me to death. Grandpa had placed a little stool there for me to sit on and watch everything that went on. You can imagine how excited I was witnessing all of this.

When the milking was done grandpa and his helper would put out silage (feed) for the cows. They would then take the milk to a cooling room where it would sit until after grandpa and I had gone to the house, washed up at the pump outside grandmother's "summer kitchen", and eaten a wonderful breakfast. After breakfast we would go back to the cooling room and grandpa would run all the milk through a centrifuge to separate the cream from the milk. all the cream had been separated and placed in 5 gallon cans grandpa would place all of the cans in the back of his Model T Ford pick-up truck. I would climb up on the seat beside him and then he would drive over to the paved highway about a mile and half from the farm. There he would leave the cans full of cream on a "siding" by the road where they would later be picked up by a transport truck to be taken to the Creamery in EI Paso. At the end of the month grandpa would find a check for. all the cream he had sold to the Creamery tucked away inside one of the empty cream cans left by the driver. No one ever feared that his check or any of the cream or the cans would be stolen. People had great respect for one another and their belongings.

By eight o'clock on a typical day the milking, the chores around the place and the delivery of the cream would be behind us and we could go to work at some other task around the farm. Grandpa would usually go to the corral and harness up his team of beautiful Percheron horses and take me with him to one of his fields of alfalfa or cotton or corn or cantaloupes. He might mow the hay or turn it, if that had already been done the day before. Sometimes he and the "hired hand" might need to bale the hay. At other times it would be plowing, harrowing or cultivating the crop. One thing for certain was that there would always be something that needed to be done.

When grandpa wasn't working in one of the fields he might be at a forge that he had out back of the barn making something out of metal or repairing a piece of machinery. Sometimes he would be found in his shop mending shoes or some of the horses' harness. There were all kinds of tools and gadgets of his own invention attracting my curiosity. I would ask him thousands of questions and he never once hesitated to answer me, taking all the time necessary for me to understand his answer. There were times when he would extemporaneously suggest that we look into an old trunk or box that had been· stored for safekeeping on some shelf high up on the wall of his shop or the storeroom and look for something he wanted to show me. And, my goodness the things he would drag out for me to see: old baseball or football uniforms that my dad or his brothers had worn years and years before. One time he took out an old gramophone with a huge sound horn and boxes of cylindrical records. I remember the two of us listening to "Casey would waltz with the Strawberry Blonde" and "Down by the old Mill Stream" , "Oh Genevieve" and a slew of others. I'm sure that he had put those things away and knew exactly where they were, fully intending to get them out at some future date to show them to someone just like the little boy who was so excited at seeing them now! There was always something that grandpa and I needed to do together... like making a kite, or building a birdhouse or a picture frame out of limbs off the apple tree ... you name it!

Did my grandfather ever get angry? Why of course. But no matter how provoked he might be, I never heard him use profanity. I don't think the man ever ever used a curse word. Thinking back on it now; and on various occasions when I have discussed it with my cousins and some of grandpa's close associates, no one who knew him ever heard him use an expletive stronger than pshaw!