The Holland Press

There was an open range for stock in those early days, the yards and gardens had to be fenced to keep stock away, otherwise they had free range. Ruth, Grace and I were often sent to drive in the cows so they could be milked before dark. We'd hear the cowbells and run to the other side of them, as they were already on their way home to be milked, and we thought we'd done such a great job of herding them in. Even after fencing was required to keep stock in their pastures, sometimes Grace and I would take our three calves, Annabelle, Dick and Daisy, down the road to the cemetery to eat the fresh green grass. We would often take Fitch and Paul with us, taking turns carrying fat little Paul. The little boys loved playing in the cemetery, jumping, sitting and standing on the gravestones, running in and out and hiding among them. Carl, after he was older, would take my children down there to play, and would sometimes amuse them by standing on his head atop a huge marble marker which had a large, round ball on top of that. Anyhow, back to the times we girls would take the calves (and little boys) down to the cemetery. Sometimes one of us would have to run and head off a calf from going down as far as the railroad track. We’d sing out "Annabelle's so lazy, but Oh, you Dick and Daisy!”

Ruth was five years older than Grace, and some of her girl friends were even a year or so older than she, so they were more interested in hair styles, clothes and boys. How we did love to sneak around and listen in to their conversations! The era of the ‘“hourglass figure" was just about to phase out in 1910, 1912, but "stylish" women still wore corsets. (Mama wore one as long as she lived.) Cousins Sylvia, Vancha and Aunt Myrtle wore corsets, so Ruth must have one, too. Mother bought her one, but wouldn't allow her to lace up as tightly as she begged to be laced, and Mama promised Ruth if she would not lace it up tightly, that when Ruth was eighteen mama herself would lace it up so tight she could hardly breathe. When Ruth became eighteen, she no longer wanted to be laced up like that, as that silly style had gone out by then.

Papa was always very patriotic. He had a flagpole, and always a good flag to fly on suitable days. And we were allowed fireworks. Russell, Fitch and Paul (after they were older) were allowed to climb to the platform on the windmill and shoot their fireworks. It was a thrilling display, and exciting, to see the fireworks comings from up there, especially the rockets and “wheels”.

We were only allowed one dog, or cat, at a time around the farm. The cats had to stay around the barn to keep rats from eating corn and feed in the corn crib. Tippy was the dog I loved best, a beautiful collie. He stayed pretty close to we children and sometimes we'd let him into the wagon to go to the creek for our swim and picnic. Sometimes he would walk through the woods with us, then turn and go home as we went on to school. We never let him go as far as Barrett's, or the little house next to them. In that little house lived a woman whom we (perhaps unkindly) called "The Dog Lady". She had six or eight dogs and regarded them as her children. One day one of her dogs died. She came to the schoolyard where we were playing at afternoon recess and asked for several of us, "All that would come,” she said, to come to her house as soon as school was out, that she would like to have us come to "Crickett's" funeral.

We surmised that Crickett was one of her dogs because we had never seen anyone else around her place. Probably ten or so of the "braver" children did agree to go, Grace and I among them. I don't know now if it started as a joke, or “acting out" a role, but one of the children began to really cry, almost the first moment the Dog Lady started the services; another joined in, and another until every child there, and all her other dogs, which she had in one corner of the room began howling. The children wailing at the top of their lungs, and the dog's howling was more than the poor woman could bear. She took the poor deceased Crickett, wrapped in a winding sheet, up in her arms and outside to bury him in the grave she had prepared for him, children, dogs and all following. Grace and I did not wait for the burial services. We went home, running all the way.

Our Grandfather Huffman, the stern old gentleman who stared down at us from the parlor wall, died the year after moving to Arkansas in 1902, Grandmother Huffman lived with her oldest daughter; Lizzie Fuller, until her husband, Nenzo Fuller, was killed in an explosion at the tomato cannery where he worked. Then Grandmother moved into one of our upstairs bedrooms. She hired a girl to look after her because she had suffered a stroke and she knew our mother had all she could do with so many lively children already and pregnant again.

Grandmother got worse and Dad moved her bed into the parlor, and mama's and his into the north downstairs bedroom, so that mama wouldn't have to climb stairs to look after her. Grandmother did walk some, with help, and her cane. However, I was in her room one afternoon (I was six years old at the time), asking her if she needed me for anything. I sat down on her bed, and suddenly began bouncing up and down as a six year old loves to do.

Suddenly she got very angry, her eyes flashed fire and she said, “No, there's nothing you can do for me, and I'll take my cane to you if you don't get off my bed!" (This is probably why Aunt Ore could never talk me into becoming a nurse!) Before Fitch was born in March, our Grandmother Huffman died-- and I didn't care-- or at least didn't understand! The funeral was held in the parlor after taking out her bed and moving in chairs. The casket was placed by the south window.

After the service was over, Dolla, our cousin, and Grace and I (who had been sitting in the back row giggling, whispering and having fun) happened to look at Papa, and we wondered why he was wiping tears from his face. As the family and friends went by the casket to look, we got in line and a neighbor, Mrs. Barnett, lifted Grace, then Dolla up to see Grandmother, and Dolla began to cry. That was enough for me. I shook my head as the nice lady started to lift me, ran past the people and outside, where I could watch, and not see.

When I was about ten or eleven, the three of we girls were playing "house" in the woodshed when we sent Paul, about three, to the garden to get some raspberries to serve at our tea party. We gave him a little bucket and sent him along. He was gone a long time, so in the meantime, we caught some grasshoppers, pulled off their legs and set them in the sun to dry. Dad had told us about some people in Kansas having to eat grasshopper legs during a severe drought. We thoughtfully sprinkled salt on them, as Dad had said the people in Kansas had done this. After a while Paul came straying back, said he'd lost the pail, his face and hands were smeared with red juicy stains, and he proudly reached down into his pockets and brought out juicy hands full of smashed berries, among other things. We cleaned him up as best we could, for fear of mama, and sat us down to eat the grasshopper legs. Of course Paul, having feasted on plump juicy raspberries, had no taste for grasshopper legs and refused to eat, turned his head away in an obstinate manner when we encouraged him. Even Grace refused to taste the "delicacy" we had concocted, and Ruth ran away saying we were "Sillies" But I bravely chewed on one of the grasshopper legs, pretending it was the greatest thing I ever tasted. (It tasted exactly like a wooden stick.) I didn’t eat any more, said I would save them for the rest.

About this time, Dad's brother Nathan had married Daisy Biggs, bought a farm north of Gentry and was raising strawberries, thousands of acres, it seemed to me, probably only five or six acres, when the berries were ripe they had to be picked; Dad loaded our family up and off we went to help harvest the berries. Oh, how I dreaded this job!

We children were given a little carrier that held four quart cups; each time the cups were filled we took them to the shed where they were sorted and put into crates of 24 quarts each. When we went in with our strawberries we were given a ticket naming the amount we turned in. At the end of the day, or the season, we turned in the tickets at the packing shed and were paid two cents for every quart. I don't remember how much I earned, but when I'd go back out to the patch to try to fill another quart or two I'd look down that long row shining with red strawberries, so beautiful in the green leaves, I'd wish I could die, and thought surely I would before the day was over, I was so hot, tired, hungry!

About twelve noon, Dad would shout for all of us to "Come, take a break and eat a bite”. That was a treat, especially if Mama had fried chicken for us, or better yet, if Dad had stopped at the store as we came through town and had bought bologna. What a treat that was, I don't recall if we had anything but water to drink. Mama would come, sometimes, too, leaving Ruth at home with the little ones.

How I hated being young, how I envied Ruth, for she got all the breaks, (I thought), all the cushy jobs; never did I even think, besides watching and feeding the young ones at home, changing diapers and washing faces, she also washed dishes, swept floors and even did some of the cooking and baking.

After the strawberries were off, Uncle Nathan had blackberries, which were even worse to harvest, because of the thorns. ‘Then came peaches; they were easier, nice to rip the skin off a nice juicy tree ripened peach and bite into the fresh sweetness on a summer morning (when no one was looking)-- there was one minor discomfort-- peach fuzz that would drive a person crazy when it got down one's neck and over one's arms; what a hard, tragic life we had! What hard work!

But, oh, that would all be forgotten when Friday afternoon would come around and we would all get into the wagon with baskets of food and clean, fresh clothing, and fresh peaches we could wash off in the clear cool water of Flint Creek until all the fuzz was off, and later in the summer a watermelon or two; and the glorious, cooling, invigorating swim.