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