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My dad was a man of many interests and talents, a man who worked hard and said little during my growing up years. As a little girl, I viewed him as aloof and somewhat mysterious. Not until I was grown and we began exchanging letters did I feel that I really became acquainted with him. I have been saving his letters for almost 35 years; they are treasures to me. One of his many interests was dancing. When I was about 12 years old,. square dancing was popular at McKinnon , and I was the lucky one to be his dance partner most of the time. Those were fun times. One of my favorite was the Grapevine Twist. Others were Pop Goes the Weasel and Oh Johnny (a round dance). To this day I love to dance, partly because of early dancing days with my dad. Other musical experiences with my dad took place when he played the guitar or violin, with me on the piano. We played Turkey In the Straw, Little Brown Jog and others. Often, I accompanied him with simple chords, and he carried the melody. Sometimes we played duets on the piano. |
My dad taught me to read music and to be conscious of correct fingering --- he said that correct fingering was very important. Sometimes it would take me awhile to grasp what he was trying to teach me but when I would finally understand, I would say, "Oh, I dig ya', I dig ya'!'" After a few times of this, he evidently could stand it no longer and replied, "Oh, Linnea, don't say that." I guess it irritated him.
Once I used a slang word ("crap"), and he told me not to say that word. At the time, I didn't even know what it meant. Another time, when Christy and Iris were very small, I called Christy "a little devil" (in jest or as a term of endearment more than anything else), and Dad told me not to say that. While I am on the subject of the language that my dad did and did not approve of, I must say that I never, ever heard him use a slang expression, a cuss word or profane the Lord's name --- an unusual and highly admirable character trait in today's world. He never even used the word "Darn." I don't know what he said when he smashed his thumb with a hammer! He and Mom were both very refined in their speech habits. |
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He would say, "Well, I declare," when commenting on something interesting or unusual that someone told him. Also, he would often say, "you bet," instead of "your welcome." I find myself frequently doing the same thing.
My dad loved vegetables, claiming that he acquired this taste from his mother, who was an avid gardener. He too grew a large garden every year, a necessity for a large and growing family. Every spring he would haul manure from the barn and spread it on the garden area in the yard. Then, he would bring in the plow and horses and turn over the soil, mixing in the fertilizer. (When we became more prosperous, he bought a tractor and used that.) While he ploughed, we children had the responsibility of picking out the grass clumps and throwing them over the fence so the grass wouldn't take over the garden. I remember doing this with bare feet because I didn't want my shoes to get dirty and, oh, how cold was that freshly-turned soil in the month of May! |
After the garden was planted and growing, he would take the hoe every evening after work and spend time in the garden. This was probably relaxing for him; he enjoyed being close to the earth. Once a week he turned the water down from the irrigation ditch on top of the hill
and soaked up the garden really good.
Once the garden was producing, it was my task to clean the radishes and lettuce so we could eat them. Dad would get a big dish pan and fill it with these veggies for me to wash. I HATED DOING THAT. It was so boring! Rinsing each lettuce leaf in the pan of water and scrubbing each little radish. And the water was so cold it made my hands ache. Once in awhile he cleaned them himself but he really didn't have the time or patience so he would grab a handful of lettuce, swish it in the water and it was done. When we went to eat it, we would find cut worms and lady bugs and other creepy crawlers that, naturally, would take away the appetite. |
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I remember one time that some of us kids decided to play farm in the garden. We had little tin farm buildings and toy animals, and we decided that the potato plants made very nice shade trees. Well, when Dad came home from work and, as usual, went out to the garden, he didn't say a word about the little farms laid out so neatly among the potato plants. He just took the little buildings and threw them over the fence. After that we never played in the garden.
Dad always had trouble with his stomach; that seemed to be a weak part of his body. For as long as I can remember, he only ate two meals a day --- breakfast and dinner, or lunch as most people call it nowadays. If he ate supper, he couldn't sleep at night. But he ate a big breakfast and a big noon meal. And he liked to cook. He always cooked breakfast; that way he could fix what he wanted. He often made milk gravy with bacon drippings and fresh, whole milk. It was wonderful. |
He always got up early and cooked breakfast before going to work. He would fix enough for the whole family but by the time we children got up the gravy would be cold and stiff like paste so we would have to add some milk and heat it up to make it edible.
Sometimes he would fix liver or steak for breakfast. Often he made pancakes, or hotcakes as we called them. Once I watched him spread sour cream on his hotcake, then sprinkle sugar on top of that and eat it. I thought it looked really good but I was never quite brave enough to try it. He liked to cook but he usually didn't use a recipe so he came up with some interesting concoctions. I never once saw my dad eat candy. He liked pie and cake but never ate candy or my mother's out-of-this-world fudge with peanut butter in it. |
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| He always took care of his belongings, and he was good to his animals. He always fed and watered them and milked the cow before eating his own breakfast. In the winter time, when we kept a fire going in the wood-burning cookstove, he would bring a bucket of wheat or oats into the house and we would put table scraps into the bucket, any left over milk that someone didn't drink, and the next morning he would set the bucket on top of the stove so the feed would be nice and warm for the chickens when he took it out to dump in their feed pan. They liked that and gave us lots of eggs. |
Dad loved books and was an avid reader. Even though he never went beyond the eighth grade, he was self-taught and had the equivalent of a college degree in certain areas, especially geology.
One last thought. I cannot remember of ever, ever hearing my dad criticize anyone, not anyone. I think that's pretty amazing. I wish that I could say that about myself. I feel as though both of my parents have given me an outstanding legacy, one that I become more and more grateful for, the older I get. |
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