Mary Elizabeth Saul Biography, Gregory Co., SD This file contains an autobiography of Mary Elizabeth Saul. Mary Saul currently lives in a personal care home in Manmouth, Oregon. She will be 100 years old this year (1997). Fleta Aday submitted the information, and has kindly allowed us to share her family's experiences. I REMEMBER YESTERDAY By Mary Elizabeth Powell Saul Handwritten Feb/Mar 1981 My parents, William Henry Powell and Vina Ann Darrington Powell, lived in Boomer Township, Pottawattamie County, Iowa, (7 miles west of Neola) when I was born. That was on Dec. 20, 1897. I was the first of seven children and was born at home with the help of Papa's Aunt (Nancy) Jane Powell Welbourn also delivered Ethel and Vera. The Powell Side. My Grandpa Powell (John Henry Powell, Papa's father) was a little, thin man and real jolly with little kids. He sure liked little kids. He just always was loving us up. We just lived over the hill from him and were with him a lot. We sure liked Grandpa Powell. Papa's mother died before I was born. Her name was Eleanor Gilson Powell. She and Grandpa had several children. My Papa (William Henry Powell) was the oldest; then Aunt Vera; then Uncle Charlie; then they lost two children, one three years old and one was a baby; then Aunt Annie; then Aunt Janie; then Aunt Edna. Grandpa's second wife's name was Melissa. She was never much of a real grandma to us. She wasn't very warm to us. Grandpa was. She and Grandpa had Johnny. He was a year younger than Ethel. He died of consumption when he was about 30 years old. It is called TB these days. My great grandma was Jane Elizabeth Lane Powell. She died when I was 12. Papa's oldest sister, Vera, called herself the "ugliest aunt in the country." She was married to John Burbridge. When Ethel and I were in Iowa when we were little and visiting there we spent three weeks with them. They had watermelons and I ate too much of them. One time they went to Council Bluffs with another couple, name of Shane, and they had one daughter they left with us kids. Their children were Pearl, she was just two years older than I. Then there was Earl, the one who died a year or two ago, the husband of Gladys who is a friend of Hazel Runkel's here in town. They lived in Logan County, Iowa, just north of Pottawattamie County. Pearl was 13, I was 11, Ethel was 9, and then there was this little girl and Earl and Donald. They had Charles in later years. Anyway, the parents left early and drove as far as Missouri Valley and then they took a train to Council Bluffs. They didn't get back until midnight. But that day we just teased and pestered that little girl something terrible. I probably was mostly the instigator. She was spoiled and had on brand new, pretty shoes and a nice dress. We pushed her into the horse trough and made her walk in it. Got her new, pretty dress wet. I don't know why I was always mean to kids. Never had the friends, either, that Ethel had. Then we were at my aunt Annie Clark's (Papa's other sister). They had Harold, Mabel, and another boy. We stayed down there a few days and then we went to Grandpa Powell's awhile. We didn't go to Aunt Edna's. Aunt Edna had such pretty, clear, blue eyes. She is six years older than I. She just had one girl, Helen (Collins). Johnny Powell's wife is Zina. They had two children, June and John. Zina still lives in Crescent, I think, and has not married. First Grade. My Mama started me to school in Sept. 1903. Two little boys were walking past our place; Mama said, "You go walk with them to school." But I walked on the side of the road in the dusty grass and weeds. It was a half mile. My teacher's name was Rose. I really didn't like school, so one day I took my slate and lunch pail, went out across the road, down into my Grandpa Powell's pasture and sat down. Grandpa saw me and took me home with him. (He should have taken me back to school.) One time I had a loose tooth; I suppose it was my first one. Anyway, Grandpa Powell pulled it. I cried and said, "I'm going to tell Papa to spank you." Another time Mama sent Ethel and me to Grandpa's to get a garden hoe sharpened. On our way home we heard a noise. It was a man in a wagon driving a team of horses. Anyway, when I turned to look back, I struck Ethel in the forehead with the point of the hoe. I had the hoe on my shoulder. Ethel ran crying with a bloody face. She still has the scar. When we went trading I would have fun looking in the mirror at the store. I would run in back of the mirror and say, "Where is that little girl?" One time my folks could not find me around the house, barn or other farm buildings and were about to go over the hill to my Grandpa Powell's place to look for me. But here came the milk cows down the lane from the pasture and me and my dog, Shine. I thought it was time to milk the cows. I was a couple of hours early. I remember a man with a wagon of posts and mail boxes coming. He put up a mail box for us. A few days later the mail carrier came. He left us a big, thick catalog from Montgomery Ward. I remember bringing it into the house. Shortly before we moved from Iowa to South Dakota, we all went to Papa's Aunt Jane's and got two gallon pails of sorghum. We went over in a lumber wagon...Mama, Papa, Ethel and me. They had a field of cane near their place. They cut the cane and put it in a grinder that was powered by one horse going around and around. The juice ran through a pipe into a big oblong tank that was right in the side of a long building There was a little fire below the tanks and they skimmed off the foam and then it ran into another tank and boiled and I think a third tank had the finished molasses. By that time it was thick and sweet. Sure strong tasting, but very good for a person. Aunt Jane's youngest child, Ruth Cecelia Welbourn, was two years older than I. Ruth was in the yard and she talked to me. I was 4 and she was 6 years old. (We had a calendar and Mama pointed out to me that I was 5 when we moved to South Dakota.) One Sunday we went to visit Papa's sister, Vern Burbridge. The family was not at home and we were hungry; so Papa found a bowl of beans and we girls and he ate them. Some of our neighbors had sheep and lambs. I always wanted a lamb, but I never got one. Papa got me a little goat, but not for long as it tried butting me. It wasn't any fun. One time Pigeon River flooded. We walked up the hill from our home, stood up there and looked at all the water. Sure was wide. Had a big rain. Later, when we thought it was down enough, we drove around over to Grandpa and Grandma Darrington's. The water was still rather high. The water came over the horse's belly and into the floor of the buggy. The Darrington Side. Grandpa and Grandma Darrington had come back to Iowa with their first three sons from Utah by oxen teams. They did not want to raise their family as Mormons. Grandpa Darrington came from England first; then later grandma and her sisters, my aunt Elizabeth (my namesake) and Auntie Joyce (also my great aunt and Grandma Darrington's aunt) and her husband, John Joyce. This was before my grandparents married. They met in Utah, but were already acquainted in England. However, it wasn't long until they all moved to Iowa. Elizabeth (Lizzie) married a Ward. When the Joyces died, the Darringtons and Wards had words over the inheritance of the Joyces; so they were not friends after that. (They are all buried in the Grange Cemetery near Neola, Iowa.) I sure liked to go to Grandma Darrington's. She always had a big stone crock of sugar cookies. Aunt Amy, Uncle Charles, Uncle Arthur and Uncle Nate were still at home. They all played with us and would toss us up into the air. Mama's older brothers, Will, George, Alf and Herb, were married. Uncle Arthur was married about 1917 when he was 42 years old. Uncle Nate was married November 14, 1909. Uncle Charles never married. After Grandpa and Grandma Darrington died, he stayed on the original farm. We went to Grandma Darrington's often; sometimes Mama and we girls walked, or Mama would wheel Vera in the baby buggy. It was a mile across the pasture and fields, and nearly three miles by road. One time my mother took off on a sunny afternoon to call on a neighbor lady who lived over the hill north of us about half a mile. On our way home a man in a top-buggy overtook us and offered us a ride. Mama was carrying Vera, leading Ethel, and I was tagging along. So Mama got in the buggy with Ethel and Vera. I wouldn't get in. They asked me to get in, then they coaxed me, but I would not get in. I just stood back and kept saying, "Mama has a boyfriend." Finally Mama had to get out and walk. I learned later that the man was best man at my parents' wedding. Going to South Dakota. Papa's Uncle Dike (Israel Nordike Powell) lived in Bonesteel, South Dakota. He came to visit his Iowa relatives...his brother who was my Grandpa John Powell, his sister Nancy Jane Powell Welbourne, his niece, Vernie Burbridge, and other nieces and nephews. He told my folks they should move to South Dakota. He said the soil was virgin and fertile and one could plow gold, it was so rich. Uncle Dike's farm was near the county line and would be extended west as soon as the U.S. Government opened it for settlement, as it was, at that time, an Indian Reservation. It was later named Rosebud Indian Reservation. Half of Uncle Dike's farm was what became Bonesteel, SD. Also, north of the road part of his place was taken for the County Fair Grounds. Uncle Dike had a wife, Mollie, daughters Nettie, Lizzie, Gladys, Eva and a son Dikie. So in March of 1904 my parents hauled furniture, two horses and machinery to Council Bluffs to a freight car on a train that would go to Bonesteel. It was called the Chicago Northwestern Railway. Bonesteel was the end of the railroad line. On my way home from school at Bonesteel, I would stop and look at the place where the engines were turned around. A big, black, oily looking place. Our family went from Iowa to Bonesteel on a passenger train after we had shipped our things ahead on the freight train. The ride took about 12 hours...all day...300 miles. The train stopped at every little settlement. We arrived at our Uncle Dike's home and there was no house for us to move into. So many people were coming because the land was opening up for settlement...they had come to register for a claim. We finally moved into a two room log house. It was so old and a lot of the filling between the logs had fallen out. Mama cried! What a change. First, in Iowa a new home - now this. My Papa got a two-seated buggy and a small team of horses and took passengers out to the new land. The horses we had were big work horses. The people had received numbers as to where their claims of 160 acres were located. Papa would be gone early to late every day taking people to locate their claims. Several other men did this, too. Indians often stopped at our place as there was a fresh water spring near the log house. They knew about it. So they would come inside and look at the pictures on the walls. One time Mama had bread in the oven. They smelled it and wanted some. Mama motioned that it was not ready. One time some Indians left a saddle horse beside our road lying down. That night Papa gave it water and oats and the next morning it was able to walk. We kept it for a few years. (More on this later.) We had arrived in Bonesteel in March 1904, so I started to school again. I had not attended very often that past fall. The teacher's name was Miss Lousher. I was six years old that past December. I had over a mile and a half to walk. I would go on the road until I came to the railroad track; then I walked on it till I got into town. The railroad track was built out to the county line about two miles but was never used past Bonesteel. In school we sang "Jack Frost bites little girls' and boys' noses and toes." One morning, on my way, I had gotten over a hump in the road so I couldn't see home anymore and a man in a wagon came by. He had two nervous horses. He had a long whip, and two large metal trunks. And he asked me to get in and I said "No" several times. He threw his whip around and I got scared so I got in. He started to hit his horses and up the road we went. The horses were running fast and the trunks were bouncing. He kept whipping the horses, up the grade, over the railroad track, and down again. Then the road crossed a low place with a culvert and I crawled to the back of the wagon. My lunch pail flew out. I climbed out on the reach of the wagon, hung on a second, and then dropped to the ground. I was all dirty and dusty. Soon my Uncle Dike came along on horseback. He had taken his cows over to the pasture near the Fairgrounds. He helped me look for my pail and we found it...but not my cup. About that time that man came walking, his face skinned and bloody. Uncle Dike scolded him (actually he swore at him). Then Uncle and I got on the horse and went to his home. Aunt Mollie washed me, fixed some lunch and I walked through the town to school. I must have been plenty late. A few days later, some children found my cup and brought it to school and I was sure happy. We had neighbors there by the name of McDermet, Story, Ingersol, Litgo and Graham. I remember while living near Bonesteel we were invited to our uncle and aunt's for Easter dinner. We kids and the mothers went to the hen house to look for eggs. Instead of hen's eggs there were colored eggs. I never had heard of colored eggs before. We were so surprised and delighted. Our mothers had never told us any mythical stories. We were just so happy to find pretty eggs. I begged Mama to get some of those kinds of hens. I never was told the Easter story. I had heard of God and Jesus. We went to church in Iowa. The church was out in the country all by itself. Uncle Arthur was Superintendent. Mama's people attended. Papa's people didn't go to church, but were good, honest people. Our Home. Well, back to my early childhood. We moved from the log house to a very small one-room house in Gregory, SD. (I told the neighbors we were moving to "Gravy.") The bed folded up against the wall. Houses were hard to get as people were coming faster than buildings could be built. We lived there on the first day of May, as a tap came at the door; when I opened it, there was a basket of flowers on the door knob. I didn't see who left them. Later we got acquainted with our neighbors. They had a girl about my age. Her name was Violet Walton. Mama visited with Mrs. Walton. We didn't stay in that little house very long. Mama insisted we go out to our homestead. So a real big tent was put up while our house was being built. The house was two rooms on the main floor and two rooms upstairs - 12 x 24 in size. While we were in the tent we had plenty of room but it was not very sanitary. We had a dirt floor. Mama had things sitting on the floor. One time a pig came in and tipped over a can of cream. The wind sounded worse than it was in that tent. By fall the house was finished enough so that we could move in. No lath or plaster on the ceiling or walls; but at least we had four rooms. It took a long time to get the house finished. Mama and we three girls went to Iowa on the train to attend Aunt Amy and Charlie Thomas' wedding on September 20, 1905. Mama was five months pregnant with Bertha. Aunt Amy was so disgusted with Mama. Some of the other sisters-in-law shunned her too. Bertha was born January 16, 1906. When Mama and we girls came back, Papa met us at the depot. A train had been coming as far as Dallas, SD four miles on farther west of Gregory, so that was the place where the engine turned around. When we got to our unfinished home, Mama cried. Also, Papa was chewing Horseshoe plug tobacco. It was in square plugs and had a little tin horseshoe wedge on it. We took these off and mailed them to the R.J. Reynolds Company as they gave prizes for the horseshoes returned to them. Ethel and I counted out an awful lot, in the hundreds, I suppose, and wrapped them up. I remember addressing it to R. J. Reynolds in Tennessee, I think. I don't remember what we got. We chose according to the number of horseshoes. Mama wasn't happy about Papa taking up chewing; she was really let-down, not much to be proud of on the homestead and shunned in Iowa. But back to the wedding in Iowa. Aunt Amy and Uncle Charlie were married on the front porch of Grandpa and Grandma Darrington's home. My cousin, Adah, rode with her grandparents in a carriage with fringe on top and she was wearing a pink silk dress. Then she went upstairs and changed into a white silk dress, as maybe the pink one might have gotten dusty. Adah is the daughter of my Uncle Will and his wife Adah, who died in childbirth when Adah was born. So the maternal grandparents took her to raise. Will Driver (he stuttered) came walking to the wedding with a wooden rocker on his head. It was his wedding gift to them. Will was husband to Mary, sister of Aunt Annie, mother of Lucille Fiedler. That fall I started school in Gregory. It was held in the back of a store. There were barrels of black, thick tar, and some of us chewed it. There was a wooden water tank and two pumps in the middle of town. I rode a horse sometimes. Her name was "Doll" and she was a pretty sorrel. When I got to school I tied up the reins and turned her loose. She knew the way home. Besides, I could see our house and barn from the school yard. It was 1 1/2 miles straight across and 2 miles around on the section lines, but there were no fences then. Another Baby Sister. Then came January, 1906; my sister, Bertha, was born January 16th, early in the morning. I suppose Papa rode the saddle horse in to Gregory. Got Dr. Spencer (a fat, old man) out of bed. He came in a one-horse top buggy. Mama always claimed he was drunk. Maybe he took a few drinks because it was early, cold and stormy. I remember getting up just before he left. He had his horse tied to the hitching post. Mama needed some woman to help her as Papa wasn't much help around the house. I was put to work. Washing smelly new baby diapers gave me a headache, but I did help a lot. Mama laid in bed and told me how to cook and do housework. I was 8 years old that December. I took care of Bertha from then on. Mama sat down to nurse her. I changed her, rocked her, etc. She was always kicking, so we nicknamed her "Kicky." We called her that until she started to school. First Grade Again. That fall the Powell School was built, so Ethel and I started to school, both in the first grade. I had gone to three different schools but never attended enough to pass the first grade. Ethel and I were in the same class until we attended high school and then we took different subjects. Cow Chips. When we first lived in South Dakota on the prairie, the land was treeless except near a stream of water, the Ponca Creek. It was three and a half miles south of us and had some water and trees. Papa and other men drove with wagons to the Missouri River hills and would chop down trees and bring home wood. The trees were so small. Otherwise, we had to burn coal. At first there were no corn cobs and we girls would take our little wagon and go pick up cow chips in the pasture for fuel. We used cow chips for fuel a lot. They made lots of ashes. Sometimes, if there was a little dampness in the ground there would be small ground puppies or lizards under the chips, so we carried a long stick to turn the chips over. There were lots of beautiful cactuses - some were probably three feet in diameter - all colors. Mama tried transplanting some but they died. After cattle grazed the land the cactus seemed to die out; anyway, in later years they disappeared. There were prairie chickens. They were good eating but they, too, finally disappeared. One time Papa saw a nest full of eggs and he carefully plowed around it and we girls were not to go near that nest. But Ethel couldn't stand the temptation and she went out there, filled her skirt with all the eggs and brought them home. She was real proud of herself. Made Papa so mad and sad, too. So he spanked Ethel. He took the eggs back; don't know if the hen stayed with the nest or not. They say if one touches the nest they will abandon it. I guess we did a lot of things we shouldn't have done, like me cutting Fly's tail in stair steps. I thought I was doing a favor by cutting the short hairs that kind of stuck out. Papa said, "You should have known better than that." One time I was walking home alone from the Powell School. I don't know why I was alone. Anyway, an old Indian, barefoot, came along in a wagon. They always had a canvas over the top. Someone might have been sleeping in there. He stopped, kept coaxing me to get in and ride. I kept shaking my head "no" and finally I pointed over across the pasture to the bachelor's home and pretended I lived there. I went under the fence, started that way, so he went on. Then I came to the road again and he had gone around the big hill by then. I didn't lose any time getting home. The Indians seemed to be good people. But they, especially the men, were lazy. Also, they all were very smelly. One could smell them before you saw them. Their little papooses were pretty, strapped on the mothers' backs. They came in a grocery store and would point at what they wanted, then pay for it; then point at something else and pay again. Never two things at once. We never saw any school age Indian children. They were away at a school, like Chemawa Indian School in Salem, Oregon. The reason so many Indians passed our place at Bonesteel is because we were on the main road from the Santee Reservation in Nebraska and they were on their way to the Rosebud Reservation in Western South Dakota. That road is now Highway 18. The ornery Indians were half-breeds. Their fathers were French and mothers were Indian. When French fur traders came up the Missouri River, they married the pretty Indian maidens. Lewis and Clark took some along, too. Homesteading and Farming. The first year on the homestead my Papa did freighting. He had a big, high box wagon, four horses, and drove to Bonesteel to load up merchandise, hardware or whatever the merchants needed. Freight trains came as far as Bonesteel. As soon as Gregory County was extended on out five miles west of Gregory the railroad was started. We girls watched the men working, coming through a cut, a little hill, and on out to the level land to Gregory. There were men with horses and mules digging and cutting and leveling the land. A work train coming on the new track, dumping off ties, rails, nails, etc. Soon the freighters, like my Papa, were out of a job. Freight trains, passenger trains, one baggage car, two passenger cars - towns were booming. One town, Dallas, had been built in anticipation of the railroad coming that way. Jackson Brothers were the main owners. But they were three miles too far south. So they moved most of the buildings four miles west of Gregory and that is as far west as it went. Milking. I learned to milk a cow, "Brock", when I was 8 and I milked her for a year and then after that it was three cows, morning and night. One time, years later, the folks and I went somewhere, didn't get home until dark. Ethel had milked all of the cows, 11 of them; some were hard to milk, too. Breaking Horses. I must tell you of the thrills I got every spring, when it was time to break in the young 3 year old colts or horses. My father always had one or two young horses to break or train to work every spring. When I was old enough to stand up alone in the wagon, I was there. First, the horse objected to a harness and bridle bit in its mouth. A big, gentle work horse was put beside it; the mouth or bit was tied to the heavy part of the hames where the tug fastened on the big horse...generally "Prince." (In much later years, Ed and I used "Florie.") We also had a long rope on the colt, and, if we didn't have a hired hand at the time, I held the rope. The horses were then hitched to the wagon. Then the fun started - rearing, bucking, twisting, anything to try to get out of that harness and get loose. I just loved that. But once in a great while the colt didn't try so hard. I'd say, "Well, guess we can't always have fun." So after a few times, we would hitch it and five other horses to the two-blade plow, two abreast, the colt on the outside of the three. The colt would lunge, but finally found out it had to pull like the rest. I always went out and helped 3-hitch the five, morning and noon. (One time Ed and I got the colt and old mare together and instead of hooking them up, we tried driving them around the yard. I had ahold of the rope. They went too fast and I had braced my heels in the ground -- tore both heels off my shoes.) Powell School. Our school was a one-room grade school. We had to walk 1 1/4 miles to it. The teacher had to carry in the coal and put it in the stove and carry in a bucket of water. We had a dipper with a long handle on it and we all drank from this pail of water. The first few years there were as many as 20-some children in the school, and then it dwindled down until there were only about 12. My sister Ethel and I were in the 7th and 8th grades all by ourselves. The rest of the children were younger. Our teacher at that time is 97 years old now (1981) and her name is Pearl Robinson Dyer. She is still the same little, spry lady and doesn't act like she is that old. Her husband is Bernie Dyer. Ethel and I attended high school in Gregory the next four years. There were about 1,000 people in the town at that time. We girls started to the Powell School in September 1906. There were several kids, big ones, little ones, and all sizes and nationalities. We had teachers who taught three terms of school: fall, winter and spring. One winter we had a man teacher, Warren Rankin. He asked the kids their nationality. There were Dutch, German, Bohemian, etc. When he came to Ethel and I we said we were "Democrat". Later when he met Papa, Mr. Rankin told Papa what we said. Rankin was a Republican. Later Mr. Rankin's sister, Mrs. Caddes, her husband, Harry, and family moved to Gregory. They all came from a little ways south of Council Bluffs. The Caddes family and us were good friends. We walked 1 1/4 miles to school - had to cross the railroad track. There was a sign "Stop, Look & Listen." We always did. We could see Gregory the other way for one mile. The train did run over and kill cows. I saw that. There was an empty sod house, one room, homesteaded just north of the track. Some of our cows went in, pushed the door shut and then couldn't get out. I looked in the open window. I managed to get the door open. They were glad to get home and get a drink of water. The Ponies. My Papa bought two ponies one time, about 1906. He gave the bigger one to his cousin, Lizzie Powell, and the smaller one to me. She was about 700 pounds - a strawberry roan. I named her "Fly." In the summer she was nearly brown, in the winter nearly white. I never trained her right - let her have her way. She was a good pal to me. I herded cattle winter and summer. There were no fences. We had 25 or 30 cattle and I'd have two or three from one bachelor and one from another. Sometimes I'd take the stock where the grass was best. My pony was tricky. She would blow up her stomach real big when I was trying to tighten on girth or cinch. Then I'd take hold of the saddle and it would be loose, so I'd watch my chance to tighten it in a hurry. I rode around the country just for the fun of it. Went up on the buttes from the back side. It sloped off there. The buttes are two high hills joined together. Right in Gregory. They have two points that are steep on the west, south and east sides. The town had wells dug not far from the buttes. They built large water tanks or reservoirs on top. Water was piped up there. That gave the water pressure for the town. It is still in operation and always will be. I have climbed up there several times. There are steps now. One can see so far over the countryside. I walked to the top in 1975, too. Money. One time I went into town for Mama to get some dressmaking material. I bought it and it came to $1.05. I paid the $1.00 and said, "I have another dollar but I don't want to break it for five cents. I'll bring the nickel in someday." And I did. More About Fly. Ethel and I went in to town. Mama told us to get a small tin pan. We did, and on our way home we were crossing the culvert which was about four or five feet high. Fly had rolled in a cactus one time and was blinded in her right eye. So she shied from the left side and fell off the right side. Ethel slid off over the back and I jumped, but managed to hold the pan up. Fly got up, walked a little ways, looked back and nickered. She had a little skinned place on her flank. We didn't think we ought to ride her so we led her up to the Horn's house. Mr. Horn looked at it, said it was okay to ride her. I used to herd cattle in the winter, too, in the cornstalks. I would ride to a strawstack, get off, let Fly rest and I would sing to her. "Red Wing" was my favorite song. I sang "Rock of Ages" and "Jesus, Lover of My Soul". Now I have forgotten the words. Fly had a colt one time. We kids would milk Fly, she was so gentle...but if a cow get behind her or out of line, she would run up and bite them on the rump. One time six of us were on her and the back person would keep sliding off. My Dog, Shine. I also had a dog, "Shine", as my pet. He was 14 years old when he died. I cried and cried. I must have been 14 or 15. But I'd go out to where Papa buried him, sit down and cry. The Indian's Saddle Horse. I'll tell you now about the saddle horse the Indians left to die by the side of the road. We took him with the rest of the horses to Gregory. He was a good saddle horse. Papa liked him. We named him "Hank." Anyway, one day I was herding a large herd of cattle three-fourths of a mile northeast of home and I was riding this horse. Three mean-looking western men came riding up and said, "That is our horse"; I said it was not and they were going to make me get off. I told them, "No...the saddle and bridle is our's too." So I rode him and they followed me. Mama came out - but nothing did any good. When I got off they pulled off the saddle and bridle, put a rope on its neck and rode off. My pony Fly and a mare named Daizy tried to follow. Mama and I had to run a long ways to get them to come back. We had told people how we had gotten the horse. These men heard of it and just came and stole it from us. Papa sure felt bad. He had been gone to Bonesteel for a load. Mama and Fly. One time Mama felt sorry for me to have to ride so much. So she tried to do my job. She was bringing in the cattle when Fly got to a little pond of water and Fly laid down in it. About scared Mama to death. She got herself up and out of the water and got the pony out. She walked home, leading the pony. She was all wet - they both were! Mosquitoes caused Fly to lay down in the water. I spent many a day on Fly. I loved to ride. Also, to see the country. I stopped in sometimes at homes and got acquainted. I'd sit on her, folks would come out and visit. I suppose I told everything I knew and then some. Summer of 1909 - The Trip to Iowa. In the summer of 1909, on July 2nd, Ethel and I went on the train to Iowa. We had begged for a long time to go to Iowa to see Grandma and Aunt Amy. So our neighbor, Mr. Drees, was going by train to Kansas City and our folks thought that would be a good time for us to take the train to Council Bluffs. We were planning on celebrating the 4th of July. Grandpa Darrington met us there, in a wagon with two horses. Had to drive 16 miles. Seemed like we would never get to their farm. Grandpa didn't talk much, either...a man of few words. We talked to him and he would answer in his English brogue which was rather hard to understand. But he was very kind. Well, the 4th of July came and the rain came with it. Just poured all day. We stood by the windows and watched the rain run down the window panes. We were there at Grandma and Grandpa Darrington's until October. (The folks shouldn't have left us there that long, but they did.) We visited and stayed with Aunt Amy and Uncle Charlie, and Uncle Alf and Aunt Bertha (cousin Florence Rasmussen's parents). They had a nice, thick lawn; was nice to lay on; also such big strawberries. Then we stayed with Uncle Will and Aunt Christina, Pearl and Lillian...there were Willie and Ruth and Howard -- guess Howard was born after that. Florence had a brother, Alma, my age, then it was Florence, Elva, Ione and Irving in that family. (I am the oldest of the cousins.) We were at Uncle George and Aunt Stena's three weeks. Sure had lots of fun. There were five boys and two girls - Roy, Elmer, Clarence, Everett, Arnold, Mabel and Eva. Aunt Stena's parents and her brother lived there, too. The brother was a piano teacher. Clarence and Everett took turns helping their mother. So Clarence and I would do the dishes, sweep the floors, churn butter, etc. Everett and Ethel would get in the cows; one cow always walked behind so we rode her. We mowed the lawn, carried in water, etc. Then the next week we would change and Clarence and I would do the outside chores. They had a high swing in an oak tree that went out over the road. The barn and other buildings were some distance from the house. That way they never had many flies or odors. My Uncle George was the educated one. He attended college. We were also at Uncle Herb and Aunt Annie's. She drove a spry little team of horses and a top buggy and took Ethel, Lucille and I to Weston, a little town, to buy groceries. She bought a small tin box of wafers; I had never tasted anything so good. We each had two. Uncle Herb was putting hay in the barn loft with his hired man and I asked to drive the team. At first they were hesitant, but they let me try and after I did it awhile they told me they couldn't have done any better. They were using a big hay fork, pulled by a rope through the loft and connected to the team. I had driven horses at home for a long time, although I was only 11 that summer. Ethel and I were in Iowa from July 2, 1909 until sometime in October. We were waiting for the folks to come on the train for us. They wanted to come and visit. We spent most of our time at Grandpa and Grandma Darrrington's. Grandma made such good tapioca pudding at noontimes. Uncle Charles always cleaned out the bowl, just like Neal does now...doesn't want it to go to waste. We tried to help Grandma. She was a little woman, thin, dark brown eyes, and her hair wasn't very gray either. One day she was baking bread and she asked me to feel in the oven to see if it was hot. She said, "Feel if the hoven is ot." I catch myself sometimes putting on an "h" or leaving it off. They had a summer kitchen attached to the big, long porch. That way it kept the house cool. Had a cistern pump. One time Grandma fainted. We put water on her face and she came to. When the men folk came in to eat, we told them; they scolded us and said we should have run out to the field and told them. I said, "Our Mama faints, and that is what we do for her". I have fainted; it leaves one weak afterwards. We stayed at Aunt Amy's some. Also at Aunt Annie and Uncle Bill Clark's (Papa's sister). They had three children. We were at Aunt Vernie and Uncle John Burbridge's for three weeks. Pearl was two years older than I. Her birthday was December 5. When I was born they came to see Mama and me. When Pearl saw me she said, "Bess her little bones." We did all kinds of things there. One day a couple came and took John and Aunt Vernie to Missouri Valley. They went in a buggy, then took the train to Council Bluffs. Those people left their little 8 year old girl with us. The "us" was Pearl, Earl, Donald, Ethel and me. She was dressed nice and had new shoes. Guess I got jealous of her. I, with the boys' help, made her get in and walk in the horses' water trough and teased her until she cried. Poor little girl...how could I be so mean? Then there were a lot of caterpillars. I would pick them up and chase Pearl and Ethel and the little girl. Scared them - then rubbed my eyes from laughing at them and got that fuzz in my eyes. Then I nearly cried. Beaus and Parties. The neighbors to the south, only three or four blocks distance, named Harder, had only one son. He was Pearl's beau. She was 13, did her hair up with hair pins; they went somewhere one time in a one-horse buggy. Ethel and I always wore our hair in braids. The Harders had a party for the young folks. We played "Skip the Maloo, My Darling." I fell for one of the boys and said he was my beau. I saw him again in 1918. I was surprised that he was homely and short. That night of the party, Mrs. Harder had four one-gallon cans of ice cream in back of the house. When they went to get it, it was gone. The next day we found the freezer cans near the store in Beebetown, 1/2 mile to the south. It had been eaten by using strips of shingles for spoons. We scoured the forks and knives every day with brick dust. When our grandparents first came from Utah, they built built a two-room log house with a bedroom upstairs. The boys, six of them, slept up there as the years went by. Mama and Aunt Amy slept in a trundle bed. It slid under their parents' bed. Uncle Nate slept with his parents. The log house had a front porch on it. They built a nice new house farther up on the sidehill. The hill had been graded out to make it level for the house. Was a real climb to walk up from the log house. The big, new house had a brick walk to the front gate. Farther up there was an orchard and big, blue grapes. Uncle Charles and we ate so much...he said "We need a tator masher to push them down." The driveway was long, maybe 300 feet and lined with big, black walnut trees. Uncle Nate. That summer, Uncle Nate and Aunt Ella (Jorgenson) were engaged. She came to Grandma's to visit a week. They, Uncle Charles and we girls all went in a hayrack and got a big load of hay. It's a wonder we didn't slide off. Anyway, Uncle Nate got his arm around Ella and we saw him kiss her. When we got home we told Grandma that Uncle Nate kissed Ella. Grandma scolded us, said we shouldn't talk about that. Was none of our business. Then on November 14, 1911 they were married. Uncle Nate is the only one living of all those people. He was 99 on October 10, 1980. And he was 100 October 10, 1981 when this was going to press. When Ethel and I got ready to go back to Grandma's, Pearl put my hair up with hair pins. Did my Grandma scold...what kind of people were we with? I soon had braids again. One time when I was 10 or 12 years old, the folks went to a church revival meeting at night. Made me mad we kids couldn't go, so I climbed up on the little chicken house, thought "If I jump I can kill myself." I jumped, but didn't even get hurt. Guess the jump jolted some sense in my head. We played outside, though, until it got dark; then the house was darker than outside so we were afraid to go in. We walked out to some high grass and hid. Then fell off to sleep. The folks came home, went upstairs to check...no kids. They went out and called and called and finally found us all sound asleep, laying here and there. Sadness. We had one real sadness in our home. My baby brother, Everett, was only six months old when he died of pneumonia on April 28, 1911. I was 13 then. The funeral was held in the Congregational Church. Then the next day it snowed. That was awfully hard on Mama. Also, he was the first person to be buried in that cemetery, I.O.O.F. Mama never did really ever get over losing him. There was another cemetery started north of Gregory in the steep hills and there were rattlesnakes there. Some of those graves were later moved to the new cemetery. I was a pallbearer several years before that for little Mabel McCready, three years old. She looked like a doll. She was the McCready's first child. She was buried in those hills. Darrington Grandchildren. I was the first granddaughter on the Darrington side of the family who had association with them. There was a girl cousin, Adah, born six months earlier than I, who lost her mother when she was born. So her maternal grandparents took her. The father was my Uncle Will, my mother's oldest brother. There were four boy cousins when Ethel and I were small, and, since we were the only girls, our Darrington uncles and Aunt Amy worshipped us. One of the uncles would toss Ethel up; she would say, "Do it adin." But we were not such angels as people thought. My thoughts go back to the time I got the big scissors and cut my hair braid off on the upper left side of my head. I suppose that little braid is still in our home. Then one time I climbed on the flour barrel to get the sugar bowl, the barrel slipped, and I fell in. I suppose flour was everywhere. I Loved Horses. I herded cows when I was real young on account of there being no fences. When I was older I helped my father in the fields, during school vacations and summers. I helped Mama with the housework, also, but if I had a chance I always would rather be outside doing something for my Papa. I would go to the barn early in the morning, helping with the horses. We had an aisle between the stalls on either side and that way we would put oats and corn in the feed boxes and hay in the manger. There was a ladder up to an opening in the loft floor from the aisle. I would climb in the loft, pitch hay down, then go down and distribute it in the mangers. Then, while the horses were eating, I would get the curry comb and brush and clean the horses for a day's work. Then go over to the outer wall, take down a collar; each horse had its particular collar as each had a certain size neck. I would put the collar on the horse, sometimes placing a thick pad on first. When that was all fitted, I would get the harness, throw it over the horse's back; some harnesses were so heavy. By the time I got the hames over, I'd have to push the back band and britching over in place. My Papa had brass hames, heavy leather, and ivory rings for decoration on the harnesses. Papa really loved the horses and had great pride in his teams. Then I'd go in and eat breakfast and be ready to go out and get my team or maybe four horses and take them to the water tank for a drink. Then hook them together and drive them to the machine I was to use. The machine may be out in the field. If it was a cultivator, mower or hay rake, it would be in the yard. Another Baby Born. Our first brother was born. When Perry was born I rode over to a neighboring family on the north road. The man's name was Alfonso S. Sterling. I told them about the new baby brother, that the doctor brought him in a little black bag. When I got back home I told Mama the man's name. I said, "Isn't that awful, that man's initials." Papa's Aunt Mollie was there to help Mama. Papa went after her after Perry came. We did have a hired girl later. The girl was going to churn butter (the old butter churn that I have now) in the cave. She asked me to bring her a teakettle of boiling water. I stumbled on the first step. The kettle went down so hard that it splashed the hot water all up and over my right arm. The water dripped off my arm and down my thumb and little finger, so skin came off of them, too. They grabbed me, pushed my arm in a sack of settled (hard) flour and it just pushed the flesh up. They wrapped a cloth around my arm and I sat on the east side of the house and cried ever so loud. Mama was in the east room, listening to me all afternoon. I carried my arm in a sling for a long time. I still have the scars to show for it. That was August 15, 1980 when Perry was born. Entertainment. We had lots of entertainment. After I got older, we had what we called a "club." A group of about 20 of us young folks got together about once a month and had parties and played games those days, like "musical chairs" and "post office" and all those kinds of games. When we were younger, at school, we played "drop the handkerchief" and games like that. But when we got older we had box socials. We took a shoebox, generally, and covered it with pretty paper, and decorated the top real pretty. Like the Farmers' Union, it was Rosebud Union, so I put a lot of rosebuds on my box once in awhile and we put in sandwiches and cake and an orange...made a nice lunch for two...and took them to the schoolhouse at night and then there was a man up there who would auction these boxes off. Our names were on the inside. The man who would buy the box would open it up and see whose name it was and then he would go to that girl and they would eat together. So then, if a fellow had a girlfriend, he tried to get her box. If some of the fellows found out he was trying to get that box, they would bid against him and make him pay a whole lot for it. Sometimes the fellow then would maybe trade with someone so he could eat with a certain girl. We had lots of picnics and get-togethers and had a lot of barn dances. We had the dances on Saturday nights, that is the only dances I went to. I don't know if they had other kinds of dances in town or not; I never went to any others. Teenage Years. I did have a happy life while growing up. There were two girls my age who lived nearby...Mae Horn and Bertha Drees. Later, in high school, I got to know Eleanor Hutchinson, the Meyer girls..Clara, Ella and Emma (their little sister, Lily, became my friend here in Oregon as we belonged to the same church), and Alta Holbert-Soesbe, and Nellie Horn, a niece of Mae. I had few boyfriends; the Meyer boys liked to dance with me, but never asked for a date. They were Ed and Bill Meyer. They were older than Clara. Tom Beckers took me to two dances. I didn't care to go with him. Oh, he did take me in his dad's Hupmobile to a County Fair near Bonesteel. His sister, Kate, and Horace Hagan went along. We had a nice, long, smooth road for a ways so he got his car going 57 miles an hour. Then, when I met Ed Saul we danced at a few parties. When Ed was in the army, I went to a few dances with Sammy Collins. His mom invited me and Nellie Nunemaker and another young man (Sammy was 27, I was 20) to an evening dinner. The mother was a Southern Belle, had lived on a plantation, had had slaves. She was so sophisticated. Sammy was an only child. The Mr. was a skinny, little old man, henpecked. I didn't make a good impression on her. That was the last of Sammy taking me. He married Nellie Horn. He died a long time ago. Dances. I went to dances every chance I could. Ethel and I went to parties, drove the mules at night. Papa said they were safer. They were big...taller than a horse. They trotted real fast coming home. One time the Hutchinson young folks had been to a party where we were and they rode home with us to their place. Alfred said the mules nearly pulled his arms off. He didn't see how I handled them. But I knew how. He just wasn't used to such big animals. We had been to the Streeter School House. Parties were often held there. Church. Sunday School was held there every Sunday. Ed and Katherine went there, too. There wasn't a Lutheran Church. When there was, it would be held about once a month in each area. So the pastor would hold a service in Gregory, maybe in the morning; then Carlock in the afternoon. Another Sunday in Iona and Dixon; then Burke and Lucas. They often, every few weeks or so, would have a German sermon. We girls attended Sunday School in the Congregational Church in Gregory. We were quite young. When we first came to Gregory, Mama wanted to attend church. So we went into town early, drove around, and the building that I had gone to school in had a church service going. So we walked in, sat down in back, and listened. The preacher was speaking in a foreign language which we later learned was Russian and this was a Russian Orthodox Reformed Church. Mama should have asked a merchant beforehand. All the women in that church had on white bandanas, looked like diapers. Mama had on her hat. She always wore one to church. The Woolhisers, who owned General Merchandise, were Methodist. Wolfs and Napers were Congregational. Scheinosts had a General Merchandise store later. They were nice people; lived out northeast two or three miles from our home. Mrs. held parties for the young people of the community. We played "musical chairs", "spin the bottle", etc. "Wink up", too. Had a lot of fun. So I organized that we meet every fourth Friday night of the month at someone's home. My Birthday. So when it was my birthday coming up, what should happen but it was to be held at the home of a family we didn't care too much for. I fussed...of all places to have to go on my birthday. So the night came and we had a lot of snow. Ed and Albert came after Ethel and me in a bobsled. They drove us back to their home in Burke. I said, "Why go back there?" as it was too far out of the way. They said, "We have to get Katherine and Alma and besides the horses are tired and we will change horses." I thought that was nice, that they would think of the horses. Ethel and I walked in through the kitchen and into the dining room. I opened the stair door and called, "You girls hurry up!" Then the double doors of the front room opened and... "Surprise...Happy Birthday." A lot of kids were there. So I enjoyed my birthday after all. Teaching School. I finished high school in the spring of 1917 when I was 19 years old. I went to school for six weeks that summer in Dallas, four miles west of Gregory. I drove our Model T Ford and the professor of Gregory High School (we called him Prof Lewis) rode with me as well as three girls. They lived in the north part of Gregory, out of the way, but I never got a penny, just "thanks". That fall, 1917, some school board members were looking for a school teacher. Married teachers were not allowed. So I went to Burke, got a fall term special certificate to teach at the Star School. It was 7 or 8 miles northeast of our home. I drove the Model T a few times, then boarded with people who had been our next door neighbors, the John Zimblemans. They had four children. They were from Odessa, Russia. There were two other families of Russians. When World War I broke out they all moved to Lodi, California. I had only nine pupils. Papa paid my first month's board and room - $16. Then the next fall, the forepart of September 1918, a former neighbor came from Tripp County, six miles north of Colome, and asked me if I would come and teach their school. They had one daughter, Alice May Thernes, and she was a seventh grader. Tom Thompson was on the Board. They had three girls in school...Glanae, Eunice and Eulalie. They had two older girls in school with a relative in another state...to get a better education, also two younger sons at home. They were nice people. Eunice (Thompson) has been best of friends of my sister Ethel all their lives. Mr Thompson told me it was a tough school. I'd have to be frank with the pupils. There were four big boys who had given the former teacher a bad time. So I was wise to them. I started right out to let them know I was boss. I never did have any trouble when one of them started to show off. I stopped it right now. There were 27 kids enrolled. I had all eight grades. Kept me busy...no time to sit down. I worked especially hard with the three 8th graders and two seventh graders as their finals were to be held in Winner, a town 10 or 12 miles away. The boys were Bill Lutz, Nathan and Marion Galaway and Marvin Hathaway. They all passed their finals, but I never did hear from any of them afterwards. I got $75 a month and paid $20 for room and board. I stayed at Thernes until Christmastime. Then I got the flu (it was called influenza then). Ever so many people died of it, especially pregnant women. Young people died, too...one young man in particular, Frank Wordehoff. I was in bed two or three days at Thernes'. Mrs. was no help. She didn't try to do anything for me. I asked for some kerosene in a cup. She brought it and I gargled with it. Later, I lost some skin in my mouth but felt some better. I asked Mr. Louie Thernes to take me to Colome to the train. So he did, in a wagon. There was one or two feet of snow. I phoned home from the Gregory depot. Papa came after me in a wagon and had a lot of blankets. Mama put me to bed She was scared. But I got better with no bad after effects. Went back in January to finish out the school year. World War I. On June 28, 1918 Ed Saul was inducted into the army. I drove the Ford. Took him along with Ethel, Katherine and Mae Horn to Bonesteel where the Gregory County boys met the train to go. We nearly had an accident on our way. I met a person driving a one-horse buggy on a high grade. The soil was soft on the sides of the road. I got over too far to give the horse plenty of room. The car started to tip. We all piled out, holding onto the car and finally pushed it onto the road again. Got to Bonesteel and the place was full of people. Ed's parents drove there, too. They found a place to sleep for us and all who could sit and lay on the stairway in a hotel. Ed and Mae Horn were on the highest step; Ethel, Katherine and Alma were near them; and Albert and I were on the floor next to the bottom step. I was mad at Ed. He should seen that I was with him. The train took the boys to Camp Funston, Kansas. Then Ed went to Camp Dodge, Iowa. He was only in the army about 6 months when the war ended. During that time he was in the hospital for a mastoidectomy. When he came home from the army in January 1919, he rented a farm of 160 acres. He had a small house...two bedrooms and one long room which was a kitchen with table and living room combined. So always said he "batched", but most of the time Katherine or Alma was there to cook, clean house, wash, take care of the chickens (he had 50 hens and a few roosters). Also had a garden. Grandma Saul was anxious for us to get married so the girls could come home to work. When Ed was transferred to Camp Dodge, near Des Moines, IA. Katherine and I went on the train in August to visit him. He never kissed us once. Some boyfriend! I was about to forget him. On our way back we stopped off at Council Bluffs, and called Aunt Amy and Uncle Charlie to come and get us. The next day they took us to Uncle Alf and Aunt Bertha's (Florence Rasmussen's parents) home. We soon had fun there. Florence's brother, Alma, and our other cousins, Clarence and Everett, and some friends got together. Don't remember what we did, but I know we really enjoyed ourselves for the two days we were there. I wasn't home long until I got the call to teach at the Wise School...September 1918. Ed came home on furlough in October; but every one of the Sauls, except Alma, had the flu. Mildred nearly died. So no fun on his furlough. Then, when Ed went back to camp he came down with the mastoid bone trouble and had the surgery. That fall, in September, he gave me a diamond engagement ring and just a little kiss. He sure was stingy with his kisses. I got more kisses from his Mom than from him. So I thought we could get married in December after he had taken care of all his crops. But Mama got real sick November 15th. Papa took her to Omaha to Clarkston Hospital. She had surgery. Scraped her every day...so painful. She didn't come home until in January. I took care of my little brother Wayne. He was five years old. I had housework to do, so no wedding for awhile. Then, when Mama came home, she couldn't work for some time, so I did the work until Ethel came home from college in Yankton that June. During World War I, when Ed was in the army, the ruler of Germany was a "Kaiser", named Wilhelm. So the saying went, "Kaiser Bill went up the hill to take a peek at France; Kaiser Bill came down the hill with bullets in his pants." The United States was helping France. England was in it, too. That's when Alfred Hutchison was killed. The American Legion in Gregory is named "Hutchison Post No. 6". He was the first boy from Gregory County killed, but five or six lost their lives. I knew some of them. Ed was a member of the Legion. I only went twice to the Auxilary The war came to an end November 11, 1918. The Drought. Things started looking better, farmers were harvesting good crops. Ed and I had so much corn in 1924...we had large piles of corn in our front yard. The ground was clean and grassy. Then the drought came...no rain. But in 1924 all that corn. We thought we had it made. Ed had bought a new car the winter he came back from the army in 1919 for $707. So we took a trip to Huron to the State Fair. Took along Katherine, Albert and Anna (they were not married yet, not until March 11, 1925). After the fair, we drove into Nebraska. I got my long hair cut in a bob. The other girls kept theirs long. No ladies' hair salon. I had my hair trimmed for a long time in Gregory by a man barber. There were no lady barbers. Finally, they started a place for women. When we wanted it curled or whatever, it was a "Marcel". That was a deep, soft wave made in the hair by the use of a heated curling iron, and was named after a hairdresser in France. The first talking movies came out about that time and were shown in Burke. We went one night. They were black and white movies. Horse and Buggy Courting. Before Ed had a car, he came to see me in a top buggy and driving a white mare named "Nellie". He had another white one, too. Before we were married he bought a beautiful team of mares, dark bay with black manes and tails. Their names were "Pretty" and "Florie". He gave $300 for them. They had colts. I named them "Nip" and "Tuck". Then they had colts again and their names were "Prince" and "Seal". I named them after Papa's first big work horses. All of them were black. We left our horses and some of our cows with Papa when we left South Dakota for Oregon. Katherine and the Road Gang. The summer of 1920 Katherine cooked for the road gang. They were building Highway 18. There was a little trailer...probably two put together. She cooked in one, served around a long table. Some 20 men. She made pancakes a lot of the time besides cooking bacon and eggs. As soon as she had the breakfast dishes put away she baked pies, peeled potatoes, had roast or some kind of meat cooking. After that, she would stir up a cake, a big one, or make a big pan of doughnuts and a full meal again. She about killed herself. She did get TB later. She lay on the front porch, it was glassed in, but had a window open in the coldest of weather...but kept warm in bed. She hardly moved a muscle. They fed her. Took a long time, but she got well and always worked hard again. I would go visit her some afternoons. Our Wedding Day. On June 16th, 1920 Ed and I went to the Lutheran parsonage. That was the home of the minister, Pastor Paul Weinhold. My parents and Vera, Bertha and Wayne, and Ed's parents and Katherine, Alma and Mildred were there, as well as my sister Ethel, and Ed's brother Albert, who stood up with us. Perry was away at college in Iowa. The Weinholds were young people with a little, one year old daughter. Mama had a big meal for us and the guests. We, like a couple of dummies, stayed at my folks' home that night and all the country came and chivaried us. Ed had candy bars and cigars. I didn't know he had them. We had ordered our bed, dresser and chest of drawers a few days before we were married, so when we went to our new home everything was set up for us. The house was small...the two bedrooms and one long room...we called it a "crackerbox". We bought our furniture from Kleinfelter in Gregory. There is more about the Kleinfelters later in this story. Our first child, Warren Neal, was born in this house, just exactly one year after our marriage, June 16th 1921. In the fall, November, we moved to the place Papa had bought and where Uncle Max and Aunt Janie had been living as they moved back to Iowa. Neal was just five months old. Mr. Kleinfelter was also an undertaker. I guess he did a lot of things as I also had him frame our wedding certificate, Neal's baptism certificate, and the picture of the lady with bridle and bay horse and dog that I've always had hanging in our living rooms. (She had the bridle to catch the horse, but the horse galloped away. There are apple blossoms on the tree.) I got this picture when I was teaching school. My school boys had a catalog which advertised pictures. They wanted war pictures (10 cents each). I ordered them and ordered this picture for myself. Mine cost 25 cents. I also had a notice to let a company know how many pupils I had and I wrote and told them I had 27. We received 30 little tin boxes of samples of Mentholatum. (It was to rub on for colds, like Vicks.) The kids came back to school saying their parents thought it was nice. Some said "thanks". It was new to the public then. Box Social. That school year I had a program and box social during the winter. Women and girls decorated boxes, generally a large shoe box, and put a good lunch in it. The boxes were then auctioned. Men got a certain number. I changed the number on the box Ed had bid on, after he and Mama and Papa had come to attend. (You would eat lunch with the girl who fixed the box. So I made sure Ed got mine.) Was on a Friday night, so I went home with them. That was in 1919. Farmers' Union. The farmers formed a Farmer's Union. They built a big building right across the road from McCready's. They had meetings and programs there and oyster stew suppers in the big basement. They had a lot of picnics, races for horses and kids. Ethel always won foot races when she was real young. More About Iowa. (Told to Nancy Veal in 1977.) After we moved to Dakota, we fussed and we fussed, wanting to go back. I was 11 and Ethel was 9 and the folks sent us back to visit in Iowa. We wanted to see our grandmother and cousins. And the 4th of July was always so much fun. Our neighbor, Frank Drees, lived on the other side of the big hill. He was going back to Missouri on the train so the folks thought that would be a good chance for us to go to Iowa. So Papa took Mr. Drees and Ethel and I into town and we got on the train to go to Omaha, near Council Bluffs, Iowa. After we got on the train, I cried and cried. Ethel didn't. I don't know how long I cried but I suppose it was as far as Bonesteel. So then we got to Omaha and it was still light and the train sat there for an hour, changing cars around, conductors would go eat meals, etc. We sat there a whole hour before it crossed the bridge into Council Bluffs. Then Grandpa Darrington was there to meet us. He had one of those "spring wagons." It was a big buggy with two seats and no top on it. By the time we went 16 miles to our Grandparents' home it had gotten dark. Aunt Amy unpacked our suitcases. Mama had made us 4th of July dresses out of real thin material and Aunt Amy took them out of the suitcases and she said, "What's these rags, here?" We told Mama that afterwards. So then the next morning on the 4th of July it was raining and it rained just as hard as it could. We stood by the windows and there wasn't anything to do and the menfolks couldn't do anything because it was raining hard. Grandpa, Uncle Arthur, Uncle Nate and Uncle Charles. They were sitting in the house most of the time. Grandma was always strutting around doing this and that. Grandma Darrington had so many names to think of...her children and grandchildren...that she called the little ones "little tits"...after the titmouse bird. There was a summer kitchen off the house and the big porch was all screened in. You would go through this porch and then into the "summer kitchen" and that is where grandma cooked all summer long. We stood by the window, I remember, and the water was running down the window panes. We were so disappointed! New Outfits. Aunt Amy bought us some sailor suits with a little sailor collar and a tie in the front and the blouse hung over the little skirt. We didn't like them and didn't want to wear them...told her they were ugly. Aunt Amy said that she wasn't going to buy us any more dresses. We didn't like them...I don't know if we wore them or not. But we did have a lot of fun down there. Didn't leave until October. The folks said they'd come down to get us. And Aunt Amy kept fussing because we should be home in school. The folks didn't come and they didn't come. Papa just kept having more farm work to do. He was so slow. Anyway, grandpa had a great big vineyard, huge blue grapes. Ethel and I and Uncle Charles went up there one afternoon and we ate grapes and we ate grapes and Uncle Charles would say, "We gotta get the tater masher to mash them down so we can eat some more." Then I had such a belly ache...they just physicked me like everything. I don't know whether they affected Ethel or not. Then we stayed over at Aunt Amy's several different nights and I had to sleep upstairs in a feather bed and I'd lay on it and I'd sink clear down in, and I was scared up there in the dark, anyway, and I'd just sweat...oh, it was so hot. It was summertime and sinking down in feathers and upstairs at that. Oh, it was so miserable. Then we stayed over at Uncle Alf's across the little stream from there...with Florence and Elma. Elma was my age, only he was just a little younger...I was born in December and he was born in July. They had such a nice lawn and great big strawberries. One time that summer that we were there we went on a fishing trip. Florence and Ethel and I and Uncle Alf and Uncle Charles and a guy by the name of Levi. We went down to Honey Creek and there was a big Honey Creek Lake...(and years later it started getting dry and dried up). It was a resort. It is right close to where Lois (McIntosh) Morrison lives now. Anyway, we girls floated around in the water and we thought that we were really swimming but the water wasn't deep and I think we were just floating. The men got to joking and they tipped the boat over on Uncle Alf and had him under it. We had more fun in that water! We swam around the water in our dresses. It was warm weather so they got dry. We never had a bathing suit. Finally we got in the buggy and drove the horses home. We were over to Uncle George's about three weeks. They had such high trees. And a big, high swing. The boys would swing. There was quite a main road out in front of their house and they would swing out over that road. It was a real nice place. A big house up on the knoll. Big barns away from the house. Uncle George was a smart man. WWI Years. During World War I people bought Liberty Bonds to help our country. One neighbor never bought or helped; also, he drove his cattle to his Nebraska farm when the census taker was going to come...then he would bring them back when Nebraska census was going to come. So a lot of men got him and took off his clothes and put tar and feathers on him. He had to walk down Main Street in Gregory. My Papa was not in on it. This man always went barefoot. Later in the years, that was all forgotten and this man's son married a girl whose father helped tar and feather his father. I have an idea the couple were not even born yet at that time when all the unrest and war was going on. I have lived to worry through several wars. The fortunate thing about them is that they have never been in this country and none of our boys was ever injured, even though they were in some pretty scary places. Ed never got out of the States, of course, during WWI, but Neal, Howard, Donald, Marvin and Lloyd were all in areas where there was fighting and danger. This is how it went. WWII. On December 7, 1941 was the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Then young men were drafted at the age of 21. Neal was 20 then, so in the fall of 1942 he enlisted. They were to call him to the Air Force when they got ready for him. In the meantime, the Government lowered the age to 18. So Howard was drafted in February 1943. He had been working in the shipyards in Portland, OR. He came home and said, "My Uncle wants me to come to work for him." I thought what Uncle? Albert, Perry or Wayne? How dumb I was. Then he said, "Uncle Sam." Ed was in the hospital at the time. He had fallen and broken his leg between the knee and ankle. The doctors thought of amputating at first. He fell on February 6, 1943. It was his mother's birthday. I don't know how we got along...no welfare in those days. I guess Ed had no work at that time, anyway. He used crutches for a year. One day he came home and said, "I'm not using those crutches another day." I said, "Why?" He said, "The boys at the Smoke Shop are teasing me." Sons in Service. So then by July of 1942 Neal was called into the Air Force. In August of that year Donald went into the Marines. Marvin registered in the Navy on his 18th birthday. That was November 23, 1945. A week later he was called into service. They all saw overseas duty. They all came home well, no injuries. V-J Day or Victory in Japan Day was August 14, 1946. Then came the Korean War and Lloyd was drafted in January 1951. The boys said drafting wasn't any worse than enlisting. He was in Pusan, Korea. When he came home we met him at the Salem airport. He said, "Before you take me home, drive over the new Marion Street Bridge." It was being built when he left. So all five of our boys were in danger zones, but all came home safely. Then later we lost two of our boys. Donald worked for Portland General Electric. He was a lineman. He was killed when a dead wire flipped and touched a live wire. 12,500 volts went through his left hand and out his boot. That was July 30, 1954. Then we lost Howard on April 7, 1966 from cancer. His wife, Barbara, five years later on April 10, 1971. Barbara's mother passed away two weeks after Howard, and her sister, Maralyn Bartholomew in June 1977. All from such a nice family and all from cancer. Then I had a shock on Wednesday morning, 8:14 a.m., July 30, 1980. I opened my husband's bedroom door to ask how he was feeling as he was not feeling well the day before. I said, "Oh, no!" There he lay as white as the bed sheets. I felt his cheek and it was cold. He had passed away sometime in the night. I called Neal, then Mary Ann, as Joyce had already gone to work. The children were soon all here. I still think it must be a dream. We had just celebrated our 60th wedding anniversary on June 16, 1980. Ed passed away just 26 years to the day after our Donald. Oregon Calls. The grasshoppers came in 1935 and ate all our crops. They even ate wood. The wind would blow and the dust storms were terrible. We would wet blankets and put them over the windows and doors. Albert and Anna had been in Oregon for some time and would write to us about how pretty the country was and there was work there, too. I was anxious to bring the family to Oregon, although I did hate to leave the folks and all our family and friends. I have always been glad that we did come to Oregon and that we stayed. Ed always wanted to go back. He thought things would get better and he thought he could make a living farming. When we came to Oregon, near Portland and then on to Salem, the grass was tall and green and everything was so lush. Sure different from what we had left in South Dakota and all the way out West. It was all desert through Wyoming and Montana. We slept in Butte, Montana in two little cabins. A thunder and lightning storm came up. It sure was loud. We could see a big hole up on the hill where the miners entered. I think it was a copper mine. When we came to Missoula, Montana, there were traffic lights. They were the first we had ever seen. So we just went right along with the cars. We were soon to Spokane, Washington. Just drove right through; saw a lot of grain fields that had been harvested. The machines had gone around in contours of the fields. We were used to having all farming done in straight rows as our land was level. We slept at Biggs, Oregon. Then, on our last lap to Salem and we arrived at Albert's. They were living in a small garage until Albert got their house livable. That evening they had callers... George and Lena Witte. That was August 18, 1936. We had left Gregory on August 12, 1936. We sold some of our furniture, like the chairs, library table (it was a big, sturdy one) and a leather davenport. A big truck came and we loaded our beds, and bedding, of course, stove, table, canned fruit and our kerosene lamps. Ed brought his scoop shovel. Albert sure laughed at us. Ed thought we may go back again and he was ready to go the coming spring but the children and I were not. We thought we were in paradise. Everything was so green and there was so much fruit. There was a prune orchard right across the road from the old house we were living in. We rented the house from the next door neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Stolzheis, an older couple. They had a real nice house and they were nice people. One time Mr. Stolzheis and a Mr. Landaker, an old bachelor who lived on down the road in the little tarpaper shack, were putting tar on the roof of our house when all at once there came the bucket of tar and then Mr. Landaker and Mr. Stolzheis. We were sure worried about them and they did get hurt. That was sure a poor house. There were cracks in the boy's bedroom floor an inch wide. We had an outdoor privy, but did have electric cords hanging down from the ceiling. Electric lights were a luxury to us. We had a long chicken house out behind the house and a big cherry tree. Ed raised capons. There wasn't much money to be made in them as the feed cost about as much as we sold the chickens for. The boys would get tired of cleaning the chicken house. Attached to the house was an old rickety woodshed or maybe it was a garage. Anyway, when Ed wanted to kill a chicken he would get them in there and chase them around with an axe and cut their heads off on a block of wood. Of course, it had a dirt floor. When we took baths, we used a round washtub. Got our water from the reservoir on the kitchen stove. Had a hand pump outside and carried the water in. We used the water sparingly as we had to have it for washing all those dishes. The boys helped a lot with the housework then as Joyce was still small. We sure did miss our milk and butter and eggs. Had all we wanted in South Dakota. Milk was nine cents a quart. With very little money, we couldn't see buying milk. One of the boys would walk to Albert's after school and get two quarts of skimmed milk. We did have a hard time having enough to eat. First, fruit was fine, but we got hungry for potatoes, vegetables and meat. I just lost a lot of weight. My sister, Ethel, came out to visit us on June 16th, 1941. She brought a case of eggs on a bus all that way. A case is 12 dozen. We had no refrigerator, just a cool basement. (We had moved about 1940 to 70 Liberty Road.) (In the winter we would get water in the basement quite often and then there would be snakes down there, but it was a pretty nice basement...a dirt floor, though.) Our older boys got a ride with some neighbor kids (Sheltons) to go pick beans. Then school started. Then they picked prunes after school in the orchard right across road on Ewald. It was owned by Mr. Baker. He told me we could have all we wanted. I canned 88 quarts. South of us was a pear orchard. They were so large and juicy. We ate a lot of them. Ed had carbuncles on the back of his neck. Had to go to a doctor and have them removed. Then Howard and Alvin both got real sick with earaches and they, too, had to be taken to a doctor. Alvin got better but Howard was worse. Then that Sunday, January 31st, it started raining and it turned to snow. Overnight we got three feet of snow. The mail box just stuck out. That was February 1, 1937. We had taken Howard in on Saturday, so Monday morning Ed waded through the snow and down to Highway 99E and got a ride to the railroad tracks by the paper mill and then walked to General Hospital. The doctors walked, too. Howard had surgery for mastoid. He was in pain when I finally get there a few days later, when the streets were opened. Buildings were mashed. Most stores had marquees in front that were broken down. So very few put them up again. Picking. That next summer the boys picked beans again and we all picked hops later (the whole family went to Roberts' hopyard on South River Road). The hops stained our clothes. I washed them and they stayed full of brown stains. We wore holes in gloves, those of us who had gloves. It was sure hard on the hands. Our kids always worked every day they could during the summer months. There was always something to pick and they would give their money to Ed to pay our bills. They were all good workers. When we were living on Ewald Avenue, July 26, 1938, a pretty little baby girl came to live with us. We named her Mary Ann. She was a surprise to all my kids. Neal thought that I was getting a middle-age spread I was 40 years old when she was born. I made myself a smock. Howard said, "My teacher wears one like that." Teachers wore those at the time. While I was in the hospital, and this was the first baby I ever had in a hospital, my parents and brother, Perry, and his wife, Marie, and two little sons, Perry Jay and Willard, came to visit. They didn't know I was to have a baby. I never wrote and told them because my mother thought I was having too many kids when I had four. I realized I had several but I never tried not having them. I'm glad I had them. I've loved them all...still do. My kids have always been a big help to me in more ways than one. Kept my spirit up. Coming to Oregon has been a great change in feeling content and safe. In South Dakota, it was a constant fear of wind storms, lightning, thunder, and hail. One time lightning struck our little cracker box house. Ed was standing by the door with his hand on the door jamb and he got a shock. I guided him to a chair. He finally came to and said, "How's the baby?" I ran to the bed...he was fine. That baby was Neal...only a month old. That was July, 1921. Another good thing about being in Oregon is we do not have to keep watching clouds like people do in the Midwest. We do not have tornadoes, cyclones, hail, lightning or thunder, or wind storms. Occasionally a windstorm but not like the country east of the Rockies. There was a fierce wind on October 12, 1962. It came without any warning at all. It hit so quickly that not even the radio men could warn the next people who would soon receive it. I was listening to our radio at 4:20 in the afternoon when the radio man said, "We are having a wind...it is getting stronger...oops!" That was it. The radio tower blew down. The wind sounded like a freight train coming as all at once it hit the house and we could feel the house give a little. It kept up for about four hours. Trees were broken down or uprooted as we had had a lot of rain and the soil was soft and the trees were still full of leaves, walnuts, etc., so over they would go. They were top heavy. The wind blew 100 miles an hour. Every town and countryside had no warning so no preparations were made. Signs blew down and windows crashed. The wind finally died down at about the Canadian border. It came straight from the south. There were no clouds in front of this wind. It had been a pretty, sunny autumn day. It did rain hard about one hour after the wind. Then the roof began leaking on our house about 2 a.m. Neal and I put big plastic sheets over the roof as there were a lot of shingles torn off. Here I had just told Katherine and Grandpa Saul in July of that year that there was nothing to fear in Oregon as when it rains, it just rains. Then in October we had this big storm. Doing Laundry. When I washed clothes, I put the big wash boiler on the cookstove, heated it, added about 1/2 cup of lye. The minerals and foam rose to the top and I skimmed it off before I could use it to wash clothes. Then I would dip it out in the washtub and scrub on the wash board. I did that until 1928. That was when Marvin was about 6 months old. At that time Ed got me an enclosed tub with a handle on it. I would rock it back and forth until I thought the clothes were clean. Then I wrung them through a wringer by hand, put them in clear water to rinse, then wring again, then out to the clothesline. There were times in the winter that I would have to hurry to pin them up before they would freeze stiff. Freezing dried them. In later years the grasshoppers ate holes in the clothes. What a life! But we felt content...didn't know any better. No wonder when we came to Oregon I thought we were in paradise. Baking Bread. I always baked my own bread and made cinnamon rolls quite often. When we had all our kids in school, I baked bread, 4 big loaves every other day. The kids sometimes would trade their home baked bread for another child's "baker's bread" sandwich. That was store bought bread. This is after we came to Oregon. They thought store-bought bread was a treat. I always baked cakes from scratch...said I'd never use boxed cakes. But I broke that saying as later I began buying cake mixes once in awhile. Hairdos. A Marcel was a hairdo with flat waves, made with a flat iron in bands or fingers; they made several in one operation. My mother and we four girls had one done one time when we had a family picture taken. I never saw another curl put in my hair until we lived in Oregon a year or so. I went to a beauty school college up over Bishop's men's store which was then on Liberty Street across from Woolworth's. The girl was so slow... it took five hours. They used metal curling rods which were attached to electric wires and they were so heavy. The permanent started at 10 a.m. and finished at 3 p.m. I got so hungry and by the time I got home I had a headache and went to bed that night and stayed there three days. Things were cheap those days, although money was scarce. The permanent cost me $1.44. But it also cost me a lot of pain and suffering. I never did like permanents after that. I'm thankful now that my daughters are giving me home permanents. They take only a little time and no pain is involved. All women wore long hair until about the time of WWI or 1916-18. We girls had long, dark brown hair. We wore it in braids and when we were in high school so many girls wrapped their braids around their heads. Ethel had such long hair she could sit on it. She and two girls in high school could wrap it around until the whole head was covered. Mine was a little shorter so when I wrapped mine I had about two inches in diameter on the top of my head. We wore brown bone hair pins. They shone. It was a pretty hairdo. In later years, some women and girls were having their hair cut to a "Buster Brown" hair cut. It was bobbed over the ears. I was the first of we girls to have a haircut. I was 26 years old. We were on vacation and I decided it was too much work trying to care for long hair. I went to a man's barber shop. That was in a town in Nebraska. Left Neal and Howard with grandma Saul, Alma and Mildred. Katherine, Alberta and Anna and Ed and I also took in the State Fair in Huron, South Dakota on that trip. Saw the prettiest and nicest fireworks I ever had seen and have never seen any since as good as that time. That was July 4, 1924. After that time I had lots of housework, not much time for gardening or milking cows. Every 2 1/2 years I had a baby, although I welcomed them and loved them dearly. I nursed all my babies. Ed used to tell me I was a Jersey cow, as I had plenty of milk for them. They got fatter and I got skinnier. We had a well near the house, good cold water, but it was hard. I carried it in by the pail full until my boys were old enough to carry it. Changes. In my time I have seen so many changes, inventions, accomplishments, etc. There were no automobiles that I knew of in Dakota, although there were a few in the big cities of New York and Chicago, because one of our teachers told us about them. She said they were run by steam and looked like a buggy with no horses. Finally, automobiles came to South Dakota. Our next door neighbor bought a Reo. One day he was going to make a drive to town, which was about two miles away, and he asked me if I would like to ride along. They lived on a hill. So I sat up there as big as you please. There were no doors on the sides, just room for two people and a little place in back for car tools. Down the hill we went. I had to hang for dear life. I suppose we were going ten miles an hour, but it seemed fast to me. That would have had to been before 1909, as this man (Mr. Louis Thernes) left to homestead in Tripp County, which joined Gregory County on the west, and that is when it opened for settlement. It was Indian Reservation like Gregory County was until 1903. In later years, several counties were opened. There is still a lot of land from there to this side of the Black Hills that is Indian Reservation, and a lot of Indians, too. It is called Rosebud Indian Reservation. There is a school in a little town called Rosebud and and it is similar to our Chemawa School here in Salem, Oregon. So now we had cars, only we called them automobiles. My father bought a Model T Ford about 1914. Then about 1915 the farmers got together and had phones put in their homes. They paid for the poles and wire. That was great for we young folks. Radio. Next came the radio. Ed learned of a young man who made radios. Just in a rough wooden box. He made one for us. We had to bring in our car battery, set it under the big, heavy library table, and put the radio on top. Then we got noise, lots of static, and once in awhile sound. People in those days were hungry for music. Some people had a Victrola phonograph. I could just listen to Hawaiian music all day. My folks had an organ, but it was seldom played. Mama had me take music lessons for about one year. But I didn't have an ear for music as long as I had to practice. Then, later, on April 28, 1911, we lost our little brother, Everett Nathan. Mama couldn't stand to hear me play the organ. All I knew how to play was slow tunes. So I just quit. Later, when we had the player piano, we sold the organ. Movies. Moving pictures came into being in the teens...1913 or so. Black and white, of course. There was no sound. A phonograph played music in the background and words were printed on the screen, which made it difficult for those who were slow readers or who couldn't read at all. Shortly before World War II walkie talkies came into being. Even our boys made walkie talkies by using cigar boxes and making earphones and hooking up wires. They could transmit messages for short distances. Marvin was a great one at doing this. TV. In the late forties the first television was manufactured. Of course, it was black and white. Not too many people had television sets for a few years as they were quite expensive. Color was not around until the sixties. We got our first color TV from Lloyd and Celesta in the early seventies. It was a gift to Ed and me. Ed had to sit in his chair a lot then and it was a real treat to have such good shows to watch. In later years, it seems many of the good shows have been dropped and there is a lot more "junk" on television...but there are still some good shows I enjoy. Especially Lawrence Welk on Saturday night. We used to listen to him on the radio when he first broadcasted and that was from Yankton, SD...station WNAX. Education. People in those days, when I was growing up, could get work without having an education. When children started school it was made a law that children had to have an education of eight years or be 18 years old. Then later the law was they had to have a high school diploma or be 18 years of age. Black Hills. The Black Hills of South Dakota are not black and are not hills. The black comes from the trees...the pines look black from a distance. The hills are really mountains, except for the foothills. There was a lot of gold mined there at Homestead, Lead and Deadwood. That was the biggest gold mining country in the United States for a time. Wild Bill Hickok (he was an American Scout and U.S. Marshal) and Calamity Jane (Martha Jane Burke, an American frontier markswoman) are buried there. Hickok died in 1876 and Calamity Jane in 1903. I saw their graves and tombstones. That is also the home of Mt. Rushmore. It is a mountain 6,200 feet high on which are carved gigantic faces of Presidents Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, and Theodore Roosevelt. It is a national memorial. A beautiful sight, especially at night when it is illuminated by floodlights. In July 1962, Grandpa Saul and Katherine came out here on the train. I would try to get Katherine to look at sights and scenery. She could hardly look for watching our Oregon clouds. She just wouldn't give up, thought a storm was coming. I was that way when we first came out here. I was talking about the clouds to Mr. Stolheis and he said, "I never look at them." But I enjoyed the climate as it was more mild from 1937 on. We had hard times with no money, but got by. I wrote this because some of my kids wanted me to. I hope that you, my children, sons and daughters-in-law, grandchildren, great grandchildren and other relatives will enjoy these stories I remember so well. May they help you remember that all times are not good but that you should make the best of every day. Reprinted October 1994 by Donald James Ryan, son of Ruth Cecelia Welbourn and grandson of Nancy Jane Powell (both are mentioned in this story). I visited Mary Elizabeth Saul in her daughter's (Joyce Veal) home in Monmouth, Oregon on October 8, 1994.