It's the Little Things.....Uncle Harlan, Part 2

Awhile ago, I shared what I thought was going to be a one shot blog post: It's the Little Things.....Uncle Harlan. Well, I was wrong. In the interim, Cousin Bonnie Rieger-Reger shared a memory she had of what we believe is that very same boar written about in that January blog post...hence the "Part 2" of this blog post title. 

Before I share that story though, I think I also need to provide a little more background on the farm we're talking about.

This first photo below is a screen capture of the Zacher farm/homestead from a Google Earth image with identifying text I superimposed on the image. Anyone can access this image without the text at: Google Earth Zacher Farmstead. It'll come up as a map, but there should be a little image button in the lower left corner of the screen that will change it over to a satellite image/photo if you click on it.

The next photo is a screen capture of the Zacher farm/homestead zoomed out a bit with text superimposed showing the old pig sty. I talked about this pig sty in my previous blog post. 

That pig sty was HUGE! 

The next two photos were provided by Fonda Rieger (youngest and most spoildedest of the Rieger children.....by FAR). She took these photos (along with a whole bunch more, but you're going to have to wait to see them until I get motivated to write more blog posts on the old Zacher farm/homestead - please don't hold your breath cuz I can be pretty unreliable when it comes to motivating myself to write) on a visit she made to the old farm/homestead August 20, 2016.

Thank you, Fonda....

Just looking at those photos brings back memories of that big ol' boar charging straight at me huffin' and a chuffin' at a gallop with Uncle Harlan hot on his heels on horseback and me sweating profusely wondering in my mind if this was really a place I wanted to be.....but I digress.

Bonnie Rieger-Reger is Uncle Harlan's second born. She's my age although a month older than me (sorry, Bonnie....couldn't resist putting that little factoid in here).

Bonnie's Story

Bonnie Rieger-Reger

Ok, so there is another story about dad’s prize boar.

You were right Jerry, the pig pen was really pretty big. I’m thinking it was at least as big as a whole city block, if not bigger. 

I think the story I am about to tell might be about the same prize boar. All of dad’s animals were very important to him. 

Anyway back to the story, I carried the milk and slop up to the pig pen from the house, which was a bit of a hike. These were two of the 5-8 gallon grease buckets.

So I crawled over the fence and turned around to lift one of the buckets over the fence to pour in the trough.

Needless to say by this time all of the pigs were right there knocking me around like a rag doll. 

I was getting slop all over me ( luckily I had coveralls on) but I still wasn’t very happy about it.

That’s when I set the bucket of slop down on the outside of the fence again and there happened to be a piece of 2x4 there and I just grabbed it and started swinging like Kung Fu Panda and hitting the pigs to get them out of the way. 

I hit “the prize boar” and he started squealing and headed for the pig barn. 

A couple days later dad had gone up to the pig pen for something and decided to check on all of the pigs. “The Prize Boar” was still in the pig barn. 

When dad came into breakfast he told mom that he was probably going to have to sell the boar because it couldn’t walk, it was dragging his hind legs and dad couldn’t figure out why. 

I was sitting there listening to this but did NOT say a word. Kung Fu Panda obviously hit the boar right on the backbone and did some nerve damage. 

I did not tell my dad until long after I was an adult and we were living in Oregon. He was telling someone about the boar not being able to walk and he never could figure out why. I finally fessed up.

The good thing was after a few days the boar did get the feeling back in his hind legs and he was able to walk again. Lucky for me ALL parts worked and there were lots more little pigs.


Thanks, Bonnie. These are the kind of memories we should all be sharing with each other.

It's the Little Things.....Uncle Harlan

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago in a state far, far away, there was a farm. This farm was a family farm. It had been homesteaded by my Mom's Grandfather, I believe.

As we were growing up, it sort of became a second home to my brother, my sisters, and me. You see, my Aunt and Uncle, Jeanne (Mom's sister) and Harlan (Dad's stepbrother), lived there, worked there, raised their family there, and, sometimes, even raised us there for short periods of time when our parents took a trip. The favor was returned sometimes, and Jeanne and Harlan's kids would stay with us in the thriving metropolis of New Leipzig (population at the time - around 350, including cats, dogs, chickens, cows, and maybe even a wild animal or two). Many wonderful memories.

One of those memories (still trying to figure out if this was one of those 'wonderful' memories, or

Uncle Harlan
Circa December 1985
Last photo of him about a week and a half
before he passed away

something else), for me, is of my Uncle Harlan raising hogs. The pig sty was a very large pen. How many hogs at one time isn't important. The fact he had one big, honkin' boar that he wanted to take to market was what I remember.

That boar had to have weighed in at about a hunnert thousand pounds, cuz it was bigger than me (I was a seventh grader at the time, almost 6'3" tall and maybe weighed in at about 130 lbs. with five layers of clothes on and all of them soaking wet).

Harlan's plan was to 'herd' this boar (who was one cantankerous sumbitch to begin with) inside and along the fence line. He'd do this on horseback. So far, so good. Yeah, Harlan could do this. Yeah, he knew exactly what he wanted and what he was doing.

Problem is, Harlan decided to include me in this plan by planting me at one point along the fence line (inside it of course) armed with a stick. He would drive the boar straight at me, and when this behemoth got close enough, I was supposed to whack it on the snout to turn it toward, and into, the chute into the back of the pick-up.

That's when it went south for me. That's when it seemed kinda like herding cats was what I was in for.

He assured me the boar would turn, that the boar wouldn't like getting whacked on the snout, that the boar would do as expected. Yep, sure, all right.

With more than a little trepidation, I went to my spot, stood there anxiously awaiting what I thought would surely be the death of me. I watched as Harlan did exactly what he said he was going to do. He herded that boar very expertly along the fence line all the way out to the road, to the other side of the sty, and down the fence line directly on a collision course with me.

I stood my ground.

I still stood my ground.

I continued to stand my ground.

Then, all of a sudden, I was up and over the other side of the fence before I even had a chance to think about it.

Harlan was NOT happy with me.

To be honest, I don't even remember how we finally got that sumbitch boar into the back of the pick-up. What I do remember is the embarrassment, the shame at having let my Uncle Harlan down in this very simple, but dangerous job.

It's the little things I remember from my childhood, like this, that shaped who I became eventually. I blew this one. But, was I a coward for jumping out of the way? Or, was I using common sense? Or, was I just exercising my own 'survival instinct'?

Lots of things have happened to me in my life since then - some of them a lot less pleasant, by far, than this one was. I can look back on this event with some humor now. It didn't seem humorous to me at the time, that's for sure.

By the same token, I can now look back at some of the things that have happened in my adult life, and, although I won't ever find them to be humorous, I've found I either must cope with and live with the outcome(s) or the outcome(s) will consume me.

That's life. Cope with it and live with it. Fatalistic? Perhaps. But if you are still standing even after a metaphorical runaway freight train has run you over, you've already shown that life can hand you hardship, but you're stronger and more capable of handling it than even you realize. And, once you accept that inner strength, true happiness will also find you.

Thanks, Uncle Harlan (may you rest in peace), for teaching me one of those little things that ultimately helped shape who I became.