Our countryside is dotted with hollow silos, remnants of the family dairy farm that has been eliminated by progress. The structures are typically thirty feet tall and ten feet in diameter–made of cast-in-place concrete, or precast, concrete staves held together with steel bands and topped with a metal dome. Some are solitary; others stand beside empty barns amid abandoned hog pens and chicken coops. I see the silos as monuments to the men, women, boys and girls who worked together milking cows, a 24/7 chore, and played together.
When the silos were in use, neighbors worked together during the late summer to fill them with chopped, green cornstalks. The silage provided winter feed for the bovines.
Every household included a dog. While I was growing up, my ‘little brother’ was Tony, a white, English bulldog, who accompanied us doing chores during the day and slept on a throw rug in the kitchen at night. He loved to ride along with Dad or Mom on the orange, Allis Chalmers tractor. When he heard the engine growl to life, he scurried to jump aboard the wooden platform that stretched between the rear fenders.
Farming was considered healthy living. The people ate hearty meals and the scraps were fed to their canines. Families rarely went to a doctor and pets never saw a veterinarian.
After high school graduation, I worked in an office assisting Winnebago County farmers to take advantage of the federal government programs such as enriching their cropland by applying needed limestone and phosphate or planting corn in contour rows around a hillside to prevent top soil eroding during a rain storm. One of the middle-aged men told me, “I have two sons so I need two farms.”
At that time, Illinois law required the owner’s name and address to be painted on the doors of his pick-up truck to prevent rustling of farm animals. Men added “& Son” soon after a boy was born into the family. The occupation is still passed from generation to generation.
Do you notice the silos standing along rural roads?
I have not noticed abandoned silos on the roads we travel outside of Madison. I certainly do remember the silo that dad had constructed on our farm. Janice and I were not allowed to go up in the silo as there was talk of gas at the top. I also have heard of men sinking down in the silage & dying – probably something like quicksand. We only had one silo where some farms had two. The cows loved silage.