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The toil of harvesting summer crops had ceased in
central Kansas. Garden vegetables were canned and stored away in
cellars along with jellies, jams, and such; and wood was piled high in
preparation for the cold months ahead. Farm folk welcomed the
invigorating fall temperatures that descended across the plains, and
looked forward to a short respite before the rawness of winter
encompassed them.
Thanksgiving was drawing near and Grandmother
Boucher’s family had much to be thankful for. Rain had been plentiful
that year, crops had thrived, and a blessed event was on the way. Her
fourth child was due in early January.
By means of horse and buggy, Grandmother and her
eldest daughter journeyed to church one Sunday morning in mid November
of 1917. They arrived to find many members of the congregation already
inside. Buggies were scattered about the front of the churchyard;
horses were neighing, snorting, and filling the brisk morning air with
clouds of mist from flared nostrils.
With another child on the way Grandma didn’t find
the old, wooden, church pew especially comfortable. Yet, she held her
Bible in one hand and rested the other on her ever-swelling abdomen
while greeting friends and neighbors.
“Hello, Flora. It’s nice to see so many folks here
this morning. Many of us have missed services during harvest.” Lillie
Patterson was seated directly in front of Grandmother and had turned
around to speak. The families had lived on neighboring farms for
years. They chatted up a storm as Lillie tried to keep her huge brood
of children quiet, which required several swats even though they were in
church.
The circuit preacher ran late that cold, wintry
morning. His old riding horse was getting on in years, and more often
than not he was a bit tardy. When he did arrive, he was nearly frozen
to the bone and launched into his sermon having never removed his
gloves.
Once he concluded with a final “Amen,” the
congregation did not linger. Even with the decrepit, old, wood burning
stove working overtime; everyone had remained bundled up in his or her
coat. Quick goodbyes were offered as folks set off on cold, slow trips
home.
Bumping along in the buggy Grandma mentioned to her
daughter, Ethel, “I see Mrs. Patterson has another child on the way
too. If I’m right, this will be her tenth.”
“Mom, are you sure? With everyone wrapped in heavy
coats how could you tell?”
“Oh, I know just from watching her shoulders. I
could tell by the way she was breathing,” replied Grandma quite smugly.
A frigid winter was soon upon them; it blasted its
way out of the Colorado Rockies across the plains of Kansas and
snowstorms came in rapid succession. Additionally, several artic storms
swooped straight down out of Canada and sent temperatures well below
freezing. Seeing after livestock was difficult work even for those of
hearty stock -- keeping ice broken so livestock had access to water and
hauling feed was a fulltime job.
The holiday season was bitter, and as with most
families, Christmas was meager. It was, however, picture perfect with
the landscape buried in snow. Even cattle wore a layer of snow on their
backs and looked as if they were sporting white blankets.
In those days children were happy with nothing more
than an orange and a few nuts in their stockings – although everyone
looked forward to a fine holiday feast. Huge hams were fetched from
smokehouses, while vegetables and jellies were retrieved from cellars
for Christmas dinner. It was the one time of year sugar was not
hoarded; homemade desserts and candies were savored slowly, bite by
precious bite. Especially Grandma Boucher’s homemade chocolate covered
cherries!
In early January of 1918 Grandma gave birth to her
fourth child, my father; he was named Raymond.
In early February of 1918 Lillie Patterson gave
birth to her tenth child, my mother; she was named Lovey.
By the time these two youngsters were in the third
grade they were taking notice of one another, even though they were at
the age when girls and boys claim to hate each other! They attended the
same one-room school for several years, until Lovey’s family moved to a
farm on the far side of the community.
In a matter of years, Lovey and Raymond were
attending high school together and it seemed almost predestined they
would begin courting. It was a Wednesday evening when Dad proposed and
they agreed to “tie the knot” exactly one week later at the courthouse.
Times were lean and few people had actual church weddings.
Two days later they realized their wedding would
fall on “All Fools Day” (as Dad still calls it)! Well, Mother raised
her eyebrows at that revelation! Nonetheless, she finally consented
with one unwavering condition; a Methodist minister must perform the
ceremony in lieu of a judge. With very little time and some fancy
footwork, Dad pulled it all together and they said, “I do.”
From that day forward, the usually straight-laced
Grandmothers delighted in reliving that blustery morning of 1917,
sitting in church with new babies on the way. And they were forever
relentless with comical remarks of their “two little fools” falling in
love, and being so impetuous as to marry on All Fool’s Day.
©2006 Kathleene S. Baker
YELLOW ROSE
www.txyellowrose.com
SHILOH'S TALES |
