“Loving son of Douglas and Christine Sieg of Pierce Township. Beloved Fiancee of Jennifer Evans. Dear father of Evan Sieg and Jennifer’s daughter Kaitlyn Helton. Brother of Daniel (Rachel) Sieg. Rob died suddenly at his residence Sunday, May 11, 2008 in Sarasota, Florida, at the age of 27. Formerly of Pierce Township, a 1998 Graduate of Amelia High School, and a 2004 Graduate of Troy State University in Alabama. Visitation Friday 5 to 8 pm at the E.C. Nurre Funeral Home, St Rt. 125, Amelia, Ohio. Funeral Services 1:00 p.m. Saturday May 17, 2008 at the Funeral Home. Interment Monroe Cemetery. In lieu of flowers, contributions may be made to a Trust Fund for Evan R. Sieg c/o any Fifth Third Bank.”

Services are on Saturday, May 17th at 1pm with a viewing on Friday, May 16th at 5pm.

On a trip to Las Vegas last year Rob was excited about his upcoming marriage, glowing about his son and looking forward to a full life with his family.  His visit took us to various venues that included some nights out, a visit to Red Rock Canyon and a chance to catch up.  He was all smiles the entire time and learning of his passing is definitely a shock.  Our thoughts and prayers are with his mom, dad, brother, fiance, son and daughter and all the family and friends who knew Rob.

I envisioned Grandpa Hoying’s neighbors getting together for the “barn raising”, an event I witnessed as a young boy, when my dad was one of those helping a neighbor rebuild after a disastrous fire. Framework for the sides and ends were assembled on the ground, then dozens of men with ropes pulled the assemblies into position, inserting more of those hand made wooden pegs at the corners to hold the sides and ends together, with every joint in perfect alignment. An amazing feat!

This barn, standing alongside the venerable farmhouse built in 1886, stood the test of time, enduring all kinds of weather, bearing the brunt of severe thunder storms , tornadoes, the scorching summer sun and the freezing winter weather. That fantastic building has seen a lot of winters with snow and ice and howling winds. At all times, in the spring, summer, fall and winter, this old barn was a place of refuge for animals and man alike.

This old barn is a handsome building, standing straight and tall, proud to have served the Hoying family for well over a century. It’s condition today is a testimonial to the love and care of it’s four generations since 1887, and instrumental in the Centennial Farm Award granted this farm in 1997.

The barn is where we usually started, and ended our workday with chores 365 days a year. In the summer and fall, we stashed hay, grain and fodder in the mows and granaries to feed the livestock during the winter months.

The barn was also a place for certain social occasions, hosting hoedowns to celebrate various family events, including wedding receptions. The threshing floor was cleared of hay and chaff, a wagon moved to one end for the local fiddlers’ stage, a keg of beer was tapped, and the party was on!

It was also used as a gymnasium of sorts for rough and tumble boys. And it was here I first heard of the attack on Pearl Harbor reported on the constantly playing radio.

I learned a lot about life and death here. We knew the function that a bull, or boar, or buck rabbit served. Many a litter of cats and dogs were born under the barn. I’ve watched the miracle of birth, and assisted in the delivery of calves when the mother cows needed some help. Some animals reached old age, some died of natural causes or disease. Others were slaughtered to provide food for our family. It didn’t take much imagination to factor such experiences into some understanding of human reproduction and life.

Even as I write this today, I feel a great amount of nostalgia. So many wonderful memories are connected to that old barn. No longer is it used to house and shelter our dairy herd, horses, rabbits, cats and dogs. The stanchions are gone, stables removed, the watering tank demolished, the grain storage bins taken out, and the sweet aroma that only a hay mow can give, as well as the pungent scent of stables, is gone forever. The original “barn red” painted vertical wood siding is now covered with manmade material. The 1887 numerals cut into the peak of the south end is covered up. Now the barn is just one big storage area for tractors, machinery, boats, and motor homes. No more are milking stools, or harnesses or saddles or forks or ropes all neatly lined up and convenient for the next time they were needed.

This old barn has observed many changes on the farm, watching four generations of my family born and raised here. It has seen farming revolutionized from tilling and planting with horses to farming with huge tractors and machinery, and to no till, chemical, and biological farming practices. If only this old barn could talk. It could reveal much more about life on the farm as it existed then.

When I learned that the farm was for sale, a new and unexpected sadness came upon me, knowing that we’d no longer visit and enjoy that old barn. Never again will kids play basketball on the threshing floor, shooting to a homemade hoop and backboard. No longer will kids frolic and jump into the hay mows, or walk the 4″ wide beams 12’ above the threshing floor on a dare or for a thrill. No more will they find the haymow a place of refuge, where one could be alone, reading or fantasizing, as many a rainy day was spent alone in the haymow, reading whatever material was available, while listening to rain battering the shingles.

What amazes me most, however, is the fortitude of my forbearers, who labored so hard and diligently to provide a living for their families. Their strength was much like the strength of this old barn, the strong timbers of the frame, the pegs, which held the entire structure together, and the roof, and siding which protected it from the elements and danger. Yes, this old barn had a soul, too.

I had better stop before the list of nostalgia grows any further. The bottom line is that the barn was the focal point of the entire farm, for work as well as play.

Not long after Pearl Harbor, those of us who were eligible went off to war, never again to work and play in that old barn. Only thoughts and memories of bygone days remain. Not only are these thoughts endearing, but they also bring back so many memories of when I was a simple farm boy. And these memories will never, never die.

Tony Hoying – 2003

No bathroom in the house meant that one was forced to go outside to a privy to releive oneself. Unless one has actually expeienced the lack of running water in the home and had to “go outside” before bedtime and early morning– spring , summer, fall, and winter– it is impossible to describe adequately what this necessary part of life on the farm was all about. No words can express the mindset of anyone who was subjected to doing without inside plumbing. Some third or fourth generation members of our families may think they can relate to outside toilets claiming to have camped in a “primitive” campground. Take my word for it–it’s not the same by a long shot!!!!!!! On sweltering summer days, wasps and other insects, both flying and creeping kind were also regular users. Nature’s call often was secondary to these critter when they were in a bad mood. Privy sitting in such circumstances became an art.

A dirt path led to the old outhouse, also known as the privy, or shanty, which was located adjacent to the orchard about 25 yards east of our house, just beyond the grape arbor. It was a three holer, with two different sized big holes and one lower child’s station with a smaller hole. Large families needed more than one relief station!! Lumber from a poplar tree was usually the choice for the seats, since it was close grained and free of splintering, as is the case with oak. It was a somewhat dilapidated structure. Cracks in the walls provided much needed ventilation. The free swinging door was held closed by a small homemade wire hook. The famous Sears Roebuck and Montgomery Ward catalogs were standard equipment. Every spring when the ground was still frozen, Dad would clean out the contents of a year’s use through an extended trap door on the backside of the building. I helped once, and never again! This process was often referred to as honeydipping.

During the depression, President Roosevelt formed a number of federal agencies, including the WPA (Works Project Administration) aimed at putting unemployed to work. Many of us remember this agency by the work done cleaning roadside ditches in our community.. Those in this ditch cleaning program were supplied with a turtle back shovel, assigned to a certain area, and worked with scores of others cleaning those ditches with no equipment other than those shovels. The beneficiaries of this program earned their pay, and didn’t simply “draw checks”.

Another of this agency’s directives was to improve the nations health conditions. One way to accomplish this was to make low cost privies available to the rural masses. These privies would be sanitary and healthful in their use, stemming the spread of diseases such as hookworm. To the best of my knowledge, nearly all farms in our community availed themselves of this government subsidized program. My research shows that the farm family receiving a new outhouse would pay for the materials (about $17 per outhouse) while the WPA supplied the labor free. Records show that the WPA built a total of 2,309,239 outhouses and employed thousands of individuals.

Our new WPA privy was delivered and installed in a new location on a bright spring day while we were in school. It was a beautiful new white building with a concrete floor and only one hole. It sported a ventilation system and a hinged cover for the hole. Our outhouse was “purified” by applyig lime. It helped to “sweeten” the smells and kept down the spiders. The new privy was hardly the epitome of sanitation, but it was a vast improvement for that day over what we previously had, and provided relief for family and visitors for many years. It served us well for many years until indoor plumbing was installed in our farmhouse in 1945, after most of us left home for good. Most privies were soon replaced with bathrooms and indoor plumbing after WWII, thus another symbol of rural life was lost forever. James Whitcomb Riley even memorialized the outhouse in his “Ode to the Outhouse”. http://www.jldr.com/odepoem.html

Tony Hoying
Aug. 2003

We all wore hand me down clothes and shoes. Most boys wore bib overalls, and the girls usually were outfitted in plain dresses, at home and at grade school. Much of our outerwear was sewn by Mom on a foot pedal driven Singer sewing machine. Many items of clothing no longer were fit to wear and were cut into pieces to make quilts or for patches as needed.. Shoes which became too small were put in a box for younger children to wear when they fit. I don’t remember getting many new pairs of shoes. Nearly everyone went barefooted in the summer, with the usual accidental rusty nail punctures, sometimes resulting in blood poisoning. Despite all this, we ate well, since most of our food was home grown. Most of the purchased food was acquired from the local store which also provided a huckster which arrived regularly to barter eggs for foodstuffs.

It was not all hard work all the time, though. Families were able to create their own diversions to relieve them of worry. Many, many evenings at home were spent playing cards, mainly pinochle or rook, with other family members, especially Mom and Dad. Sundays were ALWAYS a day of rest, but the daily Chores of the farm still had to be done. And everyone dressed up in their Sunday best to attend Mass–at 7am or 8:30am. Visiting friends and relatives is what most families did on Sunday afternoons.

For the community, as with the family, to live a balanced life during this difficult time, diversion and entertainment was a necessity. Several families would often get together during slack periods and congregate at one another’s homes for an evening of cards and conversation, with children generally unsupervised. And then there were the barn dances, or hoe-downs, celebrating someone’s anniversary or wedding. Neighbors came together in a frivolous and happy mood. Many a good time was had by young and old alike on such occasions. Beer and moonshine were kept in the background, but sometimes even the kids were able to secure some. A true story: at one of these hoe-downs at our farm, a rival group of boys stole some of our booze, and we didn’t like that a bit, so we contrived a plan to retaliate. We hid a pint bottle half filled with an amber liquid, making sure one from the other group noticed. A real belly laugh was had when they tasted and discovered that the bottle contained another amber liquid (from a human source). Bad joke, eh? Despite all the festivities and frivolity, however, I have never ever seen one of the adults really drunk. Light headed maybe, but not drunk. And no hanky panky, ever. (So far as I know.)

During this period, many farmers in the community found it extremely difficult to make mortgage payments on their farms. Feeding and clothing the family drained much of their financial resources, and several in our small community did lose their farms, which then became known as Bank Farms. Mom and Dad unbeknown to us, were also in dire financial straits, and almost lost the farm. I understand that Grandpa Schmitmeyer came to the rescue, made the payments and saved the farm from being repossessed.

Prohibition, enacted in 1921, was the law of the land during the first 8 years of my life. All possession and consumption of alcoholic beverages of any kind was a federal crime. Despite this federal law, no real German could go without beer. Therefore nearly everyone in the community started to make their own after the Wooden Shoe Brewery in Minster was forced to discontinue production of beer, but remained operational by bottling other beverages. Prohibition, which was eventually repealed in 1933, actually made criminals out of honest, hard working people. A few even made the hard stuff –moonshine. There were so many moonshiners nationwide that the law just couldn’t handle them all. Besides, many lawmen, at least in our area, were sympathetic to their cause, and turned a blind eye. So far as I know, no arrests were made in the St. Patricks community. As children, we were not fully aware of the legal consequences of breaking this federal law, but later overheard some fascinating stories told by adults. After a neighbor’s barn burned, as a teeenager, I helped to dispose of the remnants of “still” before the fire investigators arrived.

Tough times, yes. But we considered it the norm. We really didn’t know that we were poor, because everyone was in much the same situation. I’m privileged to have had the opportunity to experience this kind of life, realizing and fully appreciating the comfortable life we now experience. It is my sincere belief that only industry, courage, frugality and an unfailing faith in God were the attributes which pulled us and our forebearers through these turbulent times. These same qualities, though diluted somewhat, thankfully passed on to the succeeding generations.

The Great Depression seemed to recede somewhat in the late 30′s, and Dad and Mom were able to purchase more of their needs and wants. In 1939, Dad bought the first rubber tired tractor in our community. THAT was really something, and was an issue of ridicule from schoolmates. No one of them believed that a rubber tired tractor could outpull a steel lugged tractor. However, it wasn’t long until other farmers saw the light and rubber tired tractors became commonplace. I was a freshman in high school at the time, and despite the war going on, the future looked promising. Dad traded the old ’32 Chrysler on a used ’37 Plymouth, and the Allies seemed to be on the road to victory.

Tony Hoying Oct. 2003

We sure did enjoy our stay in Sun City and the prices were sure right. We flew Spirit Airlines for $59 each way, stayed at the very nice Sun City Center Inn for $42 a night, played golf at some very nice courses for $25 a round, and had all the beer we wanted on the course.

What a great trip; it sure was nice seeing my uncles and aunts again, especially listening to their rememberances of my mother.

Thanks Tony, Mary, Gene and Pat for all your hospitality.

Dave Boerger (Louise’s son)”

The Third Infantry Regiment at Fort Myer has the responsibility for providing ceremonial units and honor guards for state occasions, White House social functions, public celebrations and interments at Arlington National Cemetery….and standing a very formal sentry watch at the Tombs of the Unknowns. The public is familiar with the precision of what is called. “walking post” at the Tombs. There are roped off galleries where visitors can form to observe the troopers and their measured step and almost mechanical silent rifle shoulder changes. They are relieved every hour in a very formal drill that has to be seen to believe. Some people think that when the Cemetery is closed to the public in the evening in the evening that this show stops. First, to the men who are dedicated to this work…it is no show…it is a “charge of honor”. The formality and precision continues uninterrupted all night. During the nighttime, the drill of relief and the measured step of the on duty sentry remain unchanged from the daylight hours. To these men…these special men, the continuity of this post is the key to the honor and respect shown to these honored dead, symbolic of all American unaccounted for American combat dead. The steady rhythmic step in rain, sleet, snow, hail, hot, cold…bitter cold…uninterrupted. Uninterrupted is the important part of the honor shown. Last night, while you were sleeping, the teeth of hurricane Isabel came through this area and tore hell out of everything… We have thousands of trees down…power outages…traffic signals out…roads filled with down limbs and “gear adrift” debris…We have flooding…and the place looks like it has been the impact area of an off shore bombardment. The Regimental Commander of the U.S. Third Infantry sent word to the nighttime Sentry Detail to secure the post and seek shelter from the high winds, to ensure their personal safety. THEY DISOBEYED THE ORDER…During winds that turned over vehicles and turned debris into projectiles…the measured step continued. One fellow said “I’ve got buddies getting shot at in Iraq who would kick my butt if word got to them that we let them down…I’m sure as hell have no intention of spending my Army career being known as the idiot who couldn’t stand a little light breeze and shirked his duty.”
….Then he said something in response to a female reporters question regarding silly purposeless personal risk….”I wouldn’t expect you to understand. It’s an enlisted man’s thing.” God Bless the rascal…In a time in our nation’s history when spin and total bull**** seems to have become the accepted coin-of-the-realm, there beat hearts…the enlisted hearts we all knew and were so damn proud to be a part of…that fully understand that devotion to duty is not a part time occupation. While we slept, we were represented by some damn fine men who fully understood their post orders and proudly went about their assigned responsibilities unseen, unrecognized and in the finest tradition of the American Enlisted Man.
Folks, there’s hope. The gene that George S. Patton…Arliegh Burke and Jimmy Doolittle left us…survives. Now, go have another cup to pop rivet your eyelids
I’ve got to go to work.
DN

From a subvet friend in our nation’s capital~…More…. Nina Swink adds…..
On the ABC evening news, it was reported tonight that, because of the dangers from Hurricane Isabel approaching Washington DC, the military members assigned the duty of guarding the Tomb of the Unkown Soldier were given permission to suspend the assignment. They refused. “No way, Sir!” Soaked to the skin, marching in the pelting rain of a tropical storm, they said that guarding the Tomb was not just an assignment, it was the highest honor that can be afforded to a service person. The tomb has been patrolled continuously, 24/7, since 1930.

Addition to this e: I saw an interview on Fox News Channel with the Commander of the soldiers who guard the Tomb of the unknown. He took the shift when Isabel was unleashing her fury, cause he did not want to ask any of his men to do this – he felt it was his highest honor to be on duty during that time.

Very, very proud of our persons in uniform!!!!!! “