Liz Warren | Storyteller

I had just turned seventeen
when I graduated from high school.  My mother and step-father moved to a
farm in upstate New York and I began life as an adult.  I remained in New
York until I was eighteen.  I was lonely for my family and decided to try
farm life for a year or two. My mother and step father were delighted to have
me as there was more work than we all could handle.

The winter came with heavy snows and winds that whistled and whined
through the chimney.  The farm house  was over one hundred years old.  The cold
oozed through the walls and windows as if it had tentacles that sucked the
warmth out of your body.  We closed off the upstairs bedrooms and I slept
on a single bed next to the oil heater in the living room.  A pot- bellied
wood stove warmed the kitchen.

                A record snowfall covered the
enclosed side porch and we had to dig a tunnel to get out to the barn. 
The temperature dropped below freezing.  The water to the barn
froze.  My step-father and I dressed warmly and started lugging milk cans
filled with water from the house to the barn.  As the water splashed our
footsteps became frozen.  The barn light glared over each side of the road
and the snow glistened as if diamonds were strewn.

                I had cotton gloves and they
became frozen to my hands.  Each time we reached the barn and opened the
door it was wonderful.  The body heat of the cows kept the barn warm and
the silage we had thrown over the hay smelled sweet and pungent.  We
worked for hours carrying water back and forth.  When the cows were
satisfied we turned our efforts to the frozen pipes.  We finally broke
through and let the water run all night in the milk house after we insulated
the pipes.

                When we arrived home I was
shaking.  Flannel pajamas and wool socks did not warm me.  It took me
a long time to warm up under a huge pile of blankets.  When I woke up I
dressed quickly and hurried to the kitchen. My mother was busy at the
sink.  A small brown paper bag was on the table in front of my
chair.  I opened the bag and found the most beautiful pair of mittens
embroidered with Peacocks.  I turned to my mother and asked ,"Why”? 
My mother answered, "Dave wanted to show you how much he appreciated your
help last night. You helped save a bad situation from becoming worse.” 
She went on to tell me Dave had finished milking and had traveled eight miles
down to town and then back to buy the mittens to show his appreciation.

                I sat for a long time holding the
beautiful mittens in my very red chapped hands.  I realized this good man
who could not  express his feelings in words, had given me a gift that
spoke volumes!

                I began to understand him
and over many years he taught me the meaning of a good father-daughter
relationship.