I was lucky enough to get a copy of Grandma Annie Theresa Borchardt Throckmorton's personal memoir book that she had printed up and thought that I would try and type it into this blog so all of her descendents who didn't get one and who want to--can read about her life. Her writing is not perfect, her sentence structure is lacking and she is definately not politically correct! But please over look these failings (especially her characterization of her black neigbors) she was the product of her time (and as I knew her in her older years, she was not prejudiced and only spoke fondly of these people she describes). Her language reflects her time and circumstances as well as her childhood innocence. So again please let those references slide and just enjoy her memories and grow closer to her as a person.
This first part is separate from her book:
An outline of Grandma's Family copied from an old copy of hand written pages dated November of 1964.
Annie Theresa Borchardt Throckmorton
My grandfather John Charles Borchardt on my father’s side was born about the year of 1832 in Elsac (Alsace?) Lorrain France. Here he was raised and educated. He was six foot two inches tall in his sox feet, coal black hair, and dark brown eyes. Well educated, very business like, a business man in the city of Berlin owning a business block at one time after coming to this city as a young man. Here he met and married Martha Theresa Aylott about the year of 1854. a blue-eyed blond, around five feet three inches tall, born about the year of 1834 in Berlin Germany. Well educated, ruled her home well and the servants that worked in it. Very neat and particular, and as well as her husband strongly believed in education, and of an Episcopal faith, a very nice looking lady. To this union were born four children, Martha in the year of about 1856, Wilhelmina the year of about 1859, and Charles Harry, (My father, born January 15, 1862), Ralph born the year of about 1864 and died as a young man during a cholera siege.
My grandparents on my mother’s side were James William Parker of light hair and blue eyes born about the year of 1801 in North Carolina. Well raised and educated in that state, a somewhat well to do farmer, in the year of about 1821 he married and to this union were born two sons and a daughter. After the death of his first wife, he married Sallie Anne Jones born in the year of about 1813 in North Carolina where she was raised and educated as a nurse. She too had sandy like hair or light hair and blue eyes, about five foot nine inches tall. An only child and an old maid at the time of her marriage, to this union was born one child, Annie Martha Parker, on December the 15th, 1852 in Gates County (It was called at that time) North Carolina. When a small child, she moved with her parents to Norfolk County, Virginia, five miles from the city of Portsmouth Virginia, close to two villages Deep Creek and Gilmanton. Her father’s two sons and daughter went west by covered wagon when or before they moved to Virginia. They wrote to them until her father died when she was about twelve years old. They then heard no more and finally lost track of them. My father came to this country from Berlin Germany. He was a member of the Episcopal Church and of the Boys choir having had an extra good voice, at time was given the job of directing the boys choir. He acquired his education in the German Military academy. He in later years got a job on his Cousin’s ship, this took him nearly around the world. And he learned to speak six different languages. Finally leaving his Cousin’s ship at Key West, Florida. Here he worked as a deep sea diver among the coral reefs (coral = the calcareous skeletons of certain marine animals found in many shapes in tropical seas including coral island and off the coast of Florida) until he nearly lost his life in a leaky suit. Later coming to the city of Portsmouth, Virginia in the year of 1882 where he acquired other work and met Annie Martha Parker, the spring or year of 1883. After some months of knowing each other he talked of marriage (From the way I heard it). She was a very cut, little vivacious blue eyed blond, that never looked her age. She tried dissuading him because of the difference in their ages. (note: she was about 10 years older than he) He wouldn’t hear of it, saying age made no difference, so on September 2, 1883 Charles Harry Borchardt and Annie Martha Parker were married, in Norfolk county Virginia by her Baptist Minister. They lived with her mother for a while on her father’s White Lilly Farm bordering the Elizabeth River and known in later years as “The old White Lily Picnic Grounds.” And finally went into the dairy business, buying a small acreage and home of their own. To this union were born five children. The first was James William Borchardt, born in August of 1884 and died at the age of four months (the doctor called in those days) intermittent fever. and buried in the old Nash burying grounds. Harry Reynold Borchardt born October 13, 1885 (died in 1979 at 82), Sallie Signora Borchardt born March 31, 1887, Lorena Wilhelmia Borchardt born December 16, 1886 (Died at 1974 at 82?), Annie Theresa Borchardt born September 10, 1892. All born in Norfolk County, Virginia five miles from the city of Portsmouth. Hre father had a business place, store, Grist mill, and wood yard. A large home of four big bedrooms up stairs and four very large ones down stairs that he built, later going in for building houses and then later the old Atlantic and Danville railroad as supervisor of bridges and buildings from Portsmouth Virginia to Buffalo, New York. My mother took care of the store and business. Father stayed with the railroad job as supervisor until mother persuaded him to quit because of his health. Later going in for the job of putting locks in rivers and canals (an arrangement of gates by which boats are raised or lowered from one level to another in a river, canal or dock). Working at this for some years and was even asked to go to the Panama Canal Zone with expenses paid to assist in putting in the Panama Canal Locks. At $208.00 per month, unheard of wages in those days. But mother objected because of so much yellow fever around the Panama Canal Zone in those days and so far from home. Father loved to hunt, and each winter he and a number of his friends would go on hunting trips to the Old Dismal Swamp, bring back deer, wild turkey and other game. (Years later though, the Old Dismal Swamp was crisscrossed with drain ditches, and made into huge corn fields) Then one spring he was contacted in regards to operating the huge compressor engine that furnished steam to run all the other engines in the yard at the Portsmouth and Norfolk Navy Yard. And was there at the time they put in the huge dry dock that year of 1905, 1906 and 1907, for the repairing and building of huge war ships. Many times I’ve heard him relate how it was built from bottom to top, a most exciting experience. This job he stayed with until I was thirteen years old when we sold our old home that spring of 1907 in Norfolk county, and moved to Princess Anne county Virginia twelve miles by trolly from the big city of Norfolk and six miles from Virginia Beach, a summer resort on the Atlantic Ocean, not far from the old Cape Henry light house and across from that stretch of water was Cape Charles (the bricks having been brought from England in the early day. Here in 1907 the fleet of that day it was anchored on display that went around the world. And here on the eighty acres father bought about a mile from the small town of Lynnhaven he build a lovely old style southern home in a (Z shape laid on its side with the letter end perpendicular to the main center line) or this shape (same as before) of five very large bed rooms up stirs, and also a hall up stairs winding front stairs from the large reception hall below, double parlor with an arch between, dining room as large as the double parlor, very large kitchen with back stairway, up and down front porch, two back porches, thirty two windows and three glass doors. On calm nights one could easily hear the roar of the Atlantic ocean six mile away. The electric trolly between Norfolk and Virginia Beach passed right by he back of our farm. I rode the trolly daily to and from Norfolk to school using a school ticket book which was cheaper than regular fare. My brother while working in Norfolk met and married Mary E. Guy in the Methodist Church by their minister, Reverend Staff. My sister Sallie was one of the bride’s maids. They went on a wedding trip by boat up the Potomac river to Washington D.C. To their union was born four children, Mary Edith Maxine Borchardt, Sept. 2, 1908 in our home at Lynnhaven, Princess County Virginia. Old Doctor Miller of Seatack a small town or village close to Virginia Beach officiated at the birth. Henry Claude Borchardt born in our home at Portland, Multnomah County, Oregon, February8, 1911 and on May the 1st, 1913, the twins were born in Cassia County near Sublet, Idaho on the homestead. Dr. Clarence Sater was the doctor and a Mrs. Horn living below Sublet was the nurse. Only Parker Grey of the twins survived. My brother and sister Sallie graduated from the Portsmouth Virginia Business College, and while she too was working in Norfolk met a nice Montana fellow who had been born and raised in North Carolina, a Mr. William Pruden Felon who’s father ha been a lawyer while living in North Carolina. And his mother a graduate nurse. He was visiting relatives that winter and spring in North Carolina and Virginia that year, 1908. Some months later they became engaged and Sept. 9, 1908 at Lynnhaven, Princess Anne county, they were married beneath the arch in our double parlor, in a lovely wedding by our Baptist Minister, the reverend Paul Berry Watlington. My sister Wilhelmina beautifully dressed was her sister’s bride’s maid, and Ossie West, a friend of Pruden’s and Wilhelmina’s was best man. They went on a trip to visit his relatives in North Carolina, retuning after several months to our home, leaving shortly there after for his ranch at Havre, Montana. Robert Harry Felton born in our home Sept. 4, 1911 at Portland, Multnomah county Oregon. Thomas Twitchel Felton born Sept 8, 1912 at Portland, Multnomah County, Oregon. Raymond James Felton born November 1, 1915 in Havre Montana, Donald Lee Felton born March 16, 1918 in Havre Montana, Jack Felton born June 15, 1920 at Havre Montana, Edward Felton born July 28, 1922, at Havre, Montana, Annie Evelyn Felton orn August 7, 1924 at Havre, Montana (and drowned in the natatorium at Great Falls Montana when 18 years old in August or summer of 1942) Carolina Virginia Felton frorn November9, 1928 at Havre, Montana.
My sister Lorena Wilhelmina Borchardt, born December 16, 1888, never did marry. That first spring and summer at Lynnhaven my father was picked as one of the head men to rebuild the Virginia Beach amusements which had burned down that fall and winter of 1907 -1908. Later he worked for an oil company overseeing the putting in of pump stations throughout many of the southern states including Florida and South Carolina. In March 1909 we sold our lovely home and eighty acre farm, chartering a box car, stored our household things furniture and etc. in it, and we too headed west for Havre, Montana. A wonderful, lovely trip by Pullman. All my life I had had a yearning to go west, my brother–in-law and sister met us at the Havre depot. So vast were the differences of this rolling expanse of Montana prairie country than our home we had left behind. There could be no comparison. But I loved it and was always looking for Indians which we saw quite frequently in this small town of Havre, Because of so little work, my Brother, his wife and little daughter, along with father, mother, sister and I after several months there moved to Great falls, Montana, where a building boom was in progress that summer of 1909. Staying there until November, with father and brother having plenty of work, learning from old timers of the intensity of the cold there during winter months and hearing too of a building boom going on in Portland, Oregon, we moved there and found plenty of work. Here father and brother got into the contracting business of building houses. That following June of 1910, we made a trip by the sunset rout or railroad of eight days and nine nights back to our old home in the southland of Virginia. Returning in September again to Portland Oregon where father and brother again took up contracting and building of houses. That fall of 1909 My sister Sallie, husband and little son came there from Montana also, for a visit and looking for a warmer climate for awhile he worked in a grocery store, later did carpenter work with father and brother. He finally bought a lot and built a small home. Along in February of 1912 Father learned of homestead land to be thrown open for filing on in Southern Idaho, never having lived on a homestead or owned one, we came to the conclusion it might be interesting to live on one. So father went the first of March to Burley, Idaho, filing on one and picked out one for my brother also in Cassia County on Shirley Creek near the Post office at Sublet, fifty miles out from Burley or Rupert. In May of 1912 another box car was loaded with household things and furniture. Also lumber for two houses, post and wire for fencing a team of horses, harness and wagon. My brother came with the box car from Portland, but we arrived by train May 11, 1912 at Rupert, Idaho and the box car a few days later. Finding a house to rent until our homestead houses were built and we could move on them a distance of fifty miles from Rupert. Annie Theresa Borchardt, while at Rupert, met a very nice young man, James Vernon Throckmorton who’s father was a Methodist minister, and who had come to this country from his home at Derby, Lucas County, Iowa the year before or April 1, 1911. After keeping company for over a year during that time becoming engaged on Saturday morning October 4, 1913, drove to Albion, Idaho, a distance of thirty miles by horse and buggy (with no top on it) from my Parents, Mr. and Mrs. Charles Harry Borchardt’s ranch home on Shirley Creek in Cassia County. And there we were married at eight o’clock that evening in the Methodist parsonage by the minister of the church, the Reverend Hall K. Wallace, two neighbor ladies, one a Mrs. Lena Price were the witnesses. We spent that night in the old Albion wooden structure hotel (that burned to the ground a week or more later) that next evening, Sunday, we drove the thirty miles back to our ranch home father and brother had built for us on our 160 acre homestead lower down on Shirley Creek. (father had helped Jim to stake or pick out, about eighty acres below my folks place). Father and brother that first winter or the last of January, 1912 on their homestead went back to Portland, Oregon to work a couple of months returning the first of April. Also while in Portland bought and shipped a car of lumber for our home, Jim had previously sent the money to father for this, and which our home was built from on our homestead, by my father and brother. It consisted of two large bedrooms upstairs with closets and a large bedroom, kitchen, and front room large enough for two rooms downstairs. A very cozy, roomy home.) this was the home we came back to that Sunday night just at midnight, October 5, 1913. It had threatened rain most of that afternoon and night but did not start to sprinkle until Jim got out to open the gate at the top of the hill, leading to our home in the valley by Shirley Creek. And as we opened the door to our home to go in it really came down, raining for about two weeks most of the time, finally turning to snow keeping the chivariers away that had waited for two nights at our neighbors on the hill abve us south until nearly midnight Saturday, thinking we would return that same night and also Sunday night, we had bought and fixed things and were prepared for them, missing us by just a little bit that Sunday night they kept riding down to our house to see if we had returned, finally giving it up just before we arrived. Somehow I was glad of the rain. We stayed with our homestead on Shirley Creek in Cassia County near Sublett for ten years off and on trying to derive from it a living, and during that time went to Derby, Lucas County, Iowa and lived on Jim’s father’s south 120 acres farm. After a couple years of this, back to Idaho we came to give the dry farm homestead another try, having somewhat become cemented to it and hating to give up our plans for a home there and that of deriving a living from it. And during that time and through the years we were blessed as parents with eight children, three girls and five boys, and more and more as the children arrived and grew into school age, we knew that a better environment, school, Sunday school and Church were a must for their fast growing bodies and active growing minds. So a decision, to give up for good this out of the way place with an appealing something hard to forget, and so, here are those eight children each seemingly wonderful and the love they brought along as each arrived. Virginia Anne Throckmorton, born 12:45 Tuesday P.M. June 23, 1914, weight nine pounds on our ranch on Shirley creek in cassia Count near Sublett, Idaho. Doctor Clarence Sater of Malta and a very large lady, a Mrs. Evens, who lived on a homestead about two miles from us were in charge of the event. Margaret Elizabeth Throckmorton born 11:45 Monday, September 11, 1916 weight 9 lbs on our ranch on Shirley Creek in Cassia County near Sublett, Idaho. Doctor Clarence Sater of Malta, Idaho and a Mrs. Will Thompson (living on a homestead with her family having come to the country from Iowa were in charge. James Marshall Throckmorton born at five minutes to 12 midnight Saturday, April 19, 1919 weight seven pounds, Doctor Fred Throckmorton and a Miss Dubois was the nurse in charge at Derby, Iowa, Lucas County, the first baby to be born in his Uncle Dr. Fred T’s new hospital at Derby. Joyce (Jay) Borchardt Throckmorton, born five minutes after 12-midnight Saturday, September 3, 1921 weight 8 pounds at our ranch on Shirley Creek, Cassia County near Sublett Idaho. Doctor Clarence Sater of Malta and Mrs Will Rosswarm (who lived on a homestead about two miles away with her family having come to the country from Missouri) was in charge. John Charles Throckmorton born ten minutes to nine P.M. Monday weight 9 ½ lbs June 9, 1924 at Rupert, Minidoka County, Idaho in the old Vinnie Lineman house with porch all around it. We were renting at the time. Doctor Leland Frazer and a Mrs. Wheeler, a friend of ours were in charge. Vernon Parker Throckmorton born at three A.M. Tuesday morning eight 9 ½ lbs October 19, 1926 at Derby, Lucas County Iowa (on Grandpa John Simpson Throckmorton’s south 120 acre farm. We lived in the old home his father, James Vernon Throckmorton grew up in. Two bed rooms up stairs and four rooms down stars, two bedooms, front room and large kitchen. And there was Grandpa J.S. T.’s north farm of 80 acres over north, with a nice two story home of 4 large bed rooms up stairs, and five nice size rooms downstairs. A large lawn and many beautiful ever-green trees and others where he and Grandmother Margaret Flora Marshall Throckmorton lived. Grandmother used to call it “Rest Cottage” so many of the relatives came to visit and enjoy a quiet calm rest, within its walls, and surrounding countryside.) Doctor Lazear Throckmorton, Jim’s cousin and his father, Doctor Tom M. Throckmorton and Jim’s mother Throckmorton were in charge. Elaine Lorraine Throckmorton born at ten minutes until one p.m. Monday weight 8 ½ pounds, August 11, 1930 in the home we are living in (only then it was on a lot in town at Rupert, Minidoka County Idaho. Doctor A. E. Johnson and a Mrs. Gardener were in charge. Frederick Lazear Throckmorton, born at ten minutes until one a.m. Tuesday night October 15, 1935 weight 9 ½ pounds, (In the same home we live in (only on the 3 1/3 acres a short distance it was moved to from in Rupert,) Minidoka County, Idaho. Doctor E.H. Elmore, and a Mrs. McGill were in charge.
End of outline and beginning of a number of pages devoted to family names, births and deaths
First in Aunt Virginia’s handwriting:
Mary Borchardt and Robert Pfnister had 4 children. Naomi Lee Pfnister born 17 of April 1942, David Pfnister (died shortly after birth), Paul Robert Dec. 23, 1951,
ED. Insert:
(Mom (Elaine) reports that Mary (Grandma’s brother’s daughter) didn’t have her first child until she was 39 years old. Naomi has never married. She became a minister, and lives in Oregon. Robert was Henry Pfnister’s brother. So Uncle Henry and Robert married first cousins. Robert was known as a fire and brimstone preacher who started out in the Pentecostal Church but became upset and moved to an Assembly of God church in Rupert. Mom says “he could tell you about if you didn’t repent where you’d go! They kind of scared you as a kid.”)
Grandma’s account continues:
Our oldest, Virginia Anne Throckmorton was married to Benjamin Henry Pfnister (born in Auburn Washington, June 19, 1911) February the second 1935 by the Pentecostal Church, Minister Haskell Yaden, in the afternoon in the living room of Henry’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. George Pfnister’s ranch home near Acequia, Minidoka County. A big dinner was served later by his mother to all the guests. Later when desert was served, I kept wondering why I couldn’t get my ice cream eaten, only to find when looking another way Henry would put more on my plate.
Then in Aunt Virginia’s handwriting:
Henry Pfnister bought the J.P. Nies Place that we live in now, J.P. built this house we live in now. J.P. built this house we now live in. We got it in 1956 late January Mr Nies passed away that winter and she Llie? Sold it to us. Henry Pfnister. We were married Feb. 2, 1935, Birthday Henry Pfnister June 19, 1911, Birthday Virginia Pfnister June 23, 1914, Naomi Lee Pfnister April 17, 1942 (Robert and Mary’s daughter), John P. Pfnister February 12, 1940.
Ed. Insert: Mom, Elaine reports that at first Virginia and Henry lived in a small home on an acreage that his parent owned. The place was given to both Henry and his brother Robert, but Robert was away doing missionary work, so Virginia and Henry lived there until 1956 when Robert tired of missionary work and wanted to come back. Mom says the house was very small and didn’t have finished walls, just the studs and the outside siding! They kept the door shut and heated the home with a wood stove and the cookstove. They didn’t have electricity, and used kerosene lamps. They had an outhouse some distance from the house, and no running water. They had a deep well drilled which was expensive for those days. They had to drill down through the rock. The water was always ice-cold even in summer. You’d pump the water with a hand pump and carry it in the bucket to the house. (My mom had a pump on the backporch at the 3 1/3 acre home until after WWII when Mom was 16 and they got a water system and a well that they set up in the root cellar and ran pipes to the kitchen. Back with the pump, if you wanted to do laundry, you would pump lots of buckets of water the night before. Granma had a big copper oblong pan that she sat on the wood cook stove to heat the water for washing. She needed help to pour the water into the washing machine. Until I was nine or ten she just had tubs and a scrub board and a vacuum type wooden stick apparatus that you pumped up and down. Uncle Jay worked thinning beets when he got old enough and earned the money to buy Grandma’s first washing machine. He did it all on his own. He was in his teens. It was green enamel on the outside with black trip and had a wringer on it. It was round with four legs and had a wringer on one side. You’d set another tub on the wringer side with rinse water and wring the clothes out of the washer into the rinse tub. Then you would swing the wringer around and wring the clothes out of the rinse tub into a clothes basket.
Back to Virginia and Henry, they seemed to always leave their home very cold. They saved their money during the time they lived in this home and when Robert and Mary wanted to move in, they were able to pay cash for the Nies place. Robert and Mary were not used to such austere living conditions (despite his hellfire and brimstone preaching) and built a nice two story home when they moved to the farm.
Then again in Grandma’s handwriting: “To this union was born one son, John Henry Pfnister February 12, 1940. Weight _____ In his grandparents Throckmorton’s home on the acreage the one we now live in. Doctor Earl Jensen, and his Grandma “T.” was the nurse in charge.
Then in Virginia’s handwriting;
Robert and Mary Pfnister, son Paul Fredrick Pfinister December 23, 1951
David Brent, June 26, 1978 Paul Pfnister’s first son by first wife
George Ann Paul’s second wife, no children
Dora Pfnister Nov. 12, 1996 was 88 yrs old, “Henry and Robert’s sister”
Mary passed away last of Dec 1992 at age 84
Robert?
Then in Grandma’s handwriting:
John Henry Pfnister was married to Janice Gail Clark on June 28, 1960 at eight p.m. Tuesday in the Burley Assembly of God church Cassia County by the pastor of the church the Reverend ____________ Judith Kay Throckmorton and Namoi Lee Pfnister were candle lighters
Then in Virginia’s handwriting:
John’s second wife Evelyn
Then in Grandma’s handwriting:
To this union were born (John and Janice) two sons, Steven John Pfnister 1st son March the 11th at 6:30 p.m. 1961 at the Minidoka Memorial hospital weight 6 lbs 10 oz
Todd Alan Pfnister, the 2nd son was born in the Blanding Utah hospital weight 6 lb 11 ½ oz October 19, 1964
Earl ____ Abel, born at Modesto California, Stanislaw Co. June 28, 1909 the son of Mr. and Mrs N.W. Abel was married to our second daughter Margaret Elizabeth Throckmorton July 18, 1936 in the P.M. at Christian church parsonage at Burley, Idaho Cassia County by the Christian minister Rev. _________________
To this union was born three sons. Lyle bruce Able born November 27, 1937 at Boise, 8 ½ lbs at the St. Lukes Hospital Dr. was Dr. Coats.
Gary Lee Abel born May 7, 1939 at Booth Memorial Hospital in Boise Idaho. Doc was Dr. Beel, weight 7 lbs 11 oz
Kenneth Neal Abel was born July 13, 1943 at St. Lukes Hospital in Boise Idaho Weight 8
Gary Lee Abel was married to Carolyn Elaine Hurst (daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Bill Hurst) at Nampa, Idaho in the church of the Open Door Friday, November 25th 1961 at eight P.M.
To this union was born their first son, Joseph Earl Abel at the Boise Idaho hospital weight 8lbs, 4 oz at ten thirty a.m. October 2nd 1961.
Ty William Abel their 2nd son born at the Boise Idaho Hospital St. Lukes September 22, 1963 Weight 7lbs.
OK NOW FOR THE BOOK!
“My Diary of Memories”
ACROSS THE YEARS
By
ANNIE THERESA B. THROCKMORTON
Part 1
DESTINED TO GO WEST
The youngest in the family, born with a love of nature; a desire for the out-of-doors to ramble through fields of daisies, the woodland trails, along streams, and most of all though a yearning to go West to be amidst its scenic beauty to see Indians as they really were. Their ponies, wigwams, their mode of living, having seen only pictures of them.
Father and I were of the same accord; mother wouldn’t hear of it commenting “why not let well enough be,” So father built, planned, continued to add to, and truly we were surrounded with much in this busy countryside with its wildlife, songbirds, places to roam, and things to fill ones time. The excitement of milling and wood sawing days, the teams, wagons and people who gathered at such times. The stacks of cord wood in long rows to be sawed into stove length for winter fuel. Much time too was given over to a store where neighbors and people for miles around could buy their supply of groceries and meats.
The field and old Forts (dirt mounds in long rows); I loved to wander over where in the early days had once been a part of the old Civil War Battle ground, finding bits of this and that, relics partly hidden from view left those many years eroding away from wind, sun, and weather delighting the finder of such artifacts.
Listening to the bird calls and the sighing of the wind in the pine trees as I strolled exploring what might be found, using hollow logs with door and trigger and apples for bait to catch the little cottontail rabbits. Once a little owl was trapped. His big eyes in the far dark corner scared me so I ran home to get my brother. With one look he explained, “I never knew you were afraid of the little old owl.” Dumping him from the trap it hopped then flew up in a pine tree close be.
Not too far was what was called “Old Tempty Hole.” Here we could go fishing. A quiet pine clad lonely place where the eddy of the river at high tide swirled around digging into the high side of the bank. Here the river too was much deeper and quiet. In this cove the fish were larger, more plentiful, and easier caught, why it was called “Old Tempty Hole” but much too deep and dangerous to swim in. We would take our lunch and have a picnic while fishing. My brother dearly loved to bring home those nice strings of fish but I never cared much about it. I just liked to wander and explore.
In the fall when the persimmons were ripe they would give me some and tell me they were ripe and I wouldn’t more than get them in my mouth until my mouth felt like I had been sucking on a piece of alum.. But. They didn’t fool me for long.
When my brother and sisters first started to school there was no little one-room school across from our place.. Mama took them and went to get them with horse and carriage at the little Gilmerton school about two miles away.. How I did love those trips. When I would come to see the little school in the shady dell I always wanted to stay. But I was too young then to attend.
Finally my folks bought a nice upright piano and put it in the parlor. The parlor was a place we only sat in or used when we had extra nice company. On the table in the middle of the room was a stereoscope and pictures that I liked to look through. We had a reddish pink sofa and big chair, much like the davenport and chair we have now. And a pinkish red Axminister carpet with big roses in it . There were also other chairs and pretty curtains. This is the room I was born in.
My father and mother thought now that we had the nice piano it was time the older children were taking music lessons. O course, I was considered too young. I took them when older and there was Mama’s old flat top Chickering piano in the living room that always sounded like strains from heaven when mother would wit down at twilight to play and sing.
Mother had a distant cousin, a Professor Car. A wonderful elderly, white haired lady who had taught music most of her life. My mother use to drive the horses and carriage and bring her twice a week of evenings after school in the winter to teach the three music lessons. I laved those trips because she was such a lovely lady. And had grand stories to tell us going and coming. For, I was always one for stories.
At times I’d slip away to an old negro couple’s cabin, here I could sit for hours listening to their slave-day stories. I never tired of things like that.
My mother was a very pretty attractive little woman with blond hair and blue eyes, around 5 ft. 3 inches tall. My father too very nice looking with coal black hair, blue eyes and about 5 ft. nine inches tall, in his young days. He always stood erect and straight until old are, he had some ribs broken, in fact , in younger years he had had his leg broken and his ribs by falling from a high scaffold that gave away.
The year my brother and sister graduated from business college, my parents had a good offer for our place.. This man said he’d had an eye for it for some time if we would sell. My parents began thinking about us growing up and not quite satisfied with the community./
And knew of an eighty acres in Princess Anna County. The county we live in was Norfolk county. They thought it over and pondered it carefully. There were tears and some thoughts of happiness in a new and strange home. I felt badly too, I the adventuresome type, but still I hesitated. I began thinking of all the wonderful times I had had as a child on the old home place. How I use to love to climb to the top of the barn and coast down until my father declared we were wearing all the shingles off and the barn would leak.
It was built with a long slope. The hay loft, the stable, the carriage shed, and the chicken house made a long sloping roof not far to the ground. When you got to the edge of the chicken house, and believe me , that was lots of fun. I would tuck my dress tight under me and hold on to it around my knees. Well, the roof suffered with wear as wear we hardly had time to get set and sit down until “ZOOM,” we were at the jump off.
Then there was a wild grape that grew in an oak tree right at the back of the barn and from the top of the barn I could grab those long vines and swing out over the marshy places behind the barn. I have often wondered, years later, what would have happened if one of those vines had of broken with me as I swung out. I always used the same big vine each time for it was big and strong. Just below where I swung was a soft boggy place. A little like quick sand. My sister, in chasing some geese for Mama, got into it one day. She sank below her waist before we got her out.
The geese had a habit of laying under the barn and I was the only one small enough to crawl under the barn to retrieve the eggs. Many a time I have come in contact with an angry goose or gander and backed out so fast I bumped my head on the big floor joist that was under the floor of the barn.
In the wintertime we had fun coasting down the long hill behind the barn and out across a small frozen lake caused by rain or when Julian’s Creek came up and flooded. It was such fun.
One Saturday, Gus, our negro handy boy that worked around the place and mill, was seen, at twilight, hiding a small sack back of the mill. After he left for the day my father inquired to see what it was he had hid. Upon investigating he found it was a shall white sack partly filled with corn meal. Just to have some fun father dumped the meal back in the bin and put in the same amount of sawdust. The next morning father looked and the sack was gone. When Gus came later, my father asked him how the corn meal was.
“What corn meal, Suh?” he asked.
My father said, “Don’t lie to me , Gus. Did the sawdust make good biscuits?”
“Nor Suh, Nor Suh, I never got nothing!”
My father said, “you know all about that, Gus, quit your stalling. I saw you. The nest time you want corn meal that bad, let me know. I don’t want anyone going hungry. You know I wouldn’t refuse you a little meal.” Where upon, he went in and filled a sack giving him four times what he tried to steal.
Father and mother were both good that way. People would come to them in the winter time pleading hunger. They would say, “ill be sure to pay when spring work comes if you’ll only let me have a few groceries along to get through the winter.” Of course they couldn’t turn them down. Some would come back and pay; others wouldn’t. Thus when they finally quiet the store they had a large loose-leaf ledger of bills that people owed them. A store can’t be run too well that way.
I thought or all the nice fruit we had each year from the orchard my parents had worked hard to set out and get to bear.
In the spring I would make small chicken coops for mama’s chickens and small pens when needed.
When I was born my father grabbed his hat and went out of the room and outland’s even look at me because I wasn’t a boy. As I grew up I won his respect because I did about everything a boy would do. I liked boy’s toys much better than girl’s . Dolls were out, even though I had a lot of them. I would much rather dress up my cat and wheel it around in a doll buggy. I said I wanted something with life in it. You could stick pins in a doll all over and it made no sound but just try sticking a pin in a cat.
We always had what they called a servants room. Old Alice and little daughter slept there. I use to love to watch ol Alice our cook and housekeeper comb and fix little Lizer’s hair. She would pull it up in chunks like sheep wool and start wrapping with a string until little Lizer’s whole head looked like pencils sticking up straight all over it. Then she’d grease her face for their faces have a dusty look. Then Lizer was off to the little colored school about a quarter of a mile away while I went just across the road to the all white school.
Old Alice use to bake the best gingerbread. She’d give little Lizer and me a piece each day after school. It always seemed to taste like something from heaven.
And there were the big thanksgiving dinners, turkey and all that went with it. Mother was an artist at making fruit cakes. She would bake about the fist week in November, one for Thanksgiving, one for Christmas and one for New Year.
As we children grew older, mama made us help more with the housework. She said it was good training for us. Finally one morning after old Alice had been with us as cook and housekeeper for a number of years, mother said, “Alice I am afraid you’ll have to find another place. My girls are getting to the place where they can do most of the work. Mrs. Nash was inquiring of me if I was going to let you go since my girls were growing up. I know they’ll be good to you, Alice. Mrs. Nash was a girlhood friend of mothers. ‘there were a lot of tears shed by old Alice before she left. She always called my mother Miss Annie. She Said, “Why, Miss Annie, this’s home to me. It’s just like moving away from my own home,” as she loaded her things into the wagon for the move to Mrs. Nash’s.
I saw little Lizer almost everyday as she walked past our house going to the colored school. She said she didn’t like it over there, no one to play with. Well Lizer and I did play together some but things like that were forbidden in the Southlands.
My mother though had a woman to come to do the washing and ironing once a week.
Mother’s flower garden was the talk of the neighborhood. People out for a drive on Sunday would stop to admire and get a bouquet. The perfume from the honeysuckle vines that made an archway over the garden gate made a magnificent sight as well as perfuming the country side. The tuberoses gave off a perfume fit for a queen. There were roses of all colors, and all kinds of phlox, petunias and elephant ears that were potted and set on each side of the steps. Moss from South Carolina grew and hung from the water oak in the far corner of the garden. It hung in long fern like clumps that swung and whipped back and forth when the wind blew. There were so many flowers I couldn’t begin to name all of them. But, many a wedding and funeral as well as passer’s by received flowers from mother’s garden.
Where we lived was a peanut country. They grow in rows and are just under the ground. After they are pulled and the peanuts picked the vines are shocked then stacked to use for hay. It looks a little like alfalfa. Stock fatten and do extra well on it. In most cases there are what they call pop-peanuts filled very little by setting on late. The ones that were not filled enough ot go with the number ones. Theses were left on the vines. And are fattening for stock. Father always both enough of them for winter feed from his neighbor and most generally bought a hundred pounds of peanuts that were called raw peanuts. At times my sisters, brother and I would pick through the vines as they were loaded off to dry a little more before putting them in the hay loft or mow.
Mother had a pan that would just fit in the oven and on fall and winter evenings she would fill this pan and shove it in the oven, stirring it every once in awhile and when we would come in from playing out in the chilly moonlight, there were those roasting hot peanuts, a treat no one could turn down. We would sit and eat hot roasted peanuts until our eyes wouldn’t stay open any longer, then we were shooed off to bed.
My feet were always nice and warm as I climbed the stairs to bed for I use to pull a chair up close to my mother and she would tuck them up in her lap and wrap her big apron around them. It was the kind she most generally wore.
She used that apron as a basket ofr gathering eggs, picking fruit and gathering up kindling to start the morning’s fire. She used it in any way she could use it. I have seen her with it full of little newly hatched chickens, kittens, puppies, goslings or baby turkeys. She has gone to the garden and come back with it full of corn, string beans, cabbage, and etc. I never ceased to wonder what that big Mother Hubbard apron could be used for next. In fact I think it was the most useful thing mother had or wore. She had plenty so she could have a clean one each day if need be. She sometimes used the underside hem to wipe our noses if a handkerchief was not handy.
I was always quick and never wanted to be very still at any time. One of the hardest things was when my mother use to fit dresses on me; my legs felt like a million needles sticking them all at once. I slapped and scratched one after the other until my mother gave me a slap for not standing still which took the needly feeling away for awhile because my mind was on my hurt face. Sometimes a nice lady called Miss Cherry sewed for we children when mother was too busy. There were even pants and coats as well as shirts made for my brother. This sewing was most generally done in August just before school started. In later years my sister, Sallie took up the job. She was an excellent seamstress. She even took in sewing for the neighbor’s children and many is the pretty dress I wore that she made.
My father was good at making and fixing most everything. Around the 4th of July, he would get us a lot of fir works, roman candles and etc. He would also take tissue paper and fine wire and form a barrel shape as large as a barrel, closing up the top and leaving the bottom open with two wires across like an “X” in the middle. He wrapped a ball of cotton around the wires and saturated it with alcohol then lit it and let it burn for a while. Before pushing it up in the air at times it would go up until we could hardly see it and drift for miles. One time one drifted over a negro burying ground and it liked to scared the colored folks out of their wits. They had never seen any thing like it and wondered what was coming. When someone told my father about it the next day, he got quite a laugh out of it. They’ll drift until they catch fire and burn or burn the alcohol up and fall. When windy it would burn up in the sky; when quiet the alcohol cotton burns up as they fall. The one that fell in the negro burying ground was a weird sight for I was watching it myself. Neighbors would come from all around to watch this display.
At Christmas time the house too was full of people watching our revolving Christmas tree. It was a large tree, beautifully decorated, I thing My father had the tree set in a wheel or track at bottom and around the top was a ring with candles. Some way the heart from these lighted candles made the tree revolve. I have never see one since like it and couldn’t tell you just how it was fixed. But, I do know he had the candles fixed so there was no danger of setting the tree afire. You see we had no electricity in those days. But it was a lovely sight and I’ve heard the folks “oh!” and “Ah!” as it revolved while we all sat around and watched.
When I was eleven and my sister was fourteen, my father bought a horse that could race. At that time O. L. Williams was building and fixing what later was to be the Portsmouth race track. We girls were both good riders. They asked my folks if they would let us ride in the races. My sister used our horse and I rode one of Mr. Williams’. My horse was a real stepper. We would go each afternoon during the summer races to practice out horses. I really liked that part of it. When the real racing day came, I was usually a bit nervous. When they would line six of us abreast under the wire and the fellow shot off agun and said in a loud voice “Go!” or “Now, you are off!” The man that said this stood in the judges stand. Then from the grand stand came a clamor, let the little girl have the poles which was next to the inside. My horse seemed to know what they were saying and that little sorrel fought until she got there. She was crowded so close sometimes my foot on the left side touched the poles as we sped past. My sister rode beside me but I was the winner that time. Of the six, my horse’s head came under the line first. The grand stand set up such a roar calling, “she made it! She made it!” and continued to clap and shout. The next day the papers were full of our pictures and all about the races. In taking to Mr. Williams after the races, he told my folks that he had given me a horse that he didn’t think anything else on the tracks could beat. It had raced for several years. This was a publicity stunt and it was for each race all that summer. The grand stand was more crowded each time. I continued to win once in awhile, riding different horses. Once in awhile my sister would win. It got to be one of the finest tracks in the state. Old O. L. W.. as the owner was called really took in the money.
Toward the end of the summer some folks came to ask if our folks would allow us to ride on the Norfolk track and we did. My, that was a fine track. I don’t think I ever saw so many people as the day we rode on the Norfolk track and such fine horses. I was given a beautiful bay and my sister a black. I was told all I need to do was sit and hold to the ribbons and as usual the crowd clamored for the little girl to have the poles, which I got when they lined us up under the wire and we were off. I don’t think it would have felt different had I been flying with wings. He was right when he said all I need do was hang on to the ribbons. I was small and light and that horse went like nothing was on his back. For a little while I lost the poles right at the start and then the horse seemed to take on speed as though he had wings. I soon out-distanced all of them and a roar went up from the grandstand that shook the building when my horse’s head came in under the finish line first. This went on this way the first summer. On each racing day we rode in three races, Of course, at all tracks there were the sulky cart races, the pacers, rackers and trotters. The rackers wore racking harness to keep them from breaking into a gallop. And to hold them steady they wore straps around each leg that went from the back right leg to the front leg and the same on the other.
I had ridden horses since I was five and so had my sister Wilhelmina but my sister Sallie wanted nothing to do with horses in that way, having fallen off of a burro when quite small and broke her elbow which left it crooked thereafter. I was always in my seventh Heaven when riding. I’d rather ride than eat. My sister was just a bit leary also having been thrown once, when small, from a high spirited horse, hurting her head and knocking her unconscious for awhile. But, like myself, riding was one of her favorite pastimes.
Well the second summer came around and once again we were riding on the Portsmouth and Norfolk Tracks. It wasn’t long until some folks came again to interview our parents. They wanted us to ride on the New Port News track. Our folks didn’t quite like this but they consented, the day after they had assured our folks nothing would happen to us.
By this time we had become race track troopers. As we had to practice our horses each evening and some times mornings at the track, we went by fatty from Portsmouth to Norfolk and then from Norfolk by boat, crossing where the Chesapeake Bay, the Hames River and the Hudson River meet the Atlantic Ocean. Where they come together is called “The Horse Shoe” or :The Hampton Roads”. It was a pretty rough trip. They had a lady that went along with us. On this trip to New Port News. She kept asking us if we were sea sick. We weren’t. we were to use to climbing trees and swinging high.
We arrived at New Port News about noon and the races started at two p.m. Already the grandstands were overflowing as we reached the tracks. After having our dinner and resting for awhile, the horses were saddled and were being walked up and down by a groom. As I saw them I began to wonder which one I would draw. My sister drew a bay.
I wasn’t more than in the saddle until I found I would have trouble holding him. As my sister and I were in line with four others, a fellow came up to me and led my horse away a bit. He said, “hold him in. Everyone knows this horse and he’s not to win this time.”
I said, “Why?” I always wanted to win.
“Well, that’s it,” he said. “They all think the little girl’s going to win and bets are high,” I heard him half say as he pushed my horse towards the others and walk away. I started trying to figure it out in my mind when suddenly we were off. Thinking I had to obey orders I did as I was told. I held with all my strength and even tried holding him in behind other horses. We didn’t win and the grand stand wasn’t near as noisy when the race was over. This same man came up and patted my horse’s neck and in a low voice said as he led my horse aside, “You did wonderful little girl.
“Well,: I said, “I can’t do that the next time unless I have a different bit. My arms are worn out.”
He said, “It won’t be necessary. Give him his head and don’t attempt to hold him and if he goes to slacking any pat him on the neck and encourage him.” and he went on, “you have a small whip, use it if need be. You are riding a real horse.” he finished. Then he walked away. I was glad for that much as I was helped from the saddle, waiting the next race while a boy came over and led him up and down to cool him off and take some of the nervousness out of him. It wasn’t long until I was back in the saddle and we were under the starting wire again. The hose seemed extra nervous and soon we were off and like a streak of lightening. He took off, before we were half way around the track he had the lead with no encouragement or whip. I just held on. People in the grand stand were going wild, we won by a head and half a next. Some of them later said I looked like a flying butterfly. My sister finished third that time. People began clustering about me asking my name and wondering where I lived and how I ever learned to ride like that. The third wasn’t so good the jockeys in the yards hitching horses to the sulkys getting ready for the trotting race. Had two gates open to the tracks my horse turned full speed and went in the first gate. A jockey grabbed his bridle and got him back on the tracks in time and almost to catch up when he swung in to the second gate right into a horse that was being backed into a sulky to be hitched up causing that horst to rear and mine to jump to one side. One jockey grabbed my horse and another grabbed me and pushed me back in the saddle and got the horse back on the track. By then I was much too far behind and came in about fifth. Well the owner of the horse was really mad. I could see it the minute he started towards me. Then I had a time explaining and finally told him to go back and ask those jockeys in the lot. As he left, I heard him say a put-up job, somebody will hear of this. We then went up in the grand stand where my folks, brother and sister Sallie were. Folks began tapping me on the shoulder and asking questions from all around me. One of the main questions was why didn’t your horse win the first time/ Never having been told to do something before like that, I didn’t know quite what to say. A lot of them said we were wonderful meaning my sister and I. So I didn’t tell what did happen in the first race until just before we were to leave. A tall, nice looking fellow and his wife came over and took a place beside me which some folks had vacated. It was getting toward evening and I was a little tired so when this fellow talked nice and asked me why I didn’t win, I came back with, “I could have won if I had wanted to. The fellow patted my shoulder and said, “I see where my money stays in my pocket!” he continued, “you see I know that horse.” I soon began to put two and two together and to think what I had done. Up to that time only I and one other fellow knew it. Then we arose and went to take the taxi that took us back to the dock. I saw no more of this fellow until we were safely on board and sitting up on the moonlit deck. I didn’t see my brother and I called to him. He was a little distance away. A hand again patted me on the shoulder from behind and said “don’t you worry little girl I’ll see that you get home.” I looked back and there sat that same fellow and his wife smiling down on me. That was such a beautiful lovely moonlight ride across the Horse shoe that summer night in June. Everyone enjoyed it. But I sat through it all thinking what an awful thing I had done to that man whose horse I rode. Sometimes I wondered, was I right in telling of something that was crooked.
W were nearing the Norfolk Harbor now. The waves were beating against the boat. It soon would be mid-night and as the boat pulled or edged into the harbor, the whistle blew for mid-night. The last taxicabs for the night were waiting at dock-side. This fellow was there and took my arm as we went down the gangplank. He also took my arm when I got into the taxi for the journey to the ferry back to Portsmouth and the livery stable and our horses and carriage. He said he knew I was in safe hands with my folks and would get home safely from there. With a last goodbye and a wave, he and his wife stepped into another taxi. I often wondered as I grew older, about how I damaged one man and helped another.
The taxicabs in those days were horse drawn and the hooves of the horses could be heard, clopping along on the brick pavement. Brick was the main material used in pavements in those times.
We were soon on the Ferry bound for Portsmouth and again out over the water but for only a short distance. And after docking we walked the several blocks to the livery stable. The colored man that took care of the stables after night got up, yawned and said, “I am sure glad you come. I had just about given you up and turned in for the night.” We were soon home. Driving right along the five mile journey seemed rather short that night, as we talked of the day’s events. My parents weren’t very happy over what had happened. They were not too keen about us riding on the track anyway. But. my sister and I had begged to do this because riding was second nature for us.
Later in the summer some fellows came from New York to interview our parents about us riding on the Brighten Beach tracks in New York. My mother put her foot down. She said, “That settles it if we give in this time there’ll be more and where will it end, maybe with one of them dead or injured. No!” Mama said, and papa agreed with her. With all their pleading and how well they said they would look after us and they would pay all of our expenses and two hundred dollars each. We were paid each time we rode and if quite a distance like Norfolk and New Port News our expenses were paid also. We rode for two summers on the three tracks and we dearly loved all the thrills and spills if there had been any. We would have continued had our folks let us. It was one of the highlights of my life. Just to go and practice your horses early of mornings or late evenings was a pleasure in itself. And to hear them say as we lined up under the starting line. “go! And the old judge says “now they are off!” was the thrill of a lifetime and when you came in a winner and the grand stand roars. It was double so.
Then there was the road spring that bubbled up clear and cool on the hottest day. I have packed many a pitcher or bucket of water from it. In later years it became the site of a natorium where children and grown-ups could swim and play the summer through.
There was the lush green calf pasture a with a low, swampy like place on one end where the wild flags grew. They have flowers like an iris, only smaller. A little weazen Gypsy lady used to walk about five miles each summer to dig those bulbs of the wild iris or flag for herbs. I used to love to watch her and talk to her and I’d ask her what she was doing. She’d say, “getting stuff for medicine.” When her sack was about half full she’d sling it over those little bent shoulders of hers and start off. Most generally she’d stop at the house for a cool drink and mama would give her a little something to eat as she walked along. I can see her big wishful eyes now as mama would hand out the food . A stray puppy wouldn’t have been more thankful.
Many is the person my mother has fed from the goodness of her heart. There was the colored woman that did our washing and ironing and raised a family with no husband. Once a week mama had me pack a basket of food stuff to her that we children didn’t want like when bread , pies or cakes got a little stake and sometimes a few potatoes and garden stuff or corn meal left over in the bin from milling day. She was always so thankful for it.
There was a clay pit up a shady lane with a pine forest on one side and trees on the opposite. By this clay pit was a big spruce tree and it was always cool and shady. On hot days in the summer my girl friend Eva, and I use to sit and cool our feet in the moisture in the bottom and make clay dishes, dolls , houses and etc and put them in the sun to dry. When thoroughly hard and dry one could play with them for sometime by being careful, and the dogwood blossoms in the little forest among the pine trees across from this clay pit was always a pleasant place to play. We loved to run barefoot over the pine needles and bend down young saplings to sit on and bounce up an down, and play we were young Indians. Not far away, close to my girlfriend’s house , we had a tepee tent to play in. Here we played by the hour and listened to the birds sing. The mocking bird’s sweet throated tune, the old crow flapping his wings flying overhead and calling “Caw” at each flop, the cat birds, the robins, the lovely male red bird and his drab mate and the blue bird, gold finch, and even the whippoorwill at evening tide and the soft murmur of the wind in the pine trees. I loved to watch the birds build their nest in the spring time, how accurate they would weave the hairs , straws, feathers and sticks together to make a safe warm nest. While watching a robin one day, I made up these lines and wrote them down,”
I saw a robin, a pretty thing, tugging and pulling at a string
I watched him fly in a tree close by
Red of breast and grayish brown of wing.
I watched him weave it in a nest
Using all of his zeal and zest
Preparing a home for his mate to own
Where no hands could touch or molest.
There was the gum tree in the fall that we use to get gum from to chew. But your mouth would be stuck together and teeth full of it for days if you tried to chew t before the sap went down.
And the water lily pond over by an old fort where the soft, sweet scented velvet like lilies grew. How I use to stretch and reach to pick a bunch with their rubber like stems, lying on my stomach on the bank at the edge of the water, and had I fallen in, it may have been days before anyone would have found me had I gotten my feet tangled up in moss and not been able to swim out. “what length and depths a child won’t go to, to accomplish the things they want to do.”
One time mama told us children to hunt for some hens’ nests but curiosity got the better of us and we went hunting on the neighbor’s side of the low marshy place. Well, it wasn’t long until we found a nest. Knowing they were not ours, we put our heads together and figured what we should do. So we started for old Billy’s house in good fait to give him his eggs. We were hesitating a bit knowing he knew very little or nothing of children and being off in his upper story or as the neighbors called him cracked or in other words somewhat crazy. He always had the feeling that people were ready to do him harm so he kept his old trusty handy. Of course, we were not thinking in that line and marched right up to his gate with the eggs. Out came old Billy with his old trusty pointing almost at us and we with our knees knocking together and shaking so hard we could hardly say meekly, “we have brought you some eggs we found on your side of the marsh.” About then he lowered his old trusty until we were just about looking down the barrel. He said, “you take those eggs and get out of here just as fast as you can.” You never saw such scared children in all your life. We were so scared our hands just let loose of the eggs and we never stopped running until we got home. Then we hid around the house so mama wouldn’t ask what was wrong or did we find any eggs. But , mama had seen us and it was all off. Bit by bit the story was told and as we had been warned not to go over there a willow whip was our reward for out overexcited and curious trouble.
Old John, Billy’s father had been quite kind to us the few times Billy was away when we would sneak over there, although they told, he had been quite mean to his wife (when she was alive). He seemed to enjoy the company being old and alone so much. One day as we sat there, the other three talking, I always did the listening; for they never thought I was old enough to put in when they were talking, I finally began watching the clock. I thought we had stayed long enough so I would look at the clock and say, “the clock’s ticking the time away. We better go home.” there were times when old John would know it was about time for he’d say, “Better skiddle now. Billy will soon be home.” Sometimes if Billy was there when we would go over, old John would come through the white picket fence gate and wave his hand and say, “go back!” Come back tomorrow.” and we understood and would light out for home. One time old Billy was riding one of his grey horses and he started after us. I thought sure he would catch us before we could get back on our property. Running through plowed ground and falling down every little bit, we never would have made it had we not had a head start on him.
It wasn’t long until the old white haired man’s being around stopped for he took sick and never got out of bed again. When we knew Billy was away, we’d sneak up to his door, which was open, and tap. We’d go in and talk, but what we liked most through all those years were the long drawn out stories he told us. They were always a source of information to us. It wasn’t long though after that that the old man died. I never had been to a funeral so I waited with great expectation down behind some trees on a corner of our line just across a marshy place from where they had their cemetery. I remember the day so well as I stood there, sometimes crouching down with the birds singing and the old cat birds screaming at me while a mild breeze blew around me rustling the leaves. I hadn’t long to wait until I saw the preacher, Bible in hand, in the lead and the six men carrying the casket which seemed quite heavy. The old man was a big fellow. Then they sat it down by the grave. I don’t remember seeing any flowers. All stood silent as the preacher began. I wasn’t close enough to hear the words that came from the little white picket fence enclosure for one thing the birds continued their ceaseless chatter and too the wind in the leaves. There was his married daughter, her sons and husband. She was dressed all in black with a black veil over her face. Old Billy was standing back to one side and a few other people. Finally they sang something and then lowered the casket into the grave. Then everyone started to leave and two fellows picked up some shovels to fill in the grave. It gave me a weird feeling as I heard the clods hitting the casket. I watched until they rounded it up and stuck a stick at each end. I was thinking so that was a funeral and the old man was gone and we couldn’t sneak away again to listen to his stories. I remembered too the old colored woman’s saying about burying people. She said, “Honey, if it am raining when they bury them it am a sure sign they gone to heaven. But child, if the suns shining, I don’t give much for they’s souls.” The sun was shining that day and I rolled that thought around in my mind a lot. But as the years went by I learned colored people were very superstitious and seemed to make up beliefs and lived a lot on imagination for they made up sayings among themselves.
I was daydreaming somewhat as I walked alone, when I heard mama call. She wanted me to come there. So I hurried faster and followed her into the mill house. I was thinking fast when she pulled the door back and there in a box was a white cat and six white kittens. Mama looked straight at me and asked, “who brought those here?” She knew without looking at me a second time for I could never hide guilt. I went on stammering like for I knew we already had plenty of cats around the mill and was told not to pick up anymore stray cats. “Well, they were down by the side of the road by the calf pasture and across from the spring. Somebody had dropped them there and I knew they were hungry so yesterday I took some feed and a box and put them in it and when darkness came I carried them up here. I didn’t think seven more,” I falteringly said. “would be too many.” Mama continued to look at me. “Well, “ she said, tempering her voice a bit, “they can stay but feed and take care of them. Then ask me first before you bring cats home.”
It wasn’t long though until I was playing on the bridge that crossed Julian’s Creek and there partly submerged by water was a tied sack. The tide was coming in fast. “we had the coming in and the going out of the tie” I slipped off the bridge and down on the bank and with a long pole that lay close by managed to pull the sack to the bank. As I untied it I heard a faint meow. Upon opening it there he stood on fiver other kittens already beyond help with a brick at the bottom of the sack, The most soaked, bedraggled little kitten you ever saw. Only his face and head was above water. I could see from the start he was pretty with his white nose, breast and paws. I immediately wrapped the little bundle of black fur in my apron and patted him dry. Looking back as I started for home, the tide had one again rose until it had covered the sack. “I just rescued you in time, Boots,” I said, I had named him Boots.
The tide would rise or come in fast and recede just as fast. It would sometimes come within twelve feet of the back of our barn when it really came in high. The moon seemed to govern the tide for it would rise and fall with it at certain stages of the moon.
The sun was getting high in the sky. It was almost noon and I knew by now mama would be missing me. That summer sun was hot and my bare feet were noticing it. The sun bonnet mama had always braided my hair to to make me keep it on so I wouldn’t freckle and which generally rested on the back of my head was not in its familiar place that morning. Mama had somehow forgotten to put it on me. I always told her I would freckle anyway and I did. I thing that morning I would have used it had I had it. The little kitten was my pride and joy, especially so because he was an orphan. I hid boots in a box in the hay loft in the barn and kept him fed like a king. Until, one day, he got big enough to come out by himself and mama saw him. She said, “where did that stray cat come from? Did somebody drop another cat?”
I said, “oh! Isn’t he pretty, mama?” and ran and picked him up “I’d like to keep him.”
And as usual, mama said, “well… I guess one more won’t hurt.” I’d sneak him in of nights to sleep in bed with me and wake early enough in the morning to put him out before mama found him and say, “I’d have to get rid of him.”
Another of my favorite pastimes was to go for an early morning ride on my pony over the country side. Down cool shady lanes looking at green fields and hearing the colored folks sing as they started at sun-up to hoe the early crops. The negro and the mule worked at cultivating between the long rows. They called that truck gardening. They raised such things as lettuce, radishes, peas, spinach,, and cucumbers. They grew as high as five crops on a single piece of ground. While stuff was being harvested in one row, the row next to it had another vegetable just starting to mature they had large sloups or boats that hauled garden produce. They would come into the harbor at or near Gilmerton where they would load this stuff on in big hampers bound for New York and other cities. It was an interesting sight to ride and watch these scenes. My pony usually was all sweaty when I’d return around breakfast time. I’d hear old Alice singing and hurrying to get breakfast ready. Sometimes she would say, “Honey child, run to the spring and get a pitcher of cool water.”
I’d say, “isn’t there ice water in the cooler?”
She’d say, “I just going to the ice house now for a chunk of ice. You see, I’ll put in the ice and you put in the water and we’ll have ice water for the day.”
Ice cream was something we always had lots of because of having an ice house.
Old Alice would tease sometimes to know where my early morning trips had taken me. I’d say ‘not much of any place, but I’ll tell you if you’ll bake a gingerbread cake.” which was a favorite of mine. “Well you remember the railroad track we use to cross going to school and the one we use to run and jump over for fear a train would hit us (even though one wasn’t even in sight). And where the old drunk man’s buggy was wrecked and he was killed but his horse wasn’t and his groceries and candy he had bought for his children were scattered all over the ground. His buggy seemed to be right on the crossing just as the nine p.m. Cannon Ball train did, which made short work of him.”
“Well your mama don’t like you going so far early mornings,” Old Alice said. Sometimes she would tell mama and she’d get after me. But, I loved those rides; the cool fresh air of the morning blowing on my face and everything just seeming to come alive and refreshed from their cool nights rest for the birds always seemed to sing louder and more beautiful at the dawn of a new day. Who wouldn’t want to ride?
Sometimes I would ride down by the wharf where they were loading the nice crisp vegetables and other products. It was on those rides that I would see wild game, beautiful birds, and slick fat cattle grazing in pastures by the roadside. Once in a while I would stop, remove the bridle bit and let my own pony graze in a nice lush patch of clover.
I must hurry along in my story though for only yesterday men came to look at the milling equipment and sawmill with a view to buying it. The store had already been sold out and closed. But, I must tell a few more of my adventures.
There was the summer mama gave me six small white ducks to raise. I built a pen in the back yard under a large apple tree, that each summer seemed to spread a little more until it shaded most of the backyard. Its fruit was very small but what it lacked in the size of its fruit it seemed to make up in shade for those hot summer days. Time wore on and my six ducks were old enough to go swimming in the creek. I let them follow me to the creek. Upon entering the water they lost all thought of me and started drifting with the tide. Before I knew it. I heard a gun blast and looking I saw old Billy with gun in hand. I ran down the bank and there lay four of my pretty ducks. The other two scrambled ashore at my feet quacking loudly. “Were those your ducks?” he asked in a husky, mean like voice. I had a feeling though someone was following me. As I blasted away telling him what I thought of him, mama grabbed me by the shoulders and at the same time remonstrated me for talking to an old man that way. Then leaning closer she said, “He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’d just as soon shoot you.” she gave me a shove. I picked up the two remaining ducks and we made our way back down the bank to the barnyard where I dropped the two ducks. I told mama at the same time, they were her‘s! I didn‘t want them, but they continues to waddle after me, as fast as their short legs could carry them. Mama said, “it doesn’t look like I could claim them if I wanted to.” So the love and affection of the ducks continued.
I was always destined to have a pet of some kind or other like the little white pig that I petted and babied and tried raising on the bottle. Then one day I realized he had left this world of love and care. Mama said to me, “you must take that pig and throw it away.” I held it close as it was still a bit warm and life like for life had vanished only a short while before. Making my way slowly to the barn, I went behind it where a the dead wild grape vines hung and I had spent so many pleasant hours where now was the ice covered pond that we four children had spent so many happy hours coasting and skating on. A cold, raw, chilly wind was blowing on my face and hair. I stood still holding the little dead pig to me, hating to lay him down on the cold ice. All the tender care had been in vain. I thought, dabbing the tears from my eyes. As if something had all of a sudden given me a push, I ran quickly and laid his little warm body down on the cold ice and as quickly fled. It was a winter evening and already the twilight hours were approaching fast. As I neared the house a faint meow fell on my ears. It was boots. He seemed to sense something was wrong. He never ceased to try to be nice to me and in some small way to thank me for rescuing his little soaked form from a watery grave.
One evening we were driving home from school. Thinking I heard another faint “meow” I stopped the horses and jumped out. My sisters and brother said, almost in chorus, “there she goes again. What will Mama say?” Quickly I picked up the three wishful little orphans and ran toward the carriage as they were threatening to drive off and leave me, “More Cats!” they exclaimed.
I didn’t particularly like cats, I just felt sorry for them in their plight. I sneaked them into the millhouse where there was always a pan of food for the cats and hurried into the house, I changed my clothes and was off to my rabbit traps and as luck would be, there were no rabbits to be taken home.
The shades of night were already lowering as I hurried past the colored cemetery./ For some reason I looked back and there to may astonishment sat, as I thought , an old colored man whom I knew. He was so plain that one look was enough. Frightened out of my wits, I took off and never again, do I believe, have I run that fast.. Being out of breath when I reached home, made mama want to know what was wrong. When I had finished, mama only said, “your mind was in an imaginary state,” and went on about her work of setting the table for the evening meal.
Papa had arrived home from his work of running the big compressor engine at the Norfolk Navy Yard and was sitting comfortably reading the evening paper. My brother had worked two summers firing the steam boilers that run the big engine and after graduating from business college he had a good job in Norfolk and was boarding there. Papa missed him quite a bit as they had rode together morning and night and worked together.
After the evening meal when papa and mama sat talking, I strained my ears to hear their talk and gleaned that could papa get his price the old home place would be sold. Tomorrow he said, “I’ll tell them and give them a chance to get another compressor man and tell them what our plans are.” I went to bed with somewhat of a heavy heart. Boots in my arms purred contentedly as I stroked his fur. It was like the night before. I finally heard the folks climb the stairs to bed. As usual mama came in to see if we were all tucked in good. I pushed Boots down under the covers and put my hand over his purring mouth. Tucking the quilts a little here and there, she slipped quietly out, saying good night with a kiss.
In the winter time when the bedrooms were cold, we always knelt at mama’s knee and said our prayers, then dashed right upstairs and into bed. We had a small stove in the room if we wanted to make a fire in it. That night I lay awake pondering and thinking. The old place seemed to suddenly take on a new meaning to me. There were things I had cherished since babyhood and now we were to leave it all. Everything was to be sold and we were to move to a strange country. Well one thing I thought about was that I loved to explore. I was adventurous and I would have a new territory to ride and to learn about. I loved the out-of-doors. I loved creation as it stood. I loved the wind and the sun, the soft pelting rain that came to bless whatever it toughed, the flower, threes or the tress and freckled face of a sun tanned little girl. My sisters were the reverse. They loved indoors, the piano, singing, sewing, and fixing a nice home. I played the piano too, but in my way. I loved to listen to the mocking bird, the brown thrush, the cat bird calling high in the branches, the whippoorwill giving its evening call, God’s creatures and God’s good green earth. I began to look the old place over, to take it in foot by foot. I circled more than once and took note of the different things. There were the cypress trees, (a coniferous tree, the emblem of morning,) that grew in the low pasture, artichokes that I had dug so often to eat and mama made pickles out of one summer. I preferred to eat them plain. There were the wild violets that I had transplanted into a nice bed under the old wide spreading apple tree in the backyard. There too was the creek that papa would put a net across and when the tide went out would catch a lot of nice little butter fish that had a wonderful taste when fried nice and brown. There were the fruit trees that each summer I sat in and ate the fruit from and helped to can for winter. The old barn loft, on rainy days, was such an enticement., the old gypsy woman digging her herbs and packing them five miles back to town, the spring, the forest with its pine cones and needles, the cool clay pit in summer and huge spruce that stood by its edge where each spring the birds found a perfect hiding place to build their nests and rear their young, all these were memories.
The old negro mamay that lived in the little log hut on the edge of the woods and the stories she told to me would ring from the crudely cut rafters. She said they were handed down to her from her mamay an dpappy;. Mothing tickled my ears of pleased me more. The same colored mammy that my small brother use to like to visit, had a big cat he loved to pet. The old mammy would always give him a pice of cornbread or pone. He would sit by the fireplace looking up the chimney. He would take a bite of cornpone and the cat would take a bite until it was gone. Then he’d get up and suanter home. One day he got curious about the fireplace. He started walking and kept looking up to see where the fire and smoke were going. He was so intent on it that the old negro mammy grabbed him just as he was about to walk into the fire. All he said when she pulled him back was “I just wanted to see where that smoke was going to.”
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