after putting in a full day's work, he would shift his overalls from side to side (one hand on a hernia he had down across his lower right side)and gaze across our fields, looking up into the sky to see what weather might be there for the next day, finally going inside and washing his hands and face with a pump we had to prime before cold water would spitter and sputter until there was enough water to fill an old basin at the bottom of the iron sink.

Over on the right side of the kitchen door frame there was a towel which hung in something that kept it hanging there, and was quite dirty from all the times we would take it and wipe our faces and wet placing hands.  Grand mother would notice it and about every two weeks take it down to wash, replacing it with another one, nice and clean, ready for our use twice a day.

In the winter time we had to stay indoors a lot, but then he would go out to the barn and fix harnesses and build a pen for a new calf in the spring.  He would walk our fence line and count how many new fence posts he would have to cut before putting the cows and our two horses out to pasture again.  We always cut and sharpened more than we needed, and the rest we would take down town and sell them. With that money he would shop for some more flour, sugar, coffee and yeast.  Of course some molasses also, because we both liked the molasses cookies grand mother baked.  Up in one corner of the hay mow we had shucked some corn and by middle of the winter, each ear of corn would be different in color...we would finish shucking them and tie maybe 6 of them together with some twain and they would also sell down at the 5 and 10 cents store.  A little here and a little there, making do with what we had...always enough food, but nothing fancy...a warm bed, a Bible on our living room table, and a sense of peace which only comes to those who trust The Prince of Peace.