The Forestry Forum

Having spent my early childhood in near tropical environments, I have been exposed to some of the most beautiful flowering plants in the world.  Those were memorable years and nostalgia overwhelms me in an instant when one of those buttons is pushed.

Steve, who hails from Hawaii, logged on to the forum at noon today and I happened to see his name on the 'members on-line' section.  All of a sudden my minds eye was filled with images of a great, big, Royal Poinciana tree that graced the back of the lot at Grandmom's and Granddad's place where Charlie and I were raised.
It was a double trunked tree that split at about 4 feet off of the ground.  Each trunk must have been 20" in diameter or greater, and the tree itself was 40 or 50 feet tall and covered a sixteenth of an acre next to the chicken pen.  Beneath the tree was the entrance to the chicken pen and four to six of Granddaddy's bee hives glistening in white sanitary splendor.  On the other side of tree was a small chicken pen and coop that Granddaddy built for Charlie and me to house Bantams.  We spent a lot of time under that tree and I can distinctly remember the summers of absolute orange glory over our heads and winters of two foot long seed pods rustling in the wind like an entire band of Maracas.

Tropical flowers were bursting with color and had no problems with crowding.  Dense undergrowth of various flowering plants growing in the shade of flowering trees was not uncommon and occupants generally relied on trails rather than expanses of lawn to get to the house.  The shade was comforting in the heat of a Florida sun and the humidity, bearable.  Of course we had become accustomed to the humidity and accepted it as normal.  If I had to describe a tropical flower or garden in one word, it would have to be "Happy".

Along the back of the house and under Mom's  and Grandmom's windows were Bougainvillea and Carissa Plum.  They were Grandmomma's favorites.  Hedges of eight foot high Turks Caps bordered the back yard and the separate garage's walls were lined in Spider Lilly.  Beneath much of this were the colorful and sometimes twisted leaves of Crotons with there brilliantly colored, variegations.

A Loquat with branch breaking loads of sweet orange fruits, stood next to the garage, in the corner of the yard.

Florida Cherry hedges surrounded the house and the south side yard contained two large Sea Grape trees with their large plate sized leaves and purple fruits.  The Front yard was bordered with hibiscus and the front of the house with Alamandas and some white flower of which I am ignorant.  There were Melaleucas along the street with their sickening sweet, bottle brush shaped flowers and white paper bark.

A Coconut palm in the front yard fed us boys and many a day would find us sitting on the curb, hammering the husks off of the nuts.  A rock garden next to the driveway entrance was loaded with daisy's and beach sunflower's; a huge water oak shaded the drive (read hose story).  Beside the dining room and back porch on the north side of the house were Cabbage Palms, with the remnants of palm fronds clinging to their trunks.  There was a Coconut palm beside the back door and a view of Water Oak and Pines in the back.  Next to one of the oaks was a Cabbage Palm with Night Blooming Cirrus growing up its trunk.  We would spend evenings sitting around this tree, watching the sweet smelling flowers open.

It's not that this yard was anything special, everybody's yard was like this.  Mangos, Guavas, Oranges, Grapefruit, Kumquats and Calamondins for the taking, kept young boys out of the kitchen during the day.

We roamed in the neighborhood where we pleased, as long as we said where we were going.  Even the families without children were amenable to neighborhood kids and we had the free run of the world with the overseeing eyes of little, old ladies watching through the screens.

We attended school and worked hard at learning but our free time wasn't measured in how well we did at school nor were we made to feel that we had to help support the family.  Yes, we mowed yards on command but never considered getting paid for it.  I was sent many a time to mow a neighbors yard "because it needed it".  Sometimes, other kids would help so we could go play baseball.

I can sit here today and smell the smells, hear the noises and see the sights through pre-teen eyes just as sharply as if I were still there.

Tom,
     You would have done quite well in my creative writing class.  Your poetic side would have been on the high side of the curve during the Spring session.  You are very good at painting pictures with words.   Thank you for sharing some of your boyhood years. :)

Tom, you forgot to mention the rose apples and the bamboo, mulberry trees and the lot full of 6 or 7 foot high sawgrass. Also, what you called Florida Cherries are I  think Surinam Cherries. Mom used to make us get our switches from those cherry hedges. We'd have to get 2 in case she broke one. Also, all the neighbors were really nice  but one elderly couple. They lived across the street from our ballfield. If someone hit a homerun and the ball went into their yard, they'd go get the ball and take it into their house. No more ballgame. >:(

  I remember those days, mom would have fresh milk and cookies on the table when i got home from school. And like Tom i could go on and on, it' called the good old days.

Great story, Tom! Brings back some memories of my own boyhood, like the huge mimosa tree that shaded my grandma's hen house, and the peach switches we were victimized with when at Grandma's place in S. Carolina. At home, Ma used ligustrum, which was quite effective, in her hand. Reminds me of the time I had been done a great wrong by one of my little brothers. The exact transgression escapes me now, but it must have been a biggie, 'cause Ma let me go out and select the switch by which his punishment would be delivered. Well, I cut one that was about 7' long and big as your thumb, at the big end.  Ma took one look and screamed, "I WOULDN'T WHIP A HORSE WITH THAT THING", and proceeded to wail the daylights out of me with it! Little Bro got off scott free, and I wore stripes for a few days.

Good lesson in that.

Thanks Frank.  I'm not much at succeeding but I try.  It's so hard to convey some of that stuff and I want to share it so bad.
I really appreciate the appreciations. :)

Charlie, I try to forget the correctional aspect of foliage, not that I ever really will.  You will have to tell these guys, DanG especially, how a big brother can get a whuppin' for nuthin'.

Woodman, memories are priceless, aren't they?  When we were young, we were chastised for day dreaming.  Now that we are up in age a little bit, it's as if we have an excuse.

Tom  Sounds like an Enchanted Island, which Florida surely would be in the category as a State.  My Mother and Grandmother would take us 5 kids to Florida every summer as a child. (I remember my sister mispronouncing Panama City as Pajama City)   My wife is from Punta Gorda and we have a home there, the yard has all the flora you so richly described, including a driveway lined with Coconut and Royal Palms.  Florida reaks with diversity, with it's Spanish names and Native American Indians influence.  I can visualize a 70 to 80 ft. Royale Poinciana tree in bloom that I see when I cross the Caloosahatchie River going to Fort Meyers in the summer months. My wife tells of similar stories of growing up in Florida, all Native Floridians love their state with a passion and you describe vivily some of the reasons why--Thanks for sharing your cherished memories.

DanG, my Grandmother let us pick the Privet switch and it had better been a proper one or she'd go get a proper one. Wish she were here today to give me a proper whupping , I probably need one !! ;)   Glad your back, hope your vacation was enjoyable !! ;)

  Tom amen to that.

Tom:
Up to this past week I would have thought that your part old Florida was long gone. I just got back from a week with Dad. He retired to one of those tin retirement villages. We spent time just driving around to see what there was. It's amazing how fast you go from "tourist slick" landscape to really rural and beautiful. Anyone who has been south and hasn't gotten off the fast lanes and out of the amusement parks for a while is missing the best part of the state.

Splinters, I don't know what part of Florida your Dad resides, but if it is around the middle of the state (Orlando or Ocala area) take some time to rent a small boat and idle up/down the Silver River, Ocklawaha River and the Salt Run River during the summer...preferably in the middle of the week. You'll be amazed at the beauty of the wild flowers, trees, different water birds, turtles, alligators and fish you will see (the water is very clear...especially the Silver River).  If your Dad lives down in the Fort Myers area, then take a day and tour the swamps. Taking an airboat ride into the Everglades is an experience you'll not soon forget.  

My dad is around Plant City right close to I-4. Past visits have been Him thinking that we need to be amused. I-4 to Orlando or I-4 to Tampa. Thinking all Fl. is like that is like thinking NY is all New York City. Thanks much for the tips. Next year We'll have more time to look.

Reading back through the thread I came to Charlie's remembrances and memories begat memories.

The Rose Apple Tree.

Have any of you ever seen a Rose Apple Tree?

This one particular one was behind the house of the lady who lived across the street from us and stood on the edge of the unpaved alley that intersected the block.  

It was 30 or so feet tall (seemed bigger then) and was difficult to climb because of a slick single stem that was a little taller than we were and prevent us from reaching the lower branches.  If we got started then the climb was easy and a hard shake would litter the ground with hollow, sweet, fruits.  You could tell when the fruit was ripe because the one or two large seeds inside would rattle when you shook it.  They were about the size of  Golf ball or a little larger, pale cream in color, crunchy in texture, tasted just like a rose smells, and were so sweet that you could hardly stand to eat them.  They drew little flies when they rotted on the ground and I would stomp on them and cover them with sand to help prevent the insects from being so overpowering.

It was a pretty tree with large green leaves and made the neighborhood look and smell good.  This was one of our many stops during a day of hard playing to refuel ourselves.  If you had to describe us Neighborhood kids as we ran to and fro, playing kick the can, hide and seek, baseball, Army, cowboys and Indians, and many other energy exerting games, it would be Gaggle.

You ever been just kicking back relaxing and doing some daydreaming and all of the sudden a memory of the past will click in just like it was yesterday.  The type that you haven't thought about for years and it pops up just as clear as a bell. At work it's always hurry up and wait. But that is the way things work so you just have to deal with it the best that you can. Well I was sitting at a set of gates in the van waiting my turn and this is what popped into my head.

When I was just a young kid we lived either on or very close to water so swimming, boating were just everyday fun growing up.

The swimsuit of choice was cutoff jeans, nothing fancy. There were always a few pairs of them hanging drying off on the clothesline that was one sure way you could tell it was summertime. Water wicking off of the white strands from the frayed ends.

The first boat that I sailed solo was a sunfish sailboat. Had a ton of fun on that boat growing up. I can only remember my dad sailing that boat once or twice the entire time that we owned it. Course he had bigger and better boats anyhow so that boat was pretty much mine to do as I pleased. There was nothing fancy about this boat but it was some good fun.

The nice thing about it was if you got to hot you could flip it over and take a quick dip in the water. Then flip it back upright and be sailing again. For two people this could be a real blast. It was a single sail single hull fiberglass boat. Most of the time we would stay pretty close to home but every now and again we would get the urge to roam. So here is the story about a day of roaming on the fish.

We got off to an early start on the boat it was a nice summer day. We had no plans of going anywhere but for a sail cuz the urge struck us to go for a sail. Well the wind was perfect so we could run along the shoreline and away we went. Now a couple of miles down the bay we stopped at another friends house. We ate some food got some drinks and away we went. So we decided to run to the river to another friends house. Now this was a long run but we had done it before with no problems so we kept on sailing. Before we knew it we had ended up at our next destination point. It was still late morning and we messed around some but he had to go so we headed back to the boat.

Now we had never been as far as the next river or to the smoke stacks as we called them. That is where the coal power plant was located. We were both looking at the stacks and then looked back at each other about the same time. Yes it was off to the smoke stacks. So after a few hours of sailing more or less we took a stop on the beach to take a swim and relax some. Near as we could tell it was early afternoon now so we had to get going. After all we were very close to the smoke stacks now.  

Before long we made it too the stacks and about that time it started to look like rain. We started tacking back and fourth up the river just to see what was there. But the sky was turning worse. We both decided about that time that we had seen enough and it was time to start heading back. Now we were sailing back home and rain was in the air. This wasn't good. It wasn't long before it started to get windier and then the cold rain started. It felt good at first but then started to feel pretty darn cold. It went without saying that we had no time to stop we had to get the boat home. Or else we or should I say I would be in deep ka ka. The smart thing would have been to stop call the house and get a ride home. But we were kids and we sailed on. Now the wind was kicking pretty good and the waves were much choppier. About that time the rudder extension broke. Ok not too bad still could steer the boat fine. It was getting pretty dark and we still had a good mile to go. It had been storming all afternoon. The fun had long left this trip. We vowed to check the weather before going out again. (We never did check the weather we always just went) We vowed to never go out again. (We did many times after that day)

So at dusk we pulled up in front of the house and dropped sail. We were proud for getting through our first storm safe and with just one broken bolt. Yup we were now ole seasalts. Dad had been watching us with binoculars for the past couple of hours. First thing he asked was why didn't we just beach the boat and secure it for the night instead of sailing in that nasty storm. Our mouths dropped, we thought we would be in trouble for not bringing the boat back. So we did the unsafe thing and sailed back. Just lucky someone was looking out for us that day.

So here I was thinking about my first real storm that I was in as captain, when I heard a loud honk. Yup, it was my turn to go through the gates.

Gordon

Oh yea, I remember those kinds of days.  Carefree, footloose, having no fear until the day was over.  We sailed a little Dart which was a single sail single hull 8' boat for two.  Plenty of experiences like that in our boat too.  Perhaps I'll daydream about that for awhile. :)

Some 40 years ago, Saturday morning was our "goin' to town" day.  We had a couple of places we always stopped and a few we'd hit about once a month.  Western-Auto was more on the once a month schedule.  I looked forward to stopping there because it was the only place in town that stocked guns.  They usually had about two dozen in on display in an open rack - no locked case, no cable, no trigger locks.  Even at my early age,  nothing was said about me taking one down and looking it over.  The ammo was conveniently located under the gun rack. :o

My 8'th grade graduation gift from my folks came from Western-Auto.  It was a Savage 24 over and under 20 gauge and 22 Long Rifle.  I bought my first deer rifle from there only a couple of years later.  It was a Winchester model 88 lever action in 308 Winchester.  They had to order it and I was disappointed that it was the "old model" (pre-64) with the cut checkering instead of the pressed basket weave checkering of the new model.  ::)

Isn't it strange how our priorities change?

We had a  hardware store like that at home too. The owner would open a box of 410 shells and sell them to us one at a time for a dime.  We never had enough money at once to buy more than one and he knew it.  Eventually we would buy the whole box. ( We is all the kids in town.)

My old 410, a winchester model 20 single shot made just before the turn of the century..........the other century, is still my favorite gun even though it hasn't fit me in 46 years.

Bibbyman
Did it look like mine?
(https://forestryforum.com/images/YaBBImages/userpics/IM000579.jpg)
It's a pre 64 in 308 as well and the Blue Book of Gun Values puts the pre 64's at least $100 over the newer ones.   Thats the same with about all pre64 Winchester's.   Did you get to like it even if it was the wrong one and all?   Do you still have it?   I love mine, it took another moose last month in 1 shot for me.   Thay tell me up hear it's to small but I dont have no trouble with it, pull the triger and give them a bit to drop.   The big 300mag's are no faster than the 308 is to drop them.   I havd been looking for a model 100 in 308 for my other half for 6 or 8 years now with no luck.
Andy

Yea, that's it.  I traded it even up for a new reproduction Remington cap and ball 44 revolver with a few accessories a couple of years after I got it.   :o

So this one could have been yours! ;)   I found it at a gun show about 1992 and overpayed for it, but I'm glad to have it! :)
Andy

There was a time in my early years, I must have caught the end of the trend, when stores were owned by local people who inventoried and stocked things.  They even made an effort to keep in stock the things you wanted.  If they didn't have it, they ordered two so that one would be there when you needed it.

These folks would actually smile at you when you walked in the door.  Most of the time, they new your name, or that you were so-in-so's son.

They handed out lollipops to kids, welcomed questions, would break open a case to sell just one of something and didn't get chewed out by the boss for talking to a customer.  Break  a case?  Why Putnam's Hardware broke a box of 410 shotgun shells to sell to us kids because we only had a dime at a time.

When the sign in the door said open from 9 to 5 they didn't lock it at 4:30 so they could leave at 5.  If you were standing on the sidewalk at 7:30 in the morning or 6:30 in the evening and the owner was in the store, there was a good chance he would stick his head out and say "need something"?

Lunch (dinner) was usually taken by everyone at noon.  But, the sign on the door said "Down at Taylor's getting a sandwich".   If you really needed something, you could go over there and get a sandwich and shoot the bull till he was ready to go back to work again.  That took care of the emergency's.

You always had to stop in the barber shop and have a seat for a few minutes to visit.  A haircut didn't cost an hour and a half's wages and only took 10 minutes.  You could get your shoes shined by the rag poppin' shoe black for entertainment too.  The one in Duncan's put his kids through college shining shoes.

Next door you could get your shoes resoled.  Yep they would actually patch up a pair of comfortable shoes and make'em good as new for a tenth of what the shoes cost.  The shoe repair store sold belts, wallets and purses too; and smelled so good of new leather.

You could stop in the post office to check the mail in your box, meet several friends and even conduct some business on the sidewalk out front on the way to work.  

Everybody had to walk by the Western Union to set their watch

Stores were open 5 days a week.  Some were open 5 1/2 days a week.  Wednesdays were usually a half day.  Saturdays were always a half day if they were open at all.

Friday night was  high school football.  Everybody went.
Saturday and Saturday night was Little League, high school, Pony league and American legion baseball.  Most everybody went.

Sunday was Church.  Everybody went.

Nobody was out after midnight.  Even high school kids should be home by eleven.  If you were younger than that, you were home all of the time, unless chaperoned, and inside of the house at dark.

All of the parents watched all of the kids and you best mind them too.

We didn't say "yeah" or "nope".  We best say "sir" or "Ma'am",  Mister, Mrs. and Miss or get chastised.

Bare feet were ok.  Play shorts were common and homemade.  Cotton trousers were more common than dungarees and short sleeved sport shirts were worn instead of "T" shirts.  "T" shirts were considered underwear and you were really looked down upon if you wore the sleeveless undershirts in public.  

You didn't wear advertising on your shirt or hat unless you got paid for it.  The only ones allowed to wear their cap backwards were the baseball catchers and then only when they had a mask on.

If you were in the presence of adults, you kept your mouth shut, acted subservient and showed respect.  Sir and Ma'am were real important here.

Ladies hugged, men and boys shook hands.  Girls giggled.

Long hair on boys was dangerous in a fight and generally looked down upon.  There was something "not quite right" about short hair on a girl.

It was ok for boys to get dirty.  It was ok for girls to get dirty when they were playing with boys.  It wasn't generally ok for boys to go play with the girls.

The speed limit in town was fifteen miles per hour.  Cars stopped for pedestrians even if they were J-walking in the middle of the block.  It was common to be waved through an intersection by someone who was not in a hurry.  You would be guilt ridden if you double parked.   Parking places actually fit the cars so you could open the doors and get out.  If it was less than a mile, we walked.

Movies during the week were at night and for adults.  Early movies on Friday and all day Saturday were for kids.  Late movies on Friday night were for adults.  

The town had a dance every Saturday night at the Community Center for school kids.  Fishing was an acceptable pass-time for boys and girls.  It was generally the chosen sport when there wasn't a team sport in progress.  

The town had craft and sport programs available during the summer for anybody who wanted to sign up.  We jumped on trampolines, climbed ropes, did gymnastics, played ball, did woodworking, crafts, read and some were in summer school.  Since we had to be home at dark it didn't leave much time to get into trouble and if we did somebody's momma or daddy saw us.

Vacations were a real and planned thing every summer for most, even if they were visiting relatives.  Looking back, it was a chance for your parents to have some time alone.  Sometimes the Parents took you on vacation and that was really neat.

The church had a boys organization and a girls organization likened to the Scouts that kept you busy when the town didn't.  It seems we were always going camping, either with one of these organizations or just a bunch of neighborhood boys putting up a tent in the back yard.  We used to cook some mighty good meals over a campfire.

I get to thinking about these things every time I go into Wal-Mart, Home Depot, Lowes, Sam's and  they don't have what I need.  They stock what they want and it's up to you, the customer, to find a use for it. There is no store owner and the help seems to know it.  Clerks are too busy to say hello, much less, "can I help you". If you take up too much of their time they get antsy. Once you do find what you want and try to leave, you are confronted with a bank of 15 or 20 checkout counters of which only one or maybe two are open.  The lines wrap through the aisle and down one of the corridors causing traffic jams for other customers who are still trying to shop.  The checkout clerk appears to be in a dream world and will look up only now and again to ask the customer, "how much is this?".  I live in fear that one will pick up a microphone and say "Price Check aisle 12".  The whole line will groan.

Outside I dodge my way through a parking lot with traffic worse than an expressway and find my truck pinched between two other cars so close that I can't open my doors.  The two parking places on the left are taken by someone who "took two parking places" and parked on the line.  He's got a new car, I guess.  The parking on the right is empty but has a sign "invalid parking".  I throw the stuff in the bed of the truck, unlock the door and open it enough to get my arm in and take the truck out of gear.  Then I go to the front and push the truck until the door clears and I can get inside.  Visions of wet paint or kicking doors in or breaking head-lights pass fleetingly through my mind but I couldn't do that.

I wonder what would happen if asked the clerk in the sports department for one 410 shell? :)

 :D :D :D :D :D  Sounds like yer Homesick  :D :D :D :D :D

  I'm about to post on a new project idea on another forum, but, I MAY have to build ya a Time Warp machine ::) ::) ::) ;D

He may be homesick, but it looks to me like he made a trip to the Super Walmart.  I did that Sunday morn. :-/  I musta walked 4 miles in that store, and they didn't have but half the items I was searching for.  Needed some things for the garden, but most of that stuff has been put away to make room for the Christmas junk they have already put out. >:(

Granddaddy's Eight-Inch Well

 

Have you ever seen an eight-inch water well?  

There used to be a lot of them in South Florida; some larger even yet.

 Granddad had a little farm on Jenkins Road in Ft. Pierce that had an eight-inch flowing well.  I don't know how deep it was drilled but it flowed from the aquifer.  Being sulphur, it emitted a smell that some people say is likened to rotten eggs.  We liked it and would even take water home in a jar to drink in the stead of city water.  

The best time to enjoy this well was in the heat of the dead of summer.  We would be playing or hunting or working in the garden and the sun would have taken almost all of the energy from our young bodies.  When someone thought of the well, we dropped what we were doing and ran to the wellhead.  The pipe came from the ground about a foot and on top was a large valve with a handle that must have been at least a foot in diameter.  On the well side of the large valve were several spigots so you could get a drink of water without opening the large valve.  Opening the large valve a crack would allow the earth-pressurized water to spew forth with such pressure that the stream flew for twenty feet.  As the valve was opened, the stream became larger and shorter until, finally, a full eight inch stream was being projected six or eight feet from the well head.  Where it landed had been washed into a small pond about 30 feet in diameter and we were all standing waist deep in it as the constantly cool 76-degree water flowed.

Strings of mossy looking algae growing in the leakage around the valve head made the well look like a prehistoric monster and the layers of sulphur and algae in the bottom of the pond broke up into green, white and yellow plates which floated to the sides as we splashed, swam and horse-played.  

To the east a hundred feet was the little barn and the sow.  To the South was the garden with tall stalks of okra not 20 feet from the pond and rows of collards behind. The little farmhouse was to the north about 100 feet and its fire engine red color stood out against the green background of the Australian pines.  Next to the porch was a large cabbage palm tree that bore wounds from a peppering with my 410 where Granddad had taught me to pattern the gun.  Next to it were two large Guava trees.  One tree that bore a white Guava and the other that had a rosy red interior. I've ruined many a meal by filling my stomach on such readily available fruit.

 Those are wonderful memories of a childhood unrecognized at the time. Oh, how I wish I new how wonderful a time I was having.

If you like that rotten egg smell, come and visit. We've always got at least two meth labs cookin'.  ::)

You mean,somewhere in the neighborhood,don't ya Stan? :D

I can relate to some of your stories Tom.My hometown,Squamish,is at the head of Howe Sound,40 miles from Vancouver.Until 1958,there was no road into it.Everybody and everything came up on the Union Steamships.Because it was isolated it tended to keep riff raff out,and the town cop knew everybody.

It started to grow fast in the 1970's and with it came the usual crime,drugs and so on when it became a bedroom community to Vancouver.When we were kids,if we did something stupid,my parents knew about it before we got home.

The town I live in now,had no road access until 1965.Prior to that,it was only rail access on the PGE line.Things never changed much here until the early 90's,and it's still a good place to raise kids.

I usually know if they've done something stupid before they get home. ;)

"I usually know if they've done something stupid before they get home. ;) "

That's a tribute to small towns.  Here in Jacksonville, many of the parents find out their children have been into trouble because they don't come home.  It's unbelievable to me the things that kids do today.  Drive-by shootings, robbery, and all manner of "hard" crimes are being performed by under 20 youngsters, many in their early teens. Either the kids are shooting someone or some kid (innocent perhaps) is being shot.  The papers are full of it.

Thank your lucky stars for a small town. :) :)

I believe in "Home Before Dark".

When I was a kid in the mid-1950s, there was one wonderful place in town I always liked to visit. It was the 5¢ and 10¢ store.

One aisle in particular had contained everything a young man needed or wanted.  Well, the upper end had things for girls.  On one side were rubber baby doll heads, arms, legs, doll bottles, doll grooming tools, etc.  Cardboard dolls with paper clothes that could be cut out and the tabs folded over to clothe them.  They had rolly-around button eyes to sew onto rag dolls. They had tea sets, jacks and jump ropes.  

But I hardly paid any attention to this useless stuff,  but strutted on past to the other end where the real stuff was.

Open in bins partitioned with glass for every small hand to fondle were,  marbles in bulk, plastic army men, packs of BBs, caps for your pistol, cheap Barlow style pocket knives, play money,  Jew's Harps (or Juice Harps as I knew them),  harmonicas, fake vampire teeth that I always had to fit and show Mom as I'm sure every other kid did also.  

They had small cast iron tractors that looked liked Dad's old Farmall,  but there were those cheap tin cars and trucks made in Japan out of old cans.  You could tell because you could unfold the "tab A into slot B" construction and see what was printed on the inside.  Their axles were just pieces of wire with a rubber button for tires.  Funny, they really didn't look like the cars of the time – all rounded off and all – they look more like the cars of today.  Suppose that's where the car designers of the past 10 years got their ideas?

On the pegboard above, they had Davy Crocket coon skin caps,  bows with suction cup arrows,  cap guns, cork guns,  suction cup guns, and a rack of BB guns.  I had to handle ever BB gun.  I always tested if I had enough strength to cock that Daisy lever action.  Smashed my fingers more than once trying.

On the other side of the aisle were the bicycle parts and maintenance tools – pumps, patches, tubes, etc.  Next to them were the skate items – roller and one set of ice skates. There were Pogo Sticks and later Hula-Hoops.

Further down were school lunch boxes, Big Chief tablets (the ones with the big chunks of wood fiber), Crayons, coloring books, scissors (both round and pointed ended), pencils, pencil sharpeners, glue, paste, etc.

At the far end across from the girl stuff were the games.  There were decks of Old Maid cards, Dominoes, Checkers,  Chinese Marbles, Monopoly, Scrabble, Pickup the Sticks, etc.

Even though the prices must have been minuscule,  I can't remember ever talking Mom into buying me anything from the bounty that was displayed before me.  But I was wealthy in my imagination for a few moments on each visit.

Merry Christmas one and all.. 8)

 ??? Stan, ya got me there, the Daisy Red Rider, the three fingers on my hand still hurt, pulled the triger before closing the lever,  now that hurts, a tube of B-Bs for a nickel, and you always spilled them on the floor,  then grandma stepped on them, and you got the FLY SWATER, rite on the head, WAP, that hurt, your gonna shoot your eye out, don't point that thing at the cat,  and  Davey was my hero,  king of the wild frontier,    thanks,  Duane    opps,  that was Bibbyman,  no insult intended  Stan.  Duh---  Duane

Duane
You sure brought back a vivid memory to me too, about those three fingers. I think I still have a swollen knuckle from that 'forgetful' trick of the lever. I vividly see it all swollen and yellow/purple/black/blue color too.   Imagine nowadays they couldn't sell a 'toy' like that with such a dangerous knuckle buster. But it did add to the 'experience' that made one a bit smarter over time. I also relate to the one 'don't point that thing at the cat' . :)
 ;D ;D ;D   thanks for the recollection.

 :P  Who Me? well I was Born & Raised and spend 1/2 of a centry on a cattle and wheat ranch  52 miles north and east of cheyenne Wyoming, retired from ranching in 1990, Drove a truck for C.F. for 19 yrs while ranching, or should I say wife & Kids ranching, Moved to Sacramento Ca, in 1995 with C.F. stayed till they Quit in 2002,  Now Drive a Heavy Haul truck, Haul Cat Eqpt, all over the U.S.A.  P.D.Q. transportation,& Canada,  have been off work since 6/16/03  due to a broken wrist, think I will just goahead and retire, Yes  we still have the Ranch in the family, my youngest Son, we have cut back some, down to 5580 acres, But have center pivot Irrigation now, keep him busy.  I have lot's of old time memories,   Have many Hobbies, to keep me busy, Wood, guns,knives, hotrods, fishin, home,old cars, and more junk,   Duane

Duane,

My son Tom is visiting in Torrington Wyoming right now. That must be near where your place is.  His wife's grandmother lives there.  They farmed and ranched near there until retiring recently.  The Grandfather died of West Nile Virus this summer.  Those irrigation canals are full of mosquitoes.  

 8) yep between Torrington and Cheyenne , a little town near is  Albin, Wyo, lost a neighbor this summer to the nile also,  Richard Pence, or, CUB as called him,, Hell of a Hand with a rope,  Duane

My son Chris was down the other day and he spotted a hard copy of my 5&dime story and had picked it up and read it.  I asked how he liked it and he replied "Purdy good.  But what's the statement?"  (He's taking college night classes and is writing a lot of paper – thus, he's an expert.)  I told him there was no "statement".  It was just some memories I'd brought together and thought some people would enjoy reading it. "Well." He says,  "The only statement I see is that Grandma was too tight to buy you anything."

He kept pressing me so I told him I'd let the readers find their own statement.  For me,  I think it's remarkable that.. 1)  A retail store could have all these small items out on open display and not have them ripped off.  2) Most all the toys available when I was a kid are now banned, modified, restricted, or politically incorrect.  3)  If I had that inventory of old toys in new condition today,  I would have some real wealth.

It is amazing that the 50 year old memories of the toy aisle would lead to West Nile disease in Wyoming.  

Well Bibbyman,I don't know what to tell Chris but your story unlocked old memories well enough that I could even smell the inside of the store.And then I did a bit of my own reminiscing and went into a full scale daydream.

It was just like being back in school.

I enjoy story tellin'.  

Oddly,  or maybe not,  my older sister writes a lot of short stories too.  She got married when she was 15 and dropped out of high school but almost all of her adult life she has written short stories.  

For a few years,  she published her own paper call the "Missouri Strings" and distributed it around the mid-Missouri area.  It was mostly a tabloid of local people and country music events, etc.  

In the last ten years she and her family have been very involved in the church they attend and she has published their monthly news letter.  About half of it is taken up by one of her stories.

We exchange stories now and then and I e-mailed her my 5&Dime story.  She said she could just see the store from my description.

About a year ago I put up on our web site a story about the little one room school we had both attended.  I sent my sister a link to the story and she sent me back a story she had written about her memory of the same school. They were completely independent creations but oddly similar.

School Daze - By Dorothy Lee (http://wardensawmill.members.ktis.net/pageschool2.htm)

Last days of Herring School - By Bibbyman (http://wardensawmill.members.ktis.net/pageschool.htm)

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Bibbyman and sis Dorothy Lee - April, 53 beside one room school in rural Missouri.

I posted this on another thread, but I wanted to post it here too.  I hope it's okay.

Tom, It's a really really nice thing you did for me fixing these pictures.  It is very much appreciated.  Charles..

To everybody else, in some previous post I had attempted to post the first picture.  To start with the pictures are old and faded, and my pityful attempts at scanning and  getting them to fit this forum left a lot to be desired.  Out of the goodness of his heart he emailed me and asked me to send him the pictures to fix.  Here are the results.
(https://forestryforum.com/images/04_01_03/cktate-granddaddyandmule-opt.jpg)
(https://forestryforum.com/images/04_01_03/cktate-granddaddyridingmule-opt.jpg)
(https://forestryforum.com/images/04_01_03/cktate-granddaddyandme-opt.jpg)


This is my grandfather and his team at about the time I was born.  His name was Walter Tate. I never in my life saw anybody get mad at him, or have words with him.  So, some of my ways musta come from a darker side of the family! He was a gentle person.  During his lifetime he did a variety of things including  logging,  and at one time worked for the forestry service.  He was a hard worker. Summertime going to Mama's and Granddaddy's was always an adventure both to me and my brother, but also all my cousins looked forward too.  There were red hills to slide down.  There were grape vines to swing on.  There was an old barn to play in.  Mama raised goats in her later years, there was always new 'baby's'  to go see.  His land was almost all hills and hollers, some so steep you couldn't hardly climb.  But you were never told not to, the best place in the absolute world to play cowboys and indians, and army.  And hide and seek!  Or get off in the woods and ride down small trees!  Sometimes he'd cut you a stick for a horse and mama would tie a tail on it.  The well was down a hill and across the road.  You had to let down a bucket.  We always delighted in going to the well, drawing water, and helping tote it back to the house. They'd keep drinking water in a pail with a dipper in it. In the summertime sometimes they'd add ice! Sometimes we'd crank up some homemade icecream!  It was in the late 60's before they had running water.  There was a storm cellar, and a carport he had cut into the side of a bank. For a long time there were bees who made a home in part of this bank. So you had to watch out for bees, and snakes.  He and mama'd teach you what kind of bumble bee's were safe to catch and play with. The ones with the little white triangle on his head.  Don't touch one with a lot of white, or a solid black one!!! Mama'd tie a string to them and you could hold it and let it fly around.  They'd make you cars out of rubber bands, sticks or pencils, and wooden spools.  Put em down, back em up, and they'd take off under their own power.  He'd help you make a stick with a piece of wood attached to the bottom of it, get you a ring off the hub of an old wagon wheel and you could take that stick and drive that hub all over the yard. Or mama'd fix you a button on some thread and once you got the hang of it you could really make that button sing. Mama had every kind of flower you could imagine.  Both in, and out the house.  She could tell you the name of each and every one, how to care for and water it, and when'd it'd bloom, almost to the day.  Also granddaddy made her a flower house, out of old windows, doors, and reclaimed lumber from first one place or another.  He only owned three different cars after I was born.  One was an old 50's black Chevrolet or maybe 40's, I'm not sure, Then an early 60's Chevrolet, the kind with the tail fins, and lastly an older red car.  He was really proud of that red car.  They'd all rust out pretty quick in that car shed cut in that bank, but he took good care of them.  Mama never drove a day in her life unless she did it before I was born. I really think she never got behind the wheel, she was a scared of them things!  They had a swing on the front porch looking down on the road.  Evenings were spent on the porch talking.  They never watched much TV, heck it'd hardly get a picture anyway,  and you went to bed right after dark.  Mama'd always tell you stories.  Mary and her lamb, The big bad wolf, Billy Goat Gruff, and other stories of her own.  In cold weather you slept in a bed high off the floor, with a TON of home made quilts weighting you down, and keeping you warm.  No heat back in them bedrooms.  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I sometimes wonder if anyone in the world can cook as good as a breakfast as my grandmother.  Fresh eggs, Ham and bacon, sliced fresh from the smoke house, biscuits to die for, ham gravy,  and always, butter and molasseses.  Also home made sausage that'd bite your tongue when you'd bite into one of them red pepper flakes. She'd always cook a bunch of extra biscuits, always.  Kept em sitting in the oven all day and if you wanted a snack you'd about have to settle for cold biscuits with molasses.  Can't think of nothing finer and never in my life did I ever stop by there without heading to the oven!
I even remember helping make homemade hominy out of shelled corn and helping her boil clothes and wash in a ringer type washing machine!  She'd let me stir the clothes while they was a boiling. Wash water was usually caught from rainwater in a barrel. Oh, and mama'd make the prettiest quilts.

Granddaddy always wore a hat.  Never did I see him with a cap, always a hat. He even had a Sunday go to church hat, Mama'd often wear a bonnet when outside tending to her chickens, or flowers.  They never drank, and were very much against drinking.  But granddaddy did dip snuff.  He'd keep a small can in his pocket and when he'd get ready for a dip he'd use his old pocket knife to dip it out and put it in his mouth with.  Mama didn't like it, but let him get by with his dipping.  

Granddaddy could handle an ax, or crosscut saw better than anyone I've ever seen.  My dad was about as good. My dad was driving an old logging truck before he was 13.  My grandpa never owned a chainsaw in them days, I think he might have bought one when he got older, but I don't think it ever worked or ran good.  

Now these pictures were took about the time I was borned.  I do remember this team but barely.Now the oddest thing, I always thought and remembered that they were mules.  My dad says they are horses, and their names are Tony and Dan and they were a heck of a good team.  As I said, I barely remember them, but do treasure these pictures.  Again, Thank you Tom!

Oh, the last picture, that's ME AND MY GRANDADDY!!!

Great memories cktate

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Here is a picture of my grandparents and my dad's only sister.  Grandpa was tall and slender all his life.  He was probably cut from nearly the same cloth as your grandpa... but ... he did like his beer,  he liked to go to dances,  and he liked to party.  

In the past few years,   my Dad has started telling more stories about when he was young.  A few years back he told about during the Prohibition, Grandpa had a still hidden on the farm and he disappears for a few hours every day to do his work.  Said a big Buicks, Cadillacs, or Lincolns would pull in from Chicago about once a week and leave out with their bumpers about dragging the dirt road.  Said they'd feed the old hens the used mash from the still and they really get fat.  But they tended to stumble, stager and fall when they tried to walk! ;D  

Dad asked me not to tell about Grandpa being a moonshiner.  As if there would be any repercussions today.   But I know you guys won't tell. ;D

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This is Mama and Papa Hutchenson, and my mother. He was a farmer, milked a few cows, and a carpenter.  Not quite as easy going as granddaddy, but,...back in the mid 70's I fell in with a crowd and found myself in a spot of trouble.  He had already quit farming by then as they filled his bottom land up with a gov. lake and had went to full time carpentering.  At that time he had already retired from the lumber co. he worked for and him and Paul Hays Kelley was working for them selfs.  Well, they took me in hand, put me back to work, and taught me some pretty good facts of life.  I never enjoyed working anywhere else as I did with him and Mr. Paul.  Mama loved gardening and canning and freezing.  Lord a mercy, that woman could cook them vegetables.  Lots a times I'd eat so much I'd have to wait til later on desert, nah, make that most of the time.  Twas him I bought my land from.  He'd done got up in his 80's and had remarried after mama passed on.  Most all the kin had tried to get his land that was left one way or another, exceptin me.  I knew him too well and that he'd do what he durn well decided HE wanted to do, he didn't take to conning and fussing. One night he called me up late at night and said he thought a skunk and gotten into the crawl space under his house.  Everybody else  told him it was probably a mouse or something and to put out poison.  I figgured if he thought it was a skunk he musta had a Dang good idee it was a skunk.  Asked me what I thought.  I told him that IF it was a skunk and he poisoned it and it died under his house he'd have to move, maybe burn the house.  Told him to sit tight and if it was, I'd catch it with a live trap.  So here I go, set the trap under the house and bait er up with sardines.  Next day I come over, open that door going under the house, AND, there's a dad-DanG skunk in that trap lookin me in the face.  Covered the trap with a blanket, toted that cage way off, and put that skunk outa his misery.  Well, that skunk hadn't sprayed under the house, but after about a week you could smell the musky odor from where he'd been there.  Papa called me again. I went back over, opened that door and all the vents under the house, and set up a big fan pulling air from under the house.  That weekend I took about 40 big cans of tomato juice and I'd fill up a garden hose with a funnel, hook it to the faucet and sprayed everything under that house.  When the hose would start spraying clear water I'd turn her off and reload.  Plumb got rid of that skunk smell.  Sometimes he'd mention the land and the fussin that was going on and ask me what I thought.  Told him it was his, he'd worked for and earned it, and he'd just have to make his own decision.  Over the years I'd told him that a bunch of times.  Late one night he called me to come over.  Here I went again.  Got there and asked what was wrong.  He asked me if I wanted to buy his land, at a bargain, all but one acre and his house.  I jumped on it and within a few days paid him cash.  I bought 17 acres, that's all he had left other than his acre and house.  Later when he became more senile his wife got power of attorney and sold that acre and house, to a stranger.  Papa'd probably never stood for that if he'd know what was happening.  This was only about two years after he sold me the land.  

I do not know if this is a West Coast memory or if it was Nation wide, (one of my fond memories) in the early 60's was milk which was delivered in brown, white or clear glass gallon jars with a pleated lid made of a hard paper cardboard with a poker chip insert for a cap.

We also had different color anodized aluminum glasses. I believe all my relatives had sets of these. May have got them from a gas station promotion.

To me and many others whom I have talked with. Milk always taste better from the brown jars in those metal glasses !! 8) 8)

Brown if it was chocolate milk, white if it was regular milk, and clear if the jug was empty?   ::)       ;D ;D

My memory goes a bit further back to when we milked the cow by hand,  put the milk up in quart bottles, and delivered it to the neighbors with each bottle showing a layer of thick cream on top.  She was a jersey cow with the black circles around her eyes (don't know why that comment seemed  important  ??? ).

And you could take some of that cream, add a little salt, put it in a quart fruit jar, rock it back and forth for a spell, and churn you up some butter.  That's the way mama done it.  The rest of it they'd sell to the milkman.

We had jerseys when we milked too beenthere, when we quit milking my dad sold off the herd except for two. One had her horns still and was real tame. We could ride her but that backbone was not very comfortable. :D They stayed with us until they died of old age.

Jerseys have the best milk but don't produce like the holsteins do. If Patty ever talks me into a cow on the farm it will have to be a jersey. Boy now that I've said that I hope there aren't any for sale in Iowa. :D

The holstein farm boys used to tease that the milk a Jersey cow gave wouldn't cover a quarter in the bottom of the milk bucket, but the comeback was that a Holstein would fill the pail, but you could still see the quarter at the bottom of the bucket.  
Just recently tried to explain to two of my grand daughters what churning butter was like (seemed like hours of steady, monotonous work) and how good the cold buttermilk was after churning. And how the butter would suddenly appear in the churn (at 7 and 8, they knew a butter churn as a stick in a wood bucket from pictures and stories, so my description of turning a handle was not very familiar to them  ???). Go figure.

Hadn't heard of the butter making by shaking the cream in the quart jar. Sure do remember that fresh cream poured over a bowl of fresh strawberries though.  Mmmmm!!!

QuoteBrown if it was chocolate milk, white if it was regular milk, and clear if the jug was empty?   ::)       ;D ;D

My memory goes a bit further back to when we milked the cow by hand,  put the milk up in quart bottles, and delivered it to the neighbors with each bottle showing a layer of thick cream on top.  She was a jersey cow with the black circles around her eyes (don't know why that comment seemed  important  ??? ).

For some reason (may have been the company's geographical) my Uncle's home was delivered milk in the brown bottles. We got the white or clear.  Choclate milk only came in clear.

Years later my farm experience came, we had jersey's, gurnsey's and holstiens.  We also had a jersey with black circles around the eyes.  Boy do I remember the cream and the metal milk containers.

Sounds like Norm, is gonna have a cow  :D

Where is Bro. Noble's comments on this subject?  He should be the "udder" expert at milk. :D

I remimber going to the barn with my brother and having two glass one spoon and a can of nesley's chocolat milk Milking the cow into the glass and stiring it up ,,, Now that was chocolat milk  you could not duplicat that taste with nothin esle ;)  We don'thave the milkers now but we do still have cows ....Going to dads tomorow maibe I'll take Mr Quick with me .... Must be a cow there thats had her calf that I could get near. ;D ;D

Wow, you fellas have sure tapped the memory bank for me, tonight.  We did not live on the farm we had but often brought in a cow or two to our two acre parcel.  One, I recall, was an awfull good milker, a Holstin.   She put out 6 gallons + a day.  With five kids in the family you would think we would consume all that milk.  We couldn't keep up with her production.  It got to the point that my mother pulled out the ol' churns.  We had two, the paddle and jar version as well as the deep wooden bucket and handle.  Did we learn how to make butter as well as curds and cheese.  Thanks for the memories.   8) 8)

I remember the milkman delivering milk bottles of milk and leaving them on the front steps. Grandmother would leave the empties and he'd take them and leave full ones.  They had the little cardboard disk inside the top and the pleated paper cover over that.  I also remember milk coming in a dark clear bown bottle and regular clear bottles.  I believe the dark clear brown bottles had milk that had vitamin D in it. The dark bottle kept the sunlight from it.  Something about the sunlight affecting the Vitamin D.  I also remember when the first wax cardboard carton came out. At the time we were having the milk delivered by Vero Beach Dairys. They had two cartons, a blue one and a red one.  The blue one was homogenized and the red one was just pasturized. I reckon the red one still had the cream at the top.  I think all milk is homogenized today.  

Bibb,

I got to figgering the other day how many times I'd traveled that path between the house and the barn---------about 15,000 and another 15,000 from the barn to the house :D

About half of the trips were in the dark.  Lots of them were in the rain or cold or swealtering heat :-/   More than a few were to face frozen waterlines or providing our own electricity.

Bring back fond memories ::)---------Makes me think about retiring and doing a little traveling to where it's cold when I'm hot and hot when I'm cold ;D

Kalijah.........never milked a cow, cus...he did'nt have the pull !!!

When the cows would see him coming, they would wail:  "........here comes oh lousy fingers with his pail"

New verse:

"Poor old Noble he could'nt find the cows
They had seen him comin......and snuck back to the house
Now it's no longer a wonder why he made 15000 trips
The cows had done outsmarted him agin..........."

When Noble got to the barn, not a cow did he find
So he turned around - back to the house, makin doule time.
But the cows had figured him out back to the barn they went
And now 'old Noble's' feet are worn and spent.

 8) :D  8)  8) 8) :D :D :D

Growing up we had a herd of jerseys,just skim a little cream off the top and wipped cream could be had for desert!
  As a youngster we still used milk cans as we were one of the last to get a bulk tank.Dad had a can route picking up other farms milk and taking it to the creamery. He had an old chevy truck that the windshield wipers worked by way of a stick in the radio hole in the dash,it was a BIG deal when we got to ride along and "run" the wipers.
  Later on when we got the bulk tank it seems someone always forgot to bring milk to the house for breakfast,I could make that trip in about ten seconde in my barefeet---in January! :D

 Norm, if you can get a swiss, you won't have a bony back to ride  ;D. Bro Noble, was that 15000 weekly or a little more?

WEAK  ly :D

 I remember getting sent to the barn hourly, :'( when we had one coming in. Rita had a nice herd of swiss, she traded the registration papers back to the farm for our house lot and 10 acre maple orchard. good deal, I thought.

     First time one of my Brahma's had a calf of course she had it across a little creek, in in a little thicket, in a far corner of the pasture.  First calf I'd messed with too.  About this time of the year.  I noticed she didn't come in so I went to looking for her.  At that time I had a border collie that'd keep the cows off me if I wanted him too.  

      I crossed that little ditch on a foot log, we ran the mama off for a minute, and much to my horror the calf was dead.  I went over there and jostled it around a little bit and it took a breath.  I knew I outta get it back to the barn and get it warmed up.  Dang little thing was heavy but I picked it up and started back.  About the time I was crossing that log across that ditch......... that calf COME BACK TO LIFE!......  I managed to get it across the bank, but doing so I fell in that COLD water!......  The calf wobbled back to it's mama who met it half way and I went back to the house....

      The calf growed up just fine,...... without my help!

that's a great story. I'll bet you felt good that it started breathing. You probably had a lot ot do with it.

Tom, when I found that calf it was dry.  I've since found out that that meant it had already been borned for a while. The way it fought, struggled and kicked with me a crossing that log and the way it was able to wobble to it's mama  I'm a thinking that when I found it it was playing possum!  I don't know that much about cows, still learning.  But when them bramas have a newborn sometimes they'll hide em and unless you actually go up and kick at the calf you'll swear it ain't even breathing!  

 :D
It is instinct that causes that baby to lay still.
And it is all breeds of cattle. They have very little odor for the first few days also so the preditors can't smell them. That is why the momma licks them dry and eats the afterbirth as soon as they are born. It is best to not disturb them as sometimes they will do what comes next instictivelly and that is to jump up and run. And they may be running away from momma. No fence will stop them. They will sometimes run till out of sight or they may go hide again and neither you nor the momma can find them.

I know ya said you were still learnin ck, but there was a reason that momma went to the far side of the pasture and hid. She wanted privacy. The only ones you need to watch are first calf heifers. You should have them close to the barn or corral to start with. (Iam getting ready to calf 15 heifers)
The older cows? They will take care of thenselves.
 ;)

One of my favorite summers growing up was in 1962.
 As soon as school was out my folks packed up all our furniture and stored it in one of our neighbor's garages, rounded us five kids up, and off we went on a great adventure.
I was just about to turn seven, I was the middle child of five, the oldest of us was my brother who was fourteen and the youngest was my sister who was only 6 months.
The first stop on our adventure was Gramma & Grandpa's house up in the Kickapoo Valley of Wisconsin. All the cousins, aunts and uncles were there visiting also, so every inch of Gramma's house was full. I remember sleeping under the kitchen table so no one would step on me in the middle of the night. The older cousins got to sleep up in the attic where Gramma stored all the neat stuff she had collected over the years. When we got older we were allowed to go up there and play dress-up in her old clothes. We would wrap curtains around our shoulders and pretend they were mink stoles. We would put on plays in the back yard and make all the aunts be our audience. My uncles would stay in the house and play cards all day smoking cigars and cigarettes, except my uncle Jimmy, he would leave at dawn to go fishing on the great Mississippi river, and wouldn't return until late in the evening. We kids would catch crawdads down in the crick for him to use for bait.
Soldiers Grove was the little town that was near, so when the grown-ups tired of us, they would give us each a nickel for a cherry coke down at the local drug store. Going to town was a big event for both us and the townsfolk. When the Ewer's gathered together at Gramma's house we probably doubled the town's population. So when us kids would show up at the drug store with the nickel in our pocket, the store owner would line us all up and ask us which one we belonged to, "Oh, so you're Mel's girl!" he'd say to me every year, "My haven't you grown! Why you'll grow up to be just as pretty as she is! You know I knew your mom when she was just a little girl." And so it would go until all us cousins were matched up with which parents we belonged to. The local kids knew every year when the Ewer's cousins were in town also and they really capitalized on it. They would bring over their ponies and rent them to us for an hour at a time, or even the whole day if we had enough money. Those poor ponies would patiently stand there while we tried to see how many of us could get on at one time to ride.
My Grandpa was a sweet old guy always wearing bib overalls with the side buttons undone and a green hat with white polka dots perched on his head. Grandpa was his own man, he didn't really care what others thought, apparently, when he painted his little house bright yellow and trimmed it in fire engine red. He even painted the front walk in red. I loved the house; you could see it for miles it seemed. Every time we would visit, it was a game to see who could see Grampa's house first. Grampa didn't have screens on the house and the flies were plentiful. Grampa would give us a penny for every dead fly we brought him. I remember my cousin Tommy would bring him the same fly over and over. I think Grampa probably knew what was up, but he never let on.
After a fun filled week with the cousins we went on to Madison to buy a tent big enough for the whole family. I had never been to such a big city before, and the Sears & Robuck Store was huge. I remember my little brother, who was four at the time, and I got separated from my dad in the Sear's store. Being the older sister, I knew it was my responsibility to find our way out of the store, and hopefully to our car where my mom waited with my little sister. I was pretty short, being only seven, and the only way I could see the front door was to go up the escalator. So my brother and I would ride the stairs up, locate the front door, ride the stairs down, and promptly get lost among the racks. We repeated this several times, and I was getting a little nervous. What if they left and didn't notice Brian & I weren't in the car? After all, there were three other kids and it was a big car. Finally a store clerk noticed us riding up and down the escalator, and came over to tell us to knock it off.  I told him our dilemma and he gladly escorted us to the tent department where my dad was, to get us out of his department. I don't even think dad had noticed we were gone he was so wrapped up in buying our new tent.
From Madison we headed back west. I had no idea where we were going, and at seven, didn't really care. We would pull into a camp ground and spend the next hour putting up the tent and unpacking our sleeping bags. My baby sister would sleep in the tent box. We kids loved living in the various parks across the Midwest. All day we would swim and fish and hike and greet the other campers. We met lots of folks and had a blast playing with the kids as they came through. We really didn't have chores, just roll up the sleeping bags in the morning, sweep the tent, and go off to play the rest of the day. Mom would go into town now and then to do laundry and buy groceries. She would bring our clothes home wet and hang them all out on a line we strung up between trees near the tent, taking extra care to get Dad's white shirt hung so it wouldn't wrinkle so badly. Sometimes she would get back to camp to find my little brother and I tied to a tree where our older brother had left us. Looking back I can't imagine what my mom must have been going through, spending the summer going from camp ground to camp ground, and living in a tent with 5 kids, one being less than a year old. The woman is a saint. By August we were in Pierre, SD, and camping in the city park. My dad found a job in Pierre, so every evening mom hand washed his white shirt & trousers, and spread them flat on the picnic table to dry, this must have been a more effective way to get the wrinkles out. When school started it was fun to tell the kids we lived in the city park. Back then Pierre was a poor community, so the kids didn't notice so much that my dresses were wrinkled and worn, because theirs were too. The evenings were getting cold by September, so we had to move into a real house with bedrooms and a kitchen, and my magical summer was over.

Patty, thank you for sharing the memory of your  magical summer. What an experience to remember!     .  

Great memories. It's funny  how parents can convince kids that they are having a great adventurous vacation when they are actually looking for a job. :D  

That was good.  write another. :)

 :) I can recognize much of what You are telling about even if I´ve repressed a lot. Remember the pallets(?) tables(?) or what You call them. Construction in wood where the farmers  placed the cans, so the trucker easily could load them on the truck. Farmers meet there and could spend more of the day than they had time for. (As I do here) ;D. And young people used to meet there in the evening.
We get chees and butter from the dairy when the milktruck came back whith the cans. Just ordered in the morning on a piece of paper in the "unikabox". We didn´t buy much more but coffee and sugar, nails, salt........Oh yes! Coarse salt for the pork.  ;D Once a mounth there came a man in a rusty car and sold fish. We get potatoes and eggs from the farm. And the salted pork.

We all know that wather is boiling at 100* C ~212*F (?)
Do You know when milk is boiling?


Swede.

Swede,

Some of your memory's remind me of simpler times when I was younger, prior to all the electronic amusement gadgetry.

Values from relationships with your neighbors, and those you came into contact with left you with greater appreciation of life.

I think some of us appreciate this site for similar reasons, as the way we greet each other, remember values, and joke come from the appreciation of others in our lives.

Will Rogers once said: " A stranger is a friend I have yet to meet"

In our neighborhoods a stranger nowdays, may not share the same values we have come to appreciate. He or she would rather steal you blind as has recently happened to Tom !!

Stephen_Wiley

Today I left my old mobilephone for repair. The man in the shop told me that less than 30 years ago, when he began working with this stuff, he just had to call telephone exchange, tell the lady his own number and ask for being conected. NO ONE had in his mind to say he was calling from another´s  number!
Today You can get killed on the street for a ´phone.

It´s my best memorys, that time when people understood that we need each other. In the village I lived untill I was 5-6 Y.O. they had a thresh maschinery  and many other things together, necessary for get the life go around. Ewery man  in the village where in the barn at that farm who had  treshing-day. There where no place for deviance.

Swede.

Some places are still like that; you just gotta go looking for them. In our area, if a neighbor needs help, all the folks around pitch in. We've helped to build a corral for 1 neighbor, a lean-to for another, pulled folks out of ditches, etc. It makes life more fun. Last summer a bunch got together and reroofed the widow's house, while the ladies inside baked up lots of goodies. One of the neighbors boys was hurt badly in an accident, the whole area pitched in to help raise money, watch their cattle, watch their other boy, etc. It is just what you do. Just lately Norm & I have been treated to some great cooking. Norm shot & butchered a couple deer for one of the neighbors who needed the meat, since then she has brought lunch over to the office for us many times. What a nice treat! My point is there are still nice people out there in this world, you just gotta go out and find them.  ;)

For some reason I was just sitting here thinking about the old party line.  Remember them?

Yes,  I remember the party line and...................I also spent a summer in eastern Oregon in which the phone was the old box with a ringer.

If I remember right to make a long distance call required the operator to make it. You would contact her (generally a her in those days) by making three short rings followed by two long ones.

In the community I was in, I think there were approximately 20 people.  The hand written phone directory looked something like the following:

Smiths        o_ _ oo
Johnsons     _oo_ _
Bakers        o_o _ _o_
Operator      ooo _ _

Note: at anytime anyone would could come on, while you were talking.  Many were often courteous and would say hello, apologize, maybe even ask your help with a problem (after you finished your call) and hangup. But their were the busy body Martha's who you could hear snickering, sighing or trying to quietly cough while they were listening in.

I do ck, we had about 5 or 6 people on ours. One was the neighborhood gossip. Even thou we lived in the country she could always find something to talk for hours about.

Not that I ever evesdropped tho. ;)

I remember them.  My Aunt's number was 567R.  The "R" meant it was a party line.   I know there were listener's-in but at my age I was little concerned. :D  All we wanted to do was find our cousins so we could play.  That was in the late 40's and early 50's.  .........back before the turn of the century. :D

Yep the party line was a main form of entertainment out in the country. You get bored, just pick up the phone and listen in on the latest gossip goin' round. Mom used to get so mad at some of the ladies gabbing all day (I guess she wanted her turn too); that she would take the dinner bell and ring it into the receiver!  ;D  

I can remember the party lines--------that was just about 5 years ago for us.  We didn't get phone service at all untill the early seventies.  Before that we had to go about 15 miles to use a pay phone.

About the maddest my grandmother ever got mad at me, and she was a woman who usually never got mad at all was once  when I timed how long she was on the phone.  She always claimed she never talked over a few minutes.  The actual time was more like thirty minutes, or an hour.   :) :) :)

sktate;

I´ll tell You a secret, Thats the way I´m here. Just 10 minutes but but I only watch  the hour hand.......... 8)

Swede.

PS. Please, don´t tell anyone!

Swede, yeah, that's kinda what got me to thinking about it, and how this ole computer is kinda like a party line, gossip and all!   :) :) :) :)

Tom's and my phone number was 403 and our cousin's was 567R. That's back when you picked up the phone and the woman operator would politely say; "Number Please."  I would tell them 567R and they would connect the line and ring my cousin's phone. One time, the operators went on strike so the management had to run the operator's jobs. I was still in elementary school at the time. I picked up the phone expecting to hear a woman's pleasant polite voice. Instead, a man said; "What do you want?"....and he didn't sound too happy. It scared me and I hung up the  phone.

When I was going to Georgia Military in Milledgeville, sometimes I stayed in the barracks over a short holiday because I was too far to be able to go home and get back in time. So with few cadets there, things got sort of boring sometimes. So during those real boring times, I'd go down to the pay phone and dial '0' (it didn't cost anything to call the operator.) and then talk to the operator for a long time. Every once in a while the operator would excuse herself to help a customer but would always come back to chat. :)

Kids use to have fun with telephones. Oce there was 7 young boys. One rang an old man an asked for Janne.
- No Janne lives here, You must have dial the wrong number!
The second boy did the same, and so on.........
When the 6:th boy made his call asking for Janne of course the old man was complete crazy.

Then the 7:th boy made his call: - Hello, it´s Janne. Has anyone asked for me?

Swede. (who once poured 25 litres concentrated washing-up liquid in a fountain) :D

Swede,

One of the many kids jokes here,  is to call and ask:

"Is your refrigerator running?" (working)

Obvious response from adults is:

"Yes"  (thinking they may be talking with a salesman)

Kid:

"You better run down the street and catch it"

Call the store.
"ya got Prince Albert in a can?"

"yes"

"Well you better let him out."

Oh Man!  Talk about phone jokes...  Thirty some years ago when the factory where I have my day job first opened up, everyone was young and foolish.  Every couple of weeks there was fresh batch suckers to be played.

Lets see...

We leave a message to call this number and ask for "Doug Graves".  It'd be the grounds keeper at the cemetery.

Or we'd have them call a number and ask for "Bill Board".  It'd be the local road sign company.  (They got so mad after about the twentieth time getting the same call,  they traced the calls back to our office and we were told to knock it off.)

Or we have them call the local women's correction center and ask for "Freda Peoples".

About every new draftsmen was send down to one of the punch press' with a print and told ask for "Stubby Workholder".  (Of course that's a part of the punch press.)

Our "Janne" was Francis Thatcher.......

One guy kept getting phone calls ask for a "Francis Thatcher".  This must have gone on for a couple of weeks...  a couple of times a day from different people...  all wanting this guy to ask around for her to come to the phone or take a message or if there was a number where she could be reached.   This guy was going nuts.  He couldn't pin it on anyone and there was too many new people coming in every day to know if there was really a Francis Thatcher or not.  

One day we had this young file clerk that had a voice that could melt an iceberg call him and say she was Francis Thatcher and she had finally found out that he was getting her phone calls and wanted to know if he had taken any messages for her.  She must have talked to him for a half an hour.  She laid it on thick and he was eating it up. By the time he got off the phone,  he was in a high state of excitement.  He was telling everyone about his conversation.  "Oh yea?  Oh yea??  And then what'd she say?"   He spilled his guts telling us all about Francis.

About the time he exhausted his story and had time to calm down,  the young lady walked up behind him and said.   "Hi.  I'm Francis."  Our pidgin didn't really know her but he knew she wasn't Francis.  Now he was totally confused.  We all broke out laughing and he realized he'd been had.

Sounds like the same old hijinks kids played here on phones. We had phones here way before power lines, I think the 20's. Power was in town by the 1920's, out here in the 50's. They had their own hydro dam on the Presque'Ilse River.  I remember the old phone lines here where cut down in the 70's, they were cedar. We gathered them for kindling wood. Replaced the poles with creasote poles then, later with copper arsenate, now that's banned hehehe. Anyway, we also had the neighborhood gossip. She actually was the last to own a party line up till 1993 I think. We went on private in 1980. She'd even stand in her front room with the binoculars so she wouldn't miss ya taken a leak around the corner  :D  :D  :D. I remember one rummer she tried to start and that was concerning the taste of maple syrop. My cousin taps and boils it down at his shop. Well this local gossip was tellin around that 'they say it tastes like smoke'. She was the only one saying it and she never bought or tasted it herslef to even know. At around that time my cousin caught her stealing stove wood of his farm, so we figured she was saying that because 'she got caught with her hands in the cookie jar'. Her son still steals stovewood, never a word said. Lovely neighbors :)

Late at night, "hey mister, your goats in my garden",..."huh"...."your goats in my garden"...sleepy and grumpy.."I DON'T HAVE A GOAT", ...."Oh, excuse me, I don't have a garden!"   click.

Late at night, phone rings,;;;;; on other end, "Is that you, ROB where you at and why ain't you home",....fast thinking....."Yeah, it's me"... about 5 minutes fussin on other end.......My cousin Vickey in the background, "Rob, get back over here and hang up the phone, I'm lonesome"..... silence and explosion on other end, click....  we never did find out what happened to Rob

we outta been whupped with a razor strap!  woulda been if our parents had caught us!

We used to call and tell whoever answered that we were Little Jimmy at WARN radio station. If they could answer this question and get down to the station in 15 minutes they would win a brand new record album (usually of a top named group). We'd ask them a real siimple question and then tell them to get down to the station in 15 minutes!   :D

Called a few people and told them we were the phone company and were going to run a high powered test through the phone lines. Would they please jerk the line out of the wall (this was before the little plugs were on the cords) and we'd send a serviceman around after the test to reinstall the lines. Then the line would go dead. ::)  Geeeez that was not a nice thing to do now that I think of it.

One year I got a phonecall from a young boy that said; "Is your refridgerator running?"  To which I replied; "Nope, it tried to but I caught it and have it tied up in a chair."  There was just silence because the kid didn't know how to reply to that. Blew his joke! ;D

I love reading all of the post about times past. I wanted to share this with the board. When I was just a young boy , my mother had to drag me kicking and screaming home from my Pa Paws farm. Two things come to mind, among many.

One of our cousins told me and my brother that a 22 bullet
would bounce off of grand ma's gunnie hen's head. After the 6th one, we decided that the 22 would not bounce off of their head. We took the guinnes and threw them in the creek.
Grand ma mentioned to Pa Paw she was missing a few.
Pa Paw had only to ask one time if we knew anything about the guinnes under the bridge.  We told him what happened and he said he would take care of it. Case closed.

I was always amazed when the cows would come back to the barn with a new calf. I asked Pa Paw where Ole Betsy or Susie got those calves from. He always told me they found them in that ole stump hole along the creek. I guess there were a few things Pa Paw did not want to tell me about. I looked in every stump hole I could find and I never found a calf.
But those old cows could find one every year.

macurtis

Welcome back Mike. :)

Hey mike, noticed the flag you was flying.  So, what part of the state are you from?

Tom------Long story---I will call you on the land line leave me your number.

ckate----Prentiss,MS about 60 miles south of jackson, 40 miles north of Hattiesburg

 what town for you?

macurtis, Ellistown, purt near between Tupelo and New Albany, just off to one side a little.