The Last 15 Years...Sunny February Day 31º

 Most of the time on my trips to Elgin, I spent the night. Before I left for home the next day, Mom and I sat on her porch overlooking the backyard and garden and reminisced about life in Lake Fork, Bountiful and now Elgin, surveying all that we had accomplished. I remember a rather grueling day working in the flowerbeds, trimming trees and washing windows. She, at eighty-seven, kept up with me most of the morning and was upset that she finally had to stop and rest, saying “I do pretty good in the morning but I’m not worth a damn after noon.”  Now, sitting on the porch, she looked at me with that wistful look in her eyes.  I wasn’t sure what she was thinking and then she said, “Oh Della, if I was only ten years younger, just ten years, think what I could do.”  

I couldn’t help myself as I burst our laughing, and I said, “Mom, if you’re going to wish, then wish for at least twenty years!”  Then we both had a good laugh.

When she reached the age of ninety, George said, “Mom I can do your mowing and tilling now, I think you’ve done it long enough.”  For once she didn’t argue.

Mom lived in the little house in Elgin for fifteen years.   Happy and content, she took care of herself, taking pride in cooking a hot meal everyday.  Most often she ate alone but other times children, grandchildren, nieces, nephews or great grandchildren came to visit, share her dinner and listen to her many stories.  Memory was never a problem for Mom.  

At ninety-six, her physical health deteriorated, she was hospitalized and diagnosed with congestive heart failure.  After a short hospital stay, I brought her home.  Barely able to walk with a cane, the next morning she was determined to mix a batch of bread.  As she turned from the sink after “punching” the bread down, her hip gave way and she dropped to the floor.  

A broken hip, three weeks in a Boise, Idaho hospital, then to a care center with the hopes that with rehab she could walk again and go home.  The three weeks that Mom spent at the hospital she held “court,” entertaining everyone that visited her.  She was in charge, her wit never better, and her memory unfailing.  Her mind still sharp, she called the many doctors and nurses by name and never complained no matter how much they poked and prodded.  Instead of a hip replacement, the doctors decided to repair the hip by inserting screws to keep it in place.  After the surgery, as she lay in recovery, the doctor explained that the surgery went well and told her exactly what he did.  When she could have visitors, she would show them her new scars and say, “Can you believe it, I was drugged and screwed in the hospital.”  We listened to her stories and we laughed and cried, but she never shed a tear.

  I think back to one of the days as we sat on the back porch reminiscing, when I asked her: “Mom why didn’t you marry after Daddy’s death?  Forty years is a long time to live alone.”  She leaned back in her chair, her fingers bent and crooked from arthritis. She pushed the hair off her forehead and with a dreamy look in her eyes she replied, “I figured the years I was married to your Dad I had cream and I wasn’t about to settle for skim milk with some other guy.”  

Mom died on July 17, 2005 at her little home in Elgin.  Family and friends gathered at the McCall, Idaho cemetery for her graveside service where she was laid to rest next to her husband and true love, “Whistlin’ Joe.” The end...Hugs to All...OWAV:)  

Photos from happy years in Lake Fork.

Building a relationship...

Mom “taught” me the joys of pressure canning in 1992. She was eighty-three.   After driving sixty miles, I arrived early at her house and was greeted with the smell of meat cooking, the sound of the pressure cooker “hissing away” and her voice, saying, “Della, it’s about time you got here, I already have one canner on the stove and another one almost ready. We wouldn’t be done until midnight if I waited to start until you arrived!” 

I gave her a hug, smiled and said, “I got here as quickly as I could.” 

 Our canning continued throughout the day and into the evening, stopping only for lunch. We boned the turkey meat, washed and sterilized jars, filled jars, and screwed the lids on tight. The processing time for meat is 75 minutes per batch and the pressure gauge must be closely watched to keep it in the normal range.  The pressure cooker held 18 pint jars and in one day we filled it 3 times. We admired the fruits of our labor as finally we rested, played cards and kept close watch on the last cooker of the day. By bedtime that night, 54 pint jars of turkey sat cooling on the counter. 

It had always been easier for Mom to do the canning, rather than be the teacher, but now she let me do the heavy lifting and watched closely as I prepared meat to fill the jars.  I can still hear her voice as she said, “Della, I think this jar needs more meat or are you sure we only have thirty more minutes before the pressure cooker is done?”  I wrote down directions, step-by-step, so when the time came, I could do the job myself. 

 The year she turned ninety and I fifty-seven, she made the decision to send her beloved pressure cooker home with me.  For the next five years, I took small jars of whatever I canned to her and she always admired them as she had her own.  But I could see the longing in her eyes and hear it in her voice when she said, “I wish I could help with the canning.”  

“Yes, Mom it was more fun when we could do it together.” 

We had finally found a common ground and enjoyed our time together.  I realized how glad I was that she made that last move.  I still use that 80-year-old pressure cooker to preserve food for my family and teach my own children and husband the joys of preserving food. Dumpster diving isn’t allowed anymore, but my granddaughter is already a pro looking for bargains at thrift stores and her mother is teaching her the art of canning. to be continued  Hugs To All...OWAV:)

 A 4 generation photo,

Della, Bobi, Gramma Great, 

and Cienna

The Last Move...31º foggy

 After a couple of years, Mom, being the independent one, decided that she again wanted a home of her own and talked to George about property in Elgin, Oregon where he lived.  He found a small house with a garden spot and fruit trees, located less than a mile from him and only sixty miles from where I lived.  The small house needed major renovation to make it livable. George and I, with the help of Mom’s grandkids, enlarged the bathroom and added new fixtures. George’s daughters pitched in to clean and paint the inside of the house. Appliances installed, drapes hung and new carpet laid throughout.  

In August of 1990, Mom, eighty-one years old, made her last move. I can’t say that I was happy about the move.  Mom and I had never been close: she was not affectionate like Daddy and she was jealous when my sisters and I openly loved Daddy more than her.  He was easy to love, she was not.  Mom could be very demanding and controlling and at eighty years old I wasn’t sure how self-sufficient she would be. As she aged, more health issues would appear and I knew that it would fall to me to care for her. My brother was recently divorced and living with Clair, but not married, much to Mom’s dismay.  Both of them had a history of drinking too much and I knew problems could arise from that.  Red flags were flying all around my head.  I decided not to worry about something I had no control over and take one day at a time.

Most of my worry was for naught.  The next ten years, Mom did most of her own gardening, which included using the roto-tiller and mowing her lawn.  She hired help with the housework.  We developed a pattern of George and Clair helping her with certain things and Herb and I helping her with others. Extended family members were always available if we needed more help. I made bimonthly trips to Elgin taking her to doctor appointments and grocery shopping in nearby La Grande. Her favorite place for lunch was “Kentucky Fried Chicken” because the food was always hot, filling and inexpensive.

I worked side by side with her, planting and weeding new flowerbeds.  We harvested vegetables, made pickles and turned apples into applesauce. I brought starts home from her flowerbeds and soon planted gardens of my own; with her encouragement I learned more about gardening and began to see the joy it could bring. 

Mom loved preserving food and especially liked pressure-cooking meat.  She bought turkeys on sale at Thanksgiving time, kept them in the freezer until late winter, then thawed and boned them, packed them in jars and processed them in a vintage pressure cooker bought shortly after she and Daddy were married.  She cherished her old pressure cooker, thoroughly washing and drying it before placing it back in storage, as though it were a diamond ring too precious to wear everyday. Along with making jam, canning peaches and pears, and making pickles, I was about to learn how to pressure can meat.to be continued...Hugs To All.,,OWAV:)

 On a cold January morning Mom made a solo trip to the grocery store for the bargain of the day. Returning home, she was rear-ended as she waited to turn into her driveway. She arrived at the hospital emergency room January 28, 1986 and was left unattended, because everyone was watching the space shuttle tragedy on television.  The space shuttle Challenger lifted off from its Florida launch pad that morning and just seventy-three seconds later it exploded, killing all seven astronauts on board. 

Mom eventually got treatment for whiplash, then called Aunt Jessie to give her a ride home, because her 57 Chevy was totaled.  She debated for some time about getting another car but finally decided at 77 years of age to depend on other people for transportation.  

A few months later, my sister Mona and her husband, Jerry, moved to Bountiful.  They soon drove Mom wherever she wanted to go, helped with yard work and worked together canning and gardening.  Her health remained good but her right knee was a constant reminder that her body was showing its age.  After a knee replacement in her late seventies she faithfully did the physical therapy, joined an exercise program and walked daily until the artificial knee was stronger than her own.  The neighborhood where she lived changed rapidly. The once quiet street in front of her house now a four-lane thoroughfare and commercial businesses edged close to her property.  She kept her doors securely locked and worried about increasing crime in the neighborhood.

For several years, Mona and Jerry talked of building a new home and they included Mom in the planning.  They bought property, and set to the task of designing their home including an apartment for her. Mom worried about loosing her independence, but realized as she aged, it would be difficult to maintain her own home. The new house was built and the two families melded together. to be continued ...Hugs to All...OWAV:)

PS...Altogether Mom spent 17 years in bountiful and had other adventures besides "dumpster diving." Lavinia, the oldest sister, invited the three younger sisters to join her, all expenses paid, on a 3 week trip to Europe, the trip of a lifetime for them...Mom also was able to attend the yearly family reunions with her brothers and sisters and extended families...She celebrated her 80th birthday at Steve and Loraine's home in Porterville that all of her children, many of her grandchildren and, "greats" attended.

Europe, here we come!

A family reunion

Charles, Wally, Raymond and Griffen

4 our of 6 brothers still alive.

80 years young.

Della goes Dumpster Diving...18º. sunshine in the forecast.

 At first they just took enough for them to eat. Then they started sharing with other relatives.  They couldn’t stand to see all the good fruits and vegetables hauled to the dump.  They even developed their own recipe, making a fruit marmalade with overtones of melon.  A case of grapes was spread out to dry and soon turned into plump, juicy raisins.  Mushrooms lightly rinsed, sliced and dried in the oven on low heat and broccoli and cauliflower trimmed, blanched and frozen.  This bonanza awaited them every week.

  I arrived that summer for my annual visit. It was 1985, and I was fifty-three years old.  I barley got my suitcase in the door when Mom said, “Della, come on change your clothes and let’s go check out the dumpster.”  

We made nightly trips; sometimes driving by, other times stopping when we spied a promising box. One night in particular, I remember hanging down inside the dumpster with Mom holding onto my feet, while I reached for a cantaloupe, just an arm’s length away.  Soon we were both laughing and I struggled to get out of the dumpster before I ended up on my head.  

That year when I returned home, my car was loaded with new and interesting delicacy, everything gleaned from the dumpster. Looking back, I feel so glad Mom and Aunt Jessie had these years together. They enjoyed the hours around the quilting frame and excursions to the dumpster, laughing and having fun, forgetting about their differences.

Mom loved her years in Utah: the long growing season, warm nights and hot days where her garden produced an unbelievable amount of fresh produce.  She picked fruit to can and vegetables at the peak of freshness for her dinner table.  Peaches, tree ripened, were one of her favorites. I can still see her as she picked a ripe peach, brushed it on her pant leg to remove some of the fuzz and took that first bite, juice dripping from her chin and a smile as broad as the Great Salt Lake, spread across her face. to be continued  Hugs to All...OWAV:) 

PS...When we celebrated Moms 80th birthday, she made an appointment to have a family photo taken...We didn't ask where, just followed her directions to downtown Salt Lake City...The photographer lined us up, said smile, snapped the picture and said, I will mail the photo to your address...This was where Mom had her passport photo taken!..Not a great photo, but not a bad one.

Loraine, George, Barbara

Idella, Mom, Mona

Bad watermelon/good watermelon...22º, maybe inch of snow

 “It looks like a watermelon to me and a perfectly good watermelon at that.”

 It didn’t take long for both ladies, bad knees and all to get out of the car, scoop up the watermelon with only one little rotten spot on the end, load it into the trunk and leave the parking lot.  Back home the watermelon was divided in half and I’m sure, to them, it tasted better than the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden. Mom told me about this little escaped over the phone, announcing they planned to go back in a few days to see what else they could find.

That was the beginning of Mom and Aunt Jessie’s dumpster diving. Now instead of polyester pantsuits, they wore blue jeans. They went in the cool of the evening on the days the dumpster was quite full.  This made it easier for them to reach things, but soon they scaled the side of the dumpster because the good stuff was always just out of reach.

Not long after the watermelon incident, I answered my phone and heard Mom’s excited voice: “Della when are you coming to Utah?  Jessie and I are finding so much good food thrown in the dumpster.”  Her voice grew animated and she talked fast, I could hardly understand her.

“Wait a minute, Mom, slow down. Who is throwing perfectly good food into a dumpster?” I twisted the phone cord around my fingers, rolled my eyes and wondered could she really be serious?  My mother and my aunt rummaging through dumpsters like a couple of skid row bums!

“Oh Della, you know at the grocery store, if something has a little rotten spot in it they throw it away. Don’t they know that people are starving in this world?  Jessie and I have been getting it out of the dumpster and bringing it home. It is really good stuff.  Just the other day we got the most delicious pineapple and melons.”

“Okay, okay, Mom but what about germs and varmints in the dumpster?  It is one thing to pick up a watermelon, but digging stuff out of the dumpster…I don’t know if that is such a good idea. Do you think it is safe to eat that food?”

“Della, for heavens sake, we cut out the bad spots, wash everything really good and it is better than what they have in the produce case in the store.  I can hardly wait for you to get here, I need help taking care of all this stuff.” to be continued...Hugs To All...OWAV:)

PS...I wish I had photos of these shenanigans, but you will have to use your imagination...I will post some family photos, to add interest.

Back row, Blanche, Jessie, Front row, Lavinia, & Peggy

Dumpster diving...27º 1 to 2 inches of snow overnight

 A review of Mom's life after Daddy passed away...She continued to live in their new home for 12 years, the first 3 years she spent time away in winter visiting with daughters and families...Then she worked at the Shore Lodge for nearly 10 years...In the meantime her mother passed away and she purchased her home, located in Bountiful, Utah, thinking of a possible move nearer family,...Keeping the place up, working full time and surviving the harsh winters became too much and in 1973, she sold the house and 10 acres and made the move to Bountiful. Her story continues now as she and her sister Jessie work and play together.

I often think about these two women in their later years, living near each other, Mom a widow and Aunt Jessie widowed and remarried. A time in their lives when two mature women should be able to connect and become friends. They had a common love of hand quilting and would spend winter days around the quilting frame, stitching and talking about days gone by, stopping only when the tantalizing smell of a pot roast made their stomachs rumble like rocks in a landslide.  They were both excellent quilters and always compared the size of their tiny stitches, who grew the juiciest peaches or who made the flakiest piecrust. No matter what they did competition and bickering remained. 

Sometime, these arguments provided fodder for great family humor. Those years Mom and Aunt Jessie lived near each other in Bountiful, both in their late seventies, they shopped for groceries together each week. Mom drove a 57 Chevy, Aunt Jessie a 62 Cadillac.  One morning, Mom answered the phone on the second ring, as Aunt Jessie said, “Are you ready to go shopping?”  

“Of course,” answered my mom, “I’ve been ready for a half hour, where are you?” 

“I’m leaving the house right now,” said Aunt Jessie, “you better be ready.”

On that sunny April morning, Aunt Jessie wheeled into the driveway and Mom hurried into the car.  “Shall we go to Smith’s Foods or Reams first?” asked Aunt Jessie.

“Let’s go to Smith’s,” Mom said: “They have turkey hinds on sale and we want to get there while the selection is still good.”   

The year was 1985; interest rates were at an all time high, and a recession just around the corner.  Both ladies had gardens, berry bushes and fruit trees.  They canned and stored everything they could for winter, but they were always looking for a bargain. The pastel polyester pantsuits they wore were sewn in the latest style and fashioned by their own hands. Their striking gray, almost white hair teased and smoothed into a bouffant.  Dressier shoes relegated to the closet, they now wore tennis shoes, finding that comfort was much more important than looks. 

 Aunt Jessie slowed down as she pulled into Reams parking lot, looking for an empty space. Every spot close to the front door was filled.  “Great,” said Aunt Jessie, “I knew we should have come here first, now we will have to park in the back by the dumpsters.”   

“It won’t hurt us to walk,” said my Mom. “The boys will carry our groceries to the car.”  

“Okay we’ll walk, but remember our knees aren’t what they use to be.” 

Inside the store, each with a cart, they carefully compared prices, filling their carts only with sale items. Back in the parking lot, groceries loaded, Aunt Jessie was ready to start the car when Mom said, “Jessie look, isn’t that a watermelon in that box next to the dumpster?” to be continued...Hugs To All...OWAV:)

Mom and Aunt Jessie

Memories of Daddy...

It was a bitter/sweet day when Daddy walked me down the aisle on June 10th. Daddy spent two months in the hospital with Mom at his side...He  died on October 15, 1961, age 54...He left this earth, a wealthy man, not in money, but because he was  remembered as a good neighbor, hard worker, honest in dealings, and most of all because of his love for family. 

  Although “Celebrations of Life” were not done in the 60’s, after Daddy’s funeral we did celebrate his life. Back at the new home, friends and neighbors arrived with food, enough to feed a small army. Family and friends joined together eating, talking and laughing as we reminisced about the many good times in Daddy’s life, his accomplishments, his sense of humor, his kind heart and his straight forward thinking. He was a jovial person, never giving up, always ready to start over. We talked about and shared the many sayings that peppered his everyday speech, and the swear words he used to express himself. 

That evening Mom and we five “kids” returned to the cemetery to pay our respects and say our last goodbyes. I noticed the sign on the gate leading into the cemetery it said “Dead End”. My Dad would have thought that extremely funny and it struck me that way as well. Daddy never wanted to be buried but cremation wasn’t common then. He didn’t like the idea of being put in a cement vault in the ground, and said, “I don’t want my body turning to jelly instead of dust, why don’t you just sharpen my head and pound me into the ground like a post?” We laughed over this idea while he was still alive. Many times after a long work day, he would make the remark that with his luck he wouldn’t get to rest after he died, because resurrection would probably come on the day after. That didn’t happen and maybe in the ensuing fifty years he has been able to rest. 

Now when I’ve been at the cemetery for short visits, I hear whistling through the trees, his voice murmuring:  “They did it anyway; dressed me in a suit and tie, put me in a God Damn cement box and covered me with dirt. Not my choice.” 

I wish we had at least dressed him in his bib overalls!.. Hugs to All...OWAV:)   

Before my wedding.

George and Marlenes 4 oldest girls

ready for the wedding.

A bitter sweet day...28º Cloudy

 I finished beauty school in 10 months, moved back to Lake Fork to my parents new home, mid March, and began making plans for my upcoming wedding, June 10th 1961...Mom and Daddy had just returned home from their "vacation/working" on the Salmon river outside of Riggins, Idaho...They had spent about 3 weeks and had lots of stories to tell... We spent many enjoyable evenings trading stories, about fishing on the salmon river and my time in beauty school.

The snow was melting and the garden plot would soon be ready to plant, and the lawn area was also waiting to be seeded...Many jobs lay ahead...Daddy never complained, kept working, even though he was always in pain...We made a trip to Twin Falls, where I found a wedding dress, and fabric for bridesmaid dresses...I was the first daughter to have a planned wedding, so this was new to all of us.

It was a bitter/sweet day on June 10th, when Daddy walked me down the aisle, the last of his girls to marry...He was definitely showing signs of his illness and we all fought back tears, knowing this would be out last family gathering...It was heart breaking, and we were all trying to get good, smiling photos, when we were all torn apart.

The wedding went off without a hitch, we had an overnight "honey moon" in Boise, Idaho...I was up early Monday morning fixing my new husband, breakfast and Lunch, Herb was off to work as he would be for the next 34 years...to be continued... Hugs To All...OWAV:)

Joe, Blanche, Frances

and Elmer

Daddy and Me.

The first and last

time, Herb carried me

over the threshold or anywhere

else.

Selling the Farm...22º cloudy/clear

After Mona's marriage,  from 1956 to 1960, I was the "right hand man."  (George helped when he could, but had his own family to take care of), and a teenage girl can only do so much! We all worked hard, played very little, but it never seemed to be  enough. For several years in the early spring both Mom and Dad worked in the local potato cellars sorting potatoes for the spring planting.  He bought more milk cows and milking machines and had a good business, selling raw milk ($1.00 a gallon) for several years. They did everything possible to bring in extra money to survive the long winters. I’ve heard a trite saying, “If one works hard, he will be lucky.” That didn’t happen with my Dad; no matter how hard he worked he again found himself in debt, and he had to make some changes.

 I graduated from high school in May 1960, started Beauty School in June. That left Daddy without a “right hand man”, plus he was totally worn out! It was time to sell.

A buyer was found, equipment auctioned off, debts paid. A new place to live was built on a knoll overlooking the valley and Jug Handle Mountain. It looked like Daddy’s luck might change. He could work odd jobs that would bring in enough money for them to live a simple life. Maybe travel a little, enjoy grandchildren, and even have time to go fishing. It would be like retirement but he could still keep busy.

 Not long after that, a routine gall bladder surgery for continual digestive problems turned into a life sentence. In October of 1960, Daddy was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and given six months to a year to live. 

My parents made the most of the time they had left together. That fall and winter they worked making the new home more comfortable for Mom. It was not the log home Mom had always dreamed of, but a large single wide trailer on a basement, with room for grown children and grandchildren to visit…Daddy felt good enough (pain was kept down with medication) in early spring, so they signed on with a fishing charter on the salmon river out of Riggins, Idaho. Mom would cook for the guests and Daddy would help her in the kitchen and also help the guide with the guests. It was a wonderful time for them, more like a vacation than a job. 

In March of 1961, I finished beauty school and returned home to make preparations for my June wedding. to be continued...Hugs To All...OWAV:)

High school graduation.

Beauty school photo.

 The Park Motel where she worked was family owned and in April of 1956 the owner’s son was home on a months leave from the navy. His name was Jerry and he thought this petite “maid” was extremely cute and not noticing the diamond on her left hand or maybe he did but didn’t let it stop him, asked if she would go to the movie with him. She immediately said “No, I’m engaged to be married”, thinking that would be the end of it. But the next day and the next he persisted, she kept saying no. She related these stories as well as a description of Jerry to us as we sat around the table at supper one night.

“This Jerry guy is a real dork, he wears glasses that are as thick as coke bottles, is pigeon toed and has really big teeth. Everywhere I go he is just around the corner and keeps insisting that I should go out with him. Just one date he keeps saying.” 

After 3 days of this constant diatribe Mona came home and said, “I told the dork that I would go to the movie with him tonight, maybe that will shut him up and he will leave me alone.” That one date led to another and then much to everyone’s surprise, Mona told Mom that she had invited Jerry to have supper with us. We all wondered why? Introductions were made and conversation around the table flowed smoothly as we ate our usual supper of “bread and milk” and leftovers. We finished eating; Daddy lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair. My brother George and I excused ourselves and started toward the living room and the TV set. Mona and Jerry stood up and moved nearer to Daddies chair and said, “We have something to talk to you and Mom about.” Moments later George and I heard a loud bang as Daddies fist hit the kitchen table followed by the clattering of dishes as they settled back into place and Daddies voice boomed, “Jesus H. Christ, what do you mean you want to get married? You’ve only known each other for a week, hell no you can’t get married?” 

“But Daddy.” 

“No buts about it young lady, I said no.” 

“Daddy I will run away and get married, I’m almost 19 and you can’t stop me. Jerry has to report back to his base two weeks from now and I’m going to be his wife when he leaves. We want your blessing.”

“Holy ole’ bald headed Christ, what has gotten into you child, you are engaged to another man and now after only one week you think you are in love and want to marry this man. Can we talk about this tomorrow after your mother and I have a few hours to think and you have time to come to your senses?”

“Okay Daddy, whatever you want, but my mind is made up!”

After what must have been a sleepless night, Mom and Daddy accepted what they couldn’t change and watched as Mona wrote her “Dear John Letter” to Bob, carefully packaged the diamond ring and mailed it at the post office.

A whirlwind of activity enveloped the ranch as Mona forged ahead with her plans to marry and move to Boston. After only a week’s preparation, Mona dressed in one of her prom formals and Jerry in his Navy uniform repeated their vows in the living room of our Long Valley ranch with family and friends as witnesses, a Justice of the Peace officiated and Jerry slipped a borrowed wedding band on Mona’s finger. After the reception they left in a cloud of dust, beer and pop cans clanging and banging behind the car, for a three-day honeymoon before Jerry reported to his base in Boston, Massachusetts.

Mona spent the next week sorting and packing her clothes into two large trunks before boarding a train in Boise, Idaho. She said to me recently, “Della I prayed the entire time, on the train, that Jerry would be at the station waiting for me as with time to think, I realized the enormity of my decision.” Our Dad still had doubts about her decision and they soon became worries when several weeks passed without a letter from Mona. Finally after many special trips to the post office Daddy came home smiling, handed an envelope to Mom and said, “She is okay.” Hugs to All...OWAV:)

 

I will end this story here, but want to say that Mona and I left the sibling rivalry of our younger years and had a loving relationship as adults...Herb and I vacationed with Mona and Jerry many times and Mona and I took care of Mom in her final days.

Back row, Mom, Dad,

Jerry's Dad, Frank and Stepmom, Joyce

Mona and Jerry

Mona gets married, Bob or Jerry?... 32º snowing

My sister Mona and I six years apart in age had our differences growing up. She held the place of “Daddies girl” until I arrived, then she grudgingly shared him with me. At first I became her live baby doll as she checked out each tiny finger and toe, fed me from a bottle and easily left me in the care of our two older sisters when she tired of me and my dirty diapers. As we grew older Mona found that with the words, “I’ll tell Mom on you,” she could get me to do her chores, rub her back, bring her something to eat, and cater to her every whim. I became the slave, she the master. Under pressure from Mom she had to let me tag along with her and her friends. I remember when she was in high school and able to drive the car to town where she would meet up with friends at the drive-in. This group of friends experimented with smoking and Mona joined in. Pall Malls was the cigarette of choice and Sen-Sens the breath mint to hide the smell. They didn’t offer me a cigarette but did share the foul tasting Sen-Sens with me and Mona would say on our way home “Don’t you dare tell Mom and Dad that I’m smoking or you will never go to town with me again.” I kept the secret.

Mona was small and petit and about her junior year in High School I caught up with her in size and weight. We loved watching wrestling on TV and then practiced the moves on each in the middle of the living room. We usually ended up one of us mad the other one crying and Daddy refereeing and sending us both to our room to get over it. 

I remember one night as we crawled into bed and Mona’s lament, “Della, rub my back.”

“No I’m tired of rubbing your back every night.”

“You better or I will tell Mom and Dad on you.”

“What are you going to tell them, I haven’t done anything for you to tell. Maybe I should tell them that you and your friends are smoking.” 

And with that I stomped out of the room and into the spare bedroom where I spent the night. The next day I moved my belongings into the spare room. I didn’t rat on her about her smoking but Dad found her stash of cigarettes and she got a stern lecture, which didn’t stop her. But I never rubbed her back again! 

Mona with her gregarious nature, sparkling blue eyes and quick wit was popular in high school and never lacked a steady boyfriend. In the summer before her senior year, she met and started dating Bob while he was working road construction near our home. At Christmas they announced their engagement and his enlistment in the Navy. Mona graduated from high school in May of 1955. She worked along side Daddy during the summer and fall and then not interested in continuing her education she went to work as a maid, cleaning motel rooms in McCall Idaho. Mona would continue living at home and now was employed, earning and saving her money for their life together. to be continued  Hugs to All...OWAV:)

Mona's graduation

Would she ever ride a 

horse again?

More stories of the Lake Fork Years... 29º Maybe sun or snow?

 I'm not sure of the dates of this occasion, but think it was summer 1955...My sister Loraine and her husband Steve were finally going to get their dream home...A house with acreage in Porterville, Utah where Loraine had spent her teenage years and Steve was born and raised...When Loraine signed the papers Loraine Ashton Smith, someone in the deal, said that it wasn't legal and she would have to sign it Loraine Fields Smith...She wasn't about to do that!!

It all stemmed from the fact that Daddy had never legally adopted Loraine and Barbara...They had always used his name and he had always intended to but when he had time, he didn't have the money...Now when push came to shove, he found both time and money and plans were made for all "parties" to be in Lake Fork to go before the judge, (in Cascade, Idaho, the county seat) on a certain date to legally make the "girls" his very own.

Steve, Loraine and family came from Utah...Barbara and her son Alan, came from Spokane, (husband Jim couldn't leave his job) for the big event...Mona and I were the appointed baby sitters for eight children, 7 Smith kids and 1 Stephens boy...Sad to say I really don't remember anything about this day, and if there wasn't a photo, I probably wouldn't be writing this story...I do know it was a happy day for all involved...Hugs To All...OWAV:)

I have only this photo, not one of Barbara and Alan.

top, Steve, Blanchie, Loraine

2nd Stephanie, George

3rd Vickie, Mona Jody, Melvin

A side story here is about the blue formal I was wearing in the prom photo in a previous blog...My sister Barbara brought it from Spokane because she knew that I had a "formal dance," in my future.

The years flew by... 33º Maybe snow.

 For the next ten years Daddy, with Mom at his side, improved their property by remodeling the house, adding a bathroom and developing a new water system. By using good farming practices the land became more fertile, which meant better crops and any extra money was invested in more land. By this time, my brother George’s family was growing and he found a steady job in the logging industry and helped on the farm when he had days off. Mona and I became Daddies right hand “men”, always with him whether it was milking cows, taking care of the animals or harvesting the crops. Mona was especially good on horseback and spent most of her time riding the range, checking on the animals and moving them to better pasture when needed. We could both drive at the age of ten and spent much more time on a tractor, wearing jeans and T-shirts than in the house learning how to cook, sew or do laundry. 

I remember learning how to mow hay on a hot July day. All of Daddies jobs were stacking up as he had hay that was ready to bale and a field that needed mowing. After breakfast that morning he said, “Della, do you think you can mow that field of alfalfa today?”  

“I think so Daddy, I’ve driven the tractor and raked hay lots of times. I would like to mow because I love the smell of freshly cut alfalfa.”

“Mowing is a little different than raking, you have to be very careful of what you are doing, with the power take off and the sickle blade both to worry about. Come with me now and I’ll get you started. We’ll see how you do.”

After about four rounds of Daddy riding on the tractor with me, I was able to push or pull the right lever to raise the sickle at the end of every row, make a big wide turn and come back around, then lower the sickle and start cutting right where I had left off. I had such a feeling of pride that I could again help my dad, so his workload was lessened.

“Okay Sister, looks like you’ve got it, just keep the tractor in this gear, don’t try to go any faster and pay attention!  I’ll be back at lunch time to see how you are doing.” to be continued...Hugs To All...OWAV:)

 

Mona on Trixie

Daddy on the tractor   GrandMa Parkin visit         

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Mona on tractor          Mom and Daddy

Me and Daddy

Me & Diane (niece)

Working hard, settling in, disappointment, 35º Cloudy

 Daddy planned to make a new start in Valley County, (Lake Fork) a place he grew to love. He was forty-four years old, strong, healthy and one of the hardest working men I have ever known. He farmed the two hundred acres of tillable land and again contracted out his labor and machinery to neighbors for extra income. 

He left the milk cows, all but one, in Utah swearing he would never be a slave to them again, but had to eat his words when it became apparent that they afforded the only way to have a small steady income, to supply much needed cash. He brought home bum lambs from a big sheep rancher and started a herd of sheep. He also diversified with a small herd of Angus/Hereford cattle. Pigs and chickens were added to the mix.

Two hundred acres of timberland came in the purchase and would be logged and sold to pay off the mortgage and finally Daddy would own property free and clear. That was his dream. The sound of chainsaws echoed high on the hill at the edge of the property in the spring of 1951. Daddy investigated and found a small local timber company (part of a larger timber company) cutting timber on his new property. They claimed to have the timber rights on this property and had moved machinery into this part of the forest, using an old logging road for access instead of using the road that passed by our house. Daddy immediately sought legal help, but the sound of chainsaws continued. 

After many heart wrenching months, the case was settled out of court. But what did he have left?  Yes, the cash settlement paid off the lawyers and other bills associated with the court case. But the company harvested and sold the prime timber, leaving the land scared and ravaged.  His dream of owning land, free and clear, again only a dream. Although I saw him bitter and defeated he still struggled on, thinking that more hard work would someday pay off. He somehow kept a positive attitude never losing his sense of humor. to be continued...Hugs To All...OWAV:)

PS...A one room school house with 10 students (some not in photo) and 1 teacher...Mona started high school the next year and I stayed at Wood Grove the next 4 years, when all county schools were consolidated...Mona had not wanted to leave Porterville, after starting school there and almost ready to start high school, she wasn't very happy about this move...I being younger, loved it from the very beginning.

Mona is top, middle in 8th grade

Idella is bottom, left, 3rd grade.

The last day of school at

Wood Grove 1951

Mom, Idella, Mona

Bears killing our sheep were 

trapped and killed.

Daddy and George, building 

a vee plow, trying to

keep the roads clear

of snow.