Category: Childhood Memories

A few years ago, I pulled into the parking lot of a local store. There was a load of kids in the back of a truck. One of the kids was teaching the others to spit. They were hanging over the side of the truck bed, two fingers pressed on their lips, aiming and firing a projectile of spit. I thought they were doing an admirable job with their spitting skills, but then, they didn’t know Mrs. Cash! She had been a neighbor of my grandparents years ago. She would have put those kids to shame!

My grandparents lived along a country dirt road. Neighbors would wave as they drove by with a cloud of red dust following them down the road. I thought that was the perfect place to live. There was a big barn, an apple orchard, a shed with a tractor, other buildings and even an outhouse. The house seemed huge to a little kid and there was even a porch across the front. A wide hallway divided the house in two. On the left side was a living room and a big kitchen. I remember taking a bath in the washtub in the kitchen floor as Grandma Bee baked peanut butter cookies. The tops of the cookies were squished with a fork, sprinkled with sugar and they were yummy! I can still smell those warm cookies being taken from the oven. 

They lived in an era where neighbors were more than just people who lived nearby. Neighbors helped one another with their crops. They were a community who took care of one another. If someone had a need, the neighbors would pool their resources to help. They also took time to visit with one another. Ladies would gather for quilting bees. Grandma Bee took me with her once. I crawled under the quilt that was stretched out on the frame and watched the needles move in and out of the fabric as the women buzzed like a hive of bees.

One of their neighbors was Mrs. Cash.  She was more than a neighbor; she was a friend. I never heard her called by her first name. Back in those days the ladies were called Mrs. or Miss and men were called Mr. I really only remember one thing about Mrs. Cash and that was she dipped snuff or chewed tobacco. I don’t know if Grandma Bee approved, but she at least tolerated Mrs. Cash’s vice. In fact, she enabled her habit by having a spit can that Mrs. Cash used. That lady would sit on the red vinyl sofa in the living room, work up a good spit and let ‘er fly. She could hit that spit can that sat all the way by the door. Ping! She’d hit it every time. She could spit as good or better than any man, and man, that woman could spit! Ping!

It was the early ‘60’s. Daddy had been appointed his first pastorate. Besides pastoring three small town churches, he also worked and went to school. My mom kept up with us kids and did whatever was necessary to survive. She was busy all the time. With cooking, cleaning, sewing, baking bread (6 loaves at a time), canning, herding kids, church functions, typing college papers, and everything in-between, she had no time to herself. 

We lived in the church parsonage. I didn’t realize at the time that we were relatively poor. That’s why we had to eat oatmeal. It was a staple in our household, and Mama said it would stick to my ribs. I didn’t like it then, and I don’t like it now. Though I was small, I learned to cook there. I made mud pies in the back yard under the big pecan tree. My sister made her mud pies on the piano keys, and I think she got into trouble. I guess she didn’t want to practice that day.

The pastor’s family did benefit from parishioners sharing their produce in the summer, eggs or fresh meat at butchering time. Some of the former pastors may have been asked out to eat regularly, but our family didn’t get asked very often. Who wants to have the pastor’s family for Sunday dinner, especially when there are 6 kids, 3 of them rotten boys? We did get asked on occasion though. I loved going to the Brandenburg’s house. Mr. Brandenburg was blind. He ran the general store in town and knew almost everyone who came into the store by the sound of their feet. One day my dad walked in, and Mr. Brandenburg said, “Hello there, Preacher. Sounds like you put on a few pounds.” He kept an immaculate garden and tended the grape vines that draped over the arbor to the side of the house. Mrs. Brandenburg was so kind and a wonderful cook! 

One Sunday morning Daddy said we were invited to dinner after church. I was excited because I thought the Brandenburg’s had asked us to come, but they didn’t.

Ms. Mary lived out of town. Her house was close to the road on a small hill. Across her driveway was the well. Her chickens were free range, and we had to be careful where we stepped. When we found out that we were going to her house the complaints began. Even Mama and Daddy didn’t want to go, but they graciously accepted her invitation. We were told to eat our meal and not to say a word. Ms. Mary was not the best cook. She put the food on the table and had us sit down to eat. She passed a plate and said, “Have a biscuit.” I had never seen a green biscuit before. Her biscuits were green, and I mean, they were green. They tasted as bad as they looked. She baked them in a kerosene stove and that’s exactly how the biscuits tasted – like kerosene. 

As I look back through the years, I now see things in a different light. I see a woman who gave sacrificially to honor her pastor and his family. She was a simple country woman who had little to give, yet she gave the best she had. Somehow with that thought, even mud pies would taste a bit sweeter and green kerosene biscuits would taste more like manna. 

Some of the best adventures are found on the front porch. There is something special about a porch, don’t you think?  It’s a great place to take time just to sit a few moments to relax and sort your thoughts. It’s also the place to take a trip without even going anywhere.

There have been many days when the grandkids would sit with me on the porch and ask for stories. They have asked for stories about my ancestors from days long gone and of their wild west adventures. I’ve also been asked to tell familiar childhood stories in the voice of the big bad wolf or one of the three little pigs.

Porches add to our arsenal of memories. When I was a kid, I loved to sit on the porch with my granddad. I’d rub his bald head so his hair would grow. He would let me roll his Bull Durham tobacco cigarettes. They were so loose the ashes would fall on his shirt and burn little holes. We’d swing for hours. Whenever a storm came, he would go sit on the porch swing, and I’d go with him. I’d be scared to death because of the thunder and lightning and would stay tucked up under his armpit.  He taught me respect for the storms. That’s where I learned that nitrogen came from lightning and nourished the soil for the crops.  We all need the rain.  I learned that storms come along in our lives, and they are for our good to teach us lessons of life. That’s also where I heard tales from long gone times of his childhood and youth. I heard stories of his “batching” days when he and old John followed the harvest season all the way into Canada to work on the threshing crews.   

Sometimes the porch swing brought other memorable events.  One such day, we were sitting in the swing and my brother crossed the road into the pasture.  My grandfather told him, as he had many times before, to stay away from the mama cow.  She had a new calf.  Well, any of you who know my brother also know that he is his own adjective.  If one of the kids are told they act like or look like Uncle B, they know exactly what that means!  Anyway, he had that grin plastered on his face and decided to tempt fate and that mama cow. He sauntered toward that calf.  Down went the mama cow’s head!  She pawed the ground and started for him.  Daddy Bee hollered and told that boy he’d “better get.” Well, he “got” as fast as he could, running all out toward the barbed wire fence.  The mama cow was faster, but my brother had a head start.  He barely made it to the fence and slid under the bottom wire.  I know exactly what is meant when someone says they “escaped by the seat of their pants.” If he had been any bigger or his britches any looser, they would have gotten snagged by that barb and the rest of him would have been snagged by that mad mama cow.  

 Ah…. porch days  … I think I may need an afternoon trip.  Any takers?

When I was a kid, one of my favorite places to stop while traveling across the country was a rock shop. There was usually just an old building or a rickety shack that had a hand made sign out front. It seems that the best shops were those in the middle of nowhere. Oh wait, we were always in the middle of nowhere. Daddy would pull in and we would hop out of the car. Inside, there were bins and bins of rocks of all kinds and colors. The more expensive rocks were kept in a glass case. Some shops had racks of stones made into jewelry. I would turn the racks slowly and look at the earrings and necklaces. My favorites were those made out of moss agates. It was hard to choose which rocks and stones I wanted to buy with the few coins in my pocket but every time I left the rock shop, my little bag would be full.

There were times we stopped at a roadside stand where we could “mine” for sapphires, garnets or other gems. We would buy a bag of dirt that had been taken from a mine. We were guaranteed to find some kind of gem. Sapphire dirt was more expensive. Sometimes we could even find Yogo Sapphire dirt. I didn’t have enough money for that.

When my kids came along, I wanted them to have the opportunity to experience rock shops, too. It seems that the wayside rock shops are not as easy to be found now.

The other day, Maud and I drove through the little Montana town of Bynum. The population of Bynum is 37, excluding dogs and dinosaurs. Yes, it is dinosaur country. It doesn’t take but a few seconds to drive through Bynum. As I drove, I saw an old building that looked like a church up ahead. When I got closer I said, “I have to stop here.” I wheeled in to the gravel lot that stuck half way out on the side street and skidded to a stop. There was a sign on the side of the building that said, “Trex Agate Shop, Since 1937.” Two words caught my eye, Trex and Agate. Dinosaurs and stones!

We walked in the door of the shop and there were rocks – bins of rocks. There were fossils, bones and skeletons. There were agates, and there were bags of dirt – garnet dirt and sapphire dirt. There were glass cases with the more expensive stones. Inside the cases was jewelry of all kinds. Turquoise necklaces with exquisite artistic design in silver were in one case, agates in another. On the tops of the glass cases were little racks of jewelry. I guess you know what I did. I went over and turned the racks slowly to look at the earrings and necklaces made from the agates and precious stones.

We were greeted by an elderly gentleman who truly loves his job. I asked about the building. It had been a church and then a school. The building had stood there for 103 years. It got its first inside bathroom after 102 years. Yep, it has only had inside plumbing for 1 year. We talked with the man for a while. He is a genuine asset to the little shop and to the community. We left the shop reluctantly but we had a bag of treasures that included a tiger’s eye and a bag of sapphire dirt.

As I walked out the door my little bag was full. I pulled the strings tight on my little bag of memories. Maud & Me had a good day!

One of the great wonders of our family trip in 1962 was Yellowstone National Park. I don’t know how well my memory serves me, but having a few photos from that trip helps to keep it alive.

Buffalo are the kings of the highway. If they’re on the road, you stop. On our drive through Yellowstone, we stopped to see elk and to look for moose. There’s little to compare with seeing a moose in shallow water eating the marsh grasses or at the edge of the water pulling down a willow limb. We drove along and soon cars slowed down to a stop. If cars are stopped up ahead, you can almost guarantee there is something you need to see. There was a bear! That’s one of the prizes in Yellowstone! It was so close Daddy was able to get a good picture. I remember being scared that the bear would come over to the car and rip the door off to get to me. What a sight! I still get all jiggly inside when I see a bear in the wild. The massiveness of their haunches and the power they can wield is frightening but awesome.

Yellowstone Lake was gorgeous – and cold. The waterfalls were impressive as the upper falls tumbled into the canyon then continued to flow into the lower falls dropping some 300 feet. The canyon is absolutely breathtaking. To a little girl, the whole scene was massive. It seems when you’re little, everything looks bigger. 

We were there to see Old Faithful erupt. Though I’ve seen her many times, she’s still amazing to witness. Walking along the boardwalk with the sizzling of fissures sending out a burst of sulfuric steam was intimidating. Morning Glory pool showed off its brilliant colors. The “Stinky Paint Pots,” as my grandmother called them, boiled and with each bubble of mud that burped, a smell that matched was released. Boiling mud, caked sulfur, people relaxing in hot thermal pools along the edge of the cold rushing river, the Dragons’ Mouth, the white cascading steps of Mammoth Hot Springs – all of those things come to mind when I think of my first visit. It is truly a wonder to behold and to experience. Can you imagine explorers seeing that land for the first time?

Outside of the park, we went to Hebgen Lake. That was eerie! The Hebgen Lake Earthquake of 1959, aka Yellowstone Earthquake, ravaged the land. It was the strongest and deadliest quake to hit Montana. When we visited in 1962, there was still debris from landslides. Jagged sections of road still lay at an angle where the quake had ripped the road in pieces, looking like uneven edges of a giant jigsaw puzzle. An old house barely hung to the bank while other parts of the house were submerged in the lake. The boys walked into the house. I just knew the house was going to break free and float to the bottom. I told Mama they didn’t need to go in there! Truth be known, I think she agreed and probably voiced her disapproval to Daddy. 

All those sights, feelings, smells and thoughts are etched into my memory. What a blessing it has been to be able to go there with my children and grandchildren. My desire is that they will hold those memories close and make new ones for themselves!

Traveling across the country was just the beginning of the adventures we would have once we reached Uncle Buster’s house. He was full of laughter, practical jokes and fun. Uncle Buster was my grandfather’s brother. He was a rancher, hunter, trapper, homesteader, horse wrangler, bronc rider, marksman, storyteller, water-witcher, cowboy, and sheepherder. 

One day Uncle Buster took us on a grand adventure. I was in the cab of the truck. The big kids piled in the back of the truck with Daddy. Uncle Buster didn’t need lines on the road to drive. He didn’t even need a road. He drove his old beat up green truck like he rode one of the cantankerous bucking broncs. We bucked across the eastern Montana hills dotted with prickly pears and sagebrush and bounced on the road swerving from ditch to ditch, dust flying at our heels. It was an adventure just riding with him even if no other adventures popped up, but that day, adventures popped up. 

We drove along a bumpy road through dry land adorned with rock outcroppings, scrubby bushes and a few gnarled trees. An occasional antelope could be seen grazing on dry grass in the wide-open countryside.  As we rode, the clouds began to join one another. Then they changed colors. They turned dark and green. The darker they got, the faster Uncle Buster drove. He said, “We better find a place quick! Hail’s a comin’.” He was already going as fast as he could, but he made that old beat up truck go even faster. Miles ahead, we saw one little store in the town of Ingomar come into view. It grew larger as we got closer. We kicked up dust as Uncle Buster skidded to a stop. We jumped out of the truck with one command, “Run!” Just as the screen door slammed behind us, the clouds erupted and belched forth ice from the sky clad with green clouds. Balls of ice danced and bounced off the ground. As we waited for the angry sky to stop throwing stones, we were treated to ice cold cokes. That was a rare treat! When it was all done, the ground was white, covered with ice. The top of the truck had more dents than when we had started. I learned a couple of things that day: green clouds mean “hail’s a comin’,” and Uncle Buster was better than a weatherman. He could read the sky.

Our adventure wasn’t quite over. We were off again with Uncle Buster telling stories as he drove. It wasn’t long before he pulled off the side of the road. His eyes were twinkling, and he was chuckling about something. He was always up to some kind of mischief. He loved to tease and play jokes, especially on rowdy boys. We all piled out of the truck. We looked off into the flat land scattered with little mounds of dirt. Occasionally, we could see little fuzzy critters that looked like sentries standing guard. They made funny little chirping noises as they called to one another. It was a prairie dog town. Uncle Buster laughed and told the boys to go catch one of the prairie dogs. Those three boys took off running as fast as they could to see who could catch one first. Uncle Buster laughed that deep robust laugh that gurgled from the bottom of his stomach. That game didn’t last too long. The boys soon came back. They didn’t have a prairie dog, but they sure brought back plenty because they were covered with fleas. 

Uncle Buster had a good laugh that lasted for days. I can still hear his hearty laughter echoing through the years.

The ‘57 Dodge was packed. I was ready for my first long trip. Of course, I didn’t have much to do to get ready, but my mother was a different story! It wasn’t until I was grown that I realized what a chore that was for her – trying to keep herd on 6 kids and a husband, prepare food, make sure everyone had clothing and essentials, along with a gazillion other little details. At 5 years old, I was just excited! I was extra excited because it was to be my first trip to Montana.

Daddy named the appointed time for departure. I learned quickly that he did not abide by that rule regardless of Mama’s disapproval. It didn’t matter what time in the morning he planned on leaving, by 1:00 a.m. he was itching and ready to go. He’d come to our room and say, “Are you kids awake?” When we all exclaimed, “Yes,” he’d say, “Let’s go!” I can still hear the crickets and feel the humid night air and the darkness as we scrambled out of the house and crammed into the car. There was an excitement in the air and anticipation that cannot be described. Darkness soon gave way to light filtering over the horizon and soon the sun would peak over the landscape. With the coming dawn, I was filled with a second wind as the day was filled with promise and adventure.

I still marvel at how we all fit into the car. Most of the time, one kid sat in the front seat with mama and daddy, 4 kids in the back seat and one kid in the back window – that would be me! I always thought I had the best “seat.” I didn’t want to sleep or take my eyes off the changing landscape. We went from thick forests of the south with tall pines and oaks, across flat plains, crossing rivers of all sizes, to mountains rising from prairies. We came to hills that looked like patchwork quilts. Crops of wheat, oats, alfalfa, and more, along with fallow fields, made quite a display of greens, browns, and golds as grains reflected in the sun. The sky got bigger as we went west. I still remember asking about those black shapes that moved along the ground. It was hard for me to believe that they were shadows cast from the clouds – the same clouds that became dragons, dogs, alligators and other things. As day turned to night, the vast skies came to life with the stars winking at me. Seeing antelope meant that we had reached the west. Rolling hills were covered with sagebrush and prickly pears.

We made a few stops along the long road through South Dakota. We stopped at the Corn Palace in Mitchell. A & W in Chamberlain was a must. We stopped there every time we went that way until it was no longer in operation. When we crossed the Missouri River, the land changed drastically into sagebrush hills. My mother always, and I mean always, wanted to go through the Badlands. She marveled at the harsh barren colored hills. She called the Badlands “God’s Cathedral.”

Our first stop to visit family was at my great uncle’s place. My sister and I would often sleep outside with a couple of our cousins. That’s where I heard my first coyote. I ran into the house to tell my uncle that there was a little kid out on the prairie calling for its mama. He laughed when I described the sound, “maamaaaa, maamaaaa.” I was skeptical when he told me that was just a den of coyote pups. My imagination worked overtime when I thought the coyotes would jump over the short wire fence around the yard and drag me off to their den. Though the mournful cries scared me and sent shivers down my spine, I wouldn’t give in to my fear. Now when I hear those calls across the hills, it is comforting somehow. 

Something magical happened to me on that trip. I caught the fever of adventure – of exploring new places. That fever continues to burn inside me today. Actually, I think it was given to me at birth. I still find myself in awe as I travel down country roads. I don’t want to miss a thing. I still look out the window with that childlike wonder, but now I get the front seat.