Myrties Memories
     Next first experience I remember right now was the Telephone. About  time Pa
 died in 1901, there were a few telephones being installed out in the country. Two
 in our immediate neighborhood.

     On our way home from schoolone P.M., the two girls whose people had
  telephones were trying to explain it to me. I had told them I never had even seen
 one, let alone talking on them. Iwould soon be passing both their houses, so one
 girl said, "I'll go into myhouse and wait for you to call me from Mabel's, and you
 can try it". SoMabel and I walked on from Ada's house·, and s topped in at
 Mable's home. Herewas this scary looking box that talked to you, hanging on a
 wall. Mabel told mewhat Ada's ring was and said you just turn this little crank so
 many times, then put this receiver to your ear and listen. When she says, "Hello"
  you say, "Hello" back to her. I reached for the crank and then losing my nerve
 told Mabel I was scared I wouldn't do it right and asked her to crank it for me. She
 did, then put the receiver to my ear. Ada answered but I was so frightened that I
 dropped the receiver. Mabel handed it back to me but I was so shaky. I can't
 remember whether I said anything or not but now I knew it really was true. It 
worked! Phones were a "far cry" those days from the sophisticated things of
 today. These give you a recording that talks to you even when there's no one at
 the other end of the wire. I am about as scared of these sometimes as I was at the
 very first one I ever used. A whole neighborhood, maybe ten or twelve families
 would be on the same line. Could call each other without calling Central as
 operators were named then. If you wanted someone not on your line you rang
 just one ring for Central. If you needed someone on your own line, you rang the
 number of times that it called for in your book. Sometimes 2 or 3 rings or else 1
 long and 1 short or maybe some other combination like 2 long 1 short, or maybe
 2 long and 2 short. When the telephone started ringing you paid strict attention to
 distinguish your own ring. There weren't many secrets in the neighborhoods
 those days. People listened in on the lines, sometimes just for entertainment. I
 miss the old fashioned type that required an operator. Have been helped so many
 times by them, then, too, you could have a nice little chat with an operator while
 you waited for your party to answer. Myrtle, Ray's sister, worked here a good
 many years and was very efficient. She also had worked in Lake Odessa, and
 Grand Rapids before coming here.
 
      When Johnnie died, we wouldn't have known about it in  time to get out there
 before it happened, if the operator hadn't called us. She  knew from the calls
 coming into the office what was happening and so called Ray  immediately. We
 were so grateful to her.

      Another time when Lois lived on Grandma Bishop's place, she was alone with
 Danny in his high chair. Lois fainted away and when she came to her senses,
 crawled (couldn't stand up) to the telephone, rang the operator and just said,
 "Please call my mother, I'm sick", and hung up the receiver. The operator
 recognized Lois' voice and called me at the store telling me I'd better get out to
 Lois's house, she was sick. Now, could these new fangled outfits do that?

     Then again, when Ray died, don't know who the girl was any more but she
 certainly was on the job. Calling people, telling them I needed help. Never will I
 forget that.

     New phones are another sign of Progress, but I don't like this one. The old way
 of the operators was so comforting to know. Just call the operator and you had
 sympathetic help at once. In small towns like ours, it was a good thing.

Page 31


First sight of a steel trap
     Once upon a time a certain dumb little girl went to spend
 Saturday with a friend. It was a beautiful morning in early Spring, so the two little
 girls decided to take a walk down the lane. Just over the line fence was a field
which had already been planted to corn. It looked so pretty, the corn was just
 corming up. The girls spoke of the beauty of it. The corn looked like small dots of
 green evenly spaced over the entire field. Suddenly Miss Dumb Bunny saw
 something strange fastened on top of the fence. She asked her friend what it was
 and was told it was a steel trap. What's a steel trap was the next question. Friend
 (oh, let's call her Ethel) explained her brother Frank trapped crows in it. Said the
 crows were pulling up the little green corn plants and Frank thought the traps
 might help to scare them away. Of course that explanation didn't tell Miss D.B.
 how it worked, can that thing catch a crow? Ethel said, "Frank spreads the side
 things apart until they will lay flat, then he baits it with corn. Crows try to eat the
 corn, that springs the trap and it catches the crow right by its head."

      By this time the dumb gal was at the very top of the fence looking right down
 onto the trap. "What’s that funny looking round thing there in the middle,
 she asked. Ethel replied, "That's where Frank puts the bait." Next question,
 where? there? Ethel screamed, "Don’t touch that". Too late, the trap was sprung
 and the Dummy's front finger on her right hand was held in its jaws.

      I might as well tell you because I think you have probably known all along that
 it was Dumb Myrtie who always had to know how everything worked that had her
 finger in the trap. It was chained to the top rail and so was I. Ethel managed to
 unfasten the chain. I climbed down. Ethel tried to spring the trap open to release
 my finger but of course she didn't have the strength. Her father was plowing the
 field just a little farther down the lane, so we headed for him. Ethel walked closely
 beside me carrying the trap so the weight wouldn't pull on my finger, both of us
 crying, we reached Mr. Walsh finally. He was using a walking plow and when he
 saw us coming, we were (to him) such a funny looking pair of little girls, he just
 leaned over those plow handles and exploded with laughter. Quickly, though, he
 released my finger and apologized for the laughter. Said it was really no laughing
 matter, it could have snapped the end of my finger off. Made the tip of my first
 finger on my right hand crooked was all. Now there's arthritis in that joint but the
 crookedness is there above it. Mr. Walsh never let me forget it after I grew up.
 Well, I admit it was a dumb but I had to know how steel traps worked and I
 received a full demonstration.

Page 32


A Near Tragedy
     Might just as well include this story right here for it also
 involves Ethel, her mother and father, Mary and John Walsh. Before the road
 between the hills was graded up and filled in as it is now. Going south directly in
 front of our home was a very steep hill. The road leveled off maybe 25 or 35 feet,
 then another sharp hill. On this level spot was a small bridge, just about the same
 width of the road and probably not more than 4 or 5 feet wide. Don't remember
 whether or not there was water running under there, but in the spring of the year
 the water came from somewhere. At times the bridge was covered but never was
 very high. Until this one particular spring it became very bad. It was Saturday and
 neighbors north of us were driving to Vermontville to do their weekly shopping.
 The water was a little deep but nothing to be frightened about when all these
 people went to town soon after noon.

     In the middle of the afternoon, the water began rising. We could see it climbing
 higher and higher up each hill. Ma was worried about the people coming from
 town, so we sat on our steps to watch for them. Of course, we had seen them go
 by on their way in and knew they would soon be coming and how many.

     Finally, they had all passed through safely excepting the Walshes. Ma said
 when the last family came through, "I have to go start the milking, but I'm
 still worried over Mr. and Mrs. Walsh. Hope they come before dark. You girls sit
 here and wait for them. If they get into any trouble, you Myrtie, run for Arby and
 Ernie Benedict but tell Arby first. He is quicker than Ernie". Off she went to
 the barn, all the time so sure something was going to go wrong. Arby, at that
 time, lived on the first farm north of us, on the east side. Ernie, who was
 Walshes son in-law, lived directly across from him on the west side of the road. It
 is about 1/4 mile from us.

     Ma's prediction came through. She was right. Mr. Walsh came. He had two
 horses hitched to a single buggy with a top. Everything was fine, when suddenly
 a buggy wheel ran off the side of the narrow board bridge, tipping the buggy over
 on its side, breaking the tongue loose, horses kept on going dragging Mr. Walsh
 holding fast to the reins, Mrs. Walsh holding fast to his coat tail, screaming
 "Ethel's in the buggy" over and over. Water was up to their arm pits. By this time
 I was headed for Arby's calling to Ma to get to the house as I passed by the barn.
 Arby was at the supper table but he jumped up and was on his way before I could
 even tell him my story. I hurried across to Ernie's and told him, then started back
 home.

     Arby was wearing rubberboots. I hadn't gone very far before I saw one of them
 on the ground, a little farther and here was the other boot. He had kicked them off
 as he ran on in his stocking feet. I carried the boots on home. When I arrived Arby
 was just swimming out with Ethel in his arms. The buggy was entirely submerged
 with only one corner of the top in sight. Ethel's head was up in that corner but her
 head was above water. Arby had quite a time getting her out, he thought she was
 dead. Looking back now, she probably had fainted away or maybe struck her
 head as the buggy tipped over. Whatever it was, air in that part of the top above
 the water, and Arby, saved her life.

Page 33


     Next I remember the doctor being there. Pearl remembers them putting Ethel in
 bed in our spare bedroom and she and Mrs. Walsh were there for a week before
 Ethel was able to go home.Shock, I suppose, might have caused that. That is one
 experience that we all could have done without. Don't know what might have
 happened if Ma hadn't had the foresight to tell us to get Arby and Ernie there.

     It's 11:3O p.m. and I'm all out of breath from reliving this. Think I'll go to bed. Not
 a very good story to go to bed on. Just a little more history.Ethel married Clarence
 Collier, Charley's brother. Don Collier is her son. Good Night.

The Cellar
     Our cellar was not a basement. Webster says a cellar is a place
 for storing provisions while a basement is the lowest part or story of a building.
 No refrigeration back then, so when a house was built, a cellar to keep your
 perishable foods cool was included in the plan.

      In this house, too, the cellar is located beneath the den. I used to keep the walls
 swept clear of cobwebs and dust, clean papers on the shelves, floor scrubbed
 with soap suds, then rinsed with clear water carried down from the kitchen. The
 water ran out then down the drain in the southeast corner, immediately. Now
 sometimes water comes in but it takes its time running out. I don't carry it down,
 either.

      Always put the milk, butter, shortening etc. directly on the cellar floor. Meat, if it
 wasn't to be cooked at once, I seared in a skillet over the fire, then carried it down
 stairs and placed it on the floor. Everything had to be covered.

      My cellar shelves were loaded always with canned fruits, jams, and jellies. No
 more of that, I do a little but can store it in my cupboards. The south part of the
 cellar, I always called it, is what Webster would call a basement. When we moved
 here, the furnace with the corner made into a coal bin was all there was down
 there.  Haven't been down for years. I'll bet people who do have to go must be
 afraid they'll get hung up on cobwebs. I do have someone else clean it once in
 awhile.

      As usual, I am getting away from my subject but I write things down just as they
 pop into my head and this just popped in right now.

      In the early days (What an expression, makes me feel so antiquated), doctors
 would accept most anything useful as payment of a bill. Maybe a sack of
 potatoes, oats, or hay for their horse or wood to heat their houses. Most anything
 usable. Apples, butter, etc. would be accepted.

      When Ray's sister Ethel was born, Jan. 25, 1897, the doctor wanted a load of
 wood for his payment. Roads  were snow covered, so Ray's father told him to
 hitch the horses to the sleighs and take a load of wood to Sunfield, delivering it to
 Ed Snyder's house. The house was this very one I'm sitting in today. Dr. Snyder
 built it in 1900. Ray, 12 years old then, used to say in later years, on that day so
 long ago little did he think he would be throwing wood and coal into that same
 window.

Page 34


Cellar at the old homestead
     This cellar ran the full length of the house. It was divided into two,
 one under the north end and the other under the upright at the south. The north
 one had no windows, so we called it the dark cellar, the other one had four
 windows and was called the light cellar.

     Besides the windows, ahatchway opened into it from outside, so this could be
 opened in the summertime. This made it nice and airy, no stale or musty odor at
 any time. Milk waskept in crocks on the shelves, waiting for cream to rise and be
 skimmed off forbutter, so the place had to be kept very clean and free from odors.
 Open crocksof milk would become tainted with the slightest smell.There was also
 an insidestairway leading down from the pantry above. A small landing, with
 shelves forstorage at the end, built at the top was nice. No steps leading down
 into space when you opened the door.

     But this landing and those cellar steps had to be scrubbed with a brush every
 Saturday. My mother was a great "scrubber-upper". After all there was FOOD in
 that cellar. This light airy storage space was certainly in the fall always, "a sight
 for sore eyes'', or maybe a more accurate expression would be, "a sight for
 hungry stomachs". The shelves were filled then with canned fruit, gallon crocks
 of apple butter, lard to bake with, cucumber pickles in a six gallon crock on the
 floor. Enough food to feed an army. Maybe that's what we had, there were eight
 people living in that house regularly with plenty of coming and going, my mother
 was prepared

     The prettiest sight in this cellar were the shelves on which my father stored our
 apples. These shelves were not built with a solid board but with narrow boards
 placed a half inch or so apart to let air in around the apples. Also there was
 something across the front to keep them from rolling out.

     The apples were all sorted according to the variety. We had so many different
 kinds, most of them are not raised anymore. There were Northern Spies, of
 course, Greenings, Baldwins, Greasy Pippins, Tolman Sweets, and Snow apples.
 Also had one called Rambo. This was a fall variety and had to be used first. Not
 very good keepers but delicious eating. Then another called Russets. These my
 dad buried in a pit to be opened up in the spring. This pit was dug at the edge of
 our garden, lined with straw someway. Can't tell too much about this because it
was one more thing we never did after my dad was gone.

     However, the pit was like a cold storage and Pa buried Russet apples, heads of
 cabbage, carrots, turnips,etc. What an exciting day when he went out in the
 spring and opened that pit. Everything was as fresh as the day he stored it. The
 Russet apples weredelicious. Not even withered.

The Dark Cellar
     All I can remember we kept in this one is barrels filled with
 potatoes and cider barrels. The cider barrels- were laid down flat and had spigots
 in each one. Cider, as you all know, turns to vinegar as it ages. We always had
 one barrel of that and each fall my dad would take apples to the cider mill and
 have fresh cider made. We drank out of this until it turned so hard it wasn't fit to
 drink, then we'd leave it for vinegar.

Page 35


      Now all this was fine until one day you were sent down to draw a jug of vinegar.
 You didn't want to go into that old dark place, you were scared but you didn't dare
 say you were afraid and could you please take a lamp with you. The answer to 
that would be, "a  lamp, you want to set this house on fire, now go on and get that
 vinegar, there's nothing down there to be afraid of". I knew there was and it's
 name was DARK. Coming so suddenly out of the day light into this room, you
 couldn't see a thing, so you'd wait a few minutes (seemed like hours) and then
 you could see a little but still you were scared. Walking, gingerly, up to the vinegar
 barrel, you'd put your jug under the spigot and turn it on. Not too fast, it will spit
 back up, so you wait forever for the jug to fill, expecting some wild animal or an
 old crazy man to grab you and choke you to death. It wouldn't have taken long,
 you were half way there already. The jug is full, you turn off the spigot and go out
 into the light and up the stairs to safety.

     When you were sent down for potatoes, that was a lot worse than drawing
 vinegar. You'd enter the darkness, stand still until your eyes were accustomed to
 the sudden change, then walk up to that potato barrel! You look down into that
 barrel and there really is no light now. Barrel is nearly  you're going to need to
 reach way into this one. But it isn't you at all, it's me. I am really scared now. I
 pound on the outside of the barrel to scare the rats or whatever is in there.
 Nothing comes out so reach into the darkness and fill my pan. Once more I have
 survived.

      Pearl told me last Sunday when she had to go for potatoes, she always
 snitched a few matches and hide them in her apron pocket. When she reached
 the barrel, she'd strike a match, holding the lighted match inside the barrel she
 could see whether there was anything in there or not. Always careful to hide the
 burnt match in her pocket to dispose of it before Ma found out. Now, why didn't
 think of that. You know something? I’ll bet Ma would have caught me at it. No
 flashlights in those days. What an invention that was.

Sleigh Bells
     What a delight these strings of sleigh bells were. Used only in
 the winter time, when the roads were covered with snow and you were unable to
 pull a buggy. Buggies had wheels, so now a cutter or sleighs with runners were
 the conveyances. The sleigh bells, mounted on a strap, placed around a horse's
neck, hanging loosely underneath his head, jingle and jangled with every
 movement of his body.

     Each string had a different tone. The size of the bells, some about an inch in
 diameter gave out a high pitched sound, while the larger ones made a lower
 sound. Probably were 25 or 30 bells on a string. One soon learned the sound of
 each neighbors bells and could tell who was driving past without looking out.

     My father’s bells were called a graduated string. Tiny inch bells at the top and
 gradually changing to one and one half inch in the middle. They made the most
 melodious sound. Ma gave them to Arby and now Ruth Wright has them. She has
 quite a collection of strings, all from some of her relatives. Has them displayed
 hanging side by side on one wall of a room in her house.

Page 36


Sleighs
     A sleigh had two sets of runners. The front ones turned as
 you guided your horses, the back pair was stationary. Followed the turn of the
 front pair. Usually a wagon box, with a high seat in front for the driver~ was used
 to carry passengers or grain to the mill, your groceries, etc. Sleigh bells were not
 used on these horses, but a larger bell was placed on each horses' neck. These
 were called team bells.

      Lots of logging was done in the winter time. To draw logs, the box was
 removed. The first winter Ray and I were married (1911), he drew logs into town
 from somewhere south of here. Would get up at 3:00 a.m., have his breakfast,
then go bring in a load of logs before he began his daily Dray-line job here in
 town. Brought in a little extra income.

     Ray kept his horses in a barn on Washington street, where P. J., then Gary later,
 used to live. While he was gone for his team, I used to start my dayswork, then I'd
 hear his bells coming and be in the window to wave my hand; butas soon as the
 sound of the bells were gone, I'd crawl back in bed, feeling guilty to be so nice
 and warm when I knew Ray must be cold. Sometimes, he would get off the
 sleighs and trot alongside to warm himself up. When I heard the sound of his
 bells coming back into town I'd get up, light the lamp and be in the window again.
 Guess I forgot to say we lived right down south of here where you turn to go to
 the school houe. Can see the house now from my window. Those woods where
 he went for the logs must have been close by, for he would be back in town
 before daylight. Had to be ready to meet the 8 a.m. train to pick up freight for the
 merchants. What a cold winter that !

Cutters
     A cutter was the only other conveyance used in the winter
 time when snow covered the roads. Just sleighs and cutters. Two horses were
 driven to pull the sleighs, but a cutter used just one horse. These vehicles were
 sort of a square looking type with the seat in the very back. The back then curved
 around, down the side, shaping down towards the floor. This gave one protection
 so you wouldn't fallout, and could tuck the blankets or robe around you to keep
 warm. Then the sides continued on to the front, making a sort of dashboard. This
 body was mounted on runners, like those on a child's sled only of course large
 and longer. The whole cutter was maybe four feet wide and perhaps six feet long.
 It cleared the ground at maybe twelve or eighteen inches. Not so high. You could
 easily step right in, about like going up one step on' the porch.

Page 37


So what are we waiting for?
     The runners are on, the horse is between the thills, LET'S GO,
 Climb in, no brakes to be used. You may step on the bottom of the blankets to
 hold them around your feet, tuck them tightly then around your legs and up your
 body as high as they will reach, usually about to your arm pits.You feel sort of like
 a mummy but  necessary because,"Baby It's Cold Outside". Cold or not, it use
 to give me a thrill even though we might only be going to Vermontville. So
 different than a buggy ride.

      Before Ray and I were
 married, sometimes we would go for a cutter ride in the evening. Usually it was
 Sunday night, not many people out. 3uch a beautiful world, snow everywhere,
 fields, trees, roof tops, everything covered, smoke coming from the chimneys of
 the houses we drove by. The hush and silence of a winters night almost took
 one's breath away. As our horse trotted along the way, the only sound we heard
 was the jingling of our sleighbells, cutters just glide along noiselessly. Gave me
 the feeling  of us being the only ones in the world and we were just soaring along
 into space. Sort of lonely but happy, just to be alive. We look up at the sky and
 see the moon shining down upon us and our snow covered world, making it
 almost as light as day. Next, the clouds begin to break away and out comes the
 first star. Must make a wish and say, "Star light, Star bright, wish I may,
 wish I might have the wish I wish tonight." Still think of this, even now,
 when I see my first star. Other stars soon follow my first one, until the sky is
dotted all over with them, sparkling like diamonds. We located, the  ripper, the
 Little Dipper, and also the Milky Way. Didn't see the man in the moon try to dip
 right in and take a drink but the sight was so beautiful and fairy-like that you
 thought you might.

     The beauty of the winter night around and the diamond studded sky made us
 feel, as we drove home, that we were driving on Hallowed ground. We feel like a
 King and Queen, this great, big, beautiful world is ours.

     You modern guys with your noisy snowmobiles can have your speedy fun, but
 I'll just float along silently in my old cutter, taking time to enjoy the wonders of the
 world around me.

Page 38


A Sleigh Ride
     In 1900, the year before my father died, we were invited to his
 brothers, John Lovell's, for Thanksgiving Day Dinner. Sleighing didn't always
 come as early as this but this year, the snow came and the ground was never bare
 until spring. We had good sleighing all winter.

     Uncle John's family lived south of Sunfield on what is now known as the Dan
 Aungst farm. Five miles from our place. Such a beautiful winter morning, ground,
 trees, and buildings covered with snow, sparkling in the early morning sunshine.
 I can hardly wait to get started. Hurry everybody! At last, here comes Pa and Arby
 from the barn. Horses prancing, act as though they were as anxious as I to get
 started. Pa and Arby have filled the bed of the sleighs with nice clean straw
 covered over with horse blankets for us to sit on. Ma climbs up on the drivers
 seat with my dad, Arby, Mae, Sylvia, Grace, Pearl, and I sit on the straw covered
 bed. More blankets to tuck around us and we are started at last. Down the road
 north 3/4 mile to Dellwood corners, then east one mile to Bismark School house. 
There we stop to pick up my father's aunt and her son. Her name was Aunt Diana
 Pickens, (she lived to the age of 102), the sons name was Thomas. Their home is
 now owned by Lloyd  and Rose Steward. We go north two miles from Aunt
 Diana's and next east one mile on what is now St. Joe Highway. Here we behold
 the most gorgeous sight! This whole mile bordering on the south side of the
 road, was  covered with timber. Huge, tall trees, their snowy branches glistening
 in the sunshine, growing so closely together, looked to me like a huge snow bank.

      On then down east to the Brethren Church, one-fourth mile north and we are at
 Uncle John's. Don't remember much more of this day, except Aunt Allie had roast
 turkey. It was a first time for turkey with me. They raised their own. Of course, I
 remember the rest of the family, Bessie, Donna, and John Jr. All older than I. Don't
 recall the ride home but I'll bet we sang most of the way, because if my dad was
 riding anywhere, he sang. He loved music.

       Thinking of this great big Woods makes me wonder if that wasn't where Ray
 went for his logs that winter of 1911, I told you about. So much timber was sold
 and cut down at that time. I know it was close to town because he never was
 gone very long. I'll just bet that is where they came from. I think ,Charles Brown
 owned that place, perhaps not then but he later lived there. Some of you will
 remember him.
 Changes Life Style
     

Page 39


      A few years after the death of my father, some things to make life easier for a
 woman were invented.  For instance, small portable stoves to cook on. The fuel
 used for these was kerosene or gasoline. They made quite a difference at our
 house. We never cooked our meals in the Summer Kitchen anymore. Could set
 one of these small stoves on top of our wood-burning range or on a shelf. Also a
 portable oven came on the market. This was a big help, saved on wood as well as
 a lot of leg work, carrying things outside to cook, then carrying it back in to eat.

      Another thing was spring and mattresses for our beds. Can't help but think the
 old fashioned straw tick was much more sanitary than a mattress but not nearly
 as comfortable. Using a material called ticking, these were sewed together like
 huge pillowcase, excepting both ends were closed. Down in the middle center of
 the top was an eighteen or twenty inch slit fastened together with buttons and
 button holes. Through this opening, the tick was filled with fresh oat straw.
 Crammed so full you could scarcely button the opening. Next procedure,
 carrying the bulky thing up that hill, into the house, up the stairs, and get it in
 place on the bed. Ma, Mae, Sylvia, Grace each grasp a corner and lifting it high
 enough to clear the ground, they are on their merry way. The awkward thing was
 not heavy, oat straw is very light.

     I called it a merry way because it was just that. Sylvia had a way of turning any
 task, however hard,into fun. They talked, laughed, and giggled all the way to the
 house. This tickgoes upstairs, so that will take a bit of doing. There were
 banisters alongeach side of the stairwell at the top. So they'd stand the tick
 through the door way, two of the girls leaning over the banisters at the top pulling
 on it, the girls at the bottom pushing, and then with one last mighty heave, over a
 banister the unwieldy thing was, upstairs and in place on the bed. Most of our
 beds had a tick filled with feathers, which was placed over the straw one. Eased
 the hardness just a bit.

     Earlier in the day this room had been completely cleaned. Curtains, bedding,
 throw rugs washed and dried. If the tick was not new, it also had to be washed.
 Feather bed and quilts hung on the clothes line to air. Even the carpet had been
 taken up, carried down stairs, threw over the clothesline beating the dust out with
 a carpet beater. I got to help a little I could wack away at the carpet, also a feather
 tick. Probably my wacks were not very hard ones but every little whack helped.
 When they put the carpet down, I never was allowed to pound a tack in but now
 I came in handy. A tack puller was handed to me and I was ordered to pull the
 tacks out. I didn't mind doing around for the good tacks when she was laying the
 carpet again.  Didn't like that, too puttery, I'd rather beat the carpet and see the
 dust fly. This one bed finished, just four more to go, and they will be clean and
 sanitary. Sanitary or not, I’m very thankful for mattresses and springs.

Page 40


     Just must tell you this, then I’ll leave the beds and housecleaning, because
 they are making me tired. When Sylvia and Johnnie were married, they began
 housekeeping at Grandma Rachel Welch’s. Just two rooms, Grandma Welch had
 built onto the side of her house, for her son, Grandpa Ped, (Johnnie's father) to
 live in when he was married. 

     I use to be there quite a lot, helping Sylvia. No place for me to sleep in their part
 of the house, so I would have to go upstairs in Grandma Rachel's part. At
 bedtime, carrying a lighted oil lamp in my hand, I'd start on that LONG journey
 across Grandma's kitchen, then up the stairs to the ROOM. This place was filled,
 almost to over flowing, with Grandma's things she had no use for anymore. One
 thing I remember was her spinning wheel. I thought it was all but today it would
 be very valuable.

      A stand to put my lamp on and the bed was in one corner of the room. This bed
 was very old. In place of slats, ropes were strung across and up and down to form
 a place for the tick. If you thought the slats were hard, you should have slept in
 this. You could actually feel the ropes. The whole place was very spooky, my little
 light didn't reach more than three feet away and what did I know the things that
 were hiding to come after me when I'd blowout the lamp. Didn't dare to leave it lit,
 might tip it over in the night and set fire to the house. Every night when I’d start
 for bed Sylvia would say, “Are you sure you are not afraid, Myrtie?” Always
 answering, “No, I’m not afraid” when I was shaking in my boots and my teeth
 were chattering.

     All of Grandmas treasures were burned when a few years later, fire destroyed
 the old, old house. Always wanted to rummage through that upstairs but didn’t
 dare. Grandma Rachel would have called me a snoop. I was always on pretty
 good terms with her and wanted to keep it that way.

Settin' Hens and Such
     Back in the "hey-day" of my life, we raised chickens, as
 did every farmer. Our henhouse was built at the edge of the orchard, not very far
 from the house. Roosts were built along one side of the wall inside with a row of
 nests for the hens to lay their eggs in on the opposite wall. 

     Can just hear you younger readers say, "Now what crazy thing is she talking
 about? What are roosts and hens nests?" My more antiquated children know but
 for the others I'll try to explain. Roosts first. Ours were started with 3 two-by-fours
 about 4 feet long. 

Page 41


      One end nailed at right angles to the wall, half way between top and bottom,
 then a board slanting from the roof to the edge of this first board. Three of these
 were used to hold the roosting poles, one at each end and the third in the center
 so the weight of the chickens couldn't make the poles sag. The poles, small
 enough for a chicken to cling to with their feet, were then placed length-wise
 between the supports. Fastened to the slanting board, one pole above the other
 (not directly above, of course), it now looks like a stairway with no steps hanging
 to the wall. Just the poles.

      Sometimes you might be a little late with your chores, darkness came before
 you had taken water and grain to the chickens. Always had that out for them
 ready for the next morning. With a lighted lantern hanging from one arm, a pail of
 water on the other, you'd enter the henhouse. What a sight greeted your eyes. All
 those chickens clinging to the poles, all facing the same way, backs to the walls,
 eyes closed, they were asleep. Maybe one or two would open a sleepy eye, give
 you the once over, and just go back to sleep. BUT, if you made the least bit of
 noise then pandemonium would start. They were very much awake, roosters
 squawking, hens cackling, all flying down off their poles, you didn't tarry. You
 just grabbed your lantern and fled out the door. As soon as you left with the light
 they would quiet right down. Chickens made a good burglar alarm. If people
 heard them making a fuss in the night, someone always investigated
 immediately. Most men would carry their shot gun out with them. Maybe you
 wouldn't see anything, could have been a rat, weazel, skunk, or some other wild
 animal wanting a chicken dinner or it could have been a man. Plenty of chicken
 thieves around in those days.

      Guess it's about time I began on those nests. This was just a simple board
 mounted like a shelf on the opposite side from the roosts. A board along the front
 to keep the eggs from rolling out, small boards about four inches high, spaced
 cross wise about twelve inches apart the full length of the shelf, made a box like
 nests just large enough for one hen. These were covered on the bottom with straw
 to keep the eggs from breaking when laid. Now in the early spring, some of these
 older hens would decide a family of little chickens would be a nice thing to have.
 So she would quit laying eggs, climb into one of those cozy little nests and there
 you would find her when you went to gather in the eggs. You couldn't scare her
 off, had to pick her up and throw her out, being very careful to reach under her
 from the back to get hold on her legs. She would fight back, picking your hands
 with her sharp bill, if you didn't take care. You'd give her a toss but if she really
 wanted to sit in that nest for the next three weeks (time it takes for eggs to hatch)
 she'd fly right back in and set there. Reporting to Ma, she'd tell me to keep that up
 for three or four days until we knew for certain she was going to set, then we'd put
 the eggs underneath her. You didn't put fourteen perfectly good eggs under a hen,
 then have her decide after a few days that she didn't really want a family that bad
 and have her leave the nest. The eggs would be spoiled and have to be thrown
 away. Well, this old hen persisted, we put nice fresh straw in the nest, marked
 fourteen eggs with blue carpenters chalk, and let the old hen crawl in. She'd take
 her beak and her feet to push the straw around making a little hollow in the center,
 she arranged the eggs in it. Dropping gently down on them, they would still not
 suit, so she'd poke her head around underneath herself, first on one side, then the
 other until they felt exactly right. Then spreading each wing out a little way from her
 body, she'd settle down for the long three weeks ahead of her.

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      She would leave her nest just long enough to eat and drink and maybe go
 outside the hen house long enough to scratch around in the ground a bit. Always
 get back on the nest before the eggs would get cold. If they were allowed to get
 cold, they wouldn't hatch .  When the little chickens began to appear, Ma (not me)
 would take them out of the nest, put them in a pasteboard box, tuck a cloth lightly
 over them, take them in the house until all the eggs were hatched. If she had left
 them in the nest, after the appearance of one or two chicks, old mother henwould
 be so proud and anxious to show them to the world, she might just leave her nest
 with them. Then the rest of the eggs would get cold and no more little ones. Pa had
 made several box like structures to house the hen and her tiny chicks. These
 looked like tiny houses, had a slanting roof over the top, the back and sides and
 floor were built solidly, but the front had slats across so the chicks could go In and
 out. Ma not me, again) would carry the old hen out and place her inside the little
 house then returning the baby chickens to her, she'd start clucking and the little
 chicks would run to her crawling underneath her feathers to keep warm. When the
 chickens were two or three days old, we let the hen out of her house part time. After
 getting the hen and her babies settled in their cozy little house, Ma told me to go
 clean out that nest, dispose of the eggs that didn't hatch and now were rotten, then
 put clean straw in. I didn't like this nasty job but went about it anyway. Soon
 finished everything but disposing of the rotten eggs. Three of them. Ma had said,
 toss them way back into the orchard and don't make a mess around the hen house.
 Gingerly, I pick up an egg, going just outside the door, closing my eyes, I gave that
 egg the hardest underhand toss I could. The thing landed in the apple tree right
 over my head, down it came PLOP, right at my feet. You'll have to imagine what
 happened next, for really I remember no more of the incident. I'll bet someone else
 finished my job. Guess I forgot to explain why Ma put the mark of blue chalk on her
 eggs under that old hen. Sometimes, another hen would decide they wanted to lay
 their eggs in that nest. 30 every night) when you gathered in the eggs, you had to
 lift that old settin hen up to check. If there was an egg with no blue mark on it, you
 knew that one was freshly laid, so you'd take it out of the nest. Modern incubators
 have been in use for a good many years, taking the place of my old "Settin' Hen". 

Life At Lovell's
     Arby's bout with the bees, comes
 to my mind right now, so I think I may as well start with that. Pa was not at home.
 Time - summer. Place - supper table. All six children seated in their proper places,
 Ma came to sit down, carrying a large plate covered with fresh hot biscuits.
 Conversation started in this order, (I think) . Ma, "Wish your pa was home, we
 would have honey for these biscuits". Arby, "I can get it for us." Ma, "I don't want
 you to try it. You'll get stung". Arby, "No, I won't, I've watched Pa get it, and I really
 know how". Ma, "Well, go ahead, if you think you can, but get Pa's hat with the veil.
 That will protect your head and face at least". Arby, "I don't need that I Pa never uses
 it! He just reaches inside the hive and pulls out a block of honey. The bees never pay
 any attention to him, so why would they bother me"? 

Page 43


     Off he goes with Ma and we five girls right behind him. Cocky Arby leads the
 parade. Now, the bee hives were at the edge of the garden, probably twenty five or
 thirty feet from the south side of our house. Bold as brass, Arby squats down and
 reaches inside the hive and removes the honey. Before he could even straighten 
 up, those bees came out by the hundreds, swarming all over his face, neck any
 place they could see a bare spot to light.  Arby started screaming at the top of his
 lungs, running as fast as his old long legs could carry him. Past the house, past
 the granary, on down the hill he ran to the horse tank, probably sixty or eighty
 yards from the hive. Tank was full of water, so Arby quickly ducked his head in to
 rinse the bees off.  Now, I know this is no way to end a story. I'm sorry but I can
 remember no more. I would like to know as well as you, how Arby was affected,
 whether anyone had any supper, if they did, could they eat the honey, etc., etc.
 What do you expect of me, this happened before my Dad died, so it had to be at
 least eighty four years ago. Just thought of something I Suppose that was why
 Arby was bald at such an early age. Wish I could remember what Pa said and if the
 bees drowned. Whole thing is hilarious now but at that time a tragedy. 

Sylvia's Easter Eggs
      I've told you earlier in this history, every farmer raised
 chickens back then. This was a~•yearly custom in my family, at least. Don't know
 whether or not other people followed it, but we did.  Two or three weeks before
 Easter Sunday, whoever did the nightly chore of gathering the eggs, would start
 snitching a few out each night and hiding them somewhere. Keeping the place a
 deeply guarded secret. On Easter morning, they would take a pail and get them,
 bringing them in for Ma to cook for our breakfast. When I say "they", I'm always
 referring to Mae, Arby, Sylvia, and Grace. I've told you before, Pearl and I were the
 LITTLE girls. THEY wouldn't think of trusting us with such an important thing as
 the hiding place of the Easter eggs.

      This year Sylvia insisted on gathering the eggs and wouldn't even tell the rest
 of the THEY'S where the hiding place was.  Of course, every year my mother
 would pretend she didn't know what was going on" but kept saying to my dad,
 she couldn't understand why the hens were not laying as many eggs as usual.
 They had been laying so well, but were dropping off so suddenly. He'd go along
 with her and make believe he didn't know either. Usually, one or the other of them
 would know where the eggs were being hidden, but this year, Sylvia kept her
 secret well.  Now, last fall before winter set in, my dad had made a frame about
 twelve or fourteen inches wide around the horse tank, filling the space with straw.
 This would keep the water in the tank from freezing. Sylvia decided in this straw,
 she would have a splendid place to hide her Easter eggs.  Wonderful! No one
 would ever guess this one, they didn't either. But one day, the thing back fired on
 her. A few days before Easter, my father and Arby decided to remove that banking
 from around the horse tank. Said the weather was getting so mild, probably the
 water wouldn't freeze very hard, just maybe a thin scum, so they sat to work
 clearing the straw away.

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     Sylvia, who was watching out the north windows, suddenly began crying, so
 hard my mother said she was actually sobbing. She finally stopped enough to tell
 my mother, the Easter eggs were in there. Later. my dad told her if he had known
 he would have left the straw in place until Easter morning. Ma sent Sylvia down
 with a pail to bring her eggs up to the house. Remember Ma telling, Sylvia had
 stashed away over one hundred eggs. No wonder she was heartbroken and no
 wonder Ma thought the hens were dropping off. Sylvia always thought so much
 of tradition. Every little thing meant so much to her. Sylvia, very special to each of 
 us! 

Myrtie the Moron
      When you finish this article, I know you will all agree
 that Moron is a very fitting name for me and for once I would not argue. I can
 visualize this happening as though it were yesterday. Winter time, the family all at
 the table except me. I had been dancing around all over the place, telling everyon
 how I could hardly wait, I was so hungry. Ma's supper looked so good but as I was
 about to sit down Ma said, "No one filled the water pitcher, Myrtie take it outside
 and bring some fresh water in for supper". Filling the pitcher, I started to carry it
 inside, when suddenly I thought, "Here is my chance, no one will be coming out if
 I hurry. I'm going to see if this is true". Someone had told me if you stuck your
 tongue on a piece of iron in the winter time you couldn't pull it loose. The whole
 top of your tongue would stick fast to the iron. Deed and double, (as my Grandma
 Croy used to say). I knew better than that, it just wasn't true. Now, the pump
 handle was a nice clean bit of iron so I quickly put my tongue down on that.
 Jerking back up, looking at the pump handle, top of my tongue on it, I found it to
 be true. Casually walking back into the house with my pitcher of water, I took my
 place at the table. Refusing everything that came. My the questions soon began to
 fly and remarks like, "I thought you were so hungry", "this is so good, try it", etc.
 My mother saying, "you just must eat something", when all I wanted to do was get
 away from the whole bunch and cry. I could have screamed, it hurt so. Soon after
 supper, Sylvia asked me to go down the garden path to the little house. I said I'd
 go, she picked up the lantern to light our way and putting it down by our feet while
 we sat, it also threw off a little heat to keep us warm. Settling in for the duration,
 Sylvia said, "Now, Myrtie, you tell me what happened out at the pump to make you
 lose your appetite”  “Promise me, Sylvia, if I tell you, you won't tell the others". She
 promised and she never told until we were back in the house, then she told the
 whole story. I can hear the laughter yet. After Ma got through laughing, she fixed me
 some warm milk. I did manage that. Now, I know it is true, but I had to prove it,
 didn't I? Still like to get to the bottom of everything.

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Myrtie the Moron
      Sunday afternoon, the folks were gone to Dimondale to
 spend the week end with Ma's cousin, Rachel Smith, leaving Pearl and I at home
 this time with the older ones. Arby, probably getting bored, nothing to do,
 suggested to the older girls that they make some taffy. That should be fun. Said
 he wanted them to teach him how to pull it, he had always wanted to try. 

      I don’t remember Mae being there. Probably spent the afternoon with a girl
 friend or maybe had a date with a boy friend. Anyway, the rest of us all headed for
 the kitchen and the fun began. Can't really tell you who did what, everyone was
 busy doing something, especially Pearl and I dancing around, getting in
 everyone’s way. The other three brought the maple syrup from the pantry, poured
 it into a large kettle, lit the little oil burning cook stove, set the kettle of syrup on
 the burner and the taffy was on its way. Nothing to do now except wait for the
 syrup to boil down. Oh, yes, you could butter three plates to turn the taffy on to
 cool. One for Arby, one for Sylvia, one for Grace. None for Pearl and I, again we get
 told, "You are just too little". We were big enough to enjoy smelling the aroma of
 that boiling maple syrup. Most delicious odor in the world At last, it is now time to
 turn the syrup onto the buttered plates to cool. Syrup has cooked long enough or
 so they thought. Checking every few minutes with their fingers, they finally decide
 it's cool enough to handle and we all start outside. A beautiful autumn day, sun
 shining brightly, we decide to go on the south side of the house. Arby was the
 first one to get his taffy off the plate to start pulling. Grace and Sylvia, when they
 tried to pick theirs up, discovered the syrup had not been cooked long enough.
 Telling Arby to put his back on the plate. He said it would be alright when he
 pulled it enough for the stuff to set, but that wasn't the way it worked. The heat of
 his hands and the warm sunshine made it softer and stickier than ever so he gave
 up finally. Tried to put the syrup back on the plate but most of it stuck on his hands.
  Asking the girls to take the spoon and scrape it back on to the plate, he was told
 that no way were they going to scrape his fingers then put the scrapings in with
 theirs to be cooked over. Go wash your hands. "No" Arby said, “Ma won't like it
 when she finds out we wasted all this syrup. I know what to do” Calling Pearl and
 I (the scape goats, always), he ordered us to start cleaning up his hands by licking
 it off. Always were told to mind the older ones and do as they said, so we started
 licking, Pearl on his right hand, me on his left. I can see all this so clearly, but as
 usual my memory has left me. It's frustrating not to know if they cooked the taffy
 over or if Arby helped to pull it. I'm certain of this, I'll bet Pearl and I didn't help eat
 it, if they did. Such a dirty trick that brother of mine played on us. I wish now I had
 nipped his fingers just a wee bit. My story is over, the day is gone, but as usual it
 was a fun day. Everyone happy.
 
Page 46


Chicken for Supper
      I used to like to feed the young chickens in the fall of
 the year. Why wouldn't I, I had helped set the hens, take the little chicks out of the
 nests, and now they were nearly full grown. Almost ready for market. There was a
 bare spot down in front of the granary. I liked to scatter the wheat grain there, then
 I’d stand and watch them scratch around in the dirt for their supper.One night as I
 was feeding them, Ma came along, going to the barn to do chores. I called her
 attention to how fast they were growing. She agreed saying some of them are big
 enough to eat, like this one right here. There was one almost under my feet friend
 by his head, raised up, gave his body a flip, broke its neck, handed him to me
 saying, "Take him to the house and tell the girls to cook him for our supper". On she
 went to the barn. I knew she always killed a young chicken that way, but I had never
 seen her. Always before I had closed my eyes when she was about to show her
 dexterity. I was struck dumb, couldn't utter a sound, no one around to hear me
 anyway. I just stood there with the poor thing in my hand, then decided I better mind
 and do as she said, so I walked slowly to the house. The girls were delighted.
 saying, "Our first young chicken. Won't he taste good", we'll have mashed potatoes
 and so on and on for our supper. Presume I ate as much as anyone else but right
 that minute, I was very mad at my mother.
 
Distant Relatives
      The first farm on the west side of the road north of
 Lakewood High School was owned, at one time by my father's aunt Diana Pickens.
 She lived there, a widow, with her two boys. Thomas and Charley, who married and
 brought his wife to live there, also. They had two children, a boy Orvin and a gir
 Coral. When these two were quite small Charley died. Soon after, his wife, Addie,
 remarried to another Pickens, Tommie, a cousin of Charley. Now, Tommie moved in,
 took over the farm and helped raise Charley's children. Aunt Diana and her other
 son, Thomas, had to move out. She asked my father to find them a place with a
 small acreage, so she could have her garden, a cow and always chickens. With a
 garden filled with vegetables, a cow to furnish milk and butter, chickens to provide
 you with eggs, once in awhile, a chicken dinner, then setting your hens, you might
 just have some young ones to sell in the fall. This would be practically their living. 
 My father soon located the ideal spot, I've told you before, the twenty acres across
 from the Bismark Church and School house where Lloyd and Rose Steward now
 live. House just the right size, could have their garden, cow and chickens. Just
 one and three-fourth miles from us. Also Thomas would find plenty of work as a
 day laborer for the farmers. This is the thing that seems so ironic to me. Pa moved
 Aunt Diana close to him so he could take care of her when she grew old. He was
 the only relative she had here in Michigan. Pa died at the age of Fifty, Aunt Diana,
 one hundred and two.

Page 47


     Time moves on. Of course Aunt Addie and Uncle Tommie, as we were taught to
 call them, were really not related to us in any way but Coral, and Orvin were. Their
 Grandmother, Aunt Diana, was a Lovell. We always called each other cousins but
 we really were third cousins. Coral and I were the same age, everyone said we
 looked more like sisters than distant cousins. We had been close friends all our
 lives when suddenly, at the age of sixteen, Coral became ill and died within a
 week. Don't remember what her illness was. Such a shock to everyone, Aunt
 Addie almost lost her mind with grief. In a short time, she began driving over to
 our home wanting me to go home with her for a few days, Ma would always say I
 could go, thinking perhaps it would help Aunt Addie adjust to the loss of Coral.
 One day she came for me and asked my mother if she could keep me, said "Ma
 had Grace and Pearl, and she had no one, Ma didn't need me but she did. etc." Of
 course you know the answer to that one and also I didn't go home with Aunt Addie
 that day. Later on, I did go once in awhile. It was so lonely there, no one my age.
 Can remember Sunday mornings, we always went in to Lake Odessa attending
 the Methodist Church there on main street.

     Orvin grew up, married, rented a farm about a mile from us. First farm west of
 Delwood Corners. on the north side. In fact, Ionia Road is the east boundary of it.
 My mother ,took care of Orvin's wife when their first son Claire was born and was
 probably there when Orlo came along. Orvin died there, his wife took their two
 sons and moved to Lake Odessa to be near her parents. So, Claire and Orlo
 Pickens, the Lake-O undertakers were distant relatives of the Lovells. I never knew
 them, don’t know whether they had children or not.

Another Chicken for Supper
      Once on one of my visits to Aunt Addie's she said "I wish Orvin
 and Tommie weren't working over on the other place, I’d like a chicken for supper."
 A few minutes later she asked me if I supposed I could run one down. Now that
 was one thing I could do, run. We went outside, she pointed a chicken out to me,
 saying catch that one. No sooner said than done, handing the poor thing over to
 her, she now said "Get the axe, I'll hold it down for you while you chop its head
 off." "Me?" I answered, "I never killed a chicken in my life.. Then her answer came,
 "Neither have I, but if we're going to have chicken for supper one of us has to kill
 it." So she took the chickens legs in her left hand, laid the poor thing on a block of 
wood, grasped it by the head with her right, pulled its neck out straight and said
 "Now, kill it."                      

Page 48


      Picking up the axe, I raised it over my shoulder and came down with a powerful
 blow, I thought, but it was just hard enough to start the blood a little. The rooster
 squawked, I  screamed, threw the axe and ran for the house. Aunt Addie was on her
 own, a half killed chicken in her hand, nothing for her to do but pick up the axe and
 finish the job.  Suppertime, it made a lot of sport for Orvin and Uncle Tommie. They
 sure enjoyed making fun  of us. I didn't care, I never had. killed a chicken, I never
 was going to kill a chicken, up until now I never have. Now, I couldn't anyway, no
 one has chickens running around. You go to the market and buy them already
 killed, sometimes already cooked but, however, until you have tasted a freshly
 killed fowl, you never will know what a delicious treat it is. I really don't enjoy
 chicken any more. 
 
Ma’s Discovery
       One evening Ma and I were milking the cows outside in the
 barnyard. Oh, oh, now I hear someone say "Barnyard? What's a barnyard?" A
 barnyard was a huge pen built to enclose your animals at night.  The long part of
 our barn run from the east to the west, covering about half the length of the
 enclosure. At the south east corner a fence was fastened directly to the barn, then
 extended east to the water tank, leaving this space for the animals to drink when
 they were shut in, beginning the fence on the other side, it extended east to the
 road, then north, probably a couple hundred feet or so, now back to the west until
 even with the lam at the west end, then south and fastened to the corner of the
 barn again. A large gate was in this last part, to enable a team and wagon to get in
 and out. Sliding doors on this side of the barn opened into the horse stable, the
 cow stalls and the sheep pen. You could let the animals in or turn them out again
 without leaving the barn. Hope you get the picture. I could draw it but how do you
 type a picture?
 
 Guess Ma and I better get the milking done, so we had just threshed our grain a
 few days before this. A huge, cone shaped stack of straw, thirty or forty foot high,
 was built about fifteen or twenty foot from the barn, directly in front of the stable
 doors. This straw would be used during the winter months to bed down the
 horses and cattle making them nice and cozy through the cold weather. We liked
 to milk our cows outside in summer so pleasant, air so nice and fresh, no stuffy
 barn odors.

Page 49


 Just as we were getting up on our feet, after finishing the last two cows, Ma
 spotted a hen's nest about halfway to the top of that straw stack. She said “Look
 up there, the hens have stolen a nest in that straw. How will we ever get the eggs."
 I answered that I could easily climb up after them. She said "I couldn't, I'd fall,
 straw was so slippery" etc. I insisted that I could do it and I started climbing. Oat
 straw was especially slippery and so recently threshed, hadn't settled, the least
 bit, I would maybe get three or four feet up, then down I'd come. After trying
 several times and getting nowhere but down, I decided the east side was a little
 more slanting, I'd climb up that side to the top, then work myself down towards
 the hen's nest, pick up the eggs and come to the ground. Ma said "I'd fall" I said
 "I wouldn't" and up I went clear to the top without a back-slide. I started down and
 about the first step I took, the straw started sliding and I shot like out of a cannon
 clear to the ground. Traveling past that nest at a terrific speed, thinking I'd break
 my neck, my leg or maybe just an arm. I scrambled out of that pile of straw,
 thankful to be alive and unhurt. Do you want to know what that Mother of mine
 said “you never got the eggs!" Well, now,  I liked that! I was thankful just to be alive
 and unhurt and all Mother could say was "You never got the eggs." Don't
 remember whether we ever did or not.

Ma Slides Down the Hill
       I slid down a straws tack trying to gather eggs but my Mother slid
 down hill to feed the hogs. This could have happened any year between 1905 and
 1909. Sylvia left home in 1905 and Grace in 1909. Grace t Ma, Pearl and I were living
 at home. One morning we awoke to find our world had changed overnight into one
 covered with ice. Limbs of the Evergreens in our front yard weighted down with
 ice, trees in the orchard behind the house covered, all roof tops, too, with huge
 icicles clinging to the edge. Just everything was covered, especially the ground
 leading down the hill to the barn.  That was a glare of ice. Sun shining, though,
 made it all very sparkling and beautiful; but WE had chores to do. 
 
       Ma and Grace picked up the pails and made it to the barn to milk the cows. Pearl
 and I watching from the north windows of the kitchen. Out at the east side of our
 dooryard, along the road, was a strip probably twenty-five or thirty feet wide
 covered with Cherry and a few Butternut trees. This was where the slope towards
 the barn began.

Page 50


 Grace and Ma, walking very carefully, headed for this group of trees. Wasn't quite
 so icy at the end of the trees the ground leveled off and soon they were at the
 southeast corner of the barnyard. Clinging to the barnyard fence, they easily
 made it to the barn. Door right at this corner and they pop out of our sight. Soon
 Grace and Ma returned, each with a pail of milk in their hand. Neither one had
 fallen nor spilled a drop of milk. Ma said now if she could get the pail of swill down
 to the hogs without spilling it but she didn't know how she would ever do it. Grace
 said "Let me go" but Ma wouldn't allow that. 

      Now the hog pen was built just west of the barn and the path down to this was
 even steeper than the other. Ma managed to get past the granary, a little more than
 half-way, sitting the pail down to rest a bit and plan her strategy, she came up with
 this idea. "That pail has a good strong bottom, I think if I set it between my knees, I
 could plant my feet firmly on each side and slide down this grade right to the
 hog-pen door. No sticks or stones sticking up that I can see, I'm going to try it."
 We girls, watching from the kitchen windows couldn't imagine what she intended
 do, when all at once she gave her skirts a hitch above her knees, squatted down,
 one foot on each side of that pail of swill, held on to the top edge with a hand on
 each side, gave the pail a little nudge and down she went directly to the door of
 the pen. Not a drop did she spill. The pigs had their drink, suppose they were
 happy and so was my Mother! She could always find a way out of a problem.
 Some way she would get the task done. Guess I'll try and give you a better idea of
 our home. It wasn't all up and down that hill I've written so much about. The
 house was built on the hilltop but to the north the ground sloped gently down
 towards the barn, then leveled off. Was perfectly flat when the barn and hog-house
 were built. Our farm and all others north of us were perfectly flat for miles and
 miles. Our farm, directly behind the house was level, that stretched through many
 farms west of us. Directly behind our house was our beautiful orchard. I wonder
 now if that wasn't the reason, Pa built the barn below the hill. Really no other place
 for it without sacrificing a lot of fruit trees. Maybe. now, I hope, you will get the
 picture a little better.
 
     One lazy summer afternoon, we girls were enjoying ourselves on the front porch
 doing nothing. When out of the quietness came this distress call from Ma. "Girls,
 the pig. are out! Orneriest animals anyone ever had on a farm. Now, cattle will form
 into a group and they are not hard to manage, but, pigs, you have to chase one at
 a time.

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 They’ll go this way and that, maybe turn around and come right towards
 you.Chasing them finally back into the hog lot,  we are grunting as hard as the
 pigs; we find they have broken the big gate (maybe ten feet long) completely down.
 We will need a hammer and some nails, Pearl goes to the granary for them Grace
 and I try straightening the gate back up. Now, the top board had been nailed, with
 the flat side down, to the end posts. Grace pulled one end up, boards all in place, I
 pulled up the other post. Boards all in place here excepting my end of the top one. 
When I straightened my end of the gate and set the post in the proper place, that
 board being fastened at the other end, just swung around and set itself into its
 proper place. The nail was still in the board so it settled right down in the original
 hole. Good! Gates all back together, no problem, we'll just add Some more nails to
 make it stronger then we can go back to the house and relax after our long hot
 chase." Wait a minute, just one small problem. I am nailed fast to the gate. I had
 placed my hand fiat down on top of the post, when the board flew back of Its own
 accord, that old nail went right through my hand. Just about an inch down from
 the base of my third and my little finger on my right hand. Grace screamed and
 cried but pushed the board up and released my hand. Nail went right between the
 bones of those two fingers, never even drawing a drop of blood. Never, hurt at all.
 Ma had me soak it in Epsom Salts water, then put her favorite remedy, turpentine,
 on it, then covered my hand with a bandage. All of this was not necessary, nothing
 to bandage. A little round hole in my hand was all you could see. The scar was
 plainly seen for years, but no more. Can’t prove it without the scar. I assure you it
 really happened. 

Nicknames
      My Mother told me, when I began learning to walk, I humped my
 shoulders up in such a peculiar way, that my father began calling me "Hump" and
 he never even then called me, Myrtie. I was always "Hump" to him. Just once in my
 life. I can remember him saying Myrtie. That was because I was disobeying him. At
 the dinner table that day my father said he was going to get feed ground for the
 pigs and wanted me to come out and hold the bags for him to put the grain in. I
 said I would, then I finished my dinner before he did and I slipped upstairs. I was
 reading a book, as usual, and I very much wanted to finish it before having to help
 Pa. Thought if I read real fast, I could make it, just a few more pages.

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At the head of the stairs there was a west window and through this I could see the
 granary door.  I settled down on the top step, picked up my book and proceeded to
 read. Had one eye on the book the other one glancing now and then toward the
 granary. Now, I saw my Dad when he went out to work, also heard him call
 "Hump"." Just two more pages, I thought, I can't stop now so I kept on reading. All
 this time, I didn't realize he could see me just as well as I did him. Calling out
 "Hump" the second time, I didn't move but the third call was MYRTIE in no
 uncertain voice. It really meant move and move I did. I was so frightened, I threw
 my book and down those stairs I went. Maybe he'd spank me although he never
 had, but I knew I deserved one. You know what happened. I walked into that
 granary, never a word did he say, just handed me a bag and began shoveling the
 grain. Pa never called me Myrtie again that I remember. He never had to in that tone
 of voice, I learned my lesson. 

Rufus, Arby’s Nickname For Me
      I was always reading to the older ones. This day, I lay flat on the floor
 with a book laid out in front of me, entertaining Sylvia, who was busy ironing. My
 story was about a certain boy whose name was Rufus Roughwig. I didn't know
 how to pronounce those big words, so I asked Sylvia, Rufus Row-wig. Giving the
 letter u the sound as in up instead of just plain u. Arby came into the room where
 we were and sat down to listen. Well, that boy's name soon came up in the story.
 Arby said for me to let him see but he thought I was mis-pronouncing that name. I
 said I wasn't because Sylvia told me how. He answered, "She probably didn't
 know how herself." Sylvia said she did too know how, she was just playing a trick
 on me, knowing how badly I felt over mis-pronouncing a word. They bantered
 back and forth awhile, then Arby said "Guess I'll call her Rufus, then she'll never
 forget how to pronounce it. From that day on, the rest of Arby's life, I was Rufus to
 him. No one else called me that. I always thought Sylvia deserved the name but
 Mae, Arby, Sylvia, and Grace were never nicknamed. 

Jim Cramer
      One, cold, fall day, my Mother was husking corn. Guess I better back
 up and tell you the primitive way of harvesting corn for already I can hear you
 asking "What did you say your Mother was doing?" I'll try to explain. Remember,
 in the beginning of my story, I told you how evenly the rows of corn were planted,
 now it's fall and time to cut it down so it can be husked. There was a real pattern to
 this. A perfect square was blocked off by counting eight or maybe ten
 (I'm not certain) rows each way. Then going to the very center of the block, you'd
 tie the tops of about four hills together to start your shock of corn. Then with a
 hand corn knife, you grasped the top of each stalk in one hand, then cut it loose
 from the ground about six inches up. The stalks were then carried to the center
 where the four stalks were tied together. You sort of pushed the cut ends into the

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 ground, then leaned them up against the center.  When the whole block was cut
 and stacked, the tops were pulled together and tied. This made what was called a
 shock of corn, looking much like the tepee of an Indian. It was a beautiful sight
 when the field was all cut down and shocked, to see those "Tepees" placed so
 evenly over the ground.  The corn was then left standing in the shocks to ripen
 and kernels to harden on the ears. Next step was the husking. The shock was laid
 over flat on the ground. Had to take a corn knife and cut down the center stalks. 
 A little contraption called a husking-peg was used to pull the husks from the ears
 of corn. This gadget was a steel blade, about four inches long and maybe an inch
 wide with a hooked end. You grasped this firmly across the palm of your hand, the
 hooked end protruding out between your thumb and finger. With the exception of
 the hook, the rest was padded with leather to protect your hand. also had straps
 to fasten it on firmly.  Now, you are all ready to attack that great mound of corn
 stalks. Squatting down using your heels to sit on, you reach over and pull a stalk
 toward you. Now using the husking-peg, pull off the husks, give the ear a little
 twist and jerk, then toss it on the ground. Pushing the husked stack to the back
 of the pile, you grab the next one then repeat until you have the whole shock done.
 Now, let's see, if that block was ten hills on each side there would be one-hundred
 stalks of corn. This is just one block and maybe there's ten or fifteen acres.  The
 husked corn has to be picked up from the ground, loaded onto a wagon, hauled to
 the corn crib up by the barn, then unloaded into the crib. 
 Think of the changes I have seen in just this one thing, A corn binder came first,
 but still you had to shock it. Huge corn huskers, run by a steam engine, combines,
 can't exactly tell them all but up to the present way. So easy now. I have seen my
 Mother after my Father died, go out and help Arby husk corn when snow was on
 the ground and sometimes storming.
 Now I'll get back to the nickname Jim Cramer. As my Mother husked the corn, she
 would give the ear a toss on the ground and I was supposed to keep them picked
 up; placing them in a basket for Arby to empty into the wagon later. A few times I
 would find one or two husks left on the ear, just the inside ones that probably
 were not quite dry enough to snap off. Really made no difference because they
 dried up and dropped off later, but I told Ma she was not husking that corn right.
 She asked me what she was doing wrong and I said "You're not doing it like Pa
 does." She answered "So, how does your Father do it?" I informed her he didn't
 leave any husks like these hanging on his ears. I was still just standing there
 looking at that ear of corn when she said "Oh, you are just like old Jim Cramer,
 always standing around doing nothing. Just telling other folks the way it should
 be done."  Jim Cramer was a man she knew in her "beloved Woodland" who did
 just that. He was lazier than a pet coon to hear Ma tell it.

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     Of course, as usual, everyone gathered around the table at noon was told that
 story. Everyone, excepting me, enjoyed it. From that time on, I was called Jim
 Cramer, sometimes Cramer but mostly just plain Jim. My Mother called me Jimmy. 
My brothers-in-law Fred Clay, Chas. Collier and Johnnie Welch never called me
 Myrtie, it was always Jim. Pearl’s Nickname “Pete”Arby told me years ago how
 this came about. Pearl had a toy wagon, on the side of which was written two
 words, “Little Pete". 
0ne day Arby, Pa, and a man who was working for them sat waiting for Ma and the
 girls to get dinner on the table. The hired man was playing with Pearl and he asked
 her what those words were on her wagon. Arby said Pearl shook her head "No".
 The guy then told Pearl "It says Little Pete". From then on Pearl became Little Pete,
 Peter or just plain Pete. Of course Fred, Chas, and Johnnie never called her
 anything else either. Never could understand really why I had so many, Pearl had
 only one and the other four none. Since I've written them down, I guess maybe I
 deserved everyone of them. Beautiful morning. Beautiful tree loaded with red
 cherries, glistening in the sunshine. I'm so happy, I hop, skip and jump along like
 a frisky young colt alongside sedate Mae, who has asked me to, help her pick 
cherries. At last someone has realized I'm beginning to grow up like the rest. I'l
l show them today I I'm really quite dependable Quite a large, tall tree, so Mae has
 brought a ladder down with her, which she now sits up in the tree. Before
 mounting the ladder, she hands me a little pail, saying "You can reach enough
 cherries to fill this, standing on the ground" and up the ladder she goes to have
 all the fun. Grown-ups! This tiny little pail for a big girl like me! Stand on the
 ground, not me, I soon tire of that. Looking up, I see lots of cherries I could pick
 by climbing into the tree. Up I go, Mae not telling me I couldn't. Cherries all around
 me now. I start picking them. They look so delicious, guess I'll eat one or two, so
 tasty, one or two calls for more, besides it's fun to spit the seeds. Wonder how far
 I can spit them, bet I can spit a cherry seed farther than anyone in the family,
wonder how far Mae could spit a cherry pit, guess I'll ask her. No I better not she
 would just tell me it was very unlady-like to spit anything. On and on my thoughts
 keep rambling until they are interrupted by a call from Mal "Girls, dinner is ready."
 By this time I have really worked myself up into the top of the tree. Thinking I would
 climb to the ladder and get down that way. About that time Mae is on the ground
 and so is the ladder. I yell at her "Don't take away the ladder, I need it. I can't get
 
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 down from here, I'm hungry." This was her answer to that: "You climbed up there,
 now climb down the same way. You can't possibly be hungry, you've done nothing
 all morning except eat cherries and spit seeds." With that she left me "up a tree". I
 got down, I had too, done something and I could prove it. The bottom of my little
 pail being almost covered with cherries. Now the usual thing has happened, I
 simply can't remember any more of this day, so my story ends. One thing I am quite
 certain didn't happen. Mae didn't tell of my "shenanigans" the minute she stepped
 in the house. If she had, I would have been laughed at, someone would probably
 nick name me the great cherry picker. Mae really didn't care for the way the other
 ones picked on Pearl and I. Think I'll write next about my grown-up sister. 

My Sister Mae
      Nancy Mae Lovell born, Oct. 10, 1877, in McComb, Ohio. Nancy
 was our Grandmother Lovell's name. Mae, thirteen years older than I, twenty-four
 when our Father died, had black hair and eyes to match. About my height, maybe
 five foot five or six inches, never very heavy, don’t believe she ever weighed more
 than 130 or 135 pounds. Rather a quiet, reserved sort of person but fun-loving like
 the rest of us. Such a dependable sort of person and always a willing helper of our
 mother. Took so much responsibility in caring for the younger ones, especially
 Pearl and I. She was our second Mother. Mae did most of the sewing for the family.
 One time, I remember, she was making a dress for me. All finished except turning
 up the hem, she called me in from my very important play, telling me to remove my
 play togs and get into my new dress. Ordinarily, I would have been pleased about
 the whole thing: but today my playtime had been disrupted. I didn't want to but did
 as I was told. Mae sat on the floor, a saucer of pins in her lap, and began turning up
 the front of my skirt. Such a terribly, hot, humid summer day. Top of her blouse was
 wet through with perspiration. Her face was dripping like she'd been out in the rain,
 hands so sticky, she could scarcely' pick up the pins; but she began on the back
 of my skirt. I had my back turned  towards her and I informed her I wanted to play
 and for her to hurry the thing up. No response came for a minute, then she reached
 up, taking hold of me by the waist, turned me around, looking me right in the face,
 said "I believe if I'm willing to work on this dress for you on this hot day, you should
 at least be willing to just stand still while I do it." She never really scolded me, but
 always with a few well put words, Mae could make me feel like a worm. This hot day,
 I was so ashamed I think I felt like two worms, one wooly and the other smooth. 

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Mae's Marriage
      Mae was married in October of 1901. Salle year our Father died
 in May. Fred Clay was her husband's name. Not a local man, Mae met him when
 she taught the Gunnel School out by Parma. I believe Mae boarded at Fred's
 parents home. You see I was just eleven years old when she was married and I'm
 going to skip details because I just don't remember. Mae taught out there two or
 maybe three years. Fred used to come to see her during vacations, always having
 to stay the week-end, too far to drive a horse in one day. That way, we became well
 acquainted long before they married. Everyone liked him. Especially the little girls,
 Pearl and I. Mae taught her last year at the Patterson School just a mile south of us.
 She left Gunnel so she could spend her last year at home. I often think how happy
 she must have been over that decision: We were all home together the last year of 
our Father's life. Wonderful memories of a happy family. On November 18,1902, Mae
 and Fred's first baby was born. A boy whom they named Morrison LeGrand,
 choosing the name of a favorite Uncle, Eli Morrison, married to Pats youngest
 sister, Emma, and the LeGrand was Pats name. What an event that was! Nothing
 so thrilling to the Lovell sisters had ever happened before. We wanted the whole
 world to know, could hardly wait to get to school the next day, to brag and "strut
 our stuff". No one in the whole Bismark School had a married brother or sister.
 Just us! Most important people on earth! We had a nephew! We were now Aunt
 Grace, Aunt Myrtie and Aunt Pearl. Yes, Aunt Grace, who was always telling Pearl
 and I how much older and wiser she was than we, came right down to our level
 and bragged just as much as we "Little Girls". Fred and Mae were living with his
 parents at that time and I believe Ma went out to help Mrs. Clay. We nearly lost our
 big sister and it was several weeks before she was able to come home. Too far fo
r her to ride in a buggy. Dr. said she could come by train to Vermontville just four
 and 1/4 miles from our house. Sylvia met her there and brought her on home. Now,
 I wonder, who saw Morrison first? Of course, no other but me. I saw them coming
 up the hill, darting out of the house, I met them just as they were turning into the
 driveway. Before Sylvia could even stop the horse, I had jumped up on the buggy
 step, right between the moving wheels and almost into Mae's lap. I remember she
 said "Well, couldn't you at least wait until I got out!" Trying to sound a little
 disgusted with me, but with a half smile on, her face, I knew she was as anxious to
 show Morrison off as I was to see him. Fred came later in the day driving their
 horse on the buggy. Mae came home so Ma and Sylvia could help her with her baby
 but Fred came with the idea of renting a farm nearby home. Luck was with him. A
 nice farm, with a tenant house, just south to Rawson's corners, then east first
 house on the north side was available. They rented it and soon were living just
 around the corner from us. Everyone was so happy. Almost like having Mae home
 again. Close by so we could help her if she needed us and visit her probably when
 she didn't.

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     The only thing I really remember about that house was the big window in the
 front. I thought that was wonderful, all our windows were small. Mae loved flowers
 and plants and could always make them grow most any place even in this. Fred
 made her a window box just right to sit in front of that big south window. They
 filled it with soil and Mae sowed (of all things) Climbing Nasturtium seed! Ma told
 her they wouldn't amount to anything, they were never meant to grow inside a
 house. Ma was wrong, that was the most beautiful sight all that winter. They vined.
 Mae strung cords up to the top of the window. Soon they reached the top, next
 started blossoming. Mae had bouquets to give away to everyone who came. 
Ilene, the second thrill in my life was born Jan. 20, 1905, on the old home place.
 Leta, Mae's third child was born Apr. 24, 1907. I &II not certain rot I think she was
 born on our farm, too. later Fred and Mae moved to Charlotte, lived on a rented
 farm for awhile, then bought the pretty place with the brick house, just south of
 the fairgrounds in Charlotte. That was Mae's home until her death, June 28, 1959.
 Fred lived there until his death in Apr. 15, 1960. After his parents died, Morrison
 and his wife Sara Ledyard, purchased the family home. Sara was killed in an
 automobile accident, dying on Nov. 3, 1969. Morrison then lived there alone until
 his death Oct. 14, 1977. Not many left in Mae and Fred's family. Just, Ilene, who
 married Ted Lee, now deceased and Leta, married James Pasco, now deceased. 
Morrison's daughter Shirley and her two sons and Judy (Ilene's daughter) with
 her four children are the only ones left besides Ilene and Leta. All so very
 precious to me. 

Tale Of The Pigtails
      Dr. Snelll Not only a Dr. in Vermontville and the surrounding vicinity;
 but a real friend to everyone in the Community. One of my Dad's special friends,
 mine too. Dr. had a daughter, Norena, a deaf mute. Sometimes, if Pa was not going
 to be in town very long, he'd allow me to go with him, dropping me off at Dr. Snells
 to play with Norena while he went to take care of whatever business he had,
 stopping by to pick me up on his way home. Their house was just at the north
 edge of Main Street. Norena was older than I; rot she liked small children. Would
 bring out her dolls, or maybe some books to entertain me. 


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      This day, Dr. Snell came out of his office to talk to me. Asked what my Dad was
 doing. I told him he butchered two hogs the day before. Dr. said "What did he do
 with the pig-tails?" I answered "He threw them away." "Threw them away!  That's a
 terrible thing to do. Doesn't he know pig-tails make delicious soup, my favorite.
 When he butchers again remember to bring them to me. Will you?" I promised I
 would and told Pa on the way home. I remember how he laughed but he said "We
 will do just that. Help me to think of it." Next time we butchered, Pa brought the tails
 in the house for me. Said "Wrap these up for Dr. Snell, I'm going up town and you
 can go take ,them to him.” I dId, the Dr. thanked me kindly, asked me if I wanted him
 to save me some of the soup, but I said "No" real quick like. I was rewarded for the
 gift, though. Sometime later, he drove into our yard, lifted out a small crate and
 handed it to me, saying "He enjoyed the soup so much he wanted to give me
 something. In that crate was a beautiful pair of snow-white-fantailed pigeons. I was
 a happy little girl. Later, I would want to take Dr. Snell the pigtails every time we
 butchered but my folks said he didn't really make soup out of them, it was just a
 joke, but I didn't believe them. 

Dr. Snell
      One summer Arby was very,
 very ill with some kind of fever. I remember a bed was moved into our parlor, placed
 in the center of the room, better air circulation and plenty of room to get around him.
 Dr. Snell came every day, ordered medicine every hour, on the hour, night and day. 
The neighbors were so kind. They took turns coming in to help Ma and the older
 girls. Someone would always stay overnight so Ma could get some rest. No
 hospitals back in those days. You took care' of your own sick person. I presume
 maybe in the large cities there might have been hospitals. Arby grew worse every
 day, sometimes delirious and a little hard to handle. Later on he just laid there
 rousing up only for his medicine and I suppose a little food. Don't  really remember
 that. Dr. Snell had told them when Arby's fever broke, whether it was night or day
 they must notify him immediately. It happened one afternoon, and the rest of this I
 do remember clearly. I was out in the door-yard on the south side of the house and
 saw Dr. Snell when he was at the corners a quarter of a mile south. Now, Dr. Snell
 had a span of small, bay driving horses. Always drove the two of them, roads were
 sandy, muddy at times or frozen and snow covered, most too hard for one horse.
 Especially, being on the road every day. for a Dr. made house calls wherever and
 whenever he was needed. What a sight I saw that day as he came closer. The Dr.
 was standing up in the buggy urging his horses on by flapping the lines across
 their backs. He had run those horses every step of the four and a quarter miles
 from Vermontville to our house. Tossing the lines to someone (I presume it was my
 Dad) the Dr. grabbed his little’ black bag, and was soon inside with Arby, staying the
 rest of that afternoon, on through the night. In the morning he reported, "The Crisis
 is over, now all he needs is rest and good care. He'll soon be good as new." This

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 was certainly a heavenly message to a little girl, who adored her only brother. 
This thought just popped into my mind. I'll bet no winning race horses at the tracks
 ever received more efficient, loving treatment than Dr. Snell's little bays at the hands
 of my Dad. After all they had just won an important race against life or death. Dr.
 Snell! A true friend of the Community. 

Cutter Ride With my Dad
      I always loved going places, didn't matter where. with my Dad. Just
 the two of us, he was all mine. no one I had to share him with. This particular
 morning at the breakfast table, he told my Mother he had to go to Woodland. Of
 course, I was excited and thought wish I could go, Woodland. I don't get there
 very often, on and on went my thoughts.  Now, any of the others, would have
 blurted right out "Can I go with you?" not me, I just hated having to ask for
 anything, especially such a favor as this. (Never did and still don't like having to
 ask for anything.) I had my own special way. I'd wait until Pa left to go harness
 his horse, then sneaking up to Ma, would whisper to her. "You care if I go with Pa"
 always the same answers "I don't care, it's whatever your Father says." Down
 that hill I'd race, pulling up short at the barn door, standing just inside, my Father
 never even looking at me, watching him place one piece of the harness after
 another until he started to take the bridle down off its peg, That was the final act,
 so it was now or never. Finally out of my dry mouth would at last come "Pa. can I
 go with you?" Always the same the answer: " I don't care, it's just as your Mother
 says." . Before the words have all come from his mouth. I'm gone, racing up the
 hill, bounding into the kitchen saying "He said just as you say." Then my Mother
 would sp utter at me, (can't say I blame her) "I don't care but I wish you would ask
 when you should,  never have time to get you ready properly, come here while I
 comb your hair, etc., etc , until I see Pa driving up from the barn. Some way she
 always finishes in time. This morning is very cold and I am bundled up like a
 mummy as I go out to the cutter to climb in. Pa reaches over to tuck the blankets in
 around me.  Our cutter is what they called a Swell-box painted a bright red. Not
 quite as big as the box-like ones but much lighter and prettier.  We are on Our way,
 out the driveway , north down the hill, red cutter glistening, sun: shining on the
 snow, sleigh bells jingling such a pretty song, everything just perfect. I'm going to
 Woodland all alone with my Dad.
      Now, I would like to tell you some more about my  ride but I can remember
 nothing after coming down that hill at home. Must have gone the whole way just
 floating along, in my cutter on top of "cloud nine" until I came back to reality. We
 had been to Woodland, although I don't remember about it for here we where at
Kilpatrick Church., halfway on our way home.
 
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