Odd ends
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Chapter five
Parkers Prairie
Moving
It was a long eight weeks before Doctor Madsen, cleared Dad to go back to work if he avoided a lot of scissor work. The Evansville shop had two barbers with only work for one, and he asked around and found an opening at Parkers Prairie working two or three days a week. With the job to start in a week he looked for a farm and found one north of town six miles. It was east about four miles on highway 75 along the northwest edge of Wing River swamp and three-quarter mile from Crossroads, a store with a post office inside it and three houses. Uncle Rex helped us move. Rex found and gave Pa a pair of dapple grey draft horses called Pat and Mike and harnesses. The team was so frisky that Rex worried that Orlie or Bud might get hurt trying to handle them. Years later I asked Rex about the cost of the team and he said Roy chipped in on them. After that he told me about Dad co-signing the note for his farm outside of Evansville and had returned the favor.
When our new school started we had to walk about three-quarter of mile across country to a one-room school. Orlie and Bud were in the seventh grade, Harriet in the fourth, and I was in the first. Our teacher, Mrs. Viessman, had a wooden right leg halfway between the knee and ankle, and the kids called her "Peg Leg" when she could not hear it. Mrs. Viessman pitched a mean softball and once ran down Carl, a fourth grader, who decided to run home after failing a spelling test. A month later his parents rented a house in Bertha and Carl left. The other two students in my group were Lois and O.K. Lois lived at Crossroads and O.K. on an island in the swamp. There was a fourth student named Arnold for a year, but in November of my second grade the school had a birthday party for him. Arnold was sixteen and had to leave school.
Poison Ivy
After we moved to the Parkers Prairie farm and settled in, we started to clean up the yard and burning started. We did all the buildings first. Dad hauled away piles of manure by the barn and henhouse to spread on our fields before cleaning both the barn and henhouse inside. After that we worked on the hog house. The last thing was to clean the yard and Harriet had the job of keeping the fire going. She worked with our old fire rake, the row of teeth warped in an arc, poking and pulling on the fire. In-between work she yelled, "Weeee," and ran through the smoke. It irritated me a little that while I worked Sis had time to play, but all six of us make short work of the yard. That evening Mom cooked ham and beans with cornbread and we cleaned the pot.
The next morning Harriet said her face felt funny and it was all puffy and red. Before the day was out her eyes swelled shut. After supper, Dad and Mom put Harriet in the car and took her to the emergency room of the hospital in Parkers Prairie. Three hours later they returned. Dad said Harriet had gotten poison ivy from running though the smoke. They put Harriet to bed. Her face was still swollen. Mom made up a solution to wash Harriet's face with and Dad tried to give Harriet two pills to swallow. However, Harriet never could swallow pills. Dad tried and tried but Harriet could only cry. Finally mother took the pills, put them in her mortar bowl, and pulverized them like she did walnuts for cookies. The mess went in a little water and Harriet got the job done.
For two weeks Harriet whined and mother doctored her poison Ivy until one morning she could see again without a fingertip pulled down below her eyes. Mom hugged her and the first time for a long time Harriet laughed.
Dad told Harriet, "If you ever run through smoke again I'll take my razor strap to your backside until it warm."
Winter time
My last year coat was green plaid and so was my cap with black ear flaps. In the middle of last winter my blue everyday coat got too small. I wore my new green plaid one for both school and everyday farm work. It was a little worn but would make a decent farm coat this year. In the Autumn I was excited about going into town to buy winter clothing. In town Mom pick out for me a red plaid coat and matching cap. I was proud of both and wore them home.
When we drove up the driveway between the evergreen windbreaks a sow was out again. We jumped out and chased the sow back in the pen. Dad drove a stake down where the sow had pushed up the woven wire and stapled it down again. Mom and Harriet started carrying in the groceries and purchases from the old 36 Ford.
Mom came out and yelled at Dad. "The clock has stopped. Start the car up and listen to the radio for the time."
"Gas cost too much for that. I'll send Gene over to Bill Miller's place."
Dad started for the barn and I followed him. It was a great adventure to ride a horse over to the neighbors and back. We did not have any riding horses, only draft animals, and I did not often get to ride. Dad led out Mike, one of our dapple-grays, tossed the reins up over his neck, and put his hands down to hoist me up.
"Stay off the road ... ride in the ditch," Dad ordered.
I nodded that I heard and kicked Mike in the ribs. We took out down the driveway at a trot, turned left, and rode down the ditch enjoying the wind at my back. I tied Barney to Bill's maple tree halfway between the house and barn.
As I walked up to the back screened porch Bill Miller stuck his old white-haired head out and yelled, "What you want, Gene?"
"Clock stopped. Dad sent me to find out the time."
Bill's head disappeared back inside and when it reappeared he yelled, "Ten after four."
"Thanks Mister Miller, I ...."
"No time for talking. Best be headed home, Gene, or the time will be wrong."
I hurried back to Mike, led him up beside Bill Miller's hay wagon, climbed up in the wagon, and slid a leg over Mike's wide back. Mounted again I kicked Mike in the ribs and traded waves with Bill on the way out. Down the driveway to turn down the ditch into the wind and knowing we were going home Mike started to gallop wanting to get back to the barn. I bounced and worked hard at trying to stay on our fast return. A gust of wind got under the brim of my new red plaid cap caught it and off it sailed. I glanced backward wishing I'd had the ear flaps down and watched my new cap land in the middle of the south side ditch. I managed to slow Mike to a trot at the turn into our driveway and saw behind us a black Packard coming down the road just past Bill Miller's driveway. Mike trotted through the windbreak and stopped at the barn door. Dad stepped out and took Mike's reins.
"Run tell your mother the time."
I raced to the house and inside told mother, "Ten minutes after four."
"I'll make it fifteen minutes after," Mom told me setting the hands on the clock.
I raced out of the house, slammed the door, and ran through the windbreak to the driveway. Ran down the south ditch looking for my new red cap but it was nowhere to be found. I looked up both sides of the ditch, climbed over the fence for a look in our pasture, and walked back and forth down the middle. I even looked in the far side ditch again. Against the dried brown grass of fall a red plaid cap should have been easy to spot, but it was no where to be seen. I walked back to the house dejected. The only place my new cap could be in my mind was inside a black Packard. I believed they saw the red cap and stopped to pick it up. Inside my mind they stole my new cap. That winter I wore my old green plaid cap with my new red plaid coat to school and everyday farm work.
Adscript: It was well up into next summer before I stopped looking at every black Packard with hateful eyes for stealing my new cap. Still today, I believe that stopping to pick up something on the highway or in the ditch is awful close to stealing.
Blizzard
Snow came down in small widely spaced flakes while we, Harriet and I, walked across the field to shorten the distance to school to less than a mile and a half. It was Thursday. From our farm it was a mile east to the crossroads, The Crossroad Store, and a mile north to our one room schoolhouse.
All during the day the snowfall got heavier and after lunch the wind picked up. Snow blew as the wind grew to howling as the snow turned heavy. By two o'clock the world outside was white, a whiteout blizzard. The teacher called around to the parents that had phones. All decided to let their children stay at school until the weather cleared.
We did not have a telephone for Dad was still trying to recover from the losses from his accident in San Francisco Bay and putting a down payment on the farm. A telephone was one of the things that he said we could do without for a while. Dad barbered in Parkers Prairie Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday. The rest of the week he was at home working on the farm.
Mrs. Tratton went back to having school work. When school was out and the students sat around singing, talking, or reading books from the small school library. Between songs Harriet would ask me what Dad would do? I would shake my head and shrug. We talked about walking home across the field and got our coats on but the teacher protested.
Harriet was determined that we go home, and any thoughts of this first grader did not mean anything for the third grader was in charge. Just as we pulled on hats, wrapped scarves around our necks, and pulled on mittens a jingling of bells came down the road out of the white.
It was Dad driving our wood hauling sleigh pulled by Pat and Mike, our pair of dapple grays. Harriet and I rushed out.
Dad laughed and shouted at our teacher, "Does anyone want a ride to the Crossroads."
"I'll call," teacher yelled back.
We climbed in the sleigh, surprised to find two of Mom's string tied blankets, and pulled them over our legs. It was wonderful sitting out in the snow with the wind blowing so the world looked like a cold thick fog.
After a few minutes three students that lived at the Crossroads: Lois, Doug, and Markie came out all bundled up. Lois slid under Harriet's blanket. Doug and Markie sat on each side of me under my red and white block blanket. Teacher waved and out ran O.K. that lived down in the swamp.
"Can I ride as far as the Crossroads," O.K. shouted.
Dad nodded, O.K. climbed up. We turned the blanket the long way for four.
Dad shook the reins to turn Pat and Mike around and started back for the road. I wondered how Dad could tell where we were going and he must have known my question.
"The fence line and trust Pat and Mike," Dad said pointing at the three strand barb wire.
I stared at the fence and sure enough I could make out shadowy shapes, black lines of posts in the white, but not the wires as Pat and Mike trotted down the road jingling the bells on their harness. In a strong gust even those disappeared and Dad trusted Pat and Mike. He held them straight ahead hoping they remained on the road.
In no time on our great adventure we stopped at the Crossroads in front of the store and three Mothers rushed out to collect our passengers. With a wave we turned south a half mile driving through a gap in the trees to drop off O.K. at his house, turned around, and going back to the Crossroads our tracks were already gone. At the crossroad Dad turned Pat and Mike west toward home. Again I could see the shadowy shapes of fence posts on only the right sides and Dad angled Pat and Mike to that side of the road.
In that white world of harness bell jingling, snow clods flying from hooves, and blowing snow the world seemed small, like a tunnel. When the post ended on the north Dad guided Pat and Mike to the south side of the road and there I saw our post lines in the white. I knew we were close to home but still I was surprised when the shape of our mailbox popped out the white. Pat and Mike slowed to a walk, turned, and trotted between evergreens along both sides of our driveway. It surprised me when Pat and Mike stopped in front of a huge dark shadow, our barn.
"Wait for me," Dad said as he climbed down and unhitched the team. He led Pat and Mike into the barn, stripped off their harness, hung it on it pegs on the wall, and tied the dapple grays back in their stalls. He forked in fresh hay, tossed in a hand scope of corn, and took burlap sacks to wipe the snow from their backs and manes. After our team was cared for Dad hurried out to the sleigh, bundled up our blankets, and led us around the barn to the house side. There we found our hayloft rope tied to a post.
Dad yelled over the wind, "Follow the rope."
This time I was in the lead. We followed the rope clutching it with a hand through a wall of white. The henhouse surprised me and I changed ropes. Again I was surprised by our house. Stomping snow off on the front porch I waited for Harriet to sweep off the snow from our coats and trouser legs with the broom that stood all winter beside the front door. Inside as we took off our coats and hats to hang on hooks by the door.
I was sure then and still am sure we would have gotten lost in the whiteout between the house and barn without the ropes. They followed me. Would I have led them to die out in the storm? That thought always makes me shiver even on a hot August day and still today I believe that rope saved lives. I always feel like I owe Dad debts that never can be paid back.
Inside Mother fussed over the mess we made of her quilts with red eyes. The Hot Chocolate she made showed her concern and happiness to get us all back. While eating a late supper, the wind died down and looking out I saw that the snow had slackened. On Monday we learned that the last students and the teacher left the school at six-thirty.
Scoremaster [.22-caliber rifle by Remington]