Delightful Stories from the Heart of Maine

Floyd Followed the Golden Rule The bold headlines on the newspaper read “Maine is rated the most peaceful state in the United States.” As I read this, my mind travelled back fifty years to a farmhouse on a back road in Exeter, Maine. We had a sense of freedom and safety in those days that is not common today. Unlocked car doors and houses were the normal daily occurrences and children could walk freely on the streets and country roads without the fear of being harmed by a predator. During the summer, we would play outside until it was pitch dark and no one worried about “evil lurking in the shadows.” My Uncle Floyd and Aunt Olivia lived on the Greenbush Road in Exeter. The farm house set back from a dirt road and it became home to Olivia after she and Floyd were married. The farm house had been in the Curtis family for many years and Floyd had inherited it from his parents. Floyd and Olivia spent most of their lives on this farm raising their children and their animals. Floyd must have had wonderful memories of his childhood there, because he was never content living anywhere else but on the land where he grew up. He and Olivia left the homestead a couple of times but they always returned to the old home place. The dirt road was hard on automobiles. Riding with my Aunt Olivia over those dirt roads especially in the spring time was quite an event in itself. She would try to miss a rut in the road only to sink in a mud hole on the other side. She would step on the gas and away we would go only to hit another one further down the road. Those pot holes threatened to bottom out her car, but she didn’t worry about those small details. She was spunky and the car cooperated with her. When I heard a ker plunk, I would think “Oh, Oh, is this car still in one piece?” but she would keep on travelling. Not too much fazed Aunt Olivia as she had been raised on a farm and hard work was second nature to both her and Uncle Floyd. She fit right into the Curtis family and they often entertained their relatives in their home. Floyd, though he was a soft spoken man, nevertheless was a deep thinker. He had a relationship with his creator and his life was lived out with what he professed and what he believed. He was honest and trustworthy and lived by a high standard of values and conducted his life in a way that people everywhere respected him. He loved farming and his animals were his friends. I would often play around the barn while he milked the cows and tended to the young calves. I still can hear him singing the songs of the church as he went about his work. He would call the cows by name and rub their faces with his work calloused hands. He encouraged them and talked softly to them as he prepared to go about the business of milking them. If one got nervous and stepped sideways knocking the milk pail over, he would raise his voice a bit, “Hey, Hey there Bessie, calm down Girl. There, there, good girl.” Just his voice soothed her and she would settle down so he could milk her. Oftentimes, I listened to his songs. They were words that he was just thinking about and his tune was one that came from his heart. He was a happy, contented man and I would guess it was a suitable occupation for him to tend to his farm for the animals seemed to enjoy hearing his voice. Don’t think he would have made it on radio for a career, however. I loved roaming the fields behind the farm and there were so many wild strawberries there that I would spend all afternoon picking them and putting them in a pail. Olivia would make a pie and after a while I learned to make biscuits and we would have strawberry shortcakes made special with the fresh cream from the cow’s milk. That was a real treat! Floyd worked at the woolen mill along with taking care of the farm. I remember hearing him get up during the winter months to stoke the wood stove to keep the family warm during the bitter cold nights. He seldom sat down except for mealtime and a short time of watching TV before retiring for the night. In the early days when Floyd became a new daddy for the first time, he would rock in the chair next to the bay window overlooking the fields of hay. He held his baby son, Dale, and sang to him every day. He had this simple song that he sang over and over again. “Daddy’s gonna buy him a pony, oh, yeah, Daddy’s gonna buy my baby a pony.” Dale would coo and gurgle and it was very interesting watching a daddy’s love flow to his little boy. I learned to appreciate a father’s love by watching Uncle Floyd interact with his son and then his daughter, Patty. The babies listened for his voice just as the animals did in the barn. The words came from his heart and he didn’t worry about rhyme or rhythm and he didn’t care if he sang off key. He was a happy man and he made sure his family was happy too. The family was well taken care of as he worked in the fields and in the garden, cutting hay and harvesting corn. The animals were content and he made sure that he kissed his wife before he left the house. His son Paul arrived ten years after Patty.