From the Editor: These vignettes were written by Betty Louise Clark Nicolas. The dated diary entries were written by Mary Rowenna Boardman. The stories, written by Ms. Nicolas, have been separated by headers which were placed by the Editor.
This is Part 1.
Diaries
Our Great Aunt Hattie, Grandpa Jay’s sister, was greatly responsible for my love of genealogy. Often she would lead me up the stairs to the attic under the eaves, on the second floor, and open her mother Mary Rowenna Boardman’s old gray leather bound trunk, and lift out her diary, which was written in 1872 and 1873. I loved to read the beautifully penned accounts of her everyday life.
Recently, I found Aunt Hattie’s diaries in a box of old pictures which had been kept in the farm house’s attic also. Entries began in 1942 and the last one was written in 1954. The entries in her diary were quite miraculous considering she was a deaf person with no formal education. The memories of my childhood had been pictures in my mind. The written words became the reality that events in my life had actually happened as I remembered.
I want to use her words to make pictures for others to see in their minds in the stories that follow.
The farm in LaPorte County
Over in the corner of my back yard, by the lilac bush, are the tall slender leaves and purple blooms of an old fashioned iris plant. They have an aroma which the new fancier hybrid plants have not been able to reproduce. Grandpa Jay’s mother, Mary Rowenna, brought the bulbs with her, from her mountain home in Napoli, New York, to the northern county of LaPorte, Indiana, in 1880. Judah Fayette, her husband, had already removed there five years earlier with his family. His father, Orson, passed the farm to his son Judah, who in turn passed the farm to his sons Jay, Harry, and Fred, and daughter Hattie.
Fruit orchards and huge vegetable and flower gardens flourished on the farm. During the Depression, Grandpa took orders from the townspeople of LaPorte for his farm-grown produce. Then he made deliveries to them from the back of his truck. Apples, pears, peaches, plums, tomatoes, raspberries, grapes, melons, strawberries and a great variety of vegetables were available.
Part of his profit was made from selling the chickens that Grandma, Mom and Dorothy cut up and sold in packages. The chickens also laid eggs which were sold by the dozen. They also made cottage cheese and butter from the cream skimmed off the top of their cow’s milk during the pasteurization process.
Aunt Mary told us later that Grandpa was responsible for helping many of his relatives through the Depression by providing free food for their tables.
I am still researching information about the orphan trains of Indiana. Grandpa felt a responsibility towards those children who were placed on trains to look for work and families who would help them. He took some of them in and provided lodging, food and money, in return for their help with farm work.
I believe it was the forerunner of the foster family program.
The research is a work in progress and I hope to learn more about Grandpa Jay’s role.
1943: LaPorte had a black-out
World War II Changed Their Lives
World War II changed their lives. The government needed an area in which to construct an ordinance plant to store ammunition for the war effort. Land was chosen in LaPorte County, which included Grandpa Jay’s farm. The farm ran close to the railroad, running along some of the property.
Judah Fayette had much earlier sold the land to the railroad. When the advance men from the railroad company came out to the farm and chose the location they wanted, Uncle Fred told them the land they were considering was too wet to support the weight of the rails.
Apparently, this fact was not taken into consideration and the project continued. The rails sank, causing them to make yet another choice from Grandpa’s land.
How ironic that the location of the railroad was one of the prime reasons for choosing Grandpa’s farm to build the Kingsbury Ordinance Plant.
Life is like a garden. After the growing season is over, everything becomes dormant, and then a new season begins. The old garden provides nutrients to help the new plants grow and thrive. One cannot continue without the other.
June 7, 1943: I helped lead horse to plow for sweet corn and potatoes
Tilling the Garden
The garden was first tilled up by one of Grandpa’s black Belgian draft horses. Grandpa held the handles of the plow while the blade sliced through the soil to make furrows in the earth to help prepare for planting. Aunt Mary, Grandpa and Grandma’s youngest daughter, remembers riding astride Sally, while Aunt Hattie walked along side holding the reins to help lead the horse, to ensure straight rows. The horse was so big Aunt Mary’s legs stuck straight out from her hips. Sally’s feet were as big as the pans Grandma used to bake pies in. They moved in a sort of slow motion thudding to the earth with their iron shoes.
As a child I remember noticing the huge horse collars, used while plowing, hanging on the inside walls of the white horse barn. Grandma and Grandpa had a red barn as well, which housed the hay in the loft, and the black and white Holstein milk cows. The horse stalls, where the dollars hung, had become storage units. It was a great place to visit as a child, and imagine that giant draft horses were still kept in their stalls, snuffling and stamping their feet, waiting to be fed parcels of grain measured with a scoop from a feed sack. It was very quiet in the barn and I liked to sit on a bale of hay and day dream.
April 24, 1951: I planted flower seeds
Flowers
The flowers were planted in rows from the bend in the road to the center of the garden. There were rows and rows of gladiolas, red, yellow, orange, pink, and purple. The tulips, irises, dahlias and cannas, along with snap dragons, daisies, nasturtiums, cosmos, and carnations, depending on the season, were planted next. Zinnia and marigold seeds were always planted last in the center of the garden. The yellow and gold marigolds, when full grown, would attract insects, which helped protect the vegetables, which were planted form the center of the garden to the edge of the slope from being eaten by bugs. The slope angled down to the lower garden and the creek, which flowed on the other side.
But, I do get ahead of myself. The tulip, iris and gladiola plants sprang from what seemed to be endless bulbs planted in the fall for spring blooms. To achieve those rows, which became rather disheveled late in the summer, we stretched string across the width of the garden and attached the strings to stakes pounded into the ground on either side. Holes were dug about four inches apart and four inches deep to receive the bulbs.
In the spring planting, Grandma would take a hoe handle and make a trench for the larger seeds. The small seeds were just sprinkled on the ground. All were carefully covered with soil and then the soil was patted down over the seeds. Grandma never planted seedlings before May 5th, because she said the frost would bite her plants.
There was no hose in the early days, so we carried buckets of water across the side yard from the spigot attached to the cellar well under Grandma’s bedroom window, being careful not to disturb the old fashioned pink rose bush. We irrigated the seeds and bulbs by dipping a tin scoop in to the water, held in the bucket.
Wildflower seeds are planted in the early fall so the plants can be established before winter. We never pulled up or disturbed the spent flower gardens in the fall, because their nutrients were needed to nourish the dormant perennial plants through the winter and early spring.
The spring season begins with cool colors like the bright blue larkspur and purple asters. Flower colors warm up as the summer days pass by towards fall, such as the warm yellow of coreopsis and the jaunty black eyed Susans. The garden follows nature’s rules. The harmony of the colors growing side by side is not chosen. It just happens.
When I am planting my garden rows today in the spring and fall, with bulbs purchased from our local nursery, I am reminded of how Grandma Minnie grew everything from the flower heads and bulbs she preserved in the fall and dried or hung in bags from the cellar ceiling.
May 23, 1951: Planted seeds and hoed in the garden while children in Bible school
4-H & the County Fair
Zinnias are the most old fashioned of any flower in Grandma’s garden. The blooms were a rainbow of yellow, orange, red and pink. My sister Sandy, two years older than me, and now a teacher, as was Aunt Mary, and now my daughter Jennifer, belonged to an organization called 4-H, the emblem being a four leaf clover, representing head, heart, health and hands. Even though we were two years apart in age, we joined the club at the same time, so there were always double entries in our divisions, which were baking, clothing, and horticulture. We grew zinnias for exhibit the first year in the last category.
County Fair time came around in July. The zinnia stems were slipped and the flowers stuffed into canning jars to make the trip to the fair, where they were arranged on shelves in the 4-H building to be judged. The fair was held at the Winamac Park. The area used to set up the event was down by the bend in the Tippecanoe River, east of downtown. The park included pall parks, a swinging suspension bridge, picnic tables, playground equipment, shelters, and a round gazebo to display the quilts exquisitely hand-sewn for exhibit. Pig, horse, chicken, cattle, and rabbit barns housed those exhibits.
These buildings were a hub of activity because families stayed overnight to tend the animals. Their cots were set up next to the pens. Suitcases and duffle bags were pushed under the cots. Blankets and pillows sat rolled up on top. My brother Ron chose hog raising and showmanship as one of his 4-H projects.
Our pigs were of the Hampshire breed. They were black with a white band around their shoulders. One spring when Ron was a teenager, a sow produced a little of piglets. One of them was smaller than the rest. In other words she was the runt. These little guys have trouble receiving enough nourishment. Our little brother Greg named her Zsa Zsa. At any rate she became the family pet. She was bottle fed and she learned to follow Greg around like a puppy dog. Grandma was not too thrilled when she found Zsa Zsa sequestered in the house with him. She was returned to her home outside, where she absolutely loved to crunch the water melon rinds we gave her after we were finished eating.
Fair time rolled around and Ron entered the showmanship contest. The object of this contest was to enter the ring and lead whatever animal you were showing through a set of steps which proved how well you could handle the animal. A certain 4-H member was always expected to win every year. My brother was a good handler and had personality plus, but the championship had always eluded him. Well, that year he brought home the championship trophy for the first time. He said a great big thank you to Zsa Zsa and gave the trophy to his little brother, because he said he couldn’t have won it without him. Greg still has the trophy sitting on a shelf in his home.
On one side by the river was an area for the horse and tractor pulling contests, as well as a traveling rodeo show. I mustn’t forget the carnival rides and games. There were lots of food tents sponsored by area businesses and farm groups, such as the pork growers association. At that time there were very few fast food restaurants in our area, so it was a great treat to stand in line and purchase already made food quickly. The fair carnival might be the only chance a child would have to ride a Ferris wheel, or the scrambler, or merry-go round. In those days there were not a lot of choices for entertainment. The park was a beautiful, shady, exciting place to be. Anybody who was anybody came to the county fair. Who would win best of show and advance to the State Fair, which was held in the State Capital in Indianapolis?
My mother Vera, grandmother and Aunt Hattie must have had great patience. In the baking category, Sandy and I baked cinnamon tea rings our seventh year together. This involved making yeast dough which, after being mixed in a bowl, had to be allowed to rise, then punched down to rise again. There were so many practice sessions in that crowded little kitchen. There were bowls of fragrant yeast dough sitting in a warm place on any available counter top or table, with a damp cloth draped over the top of the bowl to prevent the dough from forming a tough crust on top.
Our kitchen was typical of that period, small with just enough room for a table and chairs, and the necessary stove and sink. There was very little counter space. After the second rising we rolled the dough flat with a rolling pin, and then sprinkled the top with cinnamon, brown sugar, nuts, and pats of butter. Starting on one side the dough was flattened into a long jelly roll. We joined the edges to form a circle and snipped sections two thirds of the way through the roll with scissors.
You guessed it. The roll was draped with a cloth to rise again. When the oven was hot the roll was popped in on a cookie sheet to bake. After the tea ring came out of the oven all golden brown we let it cool and then drizzled butter cream frosting over the top. I can still conjure up the lovely aroma of tea rings baking to this day Aunt Mary had one thing to say. Yum!!!
Mother drove us to The Golden Rule department store in Logansport, about 30 minutes away, to pick out material for our sewing projects. I was fascinated by the pneumatic tube system which ran on rails overhead. It dropped down by the cash registers, so the clerks could tube the money from their area to a central location in the store.
I think maybe I frustrated Mom a little bit, because being on the artistic side, I chose bright colors with bold stripes and polka dots, which was slightly before our time, at least in the area of 4-H. She usually ended up steering me towards the more sedate bolts of material.
The highlight of that trip was stopping to have a sandwich at Woolworths. What fun, sitting on a shiny vinyl covered stool that swiveled, eating a hamburger, fries, and sipping on a coke, at the lunch counter.
When we returned home, the material was spread out on the dining room table, so we could pin the patterns onto the material with straight pins. My mom and grandma had a habit of holding the straight pins between their lips, instead of using a pin cushion. Next, we carefully cut out the pattern pieces with scissors. Our sewing lessons were conducted on an old treadle sewing machine. The machine now resides in my sister’s home as she was a much better seamstress than I. The items we finished were put on display in the 4-H building, and on a fine summer’s evening we would model our clothes at the dress review on an open stage in the arena. That is, after the rodeo was over.
Fibber McGee
Our old brown radio sat in the cabinet on a shelf in the corner of the kitchen. I would sit next to Grandpa Jay on a kitchen chair listening to Fibber McGee and Molly. I loved to hear the closet door open and listen to all of the things stored on the shelves tumble noisily down to the floor. The Barn Dance was broadcast from Chicago on WLS. Arkie Arkansas and Homer and Jethro from Hootin’ Holler, Tennessee were some of the stars. Grandpa liked The Lone Ranger, too. Sometimes, he would get sleepy and nod off. His chin would slowly drop down to his chest and then he would wake up and fall asleep again. This time his head would fall backwards and I thought for sure he was going to hit his head on the wall. But he always managed to stop short of the wall.
Fire Flies
On many an occasion, when I need a little time to myself, I sit in my green wicker rocking chair in the sun room, overlooking my back yard. My mind takes a trip back to summer evenings long ago. Grandma’s garden seemed like some sort of haven to me in that magic time between evening and dusk. We chased and captured fire flies in canning jars under the giant maple trees in the front yard. My sister and brother and I ran up and down the flower rows playing hide and seek, and sometimes it was just me alone out there, stopping to smell the flowers or just to look at them. There were several varieties of lilies. I sniffed the spicy aroma of the Easter lilies which was much more fragrant in the still warm evening air. They looked like pale pink stars. Later, when it was cooler, I helped Grandma and Aunt Hattie water with the bucket and dipper and pull weeds. They worked silently side by side enjoying the peacefulness of the evening.
Drag Racing
The boys in our county loved to drag race on the Star City black top road, which ran on the other side of our corn field across the road. The roaring of the engines echoed from a distance through our little window. On a really still evening, the acrid smell of burning rubber drifted across the field. Another favorite pastime of these boys was to siphon gas from the farmer’s tanks kept out by their barns to fill up tractors and other vehicles. When my dad was home on the weekends he would keep a watchful eye on our tank. Once we heard him thundering down the stairs and watched him race out to the car and chase the boys away from our gas drum. He never caught anyone, but then I’m not sure he really wanted to. Boys’ pranks were just that in those years.
March 7, 1952: Let cows in side yard to eat grass
Walnuts
The door yard was 20 feet wide. The side yard between the fence and the red barn was 100 yards wide. The fence dividing the two was lined with walnut trees, from the gate to the gravel road. The driveway also ran along the fence. When the walnuts fell from the trees, we let them lie and ran over them with the car, as we came and went. It was an easy way to crack the green hulls. Pulling the black walnuts out was no easy job. Our fingers would be stained with green and black, even though we washed our hands several times.
Softball
Dad organized softball games in the side yard on the weekends. Donna and Gerald White, who lived on a farm nearby, came by sometimes to join in the fun. I gave the game my best shot, but I struck out a lot, and I was sure I would get beaned by the ball when I tried to catch it.
Everybody else was pretty proficient. I accidently overheard my Dad tell my Mother one day, well, you’ll never have to worry about anybody running all over Betty. She sticks up for herself. I’m not exactly sure what he meant by she sticks up for herself, but my sister and brothers say they do. Go figure. It made me feel a little better about not being very good at playing baseball.
Sitting On the Front Porch
The front porch was one of my favorite places. A swing hung from chains extending from the ceiling on the end of the porch. I liked looking at the corn stretching out over the fields. The ebb and flow of the wind dancing over the stalks, and the sunlight glancing off the tops of the leaves, turned the leaves to silver sage. How could God think of so many shades of green to put in one plant? On a hot day, the cool dark green of the soy bean fields was soothing to the eye. When the white fluffy clouds passed over the sun shadows of darker green, slipped over the rippling plants and then slid up over the hedge apple trees at the edge of the field.
City dwellers often make comments about the corn fields of Indiana, some not very complimentary. There is a certain peace which gently relaxes your soul when you learn to enjoy the small pleasures of life. I think they are missing something rather important. On a rainy day, the porch swing was a cozy place to sit. We wrapped our dolls in blankets, sometimes ourselves as well, and cuddled up to listen to the raindrops falling on the roof. We pretended it was a train taking us to faraway places. Going out west was a favorite destination. Sandy liked Gene Autry, I preferred Roy Rogers. We collected cereal box tops to redeem for various toys. What fun to wait for the arrival of the rural postman to deliver packages wrapped in brown paper. He would bring them up to the front porch, where we tore the wrapping off to find figurines of Roy, Dale, Pat Brady, Trigger, and I won’t forget Nelly Bell as well as Gene and his buddies. I thought it was funny when my sister married a guy named Gene.
She probably thought it was funny when I ran my tricycle off the end of the porch because I had my head turned talking to her. Luckily, it was the end with the little hill of soft earth and grass. No major damage was done.
April 23, 1951: Henry plowed garden planted potatoes
Back to the Garden
Well, we are back to the garden now. The potato plant rows started to the left of center, usually planted next to the peas. There was always an epidemic of potato bugs. These pesky insects had to be plucked off the plant leaves by hand. The critters had strong little claws, so they could cling to the plants and chomp on the leaves. The family’s job was to walk between the rows with a bucket of kerosene plucking off bugs and dropping them into the bucket. They liked to pinch your fingers so you had to handle them carefully. A big clump of bugs would collect on the top of the kerosene. No more potato bugs. When potato digging time arrived, we collected the potatoes in burlap bags. The bags were stored in the cool cellar for later use in the kitchen. Aunt Hattie wrote about digging a large deep hole in the ground to store potatoes and keep them cool until they could be put into the bags. For some reason they put branches and twigs over the hole after it had been filled with soil. Maybe to keep out animals.
July 19, 1951: We got 33 ½ cents for tomatoes from 36 plants
Tomato Worms
I loved to collect the green tomato worms from the pungent acrid smelling leaves of the tomato plants. The worms would eventually turn into butterflies. Catching the fat green, white and black striped worms was also fun. Those worms became beautiful monarch butterflies. We kept our canning jars in the cellar, which were perfect houses for the worms, until they morphed into butterflies.
October 15, 1952: Kids and I and Minnie scrubbed cellar floor, hung clothes to dry
The Cellar
The cellar was a very interesting place. The wooden stairs started from the side entrance foyer and ended down in the cellar. To the left of the stairs was the coal bin, which stored our fuel for the winter in the early years. Grandma and Grandpa would rise before dawn to stroke the furnace and fill it with coal from the bin.
To the right of the stairs sat the milk pasteurizer, wringer washing machine, and the sinks. Dad used the sinks a lot to clean the pheasants and grouse he hunted around Thanksgiving time. He had a shot gun, which fascinated me, because it had a deer head carved into the end of the stock. On the other side of the furnace and around the corner, forming two rows, were the Hoosier cabinets. This is where the canning jars were stored. At the time we had no idea how valuable those cabinets were.
The ball jars were perfect apartments for the caterpillars, until they formed chrysalis’s and then transformed into beautiful butterflies. First, however, grass had to be collected from the yard and stuffed into the bottom of the jars with a twig for the caterpillar to attach itself too, while waiting to become a chrysalis. Holes were punched in the jar lid to allow air to enter. The caterpillars were the transformer toys of our day. First the caterpillars would nibble their way through a tomato leaf, be collected in a jar and then become a butterfly that helps pollinate plants to insure the continuation of those plants. What a great way for Mother Nature to teach us how to use the gifts she’s given us and have fun, too.
June 29, 1951: First mess of green peas for supper
Vegetables in the Garden
If you were outside playing and a snack attack hit, the best place to be was in the garden. When the pea plants grew to about five inches, it was time to drive stakes into the ground, at intervals, and string two rows of wire for the peas to climb on. We loved to pick the young peas while they were crisp and sweet. We stuffed as many as we could into our mouths before they became more mature and ready to pick for freezing. After the pods were plucked off the plants, the shelling sessions were held by Grandma, Mom and Aunt Hattie, sitting in kitchen chairs near the old fashioned yellow rose bush, which grew in the side yard by the entrance door to the foyer.
Grandma told us that the rose bush and the pink one under her bedroom window on the other side of the house were started from roots transported from the farm in LaPorte County. There were also rows of carrots, little green onions, radishes and even kohlrabi. The carrots could be worked out of the ground, preferably the young sweet ones, scrubbed off at the spigot and munched on. Eating the little light green balls of kohlrabi was like eating cabbage leaves, only they were densely packed and very moist and tangy when sliced into round circles like cucumbers.
A not-so-happy task was digging beets out of the earth, when they were ready to be harvested, because we knew what lie ahead. The leaves were lopped off with a knife, and the red beets were dumped into a huge pot on the stove, to boil until they were tender enough to pull off the skins. The smell was horrendous. Until the day I can hardly stand the words Harvard beets, let alone eat them. The color red would bleed into the boiling water, making a stinky mess. Not all the aspects of the garden were beautiful, but then life isn’t either.
Cousin David
Our cousin David spent summers with us, as a young boy. That was a different experience for him, as he lived in Chicago. His father Dave had graduated from Notre Dame and was doing his graduate work at the University of Chicago. Aunt Dorothy worked a lot of hours at Bell Telephone to support her family. A bunch of army barracks had been built near the university to house soldiers during the Korean War. After the war they were used as affordable housing for students. It was not the best neighborhood to be living in, so David spent summers with us.
David and I hung out together quite a bit in the asparagus patch. The plants were tall and very leafy, like a fern. They were an ideal hiding place for us to crouch down on our knees and spy on unsuspecting folks. The asparagus was planted at the end of the garden, near the rhubarb, just before the land began to slope towards the garden below. The unsuspecting folks were Grandma, hanging the washing out to dry, on the line strung between two poles, in the back yard. The clothes would snap in the air when the breeze was brisk and billow lazily when the breeze was gentle. It might be Mom picking tomatoes to slice for supper, or Aunt Hattie snapping green beans in her chair by the back door.
Of course, we found out years later, at a family reunion, that David and I were the unsuspecting folks. Thanks guys for not spoiling our fun. David joined the army years later, during the Vietnam War. His job was to hide in the branches of trees in Cambodia jamming radio signals.
This ends Part 1. The remainder of the stories will be presented in December.