Once across the Mississippi River and in the state of Minnesota, there were three possible routes we could take, depending on where we were headed. We could go northwest to Rochester where my father’s mother lived until she retired and moved back to Burr Oak, IA where my father had grown up. My father’s sister Carol also lived in Rochester, up high on the bluff above the town on an estate owned by her husband’s family. We could go “due west” to Lanesboro where Aunt Norma and Uncle Ray lived. Her mother, my father’s father’s mother, lived across the street in a sort of nursing home until I was around twelve. Or we could go southwest to Albert Lea where the farm was where my mother’s parents lived. Her brothers also lived in or near Albert Lea.
The way to Rochester looked much like the rolling farm country of Wisconsin, with the addition of vegetable crops to the corn, other grains, alfalfa and dairy cows. We knew we were getting close to Rochester when we passed the water towers that were painted to look like tomatoes and ears of corn. These were for Green Giant factories where they canned various vegetables grown in the area. Different ones were packed at different times of the year. Sometimes we drove by when they were canning peas. Peas were “picked” commercially by pulling up the stems and all and then the peas were separated out at the factory. The stems, leaves and pods would be piled up two or three stories high outside the factory and stank to high heaven! I think they were collected and used to make fertilizer or something, but in the meantime, even driving past with the windows closed was an ordeal. It took several minutes to pass all the buildings with the piles outside and it was not possible to hold one’s breath the whole time. But we tried. Rochester itself had about the same population as Appleton, but it had a lot more tall buildings which we could see for many miles before we actually arrived. They were all hospitals. The downtown was full of hospitals, and the Mayo Clinic, which were the major industry of the town. The Mayo doctors would diagnose patients’ ailments and then the hospitals in town would try to cure them. My grandmother worked in the kitchen of the Worrell Methodist Hospital for many years. She was in charge of the kitchen before she retired. (3/18/09 I just discovered that if you Google Rochester, MN you can find photos of the corn water tower and of Lanesboro.)
The road to Lanesboro was the most winding for the longest distance of any road I have ever been on. It seemed like it was going one direction and then it would sort of shake itself and go the other way! The west side of the Mississippi Valley was filled with steep hills with little valleys between cut through by streams. Lanesboro was located on the Root River which was small and very twisting. We girls would try to count how many times the highway crossed over the river, but the number was so high that we always lost count. Lanesboro was a charming little village with a downtown about two blocks long. Uncle Ray’s dental office was located over a store across the street from the lawyer’s office which was located over another store. Their names and professions were painted on the windows in black with gold highlights. They were both the only one of their professions in the town. There were only two churches, the Methodist where Aunt Norma played the organ and the Lutheran one. (3/18/09 The downtown looks just the same in the Google photos as it did then.)
The highway to Albert Lea ran through more excellent farmland. We arrived at the town from the northeast, drove right on through the downtown, and out again on the highway heading south. Then we turned off onto a gravel road with a few curves and corners and when we saw the little one-room schoolhouse, we turned east onto the driveway right beside it.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
Across Wisconsin by Car
You may be wondering why there are so many French names in Wisconsin. While the western parts of the United States were explored mainly by Spanish conquistadores or Spanish priests, the eastern parts and the Midwest were explored by the French. Wisconsin was the domain of “Marquette et Joliet” which are names that were repeated over and over in my grade school years. One of them was a trapper and the other was a priest, but I am no longer certain which was which. For the most part, the early names were either Indian (spelled in French phonetics) or French in origin. Later on, when the region was becoming properly settled, names were English.
The first little town we came to after turning west at Oshkosh and going through Lake Butte Des Morts was Omro. After a while there was Redgranite. Then came Wautoma, which we never called by its proper name. We called it “Blue Stools Town” because of the little café where we often stopped for a piece of pie (and a potty break). Most cafes and diners of the time were decorated in black and white with red trim. So the benches in the booths, the chairs at the tables and the stools at the lunch counters were upholstered in either black or red vinyl. But this little diner was different. I do not remember its real name—something like Dan’s Diner or Flo’s Café, probably—because we just called it Blue Stools because its vinyl was sky blue. We never knew why that was so, but we girls found it enchanting. Our parents always preferred to sit in a booth, but we girls always wanted to sit up at the counter on the tall stools. We usually won. (There were three of us and only two parents.) Thus fortified with pie and milk, we proceeded through Coloma, Necedah, and Wyeville.
Wyeville was the smallest place of the whole journey. There was literally nothing there but a train depot in the middle of a large clearing in the forest. (The middle of the state was pretty much all forest, with the farms on the east and west sides of the state.) I have anxious memories of that train depot. One summer day when I was about ten, Sue maybe eight and Merry only four, we girls were put on a train to go to Minnesota by ourselves. We had to change trains at Wyeville. There was about a half hour between trains and I was extremely stressed out trying to keep my sisters close by and safe until we got on the next train. There was no one around but us. We did all survive, though I was very glad to hand over responsibility to adults when we arrived in Albert Lea!
When driving, we next came to Tomah and then Camp McCoy. Camp McCoy—now Fort McCoy—was something like Camp Williams, only much larger. (It is larger still today.) It was in the middle of the forest part with this one highway running through the middle of it. Every so often there were gravel crossroads and sometimes you could see barracks or other buildings a little way up the road, always to the north, but mostly it was just trees with fences and signs against trespassing, etc. It was boring and sort of scary, if you know what I mean. Once in a while we would happen upon a CONVOY. This would make my father extremely frustrated. You have to understand how my father drove. It was as though he were in a race. He would speed up and up until there was something in front of him that he could not pass and he would have to slow down. After a while it would be clear to pass and away we would go full tilt again! Well, convoys were required to maintain a very slow speed, for no reason we could see, and they were so long and the vehicles so close together that it was impossible to pass. So my poor father would have to drive SLOWLY for miles and miles until the convoy got to the crossroad where they left the highway. He did not usually keep his temper. We would then drive very fast indeed!
Soon after that we would pass Roche a Cri State Park. (Roche a Cri is French for Crying Rock.) One summer we camped there with some friends of my parents. My family arrived first and drove around looking for a good spot to pitch our tents. There was a lovely place with a big tree or two and ferns and things all around. We did not understand why no one else had taken this choice spot, but figured it was our good luck. A couple days later, when our friends came, we found out why. Some of the brush around the campsite was poison ivy! No one in our family had any problem with it, but our friends insisted that we move to another campsite. Apparently, it is an allergy and my family did not have it.
Another landmark in this area was Ship Rock. This was a huge rock left standing after the glaciers scoured off most of it in the area. It was about the size of the RCA Building, but all jagged and ragged, of course. Someone must have thought it looked like a ship, though I could never see it. But it was great fun to climb and clamber all over it and it was a wonderful break from riding in the car all day long. There is a part of southwestern Wisconsin that is sort of like Monument Valley, with huge rock outcroppings that the glaciers missed, but you can’t see them as well as in Monument Valley because of all the trees.
The next town was one of the biggest of the journey. Sparta must have been a county seat, I think, because that is where the orphanage was, right along the highway. (Or maybe it was even the state orphanage. I don’t know.) The orphanage looked sort of like my hundred-year-old elementary school multiplied several times over. Inside a very tall chain-link fence there were six or eight buildings around a gravel square with playground equipment in the center. There were other big buildings back behind the square, too. There were “houses” that looked like ordinary homes except that they were way too big. There would have been plenty of room for thirty children in each house. Sometimes there were children playing on the swings and slides and sometimes the place looked deserted. Either way, it looked sad.
After that we came to LaCrosse (French for The Crossing) where we crossed the Mississippi River. LaCrosse was the biggest city of our trip and had many interesting features. There was a small factory where they made giant fiberglass figures for advertising purposes. In the grassy back lot, which the highway bordered, they kept the mistakes and broken items. There were life-sized horses and cows, and way more than life-sized lumberjacks, jumping trout, chickens, etc. Many of these figures were twelve to twenty feet tall. LaCrosse also had a large cemetery. You might wonder why that was of interest to a little girl. Well, for reasons which escape me now, Sue and I had to hold our breath whenever we passed a cemetery. This was no problem with most of the ones we passed because they were only as big as a house lot or maybe a city block. But the one in LaCrosse was huge! It stretched for several city blocks. Usually, we could manage to hold our breath for that long, unless the traffic light right in the middle was red. Sue never could last when we had to wait at the light. Often I could, but not always. She generally accused me of cheating when I could hold my breath longer than she could, but I didn’t, really! She just hated me to best her in anything, but I was older and sometimes could do stuff she couldn’t. Another place of interest in LaCrosse was the Big Boy Restaurant where we usually ate lunch. Sometimes we ate after crossing the river at an A & W Root Beer stand where they kept the thick glass mugs in the freezer and the root beer stayed so cold! If the weather was hot, we went there. The Mississippi River itself was one of the most impressive landmarks of the trip. Already that far north the river was huge. It was over a mile across, but it wasn’t just water. There were lots of “needle-shaped” islands in the channels. We would go across a bridge to one and cross it in a few seconds and get on another bridge to reach the next island. There was a wide part on the west side without islands where the bridge was maybe a quarter mile long. Then we would be across into Minnesota. More on that next time!
The first little town we came to after turning west at Oshkosh and going through Lake Butte Des Morts was Omro. After a while there was Redgranite. Then came Wautoma, which we never called by its proper name. We called it “Blue Stools Town” because of the little café where we often stopped for a piece of pie (and a potty break). Most cafes and diners of the time were decorated in black and white with red trim. So the benches in the booths, the chairs at the tables and the stools at the lunch counters were upholstered in either black or red vinyl. But this little diner was different. I do not remember its real name—something like Dan’s Diner or Flo’s Café, probably—because we just called it Blue Stools because its vinyl was sky blue. We never knew why that was so, but we girls found it enchanting. Our parents always preferred to sit in a booth, but we girls always wanted to sit up at the counter on the tall stools. We usually won. (There were three of us and only two parents.) Thus fortified with pie and milk, we proceeded through Coloma, Necedah, and Wyeville.
Wyeville was the smallest place of the whole journey. There was literally nothing there but a train depot in the middle of a large clearing in the forest. (The middle of the state was pretty much all forest, with the farms on the east and west sides of the state.) I have anxious memories of that train depot. One summer day when I was about ten, Sue maybe eight and Merry only four, we girls were put on a train to go to Minnesota by ourselves. We had to change trains at Wyeville. There was about a half hour between trains and I was extremely stressed out trying to keep my sisters close by and safe until we got on the next train. There was no one around but us. We did all survive, though I was very glad to hand over responsibility to adults when we arrived in Albert Lea!
When driving, we next came to Tomah and then Camp McCoy. Camp McCoy—now Fort McCoy—was something like Camp Williams, only much larger. (It is larger still today.) It was in the middle of the forest part with this one highway running through the middle of it. Every so often there were gravel crossroads and sometimes you could see barracks or other buildings a little way up the road, always to the north, but mostly it was just trees with fences and signs against trespassing, etc. It was boring and sort of scary, if you know what I mean. Once in a while we would happen upon a CONVOY. This would make my father extremely frustrated. You have to understand how my father drove. It was as though he were in a race. He would speed up and up until there was something in front of him that he could not pass and he would have to slow down. After a while it would be clear to pass and away we would go full tilt again! Well, convoys were required to maintain a very slow speed, for no reason we could see, and they were so long and the vehicles so close together that it was impossible to pass. So my poor father would have to drive SLOWLY for miles and miles until the convoy got to the crossroad where they left the highway. He did not usually keep his temper. We would then drive very fast indeed!
Soon after that we would pass Roche a Cri State Park. (Roche a Cri is French for Crying Rock.) One summer we camped there with some friends of my parents. My family arrived first and drove around looking for a good spot to pitch our tents. There was a lovely place with a big tree or two and ferns and things all around. We did not understand why no one else had taken this choice spot, but figured it was our good luck. A couple days later, when our friends came, we found out why. Some of the brush around the campsite was poison ivy! No one in our family had any problem with it, but our friends insisted that we move to another campsite. Apparently, it is an allergy and my family did not have it.
Another landmark in this area was Ship Rock. This was a huge rock left standing after the glaciers scoured off most of it in the area. It was about the size of the RCA Building, but all jagged and ragged, of course. Someone must have thought it looked like a ship, though I could never see it. But it was great fun to climb and clamber all over it and it was a wonderful break from riding in the car all day long. There is a part of southwestern Wisconsin that is sort of like Monument Valley, with huge rock outcroppings that the glaciers missed, but you can’t see them as well as in Monument Valley because of all the trees.
The next town was one of the biggest of the journey. Sparta must have been a county seat, I think, because that is where the orphanage was, right along the highway. (Or maybe it was even the state orphanage. I don’t know.) The orphanage looked sort of like my hundred-year-old elementary school multiplied several times over. Inside a very tall chain-link fence there were six or eight buildings around a gravel square with playground equipment in the center. There were other big buildings back behind the square, too. There were “houses” that looked like ordinary homes except that they were way too big. There would have been plenty of room for thirty children in each house. Sometimes there were children playing on the swings and slides and sometimes the place looked deserted. Either way, it looked sad.
After that we came to LaCrosse (French for The Crossing) where we crossed the Mississippi River. LaCrosse was the biggest city of our trip and had many interesting features. There was a small factory where they made giant fiberglass figures for advertising purposes. In the grassy back lot, which the highway bordered, they kept the mistakes and broken items. There were life-sized horses and cows, and way more than life-sized lumberjacks, jumping trout, chickens, etc. Many of these figures were twelve to twenty feet tall. LaCrosse also had a large cemetery. You might wonder why that was of interest to a little girl. Well, for reasons which escape me now, Sue and I had to hold our breath whenever we passed a cemetery. This was no problem with most of the ones we passed because they were only as big as a house lot or maybe a city block. But the one in LaCrosse was huge! It stretched for several city blocks. Usually, we could manage to hold our breath for that long, unless the traffic light right in the middle was red. Sue never could last when we had to wait at the light. Often I could, but not always. She generally accused me of cheating when I could hold my breath longer than she could, but I didn’t, really! She just hated me to best her in anything, but I was older and sometimes could do stuff she couldn’t. Another place of interest in LaCrosse was the Big Boy Restaurant where we usually ate lunch. Sometimes we ate after crossing the river at an A & W Root Beer stand where they kept the thick glass mugs in the freezer and the root beer stayed so cold! If the weather was hot, we went there. The Mississippi River itself was one of the most impressive landmarks of the trip. Already that far north the river was huge. It was over a mile across, but it wasn’t just water. There were lots of “needle-shaped” islands in the channels. We would go across a bridge to one and cross it in a few seconds and get on another bridge to reach the next island. There was a wide part on the west side without islands where the bridge was maybe a quarter mile long. Then we would be across into Minnesota. More on that next time!
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Our Route to the Relatives
It has been a long time since I posted to this blog. Life got complicated for a while, but things are calmer now.
Since my mother’s reminiscences opened the subject, I intend to continue with my memories of the farm and her parents, starting with our route across Wisconsin and parts of Minnesota. To me as a small child, US Highway 41 started in Green Bay to the north (In actuality, it ran clear up to the northern edge of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan on the south shore of Lake Superior.) and continued south to Florida. I do not remember how I learned that it went that far south, but it seemed almost magical to me that you could just stay on that road and eventually reach the point the farthest south and east in the whole country! (Perhaps I-15 seems similarly magical to those who grew up here, leading straight to Disneyland.) It was a freeway, but not part of the Federal Interstate Freeway System. 41 came down southwest from Green Bay and curved due west at the northeast corner of Appleton. When it reached the northwest corner of town it turned south and continued down the west side of Lake Winnebago through Oshkosh half-way down and Fond du Lac (French for bottom of the lake) at the bottom of the lake. Then 41 curved back toward the southeast and went to Milwaukee, about a hundred miles south of Appleton, and then straight south to Chicago. I never took it further south than the 200 miles to Chicago, but I fantasized about going all the way to Florida. Green Bay, Appleton, Oshkosh and Fond du Lac are all about thirty miles apart, following the Fox River and Lake Winnebago. Appleton had three connections to the highway: one at the northeast corner, one due west on College Avenue, the main street, and one at the southwest corner. Usually, Dad took the southwest ramp after cutting across town, since we lived in the northeast part of Appleton.
When we got to Oshkosh, we exited to the west and went through Lake Butte Des Morts (French for hill of the dead). Now you would probably not recognize this as a lake. It was more like a large area of swamp, cattails and reeds interspersed with areas of open water. There must have been a lot of wildlife in there, but the only thing I remember seeing was flocks of red-winged blackbirds. They were the first birds I was aware of with the males looking very different from the females. The males are shiny black with “epaulets” of scarlet edged in yellow. The females, on the other hand, were drab--speckled brown and tan. Sometimes there would be hundreds in the flocks and they would make a racket with their songs and calls. (Of course we usually had the windows open, unless it was cold outside.) Most of the way across Wisconsin was through flat farmland with fields of corn, wheat, oats, barley, soybeans or alfalfa and pastures full of dairy cows, mostly black and white Holsteins, with about ten per cent tan and white Guernseys or pure tan Jerseys. Barns were big and either red or white, with silos and outbuildings around them. My parents said you could tell who wore the pants in the farmer’s family by whether the house or the barn was better maintained. When the barn was in need of paint, watch out for the farmwife!
Next time I will tell about the little towns we drove through. I have researched some of them on the internet and there are even photos of some of them. They look just the same today as they did forty or fifty years ago!
Since my mother’s reminiscences opened the subject, I intend to continue with my memories of the farm and her parents, starting with our route across Wisconsin and parts of Minnesota. To me as a small child, US Highway 41 started in Green Bay to the north (In actuality, it ran clear up to the northern edge of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan on the south shore of Lake Superior.) and continued south to Florida. I do not remember how I learned that it went that far south, but it seemed almost magical to me that you could just stay on that road and eventually reach the point the farthest south and east in the whole country! (Perhaps I-15 seems similarly magical to those who grew up here, leading straight to Disneyland.) It was a freeway, but not part of the Federal Interstate Freeway System. 41 came down southwest from Green Bay and curved due west at the northeast corner of Appleton. When it reached the northwest corner of town it turned south and continued down the west side of Lake Winnebago through Oshkosh half-way down and Fond du Lac (French for bottom of the lake) at the bottom of the lake. Then 41 curved back toward the southeast and went to Milwaukee, about a hundred miles south of Appleton, and then straight south to Chicago. I never took it further south than the 200 miles to Chicago, but I fantasized about going all the way to Florida. Green Bay, Appleton, Oshkosh and Fond du Lac are all about thirty miles apart, following the Fox River and Lake Winnebago. Appleton had three connections to the highway: one at the northeast corner, one due west on College Avenue, the main street, and one at the southwest corner. Usually, Dad took the southwest ramp after cutting across town, since we lived in the northeast part of Appleton.
When we got to Oshkosh, we exited to the west and went through Lake Butte Des Morts (French for hill of the dead). Now you would probably not recognize this as a lake. It was more like a large area of swamp, cattails and reeds interspersed with areas of open water. There must have been a lot of wildlife in there, but the only thing I remember seeing was flocks of red-winged blackbirds. They were the first birds I was aware of with the males looking very different from the females. The males are shiny black with “epaulets” of scarlet edged in yellow. The females, on the other hand, were drab--speckled brown and tan. Sometimes there would be hundreds in the flocks and they would make a racket with their songs and calls. (Of course we usually had the windows open, unless it was cold outside.) Most of the way across Wisconsin was through flat farmland with fields of corn, wheat, oats, barley, soybeans or alfalfa and pastures full of dairy cows, mostly black and white Holsteins, with about ten per cent tan and white Guernseys or pure tan Jerseys. Barns were big and either red or white, with silos and outbuildings around them. My parents said you could tell who wore the pants in the farmer’s family by whether the house or the barn was better maintained. When the barn was in need of paint, watch out for the farmwife!
Next time I will tell about the little towns we drove through. I have researched some of them on the internet and there are even photos of some of them. They look just the same today as they did forty or fifty years ago!
Monday, November 3, 2008
It was kind of a shock to go to the file of my mother's "Random Recollections" last week and realize that they were all used. I had thought that there was at least one more. That is why I did not post anything; I had nothing composed in my head ready. So, I guess it is time to tell about my grandfather and his animals.
Most people know the "tune" to "Here, kitty-kitty-kitty-kitty!" It is a sustained "here" on a relatively high pitch, followed by, usually, four quick "kitty-kitty-kitty-kitty" on a lower pitch. The similar whistle for a dog of four quick lower-pitch tones followed by a two-pitch rising longer tone is known the world over. (I even heard it on a TV program about the dogs of the primitive New Guinea bush people. One of the aboriginal men used it to call his dog.) Those are the only animal calls most people know nowadays. But my grandfather knew others and, I suspect, most other farmers of his day did, also.
Whenever most people appeared in the fields and pastures, any livestock there would run away from them. But my Grampa Thompson could just stand at the gate to the pasture and call, "Shee-eep! Shee-eep! Shee-eep!" on a rising inflection and his sheep would come running to him as fast as they could. (That could be scary to a small child standing next to him.) The hogs would come to "Soo-ey! Pig-pig-pig-pig!" The "soo" syllable was on a middle pitch with the "-ey" much higher and the "pig-pig-pig-pig" the lowest. And the cattle came to "Hey, boss! Hey, boss! Hey, boss!" with the "hey" very high and the "boss" much lower pitched. I suspect that he also had a call for his horses, but they were gone before I could learn it. Perhaps he just called them by their names, but there might have been a traditional horse call, too.
The hog and cow calls are related to their Latin names (suis and bos) and I believe they have been in use at least since Roman times. It is amazing to think of the generations of shepherds and cowherds using the same "tunes" to communicate with their flocks and herds for thousands of years. Probably there were animal calls even before there was Roman language, too.
By the way, my grandfather's sheep were often pastured right next to the fence dividing his farm from the Peterson farm to the south. When the Peterson sheep were near that fence, they did not try to come to my grandfather's call; they knew their own shepherd's voice. He might use the same "tune" but it was not the right voice, so they stayed where they were.
Most people know the "tune" to "Here, kitty-kitty-kitty-kitty!" It is a sustained "here" on a relatively high pitch, followed by, usually, four quick "kitty-kitty-kitty-kitty" on a lower pitch. The similar whistle for a dog of four quick lower-pitch tones followed by a two-pitch rising longer tone is known the world over. (I even heard it on a TV program about the dogs of the primitive New Guinea bush people. One of the aboriginal men used it to call his dog.) Those are the only animal calls most people know nowadays. But my grandfather knew others and, I suspect, most other farmers of his day did, also.
Whenever most people appeared in the fields and pastures, any livestock there would run away from them. But my Grampa Thompson could just stand at the gate to the pasture and call, "Shee-eep! Shee-eep! Shee-eep!" on a rising inflection and his sheep would come running to him as fast as they could. (That could be scary to a small child standing next to him.) The hogs would come to "Soo-ey! Pig-pig-pig-pig!" The "soo" syllable was on a middle pitch with the "-ey" much higher and the "pig-pig-pig-pig" the lowest. And the cattle came to "Hey, boss! Hey, boss! Hey, boss!" with the "hey" very high and the "boss" much lower pitched. I suspect that he also had a call for his horses, but they were gone before I could learn it. Perhaps he just called them by their names, but there might have been a traditional horse call, too.
The hog and cow calls are related to their Latin names (suis and bos) and I believe they have been in use at least since Roman times. It is amazing to think of the generations of shepherds and cowherds using the same "tunes" to communicate with their flocks and herds for thousands of years. Probably there were animal calls even before there was Roman language, too.
By the way, my grandfather's sheep were often pastured right next to the fence dividing his farm from the Peterson farm to the south. When the Peterson sheep were near that fence, they did not try to come to my grandfather's call; they knew their own shepherd's voice. He might use the same "tune" but it was not the right voice, so they stayed where they were.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Random Recollections IX
10/21/08
IX
My dad always liked the Thompson relatives who mostly lived in and around Albert Lea, but he especially enjoyed contact with his mother’s people who had moved from Albert Lea to Rockford, Iowa and later on, after his mother died, to the Muscatine, Iowa area. His uncle, Earl, lived in Des Moines and was always a welcome guest whenever he would visit. He was a brakeman on the Rock Island Railroad and my dad had always wanted to work on the railroad rather than be a farmer.
After Grandpa Thompson died in 1941 my dad applied to the railroad, but was told he was too old (52). I’m sure he felt good about the fact that he stayed on the farm and helped his dad as he was asked to do, but he never got to do the work he wanted so much to do. He learned to be a good farmer; he was especially good at predicting the weather which is an important aspect of growing and harvesting crops. He was very good to his animals and used work horses until the late 1930’s when he purchased a tractor for field work.
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I plan to do a whole blog on my grandfather's relationship with his animals. It was amazing to me, but probably seemed normal to other farmers. I was fascinated by his tractor, too. It was so very loud--no mufflers on tractors--and open to everything. Often he would invite a grandchild or two to stand by him as he sat on the seat and drove out to the fields. It was exciting, but did not feel safe to me. I know now that it was not at all safe and I would not allow my children to do it, if they had had the opportunity. Still, I survived, didn't I?
IX
My dad always liked the Thompson relatives who mostly lived in and around Albert Lea, but he especially enjoyed contact with his mother’s people who had moved from Albert Lea to Rockford, Iowa and later on, after his mother died, to the Muscatine, Iowa area. His uncle, Earl, lived in Des Moines and was always a welcome guest whenever he would visit. He was a brakeman on the Rock Island Railroad and my dad had always wanted to work on the railroad rather than be a farmer.
After Grandpa Thompson died in 1941 my dad applied to the railroad, but was told he was too old (52). I’m sure he felt good about the fact that he stayed on the farm and helped his dad as he was asked to do, but he never got to do the work he wanted so much to do. He learned to be a good farmer; he was especially good at predicting the weather which is an important aspect of growing and harvesting crops. He was very good to his animals and used work horses until the late 1930’s when he purchased a tractor for field work.
*************************************************************************************
I plan to do a whole blog on my grandfather's relationship with his animals. It was amazing to me, but probably seemed normal to other farmers. I was fascinated by his tractor, too. It was so very loud--no mufflers on tractors--and open to everything. Often he would invite a grandchild or two to stand by him as he sat on the seat and drove out to the fields. It was exciting, but did not feel safe to me. I know now that it was not at all safe and I would not allow my children to do it, if they had had the opportunity. Still, I survived, didn't I?
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Random Recollections VIII
The only time I remember being baby-sat was when I was about ten years old and Mom and Dad were taking a trip to Muscatine, Iowa. It may have been that they were going for a funeral or maybe just a visit with Dad’s mother’s relatives. They sent me across the road to stay with Edmund and Sylvia Nelson and their daughter Ruth. Edmund was one of my mother’s brothers. My brother Bob and some of my cousins called Edmund, “The Bear.” He was not very approachable to say the least. Sylvia was a lovely lady and I knew Ruth from going to school with her even though she was four years older than I. I remember being a little undecided about whether or not I like staying with them for several days and especially the several nights.
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I need to do more research about that branch of the family in Muscatine. I did not know about them before. There is so much I do not know!
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I need to do more research about that branch of the family in Muscatine. I did not know about them before. There is so much I do not know!
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Random Recollections VII
I do not know why we went to Mason City, Iowa, but Mom and Dad and I drove down there one sunny day. I either sat on my mother’s lap or on the seat between Mom and Dad. We came to an intersection where, for some reason, Dad couldn’t stop in time and we rear-ended the car in front of us. My head went into the windshield and I got a small cut on the top of my head. I still have a bald spot (scar) on my head where the hair has not grown since the accident!
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I always wondered how she got that little scar. It did not show much, but once in a while her hair blew around enough or something and I knew it was there.
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I always wondered how she got that little scar. It did not show much, but once in a while her hair blew around enough or something and I knew it was there.
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