A friend of my Grandad's was a farmer in the Ozarks. One year, Grandpa went down to visit him. It was about harvest time so he helped out.
So many hills there, they planted the potatoes in rows up and down the slope. Just dig a hole at the bottom of the row, and get your bucket ready. All the potatoes would come tumbling right down the row into the pail.
The fellow had corn planted too. It was so steep the pigs couldn't get uphill to eat any. And, if they tried coming at it from the top, they just skidded right on by. So Grandpa just tied them one at a time to a stick, and held them up so they could graze the side hill.
Grandpa, being a strong, Michigan farmer, worked harder than those hill billies, and ended up breaking a shovel handle. His friend said, "No problem, George. Just fell that shag bark hickery over yonder, and let it roll down hill. Purty quick, it'll roll back up hill, then down again, etc.. When it wears itself down to about the size you want, just reach over and pick it up."
From the book "We Always Lie to Strangers: Tales of the Ozarks"
My other Grandpa used to hook up a bear to the plow for field work.
If none of you guys ever knew any old German farmers, you missed out on one of the best educations in Life. It was easy to distinguish them from other farmers. Saying was, "You can always tell a German farmer - but you can never tell him much."
