Who's gonna prime my pump?

I recall in Nickerson that running water was more than just turning on the faucet.  709 North Strong Street had no faucets.  Out by the horse tank was a field pump.  When the tank started getting low someone, usually Jake, had to pump the water into the tank to fill it back up so the horses could drink.  At the bottom of the pump hung a can.  That can was filled with water from the horse tank and poured into the top of the pump while pumping in short, fast strokes.  With luck, the pump would "catch it's prime quickly" and water would pump out through the mouth of the pump.  If you understand the workings of a pump you know that there is a leather inside that when pumped up and down draws the water up from deep in the well. Occasionally the leather becomes worn and needs replaced.

The pump at the horse tank was a big iron pump.  The handle was long and we used to like to pump because if we could keep a rhythm going the pump handle would sometimes jerk us up off the ground by the sheer force of the water.  We were also allowed to get in the horse tank and play sometimes.  Can you imagine how dirty that water was in that tank?  That coupled with the fact that the horses might want a drink while we were in there scared hell out of me!  Have you ever looked at horse teeth?  They are big and very yellow and I lived in mortal terror that one of them would eat me.  Life was hard back then.

All the house water for cooking, cleaning, bathing or whatever was carried from the pump outside into the house in buckets.  The tea kettle that set on the wood cook stove was kept full at all times and a cup of tea was just seconds away in case one of the fancy ladies from town came.  (This did not happen very often, and to my recollection, never.  Mother did clean houses and sometimes a lady would come to discuss her availability, but they were usually in a car and stopped in front of the house and honked.)

Ah. but fate smiled kindly us. I do not remember who, why or when, but at some point in time someone decided that mother needed a sink and a pump inside the house in the kitchen.  It was then that we were blessed with what was known as a "pitcher pump."  Now this was the cat's meow in pumps.  It did not need primed!  When we wanted water, we just started pumping and very soon it would "catch it's prime."  Talk about uptown!  It set of the end of a big oblong enamel sink.  The drain pipe ran through a hole in the wall that extended about 8 feet into the back yard.  There the drain water ran out onto the ground where the Muscovy ducks played in it.  Boy, that was one stinking mess, but it was sure handy.

I have to go into detail here about the Muscovy Ducks.  Those are about the nastiest things I have ever seen.  When I had my 17 geese and 37 ducks here I had 4 Muscovy's.  Now to the best of my knowledge, Muscovy's are the only domesticated ducks that can actually fly.  The 4 of them used to fly up to the house, across the fence and roost on the air conditioner.  Nasty.  The hens were little and delicate, but the drakes were twice as big and their necks were as big as my upper forearm.  They did not quack; they sort of quibbled.  I did not like them and I think they actually broke the neck of one of my geese.  They even looked evil.  All this has nothing to do with pumping water, does it?

I attended my first 3 years of high school in Nickerson.  It was during those years that I made 2 discoveries; home brew and boys, in that order.  I had a friend named LaVeta (no last name) whose dad made and bottled home brew.  He liked to go to the big city and gamble on Saturday nights and we liked to stay home and sample his home brew.  Her mother helped us.  She would take all us kids to Sterling and there were boys there!  There were dances there.  Sadly, I could not drink and dance, so the dancing went by the wayside and I learned to worhip at the feet of the porcelain God.  I have not had a bottle of homebrew in 60 years, but I can still taste it.  Once more I digress.

In due time mother graduated from Salt City Business College and we moved to the big city of Hutchinson.  The rest is history.  Louella Bartholomew grew up and not longer exists, or so we think.
Some where deep in my soul, she lives.  Her memories are as vivid today as they were when she was living them.  Homebrew and boys are a thing of the past, but the wants and the needs of that skinny little girl are as alive today as they were in that stick and mortar house at 709 Strong Street.

Peace to all.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch!

To say my life here on my little acre is boring would be an understatement.  It seems like there is always something going on...well, not during Jeopardy!  Everyone knows what happens to me when I set back in my recliner with the cat on my lap and pull an afghan up over me so I do not get cold.  I watch Jeopardy! at 3:00 and again at 6:30.  Sadly, I have yet to see a full half hour.  If I manage to stay awake it is imperative that someone call  to ask just one quick question.

Now yesterday, I stopped at Big R to buy goose food since there is a storm coming and I do not want the geese to miss out on a meal and I hate unloading 150 pounds of feed in a blizzard.  So, I pulled into the back acre and started in with the first bag.  You should know, the neighbors have a Billy Goat Gruff with big long, curled horns.  He does not know where he actually lives so he spends a lot of time ripping things out of the ground on my side of the driveway.  As I started into the shed, I had to bump him with the feed bag to get inside.  I emptied that one, chased him off and grabbed another only to repeat the same scenario.  I do not even like goats and that is why I do not have one.  Third bag was tossed on top of the barrel and the goat chased off again.  I drove out and closed the gate behind me with him glaring at me from his yard.

To make a long story short, I got busy doing something and it was almost dark when I went to put the geese up for the night.  I let them in the outside wire enclosure and they were acting funny.  Since they usually do, I did not give it a second thought.  Then I remembered I needed to open that third bag and dump it so I opened the big door and took 2 steps inside and stopped.  Holy mother of God!  Inside the shed was dark and I caught a glimpse so something out of the corner of my eye.  It was big!  It was not a goose!  It was that damned goat curled up in the corner of the shed.  He was settling in for the night.  In order to get inside the shed he had to squeeze himself through the little door I have in the side of the shed designed for a much smaller animal.  Even the geese have to duck their heads to get inside.  Dammit!

Luckily I have a very good flashlight, so I went over to Mr. Goat and nudged him while shining the light on his path to freedom.  He could have cared less.  So I got him by one of his horns.  It became increasingly clear that he did not want to go home.  I finally got him out the door and that was as far as he wanted to go.  So I went next door to the house he actually lived at.  Cory came with me and between the 2 of us with a hand on each horn, we got him into their yard.  It was clear also that in the leap over the fence into my yard, he had hurt his back leg.  So I missed Jeopardy! at 6:30.  Dammit!

So, Michael brought up the subject of gardening a few days ago and I explained that I would not be doing that this year.  Why?  It seems that the last few years I have had a snake infestation.  I do not know how many times  there was a snake in the goose house.  I reached my limit when I was harvesting my zucchini and as I reached to move a leaf, I saw a snake curled up under it.  Centipedes love my basement.  Wasps build their little nests in the corners of my deck.  Spiders watch me from the shadows.  Farm living is just no longer conducive to my lifestyle!  I want to be where the lights are shining in my window and the jukebox is blaring from down below.  Well, not really.

I do love my solitude out here, but there is a lot to be said for the wild life that makes itself at home here on my acre.  I realize goats, spiders, snakes and centipedes are not exactly wildlife, but you do remember how the foxes devastated my duck farm.  But yesterday at the Big R, I saw my first signs of Spring.  They have three tanks full of baby chickens and they are so damn cute.  Maybe if I had chickens they would keep the snakes away.  I know they eat grasshoppers.

Something to think about.

709 North Strong Street, Nickerson, Kansas, Home of the Bartholomew family!

Father was quick to respond to the glove thrown down and the challenge from Mother.  The next day he walked into town and when he came back, we were landowners.  Seemed some guy on the other side of town had an old house on an acre of ground that he would sell for nothing down and $10.00 a month.  Total price was $700.00 sealed with a handshake and a promise.  So, the hay rack was turned back over on it's wheels, backed up to the door, and our worldly possessions piled on the bed, kids scrambled up on top, cow tied behind, horses hitched to the front, mom and dad on the springboard seat, reins flipped and "giddy up!" called across the backs of the horses and away we went.
Our new home was beautiful!  In front were 2 Catalpa trees.  They were magnificent!  Their leaves were huge!  Long beans hung from them.  We were told they were not edible, because we could see hope of a meal in anything that was green with the name "bean".  We did find in later years that when they were dry, we could smoke them.  My first lesson was to be sure and blow out the fire first and I learned that by sucking raw flames into my throat.  Bad news!  But back to the house.
Dad pulled the hay rack across a broken side walk and we unloaded our possessions onto a cement porch with an actual roof.  We could not take anything into the house yet as we did not have the proper floor coverings.  Since this was our very own place we must put linoleum on the floors.  The kitchen stuff, which included a scrub board, two galvanized tubs, a boiler tub, the pots and pans, and the grease barrel along with the slop jar, were  put on the back porch.  The 3 legged cast iron kettle was placed carefully out in the back yard near the pump, but far enough away from everything else that a fire could be built in it to heat the water.  It was a central part of life back then.
As soon as everything was unloaded, dad drove into town and purchased the rolls of linoleum for the front room, dining room and the front bedroom.  The linoleum came stored in big cardboard rolls.  The three rolls probably cost a total of $15.00 but were a mark of pride in our new home.  They were unloaded and placed in the room they would go in to start "relaxing."  That was accomplished by carefully cutting the cardboad wrapper off and leaving the roll to warm and relax.  This took several hours.   It came rolled up backwards so we would have no clue what it would look like until it was ready to unroll.  Mom and Dad knew because they had seen pictures of it at the store.  This is how it worked.  The roll was placed with the edge where it would start.  There was much measuring, because it could not be moved without tearing it once it was in place.  When it was ready mom got on one side and dad got on the other and they would unroll a little, then let it relax while they went to the next room.  By evening they were flat on the floor and we could then bring in the beds and our belongings.  The new floors were wonderful and smelled to high heaven of asbestos, tar, crosote, and every other carcinagine known to mankind.  Little fiberglass and a few other things, but they were so pretty and clean!
The sofa was brought into the front room and then the big square  asbestos covered in tin was placed under the chimney.  This was also new.  The cast iron stove was carried in and placed in the center and the pipes attached to lead the smoke to the outside.  The wood box was placed behind the stove and we were good to go.  The kitchen held the wood cook stove.  A two stove house!  The wood cook stove was very fancy with a reservoir to hold water.  There were 6 seperate burners which could be picked up and wood added to just that portion.  The wood cook stove was only used on week days.  Sunday we cooked on a two burner stove that was powered by propane.  That kept a more even heat which we needed to fry chicken.  Sunday was always fried chicken.  Fried chicken, mashed potatoes and cream gravy.  Usually opened a can of green beans and biscuits were a staple.
So with the new floor laid and the beds set up and wood carried in for the next days cooking, we toddled off to bed.  We were tired but  sleep did not come easy.  There was much to discover about our new home.  There were buildings out back.  I had seen a place for the chickens and ducks, a granery, horse tank, a barn and of course the out house.  When I come back the next time, we will re-examine the "out house and look down into the cellar.
For now, the Bartholomew family was home at 709 N. Strong Street in Nickerson, Kansas and we even had a number painted on one of the posts that held up the roof of the porch.  What more could a girl possibly want?

Peace!

And back to the Stroh place.

Mother had a very big yellow Tom cat.  As with all cats, he was very independent and just did pretty much as he wanted to do.  One day he must have wanted to have his head chopped off because he showed up at the door with one of mother's baby chicken's in his mouth.  Since my brother Jake was the only male present at the time the job was given to him.  Mother handed him the cat, an axe and sent him off to the "forest".  Now the forest was a grove of about 8 trees that was about 50 feet behind the chicken house.  Jake was probably about 9 years old at the time.  You need to remember that times were different back then.  We never were allowed to be "kids" because the mere act of survival made us grow up really fast.  In society today if a 9 year old kid chopped the head off of a cat he would immediately be put into therapy because he had all the makings of a serial killer.  Back then that tiny chicken was part of our cycle of life and no cat was going to snack on mother's chickens that would someday lay eggs for us to eat, hatch more chickens and eventually end up in the stew pot to feed the whole family Chicken and Noodles.  The cat, by killing the baby chicken,  proved he was a chicken killer and that does not work on a farm.  So, off they went to the forest and only one of them came back.

The chicken house was also an attraction to either a Fox or a Weasel.  Dad patched the chicken house fairly regularly, but what ever was getting in was not to be deterred.  One night him and one of his cronies hid in the chicken house and when the varmit surfaced we heard the blast from the shotgun.  That problem was solved, but then there was that gaping hole in the chicken house.  That is another story!

Have you ever gathered eggs?  In the Spring when the chickens first start to lay, several of the old hens also begin ti "set".  The setting is the fine art of laying eggs in a nest and setting on them until the hatch.  The hen has to turn them every day, keep them an even temperature, and be the most patient creature in the world because this takes 28 days setting time.  Did you ever hear the saying "Mad as an old wet hen?"   I used to throw some of my biggest fits when Mother would tell me to go gather the eggs.  She would tell me which nests had the "setting hens" on them and I did not gather those eggs.

I would walk into the hen house and several of the nests would have eggs in them where the hens had laid early that morning and then gone off in search of bugs, seeds or whatever.  Those were easy to gather because I just had to pick the eggs up and put them in my basket, but some of the nest's had chickens on them.  I knew which ones not to bother, but I was afraid of those beady eyed chickens any way.  I was terrified of the "setting hens" because they were very protective and I had much respect for thier mothering skills.  I gave them a very wide berth.  However, I was supposed to reach under the hens who were setting on nests that were not designated as nest boxes.  These are the hens that really scared me.  You do know that hens have sharp beaks, right?  Thier beak is thier sole means of defense.  So I would slowly extend my hand while the hen watched my hand with those beady eyes.  Time would stand still as my hand got slowly closer to her body setting on the nest.  If she inclined her head even the smallest bit, I would run screaming from the hen house.  Usually it would scare her so bad she left the nest in fright.  In that case I could go back and get those eggs.  I do not recall if a hen ever pecked me, but in my mind I left the hen house a bloodied mass every time.  And mother knew when I left the house exactly how many eggs I should have when I came back.  Mothers' are intuitive little creatures.  Too few eggs meant I had not done my job.  Too many and one of the last hatching had started laying.

We had a cow also.  Well, as I recall we had several cows and horses.  The horses were used to pull the plow, combine, trailer, or what ever.  Dad did managed to get himself drunk once when he went to Hutch to the sale.  He came home with a Shetland Pony for us kids.  That was like a dream come true.  A pony of our own for us to ride.  OMG!  That was the meanest damned horse I have ever laid eyes on in my life!  That thing came out of the trailer kicking and snorting and I sought the solace of the chicken house!  Scared me out of 4 years growth.  His name was Star.

Star had a pen and went into the barn at night for shelter.  Star had been ours for about a week when friends came by to see our new horse.  The friends had kids our age.  So Jake and a couple of the boys went out to see Star.  By this time it was dark.  How they came up with the next part of the adventure is beyond me, but Jake decided to crawl across the enclosure and scare the horse!  (There was talk of actually "goosing him with a stick" which I am sure is closer to what happened then these boys let on to Mother.)  To make a long story short, Star did not take to well to whatever happened and in typical horse fashion, kicked backwards.  His hoof connected with Jake's right cheek and sent him flying into the fence.  Much scrambling as the friends loaded Jake into thier car and took him and mother to Hutchinson to the emergency room.  It was a very long night.  Jake carried that scar to his grave.  It was about 4 inches long and a 2 inch scar across the bottom.  It looked like a "J" so he told everyone it was his initial.

Star was probably with us for 12-15 years and I do not recall anyone ever riding him.  Well, Josephine might have, but not me.  He died when we were at the Strong Street house.  Dad called the "dead animal wagon" which in those days, made house calls.  They probably still do.  The man pulled out a long length of cable, wrapped it around Star's neck, turned on the wench and drug him across the yard, up the ramp and into the back of the big truck on top of whatever else was in there, and drove away.  Fond memories?  Not for me.

Will try to get back soon and finish off the Stroh house.  Or maybe not.  A lot happened there.

And we "settle in".

The next morning arrived, as mornings have a way of doing.  John Britan and Ed Crissman came by early to get the cook stove unloaded and the pipe put through the hole in the ceiling.  It was heavy work, but accomplished very quickly.  I am sure mother hustled around and built a fire so coffee could be made.  This was done with a large enamel coffee pot, water, grounds and an egg shell.  Egg shell was to make the grounds settle better.  I do not remember what our first meal in the new house was, but I am willing to bet it was some sort of "mush."  Mush was made by boiling water and stirring some sort of cornmeal into it.  I think today it might be called "grits".  I have since perfected this recipe.  Mine is called "Scrapple." 
First I boil some kind of pork or beef until it is very tender.  I season it with a bay leaf, some sage, maybe salt and pepper or chicken broth.  Then I fish out the meat, add coarsely ground yellow corn meal (grits or polenta) and cook that until it is done.  Then I stir the meat in and pour the stuff into a loaf pan that is lined with wax paper.  When this cools it will set up and be firm.  Then I take it out of the pan and slice it about 3/4 inches thick and fry it in hot oil.  Serve that with Maple Syrup and  you have some happy people on the other end of the forks.  Hard to believe that recipe came from the heart of the depression years.  We just didn't put meat in it back then.
So with the cook stove cooking away, the next item in was the "heating stove" or parlor stove or what ever.  Since the linoleum in the front room was still in very good shape, we did not need to replace it.  The first thing to go down was the 4' x  4' square of asbestos that was clad in tin.  Usually the tin was painted so it was pretty.  The purpose of this was to keep the stove separated from the linoleum cause the stove would get very warm.
 ( A little aside here!  The Environmental Protection Agency and every one else in government would have us shut down today.  Asbestos is now hazardous waste and I am sure that linoleum under it was a case of lung cancer waiting to happen.  But in those days all this was considered luxury. )
The stove needed to set about 2-3 feet from any wall, so our metal mat was placed accordingly.  Then the stove was carried in and placed exactly in the center with the door facing into the center of the room.  Do not ask me why, but that was how it was.  Step ladder was brought back in and the pipe installed connecting the stove to the hole in the roof.  Always amazed me how that worked out every time, but apparently there was some sort of plan.  There was no chimney, just poke it out the hole and we are good to go.  The wood box in the kitchen was located just inside the door.  The one for the front room was just outside the door.  Hey!  Do you think we were hicks? 
Then everything left on the hay rack and the trailer was carried in and taken to the room where it belonged.  The zinc tubs were put in the kitchen, because that was where the washing machine would go and that was where we would have our weekly bath.  In case you missed the blog on the bath, I will tell it again later.  The three legged cast iron kettle that was the mainstay of life was placed out back near the pump. 
I have  got to extol the three legged kettle.  It was about 3 feet high and 3 feet across.  The sole purpose was to heat water over an open fire, hence the legs that held it up out of the ashes.  See, it set there and a fire was built under it and buckets of water were carried from the pump and poured in it.  About anything could happen in that kettle!  Mother raised geese, ducks, chickens and rabbits.  When it was butchering time for the geese, ducks and chickens the water was heated in there.  Off came a head and in went the body.  Geese and ducks had to have a little soap added so the water would penetrate.  Then the feathers were plucked off and the "down" saved.  Down is the light feathers under the wings and inside of the legs.  It is used in Down Comforters, pillows and stuff like that.
The kettle was also used to heat water for washing clothes, washing kids on Saturday night, rendering pork fat into lard, dipping the pig during butchering and lord only knows what else the inside of that kettle seen! I do remember many years later when we moved to the big city of Hutchinson, mother left that kettle.  Her words then were, "I am so happy I will never have to heat water in that thing again."  We also left the stoves, but that was many years later. 
Father strung new wire on the clothes lines.  We never hung curtains, because we didn't have them.  Someday we would, but not now.  And since we mostly used a kerosene lamp, we usually went to bed early. Back in those days, most people functioned with the sunlight, so who was going to see us anyway?
Want to tell you just one more thing for today.  The ice box was just that.  It was a big brown box that was insulated with, you guessed it...asbestos.  The ice man drove by the house with his ice wagon once a week.  We had a card that went in the front window.  The number that was up was how much ice we needed.  Usually 25 pounds was what we got.  When he saw the 25 on top, he would stop and get his ice tongs and pick up a 25 pound block and carry it into the house, open the ice box and set it inside.  The money was always left laying there and he would pick it up and leave.
Bet you wondered how he got in without a key, didn't you?  Every house in town had a door with a lock and the lock could be opened with a skeleton key.  I mean every house could be opened with the same key.  If you lost your key, you went to the hardware store and bought another.  Doors were rarely locked.  I do not think we even had a key.  Back in those days there was a whole different breed of people.  We still had "vigilantes" and if some one did something the town did not approve of, there was talk of "tar and feather and ride him out of town on a rail."  Never knew it to actually happen, but heard it a lot.  If you were out and needed a drink of water, just go in someone's house and get it.  Of course there were the codes of honesty, common courtesy, decency and all kind of things the new world does not understand.
Guess maybe that is why it is called "the good old days."

Cyclone, Tornado and Bull Frog!

For some ungodly reason, I woke up at 3:33 this morning and after laying there I decided to get up and face the world.  What I had on my little pea brain at that time of morning was thinking about my childhood.  After we left the "Stroh" place we moved to a place called the "Ailmore" place, again on the edge of town.  I remember it a little better since I was a little older.  It was a wood frame house with 4 rooms; kitchen complete with a wood stove and a sink that drained into a bucket, a front/dining/family room, a bedroom with 4 beds like a bunk house, and a back porch.  We did have electricity, I think.  Our water source was about 15 feet out the back door.  Jake and I were in charge of keeping the stock tank pumped full of water for the horses and the milk cow and water brought into the house for drinking, cooking, cleaning  and what ever else  was needed.
Josephine was in charge of us, as usual.  Her job was to clean the house and make sure we did not get into trouble.  One day mother had left us money to go to the movie.  I think it cost 7 cents each.  Only Jake and I could go.  So off we went.  I had on my good dress.  In those days a wardrobe consisted of a dress and a good dress.  Good dress was for town and church.  We never wore shoes in the summer.  We were bought a pair of shoes before school started and we better hope those stayed the right size until the ground thawed out in the spring.  Of course we handed our clothes and shoes down to the next kid, but remember I was a girl and Jake was my "hander down".  I digress.
So off we went.  Between the house and town was a bridge that spanned Bull Creek.  Cow Creek was farther from town and much bigger, but Bull Creek fed into it.  Bull Creek carried just enough water to make seining for Crawdads a lucrative chore.  We would take the big wash boiler which was used to heat water for the laundry and a seine and catch a bunch of crawdads.  If we were real lucky we would catch big ones.  We pulled thier tails off and boiled them.  Then we would remove the shell and eat the meat.
  (It was shaped and tasted much like a teeny, tiny, little bitty lobster, I think.  But today was movie day!  I must add here that since those days I have tasted crawdad and it was not nearly as good as back in those days when daily fare usually consisted of potatoes, corn, beans and that sort of thing served up with a loaf of bread that cost less than a nickle at the store.) 
As luck would have it we were almost over the bridge when Jake spotted a big Bull Frog.  Nothing would do but to catch that bull frog.  Down the bank we scrambled and after that frog!  He was fast, but we were faster!  We had visions of froglegs soup for supper!  Mother would be so proud!  At last Jake stood in front of me with the biggest bullfrog in the world clutched in his two hands.  Now what?  He was covered with mud.  I had not fared much better myself.  A plan emerged.  He would go down the creek a ways where the water was not so muddy and I would carry the bullfrog in my skirt back to the house and have Josephine put it in something.  Then I could put on my old dress and come back and we would go on to town.  Ah, the best laid plans of mice and men some times go awry.  And such was the case with the bullfrog in the skirt.
As I approched the door, Josephine ripped it open with her eyes very, very wide and her mouth drawn up in a tiny, tiny, very tight scowl.  "What have you done?"  Ah, but my pride of what I carried could not be contained as I stepped in the door and opened my skirt.  "Look what we can have for supper! " And you already know what happened next, don't you!  Mr Bullfrog saw his opportunity for freedom and leapt from my confines. Josephine screamed and ran around in terror ordering me to catch that monster and get it to hell out of the house.  Ah, that I could, but he was very good at escaping.  Even better than on the creek bank.  Under the bed, and as soon as I got there, he was out and under the dresser.  By this time Josephine had found the broom and was urging me onward.  What followed has probably scarred me for life,  but to make a long story short, eventually the frog was caught and set free outside.  I think the cat finally killed him.  Jake got tired of waiting and returned to the house just as the frog was launched out the front door.  He spoke not a word.
Josephine confiscated our money and the movie trip was cancelled.  My dress was removed and I was scoured clean in the stock tank with the cow and horses looking on in bewilderment.  Life returned to normal.
Across the road lived two sisters.  Well, we thought they were old maids, but they probably were not that old.  We used to hide in thier forest and watch them set in their back yard and drink tea.  Wasn't that exciting?  On up the road lived Mr. and Mrs. Rumble.  Mr. Rumble always wanted me to sing Buttons and Bows and told me that when I learned all the verses he would give me a nice shiny dime.  Then he would hold it up for me to see.  I dreamed of that dime all the time we lived in that house.  I could not learn the words because I could only hear part of the song sometimes and isn't like now when I can type it in the browser and there are the words.  I remember him.
There was a family friend named Ed Chrisman.  He and dad share cropped for many years.  This one particular time I recall, dad had gone off drinking in Hutch.  Mom was home and Ed Chrisman came by to see him.  A storm was expected and he did not want to leave a woman with a bunch of kids there alone and no one knew when dad would return.  So we closed all the windows and waited.  Jake and I went to the pump house to fill the tank before the storm, so we were out there when it hit.  We felt the shed begin to shake so we turned and ran as fast as we could into the house where mother waited with the door open. 
I still remember that wind and how scared we were.  And when it was over and we went outside it was like a war zone.  The haystack that had been so neatly piled for the winter was every where.  The only building left standing was the house.  The barn was gone.  The hen house gone and the chickens wandering around like little lost souls in the yard.  The tool shed was in shambles and the old milk cow lay dead in the field.  The horses had escaped and were Lord only knows where.  Later dad would come home and go "round them up."  We learned later that it had been a cyclone.  I think a cyclone and a tornado are basically the same thing, but I am not sure.  There was a lot of controversy over the proper term at that time.  I just couldn't see what difference it made, the results were the same.  I guess it is just like when you are in total shock, you reason things out and put all the facts in their own little places and then you can make sense of the situation.
I started school on the Ailmore place.  First grade and Miss Donough.  She later married Mr. Breece.   The circus came to town and I had a free ticket.  When I went to the circus and presented my ticket, the man told me I had to pay 5 cents.  I was devastated.  Mr. Breece stepped up and gave the man a nickle.  I was so happy and every day after school I stopped by his house to see if I could do some chores to pay him back.  He always said no and finally I stopped asking, but I never forgot.  I often wonder if I have ever done anything as I wandered through this life to make some little kid remember me.
 Funny the things that stick in your mind as a kid.


 

Many years ago and far, far away.

Way back in the dark recesses of my mind is probably the first memory of my life.  It was before I started school.  Before sister Dorothy was born.  I must have been 4 years old when we lived on the Stroh place outside of Nickerson towards the Arkansas River.  I have many memories of that place, so we must have lived there for a while, or that was when my tiny mind was first starting to grasp things.

See there, how innocent I am?  So anyway, back to this memory.  We had an uncle. Well, we had several, but this one I am not sure how he was connected.  Was not on mom's side  unless it was a way distant one.  So it must have been one of the renegades from my dad's side.  His name was Uncle Ode.   That is all I know.  No last name.  Anyway, one day he came for a visit.  I probably seen him two times in my whole life.  Uncle Ode smoked a pipe, and like all little kids, I was fascinated with that pipe.  So he let me have puff.  I recall I must have done something because all the adults laughed.  He gave me several puff off that pipe and every time the grown ups laughed.  Then I got sick.  Oh, very sick.  And then the grown ups were not laughing any more.  Served them right, I think.

On the Stroh place, mother used to go to "Club".  I do not remember how often or where, but I remember "Club".  Us kids went with her, because there was one lady designated to watch over us and we better be good, and we better be quiet and there better not be any bad reports.  Back then parents ruled the home.   Now there is a tradition that I wish had been kept!

We had a chicken house and several times something had gotten in and got a hen.  So dad set out back and when the weasel showed up, he killed it.  Now, I do not remember our family ever owning a gun, so I am wondering just what he killed it with,  and I was way to young to remember much about that ordeal.  I think it was a weasel.  Could have been almost anything.

I remember us being on the porch one day and the cat came to the yard with a baby chicken in its mouth.  Mother dispensed Jake and the cat into the forest and I remember Jake had a hatchet.  When he came back he still had the hatchet, but I never seen that cat again.  Big yellow tom cat.

Jake and I were in charge of taking the old milk cow down to the road and letting her eat the grass in the ditch.  She would amuse herself like that for quite a while and when we seen her looking towards the house, we were supposed to go "bring her 'round".  One of our favorite ways of doing this was to grab her tail.  This would cause her to run for the barn a lot faster.  Otherwise we had to walk behind her with a switch and touch her rump when she stopped to eat grass.  That was pretty boring!  Course when we made her run, she did not give much milk.  No winning when you are 5 years old.

Sister Donna poked her finger at a turtle once and it latched on to her finger.  Much discussion on that one.  Cut it off?  No way!  It will never let go if it is dead and she will have that thing hanging on her finger for the rest of her life.  And try to catch a husband with a turtle head on your finger!  But be patient and it will let go when the sun goes down.  I do not know how that one played out, but I do not think she still has it hanging off her finger!  So it must have been resolved.

My brother Gene came home from the Army for a brief visit and then was gone and wound up in prison for writing hot checks.  But it was not his fault!  It was that damn Banks boy that made him do it.

The best part of that time in my life was learning to take care of my hair!  Sarcasm there.  The way we got haircuts back then was to have a bowl placed over our head and then trim around the edge of the bowl.  Hence the term "bowl hair cut".  This was second only to washing of the hair for pure enjoyment.  This is how that went down.  We had no hot water, and the only source of water was a pitcher pump in the corner of the kitchen.  This pumped into a sink (of sorts) which was attached to a pipe that ran through the wall and outside into the yard.  Mother would tuck me under her arm with one hand supporting my flopping head and sister Josephine would start pumping.  Ice cold water was pouring into my hair at about 7 gallons per second.  Shampoo and lather and rinse.  I learned very early not to scream , beg, and whatever I did do not wiggle or try to kick free because that just prolonged the ordeal and got my butt beat royally!  And you think you had it rough! 

Well, I could reminisce all day here, but this is not getting the chores done.   When we left the Stroh place we moved to the Ailmore place.  I think my next book may cover some of my childhood lived in abject poverty, but you know what?  I would not have it any other way!

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