Oh, hey! Did I see what I thought I saw?

Today I took the day off, sort of anyway, and a friend and I went to Florence.  For my out of state friends and family, Florence is a little town west of here and sort of on the edge of the mountains.  It is a 25 minute drive up there and since my son and his partner live there, it is a trip I make fairly regularly.  Nancy and I found the farmers market in the park and picked up some green stuff.  Then we walked up Main Street and toured several antique shops.  She picked up some plates she was looking for to finish her kitchen.  Florence has more antiques per square foot then anywhere in the world I think.

Also has some things that are just eye catching!

And fun to look at!

The Rose Bud Cafe proved to be a very good choice for breakfast.

A farewell look up the street.

Since I had to be back in Pueblo before 2:00 we loaded Amanda in the car so we could drop her off at her house.  And then I beheld a sight that was not something I was used to seeing!  What appeared to be a man walking his dogs proved to be much more than that.  It was a man walking his dogs alright, but only 2 of them were dogs!  One of the dogs was a cat!   

And a very well behaved cat it was.  I stopped my little Focus right there in the middle of the street, because I am here to tell you, I thought I had gotten some bad weed!  Cats are just way to independent to be led around on a string.  This is the exception.

So say hello to J Roberts and his dogs Taylor and Lucy.  And this, my friends, is 

Mr. Kitty!

So I bid a fond adieu to Mr. J. Roberts and his little family of Florence, Colorado.  You made my day.  Thank you so much and hope to see you the next trip!

The dining room table.

This is my dining room table.  This is not how it usually looks.  It is usually piled high with mail, groceries, something I placed there that needs to go some where else, a chain saw that needs sharpened, etc.  Early in life I learned that the table was the hub of the home, the one place the family gathered every day.  We ate all our meals there.  We did our home work there.  Some times we just sat there and talked, or listened.  The one in Nickerson had a kerosene (might have been coal oil) lamp in the center.  (A lamp went in the center of the table as opposed to a lantern which hung on a nail by the back door and was used to light our way to the outhouse. )  We could set there and do our homework and watch momma iron.

This was taken back in July of 2013 (  read that blog here ) when I had a cook out for the British Motorcycle club that Sherman had helped start  in 1986.  It was the one year anniversary of his passing and he has now been gone two years.  Miss you, Sherman!  But I digress.

This is a lunch I threw together for Sister Nancy, Sister Barbara, Faye Gallegos, Maxine Hale, and Nancy Williams, just because they are friends with a lot in common.  Read that blog here.  And a good time was had by all.  Take a look under the table and tell me what you see.  Oh, Elvira!

See her!  Isn't she cute?

If this table could talk!  In my mind I see Kenny reading the paper.  He always sat with his back to the door. I remember when we first moved to this house back in 1982.  We were not married at the time and we had a Formica table and a puppy named Chili Dog.  Chili ate the rung off one of the chairs which made things pretty tacky.  A year after we moved in we eloped.  It was -15 degrees and two days before Christmas.  When we arrived home after the ceremony which was held in a senior citizen high rise in Canon with 2 witnesses we did not know, we found a bottle of cheap wine on the table.  Thanks, Gene Baugh!

Back on track here.  The first purchase we made when money was available was this table.  We wanted an oak table with claw feet so that is what we bought.  We bought chairs that were oak and finished them to match the table.  If this table could talk!  It is definitely the center of my world.  It saw the kids all raised and gone and it saw grand kids and great grand kids come to visit and one get adopted!  He holds the past, the present, and the future, just like the one back home when I was a kid.  In my mind this table is my life in a nutshell.  

It is always a shock to me when I go into some one's home and they do not have a table.  I remember the first time I went into one of my kids homes and there was not a table. 

 "Where do you eat?"  

"We set on the couch." 

And it goes without saying, "We watch television and have no idea what we ate."  

I often wonder how one carries on a meaningful conversation while the television is blaring and one is balancing a plate on their knees.  I think all of my kids now have tables and chairs.  They also have the mate that came with the table!  

I do not remember if the table of my childhood had matching chairs.  I don't think so.  I do know we were not allowed to tip the chair back.  That was just a no-no from forever.  Grandma had a claw foot oak table.  Some times I just set and think back how simple life was in those days.  We always had "Sunday Dinner".  It was a chisled in stone thing.  We would have pot roast or fried chicken.  Sometimes Jake shot a bunny and that was special.  The rest of the week we pretty well foraged, but Sunday Dinner and the claw footed oak table were things we could put money on as lasting forever.

I do not know where my childhood table ended its term of service, nor do I have any idea where mine will go when I no longer have use for it.  I am hoping that one of the kids will want it because it brings back the memories that mine brings back.  And I hope wherever it goes, that it keeps the cigarette burn on it that my Kenny left for me.

Finishing up my grade school years.

I remember little about my grade school years and whether that is by choice or chance, I know not.  Every year we had a class picture made and every year I was on the end of the front row because we were grouped according to height and I was pretty much the runt of the litter, so to speak.  I remember we had to walk to a seperate building for music class.  Miss Barkiss was the teacher and she later married David Houston, who was the son of the Principal at Nickerson Grade School. I do know I could not hit a note if my life depended on it.  I still remember her making me stand in front of the class and how hard I tried to hit middle "c" what ever the hell that was.  I don't think I have hit it yet, though I do love to caterwaul the country music I grew up listening to on the radio.  When it was time for the annual music program, Miss Barkiss gave me the job of announcer since I could not sing, but my voice carried and she needed some one whose voice carried.  I loved that.  I could stay behind the curtain with my microphone and no one could see me.
Most of the school work I considered stupid and did not bother doing it.  Poor mother!  I remember  a few of the kids I went to school with, but really don't care what became of them, although I do wish them well.  Nancy Cuthberson who's dad was in constuction and they had 2 Great Pyrennes dogs that I was terrified would step over the fence and eat me.  Martha Knobloch was a pianist and we were taken to her recital which was held at her home and we had to dress up and we were most uncomfortable, but for years after I would point at her house and tell whoever I was with that I had been inside that home and it was beautiful!  Barbara Hawk was the daughter of the dentist and my best friend.  Mother cleaned house for Mrs. Hawk and sewed for them.  I remember once I was over there and Mr Hawk made us an ice cream with a cherry on top and mine fell off and I cried like a baby, so he gave me another one.  There was Joan Moore, Beth McGonigle, Linda Schlatter, Gary Battey, Earl Kelly, David Sjoborg who's older brother was at college and died in a car wreck.  Irene Rienke, Evelyn Piper, Loren McQueen, Kenny Fenton, Ronnie Beck, and names that completely elude me.
In 8th grade 2 new boys arrived on the scene.  Billy Newman and Steve Dorrell were from the big city of Hutchinson.  The were cousins.  I had no idea what cool was, but one look at Steve and I knew the definition of cool, super cool, and coolest thing in the world.
Remember Fonzie?   The Fonz?  Steve exuded cool and never let on that he even knew us little girls were batting our heads against a stone wall.  He wore blue jeans with the belt loops cut off so they rode down his hips just a tiny bit.  He wore a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up exactly one and a half turns.  And the collar up in the back, but laying flat in the front.  His black hair was combed into a duck tail and every hair was held in place with axle grease.  Billy was just there, but when Steve walked in the room he arrived and when he left, he sucked the air out of the room.  He was skinny, giving him the lean and hungry look  He was my first honest to goodness crush, and bless his heart, he had eyes only for himself.
I do not remember graduating from grade school.  I don't think it was a big deal back then.  I just remember reading on my report card that Louella Bartholomew was promoted to grade 9.  That was it. Grade school was behind me.  Off to the big High School on the other end of Main Street.  But, alas, before that could happen my life took a bit of a turn and I was sent to Plevna, Kansas to take care of grandma Haas and Great Grandma Hatfield, thus seperating me from classmates I had gone to school with for 8 years.
Stay tuned.

The church on the corner.

When I was in the 5th grade, Miss Swenson the teacher, decided I had a brillant future as a poet.  She asked mother's permission to submit some of my work to Jack and Jill magazine.  I could write reams back in those days, unless some one wanted me to, and then I was blank.  As I recall I did manage to give her something and she mailed it off to the magazine, but I never heard any more about it.  Childish dreams dashed in the forgotten world of adults.  Probably her fault I am screwed up today!
Seventh grade proved to be very traumatic for us kids.  Mother was diagnosed with cancer and was put in the hospital and operated on immediately.  By this time Josephine was already married and so we were sort of left in the lurch with no one to take care of us except dad.  Now what that man knew about taking care of kids was exactly nothing.  He assumed on some level that since Mother was not there, we  would not need to eat.  Neighbors took pity on us and we did not starve.  You can not tell by looking at me today that I ever missed a meal!
When Mother came home, she was "bedfast" which meant the little bed in the front room was where she spent her days.  That way she could look out.  As I recall there was not a whole lot to see out there, but she was in a prime place to see it if it were to be seen.  She had received lots of cards while in the hospital so she spent time reading those, over and over again.
The ladies at the First Christian Church on the corner of Main Street and across the street from the school came to call and decided that since school would be starting soon, they needed to sew us girls new dresses for school.  We were measured and measured again to make sure the first measurements were correct.  Then the day came that they met for the "sewing bee".  I was so excited I could hardly contain myself.  I was going to have a new dress!  This would be a fancy dress made just for me and it would not have the words "Gooch's Best" any where on it.  At least I hoped not.  Dad was beside himself because those old biddies were sticking thier noses in our business.  They thought he could not take care of his family.  The fact that they were right was entirely beside the point.  I was going to have a new dress.
The day came when they brought the dresses and we tried them on so they could see how they looked and if they fit properly.  To my amazement I recieved 2 dresses.  I could hardly contain myself.  I could hardly wait for the first day of school.  It did finally come.  To this day I can not remember what color my dresses were or what they looked like.  Seems like one of them had stripes and one had flowers, but you could not prove it by me.  Mother cautioned us not to be "putting on airs" because we had new clothes.  I don't think I did, but nonetheless, my day was shattered when a boy in my class said, "Oh, ain't you something in your new clothes?  My mama said the church ladies made them because your momma is dying and can't take care of you.  Says you are poor as church mice."  Well, that pretty much did it for the happiest day of my life.  Needless to say, Mama wasn't dying, but it made for a long day.
Got into a lot of trouble that year.  Got sent to the office for saying Loren McQueen had cooties.  What ever cooties were.  I only said it because some body else told me that.  Seems like that was also the year Mrs. Wells had her baby in the bathroom in the middle of the night.  I sure wished we had an indoor bathroom, but that would not come for many years.  Oh, and I am here to tell you, an outside privy certainly leaves a lot to be desired.  I am amazed to this day that my digestive tract ever worked, between worrying about falling through the hole and living in mortal terror that a black widow spider would bite me on my tender tush!  And then there was that trip out in the middle of the night and having to worry about mountain lions and gypsy's and God only knew what else.  How did I manage to survive in that world?
Seventh grade ended with a bang.  The last day of school was always a picnic.  The band played and the kids ran around and it was so much fun.  Well, sort of.  That was the year the band was playing and a bird flew over and did a number on Gay Withrow's hat as she played whatever insturment she played.  Sure sucked to be her!
But the best thing about the whole year was that since the ladies made us clothes, mother felt obligated to attend church.  Thus began my early religious training.  I wanted to know all about this man named Jesus.  I was crushed that this man had died on the cross.  If I had only known him my life would have been perfect, but now he was dead and I would never know him.  I did finally get it straight, he had died for me, so I could have life everlasting.  That is something I never forgot.
I joined youth group.  I always memorized more verses than anyone else.  I loved that church and I loved the minister, Rush Barnett and his lovely wife, Genevive.  I wanted to be a missionary and go to Africa.  He talked to me about it and the plans were made.  Many hours were spent in there home and it was there that I was happiest.  And then the inevitable happened.  Rush J Barnett was transferred to another church.  I don't remember who took his place, but it was a man who did not much like kids and I was a kid.  We still went to that church, but the youth group ceased to be.  When we quit going, no one really seemed to care.

Back to the good old days where I am safe!

I like it back here when I was still at home and mom and dad were the adults.  Mostly mom.  Dad hung out in the pool hall every day.  This was a place where the old men stopped in to play dominoes and shoot the breeze.  I think they might have sold beer there because us kids were not allowed to go in the place unless it was an emergency and there better be blood involved and it better be squirting. And there must have been a pool table or why else would it be called a "pool hall"?
He was paid a stipend by the man who owned it and he was also allowed to drink coffee or something.  Dad had given up drinking by the time we left the Ailmore place.  Something about alcohol poisoning, some body's husband and God only knew what else.  Oh, he still had the occasional "hot toddy"  which was made with corn liquor, sugar and hot water, but that was only for his cold which he had a lot of colds back then.
On one side of the "pool hall" was the city jail.  It was a small concrete structure about 10' x 10'.  I understand there was a cot in there and bars to keep the miscreant on that side of the room.  I am not sure anyone was every put in there, but I heard stories.  If you spit on the sidewalk, you would go to jail.  If you said a cuss word where a lady could hear you, you went to jail.  (Now I do not know just what yard stick was used to decide who was a lady and who wasn't, but I heard plenty of cuss words and no one was ever arrested on my behalf!)  If you were falling down drunk and making lots of noise, off to the hoosegow with you!  Mostly I just remember the "peace officer"  sitting on a chair in front of the jail some times.  Not very often and I do not remember his name, but he was skinny.
A side story here and then back to Main Street.  Up the street from us lived Jake Smith, who was a retired peace officer.  He showed us the badge and it said "Jake Smith, peace officer."  He also showed us a gun.  It was a pistol and had a very long barrel.  I could not sleep for many nights after that because it was very scary to think that a gun with real bullets was on the same street where I lived.  Jake Smith liked to sit in his front yard on a wooden chair which was leaned back against a tree.  He fell asleep most afternoons and Jake and one of his buddies took a rope and tied him to the tree while he was asleep.  He could be heard cussing away when he woke up to his dilemma!  He never figured out just who was responsible, but he had a pretty good idea.  Back to Main Street.
On the other side of the pool hall was Coringtons Dry Good.  Might have been Woringtons, I am no longer sure.  One wall was bolts of fabrics and things needed to sew.  There were dishes, pots and pans, linens, clothes, coats, tea towels, shoes, tools, nails,and on and on. Mrs. Corington ran the store and she was a buxom lady who never had a hair out of place.  She used to watch us with her arms folded across her chest and I always had the feeling that if I touched anything she would rap my knuckles with a steel rod that she had hidden some place on her person.  I remember how proud I was when I finally had $4.00 to buy a pair of boots that were in the window for years.  They had fur around the top.  These were real boots and not  galoshes.  Galoshes were black and had buckles.  These just slid on my feet over my shoes.
The library was on the corner.  There were many shelves of books and that was heaven for me.  Reading was my escape back then.  I remember how proud I was when I found a book titled Bartholomew Cubbins and the 100 Hats.  Or something along that line.  There were books with pictures albiet black and white mostly, but still pictures!  National Geographic had naked women in it sometimes, but we were not allowed to check those out.  As I recall, that is where I first found Laura Ingalls Wilder and the Little House on the Prairie series.  I read all the books she wrote and worshipped her, well right up until the series came on tv and for some reason I could not stand the innocent little wretch who played Laura in the series.  Forgot her name.
My Antonia by Willa Cather was another, but that was a tad bit racy for my young mind and I am not sure the librarian even let me check that out.  Back in those days the librarian was always an old maid and she stayed in the back with a curtain for a door.  Not sure she lived there, but if she did I am sure she lived alone.  They were also called "spinsters".  I did not want to be a spinster, I was sure of that!
On the corner going towards the school was the grocery store and drug store.  Drug store had a soda fountain and if we had a few extra cents we could get a cherry coke or a vanilla phosphate, whatever that was.  Ingalls candy store and school supplies as on the same side of the street, but a block up. They had a candy counter and a counter where you could get a cold drink or ice cream.  The cold drink was always in a bottle and ice cream was in a bowl.  Mother always took me there after a trip to the doctor.  I was very puny when I was a little girl.  Tonsils were my problem.
Well, I have to go to the Springs today, so I need to get around.  Much as I hate to leave Main Street, I must.  Rest assured I will be back!

We also serve who only sit and wait. A tribute to my children.

Anyone remember this picture?  I sure do.  That was 40+ years ago when I was a single mother raising 5 kids.  No problem.  A piece of cake.  Go to work, come home, take care of the kids, cook clean, homework, fishing on the weekends and maybe church on Sunday.  I was young and the world was before me.  I never dreamed for one moment that 40 years later I would be second guessing the job I did shaping these little minds and preparing them for the world ahead.  If I had thought of that angle I would have ran down the road screaming.  But I did not.  I simply went about the every day tedium of life and that was that.

I do not have a picture of my ex-husband, the father of this brood, but suffice it to say he was a drop dead gorgeous Adonis, smart, witty, generous to a fault, but alas, we both had our faults and so a divorce was inevitable.  While I was tending to life in Hutchinson, Kansas, he set up his empire in Western Kansas.  We shared the kids as we chose to without benefit of the courts system.  Sometimes they were with me, sometimes with him.   The point being, they reached adulthood and began making their own decisions.  Far be it from me to say I approved of some of those decisions or even that I understood where they were coming from when they announced them to me, but nonetheless, they were in charge of their lives.  The older girls were living with their father when I moved to Colorado, but I do drone on, don't I.  That is all water under the bridge.

 Earl Seeger passed  at 52 years of age.  That was very young.  The girls were all married by that time and had kids of their own.  Sam was off in the world slaying dragons.  And so our lives drifted until very recently.  Last May 10, Dona Maries's  son Joe was scheduled to graduate the next day, Mother's Day.  He went to see a friend, rolled his car and has been in a coma since. 

And now I have occasion to know exactly what my kids have become from their life lessons.  Dona has been at his side since the accident.  She has never wavered as she set by his bedside waiting for him to wake up.  Patty and her girls are with her most of the time.  Debbie and her husband visit regularly.  There are no negative thoughts.  God will take care of us through this, whatever this may be.  Sam, ever my rock, has explained that this will be a very long process and has made a budget and is on top what must happen through the process.  Sue and I set home and wait for updates.  We all know what we are capable of doing and we do it the best we can.

But the most amazing part is the love that binds this family together has never been more clear or stronger.  Life tends to let us drift apart, but upsets pull us back together.  Is that how it should be?  I do not know.  I always dreamed of a touchy feely relationship, but this seems much better.  We are all there for each other and we each know it.  I strongly suspect that it has always been that way.  Mother always said "You can choose your friends, but you are stuck with your family."  I sometimes wonder if she was being sarcastic when she said that!   

So here is Dona Marie with Joey and the therapist.  Joey had been sitting in the chair for several hours and decided he wanted to stand up.  The therapist told him he could not do that, but Joey with the Seeger/Bartholomew blood in his veins was clear about what would happen.  And it did.  Not once, not twice, but several times.  Then they put him into bed and he went fast asleep.  Dona, the middle child, who neither leads nor follows, is a bulwark for her son.  After 3 1/2 weeks in a coma, he is now making rapid strides forward.  I just got off the phone with Patty and Joey is very agitated and wants out of the bed.  The best news is that he is angry.  If he is angry, that is an honest emotion.  That is good news. 

And here is the family you saw at the beginning of this blog. I have added one more child since the first  picture was taken.  Bret is  22 years old and he seems to have the same good heart that the other 5 have.  So, to make a long story short, I am thinking that when I am old and grasping at that slender little silver thread called life, that is a pretty good bunch to have on my side and I am very happy to call them my children.  And I mean each and every one of them in their own unique way. I love each one with my whole heart and I love each one in a special way.  And I think they love me.  Or at least I hope so!

Danny was a horse and baby mice hid in the vacuum cleaner.and a death in the family.

Our floors in the house were wood covered with linoleum so I never did figure out why we had a vacuum cleaner or where it came from.  I do recall that Mother kept it in the corner of her bedroom.  One day and God only knows why, she decided to pull it out and look inside the bag.  Ah!  Mother's  have a way of knowing things that mere mortals do not!  Inside the bag was 7 tiny, pink, hairless mice! She was aghast!  We gathered around and thought they were very cute and they would make lovely pets since we had no dog and Dad never let us have a cat.  This, however, was fuel for the argument that we needed a cat.  If we had a cat the mice would not be ensconced in the vacuum cleaner bag.
(Brief aside here.  We did eventually get a cat, which could not just content her/himself with mice and would eat Mother's Canary while home alone with me!)
But in the meantime we were faced with the 7 tiny mice and no cat.  Mother put them in a can and told us to go out to the front side walk and put the mice down and mash them with a brick.  Now, I hear your intakes of breathe that a mother would direct her young children to do this, but you must remember the times we grew up in.  Mice carried all kinds of diseases and something had to be done with them.  We were given the option of filling a bucket of water and drowning them.  Well, you know what good little kids we were and always did as our parents said.  This time we deviated from our chore by going instead to one of the empty buildings and made a nice nest for our new pets.  When mother asked if we had killed them, we of course lied.  Sadly when we went back to check on the mice several days later the nest was empty.  I think those things grow really fast and they moved on before we changed our minds.
Josphine was the older sister.  She had been born to my Mother and her first husband so was actually my half sister.  I found this all out later in life because it was never discussed at home.  Mom and dad had 6 kids and that was how it was.  We knew Dad had been married before and had 5 kids with his first wife.  Two of the kids, Daisy and Willie (?) had died of sand pneumonia when they were very young.  His wife had also died and he had placed the three boys in an orphanage.  Richard and Earl were adopted, but Gene was not.  What this has to do with anything completely escapes me at the moment!
When we lived on the Stroh place Dad had brought that Shetland pony home for us kids and after he kicked Jake in the head we were all afraid of him.  But Josephine was not.  She would throw a saddle on him and ride away.  She was probably 13 at the time.
Dad got a chance to pick up a brown saddle horse for next to nothing, so he brought Danny home for Josephine.  No one could ride that horse but Josephine.  Well, not that I wanted to any way.  See, my dad was in the  Army during World War I and served in the Calvary part.  He had a big hole in the bicep of his right arm.  He was bitten by a horse and if you think I wanted to be bit by a horse you are nuttier than a fruit cake!  As long as the horses stayed on the other side of the fence, I was good.  Josephine got married when she was 15 and moved with her husband to a house in the country.  She took Danny with her since that was her horse.  I do not think she rode much because she right away had a baby.  I do not know what ever happened to Danny.  I am sure when she and Charles moved into town that he went to one of the neighboring farms.  I did go stay with them sometimes and it seemed that Danny was always getting out of his fence and going visiting so some one always had to go catch him and bring him back.  They may have just quit bringing him back.
Josephine and Charles had a little girl they named Mary.  When I stayed there it was my job to take care of her.  Charles was a "rough neck" which meant he worked in the oil fields. Seems the reason they moved back into town was that Josephine was expecting another baby.  Back in those days things like having of the babies was not discussed.  I knew she was fatter than I thought she should be but did not know the reason.  They moved into a house about 5 blocks from the Strong Street house.  It was located on a corner just past the Baptist Church.  The parsonage for the Baptist Church was on the other side of the church.  I must have been about 15 at the time and so unwise to the ways of the world and where babies came from that I might have been called "stupid".   I remembered Dorothy being born while we were on the Stroh place and how I hated her because Mother had to stay in bed for 10 whole days and take care of the screaming baby.
Anyway, one day I was sent to Josephine's because Charles had to go to work and Josephine did not feel very good and I would need to take care of Mary while Josephine stayed in bed.  To make a long story short, she was in labor at 6 months!  She went to the bathroom a lot and kept crying and I just wanted to go home!  When she announced "The baby is coming!  Do something!  Hurry!"  I did the only thing I knew what to do and that was run to the parsonage and blurt out to the minister what was happening.  He called the grocery store and told his wife, who was a nurse, to get home quick.  It was very clear that he was not going to stay with Josephine and I would have to go back because Mary was there.  I lived 16 lifetimes standing by the front door with Mary waiting for the ministers wife.  When she pulled up outside I grabbed Mary and ran to my house where there was no crying, screaming sister.  
As soon as I blurted out to my mother what was happening she headed to Josephine's.
To make a long story short, the baby was born dead.  For years I lived with the guilt of what I should have done, but in the end there was nothing anyone could have done.  We had the funeral in the front room of thier home.  The funeral home guy brought the baby over in his car with the tiny coffin placed on the back seat.  Baby Boy Burch lay swaddled in a blue blanket with a tiny hand holding the blanket in place.  He looked like he was just sleeping.  That was so sad.
That story always upsets me so that is the end of the writing for today.

My idea of farming on the Mesa!

This is my rototiller.  It is a Yard Man and Kenny bought it for me many, many years ago.  He has been gone over 11 years, so you figure it was probably 13 years ago.  We usually bought our tillers and such used and then tried to make them run.  Never had much luck with that, so first time we had an extra $700.00 we went to Big R and came home with this.  It has reverse and starts and I was in heaven.  Our first decision was that no one could borrow it.  Something about having them returned with the choke wired open with a bread tie that just made us want to not loan anything out to anyone.  I have not even changed the spark plug.  Put a little Stabil in the gas tank the end of the season and I am good to go.  Oh, I have to dig vines, plastic bags and an occasional length of wire out of the tines, but that is normal in this country.

This is the lawn mower.  Unfortunately this is not the one he left me with because I loaned that one out a couple times.  No one likes to clean the filter and it came back with wobbly wheels, so this is what I have now.  And it is also treated to Stabil and runs pretty good, but nothing like that tiller.  

I had a high wheel weed whacker, but I loaned that to my son and you know the possession is 9 points of the law theory?  Finally got the small tiller I use to cut ditches back from him, but someone else borrowed it just for the day, and I am waiting for that back so I can cut the ditches in my tomato patch.

And in my zucchini and cucumber patch.

Put a new tire on the wheel barrow.

Bought a new electric chain saw.

Took down some limbs out back

Went to lunch with a lady friend.

Then came home and transplanted my pot plants!

And that night I slept like a baby!

Brothers, mothers, and praying for our lives

Jason Seeger trying to intimidate Joey.  Needless to say it did not work. Brothers always have bond, just as sisters do.  When they are little they fight over who gets Mom's attention.  As they grow into teenagers, they try to throw all the attention onto the other one for obvious reasons which might entail a punishment issue.  Little brothers are a pain when big brothers start to date.  The awkward stage soon passes and big brother starts to take the little brother under his wing and teach him things.  And finally they reach a place where there is mutual respect and the life altering change begins.  Brothers become men.

But sometimes that cycle is interrupted, as now.  I recognize how hard it is for this big brother to stand helplessly by and watch as his little brother walks a path that only he can walk.  It is hard for all of us to stand at a bedside in utter helplessness.  So we do the one thing we can do.  We pray.  Our lives are currently in a state of meditation and Joey is at the center.  We know what we want, but we can not fix this.  I can't fix it.  Jason can not fix it.  Dona is completely helpless.  Everyone is.  So we pray.  We pray and all of our friends pray with us.  

Dear Heavenly Father, Only you know.  And you know what we are feeling.  Please make us strong as we pick up this cross.  Help our dear Joey in what ever way you choose.  You are all seeing, all knowing and omnipotent.  We ask only that you stand with us as we stand with our friends in prayer.  Not our will but thine be done.  With Joey in the palm of your hand, we surrender our will to you.  Amen

And with that I can only thank my friends, family, and everyone who stands by us in this hour of trial.  Know that we are all grateful for your prayers and we are still hoping for a miracle. 

I can fly a kite

Growing up in Nickerson was pretty much a challenge.  One of my favorite thing was to follow Jake and his buddy's down the highway and while they went up the creek to the swimming hole, I would dangle my pole in the water and with a little imagination, I could feel a fish bite.  Looking back I am not sure whether I was fishing in Cow Creek or Bull Creek, but either way there was nothing biting but maybe an old turtle.  Could have been a crawdad.  At the height of the spring floods it was probably only about 13 or 14 inches deep.  That was one thing you can still count on in Kansas, it will flood in the spring.  Several years back I took 96 Highway instead of 50 and wondered why I did that.  See, the towns are 7 miles apart because that was what the railroad required when it was building across the country.  Had to have a town every 7 miles so the train could get water.  People built the towns and then just never left them.  Never got any new blood either, so they just set there.
Jake was a great one for building kites.  His always had to be bigger and better than anyone else's.  That was back in the time when building a kite did not mean unwrapping the cellophane and taking it out of the package.  He was especially fond of the box kites and those took several days to complete.  The sticks had to be whittled and then glued and allowed to dry.  Then the tissue paper was placed, glued and that was allowed to dry.  Mother would choose a few colorful rags for the tail which had to be strategically placed.  Then the string was tied on and we were ready.  Jake always insisted on the very best kite string because, as Benjamin Franklin can tell you, there is a lot of strong currents up on the other end of that string tugging at the little kite.  If the string breaks, it is all lost.
Jake knew how to face into the wind, run and feed the string slowly so that the kite would do a little dance, then a small dive and then soar on an unseen breeze.   He would slowly feed it more string until it was very high in the air.  When it was settled he would let me hold the string, but he was always right there to make sure it stayed up and to tell me what to do to keep it steady.  How I loved to feel the pull of that kite!  It was just like a fish on the end of a line.  Ever been fishing?  If you have you know what I mean.
When it came time to bring it in, he would begin to pull it towards him and then quickly wind up the slack in the line.  Landing the kite was a definite art.  If he tried to do it too fast the string might break in which case the kite would soar away and crash to earth some where in a mass of broken sticks and paper.  But if he worked it just right he could bring it down and catch it by the tail and then hang it up to fly another day.  That was always a good feeling.  With Jake, I was a kite flying fool and he was always patient with me.  Not so good out on my own.
Mother gave me a little kite once and Jake helped me get the tail on it and get it up.  But since it was just a store bought thing, he quickly lost interest.  He left and I watched my kite sail higher and higher and then the unthinkable happened!  I lost hold of the string and watched in horror as my little kite sailed across the field toward the cemetery.  I ran as fast as I could, but there was no hope.  And then it stopped.  It stopped because the string was tangled in the top of a very big tree on the edge of the cemetery.  I watched as it dived around trying to get loose and finally in horror as it strained at the string and then spun around and crashed into the top of the tree in a broken mess.  I cried all that night at the loss of my kite.  Oh, the things kids remember.
Now, I have to tell you that many years later when we moved out here and Susie was 9 or 10, I got the urge to fly a kite again.  All these fields and no power lines was just more than I could stand.  So I bought a kite.  I assembled it and tied on the string.  Could not get it up.  Then I remembered about the tail.  So I tied a tail on it.  Still could not get it up.  I ran into the wind.  I ran with the wind.  I ran cross wise to the wind.  Susie very quickly lost interest.   I ran across a board which had a nail in it.  Of course of all the places in the world to step I had to step on that nail!  Kenneth was very understanding and loaded me up and took me to town for a tetanus shot!  He did explain that as tempting as the prospect of me having lock jaw was, the thought of not hearing my lovely voice was more than he could bear.  Sarcastic little shit!
Needless to say, my foot was very sore and when it was not sore any more the desire to fly a kite was gone.  Just wasn't the same without Jake to guide me.  It is fun to think about it and there is no way to describe how exhilarating it is to see your kite dancing across a blue sky, tugging at your hand and wanting you to come play.
There are many things I miss about my brother, but I think that when we were flying the kites we formed a bond that could never be broken.  Years later we would set out in the yard and listen to the Grand Old Opry from Nashville, Tennessee on WSM.  I credit him with instilling in me my love of country music.  These were things the other kids never shared with him.  When you grow up in the era I grew up in, friends were few and far between, but family was always there.  Of course, time would drive us apart, but until the day he died, he was my best friend and I will never see a kite that I will not think of him.
He died the day after Dona Marie's 1st birthday.  Sam was 26 days old.  Funny how time slips away.

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!

Laundry time at the new place.

Always before doing the laundry had consisted of scrubbing clothes on the scrub board, wringing them out by twisting them and then dropping them into a tub of rinse water where they were swished around by hand, wrung out again and dropped into another tub of water.  A final wringing and then they were placed on a wire "clothes line" to dry.  It was an all day job!  But when we moved in here we were surprised to find that it came with a washing machine.  As I recall it had a gas motor and sat in the kitchen.  The tank on the motor was probably coal oil.  Maybe kerosene.  Maybe gas. The motor caused the agitator to go back and forth, thus beating the clothes clean and eliminating the need for the scrub board.  Mother did, however, pre scrub the collars of the shirts on the scrub board.  We must have been very dirty little kids, especially our necks.
This new washer was great!  It even had a "wringer" which was two rollers and you turned a crank and placed and item of clothes between the rollers and the water ran back into the washer.  This was wonderful and made Mother's work so easy!  But alas!  It had been left there for a reason.  The second time the laundry was done the motor gave out and could not be repaired.  The rollers did not do a good job of wringing.

So, Mr. Reuben Floyd Bartholomew, land owner went into town and opened a charge account and purchased a brand new, never used, white  washing machine for his wife.  That was the most beautiful thing we had ever seen.  And it was electric!  It plugged into the one plug in that was in the kitchen.  (More about the wonders of electricity later!)  The best part was the stop lever on the wringer.  If you got your fingers in there by accident, you could smack the lever with your free hand and the wringers would stop and open allowing you to retrieve your appendage.  The alternative was to be pulled through the wringer and spit out in the rinse tub!  So wash day now became a joy!

Water would be heated in the 3 legged kettle out back with a wood fire and carried in by buckets to fill the washing machine.  Cold water was carried for the rinse tubs.  The final rinse always had a dab of "bluing" added so the white clothes had a hint of blue instead of the drab gray of the women who did not use bluing.  The first load of clothes washed was always "the whites". The whites were placed on the clothes line to dry and life continued.

 Oh, forgot to tell you the very first thing that happened was the bar of lye soap was grated into the water and agitated until it dissolved.  I must elaborate on how the lye soap came to be.
 When the lye soap supply started getting low, the first step was to clean the ash bin of the stove out and build a fire with a certain kind of wood.  The wood was important as it affected the color, smell, and texture of the soap.  This ash was saved for "soap making day".  On soap making day the 5 gallon bucket of grease we had been saving for this occasion was carefully heated and strained into another clean can.  Only the top was used as the bottom contained water and lord only knows what else.  This was placed on the back of the stove to be kept warm. Mother would place the ashes in a colander lined with several layers of cheese cloth. She then carefully dropped water into the ashes which ran through and was caught in a vessel of some sort underneath the sieve.  When she thought it looked "right" she would place a raw egg still in its shell in the mixture.  As I recall when all was right the egg would do something "proving" the lye.  When that happened there was a flurry in that kitchen like you would not believe!

The kettle of warm grease was set on the floor, someone poured the lye into the grease can while mother stirred frantically with a hammer handle reserved for this purpose only.  Depending on the strength of the lye, the heat of the grease and the humidity of the air the grease would start to "trace" means to  show marks of the hammer handle.  When the trace marks showed the concoction was poured into a wooden box that was lined with cloth.  If any part of the procedure was not perfect two things would happen.  If the mixture did not trace, then lye was off and the whole thing a waste and had to be thrown out.  If it traced to quickly it would set up on the way to the mold.  Usually the hammer handle would be trapped in the soap and could not be retrieved until the soap was all grated.  But if everything was perfect and the grease extra clean we would end up with white soap that actually lathered.  Back then a woman's worth was often connected to that bar of soap she produced, and to her credit, my mother rarely failed!

That scenario is what went through my mind when Chuck Vail gave me a gift certificate to Vitamin Cottage and I saw a book on soap making.  I figured if my mother could do it under the primitive conditions she did it under that I could surely turn out a bar to be proud of and that is what I have done.  Sadly nobody ever asks me what my soap looks like, but I think I will show you anyway.  The best part is what this does for my skin. See, this stuff is made with all natural ingredients so rather than plugging up my pores with petroleum distillates, it opens them and keeps my skin young.  I have a lot of repeat customers for this soap and my lotions.  Just goes to show, that no matter how things change, the more they remain the same.  When I first started making soap I could buy lye at the grocery store, but then the druggies learned how to use it and embalming fluid to make drugs and it is no longer available.  I have to order it online and I am limited how much I can buy and I have to certify that I am not a drug lord.

So while my mother made her own lye and used grease and it was a crap shoot what she would end up with, I have controlled conditions and it always comes out the same.  I use pretty molds and package it for eye appeal.  I keep thinking maybe one of my kids will take up the banner when I can no longer do this, but none of them are showing any interest.  Guess it is what is known as a dying art.  Much as my life has become!  When I take flight for the big homestead in the sky there will be a bunch of kids standing around shaking thier heads and wondering what to do with all the kettles, thermometers, molds, bags, fragrances, oils.  Ah!  An estate auction to die for!!

Cellar, outhouse and black widow spiders!

There was much to be done in our new home.  School would be starting soon and I had not yet explored every inch of the new home.  The house was simple.  Enter at the front door and you were in the "front room".  Later I learned the rich people called it the entry way, but to us it was the front room due to the very location.  It was also the "living room" because we lived there. To to the left of that was the front bedroom.  Made sense. Dad had a big bed in that room nearest the window so nothing could get us 4 kids that were piled on the bed.  Josephine, Donna, Mary and I slept in the other bed.  The center of the house consisted of the dining room and the "other bedroom" in which Mother slept with Dorothy because she was still a baby.  Sometimes Mary also slept in there.  I do not know where Jake slept.  He may have been hung from a hook.  The dining room held the big oak clawfoot table with mismatched chairs, the ironing board, a built in cupboard for our dishes, and a "icebox."    It also held a hanging bird cage in which lived a yellow canary.  That canary was my mother's reason for living, I think.  More about that later.
The room across the back of the house was designated as the kitchen.  It held two cook stoves, a set of shelves which would later become a bookself because we did have 3 or 4 books and they were on that shelf. The galvanized tubs were kept hanging from nails in this room, so it was also the laundry room.  One was a "wash boiler" because it was oblong and about a foot across and two feet long and 2 feet high.  If it happened to be raining on "wash" day, the water would be heated inside because we could not build a fire under the 3 legged kettle and wash day was wash day come hell or high water.  Days meant something back then!  I sell tea towels on ebay and they have the days with the little Sunbonnet Sue or the doggie doing things they do on the designated days.  Monday was "Wash Day", Tuesday "Iron", Wednesday "Sew", Thursday "Shop", Friday "Bake", Saturday "Clean" and Sunday was always "Church".  So if it rained and it was Monday, we would be heating wash water in the house.
There were also 2 more galvanized tubs that hung there.  They were the "rinse tubs".  When bath night came, which was always on a Saturday night without fail, the cleanest of the two tubs would be filled with warm water and we each got a turn in the tub.  First came the little kids and then the last was Dad.  Some times if the water got to thick, more water was added.  That was nice!  When we were all clean (and I use that word with the untmost sarcasm!) the tub was carried out the back door and dumped unceremoniously in the garden area.  Great fertilizer!
Along with the bathing ritual for our hygiene, there was also the need for rest room "facilities" and trust me, those were very primitive!  Out the back door and down the path stood the "outhouse".  And that, friends, is exactly what it was and what all the neighbors called it and everyone in town had one.  Course there were people in the city proper who had the inside things, but out on the outskirts where we lived it was a way of life.  It was a wooden building with a wooden bench built in and secured to the walls.  A hole was cut and that was it.  A Sears catalog was the paper used to "clean yourself "  when you were done "doing your business".  I hope you are getting a clear picture of where the black widow spiders came into this tale, because I have no intention of going into more detail than this.  Suffice it to say, I was terrified every time I went in there and I always carried a stick which I used to hit the hole with to scare the spiders away.  Apparently it worked because my vulnerable back side was never attacked.  I also lived in mortal terror that I would step inside and the floor would collapse and I would fall to a very nasty death.  I think this is the one aspect of pioneer life that I least enjoyed.  Never, ever did I even once wish I could go back to that nasty place!
Right out the back door was the area known as the "back porch" which I never understood why it was called that, but I guess it had a roof and screens to keep out flies.  Step out the door of the kitchen and on the left is where wood was piled.  On the right was the cellar.  The cellar was by definition the one place I did not ever want to go.  Never, ever, in my entire life did I actually enter the underground room.  I did make it part way down the dirt steps and looked at the room.  This cellar was dug down about 6 feet below ground level.  A roof of some sort was over the top and several feet of dirt mounded up over that.  I am sure that this would have stood an atomic bomb attack, but I was just not fond enough of living to go clear down the steps and enter that spider infested room.  Mother insisted on storing her pickles, canned goods, potatoes, yams, onions and such down there.  She would on occasion tell me to go down and bring up such and such.  If I could not get one of the other kids to do it, I went and hid until I was sure it was done.  I am scared shitless of spiders to this day and never have I ever thought a spider was my friend.  I am terrified of little spiders and the level of fear increased with the size of the spider.  Terror is the word we are looking for here.  Petrified comes to mind.  You get the picture?
Out of time again, but I will be back soon to share more with you of our new home.  Until then....

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!

Ah, Daddy is off drunk some where and here comes the cyclone!

I do not know how long we lived on the Ailmore place, but I do not think it was very long.  My most vivid memory was one afternoon when Jake decided to work on a  car that was in the front yard. Cars were simple back in those days and if you had any mechanical abilities at all and could think of the concept of a motor, you could be a mechanic.  He was pretty sure that the gas line was plugged so he unhooked some line and told Donna to watch the other end and he would blow through it and she should let him know if air came through.  So she had it up close to her eye and he blew and gas shot out into her eye!  Oh, Lordy, there was more catawaulling going on than you could believe!  And guess what Jake got?  You are right!  A licking!  There was talk that Donna might lose her eye sight, but I guess they washed it out with something and she was fine.
Roy Keating lived very close there to us.  He raised pigs and those things were huge!  It seems like I was told that a pig will keep growing as long as it is alive and that is why they get so big.  Does not mean that is true, just means that is what I was told.  Dad was Mr. Keating's chore man which meant when Mr. Keating was not home that dad took care of the place.  That meant I had to go and gather eggs while dad "slopped the hogs."  Side note here...back in those days farmers kept "slop buckets" which held garbage, leftover or sour milk, and anything edible except bones. The bucket was carried out to the pigs every morning.  I was scared shitless of those big pigs.  And of course there was always the tale of a farmer or his child falling in the pig pen and the pigs eating the hapless person.  That rather kept my paranoia fueled!
The floods, the bull frog, the Barthold sisters, Mr. Keatings giant pigs, coal oil lamps, and I never remember snow or being cold there, so we may not have wintered over at the Ailmore place.  I do recall my dad taking us all to the Kansas State Fair once.  Maybe not all of us, but me, Jake and probably Josephine.  I recall the ride there.  We parked and entered the grounds.  We walked down the midway with the promise from dad that we could ride the ferris wheel later, but first he needed a beer.  We were not allowed in the hall and had to set on a bench outside the door.  It was hot and dusty, but ever the dutiful father, dad finally came out.   He got us an ice cream cone for our one treat on the way to the car to head home.  I can still taste that ice cream.  It was horrible and must have been something like pineapple sherbert.  When we got home mother greeted us at the door and that man got hollered at and screamed at the rest of the night for taking those innocent babies into a den of iniquity.  When he explained that we sat outside in the hot sun, that was more fuel for the fire.  Kansas State Fair does not hold any fond memories for me!
It was a few days later and dad was once more gone, God only knew where, but we were sure he would come home "plastered"  since that was what he did.  Nickerson had no beer joints so he had to go into Hutchinson which was 11 miles away.  It was one of those hot, sultry days for which  Central Kansas is so famous.  The phone rang and Queen Josephine answered.  Very quickly she ended the conversation and turned to us.  "Mother is on her way home.  A big storm is coming.  Get the tank pumped full fast."  Jake and I ran for the back door and the pump house. The sky did look terrible.  Soon a car pulled into the drive and mother jumped out and ran for the house.  Ed Crissman followed her.  She apparently had started for home and he picked her up.  The wind was picking up and it was a sure thing that no one was going anywhere  until this was over.  Mother called us inside and just as we reached the safety of the house, the pump house collapsed.
We covered the windows with blankets in case the hail broke the windows.  We all huddled in the center of the house while the wind blew, the rain fell, and we prayed that the house did not lift up off the foundation.  I do not know how long the storm took, but it finally subsided.  Like little forest creatures we opened the door and peered outside.  Ed's car was still there, but had lots of hail damage.  The haystack was gone.  All the buildings were gone.  Trees were uprooted.  The fences were gone and the livestock wandered the yard.   Dead chickens were all over the yard.  It looked like a war zone.  Ed Crissman decided to walk home since the creek was now flooded.  And then it was night.
Dad came home sometime in the night.  It was a somber little group of people that stood in the yard the next morning wondering where to begin.  There seemed to be no place to start.  We had caught the livestock and tied them  to a fence post where they stayed the night.  But now what?  The roof of the house was not going to keep out the next rain.  And there was my father.  The pillar of the family.  Hung over, sick, sorry, and all the other things that they sing about in country western songs.  And my mother, a beaten woman.  She had worked all her life to feed a nest full of kids and then  lost the nest.  It was devastating.  She still had the kids.  We still needed to eat and we had to have a roof over our heads.  And she looked at my father, and all she said was "Well, Rueben, I hope you have an idea, because I am done."
I found an article that mother had saved from the paper back then.  They called it a cyclone.  Cyclone is also described as a tornado.  I didn't figure it made a lot of difference what it was called, the results were the same.  Mother could have given up at that point and no one would have faulted her.  But I have found since then that there is really nothing to give up to.  There have been times in my life when I have felt like there just was not enough gumption left in  me to take that next step.  When I looked at my kids and thought this was as far as I could go.  When that happened I thought back to that ragged bunch standing in that yard and heard my mother say, "Well, Rueben...." I had no Rueben, but I did have a mother and my mother had a daughter that learned her lessons of survial from a very strong woman.  A woman who knew how to wring every bit of life out of the worst situations.  A pioneer woman who did not give up and stuck with her husband and knew when to tell him it was his turn and he knew she meant it.
Next time I show up here we are going to be on the move again!!  Get ready world, the Bartholomew family is about to be land owners!

Could have been on this one or that one.

This is what I call sharing!