October 26, 1986
Left here at 2 p.m. on our Sunday ride. Charles Prior, George Dunshee and myself. We have covered the roads of Lucas County so well we have to go beyond or visit interesting places seasonally. We went south on Highway 14 to the county line, then east to Rathbun country. We visited Sugar Creek and Buck Creek bordering Rathbun. Huge camping and picnicking facilities are there. We saw five deer while driving through Buck Creek. Saw lots of red-tailed hawks and sparrow hawks. Not much corn or beans out as yet. The two words we discussed today were circumvent and circumspect. Sun shone quite a little and roads were not dusty. Got back at 6 p.m. sharp. George read in today’s paper that someone advanced the idea that hummingbirds hitchhike rides south in the down of large geese flying south. I never heard of this but will check it out. People living out at West Lake have enjoyed the blue herons there this fall. The upper end being shallow lends itself to the needs of wading birds.
Years ago the city furnished the Christmas trees around the square. One for each store. The holder was a square of cement with a pipe in the middle and worked really well. A string of lights went from tree to tree. As I remember there was a slight charge to the merchant. The trees were always hauled to the dump.
This particular year Ray Eckerman asked if they could be hauled to his pasture that was right were the Van Allen School is now. Ray had a herd of milk goats and wanted the trees for the goats to climb in. There was an old dead tree in the pasture. A rope was strung over one of the top limbs and the trees were piled up in a huge pyramid. The goats loved the trees and climb it they did. The whole idea was to keep the goats contented. This way they would stay home. Sometimes ten or twelve goats could be seen clear up in the top.
An unforeseen thing happened and this is what this story is all about. The goats ate the needles giving the milk a pine taste. This for a time put a stop to the sale of goat’s milk. People who don’t care for goat’s milk, or fancy they wouldn’t like it if they tasted it, certainly would have a point here. Eckerman was philosophical about the whole thing. He was a schoolteacher and this happening would certainly give him something to talk about. It was necessary to burn the trees as the goats were eating the bark. Nothing was left for the goats to climb on but an old worn-out hand-operated washing machine. The drain hole was plugged with a piece of broomstick that stuck up about three inches. All day long the goats fussed with each other about which one was going to stand on the stick.
About this time we had an experience with goats. Father had gone with a carload of cattle to Chicago. While waiting for his pay, he was told there was no money to pay with and they were broke. While he was gathering his wits, an old friend came up to Father and told him there were 350 head of goats in the pen not sold. Father went to the proper officials and took the goats as partial payment. They were shipped to Oakley and driven to the Piper farm southwest of Oakley. The goats figured at twenty-five cents per head. Nothing more was ever collected from the commission house in Chicago. The goats were left in this 200 acre, brush timber patch for three months. After this time the 200 acres looked like a city park. Grass was short and all the brush was eaten down. Tree limbs were eaten up as far as the goats could reach on their hind legs. Now something had to be done as they were eating the bark from the trees. No one out that way wanted to buy them or even rent them.
Father sold them for twenty-five cents a head to the Keckner and Ream farm on the old Bluegrass Road southeast of town. Here they met their Waterloo. One cold night they got out and lined up on the rails for blocks. A train came and just mowed them down. So many were killed it was too much for the section hands. The railroad sent a steam shovel to dig a long trench to bury them. The court ruled against the railroad and they paid for the goats. Later, the remaining goats were shipped to Sioux Falls, butchered, and sent to an Indian Reservation in New Mexico. End of the goat tale.
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