Growing up on the Stroh place.

According to records in my geneagloy collection and stories handed down, my dad had gone to work as a hired hand for Josie Haas, a widow woman.  My mother had eloped and gone to Chicago with a man named Jack Walden, who was rumored to be a criminal who worked for the "mob".  She was 19 years old at the time.  She escaped in the dark of night and came home to grandma.  Or so the story goes.  

At that time Reuben Bartholomew was the handyman for Josie Haas.  Christine Haas was her daughter.  Christine and Reuben soon fell in love and married.  What followed is history.

 Of course, I was not born yet when that happened, so I can only surmise!  My first memories are of life on the Stroh place outside of Nickerson before I started school.  By coordinating my memories to what I recall I can figure out, I must have been about 6 years old when we left there and moved across town to the Ailmore place.

The big book that shows my genealogy is screwed up and shows my sister Mary married Tom Shea when she was 2 days old.  So I am going to forgo  dates and jump right into my memories.  According to the birth dates that I am sure are correct, I was six years old when Dorothy was born.  I remember momma bringing her home and she was crying all the time.  Harvest was about a week away and when it came time to drive the truck that hauled the wheat to the silo in town, Dorothy went with momma.  She was nursing and there was not much she could do, but take her. 

So the dynamics of the home at that point in time were these:  

Josephine, my half sister from mom's first marriage was 12 years old.

Jake was 10.

I was 6.

Donna was 4.

Mary was 2.

And Dorothy was new.

I did not like her because Momma always babied her.  Of course, she was a baby, but that was not taken into consideration.  My dad worked as a farm hand for a man who owned bottom land named John Britain.  We did not know him very well., but sometimes Dad would take Jake and I to work with him.  There was a slough that ran through the farm and sometimes it would have water flowing through it.  The water fed through to the Arkansas River which was next to the land.  If Jake had been lucky in his foraging he would have enough scraps of wood to build me a boat of sorts to float in the slough.  If not we just poked around to find crawdads.

I recall one time when Donna who must have been about 3 years old at the time poked her finger at a turtle, which latched right on and would not let go.  It was rumored that it would let go when the sun went down.  Donna screamed he head off until John Britain took his pocket knife and severed its head from its neck.  It let go then and I do not think Donna ever did that again.

As I recall, momma had geese and one time John Britain and dad snuck a goose egg into the chicken house and when John's wife found it, she was very excited!  "Oh look at the size of this egg my chicken laid!"  Not sure if anyone ever told her!

I started school on the Stroh place and one time it snowed very deep and Jake Stroh brought his horse to the school so he could bring us kids home to momma.  People used to help people like that.  It was called "helping your neighbor".  It must have been one of the memories that makes me help people today.  It was just "doing the right thing."  Helping your neighbor.

We need more of that today.  We need more kids playing with crawdads in a slough.  We need more walks in the woods and more helping each other and less television time.  I guess even televisions are going by the wayside and being replaced with computers, cell phones and the internet.

I may have outlived my usefulness!

Peace!

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!