The Banister Barn

The homestead where I grew up was seven miles south of Cherokee, Iowa. Our farm was on the west side of the highway. It was not seen from the highway except for the top of the big barn. It was a landmark for people, they called it the Banister Barn.
The barn was an interesting place for a little girl. A lot happened there. The milking for one thing; Dad usually milked seven cows. I don’t know why that magic number. It probably had something to do with the amount of milk they produced. I remember he had a Jersey cow that produced a lot of milk and had a lot of cream in her milk. Mom and dad sold some milk and kept some for our family.
The barn had a cement floor that had stanchions for the cows. The cows seemed to know exactly which one to head into. When they got themselves settled into their stanchion, then dad would put “kickers” on their back legs so they would not kick him while he milked them. Behind their back legs was a trough that allowed the cows to have their natural body functions without contaminating the milk. The next part of the milking process was the cleaning of the milk bag. He had a tool that was round and rough with a handle that he ran up and down on the cows milk bag. That was to brush off any mud the cow might have on her bag. Then he would take hot water and wash the bag so that there would be no dirt in our milk. The hot water had to be hauled from the kitchen to the barn in five gallon stainless steel pails.
The milking for a long time was done by hand. Dad would sit on a little stool that he had made. It was only two pieces of wood. The top piece was about sixteen inches long. It was nailed onto a piece of wood that was nailed vertically onto the top one. It looked like a funny “T”. You had to be able to balance on it to milk the cows. Dad could do it perfect. He sat on the stool and leaned his head hard against the cows belly and then just milked the cow while she grazed on the hay he had put in her stanchion.
The family cats would come running to the barn when it was milking time. Dad would always oblige them with a few squirts of fresh milk.
Of course, I always wanted to “help” milk. It took quite a while to just master the art of balancing on the stool. The milking part was almost beyond me because my little hands were not strong enough to coax the milk from the cows teats.
Other things happened in that barn. Hay bales were put way up high in the hay mow. I heard the other day from my cousin that it is possible somebody got pushed out of the haymow when they were little. That has not been confirmed yet.
The one thing I remember happening in the barn, was repairs. Oh what an interesting place the “shop” part of the barn was. All kinds of tools. Dad had what he called the “machine shed” where the majority of the repairs of tractors etc. were made, but the barn had tools for woodworking, harnesses, wagon tongues, all kinds of really big tools. I especially remember a drill press that was huge. Of course, I was only three or four feet tall, so it probably wasn’t that big. I used to love to watch my dad fix things in the barn.
The farm belonged to my grandmother. She never told my grandfather how to run the farm, what to plant, what to raise, etc. However, one day my grandfather came into the house and he announced he was going to tear down the barn and build a new one. The existing barn was about seventy years old at that time. My grandmother said, “No you will not do that.” That’s all she said. My grandfather was so angry he stomped out the door. The barn remained standing. It is in the background in the picture of me when I was about ten months old. My sister, Rosie, is holding me in the left picture and standing beside us is my grandmother, Lulu Banister, the owner of the barn.