By Barbara (Irwin) Prystupa – Langley, B.C.
We lived on a farm eight miles north of Borden, Sask. One fall day in 1948, my father was in town, either with a load of grain or picking up parts for one piece of machinery or another.
My mom, brother Donny, age one, and I, age seven, went to get the cows for milking. My other brothers, Brian, five, and Bobby, three, were left playing in the yard.
As we were nearing the gate to let the cows cross the road into our yard, mom noticed the combine moving. Panic set in! She couldn’t get the gate open fast enough, nor could she get the cows to move any faster than a slow stroll.
Brian had talked Bobby into sitting on the top of the one-way farm implement and he’d give him a ‘fun ride’. He then climbed up onto the combine, started it and proceeded to push the one-way, with Bobby sitting on it, completely from one end of the barnyard to the other.
No one fell and no one got hurt, until dad got home. Poor mom probably aged 10 years in 10 minutes.
