This history was written by Kate Eilers Acock, a cousin to the Whitnah family in Oklahoma. Kate's aunt, Edna May Sadler, married Marshall Herbert Whitnah. The original copy was hand written. This copy is transcribed from a copy typed by her cousin, Alta Whitnah Gregory. I have added headings in some places to break up the story.
Forward
Preface
My Father's Life in Germany
My Father Comes to America
Family Life in Oklahoma
The Way it Used to Be
Extended Family
Wash Day
Making Butter
Sorghum Time
Butchering Time
Soap Making
We Move to Seminole County
School Days
Work and Play
We Move to Idaho
Dating Time
My Sister, Alta, Is Married
I Return to Oklahoma
My Life Involving Russell Acock
Horse and Buggy Days
Wedding Day
Married Life
Visiting Out West
Raising Crops and Children
Old?
Dedicated to My Cousin Kate with Love, Alta Whitnah Gregory
The following was hand-written by Katie (Eilers) Acock. It should be of special interest to the descendants of Justiena and George Sadler (Eilers, Whitnah, Schuldt, Young, Roy Sadler and Harry Sadler) as the mode of living as related here applied to all of them. I have made a list of these descendants and it is at the end of this document. I hope there aren't too many errors. I didn't have up-to-date information on all of them.
I have enjoyed putting this together and certainly appreciate having the opportunity of doing it. I'm sure you will all find it informative as well as entertaining. Katie really has a way with words!
In Southeastern Idaho, Marshall Whitnah and John Schuldt came out from Oklahoma first (1913-1914). Marshall Whitnah settled on the east side of the valley known as Cedarhill and John Schuldt settled on the west side of the valley known as Sourdough Ridge. Early in 1915 George and Justiena Sadler and Will and Edith Waymire settled on the west side. In June 1915 the Eilers family joined the ones on the west side.
By December 1922 all of our family on the west side had either gone back to Oklahoma (Justiena Sadler and the Waymires) or moved to Rupert, Idaho (the John Schuldt and John Eilers families). The land on the east side is still owned by Velma Whitnah and Lloyd Whitnah's children--Roger, Douglas and Edna Kay. Katie and Russell Acock still live in Rupert, Idaho.
awg
March 15, 1984
Starting life in the early 1900's was an exciting time for a beginning. What other centruy can boast of so many marvelous inventions in the first of its 75 years?
I was born in 1903, and radio, TV, cars, airplanes and computers were either unheard of or in their beginning.
I had my first car ride at the age of ten, in Shawnee, Oklahoma. There were very few cars in the town, and one of the days we were in town with Father. The ones who had them were taking passengers for free, around the square, so Dad and I rode with them and had an exciting tale to tell when we got home that night.
I saw my first airplane soon after, almost unbelieving, but the newspaper the next day said one had gone over, so we knew it must have been for sure--and not a mirage.
We didn't hear a radio until 1927, after we were married. Glover bought one--an Atwater Kent. It had all its working parts in sight and the loud speaker, a big horn, sat on the top. We drove three miles in the buggy after supper to hear it and sat until 10:30--and not sound! We went home saying "We didn't really think it would work." But soon after we left they got the right connections and heard the program. We enjoyed it many times after that. We bought our first radio in 1934, and the television when Marlo and Ila were in high school.
Our first car was a 1923 Ford touring car and we bought it in 1926. It needed a paint job, new top and curtains, tires--you name it--it was needed, but it ran and Russell gave it the attention it needed so badly, and we drove it until 1930.
These are a few of the changes since I was born, and I'm sure this younger generation will have many things to tell their grandchildren, but just so you will have some idea of the way things were, and as we lived then, I have written these things down hoping they will be of interest to some of you.
It wasn't an easy life, but I'm glad to have been a part of it, and to see the changes as they took place. So bear with me as I reminisce a bit and recall some of these things as we lived them. There should be some smiles and some things of interest. The grandchildren can say "The Olden' Times" and it will seem as far in the past to them as some of the stories my father told me, and he was ll of 40 years old, and here I am nearly 72. To me in those days, 25 years seemed like a century.
The stories Dad told us were made so clear to us that to me they still stand out as vividly as when he related them. I'll try to record some of them first and add other parts of the family history as I go along. I take full responsibility for all mistakes in punctuation, phrasing and, yes, in remembering! Some may remember differently.
This will surely be a memorial date as I'm sure this will be kept as a great bit of literature!
Katie J. Acock
March 5, 1975
My Father, John George Eilers, was born in Jever, Germany, August 11, 1864, to Jacob and Margarette Eilers. He was a twin, but his twin, a sister Geradene, died at the age of three. He had two older brothers, Jacob and Herman, a sister, Johannah, and a younger sister, Anna. Another set of twins, girls, and a baby boy died at birth.
His early years were spent in the family home, but when he was seven his father died and his Mother moved to a much smaller home in the Village. He told us of the family home, a large brick building, very thick walls, to keep out the cold in winter and were cool in the summer. The house was connected to the barn by a long hallway. Winters were severe, and at times the storms too hard to face outside. Animals were fed indoors and even watering tanks were inside.
They milked 40 cows and hired help did the milking. The girls made the milk into cheese. There was a cellar, or basement, very large with shelves all around the walls, and here the cheese was put to ripen. Dad never lost his tatst for good cheese--well aged cheese and crackers were a favorite snack.
There were several good horses and they were kept well goomed at all times. These were available to the military at any time and were seldom used as farm animals. Most of the planting was done by hand with spade and shovel. The horses were used on the sled in winter and buck-board and buggy in the summer. He told of driving them to church and hot bricks were placed in straw in the sled to keep them warm. The bricks were carried into the church where the women used them to warm their feet.
They raised geese which were plucked to make the heavy feather beds for mattresses, and quilts and pillows were stuffed with them, and then many geese were used for food. The many canals furnished waterways for the geese as well as for boating in the summer and skating in the winter. Dad told of skating eight miles to school--farther by canals, but much more fun. They must have raised chickens also for he told of a pet rooster that rode on his shoulder, but on evening it was crushed in one of the heavy swinging doors and was killed. We were all very sad to hear him tell of this loss.
Christmases were merry times in the big house with ten days of celebration. There was a Christmas tree, much singing and dancing around it by the children while neighbors came to visit, and their Saint Nicholas, good food and drink. The Christmas song "Oh, Tannenbaum" was the only German song Dad taught me.
Tragedy hit when Dad was six. The cows all died of some sort of poisoning and bad times followed. Whether from the strain of reverses or just poor health, his Father died a year later. This made it very hard for his Mother. They moved to the Village and she worked in a bakery to support the family.
Jacob and Herman were of an age that they would have to go into the military and still have to be supported by his Mother, so arrangements were made for them by an uncle in New York City to come to the United States. That left Hannah, John and Ana for Grandmother to support. We were told of the good things from the bakery, but also of evenings spent alone, while she worked late, when they were so lonely and frightened. At times they crawled under the bed, taking their Father's Army sword with them. There seemed to be war skirmishes and soldiers about, and he told of hearing guns and seeing mounted soldiers. Once after dark he and his sisters had rolled under a fence and lay in the ditch until the soldiers had passed.
School was almost an all year affair--only two vacations, and he could only remember one school master--very stern and strict and he used the paddle often. Dad must have been a good student; he was a very good scribe and reader in German. He learned to read and write English after he was 14 years old and always had a German twist to his writing. Floyd has a notebook that has beautiful writing of his. The children walked quite a distance to school, or in the winter, skated on the canals.
By the time he was 14 he had completed the studies there and he was nearing the military years so, rather than the military and a printing apprenticeship, again the Uncle helped, and this time he and Hannah, who was 16, started out by boat on a long, lonesome, seasick journey. They went by boat and by the lowest rate and were a month en route. They were homesick, seasick and something Dad never forgot. He could hardly talk of that trip. It must have been very disturbing to leave home for a new country and be so sick too.
He could speak no English, so it was very hard to adjust to a new country and a new language. Even the food was different. Tomatoes looked so beautiful to him and he put down a coin and pointed and got a hat full. When some customers laughed, he went to the alley to taste them, then promptly threw them in a garbage can.
He worked in his Uncle's store a year and then he went to Kansas where his brothers had homesteaded. He liked it there much better and spent the next 12 or 13 years there. For most of that time he lived with a couple who had no children--Lewis and Kate Tebbe. They were like parents to him. I was named Kate and they came to visit in Oklahoma when I was small, and to Idaho in later years.
When he was about 29 he went to Oklahoma and homesteaded 160 acres of land east of Oklahoma City, and just across the road my Grandparents, George and Justiena Sadler, homesteaded, and that is where my memories start as we lived there unitl I was 5 1/2 years old.
It was here he met and married my Mother, Barbara Charlotte ("Lottie") Sadler. He built a log house--two rooms and an upstairs, and a lean-to for a kitchen. I was born here--number four in the family. Nettie, Alta and Pansy, who died when I was three, were there ahead of me.
When I was a year old they built a frame house, but the log house made a good playhouse, and the main thing I remember about it is the covering of trumpet vines which were beautiful when in bloom. The area was called the 'Black Jacks'--a name given the timber that grew there in the red clay soil, and these had to be cleared before any ground could be used for farmland. Deer, quail, squirrels, cottontail rabbits and ducks, in season, were numerous and were there for the hunting. We had many good dinners from them.
Father put out fruit trees and a vineyard and they did well in the sandy-clay soil, and gardens thrived in the new soil. There were always cows for milk and butter for the family and to sell, and meat to eat, along with dried and canned fruits and vegetables. So by the time I came along in 1903 they were well established in farming and in the community.
I was born in the log house April 17, 1903, and I think Mother said about 5:00 P.M. As I was month premature she said I was her smallest baby--5 1/2 pounds and very bald, and pictures showed me to be that way for some time. Later I had black fuzz for hair and very dark eyes. My size didn't seem to keep me down and I always seem to remember that I was being quieted or sat down, and I'm sure I embarrassed my parents with my activity and curiosity. Dad said I could ask more questions than anyone he ever saw, and I'm sure he led me on to make me ask more when he was the one being questioned. My memories of the log home were mostly as a playhouse and a shop where Dad worked.
The new frame house was not large but was adequate for the times. There were three rooms downstairs and two upstairs. In this house I remember Christmas trees being trimmed and families coming there for the tree. Santa always came. There were my Grandparents Sadler, aunts, uncles and cousins, and each Christmas was an occasion to remember. Our tree was one of the Black Jacks (black oaks) and was usually wrapped in cotton--each limb was wrapped. Then mistletoe and sometimes pine branches were tied to the limbs. Popcorn, paper chains, foil decorations and wild berries were strung and hung on the tree with tinsel. We girls always got dolls and these were hung on the tree. Also, there were bright hair ribbons and other toys. Not many presents were packaged as they are now.
As all grandchildren do, I suppose, I remember my grandparents who lived just across the road and their house was about 1/4 mile away. Their homestead joined ours and it was fun to run an errand for Mother. Grandpa Sadler drove a team of oxen from Missouri to Oklahoma. He and Grandma were very special characters.
Grandpa, with his easy Irish ways, hearty laugh, twinkly blue eyes and red hair that stood on end, was fun to be around. His laugh was like a jolly old St. Nicholas. He chewed his home-grown tobacco, which Grandmother hated, and his spittooon was a necessary part of the furnishings. Grandma, with her stern German determination, was well organized and very determined and kept prodding to keep Grandpa on the move and everything done as she thought it should be. She would have made a great sergeant! Monday was definitely washday, Tuesday ironing, and so on--and Sunday was "Sunday" and church and company day.
I suppose grandparents always seem old to the younger generations, but I think how young they really were when I was running to their house. They were married in Iowa when Grandpa was 18 and Grandma 14, and Mother was only 16 when she and Dad were married. When I was 15 Grandpa used to hug me and say, "You are just like your Grandma when I married her." Mother told us the night they were married there was a big party, and Grandmother went upstairs and slept with the children.
I remember many good times at my Grandparents and wish her things had been preserved and passed on to the next generation, but when they had a sale in 1915 so much of it was sold. There were high carved bedsteads with dressers with marble tops, and washstands with china washbowls and large pitchers, high soft featherbeds, willow-ware dishes, covered tureen, cut glass stemware, tec. These would all be heirlooms now. She was a wonderful cook, and her good bread, burnt sugar cake and cookies were usually handy for hungry little folks. Her cicken and noodles had to be done just right. Grandma said the only hen good enough to eat was one that laid eggs, and shw would get one off the nest to be sure! The noodles were kneaded well, then rolled paper thin and shredded into tiny strings. Whenever I make noodles I feel her watching and raising an eyebrow!
They had a large orchard and garden, chicken, geese and cows, and the produce was sold in Oklahoma City--Grandpa taking a load in the wagon and selling ti to customers--house to house. Grandma made butter and dressed chickens, and with peaches, apples, cherries, apricots, grapes, plums, cantaloupe and watermelons, he had quite a business. Sometimes a beef was butchered and the meat cut and sold according to demand. There were no laws governing those things in those days.
Sunday school in the Kansas schoolhouse a mile from us was a weekly must, and I still remember songs the choir sang, and I learned songs for Children's Day each spring which I remember. I sang one when I waqs four and when our daughter, Wanda, was four, I taught it to her. She sang it at Rupert Methodist Church, and here we'll go up to that time for a bit and tell about that. The organist at church was to play for her and had practiced with her. That evening the prelude was played and Wanda started to sing and got through the first measure and stopped, turned to her organist, and said: "You aren't playing it right," and sure enough, she was playing in another key. She apologized and they went through it the next time. Wanda still likes things done right. Here is the song:
I
Softly the shadows are creeping,
Softly the night breezes sing,
Now little birds must be sleeping,
Closing their soft little wings.
Chorus
Sun's in the west, birdies must rest,
Fold your small wings under mother's soft breast,
Sleep in your cozy warn nest, yes,
Sleep little birds in your nest.
II
Morning will soon be returning,
Then you can wake up and sing,
But while the star lights are burning,
Sleep and sweet dreams they will bring.
I remember happenings on the homestead--like the big catalpa trees that lined our driveway and were the tallest trees in the country. There were two rows with a driveway beside them and we had a hammock made of barrel staves that hung between two trees. They were beautiful when in bloom in the spring.
Mother had peonies, iris, bridlewreath, lilacs and other perennial flowers and zinnias, marigold and sweet peas for summer blooming. The main thing I remember about the bermuda grass lawn was the chiggers that gave us such a good scratching time after playing in it. They were minute little monsters that imbedded themselves in a pore of the skin, so tiny you couldn't see them, but how they did itch! They preferred a tight spot, so got under the knees, elbows, under belts or tight clothing. The berry patch and plum thicket was a favorite spot for them too. Wild plums and blackberries grew in thickets waiting to be picked.
My sister, Pansy, died with typhoid fever when I was three years old, and Nettie was very sick with it at the same time. The only thing I remember about that was Dad holding my hand as we walked to the barn, and crying. I never saw him cry too many times. Then the day of the funeral we were in our covered two-seated buggy or surry, going to the funeral and I started to sing my favorite song, "I'm Going Home," and Mother asked me not to sing it.
One of the more humorous happenings was on our way to Grandma's. We had a horse we rode named Baldy. We were all put on his back and started down the road. Whether Baldy didn't approve of his load or we were too near the rear, I wouldn't know, but my sister, Alta, slid off his tail.
I wasn't old enough to go to school so I got to go home with Grandpa and I can still remember them asking me what I wanted for dinner and I always said "Permatoes" which they thought very funny for a little girl. I still like tomatoes. We girls all remember Mother making tapioca pudding in our kitchen and having it for Sunday dinner. It was put in a stone crock with meringue on top. It was very good and when Alta has been sick since she was grown, she wanted tapioca pudding in a crock.
Another nice thing about living in the 'Black Jacks' was bein near so many relatives. Mother had four sisters. Aunt Edna, who was married to Marshall Whitnah, had three boys: Sherm, Harvey and Lloyd or 'Duke' as he was lovingly named by a Bohemian neighbor who came to see him. The boys were near our ages--Sherm older and Harvey younger. I thought their house was very fine. It had a long living and dining room, large kitchen and two bedrooms, and all was papered so nicely with linoleum on the kitchen floor, and homemade rag carpet on the living room floor. They had a nice concrete cellar with a building on top, a windmill and concrete slab and walks. We loved to go there and play.
Aunt Edith and Uncle Will Waymire had not children, but kept a boy, Everett, from babyhood until he was about 18. He died soon after leaving home.
Aunt Gertie and Uncle John Shuldt lived near a railroad track and I can remember going there and Uncle John held me high on his shoulders so I could see the train.
Aunt Allie was married to Tom Young after we moved to Seminole, and they lived on our place in the 'Black Jacks' and farmed it. I remember coming to visit and holding the babies--Virgil and Erma. There was only a little over a year between them and one incident I remember. Virgil was angry one morning. Something was not right with breakfast, and he threw himself on the floor on his hands and knees. There was a hole in his pyjamas, and Erma got a spoonful of cereal and poured it in the hole!
Roy ahd Harry were Grandma and Grandpa's pride and joy--both younger than the girls. Both were spoiled, but very likable and attractive. Roy married Lora Ferguson and Harry married Eva. They were both divorced from their wives later and remarried.
There were Uncles and cousins around too: Henry and John Glampser--brothers living within a couple of miles of us, with children our ages. They were cousins of Grandma Sadler. John and Willard Sadler were Grandpa's brothers. Grandma's parents, brothers, sisters and families visited from Iowa. Grandpa Wilt--Grandma's father--would go barefoot, and there were so many sand burrrs. I asked him how he could do it and he said he 'was tough.' They were German and talked a bit broken, but were wonderful cooks and housekeepers.
It is easy to become nostalgic about all these things that happened so long ago, but do not really seem so long ago after all. Looking back at 72 doesn't look nearly so long as looking forward at four or five.
To really appreciate some of our conveniences of today, you should live in the past with the well that you drew from, or a pump that had a handle so hot in summer you could hardly touch it, and so icy and cold in the winter you could hardly get away from it!
Our daily schedule differed considerably from the one of today. There was a pretty regular pattern. For instance, the first thing you did was to dress hurriedly and try to be the first in line down the well-beaten path to the outhouse, and it didn't accomodate too many at one time. In winter you could shiver indoors or out as a bit of ice on the 'reliner' accumulated, and you didn't tarry too long. In summer the big buzzing flies or an occasional wasp speeded the 'changing of the guard.' In between morning and evenings on pleasant days it was a good place to linger, especially at dishwashing time, scanning last year's Sears Roebuck or Montgomery Ward catalogues. We took both catalogues as we had a large family--we never bought toilet paper!
Wood had to be chopped and always there was that woodbox to fill, and get a bucket of corn cobs for kindling for the fire-building the next morning. Dad chopped the wood and Mother asked if we had filled the woodbox. Occasionally we forgot and had to go out after dark and that took two or three--one carried the lantern while the others loaded up. Dad usually furnished us a little wagon to haul it with, but with so many riding in it and using it, like a bicycle, many times it was not usable.
Water was heated in a teakettle on the stove or, if you were lucky, your stove had a watertank by the fire box and that gave more hot water. Baths were taken in the washtub, and there wasn't clean water for each, either. The tub was set near the kitchen stove in the winter, and in the summer water was warmed in the sun. Dad built a frame around a barrel and we thought it was great to take a bath in that. I can remember Bessie, Norah and I all crowding in that barrel at once.
Wash day was considerably different than my children know it. As I grew up with a family of 12, and for 11 years after our marriage, this is the way our day went. Our water for the most part was drawn from wells in a long bucket--about four feet long and six inches in diameter--small enough to go down the well casing. It was equipped with a float in the bottom and when it hit the water the float raised to let the bucket sink. When it sank to the depth of the bucket there was a deep gurgle, and the pressure closed the float and the water held until you relieved the pressure by pulling a wire at the top, letting the water run out.
The water was carried in three-gallon buckets, usually two at a time, and a copper bottom wash boiler was filled early to heat the water. Usually this was done before breakfast as it took time to heat on a wood stove. A little lye was put in the water to 'break' it. The water was hard and a skum would rise to the top and be skimmed off, then homemade soap was shaved into it. Part of this water was used to boil the clothes. All white clothes were boiled. The clothes were then removed to a tub of clean water and another one fixed with bluing water for the white clothes, and all were wrung out by hand--no wringers in those days.
Colored clothes were rubbed twice on the board as they weren't boiled. With sheets for five or six beds, long underwear, all those towels and dishtowels, not to mention body clothes, dresses and overalls, it was a long day. The water was carried out the same way it was carried in, or if two were working, each took a handle of the tub and away we went. All dresses, shirts, tablecloths and pillow cases were starched--I even starched Russell's overalls!
Of course there were long clothes lines and in the summer the white clothes billowing in the breeze was a pleasant sight, but in the winter sometimes they froze stiff, and overalls and underwear would stand alone when brought inside. They had to be dried around the stove, and the house really steamed up from the boiling, washing and drying. In the summer a shady spot was chosen for the washing and the big iron kettle was used for the boiling--a much pleasanter situation.
When I got my first electric washing machine, about 1935, even though it was a bit crude, I thought wash day was a snap even tho' the water still had to be carried in and out. I gave Ila credit for my first good washer. When I found she was coming I told Russell I had to have a new washer. And was I ever proud of that pretty green "Speed Queen."
With all that starching, one more wringing process was necessary, and ironing day was almost as bad as wash day, and in the summer it was very warm indeed. Most of us designated Monday as wash day and Tuesday ironing day. If we didn't get it done in those two days, we felt we had really lost out on our week's work. The clothes were sprinkled and put in a basket over night and, being starched, they needed to be ironed immediately or they would mildew. The irons were heated on the wood stove and each one had to be rubbed well each time lest you get a soot smear on a pretty white blouse. Now when I put a load of clothes in my automatic washer and dryer and take out the perma-press garments that require little or no ironing, I feel very fortunate indeed. It just 'ain't' like it used to be in the 'good old days!'
Butter making was quite an art in those days before sparators and refrigerators. Large flat pans or crocks were used for the milk so the cream would rise to the top quickly and could be skimmed off. The milk which was usually clabbered was used for cottage cheese for the family, or given to pigs or young chicks. Some people stirred it and used it like buttermilk.
The cream was put in a stone churn. The first one I remember was four or five gallons with a wooden dasher which Dad made of a round stick, perhaps a broomstick, with two one by fours cut to fit the bottom of the churn with corners rounded and attached to the stick. This was moved up and down through the cream. A lid of wood or crockery with a hole in the center allowed the dasher to be splashed up and down without too much cream landing on the floor or on the one managing the dasher.
Temperature was an important factor. If the cream was too cold, it was slow churning and, if too warm, the butter was soft and held the milk, and had to be cooled with cold water before it could be properly molded. When the butter separated from the cream and was coaxed into a ball, it was removed from the churn with a paddle, also made by Dad.
Whittling was much in demand in those days. The paddle was about four inches wide and hollowed to hold the butter better. It was very smooth and not too thick, so as not to be ungainly to handle. A wooden bowl or crock with cold water was used to wash and 'work' the butter to remove the milk and the water was changed several times. Salt was added to tast and it was ready to mold. The first mold I remember was round with removable bottom with a sheaf of wheat for design on the pound of butter, which each mold was to hold. Later years an oblong one was used which allowed the butter to be packed or stored more easily. There was no oiled paper or cellophane to wrap it in, so cheesecloth or plain white squares were used. Then in summer there was the problem of keeping it cool until it could be taken to the store for sale.
Mother had customers who asked for her butter. We had a dug well in the Seminole and Dad made a screened box to lower in the well above the water. Later we dug storm cellars that were quite cool, and they were a good place for the pans of milk to set and to keep the butter cool.
Dad would leave very early in the morning in the summer to deliver any produce before it got too hot. We were 17 miles from Oklahoma City and 15 from Shawnee when we moved to Seminole and 7 from Prague. Of course a horse and buggy was used for the trip. These were special days and Dad seldom makde the trip alone. When Mother didn't go to shop, he took one or two of the children. We took turns, and it was a real treat.
Kresses and the grocery store were the favorite shopping places and Dad usually got 25¢ worth of candy and that was quite a sack full. It was doled out evenings during the coming week. In Shawnee I can remember lunch at the Willard Hotel. I especially remember the good beef soup served before the regular meal. Sometimes we went to a movie--a silent one of course--to wait until it was cooler to start home. In the meantime, the horses had been fed and watered in the livery stable and were rested for the return trip.
Cheese and crackers was a favorite snack on any trip--crackers bought from a cracker barrel and cheese cut from a large round one in pie shaped pieces with a big cheese knife. Dad never lost his taste for cheese from his boyhood days in Germany. There were few luxuries in those days, but I'm sure things meant much more to us than they do today to the young people of this generation. I remember a new hair ribbon, new stokings--long and black or white--as a great thrill. The candy doled out evenings was enjoyed much more than a whole candy bar could be now and more appreciated.
Sorghum time! Oh, sweet sorghum time! Hot days and sunshine had brought the sorghum cane to the correct ripened stage and it was time to prepare it to be hauled to the mill. We grew cane each year and for several years Russell's father and the boys made our molasses. Dad again got busy with his knife and made paddles of wood about 2 ½ feet long, the blade part whittled to a sharp edge.
With these we children, Mother, and Dad when he had time, went down the rows of tall cane, knocking off all the leaves, until all the stalks stood like stark sentinels in the field. Then Dad took a sharp knife, something like a sugar beet knife, and cut the stalks as close to the ground as possible, removed the seed heads for threshing for feed, loaded it on a wagon like you would load small poles, and took it to the mill. There were usually several loads. It was exciting to go to the mill to watch the milling process, and also we could see Russell, Ralph, Roscoe and Glover assisting with the making.
The first thing we saw was the horses going round and round, turning the gears that turned the big rollers that squeezed the juice into a vat, and then ran into the cooking pans to process. A fire was kept burning under these pans. First there was a pan where it was boiled to a certain stage; then it was released to other pans as the syrup became thicker. It took real know-how to cook it just right, and it was a very hot and tedious job. It was skimmed occasionally as a green skum formed.
The skimming paddle was held aloft with the streaming syrup to test it, much as we do jelly. When it was the right consistency and color, the fire was pulled back so it would not burn. It was drained into gallon buckets or small barrels or kegs which held about ten gallons. Sometimes it was several days before we took the finished product home as it was a busy time and much cane to be processed. Russell's father was considered very good at his trade, and Glover did a lot of the cooking too. The younger boys saw that the cane was run through the rollers and kept the horses going.
After we were married, Russell used a neighbor's mill several times and had as goo a finish on his product as his father, so guess he had watched his father well and perhaps had inherited some of his talent.
Mother had Dad bring some of the skimmings home and she put them in a warm place to ferment and made vinegar. She usually used apple cider, but the cane juice did quite well too. One time this vinegar-making had a surprising and messy climax. We children played school a lot as entertainment. I guess I was the teacher this time, so the blame is all mine. My brother George was a very small boy--less than two years old. I suppose it was for punishment for not following 'school rules.' He was stood in a corner and put on the can of skimmings that was sitting there. The lid on the can was not on too tight and it turned, letting George fall to the bottom of the molasses--covering him and spilling out on the floor. I'm sure Mother must have been disgusted, but she couldn't help but laugh at his sticky, sad state. No vinegar from that can!
When the leaves began to fall and the mornings were frosty, it was butchering time and the day started early and ended late. In fact, preparations were made the day before so that everything was ready. When we lived near Oklahoma City we usually butchered my Grandfather's and our hogs the same day. I say 'ours' to keep from naming names--I was only large enough to be shooed away from it all.
Large iron kettles were set on stones or sometimes a frame made by Dad and a big fire built under each to heat the water for scalding. These kettles held from 25 to 50 gallons. When boiling, a little lye was added to make the hair slip and the hog nice and white. It was then poured into the scalding barrel. Meanwhile, the hogs had been killed.
If Grandpa was butchering too, Dad would go kill his hogs. Grandpa couldn't hit the side of a barn with a gun, or if he stuck a hod, he would ruin the meat and hear from Grandmother. Dad was a very good hand and did a lot of helping out at butchering time.
The hogs were pulled up and down in the hot water until the hair slipped but before the meat became cooked so the skin would tear. The ends of the hog were reversed so all was scalded. It was then laid on a table and scraped and washed till it was very clean and white. Pulleys were used to suspend the carcas on a nearby tree where it hung until it was cooled out--not but a few hours if my Grandmother had her way--and the cutting began. Hams, shoulders and bacon were trimmed nice and shapely and the fat was cut into small chunks for rendering for lard, and the lean scraps were put into sausage.
Lard was a commodity much in demand in those days. I never heard of margarine and the only vegetable shortening was a cottonseed fat that my Dad hated. It did have a bad smell. We used butter and cream for cakes and cookies, and the lard for pies. We always tried to have a year's supply of lard made at butchering time. Well rendered lard kept well and was nice and white.
It was rendered in the big iron kettles. Large paddles were used to stir it to keep it from burning on the bottom. The fire couldn't be too hot, so it took a couple hours to finish it. The water had to be cooked out of it or the lard would spoil and if it was left too long, it would be dark. When the cracklings were a light brown we began testing and began to prepare for the pouring process. With a collander, dipper and mallet to crush the cracklings, we started draining into containers. My Grandmother was a perfectionist at this job and watched with care from beginning to end. After we were married Russell proved many times that he could do a good job too.
The sausage making at Grandma's was such fun, too. The meat was all ground with a hand grinder, which was no samll job, with three hogs for each of us, and usually they weighed 300 pounds or more. That was our year's lard and pork supply. The sausage was seasoned with salt, pepper and sage and bits of it fried and tested until it was just right--and how good those test bites were!
Grandmother and Mother had cleared the casing for the sausage. This was done by peeling the outer layer from the small intestine. They could do it and seldom have a rupture in one. These were washed well and soaked in salt water over night and were then ready for use. We have a lard press that has an attachment to stuff sausage which is simple, but theirs was much more fun.
It was a metal tube about 12 inches long, 4 inches at the top, but was rounded and sloped to about an inch at the bottom. The casing was drawn up over this tube at the end--quite a length of it. Grandfather sat in a chair, put a board across his stomach, filled the larger part with sausage and by using a wooden pin that filled in the large end, and putting it against the board on his stomach, he could push the sausage into the casing, and as it filled it shot out in front, sometimes two or three feet. Grandpa laughed his big guffaw and did all kinds of antics. We wouldn't have missed it for anything.
These sausages could be smoked, but most of them were later fried and put in stone jars and covered with lard. They kept for several months. Sausage patties were done the same way. The hams, shoulders and bacon were salted. My Dad used a brine, making it strong enough to float an egg, and he used some pepper, saltpeter and sugar. We thought our meat was the best ever. Some used a dry salt mix/sugar cure. When salted, which took 3 to 4 weeks, it was hung in the smokehouse and smoked with hickory wood in Oklahoma, but when we moved to Idaho, apple wood was used as hickory was hard to get.
The hogs' feet were cooked and used for pickled pigs' feet, the head for head cheese, and the broth, with the fat removed, was reheated and cornmeal stirred in to make a stiff mush which was cooled, then sliced and fried. We called it Pone-House. The cured and smoked hams and bacon kept will during the year when properly salted and smoked. The one requirement was to wrap it well to keep it away from flies. The aging didn't take from the flavor either. This you find in the South today where aged ham--up to three years--sells much higher, and it shouldn't be frozen. We didn't want ours aged that much, but today's cured hams are not cured to be kept for any length of time.
My Dad made corned beef, and Russell made it for several years, too. This way we could keep beef longer. It was salted much as the pork, but brown sugar was added. This was delicious boiled and then sliced cold, or it was good cooked with vegetables--corn beef and cabbage. My Dad smoked some of the nice pieces for delicious dried beef. It was hard to slice, but so good to eat.
Now, is anyone in the mood for butchering?
Soap making was another of the 'arts' practiced. This was made after butchering time. The cracklings left from the lard rendering were used. This was quite a process, but a good cleaning soap when properly made. I made soap, too, as long as we butchered our own hogs, but detergents have now replaced soap for dishes and laundry.
I am not sure about proportions used, but as I remember, we used a gallon of cracklings, a can of lye and a gallon of water. This was boiled to a honey consistency and a little water added and stirred until it started to jell. It was then stirred quite a while and was poured into molds--solid boxes or enamel pans--for future use, being cut into blocks which could be easily handled. A month or six weeks of 'ripening' was necessary for best results. Soap could also be made from any left-over lard, melted suet or just bacon grease. This was an easier process--just melting the fat and cooling to luke warm, and dissolving the lye into the fat. A little borax could be added. This made very white soap and it was easier to use.
The men also had to be "Jacks of All Trades." One didn't run to town with every small break or problem. Dad had his small blacksmith shop and the big anvil and forge were in use often--not only for himself, but for neighbors--all the pay being a sack of coal sometimes for the forge. I can remember turning cranks many times, sometimes for the forges and for the huge grinding stone to sharpen axes, sickles for mowing machines, or putting a finish on the plowshare after it had been sharpened by heating in the forge, hammering on the anvil a thin even edge while red hot, then cooling just right in cold water so the steel would be hard but not brittle. It was a touchy process. He made punches, chisels and other small tools of pieces of metal around the shop.
When we moved to Seminole County (I was 5½ years old), we started a whole new life. Dad bought 120 acres and the only building on it was an old log cabin with a big rock fireplace which was the home of a family of skunks. Their removal was the first bit of business. Our St. Bernard dog, Doc, did that and then went to a nearby spring to bathe, but the skunk's 'calling card' remained for a while. One wall was partly torn out, se we had to have a canvas stretched over it. This was our home while Dad hauled lumber and he and Mother built us a house. It was only two rooms when we moved into it, but two more were soon added and we were very glad to move from the cabin. We were 17 miles from Oklahoma City, 15 miles from Shawnee and 7 from Prague.
At this time Mother had borne six girls, but the move must have changed the pattern for in the next seven years three boys were born: George, Marshall and Floyd.
Dad found time to build a playhouse for us three little girls--Bessie, Norah and me--in the corner of the yard, and we spent many hours cleaning house and making mud cakes and pies. Our furniture was made of crates brought from the grocery store--wooden crates were used instead of cardboard cartons. With shelves added we had a cupboard, and chairs and tables were made of other crates. Broken dishes and discarded pans were used along with some sets of dishes from Christmas--if there were any left, but there was a doll cradle and dolls, and our little brothers to make it more real--and see how nice it was for Mother, Nettie and Alta to have us from under foot so they could do their work. With the sun shining through the morning glory vines early morning, it was a beautiful spot and lots of fun for times when there was not school or work to be done. There was a swing, too. Dad put it high on a big limb and we could swing so high and fell like we were flying, and between swings we could pick pecans in the fall from a tree nearby, pick persimmons after frost, and always watch the redbirds or cardinals, or hear the Mocking bird.
One thing Dad got us to do that we thought was so much fun--we always had hens and our own eggs, and before Easter he taught us to take a few eggs from the nest each day and hide them, then Easter morning take them to Mother for breakfast. Then she cooked them as ordered--we usually ended up with boiled, fried and scrambled! As we grew older Dad played tricks on us by stealing our eggs and keeping us busy retrieving them. It was a game and we all enjoyed it. These were little things, requiring no money, but adding so much to the memories I cherish.
Now back to our day's routines--hands and faces washed in a small washpan, and Dad was supervisor to see that all had their turn, and combed their hair before being seated around the table. We were all supposed to be there for the blessing. The table was long with a bench at the back for the boys, the youngest between Mother and Dad, and the next in age on the other side of Dad. The girls were near the stove and could wait table--see that the bowls and glasses were kept filled. The milk for the cereal was not 2% either! By breakfast time we had milked the cows and there was real cream with the milk and homemade butter with our hotcakes, or sometimes biscuits and gravy with homemade sausage or our own cured hams and bacon.
With dishes to was for our family in a dishpan on the stove to keep the water warm, we had to hurry to get ready to leave for school in season. There were no problems of boredom--also no bus to catch. We walked 1½ miles, so there was not suspense suffered watching for the bus, and we had our jog without being told about its health-giving effects.
School days were happy days--I can't remember ever not enjoying school when I was growing up. I didn't go to school until I was in the second grade. Mother taught me Primer and First Grade at home as Alta and Nettie were going 3½ miles to Little to school. They rode horseback, went in the buggy, or walked. I was very small for my age and Mother and Dad didn't think I could make it. When I started to school, it was in an old log cabin which had been lived in by Indians. It was very crude--rough benches to sit on and a few desks.
We had lived in the Seminole area a year and Dad had been busy. He got out a petition and organized a school district and the new school house was under construction but not ready for use--hence the log cabin. All grade--1 to 8--were taught by one teacher. My first teacher was Edith Thompkins. She was young--this being her first school--and in those days you didn't have to go to college to teach. All that was required was a course in a State Normal School after the Eigth Grade and you were a teacher. I imagine Edith was 19.
She moved in with a family a mile from the school and things went well for a month or so, but one evening after school she brought her bags and trunk to our place and didn't ask but said: "I'm moving in with you." Our house was small--very small compared to today's homes. She had to share a bedroom with Nettie and Alta, and Bessie, Norah and I moved to the dining room in a folding bed. George was a baby at that time and Marshall was on the way. Mother managed!
That year there were about 50 students, but as time went on the number grew to 90--quite a task for one teacher. I think we learned more reading, writing and arithmetic than the children do today. We learned from the others. Sometimes the older ones were 'teachers' and helped a class of younger ones. Different grades were combined: 3rd and 4th, 5th and 6th, 7th and 8th--so at times we were making two grades a year.
I took 7th and 8th grade when I was eleven and passed the 8th grade examination except for arithmetic. I had missed a month of school just before exam time so I could drive the plow mornings while Dad sowed grain by hand for the day, then plowed it under. I had a good time taking the tests with the rest of the class and I passed the 8th grade examination the next year in Idaho.
From what my parents and brothers and sisters till of me, I was never still very long at a time, and at school it was not different. One morning, which I barely remember, was near to 'quieting' me, though. The children liked to play "Crack the whip." We had some big boys in our school and all held hands, usually the larger ones at the head of the line and the smaller ones at the other end. When about 20 kids got in line it made quite a 'rope.' By swinging the line, the far end was sent rolling--and this morning I was on the end. I must have hit my head on a rock as I rolled because the rest of the day was a blank except for a couple of times for a few minutes.
When classes were resumed, the teacher asked me to read a report I was supposed to make, and I started to cry and said "Sterling has it." Sterling looked a bit surprised. The report was in my book. Alta took me to the pump and washed my face and head, and I remember seeing Clyde Long coming to school late. The rest of the day was a blank until I woke up in bed abouot 9:00 o'clock that night. Now, if any of you have had doubts about my sanity, perhaps this will answer your question.
Poor Alta always had my problems to care for. Another day a group of us were watching a boys' ballgame. Sterling was again in the picture. When he was up to bat, he swung hard and let the bat fly. It struck me across the face, splitting my eyebrow and eyelid, left a bad bruise on my cheek and a split lip. Alta came to the rescue and took me home, carrying me on her back a good part of the way. I have a few scars but for not having a doctor for stitches, Mother must have done a pretty fair job of patching me up. We seldom saw a doctor in those days.
We had some big boys in our school 17 and 18 years old. Most of them were very nice young men, and hard workers, but some could be rather tough. We had on John Sparks who had a father who drank and who whipped his children and, in general, was pretty hard to get along with, so John couldn't be blamed too much for his behavior. He tried to get even for the ill treatment he had suffered. At this time we had a very small teacher--Mary Cray. She was an 'old maid' of almost 30 years, about 95 pounds, and a bit old-fashioned. She wore high heeled, high topped shoes that clicked when she walked.
John sat on the back seat and was being very annoying this day and Miss Cray told him to sit down and be quiet. He took a knife from his pocket, opened it and told her if she came back there he "would cut her to ribbons." I can still see the fury on her face and hear her heels click, and we kids sat spell-bound. She marched back to him, hit his arm, and started to slap, first on one side of his face and then the other, and John took it. John later shot his father. Who was to blame?
When there was snow or a heavy rainstorm, Dad would come with the wagon and load on all the kids he could and take them home. It rains hard in Oklahoma and water could be deep enough to swim a horse in a short time. We were always cautioned to stay at school until he came.
For the women there was a set schedule for Monday and Tuesday--Monday washday; Tuesday ironing. Then after the washing was all done, and all that water mopped up, and lunch over, there were so many things one could do--in the summer hoe or pick cotton, also in season, garden to care for and, of course the canning and drying of fruit and vegetables and, for any extra time, make quilt blocks, tear carpet rags for the rugs we used on the floor, and even crochet pretty doilies and lace for dresses or for tables or dresser scarfs. So the days were full.
Lest you thing there was no social likfe, Sunday School and church were taken for granted, and we sometimes drove 3 1/2 miles to attend. We usually had a two-seater buggy; some had tops or we had a parasol to keep the hot sun off. In the winter the wagon was sometimes used and was made more comfortable with straw and blankets to keep the cold out. Three and a half miles in our car is not very far, but we had to leave early to drive so far with horses, and Dad refused to go in late--and our group going in late would have caused some confusion!
There were pie and box socials, ice cream parties, delicacy homemade ice cream and cakes, 'singings' where the young people met at different homes and the singing was great--using pump organs for accompaniment. School programs were exciting for all of us, and people visited more then than they do now. It was a simple bit of socializing, but happy times, and all the people were in the same circumstances financially. If we wanted a party of real togetherness, we could always have a taffy pull--that would bring people closer together and hold them--one of the real 'sweet' memories.
My parents did not have a college education but received a well balanced and varied education from the college of "Hard Knocks," "Necessity" and, by our standards today, "Poverty." Much could be done with a little. Mother sewed our clothing. We sometimes showed our 'brand' by the print from a flour sack on our rears, but they were clean. When a garment had done its due, it was torn into carpet rags and woven with others of its kind into rugs on Mother's loom which she used for so many years. I can't remember when we didn't have home woven rungs and carpets.
Besides all these tasks there was time for games, book reading, darning and mending. Mother did quite a lot of crocheting. She knew how to get her children to work without force by making a game of it, and we learned a lot of multiplication tables, spelled, and got the silverware dried more quickly by having contests to see who could dry the most dishes. I won't say we rushed to wash dishes, but it did make it less monotonous. Mother wanted to be a teacher and she had plenty of opportunity to teach us as we had need of assistance.
When Floyd was five months old we made another move, this time by train to Idaho. Our farm and all our belongings were sold and we took off the last of May to an entirely different climate and way of living. We moved to Idaho in 1915 to a dry farm 10 miles south of Roy, our postoffice. It was new country--mountains and sagebrush. Much of the land was being homesteaded, but my Dad had used his homestead right in Oklahoma, so we moved to a school lease, built a house and started to clear the land for farming.
I never attended any but a one-room, one teacher school through the 8th grade, and at Roy, Idaho, in 1915, our grade teacher taught Alta, Jim Black and me the 9th grade subjects and did well at it. There were fewer rules and regulations, no radio or television at home, so we read numerous books and we had plenty of time to study instead of TV watching.
The school in Idaho was a very small one and there were never more than 25 students. Recesses and noon in the wintertime there were spent skiing or riding our sleds. We rode our home-made skis across the field to the schoolhouse. On stormy nights Dad came on his skis with a rope to take us home. The snow would pile up 10 feet deep and such blizzards. He tied the rope around his waist and, as the oldest, I was at the back after Alta was out of school. The others would hang onto the rope. Dad broke trail and plodded through. One time we took three children who lived two miles from school home with us for two days. There were no telephones and I think of the anxiety of that mother. The father was away working for the winter.
The summers were fun with lots of spring flowers. There were snow flowers almost before the snow melted. I suppose they were anemones, but we had our own names for all the flowers: buttercups, Dutchman's britches, and lady slippers which grew around the hill on our place with a rocky cliff and ledges where the snowbanks stayed until late in the spring. There was a spring of water until early summer. There were many ground squirrels and badgers. Coyotes roamed the hills and deer crossed from one mountain range to another. There were serviceberry bushes where we made a playhouse, outlining the rooms with rocks which were numerous. When Mother and Alta had a big day's work, it was a good place to send us for a picnic with all the little ones, and we took our lunch and kept 'out of their hair' while they papered a room or did something else.
After the first year or two I was the one to stay and help Mother. We rode the horses, Pat and Shorty, and Dad got a pony for us, Rhondy, a small wiry sorrel with white stocking feet and face, and she was kept saddled much of the time. When she was turned out to pasture with the other horses at night, Bessie and I often went for them. It was open range and sometimes we had to go a couple miles looking for them. We put a snap in a ring in the halter, which Dad kept on them, and we learned to scramble on their backs, sometimes barely getting a toe over the back, and then wiggling up. Then we galloped bareback, ignoring badger holes, rocks and brush. The horses had more judgement than we did.
Pat was great to ride at a lope, but jarred one to pieces trotting. I liked to ride him and it was a slow lope. He died after several years of hard work, but Shorty lived on for many years and was a family pet. We have a picture with seven children on him in 1925--Evelyn and Eleanor, Esther and several of the Carson children. Fred Carson is in the picture--also Harold, Fred and others.
Those were very hard years financially from 1915 to 1921, but many happy times and a good experience. Alta and I worked whenever we could to make a few dollars. When I was 12 I stayed with Mrs. Carson two weeks--milked her cow, fed a calf and took the cow up a steep hill to pasture. I was always afraid she would step on me when I led her down at night. She was so anxious to get to her calf. Emory Carson was a year old and a cute little boy, and Mrs. Carson a tiny little woman, hardly 20 years old and expecting another baby. Mr. Carson was away harvesting. I got $1.50 a week.
That fall Dad and Alta worked on a threshing machine. A cookshack followed the machine with their own crew and Alta cooked. Dad was the 'flunky.' He ran errands for the crew, did repair work, and helped Alta. It lasted about six weeks. Alta got a good reputation as a cook.
Meanwhile at home, Mother wasn't idle. Besides caring for six children, she started digging a cistern to store our water. We had to haul all our water from a spring over a mile away for our cow and calf, horses and ourselves. We hauled it in barrels. While Dad was away, Grandpa usually went with us, taking his wagon for a load. Mother, Bessie and I dug and pulled the dirt out with a bucket. It was smaller at the top, then gradually widened and was finally about 15 or more feet deep. I remember Dad was quite surprised at the progress we made. George, eight, and Marshall, six, also got into the act and that cistern, when concreted, was our water storage as long as we lived there--from Jun 1915 until December 1921.
The water was a continual chore. Dad did finally get a pitcher pump at the spring to fill 6 or 8 barrels--much easier than with buckets. Bessie and I hauled many loads until George and Marshall were older and could take over some. There were so many rocks to drive around to get turned around, and many times a barrel turned over and had to be refilled. It was a fun place though--rocks and the beautiful clear water in the stream from it. Once when George and Marshall were getting water, Marshall met a bobcat, face to face, as he walked around a jutting rock. That took him back to his job of pumping!
There were few outside things for entertainment--no radio, TV, daily newspaper or movies. We did like to read. Books were passed around from family to family, and we did take some magazines with continued stories. After supper and the dishes washed, we all settled down--and I do mean all--and listened to more of the book or story. I never remember even the little ones complaining. We read Harold Bell Wright's Zane Grey, the Tarzan series, and many others, including Black Beauty and Treasure Island--books I never forgot. Today I read one--then a year later I can read it again and find I have forgotten most of it.
We organized a 'Literary' and met at the schoolhouse. We had debates and songs and readings. We girls sang a lot. We finally got a pump organ so I could play for Sunday School and for our own accompaniment.
In 1918 I went to hight school in American Falls--about 50 miles away. I stayed with a family and worked for my room and board. That was the bad year for flu and I went home in February. Then I had to change boarding places and got so homesick, so I went home to stay. I didn't complete my year.
Two years before we came to Idaho, Reinhold Fredrick had homesteaded in Bull Canyon, 15 miles across the hills and up the canyon from us. He built a house below a spring, and built a sheep shearing shed where the sheepmen could shear their sheep as they trailed them through the canyon heading for summer range. In 1918 he bought a new Buick touring car, which was a real eye-catcher in those days, and he ventured a bit farther from the Canyon. At a community picnic he met Alta and she had a ride in the new car. Before lone he and the Buick were seen often at our place, and when winter arrived, he came in a sleigh or rode horseback. His sister, Ruth, came to live with him, and when spring came she and Alta cooked for the sheep shearers. That was a big job--I know for I helped Alta two years with the cooking. Early in 1919 Reinhold and Alta were engaged and plans were made for a December wedding.
Our parents objected to dating until we were sixteen, so I had no formal date until my 16th birthday. I did go along when Alta, Reinhold and Albert went to a movie at Rockland and on other occasions, but it wasn't called a date. On my 16th birthday Albert came with a box of chocolates and asked for a date, and that was an interesting year.
That summer nine of use went to Yellowstone Park: Alta and Reinhold in his Buick with all the tents, food boxes and bedding; Albert, Ruth, my cousin Sherman Whitnah and I in Albert's Model T Ford; and Mr. and Mrs. Young, as chaperones, and Zida Powell in another Model T. The Youngs lived by Reinhold and they carried more food and luggage for the trip.
We girls and women all wore khaki dresses with red and black scarf ties and patent leather belts. The cars were all open, of course, and the roads unfinished, so there was plenty of dust. The Park was very new at that time but beautiful--so many animals--bears and cubs coming right to the cars and tourists feeding them. They didn't seem fierce at all at that time.
There were no motels--only the big hotels--and only the 'elite' stayed there. There were no stores. Provisions had to be bought outside the Park. Meals were served in the hotels and there were curio shops. We had 22 loaves of bread when we entered the park and plenty of other food. I remember Albert bought a whole crate of raspberry jam. We girls slept in the big tent. The men put their beds near the tent to keep the bears away!
The Model T's both burned out brake and low bands which had to be replaced at Tower Falls. Reinhold broke an axle and we were a couple days at the North entrance repairing that, but no one seemed to mind. When I have made trips through the park in later years, I have been very disappointed at changes. It isn't the beautiful natural park it used to be.
There were some sad experiences. We saw a little three year old boy pulled from the mud pots just before he went under and, of course, he died; a woman slipped into Old Faithful soon after we were there. These things are more protected now with restrictions. The roads were finished but very narrow, so travel is much safer now. It was fun at night when all the campers met around the campfire and the bears were fed the garbage from the hotels, and the Ranger gave a talk and then everyone laughed, talked and sang. There were many bears and the elk and deer were plentiful, as were flowers and grass, but that has been partly destroyed now by all the tourists. We drive to the park in a half day now, but then we took two days. The Model T's always needed water and the roads were rough. Now one seldom sees a bear in the Park.
Alta and Reinhold were married December 9, 1919, and moved to Bull Canyon. Mother, Dad, Alta and Fred, the baby, went to Malad and met Reinhold and Albert. They were married at a parsonage. Alta had a pretty white dress Aunt Edna helped her make. They were all in sleds. The weather was bad.
I was the oldest at home--sixteen--and I was to prepare a wedding supper for 25 people. Chickens had been dressed for chicken and dressing; there was beef to roast with sweet potatoes; Alta had made cakes. I had to bake bread and manage the house. We moved a lot of furniture outside to make room. Imagine 25 people in a 2-room downstairs! Bessie, Norah and I worked like troopers and poor George and Marshall had to do the chores and haul water--and my big problem--the house was so cold my yeast for bread froze and I couldn't get it to rise.
About 4 o'clock Aunt Edna and their family of seven came and she was a lifesaver. The bread finally started rising. I had it in pans and she helped me get things straightened out. When the folks came we were ready for them. The Denney and Commons families came and it started to snow and blow--a terrible blizzard. It was so bad that all of the people had to stay all night. The women and children went upstairs and the men downstairs. The bride and groom even separated. Next morning was clear and cold and all left for home.
That spring--1920--I helped Alta cook for the sheep shearers. I had cooked for a large family all my life, it seemed, and now I learned to cook in real bulk. Thirty-five to 60 men, three times a day, takes a lot of bread, and we baked pies for lunch, cake for supper, all our bread, biscuits for breakfast. A good sized beef lasted about five days. Reinhold cured lots of pork, so we had hams, bacon and some sausage, and he butchered a lamb occasionally. We had no complaints about food, but peeling potatoes was no small job. We did have canned vegetables, though. Usually I made pies--eight one day--and Alta made the cake. Then we reversed the next day. Huge batches of bread hardly lasted two meals. We never thought of buying bread, but one year Aunt Edna baked some for us to tide us over.
One night I especially remember. It was toward the last of the shearing season and we had only 25 or 30 men and we could seat that many easily. George was there to help. Alta had a big boil about ready to rupture and she was miserable. Reinhold had to go to Holbrook and wanted her to go along. I told her to go and I could manage. One little thing--Reinhold had sliced steaks for me to fry. It was ll done on top of the stove in huge frying pans, and I got things ready and here came about 15 extra men! We never knew how many would come as sometimes hearders or company men came by. The first table full ate and then I cleared tables and started over--even had to slice some more steak and open vegetables. Some of the younger boys wanted to be helpful and stay around, and that flustered me even more! But we got them fed and the dishes washed before Alta and Reinhold got home.
At Christmas 1920 Alta asked our family and Aunt Edna and Uncle Marshall's family to come for Christmas. I went a couple days early to help get ready and the rest came on Christmas Eve. It was 17 miles from our place and Aunt Edna lived about half way. They all came in sleighs--four horses to the sleigh. They were bobsleds with a wagon box on the runners. They put straw in the bottom and lots of blankets. It was a fun time. Reinhold always had lots of good food provided and the others brought things. There was a big tree and presents, and everyone stayed all night. Again, there was a bad blizzard.
The next morning the snow was piled high. We stayed until after lunch, then Reinhold took loose horses and stared them down the road to break some trail. Then we followed and he got his horses started back home and we went on to Uncle Marshall's. The drifts were really deep. Sometimes the lead horses lunged and were almost buried in them, but finally we got there and were glad to be that far. The next morning it was better, but we still had to travel the roads on home! Some places had been opened, but our last three miles were across a hill seldom travelled and we had to cross a rather deep ditch with a running stream. The ditch was level with snow. Dad and George got out, handed me the lines and said, "When I say 'come,' make the horses come fast." They had tramped some of the snow. I hit the horses and they lunged and the lead team went to the bottom. The water kept it from freezing hard. Dad pulled and we hollered and they scrambled to the other side. We made it home to a very cold house where the snow had blown in around the windows and it looked very desolate. A good fire thawed us all out and made it more cheerful.
I bought an organ the first year I worked for Alta and Reinhold and we spent many hours playing it and singing. Later when we (Russell and I) moved to Idaho, I got the organ. Grandpa Sadler died in 1919 and Grandma went to Oklahoma, so it seemed very different. The school teacher lived in their house, but we didn't have Grandma's to go to for cookies or a special dinner.
In 1921I saved my money from Reinhold's and worked at other jobs all summer--cooking for harvesters or just house work. I had worked for the neighbors since I was 15 when they had men to cook for. Nettie had written they were to have another baby and it gave me an excuse to go to Oklahoma. I could go help take care of her!
I planned and saved all summer and got enough for my railroad fare. I know Mother and Dad hated to see me go but they never said anything against it. Dad said I was 18 and should make up my own mind. I left that fall. Dad took me to American Falls in the wagon. I had a trunk and suitcase and some lunch that would keep well. I remember Aunt Edna made me a little bottle of the smallest cucumber pickles I have ever seen pickled. It was 50 miles and we drove to a school south of American Falls where Ruth Fredrick (Reinhold's sister) taught school and stayed all night. The next morning I took the train at American Falls--not knowing I would not return until 1925, but I don't think Dad was too surprised.
I stopped in Clay Center, Kansas, and visited Dad's relatives, Uncle Jake Eilers and Aunt Helen. Cousins John, Albert and Frank were there, too and numerous cousins. The Tattikens and Katie Hanson, another cousin, and we visited the Earnest Moulings, and I had a great time. The Tattikens were especially nice.
From there I went to Oklahoma City where Aunt Edith and Uncle Will Waymire lived, and they took me to see Roy and Lora Sadler and Aunt Allie and Uncle Tom Young. After a few days, Uncle Will took me to Shawnee where Glover met me and I was a 'member' of their family for a year. They have been like second parents--brother and sister--all in one to me, and I can never repay that debt.
This is the end of this 'saga' of my life. The next, if there is a next, will be more of my meeting with Russell and our life. I hope some of this will be interesting to the children and grandchildren.
It was a rather gloomy day in March 1912 and I was as gloomy as the day. Besides having to stay home from school, which I hated to do, I had chickenpox. I was itchy and uncomfortable. Mother opened the door and it was left ajar to let some fresh air in and a venturesome hen looking for a place to lay her egg came into the kitchen. Mother laughingly told me to lie across the doorway and she would chase the hen over me and she would get the pox. Maybe she did--I wasn't too sick with it.
Evening came and Alta and Bessie came from school all excited about three new students, all boys, that had come to school that day. Two of them were twins 12 years old, and one was 10 years old, and they said the boys were real cute. I could hardly wait to go back to schoo. The following Monday I went back and, sure enough, here came three boys, and they were rather cute!
Roscoe, the 10 year old, had some freckles and was full of talk and mischief. Russell and Ralph, the twins, were certainly not identical. They were easy to talk to and since they walked a mile in our direction, it was nice to have someone to carry my books. It was hard to concentrate on one. I remember Roscoe gave me a pretty card that I kept for a long time, but I sort of picked Russell out.
Lucy Long and her brother, Clyde, were good friends of all of us and we had many good times together. One Sunday I went home with Lucy and Ralph and Russell went with Clyde. They rode their horses. That afternoon we played games and had a good time, but it was time to go home and Lucy was going with me. Ralph and Russell started home knowing Lucy and I would soon be coming along--walking. Mr. Long had said for us to 'keep away from those horses.' We did--until we got over the hill where the boys were waiting. Then Russell got off and led his horse and I rode it, and Lucy rode Ralph's. It wasn't 'polite or nice' to ride double! There were parties and Fourth of July picnics together and I remember one birthday when Bessie, Norah and I were the guests. We swung in a high rope swing--the boys pushing and running under to send us high.
When I was 12 we moved to Idaho. The night before we left there was a big ice cream supper for us at Long's place and a big crowd. The boys came and asked the girls to eat ice cream with them. I ate so much ice cream I was almost sick--and I was sick of banana ice cream, for every time I ate, I seemed to get banana. That was the last of our association in Oklahoma for a long time as the next six years were spent in Idaho--50 miles south of American Falls--35 miles northwest of Malad. Our address was Roy--a small place 10 miles from us with a store, postoffice and hardware store.
In 1919 Nettie, Glover and Evelyn came from Oklahoma on the train to visit us and after they went home I had a letter from Russell. I was real excited to get a letter and we corresponded regularly for the next two years--exchanging pictures in the meantime.
I worked two springs for Reinhold and Alta in Bull Canyon where they had a ranch and sheep shearing corral and sheared sheep during April and May. I earned the money in 1921 and worked most of the summer and got enough money to go "visit Nettie and Glover." Nettie was expecting a baby and I was going to be with her. Eleanor was born November 20, 1921, and was a special pet to all of us.
I had a date with Russell right away and had a great time with all the young people that met for Sunday School, dinner parties, and just parties. I stayed until spring, fully intending to leave for Idaho the day after Easter so I could help Alta cook for the sheep shearers again.
A couple weeks before Easter we were going to 'singing' at Jarvis School and Russell proposed to me, and I said "Yes," but I still intended to go to Idaho. Easter Sunday was a big day--a program and dinner after church and we went to a friend's home. Lloyd asked Russell why he didn't talk me into staying. Russell said he tried, but no good. Lloyd said to cry a little--that would help--or if he couldn't cry tears, spit in his eye! This was told to me later and I thought it real funny.
We went back to Glover's later and more talk, but I still felt I should go home. However, the next morning Russell was there early and he and Glover sort of 'ganged' up on me and finally I said I would stay and, instead of Mother and Dad meeting me at the train, they got a "Dear John" letter. I've always felt pretty guilty about letting them down that way and Alta had to get other help too.
Thinking back to the horse and buggy days and dating brings many memories--some very funny. There were advantages and disadvantages. Compared to our present day cars, a buggy wasn't made for comfort or convenience, but at the time when we were using them, they were better than a wagon and we were very proud to ride in one. There were no fenders, but a step on each side, and the height was enough to the floor of the buggy so that you needed a steadying hand to help you up, and you waited patiently until the horse was tied before alighting so your date could help you down. Otherwise it would have been disasterous!
Then the seat was rather narrow, making it much more cozy. There was a top to keep off the sun and rain or, on beautiful days, it could be closed and pushed back. For cold weather, curtains could be added to the sides and a warm quilt to snuggle under. Four or five miles takes much longer in a buggy. No one complained about the time it took on a balmy spring or summer evening, though, and I don't know but I think the boys trained their horses to walk very slowly. I know they went without a driver--the lines could be wrapped around the buggy whip, which was a main part of equipment, and a special socket was in the left had corner of the buggy box or frame, and that was usually its only use.
Then there was the dashboard. This was a very essential part of the buggy! Of course, it kept out some of the cold and kept things from falling out, but it was a shield and protector as well. The horse might be taught to walk slowly and go down the road without a driver, but some things "just come naturally," especially after being pastured on nice green grass. Yes, it served a purpose. These things had to be ignored. No lady or gentleman would dare mention or smile at one of these occurances. Or, for instance, eight or ten buggies going down the road, one behind the other, and the horse in the lead decided to 'turn on' the water spigot and stopped, all traffic stopped and a chain reaction went down the line. Lots of time to admire the view and plan for the next party!
These buggies, horses and harness were groomed and kept looking real shiny with scrubbing and polishing and new paint jobs when needed. There were some fine horses used as buggy horses and they looked very swank with heads high going down the road. Russell had a beautiful sorrel mare, Daisy, and Ribbon, a bay, that he drove. Both looked good and worked well with the buggy. They were patient animals, standing for several hours at a party or church function while we were indoors having a good time. You may think it didn't cost anything to drive the horse and buggy, but unlike the car, they used 'fuel' whether in use or not and had to have care. The horse and buggy days are gone but not forgotten--and the memory lingers on!
1922 was a busy and a happy time. Everyone was so good to me, and I loved Evelyn, Eleanor and the Foreman children. All of them called me 'Aunt.' I sewed, tatted, embrodered and made things for my hope chest. Nettie helped quilt a quilt. She had given us a top she had pieced. I bought a set of bluebird pattern dishes from Glover's store, bought sheets and made pillow cases. I subsituted three weeks as a primary teacher at Jarvis school when the teacher was sick; then a good friend, Grace Jarvis, was bitten by a black widow spider and needed help, so I worked there for almost three months. Two teachers boarded there and I cooked for them and kept house. Lorene Schieve Long was one of the teachers and is still living and calls from near Tulsa quite often. She married Clyde, a friend to both Russell and me. After we were married they came to see us a couple times each week, always asking if the cinnamon rolls were ready. When she calls now she asks the same question. Lorene signed our wedding license.
Russell was busy too. He fattened a hog to butcher, worked for his uncle for some hens, and his folks gave us some. He rented a place to farm from Roy Jarvis. When the people moved from the house, I measured for curtains and ordered them--bluebird tie-backs for the three kitchen windows and print marquisette drapes and white center sashes for the four living room windows. Russell went to a sale and bought a small cook stove--cast iron--but did it get hot!--a heater, brass bedstead, mattress and springs, four cute chairs, but not too sturdy, two rockers and a dresser. The dresser was second-hand but hardwood and looked nice. That was our furniture.
We went to the house and cleaned and it was all ready. We went there after we were married. Evelyn said it looked like a dollhouse and I did think it looked nice. I never left till I had inspected to see that everything was in place. There were no built-ins, so an old cupboard was made of foot size lumber. I covered it with white oilcloth and put curtains above for dishes and below for pots and pans. Russell put a shelf on a wall for the wooden water pail and wash basin. I kept an embroidered buck towel on it for a cover, and had a bluebird tablecloth on the table. We were all bluebirds!
I took a large wooden box, added legs, and it had a curtain around it and a cover. I had a fern that in a short time practically covered it. The trunk that Evelyn loved to rummage in was in a corner and could be used for a seat if necessary. The floors for a year were bare except for throw rugs Mother had sent us, and I scrubbed the floors with sandstone. It was a disgrace in the South to have grease-spotted floors. They were supposed to be nice and white and I wasn't about to let Grandma Acock catch me otherwise, so I scrubbed nearly every day.
Were were married at 6 o'clock on December 20, 1922, at Nettie and Glover's under an arch we had made and covered with paper. This was not all easy for Nettie, I'm sure, but she and Glover were very good to us and we had the nearest neighbors there: Roy and Grace Jarvis; Maxine Foreman's family, George, Minnie and children: Mable, Maydene, Janice, Marlo, Fred, Ethel and Clarence; Mary and Velma Acock, and they brought Agnes Orr (Smith), Lorene Schieve (Long) and the other teacher; Grandma Acock and Leona Taylor (Jones). A Seventh Day Advent preacher and good friend married us and he did more shaking than we did. The ceremony was so short I almost wondered if it was legal!
I wore a blue wool suit trimmed in navy braid and a dusty rose blouse. I guess by today's standards I didn't look much like a bride. I had black satin pumps. Dad wore a navy suit and white shirt. There were no rings and no flowers. We were married over 10 years before I got a ring, and then it was a real surprise. There was a delicious dinner at Nettie and Glover's and then we went home.
One funny thing happened. Russell bought a mattress that was to be shipped and when he got the package it was a table protector instead, so it had to be returned, but Grandma Acock had brought a straw tick down and made the bed up. We later used the straw tick upstairs on an iron bedstead we had for a spare. A group of friends, all married people, gave me a shower and a cute book the two teachers made which we still have. All were gifts much needed--not fancy or expensive, but greatly appreciated. One was a wash tub and washboard and the wooden water pail.
The second night we were there, we heard a terrible commotion outside, and a group had come to charivari us. The first loud noise was a stovepipe rolling off the roof. Someone took a shot at it and it flew off. They apologized and gave us a new stovepipe. It was all in fun.
We had groceries, food, a cow to milk, chickens for eggs, but 'NO MONEY.' We weren't too concerned. We sold a few eggs or traded them for groceries, and I make some butter to sell. Russell started farming and he fenced a place by the barn for a garden and in February we planted a garden. It was an odd shape, being on the edge of the ravine, and one corner was real pointed. One of the neighbors asked Russell what he would do with that corner and he said, "Oh, catnip and stuff." As catnip was used there for colicky babies, they teased him about that.
Crops looked pretty good, but it started raining in the fall and boll worms got in the cotton and the cotton crop was no good at all. They didn't use chemicals then. We had oats and feed and he worked for neighbors baling hay and made $1.00 a day--and worked from daylight to dark. In the fall a new high school building was started and he got work carrying bricks and cement and was very glad to have the work--and I was pregnant.
Things went well with me for a while except for the usual sickness, but then I became real sick and the doctor was afraid it was typhoid, but finally said it was malaria. I was real sick for two weeks and was at Russell's folks. Then I went home and was told to just be very careful and sit with my feet up a lot. Russell was away all day and I did lots of handwork. I made yards of tatting, did embroidery, smocking and quilted a little quilt. I had a very nice layette all ready. Then our baby was stillborn January 12, 1924. It was a very dissappointing start on a new year and a bad year in other ways.
My health wasn't too good. I almost hemorrhaged so much of the time and in early spring Grandpa Acock's house burned--everything they had in it except the clothes they had on. They came to our place and lived there three months while a new house was being built. We gave them our bed downstairs, set up a cot for Leona Taylor who was living with them, and we went downstairs. It wasn't easy, but we managed, and as far as I know there were never any bad feelings.
Grandma was an "Acock" and her way was THE way, but I had lived around that. One time I do remember doing it MY way. I had apricots for pies to take to a church picnic and she insisted they had to be cooked first. I made the pies my way and she said they were good! Grandpa Acock was always great to me. He was rather quiet, but he had a sly wit, too. When Grandma quarreled at him he would say, "Lizabeth, if you don't shut up, I'll wash you mouth," and she would have to laugh.
When Bob was born and named for Grandpa Acock he took him around and seemed real proud. He didn't come to our wedding though. He wouldn't attend any of the children's weddings, but the next day he came out to meet me when we went up there. He was in Shawnee when our first baby was born and he didn't get home until the next day. He came in and cried so hard. He was a very tender-hearted man and was so good to come to see me before the baby was born when I had to stay home so much.
In 1925 Glover, Nettie, Evelyn, Eleanor, Russell and I made a trip to Idaho. It seemed like an enormous undertaking--1800 miles of unimproved roads in a Dodge touring car. We had a tent and bedding, a box for cooking utencils and food in a carrier along one runningboard. We had to all get out of one side of the car or climb over. Our camp sites were school yards, or most any spot that looked inviting. No places were posted and we were on the road five days. The roads were rought and washboardy, and we didn't always know the best roads. By taking shortcuts we hit some really bad roads like Independence Pass across the Rockies! Nettie and I had khaki dresses with red ties and belts. We saw sedan cars and felt sorry for those people in those hot cars! It was all exciting. Russell had never seen a mountain and Glover hadn't driven in them either.
It was a busy, happy time at Mother and Dad's. Such a housefull! Norah, George, Marshall, Floyd, Jake, Fred and Esther were still living at home, and Bessie came from Washington. She had married Albert Frederick and Alta and Harold came from Bull Canyon. The table was long enough for everyone and those 2-gallon crocks of raspberries we helped pick were served with fresh cream, all the garden vegetables, hot bread, and home cured ham. We all helped, but I wonder how Mother made it through. Alta went back to Bull Canyon and Mother, Esther, Nettie and the girls, and Bessie went with her. I stayed and helped Norah cook for the men who were working frantically to get Dad's hay put up so all could go except a couple boys to stay to do the chores. We all went to Bull Canyon and had a great time. We had a picnic in the mountains and I always enjoyed being there in the hills at their place.
After two weeks in Idaho we left to go to Portland and then down to Los Angeles to visit Russell's Mother and three sisters. That was a beautiful trip and we couldn't believe those finished roads up the Columbia, seeing Multnomah Falls and the tunnel that was just finished. We camped near Portland under some big trees and the next morning I felt something by my neck, and there was a huge slug. It was so slimy and looked so big and nasty to me. I can still see and feel the slimy thing.
The trip down the Grapevine Pass was a scary one--especially to Evelyn. I told her stories and when I stopped she said, "Why did you quit? You know I get scared when you do." But harem-scarem Eleanor said, "Drive faster Daddy, drive faster." We saw the ocean for the first time and went in to pull out seaweed. One day we went out in a fishing boat and I really regretted that. I found out I was pregnant and did I get seasick! It never let up and I never wanted to see another fish. I was not too comfortable the rest of the trip.
Lola, Russell's sister, decided to ride home with us and we went via Phoenix to see my Uncle Roy Sadler and Lora and family. It was another rough road. We camped by White Horse River late one night and woke up right by an Indian Camp. They were curious about us and an old man came and wanted a small mirror I had to see myself, then he wanted me to give it to him. They were frying their corn cakes on the bottom of their fry pans and washing clothes in the river. Phoenix was hot and we left early the next morning, going through the Texas Panhandle into Oklahoma. We were glad to get home--broke--but 4300 miles in a month and lots of memories.
Not much crop again. It rained so much Grandpa Acock wrote it would "sink a snipe sitting on a saddle blanket," but we survived, and May 7, 1926, Bob was born. He was a couple weeks overtime and we were getting worried. But after an all-night vigil with Dr. Black, Nettie and Grandma Acock, he arrived at 4 A.M., nice and healthy and weighing 9 1/4 pounds. However he was a sick boy at two weeks of age. He had a high temperature and almost went into convulsions. I took him to the Doctor and he and his wife and I worked with him for two hours before his temperature went down. Evelyn and Eleanor had whooping cough, and whether he had that or tonsilitis, we never knew. But it gave us a terrible scare. He had tonsilitis and pneumonia that winter but after that he was fine except for tonsilitis which kept bothering him. He had pneumonia when he was about eight.
Grandpa Acock bought Bob a walker and he was running around in ti--so fast, in fact, that he was continually turning it over and getting a bad bruise. He also became so accustomed to having something between his legs that he wouldn't walk without it. We took the walker away and gave him a broomstick horse and he walked all over at 11 months. We had a jumper swing for him that hung from the ceiling and he jumped up and down, then ran in circles, hollering "Bob, Bob, Bob!" This was at Christmastime and Aunt Edna, Uncle Marshall, Ruby and Alta were here for a couple days and they thought that was real funny.
The next fall we had a good cotton crop and I helped pick and Bob played around the field. One day he came proudly up the row to show me a pocket full of worms he had picked from the stalks. They were crawling from his little shirt pocket! I wasn't so pleased. Ralph and Hazel helped us, too, and Clayton played with Bob. He was 21 months old and Bob was 16 months--young cotton pickers.
Just after Christmas Grandpa Acock died. He had anemia and there was not way to treat it at that time. Glover came for Russell and Roscoe in the night saying he was very bad and was at their place in Shawnee. It was very cold, and I had our three cows to milk the next morning and had to leave Bob alone and no crib. I put him in a rocking chair with a blanket and told him to stay there while I milked the cows, and he did. I would run back to the house and look in without him seeing me, then run back and milk again. I couldn't believe it.
After Christmas we found we were to move and I was pregnant with Wanda. Russell rented a good place but it was always remembered because of all the rats. We tore off old paper, cleaned and papered, and the house looked nice, but the rats gnawed under the floor and got inside and about worried me to death. Russell caught them in traps. We hadn't heard of rat poison. He did keep them down, though, and we survived our year there and had a good crop, garden and fruit crop. I boarded a man working for an oil company, and on September 4, 1928, Wanda was born. She always said Dad traded a veal calf for her. He took it to sell as we went to Nettie and Glover's where she was born. We were all excited about a little girl. Evelyn, Eleanor and Ina Mae gave her lots of attention.
Glover was driving a bread truck at that time and one evening he took Eleanor and Bob with him. We had made Bob a real cute overcoat of a nice pair of Glover's wool pants that he couldn't wear--a blue-grey. We bought him a fancy cap to match and he was real proud. Coming home from the delivery the door to the truck flew open and Bob rolled out. Cars stopped and lined up to keep from running over him and Glover ran to get him. Bob was skinned up some, but he got up, brushing his new coat and worrying because 'he go his new coat dirty!'
They say I'm Old! How can that be when it seems like only yesterday I roamed the fields and picked blue and white daisies, running nimbly across the pasture, like a fawn, for the very joy of running?
What is Old? It is years, or a desire to give up, sit down and rock, and let the days slip by without the effort or desire to do else but while away the hours, complaining of the aches and pains? The inability to do all the things of youth, and not stopping to think of the blessings of life and love, and all the memories of the years?
And I would Pray:
Lord, make me thankful. Give me courage to live each day as I did in youth, with exuberance and gratefulness and find joy in walking when I cannot run--even sitting when I cannot walk. But I can love. I can smile. I can be joyful!
Thank you Lord for the opportunity to be Old. So many were not so fortunate. So daily may I do my best to bring a little sunshine to someone, somewhere--and to be glad I am Old!
Amen.
by
Katie J. Acock
Note: The second part contains mostly family information, and has information about living persons. For this reason, Part II is in the password-protected location of the Web site. Go to Part II