OWAV:)...05/25/11...6am...frosty...Some Sun:)

Spent most of yesterday at Ruth Wineteers, our usual meeting place for write group...read some of our writings...played a game of scrabble...had lunch, then since it was still so rainy, we played another game of scrabble...Much different playing scrabble on a real board instead of on the computer...I've certainly improved my skills by playing on the computer.

Arrived home to the sun shinning, Herb mowing lawns and wondering where I wanted to spread the grass...I mulched raspberry bed with grass, then walked to neighbor Marsha's for starts out of her greenhouse and gardens...came home with tomatoes and sweet peas and several lavender plants to replace mine that have killed out the last two years...with a few hours of sun today maybe I can set up tomatoes cages in plastic bags and get the tomatoes moved out of the greenhouse...also plant cucumber seeds and place gallon plastic jugs overtop each hill...helps them to germinate...maybe plant potatoes...

As always, I have to think of things to thaw for meals for the rest of the week...this weather, keeps me thinking stews, casseroles, maybe meat loaf or spaghetti...

I wrote the following story for my memoir class... The story is about a time over fifty years ago and is as I remember it...OWAV:)

 BLUE FROSTING

Front row, Idella, Connie 3rd grade

 Mom shifted into a lower gear as we rounded yet another corner, while driving to school, on the slick, snow covered road.  It was snowing and blowing so hard, that the wipers had a hard time keeping the windshield clean.  Almost, as if out of nowhere a shadowy figure appeared on the roadside.  As we got closer we could see that it was a young girl.  She was bundled against the cold wind, wearing a coat much to large for her.  A scarf was wrapped around her head and tied under her chin.  She walked slowly as the boots she wore seemed too large for her feet.  She immediately moved off the road, into the bar pit.  Mom stopped the car and I rolled down the window to ask if she wanted a ride.  She moved farther away from our car, shaking her head from side to side, it became very apparent that she wouldn’t accept a ride from us.  

My Mom was driving me to Wood Grove, a one room school that I attended for the next five years.  It was December 1950.  I was eight years old, in the third grade and we recently moved from Porterville, Utah to Lake Fork, Idaho. 

Wood Grove, truly a one room school, with only twelve students.  Students of all ages sat in the rows of desks filling the room. The teacher sat in a desk at the front of the room and black boards covered the wall directly behind her.  Windows lined a wall and a piano stood on the other side of the room.  A large pot belly stove, radiating heat, filled an entire corner.  Freshly split wood stacked nearby, and coats hung to dry behind the stove.  Boots, mittens and caps lay strewn on the floor.  The smell of wet wool permeated the air.

I quickly removed my outer layer of clothing, while the teacher arranged a desk next to the wall for me to sit in.  I sat down behind a boy, with blond hair, named Jimmy Kantola, also in third grade.  Just then the door opened and in walked the girl, we had seen on the roadway.  She sat in the desk behind me.  I soon learned that her name was Connie Thompson and everyday, she walked over a mile to school, in any kind of weather, and often her clothing was less than adequate. 

  Connie, a very shy girl hadn’t been schooled in social graces.  When spoken to, she would duck her head and turn away.  I don’t remember her being teased or shunned because of the clothing she wore or the meager lunches she brought to school.  All the families were poor (ours included), but her family was very poor.  No one wore expensive clothes and most of the kids rode horseback or walked to school.  The difference being that their clothing was warmer and fit better.  In the summer all of us rode bicycles or walked.  By my second year in school at Wood Grove, Connie and I had became best friends.  

I learned that her mother was reclusive, seldom leaving their home.  Her father, worked at the local saw mill, and often stopped at the tavern on his way home from work. Money that could have bought groceries and warm clothing, quite often was spent at the tavern.  Her older brother, James, had mental problems and didn’t attend school.  Connie never told me any of these things, but they were common knowledge in the community.

  The Thompson family lived on a small acreage with outbuildings for their cow and chickens.  The milk cow never seemed to have enough pasture or hay to keep her well fed and therefore her milk would soon dry up.  The chickens were free range, not by choice, but because there wasn’t any grain for them to eat. 

Their house was a small two story building with an outdoor toilet nearby.  I spent many hours and sometimes overnight at their home playing with Connie.  I ate meals with them and felt comfortable visiting there.  One thing I remember vividly is a 9 X 12 dark chocolate cake, with bright blue frosting.  It is the only dessert I remember and we had it many times when I went there to play.  I wonder if it was something Mrs. Thompson made to add color to her otherwise gray and bleak world.  

Mrs. Thompson worked very hard, and kept their house spotlessly clean.  Not easy to do since their house lacked electricity and running water.  She hauled water and heated it on the wood stove for cooking, bathing, laundry and cleaning.  She ironed the families clothes with irons heated on the wood stove and they read using kerosene lanterns.   Her name was Madeline.

Connie lived about two miles away and I would ride my bike there, and we would play house all day.  We labored for hours making mud pies in all shapes and sizes. Family dogs, stretched out in the sun, watching us while we pretended to cook lunch for them.  It took very little to keep us entertained, our imagination providing us everything that we needed. Television had been invented, but not available in Valley County.

Connie spent many days and nights at my house and with my family.  It gave her the opportunity to socialize with my larger extended family and in the process she became more outgoing and gained some self confidence.

I remember my years at Wood Grove as a special part of my life.  The 50‘s were a wonderful time to grow up.  As farm kids we all worked hard, doing the endless chores, milking cows, feeding bummer lambs and calves.  Our lives were uncomplicated and our freedom was endless. The five years at Wood Grove School passed quickly.

The year Connie and I started eighth grade the school system under went major changes.  The one room schools closed and all students rode busses to McCall or Donnelly (nearby towns) where we joined other students.  Roseberry School became a Junior High school with about forty students in the two grades.  At this school we made new friends and our friendship started to fade. 

 Our high school years saw us move farther apart, Connie with her new friends and me with mine.  I remained active in band and joined other clubs sponsored by the school.  Sometime during our Sophomore year Connie quit high school and was soon married, a baby on the way.  She moved to Council, Idaho, with her new husband.

I heard about her through mutual friends and our paths crossed occasionally at the local grocery store.  Over the next few years, Mrs. Thompson was treated for breast cancer and Connie’s brother, James moved to the Boise valley and lived in a group home.  
     I graduated from high school, attended beauty college and was married, living in Utah and had children of my own, the next time I heard anything about Connie.  My husbands parents had retired and moved to Council.  Connie called their home and left a message asking that I call her the next time we came for a visit.  

       I had mixed feelings about seeing her after so many years, but felt I should return her call.  We had a short phone conversation, and set a time for her to come to my in-laws house so we could continue our visit.  The day arrived but Connie didn’t.  I thought I might get a phone call explaining why, but I never heard from her again.  Maybe her thoughts like mine decided that too much time had passed or maybe a child got sick, or her husband said it wasn’t a good idea.  I don’t know, so many things could have happened and now forty years later I will always wonder?