The covered bridge over the Hughes River was the meeting place for the children of the little Ritchie County community of Berea, West Virginia. The boys must always show their prowess by walking all the way over the founded beams that supported the side of the roof of the bridge. When they had successfully maneuvered their way across (it was very seldom for any one of them to fall the fifteen feet to the floor of the bridge, and when they did, Old Doc quickly splintered their broken arm), it was time for the girls to try their skill. They were never permitted (by their brothers),to go more than a third of the way up, and then they could sit quietly there to rest on their laurels before backing down to the safety of the bridge floor.
There was an open gas flame on a pole between the village store and post office. Since this was the only outside light in the community, it was the gathering place on summer evenings for the children. Fireflies, moths, and all other flying insects also considered this the proper place to spend, and I do mean spend, a worthwhile hour or two.
As the children played, the men discussed the events of importance. Politics always came in for its fair share of argument. Teddy Roosevelt and his exploits were either the greatest or the world's worst, depending upon which "Party" you supported. News of the outside world would arrive by way of the mailman about twice a week, but in between times the "old news" would suffice for heated discussions.
The mothers of the community rarely entered into village play and deliberations. There were always stockings to be darned, trousers to patch, and a million-and-one other things to occupy their time. They baked their own bread for the family, washed their clothes on a scrub board and ironed them with a "flat iron." They dried and sulphured their fruit and vegetables that would suffice for food during the winter months. (Not many things could be canned in the early twentieth century. Pork was preserved by salting and beef by drying.) Fodder beans (dried beans in the pods) was a staple food for winter meals, and I still like them. The women also made all the clothes for the family with the exception of a "Sunday suit" for Dad and the boys after they "grew up."
There were a few days of the year when the women folk could really shine. Among these special occasions would be: First, there was the thirtieth day of May picnic when buggies and wagons would come to Pine Grove from as far as five miles away. (I must tell you a little later how ice cream was provided for this feast.)
Second, the community Christmas tree at the school house. There would be a program using all the local talent. The tree was lighted with candles that glowed with a far greater splendor than any of the modern day lights. The gifts had no fancy wrappings, but were just hung from every branch and piled on the floor under the tree if they would not hang. After the program in the school house, fireworks were put off from the hill overlooking the village. There might be a half-dozen "Roman candles," dozens of "sparklers" and firecrackers without number.
Third, there were bean stringings, apple cuttings, and quiltings which were days for social gatherings in which the women would really show their skills. Perhaps five to ten bushels of beans would be picked and the neighbors would come in to help prepare them. There would be music and games for the young folks and work and talk for the others. The next day these beans would be washed and partially cooked and placed into a large barrel and left to sour. After about three weeks, they would turn into delicious "pickled beans," and would be eaten every day during the long winter months. (If you don't think they would be good, get a recipe and make a gallon of them. Your family will enjoy the change.)
Another big barrel was used to sulfur apples. If you have smelled sulfur, you will wonder how anything could be eaten that had been around that terrible odor. When the proper amount of sulfur was used, the apples remained white and had a fresh taste when cooked. Bushels of apples were dried. You can still buy dried fruit in stores, peaches, apricots, prunes, and even apples, but they turned very dark and had a different taste when cooked.
Nearly every home in the community would have a quilting day during the winter. The women folks would piece quilts all year and finally when four or five were ready to set in the frames, the neighbors would be invited in to help quilt them. It was important for the young ladies to learn to be good quilters if they wanted to be recommended to the most eligible young men. All day long the sewing and laughing and talking continued. When evening came, this family had new quilts to keep them warm.
I guess there may be one or more strange characters in your area--there was, and is, in ours. Poor Toody lived in anticipation of these special days and she never missed one. She wasn't much good with the needle, but she was "S-1" at the table. She would manage to get to the "first" table and remain through the second and third shifts. When everyone else had finished, Toody would finally leave the table weeping and when asked why she wept, she would say, "It is so sad that I can't eat more when there are such good things left."
The farmers assisted each other at wood cuttings, corn huskings, and hay harvesting. These were family gatherings because the women came with food and brought the children along. The boys and girls were responsible to draw water from the dug well and keep the men in the field supplied with fresh drinking water. The best food available was provided on these occasions, even pie and cake.
Let me tell you how a group of people who work together can provide special treats for themselves. In our locality there was an old one-room log house. This house was filled with sawdust. When the river froze over solidly, the men would go down and cut out chunks of ice and store them in the sawdust. Each participating family would be permitted to remove a certain number of blocks for his own use. On the 30th of May, ice cream would be made for all the picnickers. Sometimes there was enough ice left to have ice cream for the 4th of July also!
The three-room school house in the heart of the village served the countryside for miles around. The pupils varied in age from 5 to 20 years and the teachers were sometimes younger than some of their charges. I was lucky, though, for Dad was my first teacher. We lived in sight of the school and I was permitted to go in the fall before I became five. I recall asking to be "excused" and then running home to get a "piece." One day I whispered and disturbed Dad and he punished me by placing me on the corner of his desk with a "fascinator" tied around my face so I couldn't see. (A fascinator was a head scarf made of a long narrow piece of woolen cloth.) It was a serious punishment for me to have to sit quietly and have no one with whom I could whisper.
The village store was a treasure house to the youngsters. They always had candy: rock candy that looked and tasted about like a rock, except that if you sucked carefully on it, you got a faint taste of sugar; maple sugar candy that was molded into exciting shapes--hearts, stars and cubes--and it was really good, even though it had been left in the open to dry out by the month so that it became as hard as the rock candy; several varieties of stick candy were always awaiting the one who had the nerve to try to bite them; green pickle candy was the real treat. It looked like a small pickle and was as sour as a homemade pickle. These precious tid-bits came pretty high--one egg carried carefully in the hand and presented to Mr. Jackson could be exchanges for two "pickles" and they could last all day if you gave yourself a little rest before you started on the second one.
Even a community of thirty-nine people had its characters. There were Uncle Jake and Old Doc, Aunt Perdillie and Aunt Lovie, these were their real names, who were the "salt of the earth."
Uncle Jake liked children, I guess, and he was always after them about something. He walked with a cane. This cane had an especially big crook in the handle, and any child seeking to slip by Uncle Jake for any reason at all would find himself brought face to face with the old man by the force of that crook around his neck. Every child feared him, but no one ever heard of any harm done by him to anyone.
Old Doc had delivered all the babies in a fifteen-mile radius and watched them grow into men and women. He always made each child feel he was someone special. To every girl he would say, as he patted her head, "Pretty as a peach with the fuzz rubbed off." To the boys he would say, "Oh, that muscle is really developing." Any time a child had to be taken to his office, which was in a little white-washed shack in his front yard, there were some candy pills doled out into his hand, as many sometimes as a half dozen, and they were sure to do the trick, even if you were still sick a week later.
Aunt Perdillie and her husband, Uncle John, lived in a two-room house in the heart of town. He was paralyzed and unable to walk, so he sat all. day long in his rocking chair while Aunt Perdillie went out to do a few chores for neighbors to earn their living. They received an old-folks pension of $5.00 a month, so with the things given to them by neighbors, they got along. She would give a penny once in a while to a child who would sit with him at times when he was feeling "poorly." She was highly respected for her devotion to her crippled husband. Children would sit by the hour in the shade of the house on a long hot afternoon, soaking up "local color." There was no better way to her the news, for she was the town "gossip."
Poor Aunt Lovie was renowned for her stinginess! When she had guests for a meal, she could be expected to say, "Help yourself to the butter. There's more in the cellar in a teacup." She was the guardian of her precious loaf of bread, for she kept it in her lap and if someone asked for a slice, she would cut it and pass it over with the remark, "I don't like to cut any ahead, for it dries out so bad." Her idiosyncrasies were always good for a laugh when the men gathered for a session.
Religion played an important part in the lives of these country people. There were two established churches, and when a third one, -Seventh Day Adventists, sought to establish a congregation, the holy ire of the community was aroused. The new minister was forced into public debate and thoroughly humiliated by the men of the community who tricked him into "deep water" out of which he was unable to swim. Their objections to this new doctrine did not concern the keeping of the Sabbath, for the majority of the community were Sabbath-keepers, but they objected to the ban on the eating of pork and the doctrine of "soul sleep." To this day, the Seventh Day Baptist group still have a church and the Adventists are only mentioned in connection with reminiscences.
The yearly "protracted meeting" was held in the late fall when all crops were gathered in and the work was slack. From every direction you could see the lights converging on the "church in the dell." Each family brought a lantern to see to walk by and to use in lighting the church. Time had been spent in every household some time during the day in filling the lantern with coal oil and (:leaning and polishing the globe so as to get the best possible light from it. Sometimes mischievous boys would turn the wick up on some lanterns to make them smoke so no light could penetrate the globe. They were considered the Is roughnecks," and prayers were said for their souls. The meetings frequently continued for six weeks with much rejoicing and an "experience meeting" each night when the grownups got to testify about their personal lives. (The truth about this was that everyone there already knew so much about each one as he knew about himself--sometimes it agreed with his testimony, and sometimes not.)
This meeting afforded the main social opportunity of the year. The young men lined up at the door to ask the young ladies of their choice if they might "see them home." The two or three-mile walk through the mud or snow--whichever it chanced to be--gave ample time for exciting conversations and spills and pick-ups which provided a little harmless physical contact, always in the close proximity of the rest of her family (and probably his). The old folks and children were preferred as chaperones and permitted to carry the lanterns while the courters walked behind in order to make the most of the lantern light, so they declared.
The grist mills was always good for a few hours of interesting perusal if nothing else developed. The mill pond, formed by the dam, was too deep for a playground, but at times it was possible to walk across the top of the dam a few times without being caught. That was as exciting as the visit of a stranger in the village, and almost as rare. The great mill wheel was always turning, for there was never a shortage of water in the river. The splash, splash of the water as it came off the wheel could carry a contemplative child into the land of dreams where all sorts of exciting things took place.
When the mill was running, it was an exciting place to be. The farmers brought their grists of corn and wheat and stacked them inside the great dusty room. A bag at a time would be opened and poured into the hopper. Then the real entertainment began as one could run from place to place watching the progress of the grain as it was turned into meal or flour. Eventually it poured out of a chute into a bag and was ready to be used for baking bread, cakes, cookies or pies. The miller, in his flour-covered clothes, always divided the finished product, keeping one bag out of four for his share as payment for having ground the grain. The little country stores for miles around would stock their supply of flour and meal from his "share" that was always piled high in the storage room.
Winter was a wonderful time in this remote section. Ice skating and sleigh riding were the natural recreational outlets for about two months of every year. Even school days did not prevent the youngsters from skating and sleighing, since the river was near enough on the one hand, and the "hill" was in easy distance the other direction. So the noon hour afforded ample time to enjoy whatever sport was best at the time. I doubt that the lunch pail got much attention those days, only something that could be consumed "on the run" was appreciated. Practically every child owned a pair of ice skates, store-bought, and a sled, home-made, and learned to use them before he entered school.
The grownups were more likely to use the "river" and the "hill" at night. They would build bonfires and make a real social occasion of it. Some of the families had sleds drawn by one or two horses, in which they transported their families to church and other necessary places. A good layer of hay was placed in the bed of the sleigh and everyone crawled in and covered with quilts and blankets against the cold winds that were generated by the fast movement of that plow horse that was doubling as a racer for this occasion.
Many important subjects came in for their share of discussion around the stove in the store, mill, or blacksmith shop. The weather was always good for an opener, whether it was hot or cold, wet or dry. "Crops" would always strike fire if certain farmers were present, who invariably had the "most corn to the acre," the biggest "punkins," and so forth.
One subject that had top rating for several weeks was "Halley's Comet." The story was widespread that when this comet approached the earth, it would swing around and its tail would touch the earth and set it on fire. It would be the end of the world. This was discussed pro and con by the hour while the appointed time for its appearance drew near. The children were spellbound as they listened to the tale--afraid to hear it, but too curious to run away and hide. There were nights of troubled sleep for the young fry who talked in whispers about what it would be like if all the world was afire. Would the river be a safe place to hide? (It was as much as fifteen feet deep in spots.) Or would it be better to find a deep cave to hide in while the fire burned? The night the comet was to be visible passed without incident, and there was an unconscious sighing of great relief when the population awoke as usual and found themselves still alive and everything normal.
There was no such thing as a daily newspaper in that farming area, but there were a few families who took weekly and monthly farm and family magazines. GRIT was a great favorite as an all-around weekly news and specialty paper. YOUTH COMPANION carried a serial story and other features of interest to the whole family. The day the companion came was a special one, for everyone hurried a little faster with the chores order to gather in the "sitting room" for the reading of the continued story. One member read aloud, so all could get the exciting details at the same time. Today's theaters would do well to secure some of the reading talent that was developed in those evening sessions! The best reader was urged to do the honors, since a great deal of their pleasure depended upon the romantic atmosphere provided by the voice, accents, and speed of the reader. There were some homes where even the best reader left much to be desired, but if it happened to be the story of an Indian raid, a slow monotonous voice reading, "As I stared toward the window, there appeared two feathers moving upward , and then the hideously painted face of a savage came into full view." would help to ease the pain of suspenseful anxiety.
By the way, have you ever experienced the feeling of contentment that "all's well with the world" sense of satisfaction that accompanies group reading? Get a few compatible companions and try reading poetry, a new novel, a book on present-day trends in race relations, a book on prison life in a Communist country, and see if life doesn't put on new interest and emphasis.
Music had an important place in the lives of these contented people. There were few instruments in the community--most of them pump organs. Some churches had organs, and a few homes were so blessed, but few people learned to play them. Perhaps as many as two women would be able to play the church hymns. There was one accordion in the community, but it had little in common with the present day instrument. It had twelve (?) notes and two bass notes. (I still have one that my mother used.) Singing came natural with these people. Nobody had a trained voice, but nearly all could "carry a tune," and they enjoyed doing so. Certain people were considered leaders because they owned a pitch-pipe, which would give them the proper pitch for starting a song. This was used when no instrument was to be played.
After the first frost fell in the fall of the year, a new and interesting chapter of life began. The gathering of nuts was the children's contribution to the winter supply of interesting food. There were chestnut, hickory nut, walnut, butternut, and hazelnut trees in abundance. (Now all the chestnut trees are dead from a blight, and only a few of the others have survived the years.)
The most frequent and enjoyable excursions were made to get chestnuts. Those trees were large and grew outward more than upward. Longfellow described it when he said:
Under the spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stood
Chestnuts grew in round shells, or envelopes, that were completely covered with prickly burs. When they were ripe, these burs fell to the ground and frequently burst open on impact to reveal four sections which contained one nut in each. These burs were fully lined with a soft substance which felt like velvet. At times, the nuts seemed so content with their soft pleasant home that they were reluctant to leave it. In that case, you took a stick to force them out while you held on to the bur with your foot--if you had shoes on.
The pleasure of gathering these nuts was almost eclipsed by the pure delight of eating them. They were good in so many different ways. On long winter evenings, chestnuts Would be placed in the coals in the open fireplace and heated until they would burst open. It took careful watching to eat a hot one without getting burned on the shell. If there was no fire for roasting them, they Would be boiled and the taste was quite delightfully different. Then, of course, they were available for stuffing the Christmas turkey or, more completely, the rooster.
It was great fun to gather the hard-shelled nuts: hickory, walnut, butternut, and so on, but they were tiresome to crack and pick out.
Long hours of confining work were required to get a dish full of those nuts prepared for use in baking or candy making. They had very thick shells, and it took a hard lick with a hammer to crack one. (The shells are much like the shell of a Brazil nut, only thicker and tougher.) You had to hold the nut between your fingers on a piece of iron or stone and then whack it. Many fingers have been badly bruised in the effort, and thumbnails lost in the process. Then the tedious task of picking out the kernels began. You used a wire hairpin or a nut pick to dig the kernel out of its hiding place. The next time you go to the store and buy a little plastic package of black walnuts, remember what it cost someone to prepare them.
One of the joys of springtime was following after the plow. "Tasting" the feel of freshly-turned earth on bare feet! All winter you had worn high shoes that cramped your thoughts, if not your toes, but now for the first time since last fall, those toes could enjoy their freedom again.
The earthworms that were plowed up must not be wasted, either. The fishing holes were beckoning. Many frying pans in the community would be full of tobacco box and black sunfish the next few days. (People call these fish bass today.) What a glorious way to spend a lazy afternoon--sitting on the river bank with a home-grown fishing pole in your hands and a string of three or four five-inch fish flapping around in the water beside you! Then is when your dreams of the future really blossomed, the fruit might never mature, but you had the pleasure of the blooms, anyway.
The words "hay harvest" bring varying responses. Some of them are happy; some are filled with dread and fear; some recall hard work and sweat, and there are many memories of pleasurable experiences. Children had certain pre-arranged jobs connected with harvesting. There was always the continuing job of carrying water from the spring to the workers. If they were working as much as a mile away from the house, dinner Must be carried to them--otherwise, it Must be served on the table. Someone had to ride the horses to haul the hay shocks to the stack area, and of course the small fry were selected for the job so that everyone big enough to "pitch" hay would be available for that job.
Two things were dreadful to me about those haying days. The sweat bees stung my legs as I rode bareback on the horse. I was so afraid of them that if one was flying around me, I was likely to forget to guide the horse to the right place. A few tears were inevitable because, if I got stung, I cried, and if I failed to guide the horse properly, I got scolded and I cried. And then I was always afraid I would see a snake. My brothers were older than I, and they assured me they would protect me, but there was always the idea that they might be far away.
Nell was a fine horse. She could travel well in a buggy, and she was a five-gaited traveler. My Dad was very proud of her, but she had one big fault--she was afraid of cars. On the rare occasions that we would meet a car on the road, she had to be held by the bridle and talked to, patted, and reassured. We were always sent scampering up the bank above the road for protection as soon as we heard a car approaching. (You could hear them a mile away in those days.)
Old Nell and I had a mutual understanding with which Dad could never agree. As soon as Nell saw me approaching with a bridle, she would lay back her ears, bare her teeth and run at me. I never went far from the fence and always made it over safely before she got there. Dad insisted she would not hurt me and he would send me back again and again. If my memory serves me right, I never did prove that she wouldn't eat me up. One of the boys always ended up catching her and then I could ride her or lead her anywhere.
Country children were taught to be afraid of certain things. My list included: mad dogs, gypsies, snakes, buck sheep and bulls. In our wandering around the country, we avoided fields where there were sheep or cattle, so that was usually taken care of. But we couldn't tell when a band of wandering gypsies might come through. (I remember seeing one band off three wagons when I was very small.) Any time we were on the road and heard a wagon coming, we visualized gypsies until it came into view and we knew the people.
A boy in our county, we didn't know the family, had been bitten by a mad dog and died a terrible death. So this idea of fear would fill my thoughts if I chanced to be alone for any distance away from the house. I suppose I have run many miles fleeing from an imaginary dog. I never saw a mad dog until many years later, and then it wasn't a strange dog, but our own.
Dad had a sister, Aunt Callie, her name was really Calfernia, who lived in the nicest house in all the Countryside for miles about. It was built on the top of a steep hill about three miles down the river from Berea, our little village. When the weather was good, you could drive there by buggy or wagon, or ride horseback. Most people walked over the hills and avoided crossing the river, which was necessary if you went by road.
To my childish mind, this great two-story white house was a castle in the clouds. It had a wide stairway with railing that was perfect for sliding, providing you didn't get caught! If you did get caught, once in a long while, you were likely to stand up for a few hours in order not to add to the pain that was present with you.
The rooms were large and filled with interesting things which had not been made for children's play toys. Two of the most interesting rooms were forbidden territory except on very infrequent occasions. The parlor was reserved for very special guests, which I never was in those days. Recently we have gone back there twice for a few hours, and that was the room we were taken into. I had to ask to see the kitchen and dining room. Cousin Julia is now dead and only her sisters, Conza and Draxie, and Rupert, their brother, still live there.
In 1965 when we visited there, after a bumpy and dangerous trip up the hill, we parked the car in the yard. Conza came out to warn us to be sure all windows were closed; otherwise, we might not have any upholstery left, for one of the horses was in the habit of eating all such delicate repasts. We didn't know how smart the horse was, so we locked the doors, too.
There were special chairs covered with velvet and lovely soft cushions in every one. A table held an "Aladdin lamp," which was a special oil-burning lamp that was much better than the ordinary ones used in the rest of the house. On the walls of this room hung the prize pictures of the members of the family. They were "enlarged" and framed in wide gold-colored frames about two by three feet, and some of them were larger. Those pictures are still there, and on the table stand is the same velvet-covered album of pictures that was their pride and joy a half-century ago.
Aunt Callie and Uncle John have been gone many years, and their children who still live there are now older and more feeble than I remember- my uncle and aunt. No wonder, for they have worn their lives out in that beautiful but inconvenient setting. Even in this modern day they must still carry nearly all their drinking and cooking water from a spring at the foot of the hill.. They have a drilled well on the back porch, but it never would supply more than a few buckets of water a day during the must ideal circumstances. When I was a child, I carried many buckets of water up that winding path. The girls of the family, Julia, Conza, and Draxie, made a large wooden yoke which they placed across their shoulders to aid them in this difficult task. A rope hung from each end of the yoke, with a hook on it, which they placed in the handle of the bucket; thus, the weight of the load they carried was distributed across their backs. I could never try it, for it didn't fit me. Even as a child, I thought this made them look like "beasts of burden," for it was much like the yoke they placed on the oxen when they hitched them up to work.
Washday was an event. The dirty clothes were carried to a level spot by the spring; a fire was built under the huge copper kettle which was filled with water. The clothes were placed in a tub with cold water and left to soak while the water heated. The other tub was filled with hot water, just hot enough to make the hands turn red but not blister, and then the washing began. Home-made lye soap was used and the clothes were rubbed, piece by-piece, on a washboard. The white clothes were then boiled in soap suds for about a half hour and then put through two tubs of water to get all the soap out. The wringing was all. done by hand, and those baskets of clothes were heavy when they were carried up the hill to hang them up to dry! In the winter, rain water or melted snow was used and the kitchen became the wash house.
The early spring was a wonderful time to visit at Aunt Callie's house, for they made maple syrup. I suppose the month varied some, for the sap must be gathered just as it began to move in the trunk of those sugar maple trees. The days would be warm and sunshiny and the nights quite cool. A dozen or so sugar maples would be "tapped" and buckets hung under the spout they placed there. The sap would continue to drip for a week or so, and the buckets would have to be emptied twice a day. It tasted like lightly sweetened water to me. Now, as I remember it, I think it must have been somewhat like coconut juice from a freshly picked nut. (I don't care for it, either.)
It took long hours of boiling this sap to bring it to the stage of maple syrup. I think one gallon of sap would make about one-half pint of syrup. It was used in baking, on the table, and best of all, it was made into candy. I would be given a small dish of the hot syrup to beat and mold into candy for myself. They sold many pounds each year, molded in little heart shapes. When it had been boiled down and molded, it was the color of light brown sugar, but the taste was wonderful. Nothing that we have today tastes as good as I remember that did.
There was another juice that was boiled down for syrup in those days, also. Sugar cane was grown by many of the farmers and then in the fall, when :it was at the perfect stage of ripeness, it was cut, ground, and the juice boiled for molasses. They would make molasses for the whole community at one time and place. Someone had a large vat, which must have held a hundred or so gallons. A large hole was dug in the ground and fire was kept burning (wood was the fuel, by the way) under the vat for several hours until the molasses had the proper consistency. It took two to feed the fire and stir the syrup. Long-handled wooden paddles were used to stir the molasses constantly so it would not burn. We children would be permitted to use our own little paddles to stir the top, with the end in view of licking the paddle. I never liked molasses, but I did enjoy pretending to "lick" along with the other youngsters.
All of this has been written in an effort to recapture some of the charm and homespun pleasures of the common people of the non-urban population of the early twentieth century. You don't need to long for those good-ol-days; just take time to visit some of these same areas today and you will find the essential atmosphere has changed but little. There will be some electric lights and appliances, some telephones, passable roads all year round, and a car in the barn, but the people who are still there have retained their same philosophy and simple way of life. You will find last year's Sears Roebuck catalog in the outhouse, nailed to the side of the wall, for your convenience. The biggest change would be that you would find no young people. Many houses are empty and going to swift ruin that used to ring with the impetuous laughter and joy of family life. The old folks died and youth moved away; for urban life beckoned them!
I guess this retrospective view has turned to be like a session on the psychiatrist's couch. The question is: Will these recollections do me or anyone else any good?
The neighbor women put him in a shoe box and put a wedding ring on his arm as a bracelet. They have said that they put Grandma's thimble on his head, but I don't remember this part and it seems far-fetched to me.
Ugly as he was, we loved him and cared for him until in a few months he was healthy and fat. His once bald head had changed into a beautiful head of blond curls. By this time, I wouldn't have traded him for anybody's girl. But I still wanted a sister! His hair grew in curls; down to his shoulders, and we could not bring ourselves to cut it until he was past three, then we all cried when we took him to the barber.
Brady was my oldest brother and when he finished eighth grade, he was sent to Salem to enter the academy which was connected with Salem College. There were no high schools in our county, and only a few young people even had the opportunity of going on to school. After Brady had been away one year, it was decided to move the family to Salem. Dad could get a school to teach in Harrison County and we would all have better school opportunities.
The place that had always been home was sold and a home bought in Salem. This move changed our lives in many ways, new friend were made and there were new hills to climb and new fields to roam. The home life was much the same, however. We ate oats or salt fish for breakfast as we had done for years.
Perhaps I should explain about salt fish. Each fall the folks would make out a grocery order to Sears, Roebuck and Co. It would be shipped by freight and would contain enough staple foods to last for the winter. There would be: 100 lbs. of rolled oats; 100 lbs. of rice, one or two kegs of salt fish; a ten-pound box of prunes, perhaps a few "specials" such as hard candy for Christmas, and ALWAYS one five-pound box of mixed cookies. This was the most important item in the order, as far as the children were concerned.
Now back to salt fish again. I don't think they sell such a product on the market today, for which I am glad; and yet I would like to taste it once more and see if it is really as good as I remember it.
To prepare the fish for eating took at least twelve hours. My mother would take the fish from the brine in the afternoon if she was going to have them for breakfast the next morning. They were placed in a large pan of water in order to soak the salt out. The water would be changed two or three times to assist in the process of reducing the salt content. The next morning the fish were rolled in flour and fried. This was always a welcome change from the normal breakfast of oats or rice.
Our food was always good because my mother was an excellent cook. She made light bread, salt rising bread, and of course corn bread and biscuits. For many years, she sold warm bread to the grocery stores. She had quite a sale for loaves of salt rising bread three times a week. This sale of bread kept us in sugar, salt, vinegar, soda and baking powder and other staples.
My Dad bought a hog, and when finances permitted, a quarter of a beef front quarter, usually each fall. This meat was carefully preserved to last for the year. You were a poor housekeeper, indeed, if you didn't have enough lard and meat to last until butchering time again.
Every family had a cellar where fruit and vegetables were kept for winter use. In the summer time milk and eggs were kept there also. Unless you had a thunderstorm, the morning milk would still be good at supper time if you set it in a pan of cold water just drawn from the well. If it was an especially hot day, you changed the water in the pan a couple of times. Supper usually consisted of mush and milk or corn bread and so it was too bad if the milk soured.
I remember two kinds of cellars, both very dark and damp and none would have won a medal for sweet odors. Some cellars were dug into the side of a hill and rocks were used to form the walls. It might be that flat stones were laid for the floor, and sometimes the ground was .just packed hard. Then dirt was filled in around it so that there was only one end left open where a big double door was hung. Potatoes and apples would not freeze in the winter, and it was reasonably cool in the summer.
Another kind of cellar was the one under the kitchen. A hole was dug out, shelves and bins were built in and a stairway fixed from the kitchen down into it. It had a "trap door" which was part of the kitchen floor. When you needed to go to the cellar, you lifted the door and used the stairs. This was quite a task, and the women made sure they got what they would need from the cellar so as not to have to make extra trips. Just to see this hole opened up in the floor was always good for a bit of excitement to the "smallfry."
When I was twelve years old, I had a wonderful birthday! I can never remember a birthday cake before that time, although there might have been some. This cake had a white icing and "chocolate drops" in lieu of candles. My second special friend, Gladys Clark, came for supper that night and brought me a gift. She also furnished the candy for the top of the cake.
Gladys was the daughter of the president of Salem College. They lived in a big two-story house, and I was permitted a few times to spend the night there and to eat with the family in their very spacious dining room. In this house I saw my first indoor bathroom and learned to flush the commode.
The Clarks had some real treasures in their cellar! They kept a keg of sweet pickles, and many times there would be a bunch of bananas hanging from the rafters, and perhaps a large round yellow cheese. We never touched any of these "goodies" without special permission. We remained friends until Dr. Clark was sent to another school, I believe it was in Michigan, and I never saw Gladys again. It is sad that friendships were broken because of distance. It would not be so in this day, for we can go to the ends of the earth with less time and effort than we could travel a few hundred miles in 1916.
During these years there was a growing realization among us children that we were individuals. Brady was the oldest, and in Salem College, and we all had a special pride in him and in his debating ability. Everyone at home listened to his opinions and generally accepted them. I can remember how he pressed his "blue serge suits" until they shined as much as these fancy suits I see an television today; and they were not supposed to shine! A shine revealed their age. Once in a while he would have a date and take her to the "nickelodeon" to see a movie. That was a great experience for the whole family, for he would spend hours telling us the stories he saw. Mama would bake an extra loaf of bread for him to sell so he could have the dime for their tickets.
Ashby was two years older than I was, and we were naturally much more together. Because he was a boy and older, he felt that he should always be the boss. It was all right on occasions for him to give orders, but I felt compelled to take up for myself. He was stout and there was no way I could out-fight him, so I had to try to out-smart him. Once in a while that would be successful. I would promise to do some of his reading or writing if he would do something for me that I didn't like to do, arithmetic, for instance. There were times he bent me to his will by saying he wouldn't keep the snakes off me if I didn't.
I was stubborn and once I told him I wouldn't do something, I never changed my mind. If he hit me, I went crying to Mama. He used to flip a towel at me. If just a corner would hit my arm, it would burn and hurt. One time I picked up a salt shaker, it was loaded so it wouldn't tip over, and threw it at him. He ducked and it hit the door facing and bent it badly. He would have had a sore head for sure if he hadn't seen that coming.
Mama had a brother, Waitman Sutton, who lived out in the country several miles below Salem. When we went to visit him, we went by train for about twenty miles and then we walked across the hills to his house. One spring weekend Ashby and I had been out to Uncle Watie's and they had given us a bucket of strawberries to take home. When I thought I had carried them "my share" of the way, I insisted that he take them. He was busy throwing at birds and squirrels, or just throwing, and he couldn't be bothered. I set the bucket down and told him he would have to carry them or they would be left there. He gave no heed to my words and we walked on, sans the berries! We had gone perhaps a half mile when he became aware that I really had left the berries, and he retraced his steps to pick them up.
You see, I had something on him that made it very difficult for him not to "knuckle under" to me in an instance like this. He was older and would be held responsible for this fruit when we arrived home. I had something else going for me too. I was the only girl in the family, and there were times when that fact weighed heavily in my favor. In fact, I guess it over-balanced his greater fighting ability.
There was an interesting ending to this strawberry story, however. We came to a little creek beside the railroad track and there was a blacksnake curled up. I was instructed to guard the berries at a safe distance while Ashby killed the snake. When that heroic deed was finished, I just picked up the bucket and we walked on. Now I am not sure that he didn't win the battle of wills after all! That snake might have been left to sun itself in peace if it hadn't been needed to bring me into line.
There are two vivid memories of my visits to Uncle Watie's home. He had not married a West Virginia girl, I can't remember where her home had been, and her cooking was different.
Aunt Maggie drank coffee all day long, and there was always a large open kettle boiling on the old-fashioned iron stove which was built to burn coal. However, since they had free gas, it was converted to burn gas, which was allowed to burn constantly. Every morning she put some fresh coffee into the kettle but did not remove the grounds that were already there. As I recall it, there must have been four- pounds of coffee grounds and a dozen egg shells boiling there at any given time. That coffee was as black as tar and strong enough to set your "inwards" burning. Plain coffee was never quite strong enough, so she added "essence" which gave it color and bitterness. When I got the chance to take a few sips of this "brew," I felt like a heroine, for I didn't let on how nasty it really tasted to me.
The other memorable thing about Aunt Maggie was the decorations in her home. She attended all the county fairs in the area, and she must have been lucky in winning things, for her walls and tables were crowded with the rare works of art which can be won for a dime on the midway. Never before or since have I seen such a treasure house of useless, but impressive looking, things!
My mother was an amateur photographer, so we had pictures to show of all the memorable events of our lives. She not only took the pictures, she developed the films and made the prints. We always had a "Dark room" for this work, and it never lost its air of mystery for me. Mama would shut herself in and place a film and paper into a frame. Then she would step outside and hold this frame up to the window for a count of three or four and step back and place this blank-looking paper in a pan of developer and count again as she came to the light. When she could see the picture clearly, she moved it quickly to another pan of solution. This "set" the picture and then she washed it under- running water to take all the acid off. It was hung up on a curtain to dry then it was placed between two books to press and it was ready to keep forever. (I have many of these homemade pictures and they have not faded away in these sixty years.)
There were times when I was permitted to stand in the corner of this dark room and sense the excitement and expectancy of each step of the process. She had a small lamp with a red shade which she burned in this dark room in order to be able to see how to "feel her way" to do this work. She used to earn a few extra pennies by making pictures for other people.
We lived on College Hill in one of the last houses on the last street, near the top. There were no paved streets up there and not even a sidewalk the last block of the way. I have heard about a famous "board-walk" at Atlantic City. I haven't seen it; but I suspicion that it is quite different from our walks of those olden days. They were not as wide as our cement walks of today and were always built well off the ground with wide cracks between the boards to let the water run off. Steps, steps, and more steps to climb! Unless it was very muddy or the dust was too thick, we usually preferred the climb on the street rather than by the steps. I recall where we lived later, when I was in college. There were forty-eight steps straight up the side of the hill.
O, the West Virginia hills,
How majestic and how grand!
With their summits pointing skyward
To the Great Almighty's land;
If o'er land or sea I roam,
Still I think of happy home
And my friends among those
West Virginia hills!
We were Seventh-Day Baptists, we kept Saturday instead of Sunday. Sabbath began at sundown Friday evening and ended at sundown Sabbath evening. We had a calendar put out by the denomination that listed the hour of sunset for the full year.
Salem was rather the headquarters for Seventh Day Baptists in that area. The college was there and the largest church. There were several smaller congregations in the countryside round about. The people settled in communities for mutual fellowship and economic reasons. They were generally farmers, store-keepers, or teachers because they could not work for others and keep Sabbath.
The denomination has three colleges: Salem, in West Virginia; Alfred, in New York; and Milton, in Wisconsin. The seminary is also in Alfred, NY In later years Salem College has lost its Christian distinctive and has assumed the role of modern colleges. I do not know about the other two schools.
Friday was the day of preparation for the Sabbath. All of our clothes that would be worn the next day were made ready. The food that could be cooked ahead was also done. Mama was likely to bake two or three fruit pies and occasionally a cake. And was she ever a good baker!
We looked forward to home-baked beans, which were prepared on Friday, and usually some kind of meat.
On Friday night we went to Prayer Meeting. On Sabbath morning we went to Church at ten o'clock and Sabbath School at eleven. At three o'clock we went back to the church for Christian Endeavor for the boys and girls and young people. I must say they kept us busy on Sabbath!
My mother rarely went, for it was a long walk. I would guess that it was a mile from our house to the church and then the hill was always there to be climbed when we returned. "Shank's horses" was our only means of transportation--in fact, my Dad never owned a car arid none of us children did until after we married.
I had a Sabbath School teacher, among many, that greatly :impressed me as a pre-teenager. She taught us the "Harmony of the Gospels" for about two years. I still think she had a wonderful idea. She bought each of us girls two sets of the Gospels, a scrap book, paste, and everything needed to make the harmony. Each Sabbath morning we would read a story from the life of Christ, name it, and then find the same story in the other gospels. We had each page of our scrapbook divided into four columns, one for each gospel, and we cut and pasted the stories in the book. At a glance you could tell which books told or didn't tell any certain event.
I kept that book for many years and enjoyed reading it. I have marveled at the wisdom Mrs. Trainer used with her work and at the patience she must have had with us, as we talked and smeared paste. She never had any children her own and our noise and constant questions must have been difficult for her to adjust to. They were the wealthiest people in town, the only ones with a colored couple working for them. Her husband did not belong to the church and she seemed very lonely at times; so I guess we gave her something to do and think about. She invited me to spend a couple of weeks in her home one summer. She taught me how to dampen and press a cotton dress so it would look fresh again. While I was there, I was permitted to pick pansies each day and arrange them in a large centerpiece for the dining room table. That dish had a mirror base and I thought it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Even today, pansies are favorites of mine!
I was in Salem for a few days when my oldest son was a baby, and I went to visit Mrs. Trainer. She was no longer able to leave her home and she seemed so lonely and hungry for the love and affection that had been hers as she had the opportunity to work with children. I tried to express my thanks and gratitude to her for the help she had given me and I went away feeling so glad I had spent this hour with her.
As I look back now on those early years, I realize that all of the youth workers were women of middle age or older. I cannot recall any man who showed enough interest in the young people to spend any time with them. Mrs. Ogden, who had teenagers of her own, was our Christian Endeavor leader. She had charge of all of our social activities, also (which were very few).
Our Seventh Day Baptist Church had the only pipe organ in town. Later there were two others. It was a beautiful thing. The great golden pipes filled the front of the church, forming the background for the minister as he stood to minister. Its music swelled, filling the building and overflowing into the community every Sabbath morning. There was something very thrilling and moving about its sound that made one feel that God was very near. There were times when we youngsters would be permitted to stand and watch the organist as she practiced; and on rare occasions, we would sit at the console and even play a tune, stretching our legs to reach some of the foot pedals.
In the summer of 1913 or 1914, the churches of Salem, Baptist, Methodist, United Brethren, and Seventh Day Baptists, united for an evangelistic campaign. They built a tabernacle on the high school grounds and put sawdust on the ground and used benches and chairs for seating. There was a children's service in the morning and the regular evening services.
At the children's meetings there were Bible stories, illustrated sermons, and much singing. They taught us some choruses which we loved to sing. I remember this one especially. There was a very popular song of the day, "It's a long way to Tipperary," and that tune was used.
It's a long way to seek my Jesus,
lt's a long way to go.
It's a long way to find salvation,
But it's the sweetest way I know.
So it's good by to sin and sorrow,
Farewell dance and show.
It's the "sawdust trail" for me and loves ones,
For my heart says, "Go."
I accepted Jesus as my personal Savior during this meeting arid was baptized and joined the Seventh Day Baptist Church. Many children were saved during the meeting and the churches made special efforts to strengthen and encourage them. There were study periods, social gatherings, and organization of clubs for these young converts. These meetings were interdenominational. I remember attending gatherings at the Methodist and First Baptist churches, but I don't recall that they ever met in our church.
I remember one sermon our pastor preached one Sabbath morning. He took his text from 1 Thess. 4:11 (a) "Study to be quiet and to do your won business ..." He was a very soft spoken, gentle man and his words about learning to be quiet sank deep into my mind.
I am fully persuaded that the church plays a very important part in the life of a growing child. It is our responsibility to make these contacts between the child and the church as meaningful as possible. There is no way of knowing what particular words or events will be the most influential, so everything must be carefully planned to meet all the requirements of which we are aware. Even so, "the best laid plans of mice and men" will sometimes go astray.
The Seventh Day Baptist Church in Salem was built of red brick with a full daylight basement. That made the church high off the ground and meant that many steps had to be climbed to enter the vestibule. This vestibule was an important place; for those who were late arrivals must wait there for the inner doors to be opened. These doors were closed (and ushers stood against them) when the service started and then were opened at certain times to permit "stragglers" to enter. Many times I waited out there while the pastor "prayed around the world." You could hear his prayer and you could guess about how long you would have to wait when you heard which country he was interceding for at that time. He had a daughter and son-in-law in China and he always prayed for them last in this pastoral prayer. When this was concluded the "waiters" could enter before the anthem was sung.
Every family had a certain place in the church where they sat Sabbath after Sabbath--especially the chief, or most important ones. Strange as it may seem, the coveted places were the front seats! Today one must go early to get a back seat, for they are the honored ones. (I haven't been back in this Salem Seventh Day Baptist church for about forty years, but I am convinced it would be crowded in the back also.)
As a small. child, I had no books to look at, except a Sears and Roebuck catalog which was very carefully protected from the careless hands of children, no radio to listen to, and of course no television to watch. There was something which we had that was wonderful, though - story telling! My Dad could tell the most exciting stories a child ever heard.
Just after dark was the usual story hour, for we went to bed early, and daylight hours were too full for such trifling things. Anyway, darkness lent itself better to the "scary" stories we longed, yet feared, to hear. I can still seem to hear Dad say, "I wan-n-t-t- my tail-e-e- poo-o," as the cold chills chased each other up my spine. That was from the story of a cat that came back to haunt the man who cut off its tail..
Br'er Rabbit and his other animal friends and foes were great favorites also. Br'er Rabbit was the hero who always came out "on top" because he was lovable, kind, always right, and best of all he was smarter than all the other animals. I was encouraged to study and apply myself so that I could be as smart as Br'er Rabbit.
Our school books had stories that taught us some things besides reading,, writing, and arithmetic. Many of the finer lessons of culture, honesty, obedience, and sincerity came from the readers we studied. I remember one story in a second grade reader which always thrilled me, even on the two-hundredth reading! We used the same reader all. year, going through it as many times as we could. By this I mean that we not only read aloud to the teacher, but we read it to ourselves times without number. We measured our reading ability by how many times we read through the book. The story told of a father, mother and small daughter, Amy, who went to the seashore for a picnic. They walked along the shore picking up shells. 'They built "castles" in the sand. They dug for crabs in the edge of the water. Every hour was exciting and full of pleasure. After the picnic lunch, the father and mother wanted to rest and they suggested that Amy run along the beach and play; but she was not to get out of their sight as she played. She was used to being told what to do, so this limitation did not hinder her having fun. She began to dig a tunnel near the edge of the water that would open into her castle where the beautiful princess was held prisoner by the wicked witch. When the tunnel was finished, the gallant prince came along and entered it and was nearly up to the castle wall when she heard, "Amy, come here at once!"
Amy didn't say, "Wait a minute, " or "I don't want to." She just left her play and ran quickly to her father. As he caught her in his arms, he said, "Look." There was no castle there and no tunnel there for a great wave had suddenly washed them all away. The moral is you must always obey your parents without delay. Never be guilty of saying, "Wait a minute."
It seems to me that for years I never heard my name called to come home without remembering that it is necessary to obey at once, or something terrible may happen. I wasn't likely to be washed out to sea by a wave, but there was always the danger of a snake, a mad dog, or a gypsy! Of course, there were many unknown dangers lurking in the shadows also.
Every story we read had a moral and taught some important lesson. I am sure we didn't profit from all of them, but neither did all of them fall on deaf ears and dull hearts. Maybe our present generation of "hippies" would have been better adjusted if they had studied books that taught them some of the lessons of life that their parents never bothered to give them. Young minds are most easily influenced for good or bad, and we fail. our youth pitifully when we do not use every method at our command to teach them how to live happy and useful lives.
Mountain people told their sad stories in verse and song. On the rare occasions when I willingly sat still for any length of time, I enjoyed hearing my mother sing these sad songs. "In the Baggage Coach Ahead" was one of my favorites. It told the story of a young couple who had moved West. She died giving birth to their son, and the husband was shipping her body and taking the tiny baby back home to his folks.. The song tells about the train trip. 'The baby cried and kept the passengers awake, and they complained to the conductor. Finally, he was told to take the baby to its mother, and he responded that he wished he could but. that she was dead in the baggaage coach ahead. He told his sad story, and the women on the train felt sorry for him and love for the baby, so they cared for it until the train stopped at the station. The song ended
Next morn at the station
They bid him goodbye.
"God bless you," he softly said.
And each had a story
To tell in their homes
Of the "baggage coach ahead."
Such songs taught a measure of compassion and understanding for those who had great sorrows come to them.
Even very young children will absorb a little romanticism from the happenings around them. Here is the ending of another of those heartthrob songs: (I don't know why I remember only the endings.)
Will you always love me, darling,
As you did that starry night
As we sat beneath the maple on the hill?
Another one over which one could become very sentimental on occasions was the explanation of why the red roses grew at the corner of the church. A young couple were about to be married when he died suddenly. She could not live without him and died of a broken heart. They were both buried in the same churchyard, and out of their graves grew red roses whose branches entwined on the churchhouse, reminding all who saw them of the undying love of this couple who had been deprived of the joys of their love in their youth, but by this had symbolized true love to the sad world they left behind.
Going barefoot is one of the joys of childhood which city children must really miss. Many of them have no shoes, so they walk the hot pavement until the soles of their feet become like tanned leather, without any of the thrills of wiggling their toes in the cool clamp earth of a newly turned corn field. We went barefoot for the pure pleasure of it. Through the last days of the winter, we looked forward with great anticipation to the time when we would hear " Today I will plow the garden," from Dad. That meant two wonderful experieinces: we could follow the plow barefoot up one furrow and down another. As we ran, jumped and shouted, we picked up the earth worms that were unearthed (there were always many nice fat ones) and put them in a tin can. When the edge wore off that excitement, we could take the worms and our fishing pole which had been stored over the rafters of the "outhouse" since the previous summer, and rush down to the river for the first fishing of another year.
(some text was missing here) eating and black ones which were about as wide as they were long. You may consider me prejudiced, or even presumptuous, but I must say it anyway---no fish ever tasted better than those I caught, cleaned, and fried in pure lard!
Occasionally the men of the community would go on a "gigging party" to a large river a few miles away. They would take wash tubs for bringing home the fish and we would usually end up with a tub nearly full of fish and frogs. We would eat fish for breakfast, dinner, and supper; and everybody in the community would do the same. What a shame we didn't have a freezer so we could save some to eat later!
I was never permitted to go on one of these trips, so I don't know exactly what happened; but here is my idea of it.
Gigging was done at night. They fixed long-handled spears. Sometimes they used hay forks for their weapons, but because they seemed to be too large and clumsy, they made their own, using hay fork handles and attaching a sharp :instrument to them. The water had to be clear and not too deep, for they must be able to see their prey swiming along. As they waded in the water and saw fish, they thrust their gig at them and threw them in containers. They usually had some boys along who were not permitted to gig but who could carry the containers and pull the fish out of the water.
Frogs and turtles were considered as special treats. We children were always warned to stay away from the head of the turtle because of its bite. They said if one bit you, it would set its jaws and hold on and would not let loose until it thundered! I never gave one a chance to prove that statement to be false. One time Ashby and I found a good sized hard shell turtle on the river bank. It was burrowed in the mud, but he dug it out and he put a stick in front of it. It bit that stick and held on so that we carried it home between us. I was very glad that it wasn't my hand or arm that he got.
I remember another thing about turtles. Old folks said that the life remained in them and that even as you cooked them in the kettle, they jumped and moved about. We tried to see whether that was truth or fable by watching it cook, but we could never be sure, for we would tire of the watchman job.
Death can be a very frightening thing to a child. I suppose that people died in and around our community, but there were three experiences that are still very vivid in my mind, perhaps because all of them were children who died dramatically.
It was the accepted practice for mothers to give their children "spring tonics" as the first signs of spring approached. These "doses" usually consisted of blackstrap molasses with sulphur and some broth from local medicinal plants mixed into it. You held your nose as you swallowed it. Or, if necessary, someone held your nose for you while a second person forced your mouth open and a third one poured it in or over (as the case might be), depending on the degree of your resistance. In another day or two a good sized dose of castor oil or epsom salts would be administered. These were regular dosages, but in case some child did not "perk-up" properly, other methods would be tried.
The country store carried a supply of accepted patent medicines, and folks bought and used them when the case was too stubborn for home-made methods. The one most likely to be administered to a child was "worm" medicine. I can't remember the name of it, perhaps because I was really not anxious to make its acquaintance. Personally, I can't remember having to take any patent medicines regularly as some of the children did. Perhiaps my mother was a little more adroit with the home-made kind, or it might be due to the fact that my folks were never great hands to give or take remedies.
We were six or seven years old that spring, my little friend, Opal, and I. She lived with her grandmother on the back side of the village near- the mill. She did not properly respond to the spring remedies given her, and it was decided she had worms. The medicine was purchased, but there was some indecision about what was best to give her. To satisfy the thinking of all of them, they gave her two kinds the patent medicine according to the directions on the bottle, and an elixir of the home-made variety.
Soon after the administration of these chosen remedies, Opal began to turn black in the face and seemed to be choking. It was soon apparent that she had choked to death. The old folks said that the combination of medicines had driven the stomach worms up and they had choked her. There was no such thing as an autopsy to learn the real cause of death, so that was the considered opinion of the people.
That seemed such a horrible death and a useless one. I never overcame my horror of it to this day. I cannot bear to think that children do have worms. By the way, I never had to take any more worm medicine and I never gave any to my children! The irony of that situatio is that they never understood what they were spared!
At Opal's funeral, the little girls, dressed in white, sang "Gathering Jewels." That was my first appearance as a special singer and I think it was my last. I can still seem to hear that old "pump organ" wheeze as Orphie Fox played it. We practiced for hours to be able to sing that song as our last token of friendship to Opal.
A young boy of our community, some miles up the river, died as a result of eating mulberries, so they said. There were not so many mulberry trees in our area, but they were considered to produce good fruit which was always eaten as it ripened. The berries appeared much like blackberries and they stained your hands as you picked them, and your mouth as you ate them.
The boy who died became violently ill, as if he were poisoned. They said that the mulberries ran out his nose and his mouth as he went in-to spasms. The conclusion about this death was that he must have eaten some poison bug or worm on one of the berries. This strange death put another fear within all of us. Eating anything that grew wild was taboo in the whole community. The mulberry trees continued to produce fruit which dried up and fell to the ground because it no longer appealed to the passersby.
Through the years I have heard many sad stories that have brought tears to my eyes and sadness to my heart; stories that have brought unreasonable fear and dread of some perfectly harmless things, but never have I heard of an event that caused as many sleepless hours and brought such fearful nightmares as did the experiences of the lad who died of hydrophobia. I cannot remember the beginning of the story, how or in what circumstances he was bitten by the dog, but very vividly do I recall the later developments. They feared the dog was "mad" when it bit the boy; but there was nothing they could do but wait for developments. They did not know about sending the dog's head away to learn if it was "mad" or not, perhaps there was no such knowledge in the early part of this century. They had no knowledge of any "shots" or other source of help the boy was doomed. And the family must make preparations to care for him.
My father and the other men sat around with sad faces and discussed what was the best method of caring for him when the "madness" came. They seemed not to know exactly what would happen, but they knew it would be most unpleasant and that neighbors must assist the family.
An old log house was prepared to keep the boy in. Heavy bars were placed over the window openings and the door was to be nailed and barricaded. Food and water could be pushed in through the bars. It was thought that he would not live long after he became violent. If he scratched or bit anyone after the disease developed, they would also die; so he must be confined for the safety of the entire family. They said he ran wildly around the room tearing at the walls and foaming at the mouth. If they had known of a "straight jacket," it would have made it easier to care for him.
The only brightness in this story is that now no one need suffer such agony. Rabid dogs, or other animals, are very few because of the serum that has been developed and the laws that require animals to be vaccinated. I have heard people complain because the vaccine that must be given to one who has been bitten by a rabid animal. Is very painful, but in view of the terrible suffering that must be borne without its use, there is no alternative but to take the injection and to be grateful for the opportunity to do so.
I am not sure how much of this next story I remember from my own experience and how much is from what I have heard from Mom and Dad. I think I was four years old and my baby brother, Randal, was about a year old. One morning in the early fall, or late spring (I can't be sure which), Dad and Brady, the oldest boy, were away from home. Ashby, twenty months older than I, Randall and I were at home with Mama. We lived in a three-room house that had a back porch the full length of the house. The back door was open and Ashby and I were running in and out and playing on the porch. Randal was eating a piece of bread, and all at once we noticed something was wrong. Mama grabbed him up and saw that he was choking. She pounded his back, but it did not help. She sent Ashby on the run to the nearest neighbors about three-fourths of a mile away. When she realized there was nothing more she could do for him, she took him in her arms and began to run towards where Dad was working. I followed, too scared to stay behind and too afraid of the lifeless form my mother carried to keep close to her.
We ran through fields and under fences. I am sure my mother had the extra strength of desperation to carry her through this heartbreak experience. When she gave Randal into another's arms, she fell from exhaustion. As I remember it, she was not able to be up again for many days. She did not attend the funeral.
Mama could never seem to regain her health after this traumatic experience, and Dad bought a house in Berea and moved there. Gradually she overcame the shock and sadness, but her health was never good. I cannot remember when her hair was not perfectly white. In contrast to her white hair was Dad's black hair. He died at 81 and he still had never turned gray. She also lost another son, Harold, who died when he was two years old, from whooping cough. He died the day Ashby was born.
I attended Salem College Academy for all my high school work. There were three teachers who greatly influenced me during my freshman year.
Miss "Elsie" Bond was the favorite teacher of Latin for upwards of forty years. We loved her for her great kindness and consideration to all students. You knew that, if you made an effort to recite, she would help you and would never- embarrass you when you made an error. She must have been about sixty years old when she taught me; but there was no thought about her age, nor did she ever seem to think of us as immature upstarts. There was always the feeling in her classroom of complete ease and relaxed understanding. I will have to admit that we sometimes took advantage of Miss Elsie's kindness and didn't study as much as we should. Even at those times, her attitude toward us did not change. With great patience, she still taught us and we went out of her room at the close of the class period with a slight feeling of remorse for our laxity.
I learned from her that patience, thoughtfulness for the feelings of others, and humility are not dependent upon conditions outside one-self; but are the direct results of an inner peace and quietness which the world cannot disturb. Did I learn any Latin? Well, of course! But judge for yourself:
love: amo, amare, amari, amatum
war: bellum
peace: pax
and: et
girl: puella
boy: puer
I am: sum
After more than fifty years, I can still recognize some Latin words!
Professor Orla Davis was a small, "wiry" man who seemed never to have had a discouraging thought or any ill-will against even those who gave him the most provocation. He taught the unromantic subject of algebra with such joy and enthusiasm that it was often an almost pleasant hour. I never liked math, nor was I a good student in it; yet I took one and a half years of algebra and one of geometry so as not to miss the homespun philosophy of this man who understood youth.
Professor Davis taught me, I realized much later, that there are times and circumstances which make the things of lesser importance become the PARAMOUNT things. He found math stimulating and exhilerating, but days would come when no problems were attempted on the blackboard because there were personal problems eating away at the vitals of one of his boys or girls. In that case, the "minor" thing became the "major" for the hour. and we learned about life.
There was a little farm about three miles out in the country where Professor Davis lived with his wife and two children. He kept some sheep and very frequently he used their tendency to follow the leader as an example to us. He would show us the necessity of leading in safe and fruitful paths when that was our function. All would be followers sometimes, and it was important to choose a wise and good leader. None of his admonition was given in a spirit of "preaching," but always with that alive smile and the spirit of unity that goes with full understanding.
My English teacher opened up a whole new world to me. I remember with vividness many of the class periods, things that were said and my reaction to them. I remember how she taught, how she looked in a shadowy, vague way, the materials she chose to use, how she made us respond to her approaches--but I can't remember her name! No matter, for many of God's jewels remain nameless in this world, but not in the future one.
I learned that life is real, that feelings are much the same in every age and in every land, and that it is possible to share all the gamut of emotions through the printed page.
Two books had an unusual effect upon my life at this time, and they still influence me. First was Washington Irving's SKETCH BOOK. I remember that I wept when my turn came to read aloud from "The Broken Heart." It is the stirring story of a girl who 1oved the young Irish patriot who was tried. condemned, and executed on a charge of treason. He was so young, so brave, so generous, so everything, that we are apt to like in a young man. This is the picture given by the storyteller of this hero. The girl of the broken heart was pictured in such a personal way that I felt her anguish to the degree that I was forced by my faltering voice to sit down without finishing my portion of reading. If, then, his fate could awaken the sympathy even of his foes, what must have been the agony of her, whose whole soul was occupied by his image!" Not ever having had a broken heart myself, I suffered her pain with great joy and satisfaction.
Other stories and sketches were read and re-read with varying degrees of pleasure and painful. rapture. I recall the stories of "The Pride of the Village" and "The Spector Bridegroom" because their tragedies seemed to fill a need in my personality.
The other book which I "disremember" so well, but which motivated my life to a great degree, was a small gift book. I do not remember the name of either the book or the author. It was written by a missionary in Japan to express her love for her adopted land and people. It simply expressed love and beauty with so much warmth that I fell in love with the people of the world, regardless of color, language, or race. I yearned to know the people of all nations as friends. This book gave me my first real view of a great world full of people, very similar, and yet so different! People whom I hoped to know as friends. That desire has been partially fulfilled by the acquaintance I have had with people from every continent and many of the nations of the world. How their faces, voices, and personalities come back to me from over the years and miles! Their faces are black, yellow, red, brown, and white, but their fellowship and friendship are all as pure and real, constant and enduring as the mountains and oceans that separate us today.
My first experierices of "dating" came in the high school years. Certainly the most of our plans in that day could not be considered very "groovy" today. We never single dated. We usually went for an afternoon walk "down the tracks" to Lovers' Leap, had a game of Rook at home, or went to a program at the auditorium, so there were always four of us and perhaps many more.
I had a special. girlfriend, Ruth Davis, and one of us never dated unless we both did. The boys made their plans together- also, even to the gifts they would give us. One Christmas they gave us pocketbooks another time we got gold pen and pencil sets. The day we graduated from high my boyfriend (I can't remember his name, although we had dated for three years) asked me to go walking with him alone and I went . I was very sorry that I did, for- he asked me to marry him and that broke up our good foursome.
My dad never made much money in his teaching profession, and all the family tried to help out by doing whatever work could be found. Thus, I spent two summers working in the Battle Creek Sanitarium in Battle Creek, Michigan, as a waitress. I cannot remember what my salary was, but we did receive pretty good tips, for the guests there were usually very wealthy. The hospital and hotel were under the direction of Seventh Day Adventist doctors who had very definite ideas about health foods. No meat was ever served there. but their meat substitutes looked appetizing and for a period tasted delicious. I recall that the first time I left the grounds to eat in a public cafeteria, I bought chicken pie, steak, and liver. I felt like crying when I had to leave some of each kind of meat on my plate.
I had two "growing-up" experiences in Battle Creek. The first was financial and the second was emotional or social. We were paid every two weeks and I bought my meal ticket, paid my room rent, kept a small amount of change and sent the rest home. One payday, I went to town with all my wealth in my pocketbook and I lost it! It had a card in it with the name and address of the family where I roomed. That was lucky, for the woman who picked up the pocketbook knew the family and contacted them about it. Thus, I got my possessions back. Lesson number one: you must protect your belongings with great care.
I had a very lovely girlfriend there, Le Moyne Stevens, and she arranged a date for me. We doubled and went out to the lake for a carnoe ride. It was a very nice evening until we went back to town and left Le Moyne and her friend at her place. Then the young man I was with drove to a park and expected payment for the evening of entertainment. I saw a man walking in the distance and I threatened to scream for help if he did not start the car and take me home immediately. He was very angry, but he feared the results if he didn't do as I said. He called me a "dumb, foolish kid, " and I surely was to have been caught in this situation. (He was a prominent young doctor in the hospital there.) Le Moyne quit her friend because he brought such a "sorry" date for her friend. Lesson two: you can't always judge people by their looks, their reputations, or even their friends; watch out for yourself.
Athletics in those earlier years was mostly for exercise. Our girls' basketball team never played more than a half dozen games; but oh that practice was fun! Our uniforms were something to behold: white middy blouse with a black tie, black, very full, bloomers. We bloused them just above the knee and then they hung well below the knee. We wore long white stockings with our white tennis shoe. All of this was topped by a wide black ribbon tied around the hair to keep it in place. I played guard with more pleasure than skill.
Orations, debates, essays, and readings had a very important place on our campus. We had two literary societies which each met each week to foster skills in these arts. During Commencement week each year, a contesit was held between the members of these two groups. The rivalry was very strong. As a high school junior, I won the reading contest against a college senior. She was very polished and sedate. I don't remember anything about her number, except that she forgot once and had to be prompted, and that error on her part gave me the win. I had an elocution coach who prepared the reading for me and trained me to do it to perfection. I still remember it. An old West Virginia couple made their first trip by train to Chicago.
I won the right to represent my society, "Excelsior," in the contest by giving the reading, "The Bear Story," by James Whitcome Riley. 1 have used it, or at least variations of it, through all the years since that time. I guess most Lee College students have heard it during the years.
When I was a senior, I won the oration contest. My messsage had to do with the needs of the rural schools in West Virginia. It was a challenge to the youth to bring about better learning conditions for the country children. I remember one sentence which started, "If you can make a better mouse trap, the world will beat a path to your front door; if you can produce a better school, the present and future generations will praise you..." I cannot remember for sure, but I believe the boy I beat in this contest became a United States Senator from West Virginia, Jennings Randolph. I will have to admit that he has done far more with his public speaking than I have.
Play production was another very interesting and important part of our school life. I never missed an opportunity to be in a play. We never- went into elaborate plays, but they were not all comedy. I remember we did Ibsen's "The Doll's House," even going to a nearby city for one performance. (We had one fellow in that cast who was about seven feet tall. He was a spectacle!)
Our- senior class produced two one-act plays. One was Chinese, the story of the "Blue Willow" dishes. It was a beautiful thing with authentic Chinese costumes and very careful training. I have pictures of the cast, but of course they are not in color. The other play had an Irish setting. I was an old woman who was hard of hearing. That caused all the trouble and hilarity of the situation. Weeks of practice had made the production as perfect as our inexperience would allow.
So ended, in 1922, four years of high school and the finality of dependence upon the family. I went to summer school and got a "Short Normal" and began teaching the next fall.
World War I had come and gone before I got out of high school. Near the close of the war, Brady had been drafted when I was a freshman. Troops were moved to the east coast by train.,and Salem was on the main line from west to east. We saw long troop trains almost every day for months. T'here was a "switch" where trains were forced to wait for the passing of other trains, and frequently a troop train would be on the siding for a few minutes. We always went to the tracks and talked to the boys as they waited. If we had anything baked, we took them refreshments. It seemed to be our patriotic duty to cheer them by our friendship and interest. Some of them had few friends and no family, and they would take our addresses and write to us for a while.
The family consisted of a middle-aged couple by the name of Wagoner, their ten year old son, Andrew, and her aged mother who was paralyzed from the waist down. They were typical mountain people who could just write their names (the grandmother couldn't), and they took little stock with "book learnin." They had a good farm and were more affluent than most of their neighbors. They probably secured their wealth by keeping the teachers year after year, for they charged me $10.00 a month!
Lawford was a full day's trip by buggy from the nearest railway station. But in September I was able to get a truck to take my trunk and me out there. Later a trip had to be made in a buggy or on horseback because the roads were very bad.
I arrived at my new home on Sunday afternoon and my trunk was deposited in the hall where it had to be unpackedbefore Mr. Wagoner could carry it upstairs to my room. That was quite a scene; for allof these strangers sat around watching me pull out each piece from the trunk. They were very frank to express their dislike for "city duds." When I had finished the task of unpacking, I was told that there wasn't much there that would be suitable to wear in that community. I don't know why, but for some reason they didn't ask my age. They informed me that the last two teachers had been "run off " by the scholars. No wonder, though, for the last one had been only nineteen years old! This was one time I was grateful because I looked older than I was. I never told my age as long as I stayed there.
How blue I was! If it hadn't been so far to the railroad, I would travel been leaving that night. I was sorely tempted as it was.
I had been used to good gas lights at home, and here I had only a little kerosene lamp. We hava gas stove in every room at home and here I was in an upstairs room that had never had any heat in it. The heat problem would not bother for a month or so, though. I was accustomed to having friends about me and going places every day. Here I could scarcely communicate because of the difference in age arid interests. The only place to go was to church one Sunday a month. For some peculiar reason, the Wagoners never even visited in the neigborhood. and that left me very much outside of the society of the community.
In college we had been told to start our school year with great severity. We were urged to prepare two paddles and fasten them together in such a way that they would make a loud noise when they were used. According to the going theory of the day, a number of rules should be imposed, and the first pupil to break one rule was to be paddled before the whole school. The paddle would make a loud noise; the child would scream, supposedly, and the teacher must yell as each lick was hit. Such fear would be upon them all that there would be no more trouble out of any of them. Did it work? I don't know, for I never had the courage to try it.
Fourty-some students arrived on Monday morning at that little one-room, run down, lopsided school house. The youngest was six and must be taught to read and write. The oldest was nineteen and would be in the eighth grade. My greatest problem, however, was with three teenage boys who were in the sixth grade. Their arithmetic was to give me many restless nights!
The schoolhouse had six windows and one outside door. There were some other openings large enough to "throw a cat through" as the local expression was. When cold weather came, we stuffed them with rags best we could. There were hooks across the back of the room for their hats and coats. A small. table stood by the door with a water bucket and dipper. A table was on a platform in the front for the teacher's desk. There were two blackboards and two benches across the front as recitation benches. The children sat at desks made for two, but sometimes occupied by three because of the crowded conditions. A large "pot-bellied" coal stove sat in the middle of the room and furnished all the heat they ever had. Those nearest the stove got blistered faces, and those on the outter row got frozen feet if we forgot to rotate about every hour.
In the school lot was a pump from which we carried our drinking water. A coal shed provided the fuel for the stove. The other buildings on the grounds were marked "boys" and "girls" and it was a contnual wonder to me that they didn't fall over some time when a half dozen giggling girls or bragging boys would crowd in. The last year's catalogues that could be spared from the homes were put to use here.
One family by the name of Collins sent five children to school. The oldest boy I had was from that family. I will explain later how he helped me. They walked across a hill two and a half miles and seldom missed unless there was some urgent work at home. They invited me for Thanksgiving dinner. That was the first turkey I ever ate, and I thought I had a real treat.
The days were full. and busy, but the evenings and nights were almost unbearable. In the early fall, I would go with Mrs. Wagoner to the barn lot and sit on a stump while she milked. There was a whipporwill in the meadow that cried each night, and it gave me the most lonely feeling I have ever had. I still cannot enjoy hearing one, for I feel alone, regardless of how many people may be around. There were two warm rooms in the house when winter descended upon us, the sitting room where they had a gas stove, and the kitchen with its huge woodburning stove. We ate in the dining room without heat, so no one tarried long at the table. There was no bathroom, so everyone washed in the kitchen. The stove had a large built-in container for water, so there was usually plenty of hot water at all times. There was no sink, so a bucket was set by the washstand and the water was emptied into it. In milder weather we just went to the door and threw the water into the yard, but in cold weather you just didn't open the door that often.
We ate good country food: milk; butter; potatoes; apples; pork and dried bearis. We always had biscuits, meat and gravy for breakfast and corn bread the other two meals. I longed for light bread, and one day she let me make a batch. All of them liked it, so she learned to make it and we had some every week. It tasted better than a cold biscuit with apple buttter in a lunch pail at school.
These mountain people were very superstitious. They used to explain their contacts with ghostly appearances, and then I would cover up my head all night. I had heard ghost stories before, but never believed in them. I still didn't, but the differences in culture and thought would get next to me in the dark and cold of that lonely room. I wondered sometimes if witchcraft might not be a partial reality.
One day we were cutting apples and a "news bee" hovered around my hands. Mrs. Wagoner said he was trying to give me some bad news, and that of a surety, I would get it by mail within a week. Sure enough, I heard of the death of one of my distant relatives. She said, "See, I told you so. You must learn to accept the truth." They felt that "much learning" had made me incapable of living a simple life!
Life became less tedious for a while because I found a boy friend. I believe he worked there on a nearby farm for a few weeks. We met at the Box Supper at the schoolhouse. I must tell you first about that unusual. social event. It was a money making project for the school. The women of the community prepared some good food, like a picnic lunch, and boxed it. The box was made as attractive as possible with crepe paper so the wen would want to buy it for a good price. The girl whose box brought the highest price was a real celebrity. She was the queen of the community for months to come. The boxes were sold at auction, and then the girl must eat with the one who bought her box. Husbands were expected to buy their wives' boxes, or there would be talk. I believe we made around $40.00 that year, and it was used to purchase materials for art classes. I got watercolors, crayons, colored chalk, art paper, patterns and so forth, for the children to use. They had never had such a wonderful opportunity before. We took all of Friday afternoons for them to do creative things, and some of them were quite good. We always had decorations on our walls and windows that were appropriate to the season.
My first and biggest discipline problem almost finished me. There were two teenage boys who spent their nights coon hunting. They would come to school late and sleepy. They were the trouble makers who had whipped the teacher the year before and "run her off." One day they brought their hound dog and chained him up at the front door. He soon tuned up in a loud concert, and I told them to loose him and send him home. Reluctantly they did so, but they brought the chain in and began to pull it back and forth across the desk. I told them to put it away, but to no avail. Then I asked that it be brought to my desk. They refused and suggested that I try to take it.
I have always been quite stubborn and determined to finish what I started. So I went back to get that chain. They stood up with clenched fists and waited. As I passed the stove, I picked up the poker. I never knew whether I would have used it or not, and they didn't either. The oldest boy, Lonnie Collins, stood and moved over to assist me, and the others of his family followed suit. The two boys soon saw they were alone, and they placed the chain in my outstretched hand. What a relief! They never returned to school another day that year. The pattern of getting rid of the teacher was broken and by the next day I felt my nervous tension gone.
As you can see, I survived that term, but I was not willing to go so far into no-man's land the next year. I applied nearer home and got a school on Sycamore, in Doddridge County. It was about eighteen miles from home, but could as well have been eighty. When the roads got bad, there was no way to get out except to walk or ride horseback. I walked out once and rode horseback many times.
Many exciting things happened to me at this second teaching appoiritment. I found a place to board at Thomas Swiger's, which was within sight of the schoolhouse. Swiger was the most common name in the community. The family consisted of the couple and their three children, Dallas, about twenty-one, Ila, my age, and Loy, who went to school. A couple months later they took two grandsons.
The house had two main rooms and a shed kitchen. There was an attic where the boys slept. The downstairs rooms had large open fireplace where gas was burned for heat. A large wood stove had been converted into a gas stove in the kitchen, so they had things modern and more convenient than most of those who lived around them. I believe their gas was free because they had some wells that were in use by the Hope Natural Gas Company.
Ila and I shared one room and one bed. Later, when the grandchildren came, we shared the bed with the two year old. The bed had no springs, just slats, and a straw tick which was filled with new straw each fall. Every day when you made up the bed, you stirred the straw to fluff it. Some people had a feather tick over the straw tick, but we were not that fortunate.
Every day's menu was the same. For breakfast we had biscuits, butter, molasses, fried potatoes, pickled beans, canned peaches and maybe once a week an egg. At noon and at night we had corn bread instead of biscuits and the remainder of it was the same. There were times, however, that we would have some pork, kraut, and dried beans. I don't think I ever sat down at that table when there wasn't a dish of pickled beans.
The Swigers had some peach trees way back on the hill and they couldn't afford to make many trips back there with the wagon. So when they went, they picked all the peaches, which were quite green. They didn't waste things, so they canned them at once, and without sugar. I have never been too fond of canned peaches to this day.
Pickled beans were plentiful. They picked bushels of nice beans and all the neighbors came in to help string them. The next day they were cooled and placed in a large barrel, we called them rain barrels, for everyone kept one or more at the eaves of the house to catch rain water for washing clothes. In two weeks or so, they were sour enough for table use and became the mainstay for the winter. They did not think beans or corn should be canned. How grateful I am for canned and frozen vegetables!
I believe thirty-some students appeared that first day of school. We had a new schoolhouse and it had good lighting (sunlight) and, wonder of wonder, two cloak rooms and a gas stove for heat. The community was justly proud of their modern school. Five of the students were grown young men. I made the terrible mistake the first day of asking if any of them could use a scythe and cut the weeds on the school. yard. They didn't say much then, but their looks spoke louder than words. The idea of asking a farm boy if he could cut weeds! I remember some of their names: Harry Holbert; Brent Ashcraft; and Archie Swiger. (I have been Mrs. Archie Swiger for forty-three years) The others I can't recall their full names. One was Orville and the other was a Smith.
I am not sure that I taught them much, but we kept busy. We added art and music to the regular subjects. We had practice in public speaking by having a community program once a month. The small children said memorized pieces and the older ones debated with students from other schools. The school was the heart of all community activity, and the teacher could have a very strong influence over them.
If we went anywhere at night, all the young people went in a group. There were several who had finished school so that we would be a group of around eight or ten when we attended a program at another school or went to a revival. Anywhere we went, we had a big hill to climb and fences to get over or through. We thought nothing of walking three or four miles, and then back home again. Once in a while some of the girls would not be permitted to go, and then Ila and I would have to stay home, for it would not look good for just two girls to go with several boys. Usually, if Ila's brother was along, we were permitted to go.
Another social event of the area was the visit of the teacher to most of the homes for a weekend visit. There was likely to be a gathering of all the young people at that home on Saturday night or Sunday afternoon. We would pop corn. roast chestnuts, dig apples out of the winter storage hole, and just have a good time.
I enjoyed this school year, but I didn't want to go back another year because of the problem of a place to stay. I couldn't go back to the same place again because Ila and I had a "falling out" and I didn't stay there the last two weeks of that term. I have no idea what our problem was. The home where I spent those two weeks was not a satisfactory place, for the man drank and she didn't want anyone to know it; so she wouldn't take me. (Of course I had known it ever since I arrived there, but one didn't let on about such things.)
My third year of teaching was back in the same county where I taught the first year, only it was not so far out. I had a nice place to stay near the school which was in the little village of Berea where I had lived as a small child. Dad was teaching in the same county about four miles up Otterslide. I knew everyone in that area, so it was not so lonesome. Some of my relatives lived there. Aunt Callie and her family, and many cousins once or twice removed.
The year was more or less uneventful until March, when I took quite ill. A doctor was called after several days. He had to come five miles, so you didn't call him for every ache or pain. He said I had appendicitis and must be operated on at once. It was five miles to a paved road and six more miles to the railroad and then forty miles to the hospital. The country roads were impassable for an automobile, yet the doctor said I could not ride in a wagon. You should have seen that procession. They put me in the back: seat of a Ford and hitched a team of horses to pull it to the paved road.
I survived the ordeal and the operation, but didn't get back tofinish the term of school. An old retired teacher in the community did that for me.
During these years of teaching, I attended summer school and got my permanent teacher's certificate and a Standard Normal from Salem College.
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