Places and Times and the substance thereof  - by Anne Olson
 
Those days of yellow roses, purple lilacs and humming bees that occurred at the
turning of the last century into the new, beckon to us who knew those golden days,
will-o-the wisps who lure us down a corridor of time. Children were on golden clouds of
fulfillment and dreams came true, this was not always the same concept older heads
arrived at. The way back can be a long road and lonely but the joys of those
remembered days can be sweet and satisfying - and one feels a need to share them
with those less fortunate. A place there must be, that kept in tune with those days, and
to this rememberer, it lay within the curve of a great river that was always changing its
course, stealing land from one state to give to the other since it was for a space, the
boundary between the two. Forming a lake one year, slyly usurping its water the next.
One lake withstood its onslaught, perhaps with the aid of engineers and this lake they
called "Crystal" and it became a place where resorts were built. Another lake that lasted
a number of years was Coburn and is just a memory since modern methods disciplined
the river. Back then it was a fisherman's and hunter's delight since wild geese and
ducks made stops on the lake on their trek each year from the north to the south and  back. Many the mouth-watering meals of goose and duck dinners that were an
aftermath of a hunter's luck and a source of satisfaction to not only the hunter but to his 
mother who appreciated the aid to her cooking. And happiest of all that her hunter was
safely home, the lake was known for its treacherous whirlpools.  (These lakes disappeared in the 1930s when the US Army Corps of Engineers channeled the Missouri River and confined it to its present unchanging course –CS)
 
Since there were no wars, nor talk of wars, the life on a farm was one of the most
peaceful places on earth. And if there were both girls and boys in the farm family it
added interest and if the boys were older, daily tasks fell to them and girls found life
easy. A small town called Nacora was two miles from our farm, there staples were
purchased, this town began as Simmons Siding. Staples were salt, sugar, and
kerosene for lamps and matches and of course coffee. Eventually besides the grocery
store, Edwards of Bradford, a bank was built, a blacksmith shop where horses could be
shod, a saloon with the words "Deutsche Gasthaus" across the front, the PeeVee
Elevator, the depot where passenger and freight trains from Sioux City passed. The
depot was a familiar place, for this rememberer was to take the train for the town of
Emerson each weekend when 13 years of age.  She was given a small cardboard stub
costing eleven cents. The town became endeared for the five years she transmuted to
school.
The town my folks traded at most, Emerson, was a larger place, five and three-fourths
miles away and had many good shops. Most of our buying of food was at the larger
store - it had been established by a man from New York State, Davis and his son-in-law 
Fuller. This store shipped in rugs, some furniture, by order we had a cherry wood living
room set, an Axminster rug. These people had a lovely home and were spoken of as 
stylish. Father did his banking at one of the banks. Our mother and my sisters and I
liked the Millinery Shop. This town made the Ripley Column, the corner of three
counties Dakota, Dixon, and Thurston, met at Main Street in the center of the business
district. When we children were small, our parents drove with a team and wagon, they
shopped and usually had coffee and tea with old friends, this took most of a day.
Brothers did chores, my older sister had made our supper and we settled down to await
our parents and for the candy and nuts that the grocer would always put in with the
groceries. Sister often rocked me and the shadows of the corners disappeared and 
sleep overcame my anticipation. Our red dog, Pug, knew when our parents were a mile
from home and went to the top of the west hill to await them. Mother would be wearing
a black dress, floor length, with a small train and a black cape she wore in winter - and
of course many petticoats were worn. Shoes were a soft slip on type with rubber
gussets over the ankles. A soft wool fascinator was worn to keep the head warm and
muff to keep the hands warm. The summer wardrobe would be dark but of lighter
weight and fringes on the cape. One overcoat my father wore stands out in my mind, a
gloss black fur that he felt he could afford once when he had received a good price for
the cattle he shipped to Sioux City. One time on such an occasion, he had an organ
shipped to Nacora for our home.
 
And there were little incidents that flash through my mind. One when I was with my
parents and we stopped at people whose name were Jordan, and the lady of the house
inviting us in for a cup "tay."
 
Being a little girl of that time and place was a satisfying experience but one wonders if
memory may not play a few tricks on one. Are most of the memories my own or do
some come from the unfathomable reaches of my mind and are mine by virtue of adult
repetition? I am sure the story of my breaking away from all supports and walking ³¹_
across the room when I was just seven months old came from the latter source as did
the story of the Indian Chief who loomed at our kitchen door. Mother said the chills ran
up and down her spine, but she showed no fear and asked him what he wanted. He
said he wanted to trade for the baby on the floor. He had come to trade for flour or
something. The happy circumstance that made me one of seven children with loving
parents, living on a farm in the loess hills of a fertile section of Nebraska was climatic
to my utter love of life. No wars nor talk of wars, parents who saw to our physical and 
spiritual needs, work to make the good things possible and play to leaven our existence.
Father was reared in southern Wisconsin on a farm; his father had immigrated to
Chicago by 1840, finding a small city. He quotes the prices of the day to a brother in
Vos, Norway, who had the letter printed in a Norwegian paper, it was later to come into
the possession of father who considered it a link with the yesterday of his time. The
prices were a far cry from those of a later day.
Later Grandfather Duxstad was to lose his life in a runaway accident on the farm he
had purchased near Rockdale, Wisconsin, leaving his widow, Isobel Ingeborg with six
children to rear, the eldest, my father, being eleven years old. Grandmother was a good
and remarkable woman, deeply religious, giving her family a solid Methodist
background. She was a Founder of the first Norwegian Methodist Church in the world,
located in the small town of Cambridge (there is a plaque placed in the church); there
home by one of the boys or often invited to a home for a party and ice cream and cake
after the meeting. High School was a time when few sloughed and not only two years of
Latin but Physics, Chemistry, and two years of German were in our curriculum beside
Algebra I & II and Geometry I & II; so there was little time to fool away time. How
fortunate we were to have such advantages; we found little time to get into mischief and
yet life was far from dull. One of our teachers, Mae Beck, had traveled extensively for
those days at least, and she brought far away places into our Assembly in a 15 minute
period each morning; sometimes she read from good literature and Les Miserable was
to appeal to me most of all the books she read.
‘
Some winters I did not get home every weekend when show was deep or weather
below zero; these times I would stop at the store at which we shopped in hopes the
folks might stop and to me the store was a friendly place where the storekeeper, a Mr.
Davis, or his partner always found time to chat a bit and cheer me if I were lonesome. 
Some Saturdays Mr. Davis’s glamorous wife stopped at the store and I think filled me in
on many niceties of the day and her beautiful clothes enchanted me; their home was a
place that showed the best of taste, good furniture, deep rugs, cut glass and sparkling 
silver. I loved to have a reason to stop to see it. One winter I was bothered with Pleurisy
and our doctor taped my side to heal an infected spot on my lung; good care caused
the spot to calcify over. I had never weighed a hundred pounds but the following 
summer I gained to one hundred ten pounds.
 
I received a bracelet for my eighth grade graduation and I guess my biggest thrill in the
ninth grade was when I was selected to be in the Twelfth Grade Play and I guess for
the reason that I still liked to speak pieces; in the 10th grade, I was in the 12th grade
play, too. In the Eleventh grade I was again in the Twelfth Grade play and in the senior
year we of course gave a play. I never however was bitten by the bug to be an actress
but did think I would like to be an Elocution teacher. I had been encouraged in this
desire by the Elocution teachers who came from Sioux City to coach our High School 
plays. After High School a girl usually taught school and then was supposed to get
married. I never seemed to save enough to make going to college possible except for
summer term at Fremont Teachers College when Clemmons was President of the 
school. I was especially fond of the art work I took, and of Rhetoric. Tuition was $31.50
for the summer term. My girl friend and I stayed with a nice family -- he was a salesman
for aluminum wear -- and on weekends were allowed to go on dates with a set hour (10
o’clock) for being in our room; a movie and a stop for a banana split, then the walk back
through Dead Man’s Park, where if we were lucky we found a bench and visited,
watching our watches. Dead Man’s Park was a block square with a fountain in the
center with four walks leading to it from the four corners and bright lights illuminating
the whole making it a wholesome place for the students to stop on their way home. I
wonder if it would be considered "square" today? Such mild entertainment.
 
She and Grandfather and other members of the family lie buried; her children all lived to
old age except Aunt Betsy who died of consumption in the 1890's. My father, when he
married in 1881, decided to try a drier climate and settled at Ruthven, Iowa, for two
years, then went on to the farm we were to know as home for so many years. They
traveled from Ruthven in a covered wagon, camping behind a hotel in Sioux City,
where camping privileges were paid for by milk from cows they led behind their wagon.
Mother was born near Oslo, Norway, and came to America at the age of fourteen, when 
our country was celebrating its one hundredth year of Independence. Philadelphia was
decked in flags and bunting and was a sight she would never forget. She was an
outgoing person and numbered her friends by her acquaintances; her understanding
and sense of humor served her well and were a wellspring of joy to her family and all
who knew her. We children all thought her beautiful and many the compliments we
received for having such a mother. I remember a favorite costume my mother wore, a
coffee brown dress with a matching hat; the skirt was of floor length with a small train
that swept the floor, it was becoming to her olive complexion and dark hair. An often
worn wrap was a black plush cape; for quick protection mother threw a black fringed
shawl over her head and shoulders. Sometimes she wore a soft wool fascinator on her
head. With a family the size of mother's her most worn costume was of course the
dress of the day; a one piece dress called a wrapper, usually blue or gray, floor length
and worn over many underskirts. Her shoes were of black, soft leather with an elastic
gusset over the ankle. The dress of that time seemed to endow the wearer with
gracious dignity. There were the costumes I barely remember when I was very young.
No woman had to clutch at her skirt to make it cover knees when she sat down, nor
worry that hip seams might rip.
 
Father and mother lived to celebrate their Golden Wedding Anniversary in 1931, but by
then the Depression days had brought losses and worries. Father lived to vote for
Franklin Roosevelt in his first term and to know that he had been elected. It was as
though he had lingered on to be able to vote for the man he felt could lead our country
out of the gloom of Depression and into a new day of hope. Pioneers they were, who
had known heartbreak and sorrow yet did not let the years that bent and grayed them ²
vanquish their zest for life. Mother outlived father by a number of years. She had come
to these shores on a special time that celebrated America's Liberty and left these
earthly shores on Norway's Day of Independence, May 17th.
 
But this is a story of the golden days, and of a time when morning brought the exquisite
joy of living into my heart. The wing of the house that extended toward the north
contained the two upstairs bedrooms that we four sisters shared. My sister just younger 
than I and myself shared the north room, our windows to north and west gave views of
little activity and while we liked our room, it was the adjoining room that belonged to our
eldest and youngest sisters that we found most interesting. Here the east window, a
dormer, provided a lookout post where we could observe the daily happenings of the
farm; at night we watched the moon come up over the east hill. There were times when
we decided an interesting discussion was going on in the dining room below and we
pressed our ears to the grate in the floor to listen to it; this we knew was eaves-
dropping and showed unladylike qualities. So we kept quiet about it. It was to the
windowseat we took our visitors to visit or show them our treasures; it was here we
confided secrets.
 
The south wing of the house was the domain of my brothers and the uncle who lived
with us. With so much room we should all have become individualists and we did to a
certain extent.
 
Being a light sleeper, nothing much happened around the farm at night of which I was
not aware, much to the annoyance of the family and I am afraid, the disgust of sister
Isabel (Peg). There was a time or two when I really was what I thought I was or heard
what I thought I heard, one occasion being when a man walked up our driveway
accompanied by a huge dog; the night was bright with moonlight; this time Peg came to
see what this particular apparition of mine was. She lost no time in calling our brothers
but as they rushed out, the intruders ran across the barnyard and into a cornfield and
were swallowed in its depths. This episode may have raised their opinion of my
prowess as a night owl. We never did find out who the nighttime visitor was.
 
We lived two and a half miles from the small town of Nacora, which had begun as
Simmons Siding, a place to load or unload as the train stopped for water, the supplies
needed, as well those shipped out. The town grew a store, a blacksmith shop, a bank,
an elevator (Peavy), a depot, not to mention the inevitable saloon with a sign over the a
door, "Deutsches Gasthaus." The saloon not only purveyed liquor but other
blandishments to corrupt the morals of the young. Of this fact I was ignorant and knew .
the town as a handy place where my father could buy sugar or salt or matches and coal
oil, and to catch trains. The population was once two hundred or more. Now the
highway follow the old railroad track and old winds between the fields of corn leaving no
hint of the town that was. The town where we did most of our buying was six miles
distant and the road led up and down hills, through level stretches and through a
swampy valley. It had one distinction: the corners of three counties met at the
intersection of Main and First, a fact that made Ripley's Column. It took more than a
half day to make the trip to town and back, since there was the trading to do and often
business to transact; and mother always had tea or coffee with various friends and Dad
must stop, too, for a few minutes when he stopped for Mother. In winter it was dark
when they arrived home; when Pug, our old red dog started for the was hill, we knew
our parents had reached the large hill a mile to the west. I can still see the lighted lamp, 
the filled woodbox with sometimes a brother sitting on the piled wood, and those dark
shadows that lurked behind the table or in the corners of the room. It was then that I 
liked to have Peg rock me or sing to me; the shadows disappeared and the sound of
wagon wheels grew. The next morning I would get some of the candy licorice or
peanuts the grocer had put into the box of groceries. In winter the sweets would 
probably be horehound or licorice; stick candy with its gay stripes gave our tongues a waygood workout, on candy and on fingers, too, to get the last bit of goodness. Tooth 
brushes were conspicuous by their absence in those days.
 
Care free girlhood, due in part I am sure to the fact that I knew everything would of
course come out right and it did seem to follow the expected pattern. And so I danced
about the yard singing, "Away, away, away," though I did not stop to think just where;
the family considered it my song and at times wished for some sedateness on my part;
times when I hung by my toes from the rod between the hitching posts or tried to stand
on my head or crawled under a fence with too much gusto, snagging my dress, letting
exuberance overbalance caution. The elastic in my side garters had a way of stretching
and the need to fasten them more securely and a bit lower on my long black stockings
was ever present. The family never suspected remorse on my part probably because it
was often short lived... but the desire to the through a fence without mishap or sit
quietly on a chair as sister Letty could do, was there. So when a loved aunt sent me a 
booklet one Christmas with the poem "Take Time To Think," I was quite sure it was
intended as a sermon for me. I still have the booklet with its lovely poem.
 
Dolls were loved by little girls then as now, though we were glad to have one as a
replacement when the old one wore out. My first doll was made from a black stocking
and was a Negro doll, called Eliza. Mother and a friend had made Letty and me dolls.
Letty's was named "Sambo." I loved Eliza very much, and since she was almost 
indestructible, she was my constant companion for a number of years. A favorite was a
china-headed doll, black painted hair, blue eyes, and a very white complexion; hands
and feet were of porcelain and the body of kidskin. Her name was Mary Virginia
Hamilton, to my mind the most beautiful name I could have conjured up. Sometimes a
sister and I would make a few extra dolls if we could find the kitchen free of occupants 
and countermanded a few wiping towels, as we called the dishcloths, from a drawer,
make them into a roll, tying a string where the doll's neck should be and presto we had 
a reasonable facsimile of a doll. We were ready to hold school or have a doll party in
niche back of the kitchen where two ells of the house met. It was here one day that a
very little girl set a match to a small pile of dried grass and seconds later got a good 
spanking.
 
Spankings we received when we needed them though it was only once I came near
getting one from my father and that when my near-in-age brother and I were quarreling
and were warned by our father to desist and heeded not. Father picked up a switch
while we darted through the back door of the kitchen, by brother sought refuge under
the accommodating cloth on our eating table while I found asylum behind the pantry
door; father continued past winding up in the parlor and by that time my brother and 
were safely out of the forest and into the woods, in a manner of speaking since a large
maple grove surrounded the homesite to which we headed. As I look back, could father
have been saving himself an unpleasant duty and saved face by his lack of perception?
Many happy days my brother and I had playing miller with an old coffee grinder to grind
the "grain" into meal or sailing in an old cement box on a man in our pasture; one time I
fell overboard and had to be fished out by my brother, bawling loudly. I was almost dry
by the time we walked the one-fourth mile home. The time we played miller could have 
had serious consequences, since my brother decided if I was to take turns at being the
miller, I should take a small bite of part of a plug of tobacco he had foraged. I did and i
short order my brother go me to the houseyard gate where mother and Peg got me in
and to bed, worried ant my ashen appearance. When the neighbor girl came after the
milk and butter they bought from us, she visited me and I told her the cause of my
sickness and of course she told my mother. Later when brother had outgrown such
things as grinding make-believe grain or hauling it to market with two small iron horses
we had, he found it more fun to ride an honest to goodness horse. A favorite with us
children was Kate, a gray gentle horse that brought us many hours of joy. One time by
brother and I rode her to a new stack of straw to take slides in the soft straw with
admonitions as to the danger of suffocating in the clinging straw. This sliding proved fun
though I wonder how little girls managed in those days when jeans were unheard of.
On our way home my brother slipped off to adjust the bridle, or so he said, but in reality
he wanted to teach me to ride alone; the lesson was a short one for I fell off and onto a
sharp cut of a cornstalk that pierced into my right eye brow. Mother thought at first my
eye had been injured. We were indefinite as to how it happened but the details were
soon filled in by our observant neighbor girl! If brother sounds tricky, he was not; in or
reality he was gentle and a good playmate. And I didn't want him to get a whipping.

Some of the nicest memories I have are the adventures with him about the farm. Those
who remember the Golden days surely are familiar with the poem "Little Brown Hands."
They drive home the cows from the pasture, up through the long shady land where the
hackberries grow the thickest:

Little Brown Hands
They drive home the cows from the pasture,
Up through the long shady land,
Where the quail whistles loud in the wheat-fields
That are yellow with ripening grain.
They find, in the thick waving grasses,
Where the scarlet-lipped strawberry grows.
They gather the earliest snowdrops,
And the first crimson buds of the rose.

They toss the new hay in the meadow,
They gather the elder bloom white,
They find where the dusky grapes ripen
In the soft-tinted October light.
They know where the apples hang ripest,
And are sweeter than Italy’s wines;
They know where the fruit hangs the thickest
On the long, thorny blackberry vines.
They gather the delicate sea-weeds,
And build tiny castles of sand;
They pick up the beautiful sea shells—
Fairy barks that drifted to land.
They wave from the tall, rocking treetops,
Where the oriole and hammock-nest swings,
And at night time are folded in slumber
By a song that a fond mother sings.

Those who toil bravely are strongest;
The humble and poor become great;
And so from these brown-handed children
Shall grow mighty rulers of state.
The pen of the author and statesman,
The noble and wise of the land,
The sword and the chisel and palette,
Shall be held in the little brown hands.

• Mary H. Krout

What a poignant memory those words hold for me. We took the cows to the pasture
down through the long lane that followed along the west edge of the maple grove and on past the hog pasture. The lane was so deeply rutted from the many cows that had traversed it, that in many places we could not see over the sides, so it gave us an opportunity to study the life along the way; the black bugs as they made earth balls and pushed them down into subterranean cavities or watch the birds as they circles and sang to us. Sometimes the cows were left in the near pasture but sometimes we toothem on through what we called the thirty acre patch and to the lower pasture which was of course on the lower farm. The two farms touched at a corner and an angles gate gave access to the lower acres. On our way to the gate, we ate wild strawberriesand picked the first spring flowers, crocus, morningstar, and the loved violets and later deigned to pick an unpretentious one we called lambsfoot, it was soft and white. When the section hill gate was reached we felt we were surveying a goodly portion of the world. Here we never tired of looking at the Buffalo Rings that were on three south-facing slopes facing toward us and which had been made by buffalo years before as they walked in a circle to keep warm during blizzards and to keep the young from freezing as they huddled within the circle. Some say they were protecting the young from wolves. Hills and valleys led our eyes to far horizons, here and there were farmsteads; off to the north was a stone arch and how we liked to watch the trains as they crossed it; to the southwest and southeast were two great groves of trees, the one
to the southeast was also visible from home and was ever a source of wonder to me.I knew coyotes lived in it for I often heard them and I was quite sure bears roamed its shadowy depths; it was above the country cemetery and when we visited it, I was awed by that dark foreboding and intriguing woods. On the way home from our Darien’s Peak we liked to stop at the willows, this was a group of willows at the foot of a small but sharp hill, at its base a tiny stream ran, back in those golden days. Here we pulled down a supple willow limb, got astride and sailed up, up into the blue yonder; once we found a crow’s nest that had been dislodged by a storm and found it to be completely held together by horsehair. Here by the tiny stream cowslips grew and I always knew where to find them since they grew in the slip a cow’s foot had made in the soft mud!
Perhaps once a summer we walked down to the “Stone Arch” to pick gooseberries and to walk on the rails and of course cross pins on the rails, painstakingly trying to get our scissors home safely after the train had formed them. The yellow passenger train as it crossed the Stone Arch at night (20 to 9 p.m.) thrilled us. We could see it for a fleeting second from our maples and on nice nights often went to watch it and to talk and dream of far places. There was talk by the young men of going down to the Stone Arch to “hop” a freight and go to Sioux City on an adventure. This brings to my mind anepisode that occurred and that impressed us all greatly. We had a gray riding pony, his ears were brown and he had a few brown markings, and was a valuable horse. One morning my oldest brother found the pasture fence cut and Brownie missing. My brothers searched the neighborhood and inquired of the neighbors if they had seen anything of Brownie and to notify us if they should; the sheriff was also informed of the theft. Then one day a friend of my brothers’ who had also been on the alert told us of a horse in the livery stable in the small town of Hubbard that he was quite certain was Brownie. The next morning my oldest brother set off for Hubbard on a riding horse and two days later we were overjoyed when we saw him come over our east hill, leading Brownie. It had not been easy to get possession of the pony and my brother had gone
to the sheriff in Hubbard and was required to identify certain markings and
characteristics of his pony which he could do with ease. Sixteen year old youths were
pretty self reliant and my brother was no exception and I remember father speaking
with pride of our brother’s accomplishment. And this makes me think of other horses wehad; of Blacky and Coaly the horses that father had brought from Wisconsin and of how one had died and the next day the other had put his head over father’s shoulder and later that day had laid down and died, too. Then there was Kit, fat as butter and she was called the equivalent of a hay-burner by my father because she balked when hitched to any farm machine and tried to sit down on the tongue, but she had to eat. She was a favorite of uncle Charlie’s in spite of her inertia. But it was gray, freckled Kate we children loved. Later in life I used Kate as my inspiration to write:

Dear Kate, gentle long-gone Kate
Do you stand at some magic gate?
Bobbing your head with a whinny low
A sign you’re ready for us to go
Will you bear me fast as you used to do
A mile a minute or maybe two?
The brown braids fly as we whirl away
To the meadow with fresh-cut hay.
We’ll rest a bit where the willows lean
You’ll drink your fill at the tiny stream.
\We’ll watch the train as it whizzes by
You, with a snort and your head held high
Ah, could I roll back the years....
Memory’s mirror is veiled with tears.
Dear Kate, gentle, long-gone Kate
Enchanting you were at the barn yard gate.

If anyone thinks all human meanness is just a more common attribute of today’s people he is far from right. One event clearly illustrates this fact. Horse buyers were wont to gothrough the country buying up horses for sale in another area; once they wanted to buy a certain horse from my father which he would not sell. That same week father found the horse dead in his stall one morning. The Veterinarian confirmed father’s suspicion that the horse had been poisoned. The Traders had vanished leaving a trail of swindling and deceit in their wake. Though happening such as this did occur, they were not a general occurrence. Considering the slowness of communications and the ease with which culprits could vanish perhaps it was queer there were not more of such crimes.
The very things we would call lacing today were the forces that drew people together
and especially so in the confines of the neighborhood. The fabulous inventions of todaywere absent, and inventiveness was fostered and each was more anxious to help his neighbor if only to show his ability to solve the problems that presented themselves.
EVerybody was more or less in the same boat, and visiting was encouraged which in
turn brought a deeper understanding among people. Lacking the pressures of today
stamina was increased and much could be accomplished even though work was
backbreaking by today’s standards. Evening brought relaxation, a gathering around the dining room table for home work, help from parents and later the older children helping the younger. Reading and games filled the hours in winter and retirement was early since rising must be early the next morning. Large families were the order of the day, thus both parents had help. But there was usually plenty of room and every one had good amount of privacy and could find some time to be alone if he so desired.
Entertainment there was too, box socials, spelldowns, Christmas programs when all the pupils had a part and no one was left out, some part being provided for even the
slowest. Then there was the Lyceums whereby each school arranged a program and
these were exchanged between the schools. My oldest brother was called upon to help the teacher put on the entertainment at various schools and to write the comments of the day in a way that would bring in humor so that people found themselves laughing at their own actions. Having so much to do with promoting the program he was always on the alert for program material and since I was of such tender age as not to be afraid of the stage I became a willing entertainer. As a consequence my first day at school was not too difficult but I was nevertheless glad to sit with Peg the first day or two, though the desk was not very far below my chin. The teacher was I thought the most beautiful girl I had ever seen; she was a French girl with raven black hair, black eyes and a very white skin; I would still not alter my opinion of her today as to beauty though her abilityas a teacher was a different matter for after three months of teaching she decided it
was not worth the effort and resigned. The first day she brought me my Reader, it was new and she pressed it open with beautiful white hands to the first page and placed it before me; I can still see the white page and the peculiar little figures, I knew it was
reading but knew no letters. In October Anna McEntaffer came to teach us and was an exceptionally good teacher. The long walk to school was tiring to a six year old and I was forever having to delay Peg and Henry to rest; of course I had long known how to relieve a side ache by the simple expedient of holding a pebble to my side being sure I returned the pebble to its exact position, a point that decided the success of the remedy. The cold, snowy winters were long and the mile and three quarters seemed interminable; watching the older students skate on the ice below the school was nice but it was nicer when I could participate. One time I fell hitting the back of my head with a resounding whack—a little boy by the name of Heine Hing helped me up and sympathized with me. The school was the usual type one room with a hall at the front in which we hung our wraps each one having his own peg; in one corner was a shelf on which stood the water dipper, pail and beside it the tin washbasin; below the shelf was an old pail in which we poured the wash water. We went in teams after the water going over the stile at the rear of the school yard and to the home of a nearby farmer; needless to say this was a chore we all liked and all the more if our helper was a pal.
The teacher’s desk was just inside and between the two hall doors that led into the
room from the hall, the recitation bench to one side of the front part of the room. At the back of the room was the stove, the desks and seats in rows from back wall to the teacher’s desk. When weather was bad the hall was noisy with Blind Man’s Bluff; when new snow fell we played Fox and Goose in the yard. “Pump Pump Pull Away” was roughest of all the games and Pussy Wants a Corner was a favorite of the little folks.
Drop the Handkerchief was another game. The first fifteen minutes we listened to a
story, usually continued, read by the teacher; this of course was appreciated by all. Wecould hardly wait to hear the next episode of some of our favorites. Mine was “The Kidnapped Campers.” Stress was put on reading and spelling and arithmetic; with Geography, History and Grammar coming in for their share of attention. A special time was set aside for the Palmer Method of writing. Some mornings we opened the school day by singing and I assure you we made the welkin ring with “Work For the Night is Coming,” “Old Kentucky Home,” “Onward, Christian Soldiers,” or “Juanita.” “Slap Bang” not only provided music but gave us noise as well as music when we clapped our hands and slapped our desks.
.
The first piece I spoke at school was at age four was about a little girl who “fell upon the floor and all the other little girls began to laugh but me.” “Why didn’t you laugh,” asked amother. “’Cause it was I who fell.”
For one year I walked alone to school most of the time when my brother was needed at home so it was a joy when Letty, just younger than I, started to school. Together we braved going past the mastiff that always came up to the road as we went and he seemed to breathe down our necks. We always remember the time our parents had gone to Wisconsin taking our youngest sister Ellen along and when they returned from the small town of Nacora where a brother had met when they drove past the school.
Our joy was great as we had not seen them for almost a month. A cousin had cut
Ellen’s hair into a bob and we thought she looked very modern and she was feeling
important herself. Letty and I wore our hair in what we called English style, parted in
center to nape of neck and braided back of each ear, the braid looped up and tied witha ribbon; sometimes the braids were crossed at the back and fastened with a ribbon, mine pink and Letty’s blue since I was brownette with olive complexion and Letty fair of hair and skin. Letty never wavered in her desire to fit herself for a career of teaching and her play was fixing a classroom and teaching Ellen and neighbor girls; her forte was Grammar and everyone came in for a certain amount of correction in their speech.
Arithmetic and Geography were my favorite subjects; the rolling down of the maps from their wooden cases at the top of the black boards was always an inspiration a sort of magic carpet for me and a help in drawing maps which I liked to do. Then I am afraid drawing of anything but maps was considered a waste of time. Our school in District 32 was not centered in the district as it should have been for schools were supposed to be two miles apart, so some of the children had very long walks. It was a well run school for the most part with qualified teachers the general rule. Some had a certain dignity that fostered good discipline with a minimum of effort. Caddie McG_____ was one of my favorites small, auburn haired and peppery but so fair and with such a good sense of humor that we all liked her. For a year or so we drove to school in a small buggy with Topsy our motive power; she was a sorrel and would catch the line under her tail if we dropped our guard and then we had little control over her until we got the line released.,
Those times we sped down the road hanging on to our hats and just sitting tight until we got the line free or came to the foot of a hill, which made her decide to cooperate.
There was a small barn at school and she was stabled in it during the day and given her oats at noon by one of the boys; they helped hitch her too at the close of the school day and we used a bit of strategy in getting their help, I fear, for getting her bridled was not easy. Though we drove for a time it was the walks to school that left the deepest impression, meeting our friends along the way gathering recruits until there was a lively band of us when we reached the school yard. One spring my special girl friend and I bought ourselves red slippers that were just alike, in each case they were one half sizetoo small, and on the way home from the last day of school we finally had to take them off much to the enjoyment of the boys who could not understand why we wanted high heeled slippers in the first place; they were really a modified heel and we were fifteen.
Needless to say we never did get those slippers worn out as our feed naturally
continued to grow.
One day at school several boys and girls were playing at the rear of the schoolhouse, I among them, when one of the boys threw a tin can up into the air and it sailed over the school roof and cut a small boy on the forehead. They were German folks who lived south of our school and the Mrs. was known for her bad disposition. He was taken to the doctor and some stitches were required to sew up the cut. This culminated in a lawsuit and officials came to the school and we children were questioned concerning it.
I remember I was asked and told that I had seen the can thrown and by whom; it made me sorry to have to tell on a classmate for I felt he had flung it with no mean motives. A fine was imposed on the father of this boy and several days later he went past our school leading his best cow taking her to the neighbor as payment for his fine. Many thought there could have been a more equitable settlement, they had not been long inthe country having come from Germany and were poor but industrious. The oldest boy in the family was crippled but attended school and was a very good student, and an excellent penman; he was gentle and a great favorite of all the students.
One Valentine day I received a valentine from a boy who went to our school and who
was a son of a special friend of mother’s. I was secretly pleased with it until the rest of the family read the verse on it and after that I never heard the last of it. I remember the words still, “I’d love to caddy all day long for you my fairest treasure, To fetch and carry at your call would be my greatest pleasure.” The whole family memorized it.
My sisters and I were always glad to reach our west hill and by this time Letty had
forged ahead of Ellen and I, and would reach home before us and when we reached
the Little Road, Letty was eating the cookie or doughnut that always was waiting for us. The “Little Road” was a cut-off and was worn deeply, since seven children had used it to and from school; it led past the yellow roses under the lilacs that were tall as trees and under apple trees to the road; here the fence wire was purposely left high and the ground worn deeply by the scrambling under of so many children. It was from this Little Road we waved good bye to mother and Peg when we left in the morning and here our tired feet found renewed strength to get more quickly to the kitchen door. In spite of the long walk, school days were happy days, there was so much to see and hear. Some times we had a chance to ride home from school in a neighbor’s beautiful surrey; this belonged to my girl friend’s grandpapa and what a thrill it was when she, my sisters and I could get this delightful ride together. We were impressed by the tufted leather seats, the brass coach lamps on each side of the front seat and burnished to a deep glow; the decorated whip in its holder on the front dashboard. The horses were sometimes decked in fancy harnesses for the occasion and to us four girls this was indeed luxury
and pomp. There was a time or two when we got a ride home in the rain and how
secure we felt inside, with side curtains fastened securely and rain pattering on the
outside and we dry and cozy. To today’s children it just might be comparable to a ride
in the latest of Rolls Royce cars but I rear that’s a lukewarm comparison. The last day
of school was an especially important day for two good reasons at least; we looked
forward to every kind of food one could possibly desire and tomorrow would be
vacation. It was nice to have mother and Peg at school. We were usually anxious to
speak our pieces and dialogue parts though they were old stuff to the parents (elders).
What fun to have the schoolroom looking so different, the curtain across the front of the
room, strung on a wire; the joy of the two lucky kids who were selected as curtain me
handlers. They felt responsible for the show and as they pulled the curtains their eyes
said, “Behold what we have for you.” The teacher became more human for she wanted
to put on a good program since her prowess in that line often challenged her ability as
teacher, a fact of which she was well aware. In her zeal she put aside a certain dignity
and we felt closer to her. Another factor in the importance of the closing day was of
course our dresses; if not white then a pale pastel, of lawn or eyelet, with lace and
tucks and ribbon sashes, mine pink, my sisters blue and with matching ribbons for our
hair. Mother made our school dresses and an all time favorite of mine was a tan dress
with a long cuff that reached well up on my arm and a puff at the top of the sleeve. For
many of our dresses a seamstress, a Nora Larson, came out to our house and sewed
for all of us, sometimes staying a month or more. Of all the dresses she made me, my
favorite was an Easter (or Christmas?) dress of maroon velvet; my sisters had blue
ones that year, with the yokes outlined in matching braid. When we girls saw a dress
we admired in a magazine we cut it out and showed it to Nora and she proceeded to
make a pattern for us. Nora was a Swedish girl with raven black hair that was wavy and
reached to below her waist her eyes were black and she was very petite and reminded
one of a gypsy. She was considered very beautiful, she never married due to her
mother’s taste in future sons-in-law, no beau Nora ever had was good enough. Her
mother was the ruling force in the home and she never forgot she had been Lady in
Waiting to the Queen of Sweden and also was a Registered Nurse, and by standards of
the day she was a well educated person and as well a good woman. The father had
black hair and the blackest of whiskers that wreathed his face from one ear to the other
and was a person of much interest to us children for we always wondered how he could
find his mouth to eat and were cautioned by the folks not to stare. He was well read and
father and he discussed politics and we listened not for the content but for our interest
in Mr. Larson’s mustache.
One of our favorite magazines was “The Comfort,” which came each month; from it we
kept abreast of the correct etiquette of the day as to manners, the setting of a table,
decorating the home and just the niceties of the day. Our mail came at noon and our
first carrier came in a small enclosed mail wagon; his name was Walderman and he ate
his lunch at our shaded driveway. The next carrier ate his dinner at our house for many
years. Peg would never admit that he liked this arrangement because of her. The
Omaha Word Herald and The Sioux City Tribune were our daily papers and The Iowa
Homestead a weekly. This had a letterhead with a smithy ready to strike his anvil—and
if I remember correctly a fat steer and a crowing rooster. Letters from our Wisconsin
relatives were mailed one day and would be in our mailbox the next day. It was The
Comfort that gave us a few ideas on romance, because of the love stories that Peg
read to me; they were usually continued and we were always anxious to see if the hero
won the heroine he so assiduously wooed. Poetry was read and memorized, too.
Sorrows sometimes found their way into our happy lives and my first experience with it
came in about 1906, when two little neighbor girls were burned to death. The parents
had gone to town when the oldest boy used kerosene to start a fire and an explosion
resulted burning him badly and the little girls so they lived for only a short while. The
family were our friends and the three boys our school mates. This same day news of
the San Francisco earthquake came and the day was etched into my memory.
San Francisco became the most talked of, of any city. Just as Chicago had been in the
1890’s, it was made real to me by a book, which gave details, some of them lurid of this
holocaust; Father had purchased the book from a book salesman traveling through the to
country. About this time our neighbors purchased a book on the Boer War and of
course we borrowed that and I was much impressed with the pictures. We had a few
books for father and my oldest brother in particular loved to read. A friend of mother’s
gave us girls books on our birthdays and I still have one I received from her—
“Jackanapes.”
Quite often photographers went through the country taking orders for enlargements of
pictures and showing their samples which were well done and attractive. When
grandpa or grandma came back encircled by a frame, it was often hard to recognize
them but there seemed to be no recourse but to accept the dubious work of art and pay
the price. Every home had at least a few ancestors looking down on them from the
walls, keeping tab on their descendants or so we children sometimes thought. We had
pictures of grandma, my parents and the two brothers who had died in infancy. The
picture we had on our dining wall that I thought especially beautiful was of a milkmaid,
with skirt held delicately above her shoe tops as she chased a herd of cows through
grove of huge trees. The dark greens and browns of the picture with the contrasting
yellow of the jersey cows appealed to my childish fancy. Our home had its sampler as
almost every home had in those bygone days; ours had been made by my aunt Betsy
and the words “Sweet Rest In Heaven” circled a crown. Peg thought it would be
enhanced if we pasted a few flower decorations on it, these we took from small name
cards and attached to the background much to mother’s dismay. The name cards I fan
mention were cards with one’s name printed on them and a flower bouquet pasted at
one end so one had to lift this to see the name underneath; they made nice tokens to
give a favored boy or girl. Sending post cards could also show affection, and
sometimes they came in a series that may have whetted the curiosity of the recipient. I
still have post cards photographs of folks I can no longer identify.
Mother’s health was never very good and one spring we were told she would have to
undergo an operation. Operations were serious matters then and we were all troubled
though all of us pretended otherwise. On a morning in April two doctors, one a
specialist from Sioux City (Drs. Mirandy and Mies) and a nurse arrived in our yard.
They unloaded an operating table and wheeled it into the house while we three
younger girls watched from the kitchen windows; as soon as the operation was to begin
we were to go out to the maples; father was to do some fencing on the east side of the
hill within sight and call of the house. Our brothers were in the fields. So to the maples
we went to pray for mother and God did hear the prayers from the hillside, the fields
and the maples for mother came through the operation successfully. Peg let us know
when it was over; at noon she served the tired doctors and nurse dinner and I was
given permission to sit by mother’s bed while they ate; I remember the blue veins
showing on her brow and her thinness. The nurse stayed for a month or more, mother’s
sickness was Pleural Pneumonia and a tube was left in her side to drain pus from the
infected lung (abscess). We thought the nurse a beautiful girl, Irish she was with blue
eyes and black hair and the name of Mary Ryan. When she dressed to go to town she
wore a blue cape over her dress, it was lined in red and very striking. Her uniform was
a blue and white stripe and for a time we were all going to be nurses. We shed tears
when she kissed us good-bye. I still have a post card I received from her later sent from
Texas in 1909. Now Peg took over mother’s care; she kept her soap, small scissors
in a small opaque jar with a lid on it and every day dressed mother’s side. She had a
gift for nursing and by summer’s end mother could sit up in a wicker rocking chair. All
summer Letty and I had gone after the buttermilk the doctor prescribed for mother and
that all our neighbors saved for us. In August I had a small birthday party and mother
was able to pass dishes. Peg had made the bananas into pigs by inserting toothpicks
into them for the feet and two ears and toothpicks for a tail. They looked authentic to
us, one was placed at each plate. We discussed our pigs but a timid little boy, Willie
Bouderson, thought we were calling him a pig and started to cry. We never did forget
that episode. Birthdays were happy times and we usually received gifts; once several ;
birthdays later, afternoon arrived and I still had not seen any sign of a cake nor of any
gift either. Well, this state of affairs produced a pensive mood which did not go
unnoticed. Peg figured the reason for my unusual behavior. Later I was presented with
a cup and saucer and matching plate much to my joy; it did not matter that they came
from mother’s cupboard and that I had seen them before. If it was pouting it was a bit
unusual for me, it was no easy thing for me to keep quiet for too long and life as far as I ‘
was concerned was more or less a big bowl of roses.
Many episodes happened that gave us good laughs and mother never seemed too
tired to laugh with us; she always saw humor where some other person might have or
become impatient at an event which might have been disconcerting and yet had a did
humorous aspect. To laugh with someone but not at someone was mother’s sense of
levity. That was not always the case with us children and a few times we laughed at
each other’s expense. Like the time I came home from school and said “Hello Papa” to
the man seated in our kitchen who had his back turned and who was not papa but a
stranger working on a part of a harness. He acted as if he had not heard but I never
heard the last of that! In the early spring my father had his harnesses repaired for the
coming spring work and if the weather turned real cold, hands got too cold in the tool
room and some of the mending had to be taken into the warmth of the kitchen. I think
my father if he ever found out the mistaken identity must have chuckled himself for the
repair man was a small swarthy man who was a complete opposite of him. We are
prone to remember the embarrassing things that happened to us while forgetting the
ones that happened to someone else. And when young what small things can cause
discomfiture. Another embarrassing event took place after I was going to school in the
town nearby and which will be related in its proper sequence.
Summers were happy times every Sunday the barnyard was full of neighbor boys; my
brothers and they rode their horses and took rides in a sulky we had or had a good time at
in the barn the hay loft being a good place for the younger ones. There was one or two
boys who managed to visit with Peg a bit; she was a pretty girl and popular too. With
brothers on guard and a strict father in the background we girls early learned to act
ladylike, and I guess father reasoned what is easiest to get is not always valued most
highly. But it does not follow that we did not have beaus for we did but unchaperoned
dates were not allowed until we were sixteen or seventeen. And if we lingered at the
front gate with an escort we knew it must not be for too long a time. Dancing was then
the main diversion of the day; and there was nothing in the world that I liked better; I
began young. Then we danced with all of the boys, needless to say there were some
we favored over others and their adeptness was a big factor. The waltz, two step,
schottish, and square dances were favored. By high school days, the Grapevine and the
Bunny hug and the Charleston were popular.
One day in May in the early l900’s we saw our first car; over the east hill came this
magnificent vehicle; a one seater painted red and with much brass trim and leather
seats. And it stopped at our gate. In it were a man and woman with log gray dusters
and the woman wearing a wide hat over which she had a veil while the man had a cap
with visor. They came up to the house to get water for their car which was hot. It was
late afternoon and they asked if they could stay over night. Of course they could. So we
all got a good look at the car and became acquainted with a nice couple; they were
around forty and they were traveling from Michigan to California. He was a doctor and
interesting and we had a nice evening visiting with them (he diagnosed mother’s
trouble). They left on their way the next morn after breakfast; they insisted on paying
well for their lodging and food, but I doubt the folks took any.
I still remember when our first telephone was installed high on our dining room wall.
The small box at top had two bells, below that was the transmitter with its black mouth
piece; below was the larger box that held the batteries. The top of the battery box
sloped downward and made a good place to rest one’s elbow while talking if one was
grown up. We were on a ten or twelve party line and were not allowed to chat with our
friends for too long a time since we would have been interrupting service for more
important business. Our first ring was a long and 3 shorts and the number was
Chestnut 1181; later our ring was one long and one short. Father disliked using the
phone and some times made a trip rather than telephone. Telephones were a
convenience in that age of slower transportation and unpaved roads - when there was
much snow or rain roads were often completely impassable. After a period of freezing
and thawing ruts would sometimes be hub deep in places. If there was mud it would
sometimes clog the wheel and fall back with a slurping thud.
Gypsies were a common sight that thrilled us children in the summer time and at times
camped in the road below our place, under the trees that edged the farmstead; we
children were always thrilled in spite of the lack of enthusiasm on the part of our elders.
We were interested in the colorful dresses the women and children wore; they reached
the ground and that intrigued us; the beads and dangling earrings both women and
children wore caught our eyes too. The women were the ones to do the begging and a
child or two came along, peering at us from behind their mother’s skirt, their eyes, black
and luminous. We were never averse to sharing when we heard the mother’s plea that
the children were hungry. At night they helped themselves to hay and oats for their
horses though the horses were always thin and mangy. I don’t think father minded too
much for a night or two but was relieved when they moved on. Their camps were
selected with this in mind, free food for their animals. Their camp fires and lanterns
made a gay splash in the dark night and the low hum of conversation tempted us to
watch and listen to this unusual way of life. One summer gypsies came over our east
hill when our parents were gone and we five younger children were alone; Peg was
scared for once and herded us to the northwest corner of the maples. We were afraid
they would kidnap Ellen who was the baby, and tried to keep her quiet; she sensed
something was wrong and was on the verge of crying. From our hideout we saw them
continue up the west hill and decided it was safe to go back to the house. Gypsies
seldom stole in daylight hours from farm homes for lack of opportunity; the stores in the
towns they came to however presented a different matter, for the shop keepers had to
watch closely for the voluminous skirts of the women with their pockets proved to be a
catch all for anything their agile fingers could whisk into them.
One time when we were going to visit friends we met a band of gypsies at our lane
gate; the first wagon was driven by a woman who stopped us and wanted to tell father’s
fortune. She gave him a sample by telling him he had an enemy who was dark and tall
and I suppose handsome; he considered him a friend, he should beware of the he
imposter. She wanted just one dollar to tell him who it was. We continued on our way
knowing the place was safe since our brothers had stayed home. The rest of the trip
father wondered who the enemy was, eliminating first one then another and mother
joining in the dilemma while we girls also were nonplused at who it could be! We finally
noticed father’s chuckles and decided he believed not a word of it.
One summer I was given permission to visit an old couple whose custom it was to stop
at our house on their way to town; they made the trip about once a month in the
summertime. Mr. Bowder and the bachelor son sat in the front seat while Mrs. Bowder
sat in the back seat, very nearly filling it. When we children saw them come over our
east hill we ran to tell mother the Bowders were coming; this meant mother would put
the coffeepot over and fix a lunch for them, which was a cookie or a roll. We all loved
Mrs. Bowder and her son but no one trusted the “Old Man” who was always called that
since he was much older than Mrs. Bowder; he had come into the neighborhood
carrying a carpet bag and married Mrs. Bowder, who had been a widow for many years
and had striven hard to rear three boys. He later did get her to sign a paper which he
misrepresented and got the farm put in his name. While an influential neighbor
interceded to have it declared illegal authorities in the County seat said there was
nothing that could be done about it; the old man eventually went to live with his
daughter at whose home his former wife lived and from whom there was doubt that he
had ever been divorced. Mrs. Bowder stayed with us for several months the fall this
occurred while she waited for the married son in Iowa to come after her. Here she and
her unmarried son lived out their days. She brought her gramophone as she called it to
our house and the Sunflower horn entertained us at times. We were interested in her
old recordings and Jump on the Wagon and We’ll all Take a Ride and a song wherein
an old mammy threw her hat into the ribber at Memphis, we got so we could mimic it so
well you would have been sure we were indeed the old mammy. A singer of songs that
welled from the big horn was Ada Jones and very good she was. Mrs. Bowder also
stored an old chest made of walnut with drop handles of brass. In it was a button box
that spelled a bit of trouble for two little girls who fell in love with a few of the bright
buttons. One day they were found under the lilacs looking at them and were of course
ordered to put them back. This little episode involved my two younger sisters and they
never forgot the lecture on what is mine and what thine.
Mrs. Bowder always had made her dresses of blue or gray calico and used interesting
buttons; they started at the throat and extended to the waist line over a billowing
bosom. We had always been keenly interested in those buttons.
Now I do want to tell of my visit to their home while happiness still lingered there; I was
to ride home with them and my folks get me the next day. I felt important that I had l
been invited. I still remember the ride and I was always a bit afraid as we went down
the long hill that led down to the home nestled at its base. I was afraid the gray horses
that pulled the spring buggy would have broken front knees in their effort to hold back
the buggy. But we arrived safely and while I remember that Sylvester went at the
chores I don’t remember too much about the evening. The next morning I do
remember, for we were up at four o’clock. They rose at four or four-thirty the year
round; I still can see the sun come up over the rim of the horizon flooding the valley t
with a soft light, a green valley with the mists of morning over it. The house was set in a
large yard of blue grass, luxuriant grass with mulberry and apple trees about the house.
The barnyards were small and neat befitting the dreamlike setting. Off to the northwest
in a narrow rift in the hi1ls I could see the early yellow passenger train as it went to the
small town several miles away (Nacora). To the west was an oak covered hill, the
shining oak leaves gleaming in the sun; to the east and north fields and pastures that
led the eyes up to the horizon. Bee hives white against the green grass around the
house, birds that filled the air with song and mingling with the lazy buzz of the bees
seemed to emphasize the quietness. When the horses were fed and the golden jerseys
turned out to pasture then it was time to think of breakfast. The blue coffee pot
steaming on the range, the latter with its blue porcelain reservoir and the small table
with red checked cloth and blue dishes inviting us to eat. I remember there were bowls
of oatmeal, eggs and bread.
The old man kept to himself during the day. He had a rocker that had a coil on either
side; seat and back padded with a red and green tapestry and a foot stool of the same
material. At his elbow was a marble topped table covered with patent medicine. After
each dose he marked the bottle so he would be sure no one was taking his medicine.
His head was covered with a heavy thatch of white hair and his whiskers were long and
white; he always wore a colorful vest, and kept himself neat and presentable. This was
not difficult since Mrs. Bowder kept both house and clothes immaculate.
I never saw this home in winter since it would have been hard to get to when there was
snow on the ground. In winter Sylvester walked down the railroad track to the small
town of Nacora and carried their supplies home.
Sometimes I think I would like to see the place again but would I be disillusioned? Is it
still there and if it is will the old charm rest over the peaceful valley as it once did.
Perhaps the unhappiness that came may have eventually thrown a darkening cloud
over it.
When I was small cousins often came to visit, this before they had married and had too
many responsibilities to take vacations. I was too young to remember the visit of my
Aunt Anne, my father’s sister and the only blood aunt we had. But there were younger
cousins who came. The most frequent one was Lawrence. He spent time with our uncle
Lewis who owned a cattle (or sheep) ranch in western Nebraska and came to see us
often; he was a Telegrapher in Alliance for a time, and then a Depot Agent in Omaha
for a number of years before going back to Wisconsin to live. Uncle Henry Duxstad,
father’s brother, lived at Cambridge, Wisconsin, and had four children and Uncle Lewis
had one daughter named Ramona and these five were the only first cousins we had.
Father’s people were well to do and were on the aristocratic order. A cousin of my
father was wealthy and when he died left hundreds of acres to the State of Wisconsin,
he had no children. This land lies between Cambridge and Madison and the roads wind
for miles across its wooded hills; pastures, tobacco fields and dairy farms now dot the
land, part was given to the Wisconsin penitentiary.
Mother’s people were less dignified and were full of fun and we had such happy times
when we were together at Uncle Haakon and Aunt Karen’s home and later at the
homes of their children when they married. They were good musicians and had a family
orchestra. Carl, one of these, was a baritone singer and when he came to visit us in
Nebraska, he entertained the whole neighborhood. Dances were the big diversion and
Carl played his violin and sang. It was a German settlement and Carl sang songs in
broken German or Norwegian and they took him to their hearts and sang along.
Wisconsin was more or less our second home and we liked to go back to see where
our parents had gone to church, where mother had been confirmed, where father had
skated on the lakes and streams. There were two lovely churches across the road from
each other and out in the country. Cemeteries surround them. They were still standing
some years ago near Rockdale. The best skating had been on Lake Koshkonong which
was 14 miles long and a beautiful lake. Then the many lakes had furnished recreation
boating, swimming and fishing and the weekends swarmed with vacationers from
Chicago, and Lake Ripley at Cambridge was crowded. We liked to visit the Cheese
Factories and invariably brought the good Wisconsin Longhorn cheese back with us.
My parents liked a cheese called Premost, a mustard colored cheese with an unusual
taste, I believe it was made from goats milk. In later years many of these factories were
closed; in their place the inevitable Beer Tavern blossomed on the crossroads where
the factories had been, corrupting the morals of the young and causing problems for
that part of the state.
It was the neat Dairy farms we liked to see with the bluegrass that grew all about the
houses and in the farmyards, as well as along the road sides. The barns were large
and many were white all with stone foundations, the stones being readi1y available.
The blue grass pastures fed the Guernseys, Holsteins, Jerseys and other breeds of
dairy cattle; and the great trees, elms, oaks, maples and evergreens gave the
countryside a pastoral air that was beautiful. Several sites were interesting for their
Indian Mounds. I don’t believe my parents ever ceased to love Wisconsin.
It was a state we loved to visit but we were always glad to be home again. Our home
was a comfortable one and quite nicely furnished for the time. The parlor was in the
south wing with a large bay window to the south and front door to the east. We had a
flowered Axminister rug, a cherry parlor set consisting of a settee, 2 side chairs and a
rocking chair with a concealed rocker; these were upholstered in a lovely green plush
material. There was a center table, pictures on the wall and lace curtains at the
windows. The bay window was bright with mother’s flowers and ferns, the latter elm
included a huge Boston fern and a lacy Maidenhair fern. Between the parlor and dining
room was a wide door at which hung portieres; I remember several kinds, green ones
and at one time rope portieres. The dining room was centered by a large table with a
white cloth; a light birch cupboard with glass doors showed off many of the nice dishes
mother loved. A pantry connected dining room with the kitchen. It was full of shelves
(butlery, it was called) and those on the west wall held the every day dishes so setting
table in either room was handy and was a chore we girls performed. The kitchen was
large and breakfast was served here; there was a cabinet and range and in one corner
was a sink with a pitcher pump. The water came from a reservoir outside the house and
was soft. Back of the kitchen was a room that served as a place for the DeLaval cream
separator and a place to take our baths and it served many other uses. My parents’ bed
room was off the dining room; there were four bedrooms upstairs and two small halls. I
was quite a small girl when father put in a furnace in the basement. Here mother kept
canned fruit; we had a cave in the back yard where some fruit was kept and of course
the potatoes and vegetables were stored. To the northwest our little half-moon house
was located. Our yard had a picket fence to the east and nice bluegrass; to the south
were roses and other flowers. We had several pines and silver maples near the house
with the apple trees between the house and maples. Below the barnyards were more
fruit trees apples and many cherry trees. Cherry picking was a time we girls did not like.
It meant not only the picking but the tedious pitting of endless pails of cherries. We did
not have to help with milking cows or any other chores so should not have done any
complaining. The barn was large and there were other farm buildings, one a cattle shed
for dad liked to feed cattle and was considered a good judge of livestock. The cattle
yard was full of the long feed stanchions. One year he had Black Angus that were the
pride of all of us. Cattle were shipped to Sioux City or Omaha and the small books that
were given to the shippers were much sought after by us children, they made good
diaries. One year I won a stick pin for writing a letter, and my oldest brother helped me
write a letter of thanks and I became acquainted with a new word, acknowledge, which
I promptly added to my vocabulary. The pin had a red set in it, that I remember.
One summer the Well-digger came out to our place and was there most of the time. He
drilled a well and a successful one was obtained when he reached a depth of 125 feet;
the water was exceptionally good and I am sure it is still serving the owner.
One episode occurred one summer that we were never able to explain. One evening us
Henry, Letty and I had been on a errand and were returning home; we were driving our
driving team, Fanny and Dolly hitched to the top buggy and had stopped to pick up a
jacket that had fallen as we went, when the horses reared so that I was barely able to
get back into the vehicle and we saw ahead of us the reason for their behavior. There
above the road and at treetop level was a huge light and as we looked it split into two
lights, one of them went down and under the trees while the other followed a fence row
toward the north bobbing along from the top of one fence post to the next; the horses
became almost unmanageable and went past the place at break neck speed. I turned
at the top of the hill to look back and down and saw that the farm yard was as bright as
day and the light still going along the fence tops. The only illumination we had then was
lanterns which gave a feeble light at best. The horses took us on the fourth mile and
into our place at their own speed as Henry was not able to control them. The folks
came out to see what was happening; we were all ashen and had difficulty explaining
what we had seen. Henry was about fourteen and not given to being afraid but he was
now, along with Letty and I. To this day we have no explanation for what we saw and
still remember it vividly. This farm was at the edge of a swampy valley and it has been
said that lights are sometimes seen in such places. Later other persons saw lights here
and tried to find what the people had been doing the night in question but were told that
no one bad been home. There was another place where unexplainable lights were
seen. Anyway, we had a scary feeling when we went by the place where we had seen
the lights when we were younger.
Another happening of the long ago that I was too young to remember but was told
about, concerned our Uncle Charlie who was a bachelor and lived with us. This
happened in the 1890’s. He loved to walk and roamed about the farm and especially
liked to walk at night. This particular evening the folks did not miss him until morning
when they found he was gone and had not slept in his bed. Father and the older
brothers searched the farm and reported to the neighbors who all began a search for
him. One neighbor even searched on our lower farm, much to father’s dismay. Time
dragged on and my parents became tense and were unable to eat or sleep for worry.
Relatives in Wisconsin were notified but there was little they could do. They pictured my
uncle starving as they felt he would not beg for food since he could speak no English
and would keep trying to find home. The country was sparsely settled and off to the
north and west were the Missouri River Bluffs, county that was rough with few
inhabitants. One day a son of one of my mother’s friends was in this rugged country
when he saw an object up on a bluff, he went to investigate and it was Uncle Charles
lying weak and of course near death. My folks were never to forget their joy that he had
been found alive. George Goodwin had been to Ponca and of course knowing Uncle
Charles was missing had been looking for him too. Due to lack of roads in many areas
and poor transmission of news many heart aches and inconveniences occurred.
Sickness was a time of anxiety and a needed reliance on homemade remedies was
fostered. The wearing of the asaphoetida bag about the neck, the bag concealed under
the dress. Sometimes a wool stocking that had been worn was wrapped around the
throat in cases of sore throat, or a cold cloth put about the neck and then covered with
a dry cloth. The mustard plaster was a we11 known remedy for a chest cold. For a
sore, a piece of fat meat was bound over it and left on to draw, or a mixture of flour,
sugar and enough water to make a dough was used as a poultice. Sometimes smoke
from a tobacco pipe was blown into an aching ear.
Predicting the weather was indulged in with earnestness. When the telephone wires
sang the weather would turn bad; when the swallows flew close to the ground rain was
imminent. Sundogs, the yellow reflections on one or both sides of the sun, was a sign
of bad weather, cold if it was winter time and a change if it was spring or fall; the halo
about the moon was an indication of a weather change, also. If the cave sweat,
change could be 1ooked for, likewise rain, if springs flowed more freely than usual. If
dogs ate grass a change was in store.
It was Peg who made life interesting for us younger girls; she kept abreast of the
customs and read stories and articles that were worthwhile; she memorized poetry and
a favorite was one I too memorized but find memory not so clear on it and parts of it
intangible when I tried to reconstruct it. As I remember it:
True worth is in being not seeming
In doing each day that goes by
A little good not in the dreaming
Of great things to do by and by.

For whatever men say in their blindness
In spite of the follies of youth
There’s nothing so kingly as kindness
And nothing so royal as truth.

We get back our mete as we measure
We cannot do wrong and feel right
Nor can we make bargains of blisses
Nor catch them like fishes in nets

For the things which our life misses
Counts more than the things which we get.
For good lieth not in pursuing
Nor doing of great nor of small

But just in the doing and doing
As you would be done by is all.
The field for the rake and the harrow
The air for the robin and wren
But always the path that is narrow
And straight for the children of men.

There was another piece she spoke at the little country school house where Sunday
School was held; this school was called the Madison school and was two miles to the
east of our home in the opposite direction from our own school. The piece she spoke
was a long one and I remember she had to be prompted by mother and I felt a bit
embarrassed, though every one clapped loudly and due to the length every one said it
was quite a feat that she only had to be prompted once. Anyway, the piece became a
joke and we used to rattle off as much of it as we had memorized. Later I was to say it
to my boys and they thought it funny. It dealt with a rider who went out to give a
warning about an impending attack and it went something like this:
She heeded it not and not in vain
She lashed the horse with the bridle rein.
As if ashamed of his heedless fall,
He gathered his strength once more for all;
And down the rough and rock-strewn way
She urged the fiery horse of gray.

Just snatches come to me and not even in sequence. We made a jingle of it as it lent
itself to that without any difficulty. And we enjoyed giving it a certain singsong quality. I
still think more memory work on good literature among the young people of today would
serve an excellent purpose; or learning a poem that instilled a worthwhile principal for
human behavior I am sure would often carry one over the discouragements that come
to all of us at times. I have so often found comfort in inspirational thoughts expressed in
poetry I have memorized. And by some I have been inspired to greater effort that
helped me to succeed when I have come near failing.
Why become a slave to chance; why be crushed by circumstance,
Rise above it and advance over all adversity—By Edgerton
Every day is a fresh beginning,
Every day is the world made new.
You are weary of sorrow and sinning
Here is a beautiful thought for you.—I have forgotten the author.


Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen
And waste in its sweetness on the desert air.—Thomas Gray

(Craig’s note – this is actually from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayam)

Trips were made to Sioux City by train and if one left on the morning train he had plenty
of time to shop and have a lunch in a cafe or in Davidson’s Store. The Martin store
carried the best class merchandise while Pelletier’s competed but carried merchandise
that catered to more general taste and pocketbooks. Weinbergs was a clothing store
and was well patronized. Since Davidson carried everything and was reasonable it
probably had the most trade of any of the stores. We loved the shopping trips to Sioux
City and the stores were quite grand after our town’s small Merchandise or General
stores. One time my father came back from the city and told us he had bought an organ
and it would be shipped to our small town of N_____ Times my father shipped cattle to
the city he often brought home some thing and the value depended on the price he
received for his cattle; father was a careful buyer, more so than mother. Well, there was
joy when it came. It was of light wood and looking back I think must have been maple.
Soon Peg was taking music lessons and these were given in our town at the home of
people by the name of Penoir; sometimes I was allowed to go along and sit in their
parlor