Blog – Page 6

REMEMBER WHEN: TREES

TREE FRIENDS

Having a tree as a friend might seem strange to you but when; you are a kid living on a farm 15 miles from the nearest town, you find friends where you can. The farm we moved to from the city was a long-established farm. The buildings were situated in a circle about halfway up a hill from the creek valley where the corn and hay fields ran alongside the creek. The main road ran from the gate at the top of another hill down through the valley across a low water crossing of the creek then up another hill to the farm buildings.

The yard around the house was huge and surrounded by mature oak trees of different kinds. At the top of the yard was a gigantic tree that we later found out was called an Angle Oak. It had many shoots coming from a central trunk. These would spread out covering most of the top of the yard. It was a great tree for shade and many an afternoon was spent lying in the shade reading a book while my little sister took a nap on a blanket next to me.

It was a great tree for climbing and my brothers had built a tree house in the huge limbs. If no one else was around, I would climb up to a high branch and tell the tree my secrets. I never had to worry about being teased or laughed at about what I told the tree. It was an Angle Tree after all and could be trusted.

On the side of the yard near the road were two huge Pin Oak trees that grew tall and didn’t start growing branches until high up the tree. These trees we convinced dad would make a great tree swing. It was easy to get dad to do stuff. He was the youngest of six kids in his family and had a lifetime of ideas on how to make stuff. Mom used to say he was just another one of the kids. He pulled the tractor into the yard and then stood on the top of it to reach the sturdiest branches. He then looped a roped around the limb and secured it so it would stay put. He then did the same thing to the tree next to it. Next, he took a six-foot-long board two inches thick and twelve inches wide, drilled holes at each end to thread the rope through, and secure them. Dad had been in the Navy and we loved to watch him tie knots. This way the swing hung between the two trees. It was about twelve inches off the ground so if we fell we wouldn’t get hurt. As we grew and got better at it dad raised the swing up higher.

We could all 4 of us ride the swing at the same time. The two bigger kids would startle the board with the two little ones between us. Dad would give us a push up the hill then we would swing back down toward the bottom of the hill. By bending forward and then backward we could keep the swing going for a long time. When we didn’t have our little sister with us we could get the swing going really fast. With practice, my brother could stand in the center of the board bend his knees to get the motion started then using his arms to steady himself and get the swing to go fast and high without holding on to the rope. I could get the swing to do the same but not as high or as fast as my brother.

When cousins would come to visit in the summer we would show them how to use the tree swing. Of course, there were contests to see who could swing the highest or how many could swing at the same time. When they were challenged to try and swing standing up things got interesting. It took a while for them to get the knack of swinging standing up without holding on. But after a few falls and some tears they usually got the hang of it.

Farm kids are resourceful and imaginative. You have to come up with ways to occupy your free time. You don’t get toys bought from stores; you are expected to entertain yourselves a lot. And the older ones take care of the younger ones. But after chores are done and the adults are working the minds of kids can run free, and a farm can be a place of adventure and discovery. If you grew up on a farm you had an advantage over most of your city friends. You learned work ethic and that everyone had to help out to finish a project. Also that it was ok to use your imagination to come up with ways to occupy your free time.

A child’s mind is a terrible thing to waste. Start them young to use that God-given talent for figuring things out. Let them discover ways to accomplish what they want with what they have instead of buying something new. They will thank you later for it.

If this took you back to a happy time of your childhood; I have accomplished what I set out to do. Leave me a comment and your email and I will email you back.

GOD BLESS

Remember When:Bloodline

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MY FATHERS BLOOD

I was thinking the other day about turning 75 this week. My father was 25 when I was born making his blood on this earth 100 years old. I was his first child, his first daughter and we had a special bond. He was a professional Boxer and ex-navy man. The fact that he was responsible for a new life weighed heavy on him. Mom said that after I came along he quit hanging out with his friends at the bar, and drinking every night.

He would tell her that the drinking kept the dreams of war at bay. Back in the 40s, they didn’t have ways to handle P.T.S.D. like they do today. But dad was determined to be a good father so he found other ways to cope. During his time in the Navy, he had been a boxer. He even qualified for the Olympics, but it was the year that America entered the war and did not go to the games. When he got out of the Navy he continued boxing and won the golden gloves champion award 5 years in a row. He had his training equipment in the barn and training helped him cope with the memories of Pearl Harbor and the South Pacific.

After the war with all the soldiers returning it was hard to find a place to live. We lived in a tiny travel trailer parked behind my Uncle Walt’s house. There wasn’t room for a crib so they would fix a bed on the table and surrounded me with pillows until I got big enough to roll over then my bed was in a dresser drawer, set on the floor next to their bed. Mom said dad took me with him wherever he went, when he wasn’t on his job, I was his constant companion.

The first real memories I have was when my second brother was born I was five and I can remember mom letting me feel the baby kick. I was only 13 months old when my first brother was born so I don’t remember him as a baby. It was strange and I didn’t understand how a baby could be in her stomach. She explained as best she could to a 5-year-old, mainly that I was going to have to help more, now that I had two little brothers. I found out later that mom had lost a baby between my two brothers so she had to be careful and rest a lot. We were living on a farm outside of town at that time. I started helping with chores, feeding the chickens and cows. I didn’t mind helping I got to be with dad a lot more.

I remember my bedroom was at the top of the stairs and it had a raised platform on one side of it. Dad put my bed up on the platform. He said all princesses had a bed higher than everyone else. My brother didn’t mind it because he could jump from it to the floor and have more fun than on his bed. I started school the year I turned 5, my birthday was at the end of July and school started on the first of August. Mom thought it was better for me to start early than to wait until I was 6. Dad would take me on the tractor across the fields to the schoolhouse. Even though most of the kids walked; he said I wasn’t old enough to walk to school alone. One time after a snow storm we got all the way to school to find it closed. We spent the morning taking kids back home that had walked in the snow. We went home hooked up the wagon, then loaded all the kids up and took them home. We didn’t have phones back then, just neighbors who were willing to do the right thing.

We were new to farming; dad had always wanted to be a farmer but hadn’t grown up on one. So everything was a new experience. In the early 50s money was tight for everyone after the rigors of wartime. I can remember dad selling his blood to pay bills. He would go from one hospital to another; I can remember him sleeping a whole afternoon once because he went so often that he got sick. That is when mom put a stop to it and said we could find other ways to get by.

That same year there was a huge Tornado that devastated the farming community we lived in. It crushed the barn that our cows were in and we lost most of the herd. Dad got caught putting his new tractor in the shed and had to ride out the storm under the tractor between the tires.

My brother and I watched mom trying to clean up the rain that was coming in around the door. She kept telling us to go down to the basement, but the lights had gone out and it was dark down there. My brother and I sat on the top step holding each other and watching mom.

We had so much damage that the insurance wasn’t enough to start over so we moved back to town. Dad bought a place that had a cinderblock garage on it that we lived in while he built us a house. He thought about going back to the navy but mom said she didn’t want to raise three kids on her own so he became part of the National Guard instead. He told us that our family had always served in the military and that it was our duty to protect the country. Even though my dad died of cancer when I was 14 he is still my hero and I thank God for the time I had with him.

I have been tracing my bloodline back through the centuries and have discovered many things that I feel have shaped the many aspects of my life. You would be surprised at how closely your life remains on the path of those who came before you. I have found that members of our family were warriors, soldiers, protectors of family and country as far back as recorded time. We have also taken care of those who have fought to keep our freedom, establishing hospitals and care facilities. We have been entrepreneurs, writers, storytellers, and leaders in our communities.

SO THINK ON THIS

On whatever path you set your foot; your bloodline walks with you, in whatever role you decide to live, your bloodline lives with you. However, you choose to live, make your father’s blood proud, even if you don’t think your earthly father was that great, or you didn’t know him very long, he still gave you his blood. Cherish it, honor it, and remember your heavenly father sent his blood to die for you; so you could walk your path.

If you don’t know about your heavenly father or would like to know more leave me a comment and I will get back to you.

GOD BLESS ALL WHO READ THIS

Remeber When:Soldiers

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Citizen Soldiers

Battle of Fredricksburg Road

During the Revolutionary and Civil Wars, most militia units were not trained combatants but everyday working men and women fighting to protect their own property and families. They would enlist for a few months between planting and harvesting crops. They usually stayed close to where they lived in case they were needed at home. Then as the call came they would report to their assigned post to fight where needed. This is a story of two of those citizen soldiers, George and Aaron O’Dell who lived along Fredricksburg road in Ray County, Missouri. This road has had different names over the years and is the main though fare between Kansas City and liberty. It began as a game trail and evolved over a century of use into what is now hwy 10. This is an excerpt from a report of the battle.

When the call to report came George and Aaron reported to Captain Colley who was in charge of the local Union Militia. It had been reported that Bill Anderson and his bushwackers, as they were known, had been seen scouting the area. Captain Colley detailed 20 troops to pursue the bushwackers. When the troops saw them they followed up a local road. Aaron O’Dell rode up to Colley and told him they were riding into a trap. Being locals and knowing some of Anderson’s tactics these men knew it was ambush territory. Colley didn’t heed the information and ordered the men to follow in hot pursuit.

As soon as Colley and his men turned up the side road to follow Anderson the battle began. Three of the militia, Philip Siegel, John, and Smith Hutchings were killed instantly. Colley gave the order, every man for himself, and they rode on through the line of fire. Aaron was the only one to give any resistance. He would turn and hold off the bushwackers for a few minutes until his guns were empty giving the other troops a chance to get away. He would then ride a distance reload and again turn and fire.

A short distance west of where Bob Wilson lives was a deep hollow, Aaron shouted for the men to enter this hollow. A few did but some continued to flee. George O’Dell was killed trying to get to the hollow. Captain Colley rode to the north side of the farm and tried to get his horse to jump the rail fence. But one of the bushwackers saw him and shot him. When it was deemed safe the bodies of the dead were recovered and the men went back to the burg. That night what was left of the troops went back to Knoxville.

The bushwackers stayed around a while and during this time several men were taken out of their homes and killed. Not long after this Bill Anderson was killed in a battle near Albany, north of Orrick, and was buried where he fell. Captain Cox was in charge of the militia at that time.

Several of these citizen soldiers who took part in this skirmish were my ancestors. My uncle lived most of his life on the farm where Anderson was killed and buried. He volunteered to care for the burial site where both union and Confederate lay side by side. My Uncle was honored by the governor for the many years he took care of this small internment spot. The historical society verified the spot as a Civil War site and added a monument to the men buried there.

Most people have heard of the big battles such as Wilsons Creek near Springfield, but many small skirmishes happened all over the state. When men such as Quantrill and Anderson; took it upon themselves to take advantage of the times to further their own cause. That is when it was up to the citizen soldier to answer the call of their country defending family and property.

I thank the Lord for all those who answer the call of their country; to fight for freedom. This great land of ours was built on the God-given right to be free and it is our responsibility to protect that right.

Freedom is not free; someone had to pay the price.

Thank You to all who have and are guarding that right.

Remember When: Legends

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ONE OF MINE

If you have been fortunate to have been around older generations of your family, you have undoubtedly heard family legends. I was blessed a few years ago with a book containing a lot of our family history. Since I started this blog mainly to tell the younger generations about the family I have decided to add some of these stories as well.

My family came to this country in the 1600s; we have traced our family line to those who fought for independence and helped settle the country. After the war with England ended a group of them traveled across the country by wagon train to find a place to settle. They picked what is now Ray Country, Missouri. At one point our family-owned over half the county. Just mention the name O’Dell and we are most likely related. We have a record of the patent that Edwin O’Dell and his wife Nee Clevenger took out on the property. Edwin raised tobacco and mules to pay for his piece of heaven as he called it. The first cabin was built around 1827.

An example of the type of cabin they built

This original cabin is preserved in the clubhouse of the Excelsior Springs golf club. Many family members lived in the cabin over the years before it was sold to the Golf Club. My story is about one of them. She was known as Aunt Ruth O’Dell. She was born in the cabin; one of 10 children, in the year 1831.

In 1848 at the age of 17, she married a distaint cousin. Wm. O’Dell and began married life in a cabin a mile away. They lived there for 5 years before moving to their homestead on Shackelford creek. She lived at the homestead for 68 years. She was quoted as saying their home was an old-fashioned house in a pleasant valley, a dwelling where the angle of death never entered in all the years she lived there.

The couple had 8 children, 2 died in the little cabin but the rest lived to adulthood. Her husband; answering the call of the Union Army, died of measles in Memphis, TN, where he was stationed during the civil. Ruth was 31 years old when word came that William had died. She arranged for his body to be brought home to be buried. Ruth remained a widow for the rest of her days.

She had joined the New Garden Primitive Baptist Church with her husband in November of 1854. Her conceptions of Christianity were deep and she endeavored to live up to them with all the firmness of a pioneer’s faith. Not only did she labor to raise her own 6 children; she could not abide any child being sent to an orphan’s home. She took them into her home cared for and raised them as her own. It is not known how many children she took care of over the years, only that she raised them to be Christians and good citizens.

She never had much money but she always found time to take care of sick neighbors as well as children in need. She totaly depended on the addage that God would provide.

Aunt Ruth as she was commonly called, survived many trying times during and after the Civil War and for many years made a living working in what was called the sugar camp weaving cloth, cording and weaving often until midnight, then laying down on the bare floor to sleep. She made all the family’s clothes from raw materials that nature provided. Wheat bread was a dainty, only to be had on Sunday, and had to be baked in a skillet or Dutch oven before the fireplace.

Her efforts to raise her children right were blessed, all of them becoming good, well-respected citizens, one the wife of a preacher, one a deacon, and three were church clerks. Her legacy is still remembered today. A copy of her obituary was found and contains this excerpt.

This good woman has lived so faithfully, has done so much for others, and was so well known that her memory will live on in the hearts of her family and this community for generations to come. She fell asleep trusting in the same Savior who came to her in her girlhood days and who walked with her in all the trials of a long life. She lies next to the love of her life in the New Garden Cemetery.

Our ancestors lived to a different standard than a lot of people these days. They had a never quit attitude and faithfulness to family and their God. They met life head-on and forged the way for who we are today. I thank God for my pioneer ancestors; and for their foresight to record many of their exploits for posterity. This country was built on a love of God, freedom, and family. I for one will continue to tell their stories as long as I am able.

If you have stories of your pioneer ancestors, I would love to hear them.

God Bless America

Remember When:My Secret Place

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Do You Have One?

Each one of us needs a place to go to when we need to escape the hustle and bustle of our individual world. Where we can be alone with our thoughts; our need to figure out a problem, or want to be where there are no pulls on our life. That place might be real, imagined, or conquered from the recesses of your mind. But you feel welcomed, loved, honored, and invited. A place that beckons to your very soul.

I have always been able to find that place for me in the woods. As a child it was under a giant weeping willow tree whose branches were so thick and long they would sweep the ground, I could go through the curtain of branches to a quiet, shady, cool world where even the rain did not venture in. I spent as much time as I could leaning against the trunk of the old tree, hidden from the world and my siblings. As we got older and I became the main caregiver for my younger brothers and sister I let them into my secret place and it became a playhouse and afternoon napping place. I would read to them or make up stories while we rested under the branches of the old tree.

Where ever I went in my travels as an adult I would find a place I could escape to. A park or place in the woods, as long as it was away from prying eyes, crowds, and most of all people. I enjoy the solitude and would find a place to go to whenever I found the time. I like people, don’t get me wrong, but I also need to just be quiet and rejuvenate.

When I first got married we lived on the outskirts of the military installation my husband was assigned to. There was a forest rangers tower at the edge of the base that was unmanned at the time. I would climb to the top of the tower and watch the woods below and the valley as far as I could see. If I went in the middle of the week no one else would be around and I could set up there for hours at a time.

I have found many such places over the years, in Europe as well as The United States. My fondest place of all and one I can always go to in my memories was in Washington State. I owned 3 acres on the edge of a town in the foothills of Mount Rainer. The property was almost completely wooded with a babbling brook running through the middle of it. We cleared a lot of the underbrush out so you could get to the many berry bushes that grew wild. We also planted fruit trees along the edge of the brook. On the back side of the property were some old redwood tree stumps. These were old-growth trees that measured 20 to 30 feet around. Most had deteriorated to piles of redwood chips. But there was one that had been cut off about 5 feet from the ground and had huge roots that lay on top of the ground. You could set down between the roots with your back against the stump. The ground was soft from the moss that grew around the old stump. If you have an imagination as I have it would seem you were setting in a big comfortable armchair. The woods smelled of pine and wildflowers; the water in the nearby brook sang a sweet song as it meandered on its way down from the mountain.

When I could get away from the house; that I was using as a home for the elderly, I would go to the tree to read a book, figure out a problem or just be alone with my thoughts. The wildlife had gotten so used to my visits that squirrels, rabbits, or birds would come right up to where I was setting. I would bring something to feed them or just talk to them.

I used to bring my 5-year-old granddaughter to the old tree and we would spend hours talking and telling stories about animals that lived in the forest. It became her favorite place too. Now I can only go there in my mind; how I wish I could go back. I would take my great-grandson, show him the old tree and tell him about the forest. Introduce him to the animals and float a boat in the brook.

Do you have a secret place you can go to recoup from your daily life? I encourage you to find that place, even if it is only in your memories. The bible tells us that Jesus when out early in the morning to a quiet place. It doesn’t tell us what all He did there. I like to think it was His secret place.

Remember When: Sauerkraut

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Homemade Sauerkraut

When I was 10 we moved from Davenport, Iowa to a farm in Southern Missouri. Our parents had always wanted to raise us kids on a farm to give us better experiences than we were getting living in the city. We had to learn everything from scratch as neither mom nor dad had ever lived on a farm. They told us it would be a grand adventure. Their friends who had convinced them to move to the country said they would help them learn what they needed to. A lot of what we learned was from trial and error. We knew how to garden and most of the basics of food processing mom had learned from her mom and Grandma O’Dell. Mom had an old ball canning jar book that had recipes in it that we used a lot.

One year we had a bumper crop of cabbage, so mom decided to make sauerkraut. She had the recipe from the ball jar book, so we got started. We cleaned and chopped cabbage until I knew we would have cabbage nightmares. We hauled everything down to the cellar where it was cool and mom kept the big crock containers. We loaded the mixture into the crocks to ferment, put big plates on top and big rocks on top of the plates. After the allotted time had passed we were supposed to transfer the kraut into jars that could be stored on the shelves for later use.

We worked all day processing the jars of kraut and lining them up on the shelves. Mom was so proud of all our hard work. After we were finished and everything was cleaned up; she had dad come down to the cellar to look at the many jars of kraut setting on the shelves. He complimented us on our hard work and said he looked forward to a big ham and kraut dinner this winter.

During the night we started hearing weird noises that sounded like the moaning of a hurt animal. Dad said he would investigate and started outside with his rife in his hand. He didn’t find anything out front but when he went out on the back porch the moaning turned into explosions coming from the cellar. He cracked the door to see what had happened and got splattered with kraut. The jars of kraut were exploding off the shelves, getting under fermented cabbage all over the cellar.

Mom hadn’t let the kraut ferment long enough in the crocks so when the cabbage was confined to the small glass jars it became like a projectile bomb. Dad slammed the door shut and started laughing so hard he had to set down on the steps going into the cellar. As he wiped the tears from his eyes and the kraut from his shirt, he told mom, that they could have used her in the war, her kraut would have sent the Japanese running for home.

She didn’t think it was funny; we spent the next couple of days cleaning up all the broken glass and kraut that was all over the cellar. Dad said not to go down there until we hadn’t heard any more bombs detonating for at least a few hours. And to wear hard-soled shoes so as not to cut our feet on broken glass. Mom’s friend came over and told her she didn’t leave enough space in the top of the jars for the fermenting to finish.

Mom learned a valuable lesson in making kraut, we learned that it doesn’t help to get upset when things don’t go the way you expect them to, and if you don’t first succeed just try again. Mom finally got the process right and we had our great ham and kraut dinner on a cold winter night. We laughed about that learning experience for many years to come.

Life can throw us for a loop sometimes but we should never give up. Don’t cry over spilt milk just pick up and carry on, as Grandpa used to used to say. Life was hard at times on our Ozarks farm but I sure do miss it.

If this story reminded you of a time you had to overcome a setback. Leave me a comment; I would like to hear about it.