With The Robinsons and the Rowes
The steps up to the bedrooms were very steep, and my baby sister fell down them as I watched, wide-eyed, trying to stop her. Fortunately, nothing was broken.
There was a pump in the pantry to draw water for cooking and for washing dishes, etc. and another over the cistern in the back yard (surrounded by violets and lilies of the valley) from which we drew sparkling clear, cold and delicious drinking water. Water for bathing was heated in a kettle on the big iron stove, and we took turns dipping our bodies into the huge metal tub each Saturday night. We carried a lantern for visits to the outhouse in back, after dark.
The ice man came during the summer months, filling the large cavity in the ice box with a chunk of ice that kept foods cool. It was great fun to chase the truck and wait for him to chip slivers off for us to suck on.
We walked uptown every day, visiting the General Store where my Grandpa worked, admiring the penny candy until he offered us some, or carefully choosing the best assortment from the nickel or dime he’d hidden in an obvious place for us to find when we weeded the flower bed.
When cheese began to dry and sweat in the store, Grandpa would bring it home, where we toasted it over the iron stove for a delicious treat that I can still taste in memory. There were huge barrels of pickles, crackers, apples and potatoes in the store that combined to make a delicious aroma throughout the store.
Nearby was an ice cream parlor. During the intermission of the movie being shown in the park, we slurped huge mugs of home-made root beer with a scoop of ice cream, a cooling treat in the summertime. There was no movie theatre; families walked down to the park on Saturday evenings and spread blankets on the cool grass. A great screen was hung and the Shirley Temple or Hopalong Cassidy films were projected to our delight as soon as the sun went down. When we got tired, we curled up (cushioning our heads on Mother’s lap) and slept until time to walk home.
On Sundays, my grandfather (and sometimes my father and brother) played with the band in the shell at the park, and most families enjoyed the music, tapping their feet to the tempo or humming along to familiar tunes..
Grandma was a great cook. I can still taste her spiced peaches, home-canned beef and noodles,and macaroni and cheddar all toasty and brown on top. Great King apples, as big as a softball, were sliced into a pie if we didn’t snatch them to savor the juicy tartness. Days when even those special meals weren’t worth heating up the kitchen, we feasted on slabs of beefsteak tomatoes, cucumber, and green pepper in salt, pepper and vinegar, and corn was boiled in a tub in the back yard. I’m not sure, but it may have been the tub Grandpa often kept his catfish catch in, letting them swim until Grandma was ready to clean and cook them.
I was a hellion…on the move from dawn to dusk…curious about everything but impatient and demanding. When Mother gave chase, Grandma lifted her skirt for me to duck under as she sat in her favorite chair. My maternal grandmother was a saint, and, in spite of the change in her appearance as a result of a choking incident that deformed her, she was adored by me and anyone who knew her. She often sat with me at her feet, as I painstakingly worked the needle and threads into pieces of flour sack toweling, until the cramped, tiny stitches were acceptable to her watchful eye.
By the age of 7, I was given scraps of fabric, left over from aprons and dresses my grandmother and mother had made for the family, and began construction of the quilt top that was my gift to my own grand-daughter at her engagement. Each day, under Grandma’s gentle supervision, I measured, traced and cut the pieces, stacking them carefully in the order they would be used. Then, I began the tedious process of stitching the pieces of the stars together, taking care to match corner to corner, selecting complementary sections that were reminders of the bright figures in a favorite apron, the tiny floral print of a Sunday dress, or perhaps a lively print or the subdued solid pastel shade of a school dress I (or my sister) wore on some special day. I can still look at pieces in the quilt and recall what garment each spoke of the star came from, who wore it, and any special memories attached to it. Finally, I filled in the spaces with flour sack material, and the top was complete.
Great-Uncle Clem had lost a leg to one of the sows he raised on the farm. I was terrified of the hogs, but loved playing in the hayloft. One day, while playing in the loft, I slipped and fell, landing in the hay mow and coming to with the huge tongue of a cow licking my face. I was certain she was going to eat me, and my screams scared the cow more than she had scared me. I steered clear of cows for many years after that.
At one of the reunions, I remember guests relating their experiences at the World’s Fair in Chicago.
My adored grandmother (Nelle Robinson) died in 1943 before World War II solved the depression problem. The effect of her death upon me is apparent to those who know of my adamant refusal to go to wakes, and the restriction in my own personal instructions on the subject. Grandma’s wake almost destroyed, and buried for many years, my memory of that saintly woman. I prefer to remember my loved ones (and to be remembered) in treasured reminiscences, rather than as stone faces in a casket after life (and love) has left. I refused to allow family members to destroy my memories of my grandfather when he died in Chicago when I was 20.
They had the following children:
James Jay Robinson
Aaron William Robinson
Ruth Robinson
James Jay Robinson was born 5 Jan 1875 in Bentown, (Benjaminville) IL. Died 5 Dec 1951 in Danvers, IL. Buried 7 Dec 1951 in Riverside Cemetery, Saybrook, IL. Occupation Storekeeper.
He married Nelle Rowe, daughter of Harmon Andrew ROWE & Mary Jane FERGUSON, 30 Jan 1901 in Saybrook, Illinois. Born 27 Jan 1875 in Saybrook, McLean Co., IL. Died 3 Dec 1943 in Bloomington, Illinois. Buried in Riverside Cemetery, Saybrook, IL.
They had the following children:
Nellie Florence Robinson
Born 17 Mar 1904 in Saybrook, IL. Died 14 Jul 2001 in Island Lake, IL.
She married Ward Alan Bouvier, son of George Alfred (Fred) Bouvier-Berkeley & Emma Ann Wohlgemuth, 11 Sep 1927 in Elkhart, IN.
Miriam Robinson
Born 10 Nov 1901. Died 1 Mar 1976.
She married Guy (Louis) LAMBDIN, 9 Jul 1920. Born 26 May 1899. Died 18 Jan 1971.
Barbara Bouvier Whitworth - June 2006 e-mail: bouvierhistory@yahoo.com