Journal of Memories (continued)
by Bertha Williams Hood

Smallpox

There was one grave outside the Vashti cemetery, at the southwest corner. Marvin Hearn and
his  wife  lived  in  the  Indian  Territory.  They attended a celebration there, and they
thought  she might have caught smallpox from a sick Indian baby. Anyway, she took sick and
died.  Her  husband made his way back home and called the family out into the yard to tell
them he would soon be taking it. His father moved the mother and six daughters and most of
their  household  good to another place. Then he stayed on to take care of his son; he had
had  varioloid,  a  light  form  of  smallpox,  and was immune. There was no known cure nor
vaccination  against  smallpox at that time. Marvin died. Dr, Ball and a few other men who
were  also  immune carried the coffin across the road and down to the grave that neighbors
had  dug.  It  was  the  law  in Texas that a smallpox victim had to be carried across any
county  road  between  dusk  and  dawn  and could not be buried within the cemetery gates.
Marvin  was buried by himself outside the fence. In later years land was bought to enlarge
the  cemetery,  and the fence was moved outward to include his grave with everyone else's.
His family was comforted by that.


The Galveston Flood Hurricane

Alicia  brought  back  my memory of the Galveston Flood of 1900. It was the worst recorded
disaster in North American history, with 8000 dead and another 500 left so dazed that they
never  regained  their  reason.  We received the news at Vashti over the telegraph wire to
Bellevue.  It  rained a steady downpour for three days, even that far away from the coast.
Pap had a renter, a couple named Bohannan, who had relatives living in Galveston. They were
so  concerned  for the safety of their kin that they would walk in the rain and mud to our
little  town  to try and find out if any news had come in. Each day the reports were worse
than  the  day before. As soon as the weather cleared and they could travel, the Bohannans
moved  back  to  South  Texas  to  try  to find some trace of their relatives. The city of
Galveston authorities determined that such a disaster must not happen again. A seawall was
built  ten  miles  long  and  seventeen  feet high. I was told it was wide enough that two
vehicles  could  be driven abreast on top of the wall. I remember thinking I wouldn't want
to  be  in a buggy riding on top of that wall- what is the horse got scared? But then I've
always been a 'fraidy cat when it came to trusting horses.


Celebrating Christmas

When I first remember Christmas, we hung our long black stockings up by the fireplace, and
in  the  morning  we would find they were filled with an orange nd apple, nuts, candy, and
some  little toys. Everything smelled SO good; they seemed to smell a lot better then than
they  do  today-the  oranges  and apples. The two little ones in the family, Dewey and I ,
slept  in  a  trundle bed. The big beds were higher off the floor then. The little trundle
bed  had rollers on it, and the sides were high enough for a mattress but a little shorter
than  a  big  bed. It could be rolled underneath the big bed in the daytime to create more
space  in the bedroom. I don't know what ever became of that little bed after we got large
enough so that I slept with Mary and Dewey slept with Burord. Anyway, we could hardly wait
for  Papa  to  get up and build a fire so we could hop out of bed and see what Santa Claus
had brought us. Out town of Vashti started having a community Christmas trees. More people
had  moved  there  and were attending church, so the churches all met together at a called
meeting  and  committees were appointed. There was a committee to find a tree and bring it
in  and  set it up. Most people liked having the celebration at the Baptist Church because
it was easier to get the tree in and out the double doors in front, but the Methodists and
Baptists  took  turns  having the tree at their church. Everybody met together to practice
songs,  and  I can still remember the verses and chorus of one song that was pretty-"Shine
On, Bright Star." The basic tree was a postoak or blackjack that didn't have any leaves on
it  that  time of year. The tree committee would contact some-one who had cedar trees down
in  a  draw,  and  evergreen  branches  would be cut from them, brought in and tied to the
branches  of  the  bare  tree. It made a very pretty tree, and oh, it smelled so good with
that  newly cut cedar. Then there was another committee to trim the tree. There were little
candle  holders  that  pinched  onto the limbs and held red, green,blue, and white candles
which  were  lighted  just  before  the  people  arrived. Young people would meet to string
cranberries  and  popcorn for tree trimmings. Later, tinsel and angel ornaments were used.
We  didn't  have a lot of pretty wrapping paper, so most of the gifts were just tagged and
hung  over  the  limbs  or set on the floor underneath the tree. When everybody got to the
church  the  program  would  begin.  Usually,  the  younger children would sing "Away In a
Manger,"  and  sometimes  there  would be a cradle with a real baby or a doll wrapped in a
baby  blanket.  Then  Brother  Walker  would  read the Christmas Story and preach a little
sermonette.  By  that  time the children were getting restless and were looking toward the
back door. Then we'd hear bells and "HO,HO,HO," and here would come Santa Claus with white
whickers,  all  dressed  up  in  his red suit. His bag was slung over his shoulder, and he
handed  out  candy  as  he came down the aisle. The committee for calling out the names and
distributing  presents from the tree went forward, and some young people of about fourteen
or fifteen would deliver them to the person whose name was on each gift. So it wasn't long
before  the  tree  was  bare again. The teachers in all of the lower Sunday School classes
would  meet  together  before Christmas and sew bags out of mosquito netting (we called it
mosquito  bar)  which  would sometimes be red and sometimes white or blue. The man who ran
the  grocery  store  would  order  boxes  of  oranges,  apples,  nuts,  and pretty candies
especially  for  this  occasion  and  would charge the churches just what it cost him; the
participating  churches  made  up money to buy these things. The teachers would fill these
bags,  tie  them, and put them in boxes. Each would see to it that her pupils got a bag of
goodies.  Those  who  couldn't be present because of illness would get their bags the next
day  or  the  next Sunday. There were always some extra bags for ht very old or for anyone
who  hadn't  received  a present off the tree. Later, when people started having Christmas
trees  in  their  own homes, interest in having a community tree was lost. One man said he
hated  to  see  it  go because there were some children in the community who only had that
Christmas celebration, when they would come to the church tree and enjoy it.


Washday

Washday  was a very busy day. Papa and the boys would set out the big wash pot on the west
side  of  the house and build a fire under it; Then they would draw water from the well to
fill  it.  Mama would cut up lye soap to put in it- the lye soap she made from grease after
hog  killing.  We'd  always run the clothes through one water to get out most of the dirt.
Then  we'd  put  the clothes into the pot, punch them down with a broom handle, boil them,
then  take  them  out  and  rinse  them  through  two waters. Then wed starch them. Almost
everything was starched to make the clothes look nicer, and Mama thought the dirt came out
of  starched clothes better when she washed them the next time. We would put bluing in the
water  to  brighten  the white clothes. On the side of the tub was a wringer that we'd run
the  clothes though to extract the water. We had to watch for buttons and lay them flat to
go  through  the  wringer  or  they'd  pop  off.  Then  we'd  hang  the first batch on the
clothesline. By the time the second group was ready to hang the first ones were dry enough
to  bring  in. We would lay them across the bed until we had a bedfull of starched clothes.
The last clothes in the wash-the men's heavy work clothes, rags, and such-were hung on the
garden fence. Then everything to be ironed was dampened down to prepare for the next day's
work.  We'd  build  a  file in the fireplace or cookstove, no matter if it was August, and
heat  our  irons there. We'd clip one of the old sadirons onto the handle and iron, maybe,
half a sleeve before it would cool off and we would have to exchange it for a hot one. The
first time Buford came home from college he brought a gasoline iron he had bought in order
to  press  clothes  for  the other boys and make a little spending money. We really though
that  was grand to have and iron with which we could just stand in one spot, instead of the
sadirons  which  were either too hot or too cold even if we did change them constantly. It
was  a  great  improvement on ironing day to have a gasoline iron. When Mary would get the
bed all rounded up with freshly starched and ironed clothes-of coarse, girls then wore two
or three gathered and lace trimmed white petticoats under their dresses- she'd say, "Oh, I
just  wish I had somewhere to go to wear all of these!" I was more stingy with my clothes,
and  I didn't want to do that much ironing again for a few days. When the clothes were all
ironed  good  and dry, they were laid away carefully in a long dress box where we kept our
Sunday-go-to-meeting  dresses. If they weren't stored absolutely dry they might mildew and
ruin.


The Walkers

One  year  we had a lot of excitement. A family bought the Rollins place, across the road,
and  they moved into the house which was down the road a short distance from ours. Our new
Neighbors  were  Brother  J.  Hugh Walker, a Presbyterian minister, his wife Lillie, along
with  their  five  children: Dewitt, Lee, Earl, Beulah, and Agnes. Dewitt later married my
sister  Mary.  Beulah, the older girl, was just a little younger that I; it was her first
year  in school and my second. We walked together to school every day and every year until
we  both graduated from the tenth grade, which was as far as our school was taught. We had
great  times together and like to play either at my house or hers-not every day, though. We
usually  visited  in  each  other's  homes  about  once  a week. She was a wonderful "best
friend."  Brother  Walker  had  a  fine orchard. The soil was deep and the trees were dark
green. Beulah and I had a lot of fun playing in the orchard. I remember in the late spring
or  early  summer,  about  the time the June apples got ripe, we would find what we called
June  bugs sucking where a bird had pecked an apple. I would catch a bug, and Beulah would
tie about a two-yard measure of sewing thread around its leg from which we would tether it
to the end of a limb. Then we'd catch another and tie a thread on it. We'd get them out in
the  open  between the trees where they wouldn't get tangled in the branches, and we'd see
which  one  would  fly  around the longest. They made such a loud whirring noise, but when
they  stopped  flying  and buzzing we would cut the thread and let them go. Brother Walker
had  such  nice  fruit. He  would  keep whatever they wanted to use and sell the rest for a
dollar  a  bushel.  They  didn't  have  bushel baskets, as I remember, but they had a tall
straight-sided  galvanized  bucket that was called a bushel. It was marked on the sides to
indicate  a  fourth, half, or three-fourths of a bushel, and it was used mainly to measure
grains, corn,  oats,  wheat,  barley,and  cotton seed when they'd be selling them. But very
often  they'd  use it to measure other things, such as sweet potatoes and their fruits. We
children  were  allowed  to  pick  all  of the ripe fruits, such as berries,apples,peaches,
plums,  and  grapes  that  we wanted to eat, but we weren't allowed to pick them green, bite
into  them, and  throw  them  away like some youngsters do nowadays. We had to learn by the
color, texture and feel of the fruit when it was ripe and to be patient for a few more days
when  it  wasn't  ready.  When we had young animals born at either place Beulah and I went
together to see the little kittens, pigs, or whatever. I remember one time the Walkers had
two  old  sows  that had their litters on the same day, so it was just the most fun to see
all of those cute little black pigs; each sow had eight to ten. We knew better than to get
into  the pig pen where they were. There is no animal more ferocious that an old sow with
her  young.  The Walkers had a little colt one time, and the gentle mare didn't care if we
came  into  pet it. We loved the feel of its sleek neck and its velvety nose. The old mare
would  whinny softly, either to tell us how proud she was of the colt or maybe to tell her
baby  it  need  not be afraid of us. We had fun playing around the Walker's pond, or stock
tank,  down  in  the pasture not far from the house and barn. In the springtime when there
were  big  rains,  and the water would come down from several miles northwest, filling the
various  ponds  on the lands it crossed and on down to our farms. A time or two the Walker
pasture  would be nearly covered in water, even close to the barn. One year it looked like
a  lake,  and  the older boys built a boat of wood and tin and whittled out some oars. They
had  a  good time paddling around the Walker lake, as they called it. When the summer heat
set  in  the lake dwindled to a small pond, but still we liked to play around it. One time
some kinfolks came out from Bellevue and brought their grandchildren. Joy was the same age
as Beulah and I, and the boy was a little older. We went crawdad fishing. The real name is
crayfish, but we called them crawdads. We'd get a short piece of twine, tie some fat bacon
onto  it, and let it down into the crawdad's hole. The crawdad would build up a little mud
castle all around himself, and then he'd be sitting there half-submerged in water close to
the edge of the tank just waiting for some food to come along, I guess. Anyway, he'd latch
on  to  that meat with his big claw, and we'd try to pull him gently out of the hole. Just
about  the time we had pulled to the top of his castle he'd drop back down into the water.
Once  in  a while he would hang on until we could get him out onto the dry land. Then we'd
have  great  fun  hopping around and trying to keep him from crawling back into the water,
yet  we  surely  didn't  want  him  to  get  a  hold  of  out  toes  or fingers with those
strong  sawlike claws of his. Finally, we would tire of that and let him crawl back to his
castle.  The  boy  cousin-  I  believe  his name was Luther- got out into the boat, and he
wanted  us  girls  to get in with him so he could row us to the other side of the pond. We
didn't much want  to,  but he said it would be closer to the house and we wouldn't have to
walk so far as  we  would  have around the pond on the dam. We though that made sense, and
we  got  into  the  boat  with  him. Well, he paddled out to about the middle of the pond,
started  dipping  up  water  out  of the pond, and began pouring it into the boat. We kept
begging  him  no  to do it, but he kept on while he was telling us the boat wouldn't sink.
We girls tried to take the  oars  away from Luther so we could paddle out of there. We all
got  down  on  one  end  of the boat, and it dipped under the water and here we went to the
bottom  of  the  pond.  I  began  to  wonder  how  deep  it was as I knew I couldn't swim.
Fortunately,  It  wasn't  very  deep,  just a little over waist deep, and we waded out. We
were  a  sorry  looking  mess  when  we  got to the house. Mrs. Walker sent me on home and
scolded her girls, but that rascal Luther went to the barn to dry himself out, and I don't
suppose she said anything to him.



Life Saving

The  watershed which filled out ponds went on down country, across the next pasture, under
the  bridge,  and  into  the gin tank or pond. By early fall, if it had been a dry season,
the ginner didn't have much water for ginning and would run out of water to make the steam
for  the  engine.  So he sank a well on the west side next to the bermuda grass embankment
and  them  boarded  it up in some way. There was about ten feet of water in it. When I was
in  my  middle  teens  I  walked  to  town  one  evening; it was a clear, still evening. I
couldn't  see  anybody  within  sight  nor  hear  any sounds. As I was walking along there
by  the  gin,  I  looked  up in time to see a child running down across the pasture from a
house  over  on  the south side. I thought it looked like Morris Thompson, the youngest of
Fell  Dora  Thompson's  children (he was the man who ran the gin for many years). I didn't
think  any  more  about  it  until  a  little later when I looked up again just in time to
see him dive right off the grass  bank  and into that well. He had intended to go north of
it and down across the dry bed,  but  he  had  miscalculated  and  was running too fast to
stop  himself.  Well,  I knew something had to be done quickly. I started yelling for help
and  running  down  and  rolling  under  the fence. I ran around to the west side, all the
time  trying  to  find  a stick, but to no avail. I knew better than to get down into that
well  or  both  of  us  would  drown,  so I plumped down onto the ground and pulled myself
forward until I could reach as far as I could  without  falling  in. I kept talking to him
while  he  was floundering around down in there-splashing around, going under, and bobbing
up.  I was telling him, "Reach up and let me take hold of you hand, and I'll get you out."
Finally  he  did  come  up  pretty  close  to my side and threw up his hand. I grabbed his
wrist then I inched back carefully until I could  get up on my knees, and on my feet, as I
pulled  him  out  over  the  edge.  I  started  to shake when it was all over, but I said,
"Let's  go  tell  your  mother what happened and get you some dry clothes on." At that, he
kind  of  came  to himself and darted away to the south side of the gin. I got back on the
road,  and  when  I  came  to their house I went in and told his mother what had happened.
She  had  thought  he  was  playing  in  the back yard. Thanking me, she said she would go
find  him-  and  did  find  him  hiding  in  under  some of the machinery. I dusted myself
off as best I could and went on to the store. My pink linen dress didn't look so pretty as
it  did  when  I left home, but, oh, I was thankful I could do what I did. Some of the men
wanted  to  send  in  the  story and get me a Congressional Medal for saving a life, but I
declined. I had saved his life, but I hadn't risked mine in doing so. So that was that!


How I got My Piano

Papa  gave  Mary  a  horse she could drive to the buggy after she had her family of little
children,  and  he bought me the prettiest dark dappled bay horse. She was just beautiful-
and a natural born trotter. Papa bought her because HE liked her, and he didn't consult me
about  it.  We  bought  a sulky, or cart, to train her and oh, she surely could trot. Papa
enjoyed  driving  her,  but she had a problem. About that time people started buying cars,
and  she  would not face a car; when a car got near her she would whirl around. Of coarse,
she  didn't  do  any  damage because it was a two-wheeled cart, but Papa knew I'd never be
able to  drive  her.  If  she had whirled around while she was hitched to a buggy it would
have  turned  over.  We  finally  decided I needed a piano worse than I needed that horse,
so  we  sold  the horse and bought a piano. When I married and moved to Colorado in 1922 I
left  my  piano  behind.  I  missed having a piano, though, and was happy to have a chance
to  buy  a  good  one from a neighbor. I asked Mama to sell my other piano, and she did to
Corintha  Barker,  who  told  me  years  later  she still had that piano and played it and
still  gave  music  lessons.  I  heard  from  her  again just last summer (1982) through a
friend, and she said  to  tell  me she was still playing my piano. So, it has lasted a lot
longer than the horse!


Mail Service

Our  first mail service as I remember it was at the village of Vashti. We'd go to the post
office,  which  was  located  in  the  general  store, and call for our mail. Later, there
was  mail  delivery  in  what  was  called  a  Star  Route.  A  little  man names McGregor
lived  at  Buffalo Springs, five miles west of Vashti. He drove a pair of mules hitched to
a  kind  of  spring  wagon,  a light topless wagon, and he would come by with the mail. At
first,  mail  delivery  was only twice a week. Then Mr. McGregor got to where he'd come by
every  morning  to  pick  up  the  mail we had in our box to send out. He would take it to
Vashti  and  on  the  Bellevue. About four o'clock in the afternoon we would start looking
for  him  to  come  back  by  to leave any mail he had for us. We always looked forward to
the  mail.  We  didn't  get very much because we didn't get very many paper. There weren't
a  lot  of  paper  then like there are now. In fact, we didn't have paper towels, napkins,
and  plates  and  all of the paper goods available today-bathroom tissue and kleenex-so we
didn't  have  a  lot  of  paper material to dispose of like we do now. We did get a weekly
journal.  I  can't  remember  the  name  of it, but it had lots of news. Later, we got the
weekly  and  daily  papers  out of Fort Worth, such as the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. Every
week  on  Thursdays  we  got  the  Youth's  Companion.  It was such a good paper for young
people,  and  we  enjoyed  it  so  much.  Mary was out very good reader. Papa and the boys
would  get  the  chores  done  early, and when we'd finish supper we would all sit down to
listen  to  Mary  read  the stories. For a long time there was a continued story about the
Blackfoot Indians. One of the characters was Little Bear,  and  he was always getting into
some  kind of scrape; it would look as though he had no way out. Right when he would be in
the  most  dangerous  situation  the  story would say "To Be Continued." Papa would always
complain  that  he  hated  continued  stories,  but  he'd be right there the next Thursday
night  to  find  out how Little Bear got out of his Predicament. I remember another story
about  an  old  colonel  who  was  rearing  two  grandchildren; one was named Addison. The
colonel  had been experimenting with grafting as many different kinds  of  apples  as  he
could  to  one  tree.  He  had  invited a professor from the local agricultural college to
view  his  accomplishment. They went to the orchard, and the colonel proudly said, "Behold
my  tree,  "  and  it was a sight to behold. Those mischievous boys had gathered all kinds
of  items  from  the  garden,  such  as  cucumbers,  ears  of  corn, and pumpkins, and had
tied  them  to  tree  limbs.  It was full of everything imaginable. So, after they had had
their  laugh,  he  told  the boys, "You've had your fun, so now take all of that stuff out
so  I  can  show  the  professor  what  I've  really done!" Eventually, R.F.D. (Rural Free
Delivery)  came  to  our community, and the post office at Vashti was closed. Our mail was
addressed  to  Route 1, Bellevue, Texas. To send a letter cost 2c, and postcards were 1c.
After  I  married  and  moved  to  Colorado postage increased to 3c per letter. Mama and I
exchanged  letters  every  week.  To  save postage, Because of the increase, we decided to
write a letter one week and a postcard the next.


Fall Chores

In  the  fall of the year we were always busy getting everything done up before the really
cold  weather came. There was always the last cotton-scrappy cotton, they called it-to get
out  of  the fields, and then in the garden there was always something to be gathered. All
fall  when  we  would gather black-eyed peas, we'd pick the dried ones and put them into a
big  cotton  sack or box to finish drying out until the hulls and peas could be separated.
The  way  Mama  did  that  was to put a sheet or canvas sown on the ground and pour all of
those  dried peas out onto it. Then we children were told to get in there and tramp around
on  them. So we would trample all around and get the hulls broken up. Then Mama would take
a  dishpan-full  at a time and winnow it out. She would pick an afternoon when there was a
good  breeze that would blow the shells away. Then we'd tramp some more on them, and she'd
pick up one side and then the other of the canvas and winnow some more. After most of them
were shelled, she'd finish hand-picking the little ends of the hulls that didn't come off.
Then  the peas were put away for winter eating and spring planting. She put them down in a
box,  made it as airtight as she could, and put in a little bottle of High Life that would
kill  any  weevil  eggs  which  might hatch out among the peas and ruin them. One evening,
when  it  was getting pretty cold, she'd tell us to go down to the garden fence and gather
the butter beans. She'd say, "Gather everything that's on the vine- the dry and green ones
both."  And  we would take them to the house and shell them out by hand, the dry ones into
one  pan  and  the  green ones into another for fresh eating. The dried ones were speckled
kind,  all  mottles  in the prettiest colors. I enjoyed shelling them because they were so
pretty.  Mama  stored  them in the same way as the black-eyed peas, and that's the way she
took  care  of  those  items of food. About the second cold spell, Papa would think it was
cold enough to butcher a hog, but he had to be really sure because he didn't want the meat
to spoil. He'd call some of the neighbors and ask if they could come to help with the hog-
killing;  he  called  it that instead of butchering. Some of them would want to kill a hog
too, so Papa would dig a trench and put heavy irons across it and put the water vat on top
of that. Wood was laid underneath and ready to light the next morning. Getting the regular
chores  done  early,  he  would  then  fill  the  vat with water and light the fire. After
slitting  the  hog's throat to kill it, the men men would scald it, scrape it, and hang it
up  by  the  hind feet on a sort of scaffold. Then they'd cut it open from top to bottom-I
guess  I'd  better  say bottom to top because to was hanging by its hind feet. Anyway, the
men  would  take  all of the insides out into a tub and cut off the liver, heart, and such
and put those into another pan. That would be our first meal of the fresh meat. Mama would
fry  the  liver  and  make  gravy  and hot biscuits. We'd give a part of it to the men who
helped,  and  we'd  give the heart and kidneys to anyone who wanted them because we didn't
care  for  them,  for  some  reason.  The  next morning was the start of a really busy day
because we'd put the big old washpot on a fire for rendering lard. The first lard Papa got
out  of  the  hog was called "leaf fat." It lay along inside the ribs encased in a sort of
cellophane  and  was  very  easy  to  get out, cut up, and put on to cook. He had to put a
little  water in the bottom of the pot of the fat would stick and burn. Then the water had
to be all cooked out of the lard before we put it into the big can; if we didn't, the lard
would  spoil.  Papa would cut the meat and shape the hams like he wanted them. And all the
rest of the big pieces of meat he cut off-the side meat or bacon-would be saved aside, and
the  rest  of the fat would be made into lard, too. It was a lot harder to cut up than the
leaf  fat,  and the lard wasn't as snowy white nor with such a fine texture for making pie
crust  and  biscuits. Next he would get all of the front quarter and back quarter detached
and  cut  them  out, leaving plenty of meat on the backbone-not skimpy like you get in the
market  nowadays-and  that  tenderloin  was  especially  good. Papa would chop between the
backbones,  every  two or three bones, so we could get them into an iron pot and cook what
we  wanted  for  a meal. We loved that meat. There was the white marrow down the center of
the  back =bone you could punch out with your finger and eat it. There was always a lot of
meat  left on the ribs, too. I liked them boiled until they were tender and them warmed in
the  oven until they had a tinge of brown on them. They were really delicious. As Papa got
the hams, shoulders, and side meat trimmed like he wanted, he put them down in salt into a
big  box  in  the  smokehouse,  salting  between all of those pieces of meat. In a certain
number of days he took them up ;you couldn't leave the meat there for too long of it would
get  too  salty.  In  a pot of hot water he had, he'd wash off the salt and dry the pieces
carefully.  Then I remember he bought some kind of smoke, liquid smoke, in a pint or quart
can  and  brushed it on the meat to give it a smoke taste and to keep the "skipper" out of
it.  Some  people used molasses and cayenne pepper for that purpose. When the meat was all
ready, it was them wrapped in brown paper. Mama had sacks made out of old cotton sacks all
washed  and  sewed up and ready to encase each shoulder and ham. Then they were hung up in
the  smoke  house  and  kept there ready for use. We had to eat the meat before really hot
summer  weather  or  it  would  get  rancid. All of the strips of lean meat were made into
sausage, but that was another day's work unless you had plenty of help. We ground the meat
and  mixed in our salt, sage, and red pepper. You had to be careful to season it enough to
make it good and tasty and so it would keep, but you surely didn't want to get too much of
any seasoning in it, so it took a pretty practiced hand to put in the seasonings. After it
was  worked  into  the  sausage thoroughly, the meat was stuffed into sacks so it would be
ready  to  slice  and cook. We nearly always dipped the sacks into melted lard so it would
keep  fresh  longer  and wouldn't have such a hard rind. Sometimes we would fry the larger
part  in  big pan all over the stove, moving the sausages from the first, to the next, the
the  last  pan so then there wouldn't be any water not grease left in the sausages by that
time.  Then we'd put the sausages into fruit jars and pour in about two or three inches of
grease.  Someone would screw the lids on and turn them upside down to cool. From there the
jars  were stored in the cool cellar, and we'd bring them up and heat the sausages when we
wanted  them.  And that's the way we took care of the meat. We'd make mincemeat using meat
from  the  jowls or hock joints, adding dried fruit, spices, vinegar, and plenty of sugar.
The  first raisins I ever saw had seeds in them. I liked the taste but didn't much like to
chew  on  the  seeds.  A  little later we could get seeded raisins-big ones with the seeds
removed.  Then pretty soon we could buy seedless raisins. We ground and chopped everything
and  simmered  it  together  before canning it in jars and sealing them like you would for
fruit.  Then in the wintertime after school started, Mama would make a mince pie. We liked
it  rather  thin  with  sugar sprinkled on the crust. We'd take a slice of it in our lunch
pails. Sometimes we took cookies, and them Mama sometimes fried half-moon pies, she called
them.  She had a shallow cast iron baker. She'd make her crust and spread the spiced dried
fruit  on  one  side, then bring the other side over and crimp it around the edges. Two of
those  would  bake  or fry at one time in her baker. They were good with a lot of homemade
butter  on  them.  They  were  even  good to take to school, but I liked them best hot. We
didn't  have  school  cafeterias  or  places  we  could  go to buy food, so we had to take
whatever we wanted to eat. We always had good lunches, I thought.


Drying Peaches

We  had  more peaches than any other kind of fruit, and we dried quite a lot every summer.
We'd  wash  the  fuzz  off  in  tubs, drain them, and cut them in quarters. We had what we
called  a wagon shed attached to the smokehouse, and the roof was a dandy place for drying
fruits.  We'd  climb  up on the roof on a ladder and spread out a lot sheets, tablecloths,
or  old  fall  dress  shirts-anything  we  could lay the peaches on. We'd use firm and yet
ripe peaches, turning them with their cut side up. One reason we put them on cloths was in
case  a  rain  came  up.  Then  Mama  would say, "Run and get the peaches!" So we'd gather
up  the  corners  of  the  clothes and hand them down to the person waiting on the ground.
It  took  about  three  days  of hot weather to dry peaches out enough before putting them
into  50-pound  flour  sacks.  Then  the sacks were left out in the sun and turned several
times  a  day  until  they  were  thoroughly  dry.  Mama sprinkled several kinds of spices
down  among  the  peaches  to keep the bugs out of them. That's the way we dried fruit for
the  winter.  The  pieces  of  fruit would be as hard as could be, but Mama would wash and
soak  them  overnight  and cook them the next day for pies or for eating with toast or hot
biscuits and butter.


Soap Making

One  chore for women on the farm was making lye soap. That called for bringing out the big
old  pot,  making  a  fire underneath it, and putting just so much water in it and so many
cracklings or other grease. If the grease was saved from frying salted bacon you needed to
"wash"it;  that  is,  put it in hot water and stir it around and then let it get cold. The
grease came to the top, and the salty water stayed underneath. It didn't produce such good
soap  if  the grease were salty, but most any kind of grease was used to make soap to wash
clothes.  In later years, Mama made nice soap that didn't have to be boiled in the pot; it
was  made  by  the  cold  water  recipe  on the can of lye. You put so much water in a big
enameled  dishpan, never aluminum nor metal. I think the proportions were a half gallon of
grease  to  a can of lye, and I don't remember how much water. You mixed the lye and water
first,  and it would get boiling hot with all that lye in it. Then you'd add the grease to
that,  being  very  careful not to let it spatter out on you. It was very good for washing
white  clothes.  When I lived in Colorado years later we had such soft snow water that the
lye soap was ideal for laundering. In Texas the water wasn't so good, so I quit making lye
soap  and  gave  the  rest I had on hand to the Deaf Smith County Museum. Then I used soap
powders like everyone else does.


Gathering Wood

Papa  was always busy the year around, unless it was on extremely cold days. He had to cut
and  bring in lots of wood to keep the fireplace, as well as the cookstove, going. Because
Mama did lots of cooking and canning in the summertime, it took wood the year 'round. When
the  settlers came in and bought land and went West to buy cheaper land, they tried to get
in  what  was called the Cross Timbers where there'd be wood on part of the land. Wood and
water were two essentials, and our land lay right across the Cross Timbers. We had a place
north  of  the road with no timbers, except maybe two or three mesquite trees. Papa raised
cattle  and  wheat  over there because it was better land for raising wheat than the sandy
land.  During  the  winter  he would try to clear some land, especially during the earlier
days  when  he  was trying to get more land into cultivation. Sometimes he would hire help
and  sometimes  he'd work alone, but he'd clear several acres during each winter to add to
his  field. It was awfully hard work, but wee got our wood in that way. Papa always wanted
to cut up enough wood to last for the next year. He wanted it to dry for a year because it
made a much better fore than the green wood that didn't throw out much heat-a lot of smoke
but not much heat. We were all glad when, later, gasoline-powered saws were available. The
men  would  haul  in  the  tree  trunks  and limbs from the woods. and the fellow with his
mechanical  saw  would  come to work. He could saw a lot of wood in a day, with someone to
help him move it away from the saw and stack the logs. It was great to have help like that
and  to  get  our  supply of wood without quite so much effort for Papa. The cooking stove
took  short  wood  and  the fireplace required longer logs. A large backlog was put in the
rear  of  the  fireplace  to  throw  out heat. Logs from trees had to be hand split before
using. An experienced man could deftly split a lot a wood in a day's time.


Threshing Wheat

We  didn't  have  the  mechanical combines for gathering wheat such as those that are used
nowadays;  they  hadn't been invented yet when I was a girl at home. The men would cut and
bundle  the  wheat,  and  someone would drop the bundles together to form shocks of wheat.
There'd  be  shocks  all  over  the field. Then we'd be alerted that the threshing machine
would be in the community on a certain date. At first it was a steam thresher; later, they
had  a  gasoline engine. Non of the landowners in our community had very big wheat fields,
so  the threshing crew would go from one place to another. The neighbors who were going to
have  their  wheat  threshed  would help each other. They'd bring their teams and flat-bed
wagons and load the bundles, two men working together with pitch-forks to lift the bundles
up  onto  the  wagon.  The man on the wagon would stack the bundles so they wouldn't slide
off. When they got a big, high load they'd drive over to the threshing machine. I remember
the  horses  and  mules  would  be  almost afraid to drive up beside it because of all the
engine  noise,  but  they'd  mind the driver and get where they ought to go. Two men would
pitch  the  bundles off into the thresher. It didn't move along and scatter the straw like
later  threshers, so there would be a great pile of straw behind it. Someone would have to
be  there  to fork that away. After the thresher was gone we'd have a big straw stack. The
women had that big bunch of men to feed, but neighbors would help neighbors. It seemed the
threshing  men  always  tried to pick out the best cooks in the community and try to be at
that  house  when it was time to eat their lunch. It was a matter of pride among the women
to  see  what a nice dinner they could fix for the hard-working thresher crew. Some of the
neighbor  women would come to help Mama. We'd put two tables sort of crosswise the dinning
room.  There  would  always  be  two "table seating" of men. The first group who got their
wagons free of wheat would quit and water and feed their horses before coming to the house
to  eat. We had one man in the community who did love to eat. He was great big and had big
high-stepping  mules and a good wagon, and he always rode a good horse with a nice saddle-
and  he  just  loved to eat. He would be first at the table and the last to leave, so he'd
eat  with  both  table seatings. Boy, how we did fry chicken! The day before the meal we'd
make  our  light  breads,  cakes,  and  pies. Then on threshing day we'd cook all kinds of
vegetables.  I can remember when the community had a mill for grinding our flour and meal.
Papa  would  take  some  of  the  wheat  we  raised to the mill and come back with several
hundred-pound  sacks of flour to store until we had used it up. For the meal, he'd get the
very  nicest  ears of corn, taking all of the small grains off at the ends and making sure
everything  was clean. Then he'd run it through the sheller until it made a bushel or two-
I don't remember just how much- and take it to the mill to get meal ground. The field corn
made  yellow  meal.  Then  he'd  plant what he called white corn in June, and it made good
roasting ears as well as white meal.


Telephones

In  the early days it was so hard on a doctor when there was an epidemic of illness in the
community.  He  would  drive  his horse and buggy for miles to see a patient; then when he
would  get  home  he'd  find  out  it would be necessary to backtrack about halfway to see
someone  else.  So  that was one of many reasons we were all so glad when we go telephones
installed.  We  had  an  "exchange"  in  Vashti.  Rural  lines  ran  out  in the different
directions, and there'd be quite a few households on each line. I can remember when we got
the  line  up  our  road. Most of the lines were attached to poles to to two-by-fours that
were  nailed  to the fence posts. The wires and insulators were put onto those. When we go
our  telephone,  with  the  two  batteries  on  it,  up on the wall, we just knew that was
wonderful.  Each party on the line had a different ring; our was a long, two shorts, and a
long.  You  had  to  hangs  you  receiver  up to do the ringing. If you wanted to call the
operator,  who  was  called  "central," you'd ring her with on long ring. There were those
people who were inquisitive or nosy who would take down their receivers to listen in every
time  the  phone would ring. It rang on everybody's box, and you just had to remember your
special  ring.  We  soon  learned  not to pay any attention to the other rings and to just
answer  when it rang a long, two shorts, and a long. It was so helpful for neighbors to be
able  to  contact  neighbors.  When  there was an emergency in the community, the operator
would  call a whole conglomeration of numbers, and everybody on the lines would be alerted
to  go  to  the  telephone  and  find  out  what the emergency was and to go and help out.
Sometimes  it was a fire or an accident, or maybe someone needed a grave dug and nobody in
the  family could do it. So, neighbors helped neighbors in that way, and having telephones
made it easier to stay in touch with each other.



Syrup Making

Papa  heard about a man living in the community south of us who had a syrup making outfit,
so one year he decided to hire him to make us some sorghum molasses. Papa planted the cane
seed,  and  along  in the summer it looked so nice; he was really proud of it, and when it
started  to  ripen  he  kept  a close eye on it. He'd bring in stalks of cane, cut between
joints, peel the outside down with his knife and his thumb, and cut that joint of pulp out
for  us all to test it. He'd give each one of us a stick, and we'd chew on it and suck the
juice out and spit out the "pummies"-that's what we called the fiber. Finally, he declared
it  was  sweet  and  ripe and ready for the syrup mill, so he alerted the man to come on a
certain  day. Papa got help, and they went into the fields and cut the cane a joint or two
above where it grew. Then they cut off the tops, because the last two or three feet at the
top  didn't  have  the pulp nor juice in it. Then they stripped all of the "knees" off it.
The  work  was  hard  on  the hands, and that called for wearing gloves. They put the long
stalks  into  the  wagon and brought them to where the man had set up his mill. He had dug
out  a trench, and wood to make a fire had been put in under the vat which sat over it. Se
he  was  all set for grinding the stalks and extracting the juice. As I remember the mill,
it  was  two  upright cogs or cylinders that turned inward toward each other. The cane was
put  into that and it ground on through. There were no motors then, so his "motor" was two
little  mules  hitched  out  onto  the end of a pole that was connected to the mill. These
mules walked 'round and 'round in a circle all day; that's what made the mechanism turn to
grind  the  cane. Two men fed the stalks into the mill, and one man caught the juice as it
ran  out  of the spout and into the bucket. Then they'd take the full bucket, pour it into
the  vat,  and  replace it with an empty one. By the time the juice was extracted, the man
had  the fire going under the vat and was ready to cook down the syrup. It took almost all
day.  Papa had helped his father to make syrup in his younger days in Collin County, so he
knew  about  how  thick  to  cook it and how it ought to look. Toward evening the man kept
saying, "I think it's about ready to pour up, Mr. Williams." And Papa would look at it and
dip  a  spoonful  up  and  taste  it  and say, "No, it's too thin yet; I'm afraid it would
spoil." It  had to be cooked "just so" in order to be good. Finally, they decided together
that  it  was  done,  so  they  raked  the  fire  out from under the vat and let the syrup
cool  for  a  while.  Some of the neighbors had sent or brought buckets which they filled,
but  Papa  kept  plenty for us. We had syrup, it seemed to me, for several years. The very
last  we  used had lumps of rock candy in the bottom. When we rinsed them off they were as
clear as crystal. After  that,  we could buy syrup shipped in from Mississippi. Mr. George
Hodge's  relatives would ship him a barrel, and he'd sell a part of it to pay the freight.
It  was  ribbon  cane  syrup,  made  from a different kind of cane, and we liked it better
anyway.  One  day  Papa  went  over  to  get  a gallon of syrup from him. As the syrup was
running  slowly  out  of the bunghole into the pail, a big red wasp came floating out. Mr.
Hodges,  thinking  Papa  might not want to buy it with bugs in it, quickly said, "Ah, that
proves it's Mississippi ribbon cane!"


Community Leadership

One  year,  after  a very rainy spring, the cemetery at Vashti grew up into a mess of weed
and  grass.  The  call went out for everybody to come to a "cemetery working." Men brought
their tools, and women brought lunch and spread it on benches underneath trees between the
Methodist  church and the cemetery. After the grounds were all cleaned, the people decided
to form a cemetery association to keep it cared for. Mama was elected the first president,
Willa  Gill  was  first  vice-president,  and  Fannie Thompson was secretary-treasurer. Of
coarse,  about the first order of business was to assess dues to all who had cemetery lots
in order to have some working capital. I don't remember how they made money otherwise, but
their  first  project was to put a nice fence all around the grounds. Then they decided to
designate  the  third Sunday in May as Decoration Day; everybody would come back to Vashti
and  decorate  graves.  The  people  usually met in the Methodist church and out under the
trees  to  renew acquaintances, and everyone had a good visit together. That first meeting
was  held  over seventy years ago, and the Association is still going strong; people still
go  back  there  on Decoration Day. For another project that first year, the ladies bought
and  set  out cedar trees, one on the corner of each lot. It was a good thing we had a dry
summer  and most of them died, because it would have been an im-penetrable forest when the
trees all grew big. Another summer, the ladies all pooled their white chrysanthemum plants
ans  set  them  throughout  the  cemetery.  It was a beautiful sight when they were all in
bloom.  Good  leadership  in  a  community  makes such a difference in the quality of life
there.  One  such  leader  was  Mrs.  Thweatt, Dr. Thweatt's wife-Miss Lillian was what we
called  her.  She was a great inspiration to the young people of my sister's age. They had
various  projects;  one undertaking was forming a library. People donated books which were
kept  in one room of the Thweatt's big house. They also ordered books, and to finance that
they  would  have  things  like  box socials. The young men would bid on the boxes of food
prepared by the young ladies. The one bidding the highest got to eat supper with the owner
of that box. The money went toward book purchases. The young people would meet at her home
to  work  on  other  projects, such as stringing cranberries and popcorn for the community
Christmas  tree.  Miss  Lillian  was  the inspiration behind the planting of monthly roses
throughout  the  community.  Until that time everybody had roses, but they were mostly the
spring  varieties-red  and  yellow.  This  new variety not only bloomed in the spring, but
there  were  blossoms on them throughout the year. So a lot of housewives, including Mama,
bought monthly roses to plant and to enjoy.


Papa's Temperment

Papa  was  Irish,  or  at  least  half  Irish,  and  he had an Irish temper. He'd get very
aggravated  at the cattle when he couldn't get them separated or into the corral. He would
run back and forth trying to manage them, and sometimes he would start calling them names.
The  very  ultimate,  very  worst  words he would use in dealing with his cow problem was,
"You's  better get in there, you lizard-headed S.O.B." I don't know whether that helped or
not,  but  I  guess it helped him cope with his temper. One time Mama went down to the cow
lot  to  help him with the milking. Women in that day and time wore bonnets, so she had on
her  little  bonnet.  To  hold it on she put a long hat pin through her bonnet and knot of
hair  and  out  the  other  side.  She had her head down into the old cow's flank when her
attention  was  diverted, and she turned her head. The next thing she knew she was flat on
her back. The cow had kicked her over, and all the milk was spilled. Papa ran over to pick
her  up  and to see if she was hurt. As she was adjusting her bonnet, he picked up a stick
to  punish  the  cow. When she saw that, she said, "Papa, Papa, don't hit that cow-I stuck
her with my hat pin!" He laughed and told her he was tempted to use the stick on her. When
the twins were little they likes to go with Papa to get the car out of the shed, which was
built  onto  the  granary.  The door to the shed was on rollers, and he'd roll it back and
push  the  car  out so he would have plenty of room to crank it. It was slightly downhill,
and  the  car  would  roll a few yards before coming to rest. The twins learned they could
jump  onto  the  running  board  as  it came out of the garage and get a little ride. They
thought that was great fun, but Papa was afraid they might slip and fall under the wheels.
So he told them not to do that. But every once in a while they couldn't resist temptation.
He  finally  threatened to spank them if they did it again. They Remembered that for a few
days,  but  then  he  caught  them  at  it again. "All right, I warned you and now you are
going to  get  it." They fled to the house and crawled under the bed, but Papa went to the
house  by  way  of  the  peach  tree  and  cut  a  little  switch. He pulled them out from
underneath  the  bed  and  punished  them. Kathalee said he always switched Nathalee first
because  she  was  larger  and  stronger,  so  Kathalee  felt  she  endured  two whipping-
watching  Natalee's  punishment and taking her own. I know just how she felt, because when
I  was  growing  up  my  brothers would be out later than they should. Papa would start to
worry  about  them-aloud.  When  they  came  in  they  would  make some simple explanation
and  Papa  would  settle  his  feathers down. But I had been through the whole evening and
was  tied in knots. I vowed I wouldn't cause Papa and Mama any worries if I could help it-
and  I  didn't.  I  always phoned them where I was going and when to expect me home. I was
rewarded  when  Papa  told  Charles  after  we  were  married  that  I never caused them a
minute  of  unnecessary  worry.  Another  time,  Mary  and  Dewitt  came  for  a visit and
brought  all  of  their  children. The twins enjoyed having that many others to play with.
Papa had warned the twins not to play on the henhouse  roof  for  fear they would fall off
and  get  hurt,  But  the Walker children had ot been warned. Pretty soon they were all on
the  roof,  and  the twins got up there with them. They were all laughing and playing when
Papa  saw  them.  He  ordered  them  all off the roof, but as soon as he was out of sight,
they forgot and got back on the roof. They saw Pap coming  around  the corner of the shed,
and knew they were in for punishment. The Walker children  ran down the road to the safety
of  their  Grandfather  Walker's  house  and  left  the  twins  to take the switchings. My
sister,  Mary, was such a good mother and loved all children,  especially  her  own.  She
had  seven  children-Dorothy,  Paula, Stewart, Nina, Phillips, Lota, and Joy. Phillips was
the  fifth  one,  and  the  baby,  when  they came to visit Mama. Dewitt brought them, and
Mama was to take them home. Late in the afternoon, Mary wrapped  the  baby up and laid him
in  the  middle  of  the  bed  while  she  got jackets and caps on all the other children.
Meanwhile,  Mama  had  hitched  up  Old  Gray  to  the buggy, and they all climbed in. Two
adults  and  four  children  were  quite  a buggy full. They got about a quarter of a mile
down  the  sandy  lane when Mary Missed the baby. So they turned back and got him from the
bed. Mary said, "Please don't tell Papa that I forgot the baby!"


Dating and Social Life

When  I  began  dating  it  was  in the horse and buggy days. Usually on Sunday afternoons
several  couples  managed  to get together. We'd ride 'way out in one direction or another
from  Vashti.  The  old horses walked along slowly while we talked and laughed and enjoyed
ourselves.  Then  we'd meet back at one of the girl's homes for sandwiches and cookies and
to  freshen  up  a  bit before going back to church that night. So that's the way boys and
girls  dated,  got  together,  and  became acquainted. We would have parties, too. Special
invitations  weren't  always sent out, but somebody would find out they could have a party
at  Mr. Williams' or Mr. Thonpsons' home, and they'd tell the others that there would be a
party  over there on Friday night or whenever. Then the boys would start calling the girls
on  the telephone to make dates. We'd play the usual games-the quieter ones indoors. If it
was  a  pretty  moonlit night, we might play more active ones outside. My uncle who played
the violin moved into the community from Collin County. He taught my sister how to "chord"
on  the  piano  to  accompany  him. After she left home he taught me, but he moved back to
Collin  County  before  we  played together very much. A few years later a young man named
Dick  Clark  moved  into  the  community  near  where  we  lived, and he played the violin
beautifully-he  had  a  very  sweet-toned  violin.  Since  I knew how to chord, we started
playing music together. Then we added ten more instruments, a guitar and a mandolin. Homer
Hodges  played  the guitar, and Dewey played the mandolin. The four of us played for a lot
of  what  were  called  "musicals." People would ask us into their homes to entertain, and
some  of the older neighbors and youngsters would come in to listen, too. There was always
a  big  crowd  when  we  entertained at a "musical." I never did talk back to Papa but one
time.  I  had  come  in from a date with the Methodist minister's son with whom I had been
going.  Papa  said, "I don't think I like having you go with that boy so much; you've been
going with him quite a lot lately." So, in my kindest but firmest voice, I replied, "Papa,
you  made  the  rule  that  Mary  and  I  were  not to date until we were sixteen. Now I'm
seventeen,  and  since  Buford went to college I don't have a way to go places. I'm not in
love with that boy, but he is nice to me, and we have fun. And I have a way to go like all
of the other girls in my group of friends."


A Hallowe'en Party

One fall some of us girls thought it would be fun to have a Hallowe'en party. Vera and Oma
Thompson  invited  us  to  have  it at their house, which was centrally located. About ten
girls  were  to  be  the ghosts, so they got their pillow cases and sheet ready. I was the
witch  since  I  was  tall and skinny and had the long blond hair. We decided we would all
meet  at the Nele Morre's-Ruby, Dora, and Mae Moore's home, then we'd walk from there back
to  the  Thompsons  place-about a quarter of a mile. We invited ten boys to come up to the
house  and  walk  down  with the girls. It was up to me to make the witch's costume. There
were  no stores then where you could buy or rent one. So I used all of the ingenuity I had
to  try  to  concoct  a  clever  witch  outfit.  I bought some black calico to make a long
circular  cape,  and  borrowed  a black blouse from Mama. She also had a clack gored skirt
which  was  wide  at the bottom, and I borrowed that and wore Papa's shoes. But what about
the  hat?  I cut patterns and experimented until I made a very good witch's hat, but there
wasn't  very  much  I  could  do about my pug nose; it surely didn't look very much like a
witch's  nose.  So I made a witch's nose, which I fastened on to the mask, and I blackened
out  a  couple  of  teeth  and also my fingernails. I powdered my face and hands white and
outlined  a  few  wrinkles on my face, as well a all of the veins on my hands, with a lead
pencil.  Then  I  tangled my hair a little at the bottom and sprinkled it with some talcum
powder.  There  I  was-  a  regular  witch, complete with one of Mama's brooms. It was the
prettiest moonlit night you ever saw. We had put jack o'lanterns out at the front gate and
on  the  front  porch. While the boys were coming up the road I was at the gate. When they
spied  me  there,  they  didn't  know whether to come in or not. My brother knew I was the
witch,  but  he  hadn't  said  anything to anybody about it. He sort of led the way. In my
witch's  voice  I told them to beware of the goblins that were out on Halloew'en, and with
my  broom  upside  down I'd stamp the walk with the handle. I made them line up beside the
walkway.  Then  whoever was watching from inside told the girls I was ready, so they filed
out-looking  like  sure'nuf  ghosts. The first boy walked with the first "ghost" that came
out  and  so  forth  until  they all got lined up, while I was telling them what to do and
fussing  at  them if they disobeyed. As they went down the middle of the road, I ran along
and  made  some  of them walk faster and some slower. When we got to the Thompson house we
had each boy guess who he had walked with. Of coarse, the girls had been warned not to use
their  natural voices. Well, not one boy guessed the name of the girl he was with. When he
would  make  a  guess,  the real girl would take off he mask. But I didn't unmask as there
wasn't  much  I  could  do  about  how  I  looked  if I had. We just had a lot of fun, and
everybody said it was the best Hallowe'en party they ever attended.


The Automobile

The first automobile I ever rode in was one owned by an insurance salesman from Fort Worth
who  came  to Vashti selling twenty year policies. After Papa bought a policy the man took
us  for a little ride. Then Dr. Thweatt bought an odd looking vehicle with a high seat and
a  little  open  trunk. Mr. George Hodges was the next person in our neighborhood to own a
car. It had and unusual name, something like "Krit." His son, Homer, proudly drove it over
to  our  house.  I took a picture of him and Beulah Walker sitting in the front seat. Soon
after that Papa bought a car. People bought mostly Fords that had to be cranked. We really
were  sailing along at fifteen miles per hour! The driver tried to avoid getting into deep
wagon  ruts  or  stuck  in a sand bed. I didn't drive by myself in those early days of the
auto  because  I  couldn't  have cranked the engine if it had stalled-and it often did. It
took  a lot of strength to turn the crank. I remember one time, though, when Dewey, Sadie,
and I were visiting below Bowie. We went back by their house, and I told them there was no
need  for  them to drive me home-that I would just drive myself on in to Vashti. They must
have  had  misgivings,  because  shortly  after  I left a friend who was also going toward
Vashti stopped by their house. Dewey told him I was on the road and to watch out for me is
I  needed  any help. Later, the friend told Dewey he would have been glad to oblige but he
never  could  catch  me!  I  never  drove  enough  to  get a driver's license, but I was a
wonderful  "back-seat  driver,"  and  I  felt my vigilance kept Charles and me from having
several major accidents.


Schooldays

Back in the early 1900's There weren't consolidated schools where children were bussed in.
Instead,  there  were  lot  of  little  school  houses pretty close together, one in every
community: Lone Star, Friendship, Liberty, Vashti, Buffalo Springs, etc. A young man would
come out from town to serve as principal of the school, and maybe some young lady would be
the  teacher. Usually they were two-teacher schools. Children had to walk to school, so it
was  good  that  schools  were pretty close together. We walked one and a quarter miles. I
don't  remember riding to school very many times during the whole time I went to school at
Vashti. Once in a while one of the schools would host a "spelling Bee." and that was great
fun  to  go  to  wherever it was being held and to get together with children in the other
communities.  There  was a contest one spring at Lone Star where Oran Allred taught, and I
remember  that was my first hayride. A bunch of us went in a wagon. We chose up sides, and
people  were standing the length of the building on both sides. It was educational as well
as fun. Before you time came up again, you could stand and visit with someone you enjoyed.
It  was  at this contest that I met two young teachers who were to play quite an important
part  in  my  life  a few years later-Johnny Burnett and Oran Allred. Johnny taught school
south  of  Vashti  for several years, and Oran taught at Vashti my lat two years of school
there.  They  seemed  to feel free to come to out house whenever they got lonesome; it was
like  a  second  home  to them, I guess. In turn, their families were very nice to me. The
Burnett  family  invited me to their home for Easter holidays, and them in the summer they
also  invited  me  to  stay with them and to attend the Chautauqua. His sister, LaRue, was
about  my age, and we became good friends. My Husband used to enjoy telling our girls that
if  I  had married Johnny Burnett then they could have had a Dad Burnett! By the time Oran
Allred,  went  into  the  services  for  World  War I we were "promised." He was a popular
teacher,  and  I  had been flattered to be singled out as his girlfriend. Oran's aunt, who
was  postmaster  at  Bowie,  and his grandmother invited me to Bowie to be there when Oran
came home  from  France.  Times  were  unsettled, and Oran and I didn't seem to be able to
make  plans.  He  didn't  want  to  teach  school,  though  he  was  an excellent teacher,
because  the  salary  was  very  low. He went to Central Texas, around Austin, and later I
heard  he  had  married  and  had  a  son. A few years later his younger brother, James V.
Allred, was elected governor  of  Texas.  One  summer  I  enrolled  in  Summer  Normal  at
Bowie.  That  was  the  equivalent of a junior college of today. Several others were there
from Vashti, and Ruby Moore  and  I roamed together and took our meals at a boarding house
across  the  street.  It was so hot that we wanted iced tea more then food. Homes were not
air-conditioned,  and  we  always spent the evenings outside. My dates and I would usually
walk  downtown  to  the  drug  store for ice cream or soda. On special evenings there were
band  concerts  on  the  town  square  lawn.  After  going  a  certain  length  of time to
Normal School, one could obtain certification  for  teaching  the various levels of public
school  grades.  For  instance,  it didn't take as much education to teach the first three
grades.  I  think  educators  now  want  to  place  their most qualified teachers there in
order to give the pupils the best in education.


War Efforts

I  was eighteen years old when the United States went into World War I. At Vashti we had a
Red  Cross  organization;  there  was  a chapter in the county, and then all of the little
towns  had  their  associations. We did what ever we could to help in the war effort. We'd
have  pie socials and invite someone to give a patriotic speech to encourage people to buy
war  bonds.  We  were  called  upon to make carious garments for the soldiers. One project
which  kept  a  lot  of  women  busy was knitting socks and sweaters. Some of the finished
products  were  of peculiar sizes and shapes. I remember one time we were asked to make up
kits of toiletries and little items the soldiers could use. Some of us got to wondering if
these  packages  actually  were  sent  to the soldiers and if so, who and where. So before
we  fastened  the  boxes,  we  put  our  names in. I put Miss Bertha Williams; most of the
ladies who  helped  on  that  afternoon  were  married. Sure enough, some time later I got
a  nice  little  thank-you  note  from a man who wanted me to write to him, so I answered.
Then  I got another letter in different handwriting. Then a third letter came from a Greek
soldier.  He  couldn't  write  very  well,  and  he  apologized for that. He said he could
speak  and  read  English  but  wasn't  good  at  writing it. He wanted me to keep writing
anyway. Of coarse, he asked  if  I  had  a  picture  of myself. I sent him a snapshot, and
he sent back a lovely photograph  of himself. He was a fine looking fellow. We exchanged a
few  more  letters,  and  then  I  didn't hear from him anymore. I wondered if he had been
killed.  All  of the boys from our community had to go to war. It was different from World
War  II,  when  most  of  the  boys and their sweethearts got married before the boys left
home,  But  in  World  War  I,  not  one  of the girls in my group married the boy she was
engaged to until he came back. Soon after  the  war  was  over,  Cleo Wilson married Tully
Wetzel,  Johnny  Burnett  married  Lois  Williams, Mae Moore married Basil Rollins, Lillie
Stevenson  married  Hester  George,  Lulu  Hearne  married  Homer  Hodges,  Beulah  Walker
married  Roy  Hodges,  Dora  Moore  married  Neal  McCord,  and Sadie McCord married Dewey
Williams.  After  his  death she married Rue Hodges, and she is the only on of these women
with  a  living husband. Mae, Lillie, Beulah, Sadie, and I are the only women still living
on this list of my close friends of those days.


Remembered Visits

Between  the  time of the covered wagon trips and the travels by Ford or Chevy we traveled
on the train and interurban to Collin County to see Grandmother William and the other kin.
One  year  I went with Buford, and the next year Dewey accompanied me. The summer before I
married, 1921, I went with Dewitt, Mary, and their children in their Ford car. Grandmother
hadn't  met  Dewitt  before that trip. We sat out on the porch in the evenings and talked.
Grandmother wanted to hear Dewitt preach, so the next afternoon Aunt Sallie invited nearby
neighbors  and  kinfolk  to  come  to  their  home.  She played the piano, and we sang old
favorite hymns. Dewitt talked about heaven, using as his text the gospel according to John
14:  verses  2  and  3: In my Father's house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would
have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I
will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also. I saw
Grandmother  one  more  time.  While  I  was  in  Texas  on a visit from Colorado after my
marriage,  Papa,  Mary,  and  I went by train to Collin County to visit her. Grandmother's
birthday was February 29, so she only had a birthday every four years. And, as I remember,
the  year 1900 didn't contain the extra day, so it was eight years between birthdays. That
was  in  order  to let time catch up with the calendar, or was it the other way around? In
1913  Lena  George  invited  me  to  attend  her graduation exercises from Decatur Baptist
College. Buford was also attending college there, and they were engaged to be married. Two
or  three  years  later I rode the train to Fort Worth and then took the interurban out to
Burleson  to  visit  Burord  and Lena in their new home. After I had gotten settled on the
train,  I  looked up to see Johnney Burnett and Oran Allred coming down the isle; They had
decided  to  surprise  me  and  accompany me to Fort Worth. I attended Jo George's wedding
during  my  stay,  and  the younger sister Libby took me into her crowd of friends. We had
some  good  times,  such  as  the  night four couples went to Sherman on the interurban to
attend  a  play at the college there. The summer of 1919 Mrs. Wilkins, widow of the doctor
who  delivered  me,  came from Paducuh for a visit. Our families were like kinfolk, so she
invited me to go home with her for the summer. I stayed for a month or more. Mrs. Wilkins'
daughter Bonnie Watts had her sister-in-law Kitty Watts as her house guest. We immediately
liked  each  other and were together most of the time- two tall thin girls, one a brunette
and  the  other  a  blond.  Her  home  was Livingston, Texas, and she was trying to decide
whether  to marry or not. That fall she married Dan T. Martin, and we never saw each other
again. We corresponded for years, however, and if I didn't answer her letters promptly she
would send a postcard saying, "Remember I still love you." Then I would write immediately.
They  had  two children, Tommy and Patricia (Patty). We exchanged pictures of our families
from time to time. After the children were grown, she died following surgery.

Go To Page 4