Money tied in the corner of a handkerchief.

I remember only snippets of life on the Stroh place because I was 6 years old when we left there, but I do remember my very first trip to the grocery store alone.  Looking back I realize it must have been 6 or seven blocks one way which would make it about a mile round trip.  Back in those days most errands were done without the benefit of a motor vehicle because if we had one we did not want to "wear it out" doing menial things like going to the grocery.

I remember mother placing some coins on top of the grocery list and tying  them into the corner of a tattered handkerchief.  That was what served as a coin purse back in the days of abject poverty.  I had walked to the store many times with mother and my sisters, but for some reason this would be my first trip alone.  I expect sister Dorothy was either newly born or about to be and momma needed something from the store for supper.

I clutched the handkerchief  in my little fist and began the journey.  I was familiar with our long driveway so that was no problem.  Jake and I ran up and down it many times barefoot in the soft, silty black dirt.  It was under the tree at the start of the driveway that Donna had gotten a turtle latched on to her finger, but I think I told you about that!  What lay ahead was a long block before I got to Main Street where I would be safe.

I entered that block very slowly because on the right side was a big black cow (which was no doubt a bull) that looked at me with huge black eyes.  He watched my slow progress as I never took my eyes off of him for fear he would jump the fence and eat me.  His horns were long and I knew he was going to be there when I came back so I did not want to make him mad.  I did not see his teeth, but I knew he had them because he was chewing.  I was flooded with relief  when I reached the end of his fence and safety!

The next block had 3 houses before I got to Main Street.  I walked quietly and slowly in case there was a mean dog that wanted to eat me.  As I recall there was not and I reached the safety of Main Street.  Why I thought I would be safe on Main Street is beyond me because I still had the railroad tracks to cross, but Main Street and the Nickerson High School was a beacon to me.  With the giant cow and his big teeth behind me I breathed a sigh of relief, and turned right onto Main Street.  Two blocks passed without incident and there was no train.  I was almost there!

Arriving at the downtown area which was 2 blocks long was monumental to me!  I was only 2 blocks from my goal!  I remember looking in the window at the Library and seeing all the books.  Then Corrington Dry Goods had a dress in the window that I knew my mother would never own.  Then the jail which I walked past very quickly lest a bad guy grab me.  The sheriff was on his chair in front of the door.  He had the chair leaned back against the door and was sound asleep.  The bank was next and then Berridge IGA, but I was going to Flemings.  The drug store was on the corner and across the street I reached Flemings Grocery.  

I handed the handkerchief to the lady at the counter like mother had told me to do.  She opened it and went to fetch the items.  Seems like it was a loaf of bread, a piece of suet, and a portion of butter.  She handed me the parcel with the now empty handkerchief, smiled and I left the store.  My job was almost over!  

The trip home was uneventful until I reached the railroad track.  I saw the arms go down on the crossing and I knew the train was coming!  If I hurried I could make it, but fear froze me in place and I waited by the grain elevator until until the train lumbered past and the arms were once more raised.  Then I waited a little longer just to be sure it was not coming back.  And I still had the giant cow to pass.

I left Main Street and walked as quietly as possible, but that damn cow had supersonic hearing and when I reached his fence I was scared shitless to see that he was looking right at me.  He was waiting.  My mind raced for another way home, but there was nothing coming to mind.  He looked at me and chewed something that I would learn later was a cud.  He never took his eyes off me and after a time I knew I had to go past him again.  Every watch something move so slowly that you never really detected  movement?  That was me!  Looking back and watching this is slow motion from the cows perspective, I am pretty sure he was laughing his ass off, if cows laugh!

When I reached the head of our driveway I broke into a dead run.  When I burst through the door and into my mothers arms I also burst into tears.  I was safe at home!  The mean cow had not eaten me!  The train had not run over me!  I had not been devoured by a vicious dog!  And best of all my mother was proud that I had gone to the store all alone and came home with exactly what she needed.  

I realize now that my mother had probably been more worried about me, then I was. It was my first tremulous step into being a responsible person, but it would not be my last.  Life would always hold challenges and I would always know that at the end of the task my mother would be there with open arms and pride in her hazel eyes for me.

I have met many people through life who have cheered me on and celebrated my victories and wept at my failures, but none as special as the one I called  "Momma."

A cow named Bossy.

I am not sure her name was Bossy, but I think it was and that is what counts.  She was brown, but back in those days most of the milk cows were.  I want to say she was a Guernsey, but you are not going to catch me lying at this stage of the game.  She was brown.  A soft brown.  We had several cows when we left the Ailmore place, along with the horses dad used for plowing. We also had Star, the Shetland from hell that no one could ride.  You would have thought he was a sweetheart if you just looked at him, but try to get on his back and that was not happening.  He is the one that left the scar on my brothers face.  But back to the cow.

 The reason I am telling you about Bossy is because that cow knew how to give milk.  But the best part of the milk was the cream.  We had a separator which separated the milk from the cream (hence the name separator).  We would toast a piece of bread and then put cream on it and sprinkle it with cinnamon and sugar and put it under the broiler for just a few seconds.  That was heaven!  The cream was so thick it stayed standing on the toast.  I go to the store now and buy "heavy whipping cream" and it pours out of the carton.  I have not even seen cream like we used to eat.

The same cream was churned into butter.  The butter was bright yellow when it was rinsed and put in the refrigerator.  It was also very delicious.  After Bossy died in cowbirth, (the baby also died) we were without a cow and thus without butter.  The neighbor girls lived with their father right next door.  Their mother had passed many years before and he raised the girls  alone.  They also had a cow and made butter.  With no cow we had to resort to eating margarine.  Now in those days margarine was white.  I think it was actually lard, but it came with a little yellow dye button that you could work into the white mass so it looked like butter.  We used to trade margarine for butter because the neighbor girls did not like butter. 

Another thing was they made doughnuts every Saturday morning.  Their father was diabetic, but he sure liked those doughnuts and he thought if he only ate them once a week he would be alright.  Another daughter came from Plevna to visit them every Sunday so they managed to eat all the doughnuts.  None for me!

One time mother had fried up a bunch of small carp that she had seined and Dorothy got a bone caught in her throat.  Mother had picked the meat off, but apparently missed a small bone.  As she was choking one of us ran next door and told Mr. Reinke.  He had experience at such things, you know.  He grabbed a piece of bread from the cupboard (in case we didn't have any and of course we didn't).  He made Dorothy eat the bread, which dislodged the bone and sent it into her stomach where the acids would dissolve it.  He was a hero!

Mostly Mr. Reinke just did handy man work around town and then did his chores when he came home.  We could here him singing songs in German while he did his chores.  Since he sang in German, my dad was sure he was a Nazi, but we never knew that for sure.  I just thought he was a very nice man to save my sisters life. 

I was always envious of their "outhouse" because it had a concrete floor and a lid on the potty part.  Ours had a floor that was pretty well shot and a bench with 2 holes.  I never understood that part, because we never went in there with anyone.  I just could not picture that!  Thiers also had a door and a latch from the inside for privacy.  Ours had a door at one time, but not by the time we inherited it.

The point of this entry when I started it was about cream.  The point I wanted to make was, back in those days we ate thick cream.  We used real butter.  We ate potatoes, and bacon, and gravy and we were all skinny.  When I married my first husband I stood 5'1" and weighed 92 pounds.  I am convinced that all the additives in our food are still in our bodies.  I have given up trying to read the ingredient list on anything I pull off the shelf or out of the freezer.

And I am sure I will never live long enough to ever be able to toast a piece of bread and pile cream on it with cinnamon and sugar.  Sure would like to see old Bossy again, but those days are long gone.  I would not eat a Carp now if I was starving.  I am beginning to look forward to the day when I can once more run barefooted down Strong Street see all my family and friends.  Seems like that list gets
shorter every day.

(After thought) I do need to tell you, that when the separator quit working at one point and mother strained the milk it was not the same.  She would leave it set and the cream would raise to the top.  I could not stand the bits of cream that were floating in the milk  to touch my lips.  I would try to pick them all out with my finger, but it was an exercise in futility.  I could eat straight cream, but not swallow a fleck.  I was so happy when we had to buy milk from town because it was homogenized.

The animals who moved with us.

Right out the back door and across the drive was a low shed.  The roof was rotten so nothing was kept in there.  Well the old cow made that her home.  She was pregnant and due at anytime when we moved in.  Seemed like we had not been there very long when she went into labor.  Things were not going well at all and the neighbor came to help.  Now, I swear this part is true.  It was decided she had "milk fever" and something had to be done.  Since there was no vet around for miles and had thier been one we would not have been able to afford him, another neighbor was brought in to advise.  His professional opinion, and he had one since he had already lost a cow to this, was that her tail must be cut open lengthwise and black pepper sprinkled in there and then taped back up.  Of course we were not allowed to watch such a gruesome sight, and I for one was very glad of that!  They decided as long as they were working on that end anyway, they might as well reach up in there and turn the calf because surely it was stuck.  I do not know to whom that task fell and I was once more glad that we were not allowed in the yard.
The calf finally made it out and was placed in the granary since it was a very sturdy place and the calf would stay dry.  Of course the cow died.  Do not ask if we butchered it and ate it, because I have no recollection of that, but I am sure if we had that much meat I would have remembered that.  I am sure she went to the glue factory.
I loved that little calf and named him Dennis.  Dennis was black as coal and had the biggest brown eyes.  I spent all my time with him trying to get him to eat so he would grow big.  Of course in a perfect world, that would have happened and he would have made us lots of money and been my friend forever, but we are in my world now.  Dennis lived three days and it broke my heart when I came home from school and found his lifeless body.  All these years later I still remember him.
Near the granary was the chicken pen.  I recall laying on my stomach and watching a chicken lay an egg.  Ever see that?  Fascinating!  The chickens were penned at night, but allowed to run free during the day.  They laid all thier eggs in the hen house so that was good.
My father also had horses.  They were work horses and he was one of the last farmers to give up the horses as work animals.  I remember the last "matched pair" he ever bought.  They were "Strawberry Roans" as I recall and I am sure that was thier color and not the breed.  They were big and a pinkish blonde color.  I remember dad braiding thier blonde tails and pulling them up into a "bob."
 As time passed the horses got older and died.  Star, the shetland pony, was the first to go.  Dead horse always was an exciting time at our house.  The "dead animal wagon"  was called and would come by hopefully before the horse began to "bloat".  The truck would back up close to the fence and the man would pull out the winch which was wrapped around the hapless animals neck.  Then he would start the winch and the animal was drug across whatever field it was in and winched up into the back of the truck.  Last time I saw old Star three of his feet were poking up over the side.
Now I know you are thinking how gruesome I am, but you must realize that back at that point in my life, it was reality.  Cold and stark reality, and there was no sugar coating any of it.  Death came to what ever and whomever and we lived with it.  We learned early on how to kill a rabbit or chicken and dress it out for dinner.  We also learned not to make pets out of our food.  That just made it harder to swallow around that lump  in our throat.
Jake's jobs were to chop wood and pump the horse tank full of water.  I think us little girl's job was to stay out of trouble.  There was a family at the end of street that watched the two little girls, Mary and Dorothy.  Donna sometimes went there because her and Mary were really tight.  Some times I liked to go there and play in thier dirt.  They had a son and daughter still at home. The daughter was a  year older then me, but I always thought her strange.  She collected comic books and baseball cards.  the son was Jake's age.  He delivered the newpaper which came out once a week.  The Nickerson Argosy, as I recall.  His name was Ralph, but we called him Hibbly.  Do not ask me why because I have no idea.  I do not think we called anyone by thier real name back then.
So the scene is fairly well set for my growing up years.  Today I am in the present and we have a yard sale at the church so I better get to it!

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.


 

Today is October 28.

And this is my brother Jake when he was in about the eighth grade.  See that scar on his cheek?  Do you know how he got that?  I remember.  We were living on the Stroh place on the edge of town.  Lot of memories there.  Donna stuck her finger in a turtles mouth and it was the general consensus that they could cut the head off, but the turtle would not release her finger until the sun went down.  Seemed nothing ever stopped until the sun went down.  Kill a snake and it would wiggle until the sun went down.  And then when the sun did finally go down, the boogie man would come out and get us if we were not very, very good!
I was going to write about Jake, but memories of that period are very fresh today, so I am just going to remember them.
The year must have been 1947.  Sister Dorothy was born while we lived on the Stroh place.  Mom laid in bed for 10 days and missed harvest.  Dad was not happy about that, but 10 days was how long one laid in bed after giving birth.  At that time Josphine was in charge of us while mother helped with the farming.   That would have made her 12 years old at the time.  About right.
Mother always went to "Club" once a month.  I do not know what "Club" was, but she drug us along and we all had to set in a row up against a wall with all the other little kids until club was over.  And we had to stay clean.  That was not hard to do unless there was a mud hole on the way to club, where ever it was.  I know it was close because we walked.
The chicken house was where all the action was.  Something was always getting in and stealing a chicken.  Once dad thought it was a fox, but laid a trap and found out it was a weasel.  No way to keep a weasel out of the hen house. 
Once while we were setting in the back yard, the old yellow tom cat came up with a baby chicken in his mouth.  Mother immediately sent Jake and the tom cat into the forest.  Jake carried a hatchet and was under the strict orders that the tom cat must never be seen again.  Shortly after that mother could not find her potato peeler. It seemed I recalled Jake taking that to the forest and told mother so.  She said I was a trouble maker.
The best part of the whole day was when we brought the cow up.  See, we had a milk cow and the grass was very green along the road that ran in front of the house.  So each morning Jake would take her out and stake her along the road.  He went several times and moved her, but when it was milking time, I went with him to bring her up to the barn to be milked.  She was very slow, but if we grabbed her tail she would run.  Sometimes we did that.  More fun than you can imagine, but sure made milking her hard because she was upset and would not release her load!
Dad had three sons before he married mother.  They had been placed in an orphange when his first wife died, as I recall.  I remember when Gene Barthololmew, the oldest got out of the Army and came for a visit.  I do not remember Richard or Earl coming during that period, but they had been adopted and had thier own family.  I did meet them in later years.  Richard Nichols and Earl Siefert.
One memory that is so vivid it hurts of that period is our hair care.  When we needed a hair cut, mother would set us on a box on a chair, place a bowl over our head and cut our hair to that length.  Then she trimmed our bangs.  Wish I could find one of those pictures! But the worst part was the washing of the hair.  We did not have running water, hence no hot water.  What we did have was a pitcher pump that pumped water by raising and lowering the handle.  When hair needed washed mother would grab the kid that was next in line which in this case was me and tuck me under her arm.  Josephine would pump the handle up and down and water would pour forth and mother would jam my head under the water, the apply soap which I am sure was lye soap and work it into my poor scalp.  Then back under the pump I went and my God that water was cold!    Since I was only 6 years old at the time my memory of a lot of things is not real clear, but on that one thing I am sure.  Bath time was once a week and it occured in a galvanized tub.  Littlest kid got the first bath and the reasoning behind that was that the younger they were, the cleaner they were.  Josephine always got the last one and by that time there was a soap scum floating on the top and bath had a whole new meaning.  To this day I stand under the shower with the water as hot as I can stand it.
I remember the old cow dying and we had to move her body to the pasture because there was some sort of disease and the only way to get rid of it was to burn and bury the carcass.  Must have been anthrax, since I think that occured about that time.  Not sure she had it, but we did it anyway.
That was also the first time I was ever allowed to go to the store.  I felt so big walking that mile to Flemings grocery with my hanky in my hand and the money for the loaf of bread tied safely in the corner.  I remember Mr. Fleming gave me a piece of candy because I did such a good job.  I recall that it was very scary being alone out in the big world when I was 6 years old.  But I look back on that simple life and it breaks my heart that our kids today will never know the simple joy of a mud puddle, a dying turtle, or a trip down the dirt road to bring the cow up!

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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