The issue of the Iowa Journal of History and Politics in which this article appears is available in its original format. If you would like to purchase an issue (available in limited quantity), please remit $2 (per issue) to State Historical Society of Iowa, Publication Sales, 402 Iowa Avenue, Iowa City, Iowa 52240-1806. Be sure to indicate which issue you would like to purchase.

We had few pests to destroy the field crops or fruit, but in the middle 70’s the chinch bugs stopped the cultivation of wheat. They were little insects about the size of a gnat with white wings and black bodies. The old ones did no damage, but the brood so thoroughly sapped the straw that the grain did not fill out. You could first see small patches of grain turning white and then in a day or two the whole field whitened. Then the chinch bugs would leave the wheat fields and go into the oats or corn and take a strip from ten to twenty rows. After that the farmers stopped trying to raise wheat and they disappeared.

About the time of the Civil War, the Colorado potato bug got to us and they were such pests that we had to go over the vines every day, and pick of the bugs, and destroy the eggs. When grown, these beetles were red and black and about twice the size of a lady bug. They deposited their eggs in clusters on the under side of the leaves. The eggs hatched in a day or two and if left alone the larvae would eat leaves, vines and all. That was the most dreaded job on the farm, but people raised only what they could consume at home, for there was no market for potatoes. Finally the lady bug came and lived on the eggs of the Colorado beetle and for a great many years there have not been enough to bother. Many other pests, however, have followed so spraying has to done, a remedy not thought of in the old days.

The currants were never bothered nor the gooseberries, and there were no apple worms, cabbage worms, or leaf roll or plant lice. I think the wild land raised enemies that destroyed these pests.

There were two kinds of squirrels: small striped ones which were very numerous and the large grey ones, about the size of timber squirrels. The squirrels would follow up the rows of planted corn and dig up the seeds as long as there was any of the kernel left. We trapped them and, if there was any corn left, fed them for a while.

When the first cherry trees began to bear, the birds took many of the cherries. Some people shot the birds but for the most part they tried scaring them. L. G. Ransom shot many birds and soon after had a very bad knee. His neighbor, S. Dilley, thought it was a judgment sent on him.

It has been a weakness of the human family from the earliest dawn to believe in witches, signs, imps, and the like. We, being drawn from many nations, have some of the superstitions of them all. Every new country’s first settlers retain some superstitious beliefs and ours was no exception.

The Overleys, Arnolds, Lightfoots, and Basingers from Fleming County, Kentucky, were strong believers in the Twelve signs of the Zodiac. They consulted it, as a sailor his chart, for all farming, fencing, weather, and similar problems.

The writer’s uncle, Isaac Overley, came the most to our notice. He weaned his children, calves, and colts when the sign was in the foot to keep them from crying too much. He planted potatoes by it, so they would not all go to blossoms, shingled according to it, so the shingles would not warp, and fenced at the time indicated, so the fences would not settle in the ground.

The writer was once shown an old goose setting on the prairie at the home of Elmer Ellsworth Overley, a cousin. I noticed an old rusty axe lying on the ground near her and picked it up, intending to carry it away, when Elmer said, “Don’t do that. Pa put it there to keep the thunder from killing the eggs.”

There were many weather signs. L. G. Ransom claimed that if the sun went down clear on Friday night it would rain before Monday noon. Jacob Parks said that if you saw many whirlwinds in the spring it was a sure sign of a dry summer.

This was from the Cavalier strain; the Puritan line went mostly to witches. One woman related that while living in Illinois her mother could not get the butter to gather in the churn. An old Yankee woman told her to put a horse shoe in the churn. She did this and got immediate results. The old German woman was converted to the belief, not realizing that the heat or cold of the iron did the job, not the driving out of witches.

Horses, then as now, would rub their necks in shedding time. A neighbor once noticed a colt of ours with stirrups or snarls in its mane and remarked that the witches had been riding it. For hot, dry summers and cold, blustery winters there were many and contradictory signs brought from all climates. some were borrowed from the Indians.

In August, 1869, there occurred a total eclipse of the sun visible in Iowa. It was foretold in the almanacs and many visitations of wind and weather were predicted—frosts, floods, and blight to follow. The eventful day came. It was about four in the afternoon. Father and George and Alfred, my two older brothers, were east of the house binding wheat. Mother my oldest sister, Maggie, then thirteen, Charley, Winnie—the baby—and Aunt Esther, mother’s sister, were at the house.

Maggie, who had heard of smoked glass for clear vision, was prepared and as soon as the eclipse began she kept close watch. The writer did not enjoy seeing that black disk cover the bright sun with not a cloud in sight. Finally I was sent to the field to call the men to look at it. Mother and Aunt Esther were talking about it and when another would occur. Maggie said in thirty years and mother said none of us would live to see it. But Maggie said she expected to as she would be forty-three, George would be as old as father, forty-one, and I would be thirty-six. We all lived to see the next eclipse and many years after, except Maggie, who was taken by grippe in 1889.

When the eclipse was complete, the chickens flew into the trees to roost and the turkeys on the rail fences near their young. It got noticeably cooler while the sun was covered. When it was nearly over, Maggie and I were sent to dig the peach blow potatoes for supper. I scolded as she watched the sun while I dug the potatoes. A German family by the name of Harber lived a short distance from us at the time. The man was away and the young woman with the two children got so frightened they went into the house and shut the door. But the next morning the sun rose as usual. Father never believed in signs and we never had that burden of fear to carry. I find there are lots of people still following those old signs.

© Copyright 1997-2013, The Art Department, © Copyright 2014-2020, Richard Harrison.
Last updated on Friday, 16-Apr-2021 16:54:39 MST