My granddad loved to take a ride through the countryside. (So do I.) We would load him up in the car or truck and drive down country back roads. He was as happy as a lark. Leather gloves in hand, he ran them through his big hands, cowboy hat on his head, and a big smile on his face. He spoke of the “good grass” he saw and told us how many head of cattle could be raised on such a spread as opposed to how many horses could graze that same land. Whether it was North Georgia hills, or Montana prairies, the child-like wonder in his eyes never faded.
We crossed over a creek and his memories were stirred. His tale took us back to a time when horse and wagon were the mode of transportation. He and his batchin’ partner, John, saw a storm coming up. They unhitched the wagon, grabbed their gear and set up their tent. Just as the storm hit, a man, his wife and new baby came flying up in their wagon. My granddad rolled back the tarp and invited the travelers inside out of the storm. As he told the story, he pointed to a grassy place near the creek and said, “Right there is where we camped.” Of course, it wasn’t “right there” where they camped, but in his mind, he was transported to a different time and place. In his eyes, it was “right there.”
Passing a field, we heard of his days on Sun Prairie Flats and working the harvests all the way into Canada. Grazing horses evoked remembrances of working on the Long X Ranch. Stories flowed of the mountains around Calgary and celebrating the Queen’s birthday. Tale after tale followed.
As he reminisced, he marveled at the land around him. His eyes twinkled with every recollection.
Oh, that we could see the world around us through such eyes.
Knew horses and cows before she knew people other than family Knew the meaning of hard work Weathered by time Gracious, down to earth
Artist
Woke early, stayed up late to care for her household
No drippy words of love but displayed it in every action
Cared for bum lambs as well as children, nieces, nephews, and grandchildren
When someone came to visit, she set another plate on the table Fresh bread, real cream, Cream puffs with raspberries Roast beef, potatoes and gravy for weary hikers
Spoke of old days but did not linger on the past
Even when she was injured, nothing slowed her down
She could ride a horse or four-wheeler with best of them Cattledriver
She was a faithful partner of her rancher husband Always had a fuzzy companion or two
Though her brother did not live close, she adored him
The long trek from New Mexico to Montana had not been without hardship and loss for the Brannin family. Their bout with typhoid had lifelong effects, rendering the youngest son handicapped. Heading north from Annabella, Utah, where they had wintered, they were caught in a snowstorm that took about half of their goat herd.
Almost a year after their departure from their ranch along the Sapillo in New Mexico, they arrived at their Montana destination where two more children were added to the family. However, that was not the journey’s end.
One of the boys, Ed, and a friend rode into Sweet Grass Canyon in 1898 after checking out mining possibilities in Fergus County. The two young men on horseback followed the trail that led into the Crazy Mountains. As the trail began to descend, they rounded a hill, and it seemed as if a secret doorway opened in front of their very eyes. In the valley below, the river danced and sang a tune as it made its way from the mountains through the horseshoe bend and beyond. They had never seen such a view. Before them lay Sweet Grass Canyon. Immediately Ed knew that his family had to move to the heart of the mountains.
They crossed the river, and stopped to talk with C. M. Rein, a Norwegian man who had made his home there in 1893. The Reins became valuable neighbors and friends of the family for years to come. They also visited the Tucker family who lived on the Sweet Grass near Melville. The Tuckers, who they had known from Marysville, were more than friends, they became family as well.
After spending the winter in the Crazy Mountains of 1898-99, Ed made his way back to Silver City, Montana, to tell the family of the paradise he had seen. Upon his return, he encouraged the family to move to that paradise. Grandfather Brannin went to look it over, pulled up stakes in 1904, and made the move. Joe had his misgivings because it was too far from a school. Had the matriarch of the family known of future events, she might have had misgivings as well.
The youngest girl, Babe, remembered the trip, “Papa and Joe came to get us and take us to the Sweet Grass and the Crazy Mountains. Papa drove the spring wagon with Mamma, Sid, Bess, Crawford and me in it. Joe drove the lumber wagon and Will Smedley went along to help. I think Gus must have been with Dick over at the new place.” According to Sid, they camped the first night on the Missouri near Helena. The second night they camped along the trail and the third night near White Sulphur Springs. They traveled by way of Deep Creek Canyon and spent the fourth night in Martinsdale. The fifth night was on the Little Elk near Two Dot. When they passed the American Fork Ranch, they knew their destination was within reach.
As the wagons topped the rise and followed the trail into the valley, they saw the horseshoe bend of the Sweet Grass River. Looking into the canyon in front of them, they knew this was home. For the first time in her life, the matriarch felt safe and was no longer afraid to be alone. The mountains called her name, and she answered the call. With her back to the mountains and the valley before her, she found her place of refuge there in the heart of the mountains. She was finally home – a place of safety, surrounded by her family, and neighbors who needed one another.
Years later, Babe, the young one who rode in the spring wagon at five years old, said every time she came to that place at the horseshoe bend, she thought the same thing, “This is home.”
On the day of Jack’s funeral, a man gave the kids’ mother a dollar to get something special forJack’s younger brother and sisters. They found their treasures at the Big Timber Golden Rule – three fuzzy stuffed bears – a gold one, brown one and green one at 35 cents each. Even the store clerk’s heart was pricked, and he sold the three bears for a dollar. Even though Brownie the bear offered some comfort to Jack’s little brother, loneliness still crept into his world.
To little brother Buck, that bear was special. In his young mind, that was all he had left of Jack. For a year after his brother’s death, little Buck thought they were all doomed. One night tears slid from his eyes when he said his prayers, “God, let my Teddy Bear be buried with me when I die.”
The Privy
The little boy carried his bear with him everywhere. One day when he took the bear with him to the outhouse, he set the bear beside him very carefully, but the bear toppled over and fell into the deep pit out of the boy’s reach. Indian Charlie heard him cry and scream all the way up at the sawmill. His mama heard him probably before he even screamed because mamas have premonitions and know things before they actually happen. She ran to the outhouse thinking something terrible had happened. It had.
Little Buck’s mama was a hero. He thought she was an angel. She assessed the situation, got the garden rake, and rescued Brownie, the brown fuzzy bear, out of the dark murky hole. Immediately, she tossed the bear into the horse trough. When the bear came up for air, little Buck grabbed him from his watery grave. His mama brought his teddy bear back from the dead. It was too bad she could not have done the same for his brother Jack. It took years for the little boy to get over the loss of his brother. In fact, it took all of eighty-seven.
Brownie almost lost his life again when Sister Ellen wanted to give her doll funeral rites. Not wanting the doll to be buried alone, she convinced Buck that the bear should be buried, too. It’s a good thing the bear was buried with his ear sticking out. He was soon rescued when he was pulled from the sawdust pile by his ear at the hand of a little boy.
At the old homeplace way back in the heart of the mountains, the outhouse, known to some as the privy, though it was the smallest “house”, may have been the most important building of all.
It was a place to read the “Monkey Ward” magazine, which was also used for other things. It was a place to think or make up a song. It ranked high as a place of necessity. Someone could sit and rest and hear the water piped from the spring splash into the horse trough and spill over the sides. Little kids learned how to run fast from imaginary bears that lurked behind the privy ready to pounce. In the wintertime it wasn’t much fun having to make the trek to the little house even though grown-ups cut a trail for such emergencies.
Sometimes privies were used for pranks. On one such occasion Sister Ellen sent sister BJ on a mission to run to the privy and open the door. Little did BJ know the outhouse was occupied. The door flung open and there sat Effie Bowlegs reading Monkey Ward. He didn’t get rescued! I guess he didn’t have an angel watching out for him.
Daddy had been told to not be surprised if Uncle Rube didn’t know him. The old gentleman had suffered a stroke that affected his memory. As we walked into the room at the Pioneer Home, Uncle Rube looked up. He took one look at Daddy, stood to his feet, raised his hand, pointed his finger and said, “Th-th-that d-d-danged sp-sp-spotted horse!” Spot, the spotted horse, had stepped on his foot thirty years earlier and left Rube’s big toenail hanging by a sliver. More than once, Daddy and Rube had shared that memory.
Rube in Pioneer Home
Even without the stroke, Uncle Rube was considered slow or “retarded”. His drawn, drooping face looked much like I had remembered. Though Uncle Rube lived in a man-sized body, he was just a boy. Just one look at him turned back the hands of time to 1895when he was a boy of five years old.
Four covered wagons drawn by four-horse teams, and a spring wagon pulled by a team of mules topped Apache Hill. Guadalupe turned around for one last glimpse, but the ranch along Sapillo Creek had already disappeared from view. Eight children were born to the family in the little log cabin in the valley they left behind. Guadalupe carried those memories and many more with her as the wagons turned toward Montana Territory that morning of May 30, 1895.
The older boys had gone on ahead with the herd of goats, burros and horses. Guadalupe, her husband, their eleven children, the youngest six months old, a son-in-law, and one-month old granddaughter, were joined by other friends who traveled with them. Little Rube rode in the wagons with the other small children.
The route from New Mexico Territory led them into Arizona and northward through Utah. A year before, Guadalupe had a dream of a long hard trip. As they approached Woodruff, Arizona, Guadalupe described that very town just as she had seen it in her dream, though she had never been there.
It was dry and hot. Water was scarce. Drinking from the Little Colorado River, the boys tried the strain water through their teeth. They ran their finger around their gums to remove the silt. Even when they tried to filter the water through a flour sack, it did little good.
Near Flagstaff, most of the family came down with typhoid fever after drinking contaminated well water. The oldest daughter became deathly sick. Her milk dried up and she was not able to nurse her baby. Guadalupe not only tended to the sick and nursed her own little girl, but she also shared her supply of breast milk with her granddaughter.
Little Rube had the most severe case of typhoid fever and developed double pneumonia. Rube’s father had a doctor from Flagstaff come to see the little boy. His high fevers caused brain damage, affected his speech, and left him handicapped with partial paralysis, his legs becoming so weak, his sister two years his senior had to teach him to walk again. Rube did survive. His family nurtured him, and his brothers gave him some good-natured ribbing. He never went to school or learned to read and write, but he did many of the chores, rescued his chickens from the cook, and knew how to smoke a pipe.
Uncle Rube lived to the ripe age of eight-one. To some, he was a giant among men but on the inside, he was a five-year-old little boy who wore overalls.
Yesterday (Saturday) I watched the tail end of the Kentucky Derby. I was pleased to see the super bred, expensive, racehorses beaten by the offspring of an $8,000 mare and a $2,500 stallion. It reminded me of the Melville Derby at rodeo time in the 1930’s when the work horse from Ma Franklin’s rake team beat the well promoted Thoroughbred and Standard Bred horses from the Melville area Dude Ranchers.
Cowboys in front of Melville Hotel
The area Dude Ranchers had invested in some well-blooded horses in order to beat one another in the annual rodeo races. Thoroughbred and Standard Bred horses were famed and trained to develop their racing ability. Mrs. Franklin’s horse was bred as a draft horse. He was a valuable worker on a hay ranch. He was trained to obey “Gettup and Whoa” when on the tongue of a wagon or hay rake. But his heart was in beating his teammate to the oat box at the barn. The farm hands trained him for that, but they were so impressed with his ability that, CAN YOU IMAGINE IT, they entered their Dark Horse in the Melville Derby. And he won going away.
Fortunately the rider got him turned at the end of the track and he headed back to the rodeo stands and not to the can of oats in a barn a mile and a half away.
Some of the Melville Cowboys and my Grandmother Cowgirl
A faint sound interrupted the silence as branches snapped back in place as if they had been pulled like a rubber band and released. Quick footsteps ran along the trail that wound through the woods. As they neared the edge of the trees, the sound stopped suddenly, and everything was still and quiet.
In the black of night, the figure of a man in shabby clothes and worn-out shoes cautiously emerged from the trees and bushes. If he read the signs right, it was safe. Looking around, he was on the run again in case unwanted eyes had followed his movements. He made his way to a safehouse where he was given a change of clothes before continuing his journey north. With his slave garments cast aside, he was given further instructions.
The way to freedom was a long, dangerous, and arduous road. The majority of those seeking freedom were uneducated and illiterate. They communicated by word of mouth and signs.
An Underground Railroad Quilt Code was put in place as a sign to guide fugitives to freedom. Various blocks were used, each sending a secret message. There might be a quilt draped over a porch railing, a portion of one hanging like a flag, or even a quilt block design drawn in the dirt. A block painted on a wagon might indicate there was a secret compartment for them to hide and be transported to another location.
Each diagram had a different code to indicate if it was safe to travel, when to pack, and where to go. Some blocks served as a compass, indicating the direction they needed to go. Some quilt patterns told slaves to continue north into Canada. Others let them know where the safehouses were.
A Wagon Wheel quilt pattern signaled slaves to pack provisions for their journey. They had very few belongings and gathered only the things necessary for survival.
The Carpenter’s Wheel design indicated it was time to go. To the slaves, the master carpenter was Christ. Slaves sang songs while working in the fields not only to worship, but also to send messages. “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot”, referred to the wagon wheel, which indicated it was time to travel. Another song used to give them the signal to go was “Steal Away.” The Carpenters Wheel pattern as well as songs they sang encouraged the slaves to “run with faith” to the northwest. Slave owners thought they sang of going to heaven, but the soulful, sometimes sorrowful, rhythmic Negro Spirituals urged their people to go northwest. The road to freedom usually took them through Cleveland, Ohio, which was the main crossroad.
The Bear’s Paw pattern let the slaves know to follow paths of the bears or other animals. The travelers followed the trails that led through the mountains. They were not straight, but crooked paths, that led to water and safety. As most escapes took place in the time of the spring rains, it was easier to follow a bear’s paw trail as prints were left in the soft damp soil.
Along the various routes, Athens, Ohio, was a pivotal stop on the Underground Railroad. Several homes in the area were used to hide slaves making their way north to freedom. According to family history, Thomas Brewer and his wife, my 3rd great grandparents, took part in this Underground Railroad movement. He was an advocate for the enslaved and offered aid on the slaves’ road to freedom.
Here is a link to quilt block patterns, and their meanings, that served as a map to guide slaves to and through the Underground Railroad:
I made this quilted table runner as a gift for friends who extended the hand of hospitality and provided us a place to stay for the night. The center block is the Carpenter’s Wheel. The star that is split on either side is what I call the Native Star, inspired by the Lakota Indian Quilt Exhibit I visited several years ago. Both of these designs represent the oppressed who sought freedom.
Carpenter’s Wheel bordered on each side by a split Native Star
Forrest Gump said, “Life is like a box of chocolates – you never know what you’re gonna get.” Well, I say, “friends are like a box of chocolates.”
My sister would poke a hole or take a bite out of each chocolate so she could pick the one she wanted to eat. She may have missed out on something good by not sampling those chocolates.
Just like those chocolates, friends are diverse. Some may be a bit nutty – some a bit fruity – some rich – some not as sweet– some overwhelming. Friends come in different shapes and sizes, of different ages and various characteristics. They each offer a different type of friendship and meet a different need in our lives.
From an acquaintance to a “kindred spirit” friend, they each have a different aroma.
My mom and her sister were best friends. They were fifteen months apart. My mom took it upon herself to care for her baby sister who thought the sun rose and set on her big sister. Each day when my mom came home from school, she taught her sister what she had learned in class. She continued to nurture her sister and, in many ways, took the place of their mother.
The girls went to school together, rode horse back together, killed rattlesnakes together, went to normal school for their teaching degree together, cried together and laughed together. The bond these sisters shared was more binding than blood.
They were the best of friends, and what a sweet fragrance that was!
This is a tribute to the women who helped shape the West.
A wife of good character who can find? She is worth more than all the gold or silver one can mine. Her husband has full confidence in her and leaves everything to her care while he’s away. She brings him good, not harm, all of his life. She tans the hides to make clothing for her children. She is like the traveling supply trains that bring goods and food to her family. She is up before daylight preparing the day’s meals of beans and hot tortillas. She always has plenty to share with the stranger that comes to her door. She sees a good pony and buys it with the money she’s earned sewing garments. She sets about her work with a smile on her face and a Spanish song on her lips. Her arms and back are strong for the day’s work. She is last to lie down at night and her lamp stays lit as she protects her family. She opens her home to those in need and lends an ear to her neighbor. When the snows come, she does not fear, for her home is filled with warmth. She makes quilts from patched clothing for her beds. The family is always dressed presentably before others. Her husband is respected in the community. He serves with the judges and county leaders. She is clothed with strength and dignity. She laughs at days to come and does not dwell on disappointments of the past. She speaks words of wisdom and instructs her children to be respectable citizens. She watches over the affairs of her household and always lends a hand to others. Her children and grandchildren call her blessed. Her husband thanks her for being his faithful companion. Many women have done well, but Granny Brannin exceeds them all. Pretty words can be misleading, and beauty can be deceiving. But a woman who reveres the Lord and leads her children in the way of truth – She is to be held in the highest respect. Give her the reward she has earned. Let the life and testimony she has lived bring honor to her memory. May the gift of her heritage be passed on to her future generations.
On October 3, 1955, Disney’s Mickey Mouse Club debuted on ABC.
Before that, another Mouse Club ruled the halls of Sweet Grass High School. It was a very exclusive group – girls only – that had one strict requirement: you could not be afraid of mice, living or dead.
The Mouse Club, Jean, BJ, Betty
B J was not afraid of mice and neither were her friends, sisters Jean and Betty. That was the extent of the membership of their club.
B J grew up handling mice. When just a youngster, her great uncles trapped mice to give to B J for her cat. There was a catch – a price to be paid. The uncles said, “Go say, ‘damn the old ladies’, and we will give you a mouse.” B J walked out to where the “old ladies” were and paid her dues. True to their word, the uncles rewarded her a dead mouse for her cat.
When she started school, she got a live mouse and gently put it in a match box and took it to school. She must have been proud when she placed the little box on the teacher’s desk. The teacher slid back the box top and out jumped the mouse. She was not impressed, nor did she share B J’s fascination with mice. I do not know if they had Show and Tell that day, but I am sure it was Show and Yell!
The mouse-capades continued in high school when B J was joined by her two accomplices. A classmate of the three girl Mouse Club was deathly afraid of mice. How silly! The girl might as well have shouted a dare from the top of her lungs. Her fear of mice was the only fuel needed for the Mouse Club to jump into action. The plan was in place.
After capturing an unsuspecting furry creature to be offered as a gift, it was packaged up. It was suggested by one source that some of the boys might have taken part in the caper. This account was given by one of the Mouse Club members in later years who said they gave the mouse to the boys who did the deed. That is not the way I previously heard the mouse tale. I tend to think that version of the story was merely a diversion in an attempt to deflect blame.
The story as told to me through the years was that the club members put the mouse in the girl’s locker. When the girl opened her locker and looked in the box, she let out a shriek, you know, like a loud resounding scream. The principal got involved and accused the boys of the dastardly deed.
A few years ago, the sister of one of the Mouse Club members snitched to the mouse recipient and revealed the source of the girl’s teenage trauma. It might not have been the best gift, but it’s the thought that counts. Hmmm, maybe that’s not always the case.
The Mouse Club looks like they might be formulating another plan
