REMINISCENES OF MY LIFE
by
Norma Vivian Stottle
Chapter 1
CHILDHOOD MEMORIES
Just why it happened in that particular spring of 1924, which I am told was one of the dullest springs in many years, I don't know, but a daughter was born to Mister and Mrs. Floyd Stottle, which was the third child, but the first girl. She was gifted with curly hair and brown eyes which were characteristic of her father. From the first she looked like the Stottles and had a disposition like them, which is nothing to brag about.
Yes, that was I. My first brother died four weeks after birth because the doctor forgot his medical instruments when he was called suddenly, and had to go back after them. By the time he had returned my brother had died. He was named "Everett" after my father. Two years later Newell was born, in September. He has curly hair also, when he isn't trying to comb it out. Two years, seven months, and twelve days later, I was born. My mother says she was glad I was a girl, because she had had two boys before me; but I have often asked, "Why didn't you take me back and change me for a boy?" and I mean it!
It is rather strange how the others were born on such exact dates, leaving me as the "black sheep" of the family. On December ninth at eleven o'clock, Everett was born, September ninth at eleven o'clock was Newell's birthday, and on October ninth at eleven o'clock, two years after I was born, Esther was born. I was born at five in the morning on April twenty-first. If my superior will allow, my inferior would like to say that perhaps I am the off one of the family.
Nevertheless I was once called the best looking grandchild, with heavy emphasis on the "was."
My grandmother gave me my middle name, "Vivian" after a cousin who died. Esther's first name is "Fern," and she disliked it very much. Of course Newell was given my mother's maiden name, "Lehman."
My mother tells me that when I was very small, I could stand no one looking at me. I cried when anyone, but someone familiar, was around. Wingers (sp?) lived next door when we had moved to our present home, and of course, they, as children loved to see a baby. I would cry so loudly when they came to see me, that Mom would have to send them home. I don't care to have people standing and gazing at me now, but I no longer cry.
As each of us grew older, we were taught to do things to help our mother. The first thing was the dishes, and how we hated it! When Newell and I were drying them together once, I was determined not to wipe as many as he. We were always trying to see who could do the least anyway. After all the plates had been wiped, I took them, one by one, to the cupboard, until Newell caught on to what I was doing. He picked them all up at once and took them away. I was awfully angry at him. Many times, being a tempermental, stubborn child, I actually refused to do them, but I did them in the end.
Before Newell was hardly out of his babyhood, he had three or four operations; but the first one Esther and I had was to have our tonsils removed. Our cousin, Geraldine Studman was trying to keep our minds off ourselves by taking us for walks, but managed to get us back in time to get us on the table. I remember getting on the kitchen table, and the doctor putting me to sleep. The next thing I know, I was in bed. We all survived it successfully, but Esther, who being very young, bled quite badly. the necest part of this operation was the ice cream we received, and we had lots of it.
We had the usual children's diseases, whooping cough, chicken pox, measles, and mumps. We were very young when we had the whooping cough and chicken pox. Newell, I remember, got the chicken pox first; and every morning after he came down with them, I would show my mother my "tummy. One morning she said "yes" instead of the usual "no", and I stayed quarantined in for a couple of weeks. Soon Esther caught them, and she scratched the "itchy buggers", leaving noticeable scars.
The next was the measles. Newell had them three times before Esther and I did. His, which lasted three days, were never severe. I used to have to go upstairs and read the funnies to him. My job was to keep him entertained. It was a hard job, for he was in bed and in the dark at all times. As much as I was with him, I didn't catch them until several years later; then Esther and I had the old fashioned ones.
Of course, I was in bed, in the dark, and unable to read. I couldn't even see where my face was, it was so covered. I had always wanted to remain in bed for a long time until I had to stay in there almost two weeks. Everyone was kind to me and kept me from getting lonesome.
I had no sooner gotten out of bed then Esther crawled into the same bed with them. It was my turn to again help someone in the dark room.
In 1940, I got the mumps, but they were nothing to worry about. Newell caught them from me, but as of yet, Esther hasn't had them. I have had the hives which I thought was the seven years itch; and at her minor scratches from which I thought I was going to die.
My mother has three sisters and one brother who have children around our ages. Aunt Mil died. Lanely has lived in Michigan for many years, and it is always a great pleasure to play with her two girls, Ruth, my age, and Mary, Esther's age. I recall one time when they were down to Grandma Lehman's, and we went down to see them. Ruth wouldn't eat something she was supposed to, and her father scolded her. I forgot to say goodbye to her father the same day and got scolded too. I never saw him again, so I am very sorry I didn't bid him adieu.
Ruth was always a tomboy. She would rather play with the two boys of the family than the girls. She was born in the city, and the country was a novelty to her. She could climb the trees faster and higher than the boys. Every year, after they had gone home, Grandpa would have to remove the stones from the pig pen which she had thrown in at the pigs.
One year, when everyone was home, we all went to the lake. I didn't have a bathing suit, and I remember putting on a pair of play tags to go on with. I was so ashamed of them that when my mother took a picture of me, I had a face as long as a "wet week." I don't think that I enjoyed myself one little bit that day!
To go down to Gram's was the nicest thing we could do. Very often, we spend Sunday's down there, and we kids had romped around the farm all day long; but whether the romping or the little while pail inside the pantry door was most important, I don't know. Far inside this pail were cookies, and anyone could make cookies like Gram Lehman. We would no sooner get inside the door than we were in the cookie pail.
Someone always spoiled the day by taking pictures. I used to hate to have my picture taken and I would hate to have anyone see the faces I made when it was taken.
One time Newell went back to Michigan with Aunt Mildred, and it being a Sunday, Daddy took us to church which was the last time I remember going with him. When we came home Mom took our picture, and Daddy was so tall that his head wasn't visible. In the afternoon to keep Esther and I content she took us to the lake. Esther and I paddled around in our bathing suits while Mom and Daddy watched us. This sounds very unimportant, but it was one of the happiest days of my childhood. Newell doesn't know what he missed.
We owned sheep for many years, and Newell and I used to watch Daddy feed them. One time while I was watching, I suddenly fell headlong into them. A big "he man" sheep had taken a dislike to me and had politely told me so by mucking me. Daddy stopped him from doing it a second time, but I was pretty scared.
We had two pet sheep, Molly and Betty. They were our constant companions. They followed us all around and came when we called them. Molly was the friendliest of the two, but we liked Betty just as much. After my father died we sold our lambs and have never owned any since for fearing of having to sell them again.
Jerry, our pony, was the nicest, prettiest, and best pony in the world. Daddy would allow Newell to ride him alone, and when he started to run, Newell always fell off, without fail. At each fall, the pony stopped and waited for him to get up. Although Esther and I didn't ride him, we loved him and felt badly when he, too, was auctioned off later.
A young one always has something to scare him which makes one fear a particular thing the rest of his life. I was frightened by a fire next door which I discovered. Of course it had to be at night, and a black one too, when we were going down to Gram's. As we went outside, I saw a light over in the neighbor's barn and asked my mother who was milking the cows. Whatever gave me the idea, I don't know, because no one lived there. My mother called my father and the fire department, for the barn was on fire. I nervously stood by watching the huge barn burn and silo fall in the night. That scene comes back to me when I hear the fire siren, and that night branded me against fires. To prove my statement, a few years later an old car in our garage caught fire. Upon seeing it, I waked calmly but very white, into the house and said our garage was on fire. My mother fainted, and my nerves broke. I recall running in one door and out the next screaming and yelling. At last I was calmed, but have fear of the same thing happening if ever a fire destroys something such as our barns.
At the age of six, I started school. Newell and I went up to Riga district. I never especially liked it, but it was a wonderful experience. As young as I was, I was taught companionship; for boys were my constant companions. There were no girls my own age. Bruce Murray, a junior at Scottsville, and Harold Thousand were my only classmates. Many happy hours were spend with these two boys.
I remember the first day probably because the teacher didn't say "hello" to me. I just walked in the room and took a seat. She handed me a paper with words to learn to spell on it. The first word was "goat", and I cried more over that word because I couldn't spell it!
It wasn't unusual to see one of the big boys knock the teacher down. Allen Thousand did it more than once because she scolded him for always being late.
Jack Murray has told me since that he spit on one of the girl's shoes and expected the "dickens" from her "proud mama". As yet he hasn't received his punishment, but still doesn't like the girl to this day. Isn't it queer how one will dislike a person when he is young, and never learn to like him?
Many happy days were spend at Riga, but at the end of the first month, we went to Churchville High. I have had the best times of my life at Churchville. Even if I did enjoy the boy's company up there, I soon learned to enjoy girls. But at least I never fought with Bruce and Harold as I have done with the girls.
We owned sheep for many years, and Newell and I used to watch Daddy feed them. One time while I was watching, I suddenly fell headlong into them. A big "he man" sheep had taken a dislike to me and had politely told me so by mucking me. Daddy stopped him from doing it a second time, but I was pretty scared.
We had two pet sheep, Molly and Betty. They were our constant companions. They followed us all around and came when we called them. Molly was the friendliest of the two, but we liked Betty just as much. After my father died we sold our lambs and have never owned any since for fearing of having to sell them again.
Jerry, our pony, was the nicest, prettiest, and best pony in the world. Daddy would allow Newell to ride him alone, and when he started to run, Newell always fell off, without fail. At each fall, the pony stopped and waited for him to get up. Although Esther and I didn't ride him, we loved him and felt badly when he, too, was auctioned off later.
A young one always has something to scare him which makes one fear a particular thing the rest of his life. I was frightened by a fire next door which I discovered. Of course it had to be at night, and a black one too, when we were going down to Gram's. As we went outside, I saw a light over in the neighbor's barn and asked my mother who was milking the cows. Whatever gave me the idea, I don't know, because no one lived there. My mother called my father and the fire department, for the barn was on fire. I nervously stood by watching the huge barn burn and silo fall in the night. That scene comes back to me when I hear the fire siren, and that night branded me against fires. To prove my statement, a few years later an old car in our garage caught fire. Upon seeing it, I waked calmly but very white, into the house and said our garage was on fire. My mother fainted, and my nerves broke. I recall running in one door and out the next screaming and yelling. At last I was calmed, but have fear of the same thing happening if ever a fire destroys something such as our barns.
At the age of six, I started school. Newell and I went up to Riga district. I never especially liked it, but it was a wonderful experience. As young as I was, I was taught companionship; for boys were my constant companions. There were no girls my own age. Bruce Murray, a junior at Scottsville, and Harold Thousand were my only classmates. Many happy hours were spend with these two boys.
I remember the first day probably because the teacher didn't say "hello" to me. I just walked in the room and took a seat. She handed me a paper with words to learn to spell on it. The first word was "goat", and I cried more over that word because I couldn't spell it!
It wasn't unusual to see one of the big boys knock the teacher down. Allen Thousand did it more than once because she scolded him for always being late.
Jack Murray has told me since that he spit on one of the girl's shoes and expected the "dickens" from her "proud mama". As yet he hasn't received his punishment, but still doesn't like the girl to this day. Isn't it queer how one will dislike a person when he is young, and never learn to like him?
Many happy days were spend at Riga, but at the end of the first month, we went to Churchville High. I have had the best times of my life at Churchville. Even if I did enjoy the boy's company up there, I soon learned to enjoy girls. But at least I never fought with Bruce and Harold as I have done with the girls.
Chapter 2
A RENDEZUOUS WITH DEATH
It was hard to leave my friends behind in Riga, but it was necessary. I was spell-bound when I first went in such a huge school as Churchville after being use to a one room school with every grade in it. I saw no such beautiful winding stairways at Riga as I did there. The teacher too was different. She said "hello" to me when I entered every morning and helped me to get along the with other children.
At Riga when we wanted to go out and play, we played hid and seek or some other game, but at Churchville, there was a sand box and bouncing balls to play with inside. Also there were girls my own age to have good times with, and we did.
Esther started school a the age of four, and although it was no farther than Riga, Daddy drove us down, for he went to work that way. I was in the second grade and in the same room as Esther, so it kept her from getting lonely. Also, I entertained her in the swings in the large play ground when it was necessary.
Being the years of 1931 and 1932, it is rather hard to talk about my good times at Churchville in this chapter, for it seems as if there were but two chapters of my life with my father, my babyhood, and my early childhood. In 1932 he died, leaving us fatherless. Thus; I would rather tell about him now.
One thing he used to get a big kick out of was when I asked him for some money one morning for a book. He didn't have the exact change, so he gave me a little more and told me how much change I should receive. When I gave the money to the teacher, I told her that my father said I should get so much change back. I didn't think about it at the time, but since then I have often wondered what she thought about me telling her what she already did know.
Even if my father did spank me at times when I wouldn't wipe the dishes, he was quickly forgiven when he pushed us in the swing. Being over six feet tall he could make us touch the limbs of the tree. Nights when we got home from school, we would wait by the swing until he came home. He would say, "Now hang on tight," and away we would go.
On Saturdays and summer vacations, Daddy would take us "over on the road." He was Highway Superintendent, and we loved to watch the men build roads. One time we crawled slowly away from a lighted explosive on the steam roller. Of course there was no danger for us, but we thought so and were thrilled over it.
One day when I wasn't so glad to go over and see the men on the road, was when I had done something I shouldn't have done. Esther and I were sitting in the car and were watching some cows in the distance. I must have gotten excited and touched the brake, for we started down hill towards the barn. Daddy happened out in time and stopped the car. If he hadn't of, we probably have gone through the barn. He told the men what I had done, and I was a little ashamed of my doings.
I wasn't the only one who touched the wrong tings when in a car. My father tried to teach my mother how to drive once, and I never had such a thrilling ride in all my life. It seems that he wished her to turn a corner which was part way down a hill. Whether we ever made the corner or not, I don't know for I went on the floor. I don't think I have ever been so near a ditch since.
For two years in succession we had severe winters. In 1931, the roads were so icy that my mother and father went skating on them. They skated across the lawn to the road, then up the lawn and down the hill. That must have been fun!
In 1932, it wasn't only ice but snow. Daddy, being responsible for the opening of the roads, spent most of his time working. For weeks at a time he was never home but for a few minutes. He remained at the garage day and night waiting for storms to cease, but always to be on the job. He had little nourishment during the winter except between storms. By the time winter was over and spring had really come, Daddy spent most of his time on the couch. He was tired completely out.
Strange as it seems, during these trying times and just when my father was resting, my mother got a call from Aunt Mildred in Michigan. Her husband, a doctor, was very ill with pneumonia. She wanted my mother to go out and help her. She didn't want to because of my father, but he said that the doctor said he was all right.
It wasn't many days before we were packed up and taken down to Gram Lehman's. The last night we were home, we made our father show us his funny looking tongue. We laughed, and he kissed us goodbye for the last time, ever.
As I have said before, it was a treat to go to Grams, thus when we knew, Esther and I, that we were going to stay for awhile, we were overjoyed. A little while is enough to stay away from home, but when you lose track of the time altogether, it is no longer fun. We had a good time as usual, until Esther got homesick. Then with our separate rooms and going to school, you miss home. Getting homesick spoiled it all. She cried and cried and cried to go home. Of course when she felt that way, I did too. About that time, Gram started sending us to our different aunt's, but even that wore off.
All the time we were away from home, we never knew what was going on. At school, Edna Munger told us that our father was dying. We felt quite badly over this, but Miss White consoled us by saying she was only kidding. Edna told us later she was told not to tell but the temptation was too great.
One night when we were again at Gram's, Frank Jacobs came down and wanted to take us home. We were overwhelmed with joy! He made us promise not to cry when we saw our mother or over what she was going to tell us. When we drove in the yard, the headlights flashed on a pretty wreath of red roses on the door. Then we knew what had happened.
Newell had been allowed to remain at home, and although we have never been able to make him admit it, he was glad to see us. We went up stairs, and Mom was sick in bed. She cried and told us that Daddy had gone away from us.
Aunt Elsie took us home, and I hardly slept all night long. I was the most confused seven year old child in the world. I couldn't understand how our mother got home without us knowing it. I couldn't understand why our Daddy had to go away from us.
We were brought home a few times before the funeral to see our father. Geraldine Steedman took us in to see him lying in a casket. That is a scene I have never forgotten, nor never will forget. He was lying so peaceable in his new bed with flowers all around him, so many that some were in the living room and dining room. The odor of them stunned me, and I have never like the scent of flowers since.
Geraldine told us that we could touch his hand, and it was cold. He didn't look as tired as he did the last time we saw him, but this time he didn't smile.
My father's funeral was the first one I had ever attended, and I am able to recall every minute of it.
The close relatives met here at the house, and they seemed to be many, for the place was packed. A service was held in the bedroom, and then everyone got in cars to go to the church in Riga. I didn't want to go because I didn't like to see mother cry, but she asked me too. We rode very slowly up the road until we arrived at the church.
The church also was packed with people. The minister preached, and talked, and preached. At every mention of my father's name, I could have choked him, for it made my mother weep worst. I was relieved when he had finished. One by one the people went by the casket to see him for the last time.
Then we went over to the cemetary. We kids didn't get out of the car, but my mother did. A few minutes later they carried her back.
No one realizes the feelings and the strange memories one has at such times, until you have experienced them. As young as I was, and not understanding the meaning of the whole thing, I can remember a very unimportant thing.
Up in the balcaney sat a woman who kept looking at us with sympathy on her face. She had tears in her eyes. Somehow when I looked at her, I found a certain warmth and comfort which was lacking at this time.
For a few weeks after it was terribly melancholy at home. My mother would allow no one to take care of my father's clothes but herself. Then we had an auction which made things still harder.
As we grew older we learned what had happened. When my mother went out to Michigan, my uncle was dying. The day he died my mother got a call that my father had pneumonia. She was sick from exhaustion, grief, and surprise. She took a train home, and I think she said she hardly knew what was happening all the way. When she arrived at Daddy's bedside, he said, "Why didn't you stay with Mildred? She needed you worst than I do. I'll be up in a few days." A few days later he died.
At Riga when we wanted to go out and play, we played hid and seek or some other game, but at Churchville, there was a sand box and bouncing balls to play with inside. Also there were girls my own age to have good times with, and we did.
Esther started school a the age of four, and although it was no farther than Riga, Daddy drove us down, for he went to work that way. I was in the second grade and in the same room as Esther, so it kept her from getting lonely. Also, I entertained her in the swings in the large play ground when it was necessary.
Being the years of 1931 and 1932, it is rather hard to talk about my good times at Churchville in this chapter, for it seems as if there were but two chapters of my life with my father, my babyhood, and my early childhood. In 1932 he died, leaving us fatherless. Thus; I would rather tell about him now.
One thing he used to get a big kick out of was when I asked him for some money one morning for a book. He didn't have the exact change, so he gave me a little more and told me how much change I should receive. When I gave the money to the teacher, I told her that my father said I should get so much change back. I didn't think about it at the time, but since then I have often wondered what she thought about me telling her what she already did know.
Even if my father did spank me at times when I wouldn't wipe the dishes, he was quickly forgiven when he pushed us in the swing. Being over six feet tall he could make us touch the limbs of the tree. Nights when we got home from school, we would wait by the swing until he came home. He would say, "Now hang on tight," and away we would go.
On Saturdays and summer vacations, Daddy would take us "over on the road." He was Highway Superintendent, and we loved to watch the men build roads. One time we crawled slowly away from a lighted explosive on the steam roller. Of course there was no danger for us, but we thought so and were thrilled over it.
One day when I wasn't so glad to go over and see the men on the road, was when I had done something I shouldn't have done. Esther and I were sitting in the car and were watching some cows in the distance. I must have gotten excited and touched the brake, for we started down hill towards the barn. Daddy happened out in time and stopped the car. If he hadn't of, we probably have gone through the barn. He told the men what I had done, and I was a little ashamed of my doings.
I wasn't the only one who touched the wrong tings when in a car. My father tried to teach my mother how to drive once, and I never had such a thrilling ride in all my life. It seems that he wished her to turn a corner which was part way down a hill. Whether we ever made the corner or not, I don't know for I went on the floor. I don't think I have ever been so near a ditch since.
For two years in succession we had severe winters. In 1931, the roads were so icy that my mother and father went skating on them. They skated across the lawn to the road, then up the lawn and down the hill. That must have been fun!
In 1932, it wasn't only ice but snow. Daddy, being responsible for the opening of the roads, spent most of his time working. For weeks at a time he was never home but for a few minutes. He remained at the garage day and night waiting for storms to cease, but always to be on the job. He had little nourishment during the winter except between storms. By the time winter was over and spring had really come, Daddy spent most of his time on the couch. He was tired completely out.
Strange as it seems, during these trying times and just when my father was resting, my mother got a call from Aunt Mildred in Michigan. Her husband, a doctor, was very ill with pneumonia. She wanted my mother to go out and help her. She didn't want to because of my father, but he said that the doctor said he was all right.
It wasn't many days before we were packed up and taken down to Gram Lehman's. The last night we were home, we made our father show us his funny looking tongue. We laughed, and he kissed us goodbye for the last time, ever.
As I have said before, it was a treat to go to Grams, thus when we knew, Esther and I, that we were going to stay for awhile, we were overjoyed. A little while is enough to stay away from home, but when you lose track of the time altogether, it is no longer fun. We had a good time as usual, until Esther got homesick. Then with our separate rooms and going to school, you miss home. Getting homesick spoiled it all. She cried and cried and cried to go home. Of course when she felt that way, I did too. About that time, Gram started sending us to our different aunt's, but even that wore off.
All the time we were away from home, we never knew what was going on. At school, Edna Munger told us that our father was dying. We felt quite badly over this, but Miss White consoled us by saying she was only kidding. Edna told us later she was told not to tell but the temptation was too great.
One night when we were again at Gram's, Frank Jacobs came down and wanted to take us home. We were overwhelmed with joy! He made us promise not to cry when we saw our mother or over what she was going to tell us. When we drove in the yard, the headlights flashed on a pretty wreath of red roses on the door. Then we knew what had happened.
Newell had been allowed to remain at home, and although we have never been able to make him admit it, he was glad to see us. We went up stairs, and Mom was sick in bed. She cried and told us that Daddy had gone away from us.
Aunt Elsie took us home, and I hardly slept all night long. I was the most confused seven year old child in the world. I couldn't understand how our mother got home without us knowing it. I couldn't understand why our Daddy had to go away from us.
We were brought home a few times before the funeral to see our father. Geraldine Steedman took us in to see him lying in a casket. That is a scene I have never forgotten, nor never will forget. He was lying so peaceable in his new bed with flowers all around him, so many that some were in the living room and dining room. The odor of them stunned me, and I have never like the scent of flowers since.
Geraldine told us that we could touch his hand, and it was cold. He didn't look as tired as he did the last time we saw him, but this time he didn't smile.
My father's funeral was the first one I had ever attended, and I am able to recall every minute of it.
The close relatives met here at the house, and they seemed to be many, for the place was packed. A service was held in the bedroom, and then everyone got in cars to go to the church in Riga. I didn't want to go because I didn't like to see mother cry, but she asked me too. We rode very slowly up the road until we arrived at the church.
The church also was packed with people. The minister preached, and talked, and preached. At every mention of my father's name, I could have choked him, for it made my mother weep worst. I was relieved when he had finished. One by one the people went by the casket to see him for the last time.
Then we went over to the cemetary. We kids didn't get out of the car, but my mother did. A few minutes later they carried her back.
No one realizes the feelings and the strange memories one has at such times, until you have experienced them. As young as I was, and not understanding the meaning of the whole thing, I can remember a very unimportant thing.
Up in the balcaney sat a woman who kept looking at us with sympathy on her face. She had tears in her eyes. Somehow when I looked at her, I found a certain warmth and comfort which was lacking at this time.
For a few weeks after it was terribly melancholy at home. My mother would allow no one to take care of my father's clothes but herself. Then we had an auction which made things still harder.
As we grew older we learned what had happened. When my mother went out to Michigan, my uncle was dying. The day he died my mother got a call that my father had pneumonia. She was sick from exhaustion, grief, and surprise. She took a train home, and I think she said she hardly knew what was happening all the way. When she arrived at Daddy's bedside, he said, "Why didn't you stay with Mildred? She needed you worst than I do. I'll be up in a few days." A few days later he died.
My father died around midnight in April on the ninth. The tenth was his mother's birthday. He was born on July 4 and was thirty three years old when he died. In the spring of 1941, it will be nine years since he died. Exactly one half of my life so far has been without a father.
On every July fourth we celebrate a double holiday. The family on the Stottle side always went down to Gram Stottle's for the day. A good time was had for an uncle from Whitesbourough, brought boxes of noise makers. After a few years, we stopped this celebration, because it was too hard on my mother.
The years following were trying years. An old uncle of my mother's lived here for a few years. He lived with us 'till his death three years later.
He was a good old man, seldom saying a word. At night he would fall asleep in the kitchen rocker and would almost fall out. We would laugh and it roused him just enough to catch himself.
All year long, he could do the chores and had to go way down to the lower farm. I would feel sorry for him in winter and scared, so I would go with him. I would hold the light while he milked the cows; then together we would go back to the house.
The only times we were afraid of Uncle John was when he came home drunk. That happened only about three times while he was here. He was perfectly harmless and only talked. He would tell about his younger days, some truth and some lies. For about a week after he wouldn't do anything around.
Gram Lehman was never well, for she had heart trouble. We spend much time at her bedside. Each time we left we kissed her, expecting it to be the last. One fall, two years after my father died, she died. One of the grandest grandmothers left the world when she left. No one could have found a nicer one than she.
Now I have a step-grandmother. My grandfather married Bruce and Jack Murray's grandmother about a year after ours died.
Along with all this we went to school. As year by year rolled on, many happy hours were spend at Churchville. But the sudden death of my father left a vacant spot in my life.
Much praise must go to my mother who kept her chin up despite her sorrows. She has raised us three kids alone. She has smiled her way through.
Chapter 3
WE PUTTER AROUND
People always say to make the most of your school days for they are the best times of your life. I quite agree with them, and we should make the most of our younger ones especially.
Miss White, later Mrs. Kinn, was my first teacher at Churchville. She was small with large eyes and very nice. She encouraged me, comforted me, and scolded me, as well as taught me.
After I was acquainted with my teacher, she started to questions me to see how much I knew. She asked me what the window was, the door, the dish, and other objects in the room. I knew them all except the desk which I kept calling a table.
Now a handsome young lad with a freckled but smiling face, couldn't stand me calling the desk a table, so he told me. This new friend, who couldn't stand in front of the class without shifting from one foot to the other and putting his hands in his pockets, bold me answers all year when I got "stuck." This was Howard Laley.
I was a favorite of Howard's. He would take me ove to his house, and together we would play with his trains or other toys. Every time he got something new, I had to see it.
Jessie Liebeck was as large as Howard was thin. I met Jessie before I went down there to school while playing at Steedman's. She felt quite proud my first day there to know me. She took the privilege to introduce me to other children and to show me around.
Maybe Jessie knew me first, but I didn't like her, at first. She was too bold and bossy. The girls I did like was the dark curly haired one who asked me to sit next to her. She talked to me and explained about my new educational residence. Lucy DePlama and I grew to be fast friends and have continued to me thus.
There were two other girls who were in my first grade. One was Mary Lageration who would tire us to death with stories about her sisters and brothers. The other was lanky, reserved Esther Redgrass. Esther never let anyone really know her, but we had fun together. She would take me down to her house to play.
Around the first week of school, I got into trouble. I was bouncing the ball one morning after dismisssal, and what I thought to be a young "smarty," told me not to make so much noise. I told him to, "Shut up!" and he didn't like it at all. He made me put the ball up and take my seat. I didn't see what right he had in doing such a thing until the kids told me he was the principal.
When Ms. White learned about my plight, she made me apologize to him which hurt my pride very much. I was either to apologize or take a spanking. I said, "I'm sorry."
At the beginning of my second year, Esther started school. We were in the same room with the same teacher. I felt quite grown up to be a full year ahead of her, but I have had to study in order to keep ahead of her.
Kenneth Farbes started school the same year as Esther, and all the girls were crazy over him but me. Leona Bavier and Lucy DePalma admired him tremendously.
The strange part of it was I was Ken's favorite. Regardless how many girls wanted to sit with him, I was the only one who did. He would do anything for me or give me anything I wanted. I accepted his feelings primarily to make the others "see green."
In the third grade, handsome Mr. Farbes gave me a valentine with "I love you" on it. None of the rest got one.
Maybe Kenneth Farbes was my suitor; but Jessie had one whom I liked. I don't remember his name for he was only with us a year. He gave Jessie things and talked with her, but not to me. I felt quite hurt. Anyway, Jessie always had a way of winning the boys from the rest of us girls, except Ken Farbes.
In December of 1940, I attended a basketball game between Honeoye Falls and Churchville. On the first team was one of the boys who for many years was a schoolmate of mine. He was Albert Tesch. As I watched him, I wondered if he remember the time he cheated during a test in the second grade? He didn't know an answer so he asked Miss White. She told him. He went back to his seat and wrote it down. He was caught though.
Albert was a typical farm boy and full of life. He was continually doing something wrong and then stuttering when he tried to explain. He was very well acquainted with Jessie, but we didn't mind. (Now we do.)
Albert had a sister, Arline, who was very dark complected. She told us that once when she was sick, the doctor gave her the wrong medicine; thus making her dark.
It was around the latter part of my second year when Harold Baughner first came to our school. His mother brought him the first day, and he cried. He would probably be embarrassed now to be reminded of that day. I so kindly let him take my ball, and I can remember the smile I received for doing it. I had won a friend.
Howard Laley, Lucy DePalma, Mary Logeration, Esther Rengrass, Harold Baughner, and I were the "main stays" off our first few years. We are still all together except Harold who is a social junior.
In the third grade we had a new teacher, Miss Glover. She was one of the prettiest girls I had ever seen, when she first came. She was very nice except she slapped Esther for chewing gum.
During this year, Miss Glover's father died. She was broken hearted and often broke down crying in classes.
Certain days I remember Thelma Keith Warbois, one of my piano teachers, coming up to school giving Miss Glover lessons. If we got to school too early, we would have to wait outside the door while she either practiced or took a music lesson.
It was during my fourth year that Peter DeBerger was in with me. Peter was another of my suitors, but this time I didn't mind. he was a tough young man, and I wanted to help him. As a result I had won a real friend, and have cherished the valentines I received from him many years ago.
Once Peter gave me a "dutch rub" and I cried. Miss Glover told me to return this "rub" but I would rather have pulled his hair. So Peter never got punished by me.
An incident I have never forgotten, but thank goodness it has never happened since, is when the boys in the third and fourth grades tried to kiss me. When the teacher had left the room, I think it was Grover Hugelmauer's idea, the boys all rushed for me. They didn't succeed, I don't think.
Marjorie Miller came to our schoool in the fourth grade, and we disliked her very much. She was the most conceded little girl and spoiled of anyone I had ever met. Lucy and I did all we could to make life miserable for her. One time we slapped her, and she ran to sister Sadie. We liked Sadie about as well as Marj. Sadie told Mr. Dermody who tried to find us, but we had locked ourselves in the girl's room.
Marjorie was short and pudgy. We kidded her about having to have her sister comb her hair every morning and noon. Today Marjorie is a blond, but although we quarrel even now, she is my best friend. We outgrew our childish dislike.
In those four years of school, Lucy DePalma and I were the star pupils. In the fourth grade during January exams, I remember getting all ninety[-nines and one-hundred's. In the first two years I had a report card full of gold stars. I got "smart" once and threw them in the fire. But both of Lucy's and my cards were covered with A's.
When graduating time came along, Mr. Robbins presented us back with a silver pin for our efforts. This was my first time of attending a graduation exercise. Marian Roth, Mildred Learn, and John Banner were among the graduates. This was the commencement of 1934.
My first four years had prove to be a big success. I looked forward to having all A's throughout my remaining school years. So far I have succeeded.
In December of 1940, I attended a basketball game between Honeoye Falls and Churchville. On the first team was one of the boys who for many years was a schoolmate of mine. He was Albert Tesch. As I watched him, I wondered if he remember the time he cheated during a test in the second grade? He didn't know an answer so he asked Miss White. She told him. He went back to his seat and wrote it down. He was caught though.
Albert was a typical farm boy and full of life. He was continually doing something wrong and then stuttering when he tried to explain. He was very well acquainted with Jessie, but we didn't mind. (Now we do.)
Albert had a sister, Arline, who was very dark complected. She told us that once when she was sick, the doctor gave her the wrong medicine; thus making her dark.
It was around the latter part of my second year when Harold Baughner first came to our school. His mother brought him the first day, and he cried. He would probably be embarrassed now to be reminded of that day. I so kindly let him take my ball, and I can remember the smile I received for doing it. I had won a friend.
Howard Laley, Lucy DePalma, Mary Logeration, Esther Rengrass, Harold Baughner, and I were the "main stays" off our first few years. We are still all together except Harold who is a social junior.
In the third grade we had a new teacher, Miss Glover. She was one of the prettiest girls I had ever seen, when she first came. She was very nice except she slapped Esther for chewing gum.
During this year, Miss Glover's father died. She was broken hearted and often broke down crying in classes.
Certain days I remember Thelma Keith Warbois, one of my piano teachers, coming up to school giving Miss Glover lessons. If we got to school too early, we would have to wait outside the door while she either practiced or took a music lesson.
It was during my fourth year that Peter DeBerger was in with me. Peter was another of my suitors, but this time I didn't mind. he was a tough young man, and I wanted to help him. As a result I had won a real friend, and have cherished the valentines I received from him many years ago.
Once Peter gave me a "dutch rub" and I cried. Miss Glover told me to return this "rub" but I would rather have pulled his hair. So Peter never got punished by me.
An incident I have never forgotten, but thank goodness it has never happened since, is when the boys in the third and fourth grades tried to kiss me. When the teacher had left the room, I think it was Grover Hugelmauer's idea, the boys all rushed for me. They didn't succeed, I don't think.
Marjorie Miller came to our schoool in the fourth grade, and we disliked her very much. She was the most conceded little girl and spoiled of anyone I had ever met. Lucy and I did all we could to make life miserable for her. One time we slapped her, and she ran to sister Sadie. We liked Sadie about as well as Marj. Sadie told Mr. Dermody who tried to find us, but we had locked ourselves in the girl's room.
Marjorie was short and pudgy. We kidded her about having to have her sister comb her hair every morning and noon. Today Marjorie is a blond, but although we quarrel even now, she is my best friend. We outgrew our childish dislike.
In those four years of school, Lucy DePalma and I were the star pupils. In the fourth grade during January exams, I remember getting all ninety[-nines and one-hundred's. In the first two years I had a report card full of gold stars. I got "smart" once and threw them in the fire. But both of Lucy's and my cards were covered with A's.
When graduating time came along, Mr. Robbins presented us back with a silver pin for our efforts. This was my first time of attending a graduation exercise. Marian Roth, Mildred Learn, and John Banner were among the graduates. This was the commencement of 1934.
My first four years had prove to be a big success. I looked forward to having all A's throughout my remaining school years. So far I have succeeded.
Chapter 4
CORNFLAKES AND FISH
In 1933, I was in the third grade. One time I recall Aunt Mildred coming from Michigan, and me taking Ruth to school. I was very proud to have her in my spelling class because I then displayed my booklet of papers with one hundred on them. She took a spelling test for the fun of it and got one wrong. Is it any wonder I was proud?
Aunt Mildred drove clear from Michigan for a purpose. Being only a year after may father's and her husband's death, she was lonely like my mother and decided it would do Mom good to get away; so she wished to take us back to Michigan for a visit. We accepted.
It was around the first week of June or the last week of May, and we kids were still in school. Mr. Robbins as kind enough to excuse us for the rest of the year, school term, and pass us on our present grades. I went in and had Miss White sign my report card for the subjects she taught me, and Miss Glover promoted me to the fourth grade. It was a happy day for us when we left school knowing that the next few days we would start on a long journey.
And start we did with seven riding in one car plus all the baggage. It was Aunt Mildred's car and was quite large, but nevertheless, the seven of us had to do some tight squeezing. I sat on the trunks when Ruth wasn't sitting on them, and the rest were sitting on me when I was sleeping.
When we had gone half-way through Canada we cam upon an accident; in fact we were the only witnesses to the accident. We were nearing a crossroads with a beautiful new car coming towards us. Scurrying out all of a sudden from the side road was a light open auto. Regarding neither the stop signs nor the approaching car, the little one crashed into the big one, turning it upside down. It drove nonchalantly on to the corner where it pulled up and stopped. The woman in the convertable seemed to know little and care less about the occupants of the overturned car, for she adjusted her hat while the fellow got out to view the accident.
By the time we arrived, the oil was strewn all over the road, and a man climbed out of the overturned vehicle. We stopped and asked if we could help him in any way, and rather nervously he told us we could stop at the nearest farmhouse and call the police. This we did.
This accident spoiled the rest of the trip for us, and at each cross-road from there on, Aunt Mildred slowed down; but this showed how careless drivers cause fatal accidents.
Whether there was a woman underneath the car which turned over, we never knew.
My mother tells me that we went to Detroit and stayed at Aunt Mildred's cousin's house all night. This man was an artist, and of course his home was filled with beautiful pictures. The next day we left for Clark's lake, eighty miles from Detroit. Here we were to spend our vacation.
The drive to the lake was beautiful. The trees and all the flowers were blooming, and the grass green. As we neared the lake, we saw several smaller lakes, far around this section there were many bodies of water. They all looked very blue and some had marshes all around them. All these lakes were fed by springs which made them very cold.
We arrived at the Krieghoff cottage, and it was a neat little white place. Inside was a rather small kitchen, a large dining room, and living room, as sun porch where I slept most of the time, and three bedrooms. We stayed fourteen some of the time and I don't know how many more most of the time.
Besides Aunt Mildred and her two girls and mom and us three kids, Krieghoffs had five children and their friends, and Caras Krieghoff's relatives stayed their most of the time. Barbara, Ruth and I slept together on the sun porch and so did the three boys. It was really amusing.
The oldest Krieghoff was Margaret, and she had a boy friend there. I don't recall whether she was engaged at that time or not, but a few years later she married him. Margaret was the most level headed and the nicest of the five. Being older than I, I didn't have much to do with her.
Betty was the next oldest and very conceded. She was nice looking and had many boy friends. She was crazy over movie stars and spent endless hours in on her bed writing and pasting when she was suppose to be keeping the dishes.
David was Newell's age. He was especially good looking but was good-natured. He peddled papers every afternoon, and I, being is favorite, always went with him. He would spend his profit money buying me candy. If someone of the other kids went with us, he would wait until they disappeared before "treating" me.
Barbara was far from being the "smartest" as far as brains were concerned, but was when it came to acting up. She was Ruth's and my age, and even at our early ages, she was terribly boy crazy. I think Barbara got us into more trouble than anything else.
Daniel was the youngest and the "darndest." He was the one who was always getting into trouble or making it for someone else, even more so than Barbara. Being small, he was very quick, and I never saw anyone disappear as fast as he could , at times.
These fine growing youngsters had had no bringing up what so ever. They had shifted for themselves from the time they were able to the present. When they wished to learn to swim, they were pushed into the water and told to sink or swim. They swam. As a result, they were all able to swim beautifully. They looked like seals in the water.
Aunt Mildred drove clear from Michigan for a purpose. Being only a year after may father's and her husband's death, she was lonely like my mother and decided it would do Mom good to get away; so she wished to take us back to Michigan for a visit. We accepted.
It was around the first week of June or the last week of May, and we kids were still in school. Mr. Robbins as kind enough to excuse us for the rest of the year, school term, and pass us on our present grades. I went in and had Miss White sign my report card for the subjects she taught me, and Miss Glover promoted me to the fourth grade. It was a happy day for us when we left school knowing that the next few days we would start on a long journey.
And start we did with seven riding in one car plus all the baggage. It was Aunt Mildred's car and was quite large, but nevertheless, the seven of us had to do some tight squeezing. I sat on the trunks when Ruth wasn't sitting on them, and the rest were sitting on me when I was sleeping.
When we had gone half-way through Canada we cam upon an accident; in fact we were the only witnesses to the accident. We were nearing a crossroads with a beautiful new car coming towards us. Scurrying out all of a sudden from the side road was a light open auto. Regarding neither the stop signs nor the approaching car, the little one crashed into the big one, turning it upside down. It drove nonchalantly on to the corner where it pulled up and stopped. The woman in the convertable seemed to know little and care less about the occupants of the overturned car, for she adjusted her hat while the fellow got out to view the accident.
By the time we arrived, the oil was strewn all over the road, and a man climbed out of the overturned vehicle. We stopped and asked if we could help him in any way, and rather nervously he told us we could stop at the nearest farmhouse and call the police. This we did.
This accident spoiled the rest of the trip for us, and at each cross-road from there on, Aunt Mildred slowed down; but this showed how careless drivers cause fatal accidents.
Whether there was a woman underneath the car which turned over, we never knew.
My mother tells me that we went to Detroit and stayed at Aunt Mildred's cousin's house all night. This man was an artist, and of course his home was filled with beautiful pictures. The next day we left for Clark's lake, eighty miles from Detroit. Here we were to spend our vacation.
The drive to the lake was beautiful. The trees and all the flowers were blooming, and the grass green. As we neared the lake, we saw several smaller lakes, far around this section there were many bodies of water. They all looked very blue and some had marshes all around them. All these lakes were fed by springs which made them very cold.
We arrived at the Krieghoff cottage, and it was a neat little white place. Inside was a rather small kitchen, a large dining room, and living room, as sun porch where I slept most of the time, and three bedrooms. We stayed fourteen some of the time and I don't know how many more most of the time.
Besides Aunt Mildred and her two girls and mom and us three kids, Krieghoffs had five children and their friends, and Caras Krieghoff's relatives stayed their most of the time. Barbara, Ruth and I slept together on the sun porch and so did the three boys. It was really amusing.
The oldest Krieghoff was Margaret, and she had a boy friend there. I don't recall whether she was engaged at that time or not, but a few years later she married him. Margaret was the most level headed and the nicest of the five. Being older than I, I didn't have much to do with her.
Betty was the next oldest and very conceded. She was nice looking and had many boy friends. She was crazy over movie stars and spent endless hours in on her bed writing and pasting when she was suppose to be keeping the dishes.
David was Newell's age. He was especially good looking but was good-natured. He peddled papers every afternoon, and I, being is favorite, always went with him. He would spend his profit money buying me candy. If someone of the other kids went with us, he would wait until they disappeared before "treating" me.
Barbara was far from being the "smartest" as far as brains were concerned, but was when it came to acting up. She was Ruth's and my age, and even at our early ages, she was terribly boy crazy. I think Barbara got us into more trouble than anything else.
Daniel was the youngest and the "darndest." He was the one who was always getting into trouble or making it for someone else, even more so than Barbara. Being small, he was very quick, and I never saw anyone disappear as fast as he could , at times.
These fine growing youngsters had had no bringing up what so ever. They had shifted for themselves from the time they were able to the present. When they wished to learn to swim, they were pushed into the water and told to sink or swim. They swam. As a result, they were all able to swim beautifully. They looked like seals in the water.
We kids liked to go on hikes, and go we did. Once we hiked way out in the country someplace. We went up hills and down hills until we got on the top of one and stayed. On this hill an old man and woman lived with their cows. It was beautiful up there. The hills were covered with grass and trees and were very steep. The road which wound up there was surrounded on both sides with trees.
We ate our lunch over the fence where the cows were, but they were down in the valley. I was so scared that a cow would come up and see us that I couldn't eat.
Thank goodness we didn't have to walk home. We were all so tired, I don't think we could have hiked the five or six miles we had gone.
The next hike we took was around the lake. It was David's birthday, so we bought a bag of jelly beans and started on our way. About half-way around, I found the raft which had wandered away during a storm, so I received an extra jelly bean. We stopped everytime we saw something interesting. Once we stopped and played on a play ground. Another time we "gabbed" with some man. Then when we came to an extra special swimming section, we stopped and watch the swimmers.
In all, it took us all day to hike around the lake which was from seven to ten miles. Once gain we slept very well at night from exhaustion.
A few years before we went to Clark's lake in 1933, a beautiful large home owned by rich people from Detroit burned down. The foundation was left, and evidently the floors had been marble. Around the place was a high iron fence keeping invaders from entering. Inside were beautiful gardens with hundred's of lovely flowers. We got inside once, but I was so scared I didn't enjoy myself. Usually policemen remained around keeping you out, for people wanted the flowers. They might just as well of let the people have the flowers, for they only dried. At night you couldn't find a "spookier" place on Clark's lake than Fawhn's.
At last one thing we learned to do was to row a boat. When we went on boating trips, each one had to take a turn. Once the boat got loose and drifted way out into deep water. I went after it, and my feet couldn't touch bottom and I couldn't swim. I reached the boat and rowed it back.
Our boating excursions weren't always enjoyed, for the kids liked to show off. The would rock to boat when we got over bottomless spots and scare the life out of me. Oh, I know I was a "sissy" all through this trip, but it was the first time I had been away on such a trip.
As is at every summer resort, there was a dance hall here. It was located at Pleasant View which we called "P.V.". We girls would go and watch the older ones dance. Being very young, we would "pester" the lovers and giggle. The wharf was near by where such people could take a moonlight boat ride. Theses we laughed at.
Many times we rowed up to P.V. to play on the playgrounds. There were swings and teter-boards. Clams and shells were collected at odd times. While Dan and I were catching clams, the rest of the kids rowed from P.V. across the lake. They were severely scolded for doing it, for it was dangerous for little ones to row such a distance.
Sunday's we took a bath in the lake and went to church. We met many boys and girls whom we saw years later when we returned for a visit.
Nights were the hardest to get over, even more than the food. the older ones usually went out and left us home. I had studied a little piano so when my mother wasn't there to play, I played, with one finger, while the kids sang. That is, we sang when we weren't quarreling.
As I said before, I slept out on the sun porch with Barbara and Ruth, all in one bed of course. It was "small". Even the mosquitoes thought so. But one night we had a thunder storm, and you have never really seen one if you haven't been at the lake during one. The thunder cracked so loudly that we three girls couldn't even "holler" loud enough to be heard. The rain was coming through the roof, and we were getting wet. Finally we were heard moved, but that was too late. We were all wet.
The next morning the place was a mess. All around outside, it was flooded. The dock had been washed away, and I was too, almost. Of course I had to go out in my night dress to see the dock. A big wave caught me, and I fell over. Everyone laughed very hard at me, but I wasn't in the mood to see anything funny. That water was cold!
Our meals usually consisted of corn flakes for breakfast, maybe soup or corn flakes for dinner, positively corn flakes for supper. When the fishing season opened, I had so much that I haven't eaten any since. They killed my love for fish. One good meal we had was the last supper where we had chicken. I was never so glad to see a chicken on the table in all my life.
The last night was a very enjoyable one even if Newell did have to go to bed for doing something someone else had done. We put on a play with Ruth as "Cinderella" and me as the "prince". Mr. Krieghoff showed movies he had taken. They were interesting but the best part was that a certain young man was there.
I don't ever think I shall forget him. He must have been twenty years old with red hair and very tall. We called him, "Junior" and I spent much time playing with him during our visit. He would push me in the swing. Being very witty, he would tell me very funny stories. I never saw him again after we left, but you can't take memories away from me.
I think the trip was spoiled for my mother when Gordon drew a picture of my father. It was a large charcoal drawing taken from a very small picture. He had never seen Daddy, but the picture was perfect.
Mom wished to be home for the fourth of July, so we left around the second or third. Daddy's brother, Burton, came after us. We left very early in the morning, leaving the thanked host and hostess and guests evening goodbye.
All the way home we sang "Shuffle off to Buffalo." We were glad to get home, but we had had a very enjoyable and memorable time with cornflakes and fish leading the memories.
We ate our lunch over the fence where the cows were, but they were down in the valley. I was so scared that a cow would come up and see us that I couldn't eat.
Thank goodness we didn't have to walk home. We were all so tired, I don't think we could have hiked the five or six miles we had gone.
The next hike we took was around the lake. It was David's birthday, so we bought a bag of jelly beans and started on our way. About half-way around, I found the raft which had wandered away during a storm, so I received an extra jelly bean. We stopped everytime we saw something interesting. Once we stopped and played on a play ground. Another time we "gabbed" with some man. Then when we came to an extra special swimming section, we stopped and watch the swimmers.
In all, it took us all day to hike around the lake which was from seven to ten miles. Once gain we slept very well at night from exhaustion.
A few years before we went to Clark's lake in 1933, a beautiful large home owned by rich people from Detroit burned down. The foundation was left, and evidently the floors had been marble. Around the place was a high iron fence keeping invaders from entering. Inside were beautiful gardens with hundred's of lovely flowers. We got inside once, but I was so scared I didn't enjoy myself. Usually policemen remained around keeping you out, for people wanted the flowers. They might just as well of let the people have the flowers, for they only dried. At night you couldn't find a "spookier" place on Clark's lake than Fawhn's.
At last one thing we learned to do was to row a boat. When we went on boating trips, each one had to take a turn. Once the boat got loose and drifted way out into deep water. I went after it, and my feet couldn't touch bottom and I couldn't swim. I reached the boat and rowed it back.
Our boating excursions weren't always enjoyed, for the kids liked to show off. The would rock to boat when we got over bottomless spots and scare the life out of me. Oh, I know I was a "sissy" all through this trip, but it was the first time I had been away on such a trip.
As is at every summer resort, there was a dance hall here. It was located at Pleasant View which we called "P.V.". We girls would go and watch the older ones dance. Being very young, we would "pester" the lovers and giggle. The wharf was near by where such people could take a moonlight boat ride. Theses we laughed at.
Many times we rowed up to P.V. to play on the playgrounds. There were swings and teter-boards. Clams and shells were collected at odd times. While Dan and I were catching clams, the rest of the kids rowed from P.V. across the lake. They were severely scolded for doing it, for it was dangerous for little ones to row such a distance.
Sunday's we took a bath in the lake and went to church. We met many boys and girls whom we saw years later when we returned for a visit.
Nights were the hardest to get over, even more than the food. the older ones usually went out and left us home. I had studied a little piano so when my mother wasn't there to play, I played, with one finger, while the kids sang. That is, we sang when we weren't quarreling.
As I said before, I slept out on the sun porch with Barbara and Ruth, all in one bed of course. It was "small". Even the mosquitoes thought so. But one night we had a thunder storm, and you have never really seen one if you haven't been at the lake during one. The thunder cracked so loudly that we three girls couldn't even "holler" loud enough to be heard. The rain was coming through the roof, and we were getting wet. Finally we were heard moved, but that was too late. We were all wet.
The next morning the place was a mess. All around outside, it was flooded. The dock had been washed away, and I was too, almost. Of course I had to go out in my night dress to see the dock. A big wave caught me, and I fell over. Everyone laughed very hard at me, but I wasn't in the mood to see anything funny. That water was cold!
Our meals usually consisted of corn flakes for breakfast, maybe soup or corn flakes for dinner, positively corn flakes for supper. When the fishing season opened, I had so much that I haven't eaten any since. They killed my love for fish. One good meal we had was the last supper where we had chicken. I was never so glad to see a chicken on the table in all my life.
The last night was a very enjoyable one even if Newell did have to go to bed for doing something someone else had done. We put on a play with Ruth as "Cinderella" and me as the "prince". Mr. Krieghoff showed movies he had taken. They were interesting but the best part was that a certain young man was there.
I don't ever think I shall forget him. He must have been twenty years old with red hair and very tall. We called him, "Junior" and I spent much time playing with him during our visit. He would push me in the swing. Being very witty, he would tell me very funny stories. I never saw him again after we left, but you can't take memories away from me.
I think the trip was spoiled for my mother when Gordon drew a picture of my father. It was a large charcoal drawing taken from a very small picture. He had never seen Daddy, but the picture was perfect.
Mom wished to be home for the fourth of July, so we left around the second or third. Daddy's brother, Burton, came after us. We left very early in the morning, leaving the thanked host and hostess and guests evening goodbye.
All the way home we sang "Shuffle off to Buffalo." We were glad to get home, but we had had a very enjoyable and memorable time with cornflakes and fish leading the memories.
