This was written in Feb. 1994 with my nephew Jeff Burns in mind who was in 2nd grade at the time. This really did happen.
I was just a small kitten that spring day when I came to live with the Arvy family. My new pet was a tall young man named Ronnie. He named me Henry the Eighth. That seemed like a strange name to me until he started singing a song every time he saw me. He sang, "I'm Henry the Eighth, I am." I soon learned to sing along only he thought I saw saying, "Meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow". That's all I ever learned of the song.
I remember my first night with Ronnie. I missed my mother. I thought if I kept meowing she might appear. Ronnie stroked my silver and grey fur, fed me warm milk and put me in a sturdy box. He even gave me a soft blanket to sleep on.
I soon learned to like my new home. Ronnie had a mother and a father and three sisters who liked to pet me and listen to me purr. The big sisters, Jane and Linda were nice, but I liked the youngest sister, Cindy, best of all. She seemed to have more time to pet me and help me play with my ball of string.
One day Cindy gave me the milk left in her bowl after she ate her cereal. It was so good. I lapped up every drop. After that I turned up my nose at regular milk. Cat food and milk from cereal bowls became my usual diet. That was enough and I grew very fast.
By the time summer came I was big enough to go out in the yard. I liked to watch my girls play with their friends. I would hide behind a bush and jump out to try to scare them. That didn't work. They said, "Oh, it's just Henry". I still did it anyway just for fun. I liked to play in the sun, chasing my tail, sniffing dandelions and leaping after leaves as they blew across the grass.
When fall came things changed. Ronnie left in a car, and my girls walked down the street and around the corner carrying books. They talked about something called school.
One day when they all went off, I became very lonesome. I went down the street and around the corner like my girls had done, By keeping my nose down I could tell the path they had taken. I walked a long way, turned and walked another long way until I came to a hill. On top of that hill was a big building. I walked up the hill and saw big letters above the door--Carrollton Elementary School. There were no children in sight. The windows were open and I could hear children singing and talking. Now I knew what a school was. It was a big building where the children went to sing and talk.
The doors were open. I went in and walked down a long hall until I came a special room. I knew it was special for I knew my Cindy was in there. I walked in quietly and sniffed along until I found my Cindy. I rubbed against her legs and purred to let her know I was there. All the children laughed. The mother in front of the room didn't laugh. She said in a loud voice, "Whose cat is that?" It was then I knew cats did not belong in school.
I knew it was time for me to go home. How would I ever find the way? Then the mother said, "Cindy, you may take your cat home." Cindy picked me up and carried me all the way home. She told me cats do not belong in school. I must stay home and wait for her to come back. I never went to school again. I was content to curl up on the front step and wait until late afternoon when I knew my girls and their friends would be coming back home.
Sunday, December 1, 2013
Friday, November 8, 2013
First love, First Kiss, First Date
My first "love" was when I was six or seven years old. A teenage neighbor boy named Charlie Savicky was our hired man for a while. He was my idol. He had muscles that bulged beautifully and an Adam's apple which went up and down as he talked. One day he picked me up and carried me from the dining room to the front porch and kissed me on the way. Oh, Joy and ecstasy.
My next kiss was one that Charles Malicote sneaked at a Free Home School box supper. I must have been in the sixth grade so was about eleven years old--I had skipped a grade. Charles was in my grade but was a couple of years older. He bought my box and suggested we go to his car to eat. We ate the goodies then he said, "Now I get a kiss" and proceeded to kiss me. I was embarrassed and realized I should have known better than to go to the car with him. I had always disliked him but I don't really know why. Maybe I just disliked boys in general at that time, at least I couldn't stand any of those at Free Home School.
What I considered my first date wasn't really a date. Victor Capper asked if he could take me home from Epworth League. It was early in the summer of 1936 and I had just graduated from 8th grade. Since 9th graders were allowed to go the the High School Epworth League, Ruby and I started going to the Sunday evening meeting with brother Wesley who was to be a junior. One balmy June evening Victor visited the group and afterwards asked to take me home. I told him where I lived because not many fellows had cars. He said he had his dad's car. I asked Wesley about it and he gave his consent. He knew Victor as a high school debater and upcoming senior.
My next kiss was one that Charles Malicote sneaked at a Free Home School box supper. I must have been in the sixth grade so was about eleven years old--I had skipped a grade. Charles was in my grade but was a couple of years older. He bought my box and suggested we go to his car to eat. We ate the goodies then he said, "Now I get a kiss" and proceeded to kiss me. I was embarrassed and realized I should have known better than to go to the car with him. I had always disliked him but I don't really know why. Maybe I just disliked boys in general at that time, at least I couldn't stand any of those at Free Home School.
What I considered my first date wasn't really a date. Victor Capper asked if he could take me home from Epworth League. It was early in the summer of 1936 and I had just graduated from 8th grade. Since 9th graders were allowed to go the the High School Epworth League, Ruby and I started going to the Sunday evening meeting with brother Wesley who was to be a junior. One balmy June evening Victor visited the group and afterwards asked to take me home. I told him where I lived because not many fellows had cars. He said he had his dad's car. I asked Wesley about it and he gave his consent. He knew Victor as a high school debater and upcoming senior.
a few more memories
I remember one time the door to the bin was left open and a cow got in there and broke a number of jars. That was one of the few times I saw my mother cry. She needed that food to feed the house builders with enough left to feed the family thru the winter.
Back to early chores. It must have been when Dale was a baby that mother tied him in the rocking chair and my job was to stand and rock the chair so he would go to sleep. Or she would tie me in, with him tied on my lap, and I would rock him. When summer came I pulled him in the little wagon up and down the drive. Evidently there was a baby buggy for the older children. The only thing I remember about that was Wesley putting someone in the buggy upstairs and wheeling them part way over the open stairway to scare us. Later Daddy put wooden rails around the stairs.
Back to early chores. It must have been when Dale was a baby that mother tied him in the rocking chair and my job was to stand and rock the chair so he would go to sleep. Or she would tie me in, with him tied on my lap, and I would rock him. When summer came I pulled him in the little wagon up and down the drive. Evidently there was a baby buggy for the older children. The only thing I remember about that was Wesley putting someone in the buggy upstairs and wheeling them part way over the open stairway to scare us. Later Daddy put wooden rails around the stairs.
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
School days
It was the custom at Free Home School for five year olds to "visit" one day so they wouldn't feel strange the next year. So off I went in the spring of '28 to visit school. I don't remember the day in detail except that it was long but fun. My mother tells the story that I came home and proclaimed that I didn't wet my pants. Perhaps it's true since I was in the habit of waiting almost too long to make a trip to the outhouse.
I do remember the first day of school in September. I set out with Lewis Wesley and Ruby Mae wearing the prettiest of the 5 of mother's hand-made dresses I had. I had high hopes to learn but was disappointed when the teacher ignored the first grade most of the day. She did draw a big letter on our desks, probably on A, and let us go out to pick sunflower petals to outline the letter. Seemed pretty childish to me. I already knew the alphabet, could count to a hundred and (thanks to the patience of sister Ruby Mae) could read all the primers and part of the first reader. But things improved as time went by and I was able to show off my reading abilities. I must have been insufferable for I was always quick to offer to help the "slow learners" with their reading, spelling and arithmetic. If I remember right, we had three first graders. One girl left after that year. My 2nd grade classmate had trouble with reading and arithmetic and often recited with the 1st graders. I did my work and sometimes recited with the 3rd graders. How proud I was one day when I went to the board with the 3rd graders and was able to write the Roman Numerals higher than any of them! Come spring my classmate "failed" and I was promoted to the 4th grade. It was not uncommon for a child to be allowed to "skip" a grade, but I cried a few tears in the fall before I finally mastered the times tables which I had missed by skipping 3rd grade. I had to put in extra time on geography also, but soon I was at the top of the class again.
Our school was the typical one room frame school with 3 outhouses in the two far corners of the school yard. Center back was a small barn, shed really, for the horses that some students rode to school. Carl Bode rode a pretty brown pony every day thru all eight grades. Paul became tall and had very long legs. He was the butt of much teasing in 7th and 8th as he stepped over that pony and drew his long legs up into the stirrups. Others rode horses from time to time. We rode Old Billy--a gentle white work horse. Since we had to walk a mile and three quarters, we usually got to ride the horse on muddy days. On good days we cut across the fields using our pasture and the Riggs pasture as far as possible and walked along the fence of the wheat field in the fall before the wheat was up and the ground was hard enough to make a short-cut path. On rainy days we were sometimes allowed to hitch Old Billy to the old buggy and ride to school in style. But that horse and buggy couldn't go thru snowdrifts which meant we had to hike across the fields on snowy days. We ran much of the way but still got bitter cold. The teacher stood me on top of the stove once to thaw me out. The standard remedy for frozen fingers was to soak them in cold water. My hands and face were always chapped from fall to spring. One time the snow drifts were so high we went over the pasture fence on the drift instead of crawling thru.
I do remember the first day of school in September. I set out with Lewis Wesley and Ruby Mae wearing the prettiest of the 5 of mother's hand-made dresses I had. I had high hopes to learn but was disappointed when the teacher ignored the first grade most of the day. She did draw a big letter on our desks, probably on A, and let us go out to pick sunflower petals to outline the letter. Seemed pretty childish to me. I already knew the alphabet, could count to a hundred and (thanks to the patience of sister Ruby Mae) could read all the primers and part of the first reader. But things improved as time went by and I was able to show off my reading abilities. I must have been insufferable for I was always quick to offer to help the "slow learners" with their reading, spelling and arithmetic. If I remember right, we had three first graders. One girl left after that year. My 2nd grade classmate had trouble with reading and arithmetic and often recited with the 1st graders. I did my work and sometimes recited with the 3rd graders. How proud I was one day when I went to the board with the 3rd graders and was able to write the Roman Numerals higher than any of them! Come spring my classmate "failed" and I was promoted to the 4th grade. It was not uncommon for a child to be allowed to "skip" a grade, but I cried a few tears in the fall before I finally mastered the times tables which I had missed by skipping 3rd grade. I had to put in extra time on geography also, but soon I was at the top of the class again.
Our school was the typical one room frame school with 3 outhouses in the two far corners of the school yard. Center back was a small barn, shed really, for the horses that some students rode to school. Carl Bode rode a pretty brown pony every day thru all eight grades. Paul became tall and had very long legs. He was the butt of much teasing in 7th and 8th as he stepped over that pony and drew his long legs up into the stirrups. Others rode horses from time to time. We rode Old Billy--a gentle white work horse. Since we had to walk a mile and three quarters, we usually got to ride the horse on muddy days. On good days we cut across the fields using our pasture and the Riggs pasture as far as possible and walked along the fence of the wheat field in the fall before the wheat was up and the ground was hard enough to make a short-cut path. On rainy days we were sometimes allowed to hitch Old Billy to the old buggy and ride to school in style. But that horse and buggy couldn't go thru snowdrifts which meant we had to hike across the fields on snowy days. We ran much of the way but still got bitter cold. The teacher stood me on top of the stove once to thaw me out. The standard remedy for frozen fingers was to soak them in cold water. My hands and face were always chapped from fall to spring. One time the snow drifts were so high we went over the pasture fence on the drift instead of crawling thru.
Monday, October 28, 2013
Thoughts on my father
These are mom's recollections mainly of her father and growing up on their family farm outside Enid, Oklahoma
With his father's help daddy contracted to buy a couple of farms in the Enid area. As he was looking around to see who might be willing to join him in his new venture, he found that mother had grown up, gone off to high school and was now back teaching the school near his farm. He courted her in his horse and buggy and his warm good humor soon won him a bride. In May, 1917, they were married. He was 28 now and she was 21. They set up housekeeping on the farm where they were destined to spend the rest of their days. They had a firm faith in God and were determined theirs would be a Christian home.
By dent of hard work and using every bit of knowledge he could acquire, daddy was able to feed and clothe the eight children who were born to them during the next 15 years. They even built a new brick house when the family outgrew the old frame structure. The local lumberyard had been unable to raise cash to pay daddy for sand and gravel delivered to them from our sand pit. They were glad to pay the bill in lumber, nails and supplies. Neighbors were happy to bring their teams and help dig the basement for $1.00 a day plus $1.00 for the team. Carpenters, lathers, plumbers and electricians came slightly higher but were glad to get the work. Daddy's Sunday School class even got in on the act by helping to tear down the old house and pulling nails from the lumber so it could be reused in the new house. Their pay was .25 a day plus a big dinner at noon. Each day's work meant one more time they could go to a movie.
And those dinners! The big girls (I was 9 at the time and my sister 10 1/2) would cook the meals on a kerosene stove in a shed and we served them at a long table, seating 20, in the same shed. We cooks and the three little kids ate leftovers after the others finished. Some of the workers brought lunch pails, others ate at the table every day during that 2 month period. We moved into the basement of our beautiful new home in Sept. and had our fist meal upstairs on Thanksgiving day. It snowed that day but that didn't dampen our joy as relatives came to help us celebrate. We had running water but were to wait two more years before there was money for a generating plant so that the electricity could be hooked up and we could have lights and a hot water heater.
Daddy never stopped learning. He read and he listened. He studied new methods and quickly adopted them if they seemed to fit his situation. He was just as quick to drop them if they didn't prove themselves. He took advantage of mechanized farming as fast as money allowed. He was one of the first in the area to use diversified farming which seemed to best fit the erratic seasons of Northern Oklahoma. This meant raising not just wheat, but also oats, barley, feed grains, hay crops, cattle, hogs and sometimes sheep. This all took work and good management; and daddy worked. He ran more than he walked in those early years, until a bleeding ulcer threatened his life. He recovered but was to live with that ulcer for more than 40 years until an operation became imperative.
There were good times and bad. Hail storms destroyed ready to harvest crops, a tornado took the roof off the new barn. Mother had scarlet fever along with the first four children--right at harvest time. And then chicken pox with all of us just after the sixth child was born. Daddy had a warm loving nature and we knew he was interested in us at all times and was sorry when we were sick. I can't remember daddy really punishing us unless it was a a quick shove with his boot when we were dallying. He just expected us to do the right thing. I suspect he was too busy to nag us about jobs. He told us what was to be done and expected that it would be done.There were times when I felt he trusted me more that I deserved to be trusted.
Daddy was too soft-hearted to turn anyone away from his door whether it was a salesman or someone needing a day's work. There was always at least one hired hand around--a nephew, a neighbor's boy or someone who had walked up the road. He treated them kindly and fairly but expected them to put in a full day's work in return. Several wanderers came back regularly knowing that if daddy had the money and could find a job for them to do, he would take them in. Or if there was no money, they could work for room and board until a job opened up elsewhere.
And so our family survived storms, accidents, illnesses and even the depression. In fact we didn't even know we were poor. Everyone else we knew wore hand-me-downs and made-overs and home-mades. Even shoes were half soled at home and handed down. But some of you know the make-do's of the depression. We had enough to eat, clothes to wear and a warm home, in fact a new one. Nobody else had any money either.And what did we teat during the depression ? Breakfast was oatmeal and eggs except when eggs were quite high and we sold them. Then it was pancakes or biscuits and gravy. Dinner was fried chicken from late spring til late fall. Then we butchered a beef. So beef til mid-winter when a couple of pigs were butchered. An occasional fat hen or rooster for chicken and dumplings. Whatever vegetables we could grow in the garden and can. Also fruit from the orchard or grandpa's orchard. Always potatoes and gravy, always dessert. Cake, cookies, pie, pudding or fruit. Always homemade bread.
Yes, we weathered the depression and daddy even acquired more land. So he did well during the war years when farm prices were up and he continued to buy more land as he was able. He said land was the only stable investment and time has proved him right. The three oldest of his 4 sons served during World War II.
The country church closed in 1924. From then on we drove the eight miles in to the First Methodist Church of Enid except when the highway was blocked with snow or we got the car stuck in the mud going the mile and a half to the highway. We went to church on Sunday morning and gathered around the piano to sing on Sunday evening. Sunday was a day of rest and except for necessary chores with the livestock, no work was done on Sunday even in the midst of harvest.
Daddy taught the 7th grade boy's Sunday School class for over 40 years and was pleased to see several of HIS BOYS go into the ministry. He figured he might have helped them make up their minds. He challenged each year's class by telling them how he had wanted to be a minister and couldn't. Then he'd say he hoped that one of them might feel led to be a minister or a missionary. But above all he challenged them to lead dedicated Christian lives. Seventh grade boys aren't easy to teach and he came home many a Sunday sure that nothing had been accomplished. Then one of his former students would come back and tell him how much the class had meant to him and daddy would find the courage to go on. He always kept chewing gum or mints in his pocket to bribe the monkeys who wanted to climb over the partition into the girl's class.
Daddy had his turn at most of the jobs in the church and he sang in the choir from the time the oldest child was old enough to sing and go to choir practice with him, until the youngest child graduated from college and left home.
College--that's another thing--It was just expected that we would all go to college when the time came. It wasn't until later that I wondered how on earth our parents during those depression years with eight children could even DREAM of sending a child to college. But when my brother graduated from high school in 1937 he went to the local college and when my sister and I graduated two years later we did the same. We were commuters to both high school and college which meant high schoolers waited on the college crowd at times or vice-verse. Mother and daddy took great pride in the fact that all the children eventually finished college although the war delayed things for some of the boys. Vicariously daddy reveled in the opportunities that we had which had been denied to him The youngest son even gladdened his daddy's heart by becoming a minister.
I don't' know when my folks became committed to a plan of tithing their income but I know that they did tithe and suggested to us that tithing meant that there was always money for the Lord's work. They found pleasure in deciding where the money would do the most good if they ended the year with more than enough tithe money to pay their church pledge.
Daddy said he was too sleepy at night to pray, but he nearly always woke up at four in the morning and couldn't get back to sleep for a while. He said this was his time to talk to God. He always included each member of the family by name in his prayers and prayed for any problems or situations he knew they were facing. Eventually there were twenty-one grandchildren but he could remember their names and approximate ages because he prayed for them each night beginning with the oldest down to the youngest.
At breakfast time, we read the Upper Room for family devotions when it became available. At an earlier time I can remember daddy or mother reading the Bible to us at night then we would kneel by our chairs to pray. Needless to say, the Upper Room devotional seemed an improvement to me. Somewhere along the line Mother acquired a Bible Story book which she read at bedtime for the younger ones. And we found many occasions to sing whether it was hymns around the piano or popular songs while hulling peas or ironing. My oldest brother enjoyed singing as he plowed through the night after harvest.
Daddy gained a lot of satisfaction from serving on the church building committee when the church decided to build a new sanctuary after the war. Then they went on to build a new educational building and finally replaced the old sanctuary with an extension to that building. Daddy was no longer young at this time but he was kept on the committee because of his young ideas and interest and enthusiasm. He was justly proud of HIS church.
One of daddy's greatest joys was attending annual conference which he did every year, except for the few times when illness prevented, up until he was 80 years old. He kept up his friendship with the ministers who had been his classmates at the academy and they never failed to look him up at conference.
He was a member of the conference camp committee for several years when they were searching for a new camp site. When a beautiful canyon site came on the market, daddy bought it himself for it became evident that it would go to another group unless it was purchased immediately. He donated the land to the conference and put in a lot of time on camp development. The assembly building was named for him and he was honored for his work during conference last summer.
As soon as the camp was ready for use, the men's club of daddy's church held a weekend retreat there. This became an annual affair and also became daddy's annual vacation. Due to an operation, he missed going in 1971 but last summer he went for a day and a night when one of the dear souls at the church offered to take him and help him get around. I believe daddy faced death more peacefully in the fall having had that last chance to go to HIS camp.
What I remember best about my daddy was his great love for and interest in people. He never met a person that he didn't find interesting, and anyone who met him and talked with him never forgot him for that reason. During the week that I stayed with mother after the funeral, a memorial marker salesman came to the door. During the course of the conversation, he told us that he had sold fertilizer after he got out of high school, then he said,"whenever I came here Mr. Miller and I would have some great talks. I'll never forget him". This was typical of how daddy's love for people seemed to communicate itself to those he met.
At his funeral I could hear his voice mingling with our as we sang and recited our declaration of faith. At first I told myself I was hallucinating, but then I knew this is one way previous memories live on. Whenever the family gathers round the piano back home to sing the great hymns, his voice will join ours.
The minister's talk at the funeral was not a listing of daddy's accomplishments. He said every person needs a self he can live with, important work to do and a God to serve. Over 300 people came to the funeral to honor this simple farmer who loved the Lord with all his heart and his neighbor as himself.
With his father's help daddy contracted to buy a couple of farms in the Enid area. As he was looking around to see who might be willing to join him in his new venture, he found that mother had grown up, gone off to high school and was now back teaching the school near his farm. He courted her in his horse and buggy and his warm good humor soon won him a bride. In May, 1917, they were married. He was 28 now and she was 21. They set up housekeeping on the farm where they were destined to spend the rest of their days. They had a firm faith in God and were determined theirs would be a Christian home.
By dent of hard work and using every bit of knowledge he could acquire, daddy was able to feed and clothe the eight children who were born to them during the next 15 years. They even built a new brick house when the family outgrew the old frame structure. The local lumberyard had been unable to raise cash to pay daddy for sand and gravel delivered to them from our sand pit. They were glad to pay the bill in lumber, nails and supplies. Neighbors were happy to bring their teams and help dig the basement for $1.00 a day plus $1.00 for the team. Carpenters, lathers, plumbers and electricians came slightly higher but were glad to get the work. Daddy's Sunday School class even got in on the act by helping to tear down the old house and pulling nails from the lumber so it could be reused in the new house. Their pay was .25 a day plus a big dinner at noon. Each day's work meant one more time they could go to a movie.
And those dinners! The big girls (I was 9 at the time and my sister 10 1/2) would cook the meals on a kerosene stove in a shed and we served them at a long table, seating 20, in the same shed. We cooks and the three little kids ate leftovers after the others finished. Some of the workers brought lunch pails, others ate at the table every day during that 2 month period. We moved into the basement of our beautiful new home in Sept. and had our fist meal upstairs on Thanksgiving day. It snowed that day but that didn't dampen our joy as relatives came to help us celebrate. We had running water but were to wait two more years before there was money for a generating plant so that the electricity could be hooked up and we could have lights and a hot water heater.
Daddy never stopped learning. He read and he listened. He studied new methods and quickly adopted them if they seemed to fit his situation. He was just as quick to drop them if they didn't prove themselves. He took advantage of mechanized farming as fast as money allowed. He was one of the first in the area to use diversified farming which seemed to best fit the erratic seasons of Northern Oklahoma. This meant raising not just wheat, but also oats, barley, feed grains, hay crops, cattle, hogs and sometimes sheep. This all took work and good management; and daddy worked. He ran more than he walked in those early years, until a bleeding ulcer threatened his life. He recovered but was to live with that ulcer for more than 40 years until an operation became imperative.
There were good times and bad. Hail storms destroyed ready to harvest crops, a tornado took the roof off the new barn. Mother had scarlet fever along with the first four children--right at harvest time. And then chicken pox with all of us just after the sixth child was born. Daddy had a warm loving nature and we knew he was interested in us at all times and was sorry when we were sick. I can't remember daddy really punishing us unless it was a a quick shove with his boot when we were dallying. He just expected us to do the right thing. I suspect he was too busy to nag us about jobs. He told us what was to be done and expected that it would be done.There were times when I felt he trusted me more that I deserved to be trusted.
Daddy was too soft-hearted to turn anyone away from his door whether it was a salesman or someone needing a day's work. There was always at least one hired hand around--a nephew, a neighbor's boy or someone who had walked up the road. He treated them kindly and fairly but expected them to put in a full day's work in return. Several wanderers came back regularly knowing that if daddy had the money and could find a job for them to do, he would take them in. Or if there was no money, they could work for room and board until a job opened up elsewhere.
And so our family survived storms, accidents, illnesses and even the depression. In fact we didn't even know we were poor. Everyone else we knew wore hand-me-downs and made-overs and home-mades. Even shoes were half soled at home and handed down. But some of you know the make-do's of the depression. We had enough to eat, clothes to wear and a warm home, in fact a new one. Nobody else had any money either.And what did we teat during the depression ? Breakfast was oatmeal and eggs except when eggs were quite high and we sold them. Then it was pancakes or biscuits and gravy. Dinner was fried chicken from late spring til late fall. Then we butchered a beef. So beef til mid-winter when a couple of pigs were butchered. An occasional fat hen or rooster for chicken and dumplings. Whatever vegetables we could grow in the garden and can. Also fruit from the orchard or grandpa's orchard. Always potatoes and gravy, always dessert. Cake, cookies, pie, pudding or fruit. Always homemade bread.
Yes, we weathered the depression and daddy even acquired more land. So he did well during the war years when farm prices were up and he continued to buy more land as he was able. He said land was the only stable investment and time has proved him right. The three oldest of his 4 sons served during World War II.
The country church closed in 1924. From then on we drove the eight miles in to the First Methodist Church of Enid except when the highway was blocked with snow or we got the car stuck in the mud going the mile and a half to the highway. We went to church on Sunday morning and gathered around the piano to sing on Sunday evening. Sunday was a day of rest and except for necessary chores with the livestock, no work was done on Sunday even in the midst of harvest.
Daddy taught the 7th grade boy's Sunday School class for over 40 years and was pleased to see several of HIS BOYS go into the ministry. He figured he might have helped them make up their minds. He challenged each year's class by telling them how he had wanted to be a minister and couldn't. Then he'd say he hoped that one of them might feel led to be a minister or a missionary. But above all he challenged them to lead dedicated Christian lives. Seventh grade boys aren't easy to teach and he came home many a Sunday sure that nothing had been accomplished. Then one of his former students would come back and tell him how much the class had meant to him and daddy would find the courage to go on. He always kept chewing gum or mints in his pocket to bribe the monkeys who wanted to climb over the partition into the girl's class.
Daddy had his turn at most of the jobs in the church and he sang in the choir from the time the oldest child was old enough to sing and go to choir practice with him, until the youngest child graduated from college and left home.
College--that's another thing--It was just expected that we would all go to college when the time came. It wasn't until later that I wondered how on earth our parents during those depression years with eight children could even DREAM of sending a child to college. But when my brother graduated from high school in 1937 he went to the local college and when my sister and I graduated two years later we did the same. We were commuters to both high school and college which meant high schoolers waited on the college crowd at times or vice-verse. Mother and daddy took great pride in the fact that all the children eventually finished college although the war delayed things for some of the boys. Vicariously daddy reveled in the opportunities that we had which had been denied to him The youngest son even gladdened his daddy's heart by becoming a minister.
I don't' know when my folks became committed to a plan of tithing their income but I know that they did tithe and suggested to us that tithing meant that there was always money for the Lord's work. They found pleasure in deciding where the money would do the most good if they ended the year with more than enough tithe money to pay their church pledge.
Daddy said he was too sleepy at night to pray, but he nearly always woke up at four in the morning and couldn't get back to sleep for a while. He said this was his time to talk to God. He always included each member of the family by name in his prayers and prayed for any problems or situations he knew they were facing. Eventually there were twenty-one grandchildren but he could remember their names and approximate ages because he prayed for them each night beginning with the oldest down to the youngest.
At breakfast time, we read the Upper Room for family devotions when it became available. At an earlier time I can remember daddy or mother reading the Bible to us at night then we would kneel by our chairs to pray. Needless to say, the Upper Room devotional seemed an improvement to me. Somewhere along the line Mother acquired a Bible Story book which she read at bedtime for the younger ones. And we found many occasions to sing whether it was hymns around the piano or popular songs while hulling peas or ironing. My oldest brother enjoyed singing as he plowed through the night after harvest.
Daddy gained a lot of satisfaction from serving on the church building committee when the church decided to build a new sanctuary after the war. Then they went on to build a new educational building and finally replaced the old sanctuary with an extension to that building. Daddy was no longer young at this time but he was kept on the committee because of his young ideas and interest and enthusiasm. He was justly proud of HIS church.
One of daddy's greatest joys was attending annual conference which he did every year, except for the few times when illness prevented, up until he was 80 years old. He kept up his friendship with the ministers who had been his classmates at the academy and they never failed to look him up at conference.
He was a member of the conference camp committee for several years when they were searching for a new camp site. When a beautiful canyon site came on the market, daddy bought it himself for it became evident that it would go to another group unless it was purchased immediately. He donated the land to the conference and put in a lot of time on camp development. The assembly building was named for him and he was honored for his work during conference last summer.
As soon as the camp was ready for use, the men's club of daddy's church held a weekend retreat there. This became an annual affair and also became daddy's annual vacation. Due to an operation, he missed going in 1971 but last summer he went for a day and a night when one of the dear souls at the church offered to take him and help him get around. I believe daddy faced death more peacefully in the fall having had that last chance to go to HIS camp.
What I remember best about my daddy was his great love for and interest in people. He never met a person that he didn't find interesting, and anyone who met him and talked with him never forgot him for that reason. During the week that I stayed with mother after the funeral, a memorial marker salesman came to the door. During the course of the conversation, he told us that he had sold fertilizer after he got out of high school, then he said,"whenever I came here Mr. Miller and I would have some great talks. I'll never forget him". This was typical of how daddy's love for people seemed to communicate itself to those he met.
At his funeral I could hear his voice mingling with our as we sang and recited our declaration of faith. At first I told myself I was hallucinating, but then I knew this is one way previous memories live on. Whenever the family gathers round the piano back home to sing the great hymns, his voice will join ours.
The minister's talk at the funeral was not a listing of daddy's accomplishments. He said every person needs a self he can live with, important work to do and a God to serve. Over 300 people came to the funeral to honor this simple farmer who loved the Lord with all his heart and his neighbor as himself.
Friday, October 25, 2013
Childhood memories
I was born in the "front" bedroom of my parent's home west of Enid, OK--six miles west and 1 3/4 mile north of the highway patrol, the corner of Van Buren and Owen K. Garriot. My mother named me Rose Marie because she had read a story where a character was named that and decided it was a pretty name. My parents were Retta Barge and Lewis Benedict Miller. I appeared shortly after harvest was completed on July 10, 1922. They had been married just over five years (May 12, 1917) and already had two children: Lewis Wesley (Feb 8, 1919) and Ruby Mae (Feb. 2, 1921). Ruby Mae was only 17 mo old at the time but was already quite the big sister. I'm told that when I was just 10 days old she discovered I had woken from my nap and she proceeded to take me out to mother. She had her arms under mine and had me clasped tightly to her. Mother had a few moments of panic but reports that I was delived to her safely.
Mother nursed me as was the custom, eventually supplementing this with oatmeal, mashed carrots, mashed potatoes, etc. My exalted position as the baby of the family lasted mearly two years until the birth of my brother, Lester Christopher, on June 7, 1924. Eventually there were eight children in the family: another boy, Dale Ross, April 21, 1926, Bonnie Lea, Dec. 10, 1927, Glen Orville, Feb. 4, 1931, and Betty Jean, Sept. 10, 1932. Inevitably there were groupings in the family. I became a part of the three "big kids". Then there were "the boys" and finally "the little kids". Bonnie came to resent being grouped with the little kids--perhaps because she was more than 2 years older than Glen--perhaps because she resented being ignored by Lester and Dale who were ususally good buddies and needed no little sister tagging along.
I don't remember Lester and Dale's birth. I suppose the big kids were taken up to Grandma Miller's as usual. I remember Dale as a toddler. It would have been the winter of 26-27 and mother had lined a big wooden box (36" x 36" by 24" deep) with old comforts and placed it near the pot-bellied stove in the dining room so that he would be warm and safe from active older siblings.
I remember staying at Grandma's for one birth and it must have been Bonnie's. We always went to Grandma's every Sunday afternoon (why did we call it"Grandma's"?), either by car or buggy depending on the weather and road conditions. But we were Never left there for grandma to care for, except that time. It got dark, and still the folks hadn't come for us. Grandma fed us, bedtime came, I was so sleepy. Finally Daddy and Lewis Wesley came and announced that we had a new baby sister. it flitted thru my mind "where did she come from?". Seems like I asked Wesley. Anyway I asked somebody and they said the doctor brought her. The next week when the doctor came to see mother, he had his little black bag with him and I decided that's how he brought Bonnie but I still wondered how he knew to bring her to our house.
Mother nursed me as was the custom, eventually supplementing this with oatmeal, mashed carrots, mashed potatoes, etc. My exalted position as the baby of the family lasted mearly two years until the birth of my brother, Lester Christopher, on June 7, 1924. Eventually there were eight children in the family: another boy, Dale Ross, April 21, 1926, Bonnie Lea, Dec. 10, 1927, Glen Orville, Feb. 4, 1931, and Betty Jean, Sept. 10, 1932. Inevitably there were groupings in the family. I became a part of the three "big kids". Then there were "the boys" and finally "the little kids". Bonnie came to resent being grouped with the little kids--perhaps because she was more than 2 years older than Glen--perhaps because she resented being ignored by Lester and Dale who were ususally good buddies and needed no little sister tagging along.
I don't remember Lester and Dale's birth. I suppose the big kids were taken up to Grandma Miller's as usual. I remember Dale as a toddler. It would have been the winter of 26-27 and mother had lined a big wooden box (36" x 36" by 24" deep) with old comforts and placed it near the pot-bellied stove in the dining room so that he would be warm and safe from active older siblings.
I remember staying at Grandma's for one birth and it must have been Bonnie's. We always went to Grandma's every Sunday afternoon (why did we call it"Grandma's"?), either by car or buggy depending on the weather and road conditions. But we were Never left there for grandma to care for, except that time. It got dark, and still the folks hadn't come for us. Grandma fed us, bedtime came, I was so sleepy. Finally Daddy and Lewis Wesley came and announced that we had a new baby sister. it flitted thru my mind "where did she come from?". Seems like I asked Wesley. Anyway I asked somebody and they said the doctor brought her. The next week when the doctor came to see mother, he had his little black bag with him and I decided that's how he brought Bonnie but I still wondered how he knew to bring her to our house.
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
Grandparents
My mom's paternal grandfather was born in 1854 and grandmother in 1860
Grandparents
Because we lived just 1 1/2 miles from my paternal grandparents, many childhood memories revolve around them. They were very OLD as I first remember them. Grandpa Miller would have been in his early 70's and Grandma 6 years younger. Going up to grandpa's house was a regular Sunday afternoon routine which we eagerly awaited. Perhaps grandma's habit of bringing out graham crackers or cookies had something to do with it. Grandpa always had peppermints or horehound candies in his pocket for good little children. We loved to explore their big two story house. Going up the back stairs was a bit spooky on cloudy days but that was the shortest way to the room where old funny papers and magazines were stored. The big back porch contained many interesting relics, including an old pump organ. We might go to the shed, climb up in the old surrey and pretend to take a trip; or play hide and seek in and around the "old house", shed and chicken house. We were a bit afraid of grandpa's big horses so we mostly steered clear of the barn except in summer when the horses were in the pasture.
Grandpa kindly tolerated the antics of the eight of us. Perhaps in us he relived the growing years of his own nine children. I can see him still in his rocking chair by the old wood stove in winter or sitting on the edge of the porch in summer with a fly swatter in his hand. Grandma seemed to love each of us and enjoyed holding the babies. I knew her as a gentle, quiet woman with snow white hair. It was hard to imagine how hard she must have worked when the children were all at home.
My mother's parents were in their early 50's when I first remember them. Their farm was a long way away, at least 30 miles. On our infrequent journeys to their house we had to start early in the morning to be sure to arrive in time for grandma's good dinner. Her house always smelled of delicious food. Maybe we were just very hungry after that long trip. I thought nobody's fried chicken tasted as good as Grandma Barge's. And her burnt sugar cakes would melt in your mouth. But before we could eat, grandma asked the blessing, which was sure to be longer than anybody elses.With that platter of chicken under my nose I couldn't help but be impatient.
Grandpa Barge was a big tease, so much so that I often avoided him to protect my feelings. He didn't mean to hurt us but he did. Grandpa was a big man--tall and heavy set, slow and deliberate in his actions, a hard worker but a trial to Grandma, who was very quick in everything. We enjoyed our visits to their house, especially the toys and dress-up clothes which grandma kept in an upstairs room and kept us occupied all afternoon.
If our teenage aunts were home, their boyfriends might pay a call and we'd get to go for a walk with them. How they put up with us, I don't know.
I always though my grandma's fried chicken was the best in the world and loved her home made pies. She must have learned all that from her own mother, of course. Sadly I don't think my mom inherited that skill so much, or maybe she just got sick of cooking by the time I can remember. I remember her saying that she and her sister were the ones who made the pies for the farm hands when she was growing up, so she was probably too "pied out" by the time I came around. I remember yummy cakes and cookies, though, and she made the best turkey stuffing ever. Oh, and fudge.
Grandparents
Because we lived just 1 1/2 miles from my paternal grandparents, many childhood memories revolve around them. They were very OLD as I first remember them. Grandpa Miller would have been in his early 70's and Grandma 6 years younger. Going up to grandpa's house was a regular Sunday afternoon routine which we eagerly awaited. Perhaps grandma's habit of bringing out graham crackers or cookies had something to do with it. Grandpa always had peppermints or horehound candies in his pocket for good little children. We loved to explore their big two story house. Going up the back stairs was a bit spooky on cloudy days but that was the shortest way to the room where old funny papers and magazines were stored. The big back porch contained many interesting relics, including an old pump organ. We might go to the shed, climb up in the old surrey and pretend to take a trip; or play hide and seek in and around the "old house", shed and chicken house. We were a bit afraid of grandpa's big horses so we mostly steered clear of the barn except in summer when the horses were in the pasture.
Grandpa kindly tolerated the antics of the eight of us. Perhaps in us he relived the growing years of his own nine children. I can see him still in his rocking chair by the old wood stove in winter or sitting on the edge of the porch in summer with a fly swatter in his hand. Grandma seemed to love each of us and enjoyed holding the babies. I knew her as a gentle, quiet woman with snow white hair. It was hard to imagine how hard she must have worked when the children were all at home.
My mother's parents were in their early 50's when I first remember them. Their farm was a long way away, at least 30 miles. On our infrequent journeys to their house we had to start early in the morning to be sure to arrive in time for grandma's good dinner. Her house always smelled of delicious food. Maybe we were just very hungry after that long trip. I thought nobody's fried chicken tasted as good as Grandma Barge's. And her burnt sugar cakes would melt in your mouth. But before we could eat, grandma asked the blessing, which was sure to be longer than anybody elses.With that platter of chicken under my nose I couldn't help but be impatient.
Grandpa Barge was a big tease, so much so that I often avoided him to protect my feelings. He didn't mean to hurt us but he did. Grandpa was a big man--tall and heavy set, slow and deliberate in his actions, a hard worker but a trial to Grandma, who was very quick in everything. We enjoyed our visits to their house, especially the toys and dress-up clothes which grandma kept in an upstairs room and kept us occupied all afternoon.
If our teenage aunts were home, their boyfriends might pay a call and we'd get to go for a walk with them. How they put up with us, I don't know.
I always though my grandma's fried chicken was the best in the world and loved her home made pies. She must have learned all that from her own mother, of course. Sadly I don't think my mom inherited that skill so much, or maybe she just got sick of cooking by the time I can remember. I remember her saying that she and her sister were the ones who made the pies for the farm hands when she was growing up, so she was probably too "pied out" by the time I came around. I remember yummy cakes and cookies, though, and she made the best turkey stuffing ever. Oh, and fudge.
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