SUMMER HOLIDAY WITH "TØK"

Far photographed with the bull "Tøk" at the Exhibition space for cattle

It was the week just after midsummer, and the steady rain period was miraculously replaced by sunshine and high pressure over Scandinavia and 3 hay-drying racks in Nodeneset stood in long rows and well made in the hot sun, hay that simply and easily could have been dried on the ground, But it was when the weather gods pointed nose to the impatient who had lost the belief that it would be sunny days that summer.

A major advantage was with the situation; the grass had been a wet start-up, and now the grass was damp and absorbed the heat of sun rays and grew at least a centimeter a day. For farmer Thorvald and his large family on his Bringsjord got busy getting stripped the hay-drying racks so cows could be moved from the forest and released on summer grazing out on the headland.

Those cows father had bred in recent years, was bigger and heavier than those who had grazed up in Skoglia in the past, and in addition, they were equipped with larger udders that milk blasted waiting for the mother and father were coming to milk them in the evening.

Thanks to Polish and Serbian prisoners of war, it was during the war filed a basic infrastructure for horse and cart from Strømnes and into the valley on the north side of the riverbank. It was okay to ride bikes there, and as little boys we were often, sitting behind the package carriers to mom and dad. Our main task was then - besides gorge ourselves with blueberries and strawberries - pick ticks off cows. Had parasites sucked blood a few days, they were big and blue as ripe blueberries.

In the evening was a 25 liter milk container with lid placed either in the stream or in the river, where it accounted for cooling until the next morning. For before the sun rose behind the uplands within Kvelland, Mom and Dad drove to cows in the woods by horse and cart, and then they came back with two well stocked milk containers which were put down by the post road where milk route brought them to the dairy. And one thing was for sure; nothing tasted better than "forest milk."

But father was not pleased, for milk yield dropped drastically when cows grazed in the woods, and he wanted them out on the headland (Nodeneset) as quickly as possible.

As soon as the morning porridge with sugar and milk was done, and the sun had climbed beyond the Stenberg hill, we went to Nodeneset by horse and hay-wagon. There was the black horse "Bring” hitched from hay-wagon, and so he spent happy summer days on fresh blossoming, juicy grass.

But we industrious ants had to work for food. One hay-drying rack was daily stripped of hay, which we bar beyond and leave to dry in the sun. So the day was used to eat and drink and swim and wade into the water and hunt for small trout and eels hiding in shallow water in the river, until three or four o'clock in the afternoon. Then all the hay was dry and nice and could be run in the barns. Fortunately we, together with father, had worked rely hard this spring and finished constructing a summer barn - with hay barn on second floor - here on Nodeneset, so a couple load of hay were driven the short way there, the last one being taken home to Bringsjord.

After three such “strenuous” days, when the sun only for a few short hours disappeared behind the mountains, all hay entered the barns, and the five milk cows were brought home from the woods and released to pasture outside the summer barn. It was significantly larger deliveries to the dairy, but milk was ram and lost the good flavor.

Summer barn in Nodeneset. Drawing by Finn Bringsjord

So began the hassle to be allowed to stay in the hay barn on Nodeneset. There was a persistent hassle from the two youngest members of the family, but the mother was steadfast: "A no is a no," she claimed and swept it away, "You can lie in the barn at home. None of my other seven kids have ever been allowed to lie in the hay far out on Nodeneset. "

When I then objected that perhaps it was not surprising, since it was the first year we had a summer barn there, came a faint chuckling away from the easy chair by the radio unit, and she realized that the paternal backing was about to unravel, so she played as good trump card: "Think about the “Krusher “comes and takes you? One never knows what the madman can do! "

Kjell and I looked at each other and realized that the battle was lost. The Krusher was a pain in the ass as at night walking around and shattered windows at Bringsjord-Neset. In Samlingslunden - the part of farm fields that lay just below the Bank - Father had set up a creeping-in of some limbs from a dismantled German barracks, so we could make coffee and enjoy packed lunch there when it was cold and miserable weather, but window glasses were systematically crushed one by one. Finally father had to bolt a limb in front of the window, and the whole coziness disappered.

In the new summer barn father had put into a window with six small squares. These were also smashed, one by one. But summertime it did not meant so much. When five cows standing in the stall, it must be aired in the barn anyway.

"We should have a real watchdog," said Kjell, "a Doberman had chased the villain into the river." I nodded. "Any kind of shepherd dogs had frightened the life out of Crusher," I said with pathos, "but we - we have not a single animal that is able to strike terror into the mouse ...". This was obviously provocative said that cat Bianca got up and strutted out contrary to the food bowls in the kitchen.

But father looked up from the easy chair and cleared his throat, "Now, now, do not say that, Finn". he said thoughtfully.» We've the bull Tøk. Don’t you think that guy deserves a few days summer out on Nodeneset? "

It was a gruesome uproar when Kjell in flustered tilted his dining chair back too far and fell straight to the floor. With a sheepish smile he recovered quickly on their feet and sent ahead as though we might as well take a trip out on the headland now with the same? But father asked him to calm down, reminding that Tøk had built up a large and loyal "customer base", and that therefore in good time must  announce the holiday period so that the Lyngdal farmers would not have to go wasted journeys to Bringsjord with horny cows.

Then father opened the bureau in the guest living room and took out a white writing paper, scissors and stationery. After testing exactly he clip he sheet into three equal pieces, dipped the pen in the inkwell and wrote three identical announcements that he carefully crafted with a suitable blotting  rolls. The day after the tag attached with thumbtacks on the telephone poles by Presthøl-. Møska- and Faret bridge. On sheets stood there with squiggly font:

   

It should be known!

The bull “Tøk” takes summer holiday in the week 28 this year.

Thv. L. Bringsjord

The spread was tipped on to a cucumber-employed summer substitute in the local journal “Farsunds Avis”, and he turned up with the newspaper's camera and snapped pictures of the bull Tøk in the yard. For dimension sake bull flanked by Kjell and me - and in the background, behind the glass pane of the kitchen window we could see the mother and sister Tordis.

The image was printed over a "four-column" on "Animal welfare in Lyngdal".  It will be the first time the term "welfare" is used in the Norwegian press, and since it was 40 years before the English etologen Donald Broom came with an international definition of "animal welfare", and 60 years before the "Animal Welfare Act" was born in Norway, it should awaken the Norwegian Language Council interest. The article emphasized that the contemporary requirement that a bull will stand on stick for its customers 24 hours a day - year in and year out - is totally inhuman, and that a weeklong summer vacation therefore is a minimum of what should be granted on the poor chap welfare Account . He had to get off to recharge.

The newspaper article was hotly discussed at Bringsjord when it clearly went between the lines that Thorvald L. deliberately withheld information about the bull summer should be shelved - and consequently feared now womenfolk where it was released right in the blueberry season.

The twins were highly sought after as interlocutors in the days before the 28th week began, and Jenny at the house of Edvarda stood in the middle of the road for Kjell when he came cyclists while she waved with a collar bag filled with three fat Smørbukk caramels. But brother's mouth was closed so tight with seven seals, the only thing he could confirm was that it was probably somewhere near Mandal which began on Greips-, but that neither was clearly after that Thorhild only was engaged to Arthur. This secret was well received by Jenny, who now had "plenty of dry powder on the mill" and collar bag changed hands.

Very early Monday morning the 8th of July 1950 ran a procession out of the yard at Bringsjord direction Neset. The black horse Bring pulled a cart with three empty milk containers and a closing window with six new window glasses. Gemini Kjell and Finn sat in front of the driver's seat with each horse rein, and in the center seat sat Thorvald L. backwards and held the large bull in a sturdy rope that went an extra loop around the iron yoke on the on the rear trap door on the wagon in case Tøk would turn out wrong and take the opposite direction of Bring. But there was no reason for concern, the bull wandered kind as a lamb into the summer and sunshine and green clover meadows.

No oncoming traffic were out before the rooster, so the twins noted with satisfaction that equipage arrived Nodeneset unseen by all - except Uncle Anton stood in the window down in Garden and candies on a slab wort bread with orange marmalade and waved when we procession flashed past.

In our view, was now the chance that Tøk frightens live shit out of Crusher increased significantly. But pessimists, as the evening gathered round the table in the living-room to Anton in Garden, believed that newspaper´s  summer substitute had ensured that Crusher "smelled fuse" and that all the meticulous approach they had hatched went down the drain.

Well out on Neset  was Tøk released on his own ox grazing pasture  in the tip of Nodeneset, and he was filled up with Spring fever and happy and sprinted back and forth with tail ass aloft and father commented smugly that the bull also was man enough to scare away fish rustlers  from Nodehølen.

Fragmentary map of Nodeneset
Beite for kyrene = Pasture for cows
Oksebeite = ox pasture
Buksetap = trouser loss (red cross)
Sommer fjøs = summer barn

Father hung the repaired window in place, and so we helped dad to carry manure out of the barn into a dung heap outside, and a while later came the mother on bicycle, and then milked the cows and let them out to pasture. Then we went back home with filled milk containers, but before we left, fastened father a handwritten note on the gate. It was written in pencil on brown paper from a concentrated feed sack:

CAUTION !!! 
 Free-range bull graze!

"A warning is a warning," said the father, "although this may be easily neglected."

With consistently Tøk as "watchdog" outside wall of the barn, was raised security so that the mother gave up her opposition with regard to the twins' desire for accommodation. We enjoyed ourselves tremendously for evening and day snailed slowly along while checking batteries for flashlights and restlessly slithered in and out. The mother took out blankets and made two big food packs wrapped in butter paper, and then we got with us each our empty bottle with pressure-cork that should be filled with milk from cows in the evening.

When the sun rose over Faret, was father tired of the hustle and sourced Bring home from Vollen and schoolgirls Laila and Tordis demanded to be to see how the "mad boys" would hedge against the evil crusher. 

The large barn door was at the back of the barn. Originally lay hay almost right under the corrugated iron roof, and on sunny days it was hot up there as in a greenhouse. But now we got help of Laila and Tordis to trample hay, and after numerous requests also had our easy-legged mother - who passed for the best load of hay-step opportunity for miles - with much happy laughter come to our aid. There were many frog jumps and crow precipice before her mother believed that enough was enough and went to milk the cows.

In between all the hassles of the barn we had carefully made sure that it was left an opening between the hay and the long wall facing the front of the cow. There we could slide down and keep looking through woodpecker holes and cracks in the planking.

As soon as the cows were put on stall and milking was done, father opened the gate to the bull pasture so Tøk could wander freely around the property. Both girls and Bring felt uneasy at having the great beast around them, and his mother hurried to pour new silt milk on our bottles and with every good wish for the night they were soon disappeared behind the bend up the road.

Kjell and I looked at each other, and quickly agreed that it was too early to bunk. So, when the sun disappeared behind the moors up at Tjersland, we began to look for fat earthworms under stones by the muck heap, and then we went to the river with bamboo poles to try fishing in Nodehølen.

It was unbearably exciting when the trout snatched the worms on the hook, but we did not get real fish on the hook and mosquitoes and small flies became very so bothersome. Eventually Tøk was tired of the whole fishing trip, and when dusk sets in and the mist came sagged across the river, he stood up and walked towards the barn, and we suddenly felt that hunger gnawed - and went after.

Packed food has never tasted so good as this late evening, and the half warm milk tasted not quite as ram as before, so most were greedily drunk.

Eventually it was pretty cool, and barn door was closed and bolted within. Then we had to wrap oneself in the blanket down in the warm hay, find his flashlight and scout for spider and wasp nest under the roof. Cozy sounds of milk cows under us seemed soothing and soporific, and wide barn door we could hear that took had taken a rest and chewing cud and breathed deeply and snorting in between.

Kjell was talk blissful and told that Arian in a conversation with Uncle Anton had called Crusher for "Dirt- Crusher " and then Kjell afterwards asked Anton why "Dirt", had uncle told that every time he had broken a window glass, had "the condemned cuckoo left a pretty disgusting “wisit card "on the stairs. "Uh, uh uh ...!", I said and twisted me in half sleep: "This is totally sick."

Nocturnal sleep was somewhat disjointed. First Kjell began rummaging for his flashlight. Then he hobbled over to the wall where he found a fit knothole in the wall board and got done defecate. It was totally forbidden to pee in the hay as this could lead to overheating and the whole barn could catch fire.

Everyone knew the story from last year when a jungman (sailor) from the neighborhood put a 60 liter can of cherries under a bale of hay in the hayloft of his father’s barn. To bring up the temperature and speed of fermentation, he and his buddy urinated in the bale of hay. But it was too much of a good thing. The resulting heat was so strong that the contents of the balloon almost came on the boil, and was completely destroyed. "The only rate could be used for marrow at a Yngres (kind of YMCA) trip to Selma's cabin," he claimed. But Sister Plata, who was insider in Yngres denied that this could be true, "Selma serves never other than blueberry juice and aces cheek milk from the dairy."

That night I slept troubled and dreamed about the war and the Germans were driving on their green motorcycles and sidecars set cavalrymen with tall shaft boots ready to jump out to steal our horses.

Then there was a bang, and we ascended and were wide awake. Glass had singlet from a broken window down under, and there was a fearful commotion among the startled cows inside the barn.

"C c-crusher is here," stammered Kjell and neck hairs bristled while we startled glances. Fortunately we heard that Tøk got up and walked down to the gate. He did not like the cows excited bleating and moaning and would check whether they were attacked by bears or wolves.

As two otters we slipped into the gap on the long wall and looked out through each our observation holes built by a persistent black woodpecker earlier that spring. A silhouette of a hip broad man with a helmet and motorcycle goggles silhouetted could be seen below at the front place, and I knew that I was really piss scared.

The man was initially silent and looked around as he began fumbling with trouser belt and went and squatted down on the porch in front of the stable door, and the large rear section appeared as a white crescent moon against the dark background, but seen from Tøk´s angel that now came ambling down from the gate, it must have looked like a bright full moon.

"What is he doing?" whispered Kjell.

"Looks like he'll ss-shit on the porch," I stammered excitedly, "but we will be two about that"!

Now I was so nervous and so in pee needs that I stood and jumped up and down in search of a fit knothole. The beam went initially far over the head of the figure on the porch, and I had to get up on my toes and correcting downward, and then slammed it into the neck of the crusher with a strength in line with a bullet sprayed Kalashnikov and ricochets vent  to all sides; down the back and up under the helmet.

Crusher let out a roar and turned back to see what hit him, and there; right out of the night, he stared into the eyes of Tøk. Big Bull had expected to deal with predators the size of hyenas and jackals, but found instead an overgrown insect; a giant ant that was stinking piss.

Tøk chose to blow up another few notches, so he dug hooves deep into the ground while he indignantly snorted and blew white smoke out of his nostrils, so he lowered his head and let out a roar that gave echo far away Romskogen.

Shit-crusher sank down on the porch and rolled backward in dirt down against mitten heap - with roughly the same suction power as our father pull paper rolls over black- and as he screamed and waved like a maniac, he came up finally on the legs. Then he stooped down and gathered waistlines in one hand and ran like a crazy beast down toward Nodehølen. Tøk saw amazed by him, so he began to run, first slowly, then faster and faster.

And I went absolutely bananas; rushed to the gable wall and began to jump and scream:

Come on Tøk! Crush the gjøk (cuckoo)!

Come on Tøk! Crush the gjøk!

Crusher sprang to life against Nodehølen, but on the road he had to let go of waistlines when he would dive between strands in a transverse fence, and his pants slid down and hung up. He counted himself anyway as salvaged from bull monster and sighed with relief. But alas, how long was Adam in Paradise? Who else but Tøk came trotting through the open gate into the bull pasture? And the sigh of the trouser resolve became a sob and he left his pants and sprinted for a lifetime in Nodehølen where the current took him waving in the direction downwards to Bershølen.

We were excited and happy, but vigilant and insecure when we do not quite dare believe that Crusher had drowned in Bershølen. After a while we heard a motorcycle was started up in the Nodenes road, and then we realized that he had salvaged him selves away for this time.

Tøk was a little bit angry and scared the pants off Crusher

When the sun rose, and the father and mother came with horse wagon to milk the cows and to bring us home, we had lots to talk about the night's events, but we just had to confess that we had not been able to see so much as a trace of the face of crushing - cuckoo. But it worked out when my father went to shut Tøk inside the bull pasture. There he found the Churcher´s pants lying in the field, and in the back pocket there was a green motorcycle license.

Later that day rode the father of Alléen, and delivered pants and driver's license at the lost property by the sheriff. What he and sheriff Kvarenes otherwise talked about I do not know, but what I know is that window crushing on Bringsjord-Neset ceased from that day,

This story was printed in the newspaper "Lister" on Saturday 3 October 2015.