If I wrote about a childhood Christmas present, most readers likely expect me to write an uplifting column about a favorite present I found under the ol’ family cedar Christmas tree.
Well, you’d be wrong in that assumption. Instead, I’m going to relate a semi-humorous story about the easily most disappointing childhood Christmas present I ever received. This would have been a Christmas somewhere in the early 1950s when I wuz in early elementary at the South Fairview one-room country school and the Yield family wuz farming with horse drawn power south of Bronson, Kan.
This wuz an era before television, so my ol’ pappy, Czar E. Yield, after he got up every morning, he’d tune the radio to the strong radio signal of WIBW radio out of Topeka, Kan. He attentively listened to the agricultural news, weather and market reports. Those airings weren’t of interest to a 7-8 year old kid, but my ears quickly perked up when I heard WIBW advertising a “Model Farm Set” as an ideal Christmas gift for rural youngsters.
Morning after morning I heard the ad and developed a keen yearning to get the farm set as a present that year. I had enchanting visions of playing happily for hours on end with colorful barns, tractors, equipment, and livestock on my “model” farm.
So, I asked my folks to buy the farm set for me. They listened to the ad and informed me that they didn’t think I’d like the gift. Well, that only cemented my desire to possess the farm set and prove them wrong.
I wuz so persistent, and probably whiny, about the gift that they relented (without telling me) and ordered the farm set. It likely cost less than $5. Without my knowing, the farm set got wrapped and put under the tree.
Well, when Christmas morning arrived, little Milo couldn’t wait to see if he got his longed-for model farm set. Finally, I opened a present and the box said, “Model Farm Set.” I thought to myself that the gift looked a bit smaller than I’d expected, but, naturally, I still ripped it open with great expectations to find some stellar looking wooden (pre-plastic, remember) replicas of everything found on a working farm.
What I found wuz this: A huge hunk of flimsy pastel-colored cardboard that unfolded revealing “punch out” farm equipment, barns, livestock, etc. My heart sank at the sight. And, when I punched out all the “stuff,” I discovered that the paper fold-out “support” wouldn’t keep a fly erect, let along a tractor or a work horse.
In short, the whole “model farm set” was dismal in every respect — and I burst into tears in disappointment. My folks tried to console me, to no avail. Looking back on the entire Christmas morn episode, I had put my folks in an impossible situation. I wuz gonna be disappointed, and crying, if I didn’t get the farm set, and the same if I did receive it.
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Since I started down this childhood Christmas present road, I might as well continue down it. This second gift that I remember wasn’t a disappointment for me, but I’m sure it was to my long-suffering parents.
This gift was also in the early 1950s. It was a large, expensive, metal erector set, containing an assortment of a gazillion metal pieces, nuts, and washers, and written construction plans and drawings. It came complete with a fist-sized electric motor to power all the fantastic metal things I’m sure my parents expected me to build with it. The gift came in a red metal case about the size of a briefcase. I admit, I was excited to receive the gift.
However, my use of the erector set wuz probably the earliest revelation that I wuz going to grow up to be euphemistically “mechanically challenged.” Oh, sure, I built a few buildings and bridges, but it never proved easy for me, nor satisfying, nor fun.
Instead, I became enamored with something I learned to do with the electric motor. I discovered that I could steal sticks of chalk from school, sneak them home, and grind them into fine dust using the gear cogs on a drive-gear that attached to the motor’s power takeoff shaft.
I wuz having a grand ol’ time grinding white and colored chalk until my sainted mother discovered what I wuz doing and that my energetic chalk grinding had covered my upstairs room in a fine coating of chalk dust — from floor to ceiling and all the furniture, too. She wuz not happy and my chalk-grinding came to an screeching and permanent finale.
In conclusion, I have no recollection what finally happened with that very nice and expensive erector set. But, I do know that I did not wear it out from playing with it.
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I sadly report the loss of another professional ag column-writing friend. Frank Buchman, Alta Vista, Kan., is now riding the Cowboy’s Eternal Trail Ride. He’s written his last faith-anchored aggie column, sold his final advertisement, fondly rode his last Quarter Horse, judged his last horse show, conducted his last horse sale, hosted and conducted his last 4-H and FFA horse judging contest, helped at his last rodeo and trail ride, dipped his last scoop of horse feed, thrown his last flake of hay, helped the last of his host of friends, and taken his final breath of the tallgrass prairie air in the Kansas Flint Hills that he so loved.
Frank was a cowboy through and through and was proud of it. He leaves behind a well-earned and distinguished equine and agricultural legacy. His was a life well-lived. Frank’s family and multitude of friends will miss him greatly. RIP.
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Personal words for the holidays. My hope is for all readers to enjoy the very best of all things that Christmas and the New Year, 2025, can offer. Have a good ‘un.
