Marie Krieger

Something of Myself

by Marie Trupp Krieger

Marie Trupp Krieger

THE HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD

How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood. I recall a home, long since left behind in the journey of life; its memory floats back to me with a shower of emotions and thoughts towards whose precious farmyard rivulet my heart opens itself greedily, like a thirsty flower. It is a home among the sagebrush, thistles, wheat and summerfallow fields--humble and lowly--but priceless in its wealth of associations.

A shanty was built in 1907, three years before I was born; another small house was moved adjacent to it some years later with the in-between space incorporated enlarging the area somewhat to become a bungalow-type house and painted white. Perhaps that is the reason for my very own white house of 45 years. It was solidly built, situated alongside the dusty country road with a farm lane leading to the farmyard. Even tho it wasn’t situated on a hilltop, westhill had a clear view for miles on the prairie daring the winter blizzards or the summer-wind storms to threaten those it protected.

My years growing up there gave me a sense of warmth, security and abundant healthful good food, as well as a sense of responsibility. There were chores assigned to each of the seven children that we were expected to do, yet I do not remember feeling overworked or deprived.

Mother and Dad could not have had an easy life, coping with the problems they faced. I was nearly grown before I realized the sacrifices they made to give us a solid upbringing, possibly a "blood and guts" nurturing. It was far from being a push-button world (electricity had not yet come to the farms) and things were done the hard way. There were no convenience foods, no cake mixes or frozen bread dough.

When we prepared a meal or baked bread we had to be sure that an ample supply of fuel was available for the yawning mouth of the kitchen range. Failing to do that could mean a ruined meal or bread that was inedible. One made that mistake only once, for wasted food was wasted money, and we couldn’t afford that. I don’t remember using sagebrush for fuel at my parents’ farm which had occurred after clearing their prospective acreage for wheat farming; the sage aroma remains in my nostrils on visits to my grandparents who lived at Moody, Washington. My mother had learned to cook by hook or by crook using an extra large "coffee" cup as a standard measuring cup and
gauged the one half, one fourth or one third or any others by sight; a pinch of salt or a spoonful of sugar sufficed in her made-up recipes she kept closeted in her head. She had conquered the challenge of the wood range and knew when to add fuel and when to withhold it. I depended on her when I learned to bake "goodies" altho the time I missed adding the leaven, it was up to me to eat the flat cake.

Mother raised a large garden with her children’s help and the produce so carefully preserved for winter use. She canned, pickled, salted and dried foods that later could be an important part of her bountiful meals. It was rarely a problem planning a meal or what to cook --it was there to be chosen--but every filled receptaclerepresented work and cooperation of each member of the family.

We made sauerkraut from the large, firm cabbages that were shredded on a so-called krautboard, packed in large stoneware crocks with the proper amount of salt, then my mother would place a nice clean white cloth over the cabbage (a bleached salt or sugar sack) held in place by a round board used only for that purpose and weighted by a rock she had scrubbed to perfection in cleanliness. Every few days she would remove the weights to rinse out the cloths in clear water before their replacement to avoid any mold which could form at the top of each crock. She also added the last of the garden carrots, scraped and distributed throughout the layered cabbage. It was hard to wait until its maturity, so we sampled it long before its time. Apples and watermelons were preserved in separate barrels; noodles were made while the hens supplied a surplus of eggs. A full-time task for a conscientious mother who seemed to have the know-how in raising a happy family. As a daughter, I had second thoughts about many facets concerning family living; I sometimes wondered if I would be able to fulfill all the duties required of the
pioneer housewife. Thank goodness for modern living conditions, more than just existence.

Sundays at our house left warm memories. Some of the ducks and chickens my mother raised graced the table at our Sunday dinners. When we were still quite young, she spared us the sight of the butchering but as we grew older, a sadness overcame us when the fowl was killed, but all was forgotten when our hunger was appeased at supper or lunch time. Mother’s stuffing was special, always moist and fluffy and I have never been able to duplicate it. I can still see her standing at the kitchen stove and stirring it in a frying pan, onions being fried first; the special aroma is still in the air to this day. Butchering of hogs and cattle was always done in the fall when the first cold days arrived. It was an exciting time, even though we knew it meant hard work. Part of the enjoyment was in knowing we could have fresh beef liver and fresh-fried sausage patties. Sausage patties were preserved in lard in a crock for later use; reheated in the oven, the excess fat poured off, ready to be served. Armistice Day, November
11th (it’s Veterans Day now), a school holiday, the onset of the first sprinkle of snow, captured the imagination as the appointed day. Every edible part of the animal was used; A ground mixture of boiled livers, kidneys, hearts, tongues, hog heads and seasoning was placed in cloth bags or casings and cooked to be known as liver sausage, a special favorite of mine, cold-sliced. The freshly-ground pork and beef, blended and flavored to perfection, then stuffed into casings was smoked in addition to the salt-cured bacon and hams in a homemade smoke house. Oftentimes the finished product continued hanging on rods during the coldest weather; usually in the case of left-over sausage, it landed in Kerr or Ball glass jars to be canned by my mother for future use.

The fat was rendered to be used in cooking and the utilized lard, the main ingredient in the home manufactured soap assumed a new important role in the daily household chores--dishwashing, laundry, even bathing--later, a gray-colored mechanic soap used for the face, greasy hands, hair shampoo appeared on the scene. One might shudder concerning the use of caustic lye in soap, but one’s hands remain soft, it really cleans and whitens the laundry items without leaving residue clinging to the clothes. I still make my own by using my Aunt Pearl’s recipe such as one can of lye dissolved in one quart of water and cooled, then slowly added to three quarts of clean melted grease continuously stirring with a wooden spoon in an enameled container while adding three tablespoons of each of two components, Boraxo and ammonia until the entire combination begins to set. Cut into bars, remove from vessel and shred. The entire process needs to be done outdoors on a cool day.

Marie on the combine

Life on the farm was not dull or boring. There were the exciting mornings when we discovered a baby calf, a new colt, tiny piglets or baby chicks and ducks. To teach a young animal to drink or to watch a barely-dry baby duck swim was rewarding and fun. The days of the combine harvesting the grain and the crew needed in the early days of my childhood, I remember.

Lemons were only purchased in the summertime to quench the thirst of the crew with lemonade and I can’t forget the lemon pies, yum, yum. Winter evenings on the farm were quiet and relaxing, my father read his German newspapers and Bible while we studied and prepared our lessons for the next day while mother patched clothes. She would also peel apples for snacks before bedtime--we played subdued games, but certainly, life was not all fun and games. There were the Depression years, the dust storms, drought, crop failures, destructive hail storms and the World War I years. Those years had to be challenging ones for Mother and Dad, yet their faith never seemed to waver. They managed to give my growing years real meaning; I feel so very grateful for memories that have no price, and cannot be duplicated.

I was born on November 29, 1910 on a wheat ranch, post office address, Box 31, Irby, WA (southwest of Odessa) in Adams County and christened on Christmas Day, December 25, 1910, at the Congregational Emmaus church situated in the northwest corner of Adams County on the Lincoln County line. The Rev. G. Graedel officiated while the sponsors represented friends of my parents, Miss Verona (Frona) Richter, Mr. Wendell Hamburg and his wife, Anna Kath, did the honors. I was remembered with gifts for many years, a memento consisting of a cup and saucer occupies a special place among other coveted memorabilia in my cupboard but my two dolls were mutilated in the machine shop by my two younger brothers; the moving parts of the eyes had sparked their curiosity to the point of removal. A heartbroken tearful child! 

I had become the middle surviving child to grow into adulthood, four brothers and two sisters evenly divided. Six other siblings had succumbed to unexplained infant afflictions prior to my birth; the sad experiences of losing her babies concealed in my mother’s heart never really surfaced although many years later a mention of the unmarked resting places was made. One might attribute the good fortune to the remaining seven as the "survival of the fittest": natural selection. 

My digestive problems began as early as three months into this earthly life in the form of adjusting to cow’s milk; a baby brother was born on my first birthday, a gift from heaven. Imagine no formula to appease the appetite of an infant or to allay the hunger so vital to one’s existence. Crackers soaked in cow’s milk and spooned into my mouth at such an early age when a baby needs to suck; therefore, the bad habit of sucking the tongue developed and was practiced for many years. The teasing inflicted by an older sister left its mark; no doubt, a behavior pattern not easily overcome, much like thumb sucking. Nail biting cropped up later. Perhaps the modern-day pediatrician could offer a better explanation. Imaginably, for all one knows, being reminded repeatedly of the unpleasant and annoying mannerism tolerated by others, I trained my thoughts to excel by practicing reaching the end of my nose with the lingua which I accomplished to the dismay of family members. Sibling rivalry is still very much in evidence today which I have resisted my entire lifetime.

Religious training began in babyhood since the entire family attended church services every Sunday morning. Babies became accustomed to the singing of hymns, readings from the Bible or the minister’s sermons. Mothers, always aware of their responsibilities in regards to the behavior of their children, immediately exited with an unruly screaming youngster to the porch or even outside to prevent any unnecessary commotion. Keen competition arose among families concerning their off- springs' conduct. Spankings, administered in severe cases of misbehavior produced good results. I'm sure an indoctrination in my case, a lesson learned in childhood remained firmly implanted in my mind innumerable years. 

I don’t remember any particular events in which I was an active participant of my life before the first year of public schooling except the continual struggle for a rightful position within the family circle. I spoke the German language, the familiar dialect of Frank, Russia, spoken by my parents. Not knowing when English words became interjected into my speaking vocabulary, it’s difficult to say if I encountered any obstacle of major significance when I began my education. I discovered in good time that cooperation played a meaningful role among my parents and siblings as well as teacher and schoolmates. By honoring my mother’s requests as her helpful assistant, I obtained the sought-after, longed-for attention to satisfy my selfishness. 

I entered the first grade at the Schafer School, District #73 in Adams County, the State of Washington. Mrs. Grace Watson, the teacher for my first two annoying years, taught all eight grades in the one-room schoolhouse. The total attendance numbered about 30; to my knowledge everyone learned to read, write, spell and solve mathematical problems. I recall via photos of the schoolhouse the location of the only door leading outside which faced north off a small enclosed porch. The space housed the outer wearing apparel of the students, a mirror, a bench with a water bucket and dipper to quench the lads’ and lasses’ thirst. A small window overlooking the bench provided outdoor light. Within the one room, one found blackboards lining the east wall and the north wall between two doors leading to the porch. The teacher’s desk sat at the north end so the instructor faced the pupils seated at their classroom desks. The schoolteacher used a comfortable oak chair when seated at the desk. The west wall’s four large windows furnished the necessary light in the daytime; Venetian blinds controlled any unwanted sunshine. It’s apparent that desks could not be uniform in size to accommodate all eight grades. A large bookcase situated in the southeast corner, the upper half with shelves protected by glass doors filled with books and twelve volumes of the encyclopedia "Book of Knowledge" while the lower half served as a storage area containing additional supplies such as erasers, chalk, etc. I can’t remember how many times I read or reread the twelve volumes and the inadequate supply of available publications. I always admired the huge Webster’s Dictionary with my heart set to own one some day. Half of the south wall provided more blackboards, all slate boards were green. A black pot-bellied stove, three quarters surrounded by a sheath of heavy metal for safety, monopolized the southwest corner; manually operated, its fuel supply consisted of wood and coal. One more corner where a closet harbored janitorial supplies (northwest) while in front of it stood an instrument called a phonograph, the music box. The game of musical chair created quite a ruckus, it was fun. Custodian duties were handled by the teacher who usually received aid from the family with whom she boarded and roomed. The combination desks and seats remained permanently bolted to the floor for the frames were constructed of iron and with minimum care lasted indefinitely. Since unavailable locker space faced the learners, their possessions such as books, tablets, pencils, crayons ink & pens rested securely in the compartment of each desk. Theft of any articles never occurred. Severe punishment in case of detection awaited any thief. Compulsory age requirements appertaining to attendance meant a grade school diploma or attaining 16 years, a stage of life. A certificate indicated passing grades (70 the lowest) in every subject via state examinations held in a near-by town under strict supervision. Neighborly scuffling transpired frequently among the older boys which intrigued as well as scared the younger children; instructions from our father prevented us from defending ourselves. After my brothers returned home from school with torn clothes, they received permission to protect themselves, No more ripped apparel after that edict. 

The spacious school yard nearly 1/4 of an acre allowed an area for swings, teeter totter, boys’ and girls’ outhouses and a barn to accommodate horses during the learning sessions. An unused cement-lined cistern, a large receptacle below the ground for storing drinking water erected by the school board remained a surplus and dangerous addition. An errand performed by the older boys, the carrying of a pail of water from the neighboring farm before school openings and at noon kept a steady supply available for everyone’s needs. I don’t remember if the male counterparts led the horses to a watering trough entrenched in the next-door farmer’s yard. I’m sure the animals needed to quench their thirst with a little H20 in the middle of the day, also. We had a buggy with a top for shelter driven by a horse for transporting five of us to school, a little crowded perhaps but by the time the youngest sibling entered first grade, my two older brothers had finished all of their formal education. We took hay with us for the horse’s noon feeding. When bad weather such as blizzards and snow-covered roads menaced us, we piled into a sled, huddled under a quilt for protection from the severe cold while our father or oldest brother maneuvered the horses for the ride. The liability impressed on our minds renewed itself when our attendance recorded on our report cards fulfilled a vital function. 

The influence of the McGuffey Readers, with their emphasis on sentiment, patriotism, virtue and ambition were all strongly evident. Patriotism stressed in grade school-- love of country--the stars and stripes--the flag, red, white and blue (Stars shine on you). Songs and poems reminded one constantly. Like the arid soil--only needed water, our people hungered for formal schooling. Parents had been short-changed, handicapped so to speak without any conventional education in addition to being ignorant of their adopted land’s language. We were forced to do our own school assignments, possibly drilled in multiplication tables or spelling bees by an older sibling. Our parents’ sole obligation necessitated our presence in the schoolroom. Growing up in a totalitarian household served us well. 

My third grade teacher’s name was Miss Ida Fink. At one time school boards did not hire married teachers so my first and second grade schoolmarm must have been a widow. I believe Miss Fink could have wielded the ruler in its application to my right hand, one and only incident of its kind; I don’t recall the reason but I do remember the discipline. Fourth grade memories revived thoughts of an actress, SHY ME pretending to be Queen Isabella in a drama about Columbus sailing the ocean blue and discovering America. I have visual recollections of the gray with red trim history book. It nearly broke my heart when I was ordered to sit on the same bench and move a little closer to the boy in my class who played King Ferdinand V of Spain. Miss Lula Harmon performed the 4th grade instructional duties. 

My special mental aptitude produced the well-known title of the fifth mentor, Miss Hilda Gross who headed for Montana after a year. I still treasure a tea cup and saucer on my cupboard shelf, a Christmas gift, 65 years old. By spring I had advanced in my studies to represent my school in a talent meet. Six country systems competed in penmanship, spelling and declamatory in several divisions, upper and lower; a first experience in any award-winning contest--1st in penmanship, 2nd in spelling and 2nd in declamatory, honors for my school and myself. A poem, "The House by the Side of the Road" was recited from memory to the audience with all the expression and courage I could muster. The prizes--money--a rare commodity in any household those days. Just think, $1.25 but, what happened? My father borrowed it to pay for a train ride to a church conference and never kept his vow to repay me. A broken heart, indeed! Bitterness never entered my mind but I never forgot the injustice thrust upon me. I remember my mother admonishing my father concerning his unfulfilled promises in their 57 years together. Memory in youth is active and easily impressible; in old age it is comparatively callous to new impressions, but still retains vividly those of earlier years. 

Since the one-room school house couldn’t accommodate a piano, a phonograph provided the marches via records for the game of musical chairs, not much lively recreation for indoor and cold weather activities, Health classes introduced us to bending exercises from the waist forward, sideways with hands on hips, backwards, etc. Windows were opened and deep breathing of fresh air followed. An ironic procedure for farmers’ offspring after performing the everyday outdoor chores before leaving for school with more to look forward to after the day had ended. In good weather we even played baseball until the school bell beckoned us indoors. Fresh air to maintain healthy bodies was especially stressed and that’s mostly what we were subjected to in the wide open spaces. The girls more so than the boys amused themselves by skipping rope individually or enlisting others in acquiring special skills. Competition prevailed among us to jump longer than anyone else. One tried specific movements while jumping to the lyrics of "Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear, turn a- round; Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear, touch the ground; Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear, Pull your hair; Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear, Get out of there," sung by the twirlers holding the ends of the rope. A skillful jumper managed to run away at the end of the song by not getting touched by the rope. We played Run, Sheep Run, Hide and Seek and the "It" person would call out, "Bushel of wheat, Bushel of Rye; Who's not ready, Holler I" as the players scattered, Drop the handkerchief, Hop scotch, pump, pump, pull away or a game of Tag, Olla Olla, auction free, Tug of War, marbles, fox and geese, one that was played in the snow; a garage roof, a soft ball and a player on each side of the building as one would attempt to toss the ball over the roof, he called out the phrase "Antiover", if unsuccessful, "Anti come back" and then there was "Skip the my Lou, my darling" but baseball was really the favorite of the older groups. Other ditties I remember: "One for you, One for me and one for sister Annie" and "Einee, minee, minee mo, Catch the nigger by the toe, If he hollers, let him go, l- 2-3 and out goes he." 

At home among the siblings, (there were always plenty of them) the leisure winter hours were filled with play such as "Hide the Thimble", the person who hid it would provide the phrases "hot" or "cold" as the players approached the hidden article, the lucky finder says, "I spy" upon discovery; "Button, Button, Who has the button?", a circle is formed, a person in the middle tries to guess the possessor of the button which has been passed among the participants by the clapping of hands. My father opposed our playing of games so we had to have fun on the sly. My brothers built a checkerboard out of a square block of wood, nailed tin plate squares on it and used black and white buttons for the two players. The boys would hide it when my father put in an appearance but as they got older and braver, carelessness took over. Father snatched it in spite of their protests, broke it into halves with a bang across his knee, disposed of it by throwing the beloved board into the roaring fire of the heater. Card playing was taboo, my brother Fred played the game at his cronies’ house. Henry purchased Flinch cards for Sunday afternoon entertainment with friends while the parents attended prayer meetings. I never really cultivated any great interest in card merrymaking; to me it seemed a ‘drag’ and a waste of time. I’d rather crochet or read because I visioned an awareness of fulfillment in my efforts and hours well-spent. Playing baseball or executing farm chores afforded me the physical exercise I required in my early teens. I had a yen for writing, especially letters and poetry. 

By the time I finished the sixth grade, I comprehended my maturity to form my own system of beliefs common sense, a natural inherited trait—not perfection as I made mistakes along the way. Perhaps my mother’s influence caused me to share her concepts. Learning to sew by hand and secretly fascinated by the mechanics of the treadle machine urged me to design and construct my own clothes, undergarments of bleached flour sacks satisfied my longings up to my college years. To labor side by side with my conscientious mother was an experience in itself in performing farm chores, holding the lantern while she checked the setting hens, or in assisting in the drudgery of hoeing Russian thistles thriving on summer-fallow land and along barbed-wire fences. Her suggestions and solutions jibed. Straw hats and men’s long sleeved work shirts, a must to counteract a sun tan with the impossibility of creating a leather-like appearance of the skin also prohibited a sun- burn. Little did I realize then that it was a wise effort in thwarting skin cancers on exposed areas.

One summer before rotary weeders surfaced and Henry’s muscles hadn’t fully developed to handle machinery of that kind, Jacob and I had been recruited to assume a task. The rod of the weeder became plugged necessitating Henry to occasionally lift the board he stood on. The entire contraption while in motion required more than the operator’s weight. Two apple boxes, one fastened to each end of the crosspiece above the rod occupied by Jacob and me were just the ticket. Infrequent stops directed us to extricate our bodies from the wooden containers for Henry to raise the complete mechanism to a certain degree. The dust obliterated all fresh air; talk about child abuses. That was it in terms of today! To think children under twelve are denied strawberry picking here! I wore my straw hat as a shield to conceal my head and possibly a handkerchief covered my nose and eyes. I’m positive our dust-saturated clothes portrayed us to the point of unrecognizable human beings by the noon hour as well as the end of the work day; that is, if the wind didn’t blow or wasn’t in our favor. Thank goodness for the ingenuity displayed by creating more appropriate machinery soon after that summer’s ordeal or the procedure was handled differently.

A new teacher for my sixth grade studies, Miss Bernadine Kennedy, also remained only one year. She was courted by a young man, Fred Frick, whose father purchased my father’s homestead but they didn’t marry until 1924. While they dated, someone had remarked about his loss of hair, a family trait, but Miss Kennedy defended her boy friend by saying, "he might not have anything on the top of his head, but he has a lot inside." How right she was as they had a rich life together, raised a fine family, became successful wheat farmers and my Miss Kennedy as Mrs. Frick assumed an active role in community affairs besides being a wife and mother.

Life on the wheat farm in eastern Washington was considered simple and routine. Besides the section of cultivated wheat acreage (640 acres) my father owned until my fourth year of high school, he also leased land from other people or companies in the Moody area, Ruff and Wheeler vicinities by dragging farm machinery, horses, etc., all over the countryside which was a mistake. An unprofitable partnership at Moody in a sheep enterprise fizzled when the associate satisfied his appetite to the detriment of our investment and labor. We nurtured the lambs who were born in the dead of winter, put them out to pasture only to observe profits disappear. My mother salvaged enough wool to send to a Portland, Oregon, firm at that time for laundering and carding into 4 pound batts which she covered as quilts for herself and each one of her children. I still have mine to use when needed.

After 1900, for about 20 years, wild grasses grew among the sagebrush on the hillsides for grazing sheep and cattle in the Moody country. Springs, a natural water source, flowed into the creeks located in the gullies which eventually disappeared to our dismay. Civilization and population growth caused changes in the water level by the digging of innumerable wells; not only that but less snow in winter with little rain in the spring months soon produced an arid and desolate terrain far and wide. I recall the stream of water in the creek, green vegetation growing on both sides of its banks--choke cherries to pick and eat--a cherry containing a large pit in its center surrounded by very little flesh. Bushes of wild pink roses with single petals grew in quantity along the embankment in addition to wild currants. Buttercups and a short-stemmed rose grew around rocks, a blue flower which we had named “rabbit” can still be seen along roadsides today even in areas with excessive moisture, other unidentifiable species could be found hither and yon. The first settlers southwest of Odessa planted fruit trees; a low survival rate resulted according to my knowledge due to negligence or ignorance in providing proper care. Two or three mulberry trees remain most vividly in my mind especially the succulent pies my mother baked using the purplish-red, berry-like fruit. The poplar shade trees which served as a wind break lasted indefinitely. Windmills, so called because they were driven by the wind instead of electric power but later replaced by gas engines and eventually electricity were not always dependable in the absence of wind in the summer heat to supply water for the stock and household. A water-storage facility, a cistern with a hand pump manipulated by one of the children proved to be a tedious errand. Vegetable gardens flourished to augment the larder in farm households, my mother was to continue the practice to her dying day in spite of living in the city. Father had built an earthen dam on the only low-lying ground within the perimeter of a 640 acre spread. Here we raised all of our potatoes for a family of nine, tasty muskmelons, mouth-watering watermelons and (schwarzebirre), a wild black small seedy domestic berry almost impossible to exterminate which grew on low bushes but exceedingly tasty with many uses.

This particular territory, the natural habitat of many wild and domesticated animals, fowl, birds, rodents, bugs, plants, weeds, kept a child intrigued with its surroundings. Even dead beasts weren’t always buried but left for the wild creatures to devour. When a horse or cow died, mostly of unknown causes, without the availability of a veterinarian, the carcass was often left in a coulee or draw away from the farmyard. Coyotes, hawks and other birds had a feast, the weather dried up some of the residue left on the bones. The sun sterilized and pulverized bones but we salvaged some from the horses’ and cows’ legs near the feet to use as toys. Sound gruesome? Not at all! We pretended the special parts of the skeleton were horses and cows. Apple boxes provided lumber for our unique projects we fashioned to serve as barns in housing the exotic trinkets. It’s surprising how much a child enjoys using a hammer and nails to keep busy and while away the hours; a learning experience. Any piece of string or twine won its rightful place among the makeshift toys. Dolls (toys made to resemble a baby) and tops (coneshaped toys with a point upon which it is spun) won the hearts of the girls and boys in later years.

My siblings and I accepted turns as cowherds but as we outgrew that stint to assume more responsibilities, a younger one filled the role. Children want to be busy so we built hills and valleys of dirt, used our makeshift toys, carried a tree twig as a weapon in case of an unruly calf or cow and devised our own entertainment in the wide open spaces. In the case of two of us, we played horse and driver using a rope for reins and improvised by imitating a horse’s actions in any situation even to the point of neighing.

Utilizing the country roads as grazing grounds served several purposes--controlled weeds as well as providing feed--in the early fall. The terrain, on each side of the traveled ungraveled country road, received a planting of winter wheat kernels by the farmer whose fields bordered the roadway. The seeds sprouted, became desirable vegetation for spring and summer time grazing after the plowing of inner fields. Many Russian thistles grew along the roadsides and under barbed-wire fences which in the growing green state were eaten by the cattle in the absence of suitable fodder. To me the verdure appeared inadequate; I often wondered about milk production but no one complained (I ate cottage cheese). Unfortunate results could occur by causing bloating if too much water was consumed and even death. Cattle and sheep require certain chemicals like calcium, magnesium and potassium found in rock salt; therefore, salt blocks also termed lick sticks placed in several locations in the barnyard satisfied the animals’ appetite. Uncontrolled matured thistles produced a million or more seeds to be scattered over the countryside by the winds; it was the most feared weed in the wheat fields. I do remember a mustard weed, yellow blooms in abundance, growing among the wheat. We walked between the rows of planted grain long before hay cutting season, pulled each plant out of the ground, roots and all very carefully, placed the main stem lengthwise flat on top of the soil to dry up. I believe we pretty much eradicated it in that manner.

Barbed wire fences surrounded all acreages but occasionally an unrestrained cow wiggled her way through the fence because of hunger for better feed. If the grain grew too near the fence, it could be reached between the two barbed wires strung lengthwise connecting two fence posts. (I liked manning the tool with which we dug holes for the cedar posts which were placed upright.) Specific wood yokes made of four lightweight boards, two perpendicular with two crosspieces with an Opening in the center fitted around the cow’s head prevented the old bossy from maneuvering her body between the wires of the fence. In some cases, the exception being a rule, the forelegs near the feet were hobbled to curtail the cow’s wanderings. A severe reprimand was the order of the day if one or more animal broke into a grain field inflicting damage of major proportions. A major concern could involve a neighbor’s cattle which did happen. Henry drove the cattle into our barn and closed the doors refusing to allow the neighbor’s children to retrieve them because he wanted to be reimbursed for the damages the cattle had caused. Within the hour, the neighbor’s wife arrived with a pitchfork, marched to the barn door, slid it open, removed the livestock to guide it to her home. Henry, impelled to stand aside watched the proceedings with dismay. Such incidents caused animosity between one’s fellow man; my father went out of his way to keep the peace with which we children didn’t always agree. I don’t recall that anyone ever took the law into his own hands to clobber someone using a gun to settle a dispute. I overheard one time that my grandfather considered it necessary to own a revolver and did have one in his possession; let’s hope for his stock’s protection from wild animals.

Among the domesticated animals besides the sheep and cows, a bull exerted its influence in the propagation of the cattle until our prized bull died very suddenly one night. A short rope attached to a ring in its nose, a safety feature, allowed a child to lead the Holstein critter to the barn. In addition to our horses, several stallions occupied a special place in the barnyard at one time; one of them being a complete failure in its function in the line of procreation. A lost leader, again my father had been betrayed in a business deal. Believe me, a strutting stallion made one’s hair stand on end; thank goodness, my brother Fred was able to manipulate that chore. A mule, a cross between a mare and a donkey handled the work load better than a horse especially during extreme hot temperatures the sun dealt the earth throughout the entire time of grain harvesting. Economically a plus for the farmer by curtailing expenses in the feeding program. One sometimes wondered if tolerating the stubbornness was worth the savings.

Our cats as privileged characters roamed within the farm area seeking their own food especially mice whose population needed to be controlled. Field mice, classed as rodents sought grain, flour and any other foodstuffs; they would chew holes into sacks of grain or flour to my mother’s dismay. That meant mending before the next harvest season. I disliked that dirty chore, the sacks were turned wrong side out with patches cut from an unmendable sack to fit the hole and sewed with a needle threaded with sack string; then the sack was turned right side out. As an extra liquid for the hordes of cats, we set small bowls of milk near the house, because a surplus always existed; Mama cats lost no time bringing their litters of kittens to partake of the delicacy. Even the dog and the chickens enjoyed the skim milk. A dog’s favorite food included a bone and the table scraps.

Saddle horses or ponies to ride, essential for rounding up the horses or cattle, proved their worth. I loved to ride horseback to our mailbox urging the pony on to run as fast as possible. Luckily I managed not to fall off a horse. In many cases, walking as the main mode of transportation couldn’t be beat.

In the line of fowl, we raised chickens, ducks and geese. The geese’s existence soon became extinguished, their screechings and attacks on small children couldn’t be tolerated. I’m still afraid of ganders and their hissings since the day my little brother Daniel barely escaped being eliminated from this earth. A small pond constructed to receive anoverflow of water from the stock watering tank kept the ducks contented. Rated high on the "must" list was the wind; its purpose? To keep that windmill turning in order to pump a sufficient amount of water at all times. In later years a gas engine served as a more dependable permanent solution. I doubt if my father realized how we children prayed for the wind to blow so we wouldn’t have to hand pump the water out of the cistern to supply the thirsty stock. Ducks’ feathers were plucked from the living, swimming webfooted bird to be used in pillows and feather quilts. The down was not removed until the creature became table fare and by then new feathers had replaced those plucked earlier--a second crop. The fertilized duck eggs were always placed under a setting (chicken) hen. A remarkable phenomenon always amazed us--the tiny bills pecked through the egg as the birth process progressed--almost immediately the baby ducks sought a swim or a bite of food. My mother prepared mash comprised of cracked wheat, whole chopped potatoes (peelings and all), dried and crushed bits of egg shells (recycled kitchen refuse) for a special diet until the baby ducks and chicks could forage for themselves including green foliage for a balanced diet. The concocted combination of ingredients didn’t always produce the best aroma for the human nostrils; its swift disappearance when presented proved its tastefulness.

If I haven’t repeated the fact that absolutely nothing was wasted on the farm, it behooves me to repeat it again and again. The American people including descendants of the Germans from Russia of today need to accept a few of the lessons learned by the first settlers of this wonderful country. Now with all of this controversy in regards to garbage dumps and the constant howl about recycling, we might have to return to the examples set by our forefathers. History does repeat itself!

But back to the fluffy yellow balls after their release from egg shells; the peep, peep still echoes in my ears, the thrill of having been born, the cluck, cluck of those mother hens as if to say, "See what I’ve been waiting for!" Today fowl is mass produced, no individual attention from humans; their entire purpose is to provide tasteful nourishment after reaching their full growth for the populace. I can’t describe the fulfillment or joy my siblings received, if they did, but my animated emotions are evident as I reminisce about the births and the maturing of any living entity created on the farm, even plants of every variety. A seed has an exciting life cycle. For it indeed held the interest of a small child as well as a grownup's. Jacob’s and my birthday coincided with Thanksgiving Day because November 29th periodically fell on the last Thursday of the month, a day to celebrate both events with aunts and uncles. Cousins we lacked until many years later. A dinner, a roasted duck or two stuffed with my mother’s special delicious dressing served with gravy, homemade cooked noodles in soup, rye bread, apple kuchen baked the day before (when we became more Americanized, apple pies surfaced), satisfied the hungry group. It was always a distinctive honor for the two of us because time had been the essence when other family members had birthdays. My father often referred to us as his twins. Some years our heights measured the same, perhaps another year Jacob rated as the taller and vice versa. Then one day, the inevitable did happen--I had reached my potential--Jacob had sailed by forever. A sad day for his female counterpart!

We had a pigpen, a wooden enclosure constructed of slightly spaced-apart weighty boards nailed to posts secured in the ground, in our farmyard to house our pigs who deserved confinement because of their rooting abilities. The floor of the structure was composed of Mother Earth, plain dirt. The pigs’ trough, a long, narrow, open wooden container held water or food for the animals; it served a dual purpose for them during summer hot spells as a cooling off place. The vessel set along and against one wall of the more or less square roofless fenced-in area. In one corner, a shady section built with dilapidated boards as a cover for protection from the hot elements. The stupid brute beasts slurped the waste carried to them from the kitchen, not much food value in that--we called it slop. Grain was fed to them plus all the water necessary for their growth. They enjoyed rubbing their bodies on their housing causing boards to crack, eventually break for a legitimate escape. Chickens roamed freely seeking food wherever it might be found; at night, a return to the chicken house to assume a perch. Convenient nests, available during the day for the laying hens in their abode were emptied every day. Sometimes in the springtime a hen decided privacy to be a better route by making a nest in a hideaway of her own choosing. After hatching her eggs, she would appear with her brood out of nowhere in hopes of providing food and better lodging for her new family. Chickens wandered into the pigpen to peck at the waste, not only that but to eat the wheat kernels in the pigs’ trough at great risk of life. A taste of chicken by the old sow whetted her appetite to the point of seeking more of the delicacy. She broke out of the pen and headed right for the chicken coop, the cackle of the fowl alerted my father arousing his emotions to anger this particular evening. Father called, "Marie, bring me the butcher knife." I was horrified especially when he chopped into the sow’s snoot. Was there any logic behind that action? Evidently. The healing of the snout produced scabs; when confronted by a chicken, the sow would want to retreat. LO AND BEHOLD! A complete failure! The next project involved the building of an enclosure in a coulee, a reasonable distance to avoid the barnyard fowl.

That meant additional expendable energy in caring for our stock. The filled slop buckets and the grain demanded transportation to the tune of about 600 feet. Is it any wonder that I developed my muscles? One evening just after dusk, we heard the piglets squeal, I mean extraordinarily continuing loud squeals. Immediately we directed our thoughts to the possibility that a wild animal had entered the enclosed space. My mother, a brother and I had been more or less winding up the evening’s errands so we were carrying a lighted lantern. We couldn’t ignore the appeal, rushed to the crest of the hill, all squeals had subsided, my mother stopped all movements, and quietly said, "We must not go any farther." We heard a car leave the scene moving down the road. The next morning, we discovered two piglets had completely vanished, no tell-tale signs of an attack. To our chagrin, not too many days hence, the news repeated by word of mouth that a neighbor had purchased two little pigs from another neighbor. The mystery had been solved with very little inquiry but proof appeared inadequate. A year or so ago, I heard that same fellow had stolen a buggy whip used on the horses. The unfortunate victim spotted it later, grabbed it, then used it on the thief. I say, "Such were the ‘good’ old days!"

Our milk cows from whom we departed at the farm auction in 1935, left a deep impression on my memory --no thoroughbreds--just pets. Rosie, Ruby and Beauty supplied our household majestically with cream and milk, furnishing our butter made by a hand churn while mother made quantities of cottage cheese, my favorite milk product. Beauty voluntarily came to the gate near the house to be milked, she responded to her name and the rattling of the milk pail. Bless her heart, such fine memories.

A milkmaid I was from the time I could possibly manage to squeeze the cow’s teats successfully. The benefit one derives from that errand is full development of one’s hands and fingers. Many years later I met a lady who shook my hand and remarked, "Arbeit’s Hände." What a preparation for future salmon fishing and yard work after my experience with baseball in grade school, badminton and archery in college. Long after we were no longer involved with sheep, sheepherders drove their band down a road past our farmhouse. Jacob and I received two newly-born lambs, a challenge and trust we accepted to provide their proper care. After maturity, Jacob’s ram fell victim to the butcher knife but I refused the same fate for my ewe. For years it tagged along behind the cows no matter where they chose to go until it died of old age; maybe it considered itself a calf. The ribbing, "Mary had a little lamb" fell on deaf ears.

I remember a rose bush, very prickly, produced countless short-stemmed yellow roses considering the minimum care; hardly any moisture did the species require. Accepting within the category of weeds other than the Russian thistle, the Jim Hill mustard plants, some, like wild lettuce (milkweed), wild onion, garlic or carrot, a yellow flower resembling a daisy (cow flower) and cheat grasses continued to trouble the ranchers. Chemical weed killers became more popular after World War II. Be it fall or spring plantings of wheat, the principal grain crop faced negligible competition even though scant growths of rye, barley or oats often replaced it. Rye’s production rate outdid wheat on arid soil. Alfalfa grew elsewhere in irrigated fields. The only remaining trees alongside our house when we left Adams County functioned as wind breakers while at the same time furnishing shade by warding off the sun for more comfortable living, hats off to the famous poplar with its catkins. When traveling through eastern and central Washington, I find many serving the same purpose.

Indoors, insects, mainly a nuisance accepted controls, powdered sulphur sprinkled around the buttons in the mattresses exterminated reddish-colored bed bugs; moths, tiny winged invertebrates devoured wool, specifically chewed holes in wool garments; cigars, an enemy of theirs worked well until moth balls appeared on the market. The housefly, being the worst pest of all to eradicate presented a continual battle. At first saucers of water into which a black paper had been placed, the paper contained a poisonous ingredient to quell the flies’ thirst but ending their existence. Sticky fly-paper sheets (goo on just one side of the paper) purchased at the grocery store replaced the aforementioned method that drew the flies’ attention trapping them by destroying their mobility automatically. Another approach along the same principle, the unfolding of a roll with the same stickiness applied to it and attached to the ceiling out of a child’s reach brought about good results. The best solution of all depended on the diligent use of the fly swatter by family members in reducing the fly population plus window screens and screen doors. Animals’ problems with flies or gnats invoked the use of their tails in addition to head movements to unsettle the pesky critters. During the peak of the fly season, the milkmaid tied the end of a cow’s tail to one of its legs avoiding slaps in her face.

Outdoors, the familiar orange and black lady bugs entertained us when alighting on a finger or hand, an indication of good luck. The song "Lady bird, lady bird; Fly away home. Your house is on fire, Your children will burn," ordinarily motivated a movement, if not, blowing one’s breath on it shooed the bug away. Black stinkbugs crawled on top of the ground and released a foul odor if disturbed in any way, no doubt a defense mechanism to assure its safety. Russian thistles furnished shelter but a reason for its creation remains a mystery. A white butterfly laid its eggs on growing cabbage plants, wood ashes assisted in the counteraction of the larvae or worm. Beetles, potato bugs, tarantulas, spiders and ants could be located at various intervals in their respective habitats. Bees entrusted their activities to alfalfa fields as noted by their absence. Sage ticks, the most disliked insects according to my knowledge, caused consternation for the family group. Sagebrush grew along the edges of arable land so my mother examined our bodies quite thoroughly before bedtime on account of insects. Most of the time she found them clinging to our apparel but one of those brown blood sucking ticks had imbedded itself in the scalp on the top of my head before being discovered. It gives me the shivers just to mention it. They appeared to be more prevalent in the springtime.

Another moth found outdoors, a fledermaus we called it, a flighty gray female that loses a powdery substance when swatted and turns into a worm after its death, a disliked entity appears at night around light bulbs hoping to sneak into the house via an open screen door. For some reason or other they were quite numerous in eastern Washington, yet we find them here in Portland in the early fall months.

I have already written about mice living in and around our barns and sheds. Sporadically we discovered their entry into the house or cellar, a food storage space. Mouse traps set with springs, a sliver of bacon used as bait often trapped the unsightly rodents. I used to tell the story of two mice who had fallen into an open crock of cream in search of food. My former high school students longed for extra encouragement in their studies. One of the mice in the crock panicked, gave up the battle before attempting to help itself; the other continued its struggle until it discovered itself sitting on a pat of butter, crawled out and ran away. "If you try and don’t succeed, try and try again," an old adage learned years ago. Many mice found refuge in the fields by burrowing into the ground. A very narrow strip yet to be plowed remained in the middle of a field which must have been a mile long. We carried a blacksnake; that is, Jacob and I used the horsewhip and as the mice appeared by dashing out of their holes, we struck and killed about a hundred on our way to round up the cows for the milking session. I believe badgers and the crafty coyotes feasted on mice. The latter two wild animals faced extinction as civilization managed a take-over of the native environment. Jacob and Daniel rescued a pup coyote from its lair, brought it home and tethered it on the north side of our abode; the inquiry might best be left unanswered as to its disposition. Whenever I catch sight of a police dog, I’m reminded of a coyote whose howl I could not mistake. The badger, a burrowing animal with a broad back and short legs did consider eggs to be an elegant meal.

Jack rabbits or hares harassed the farmers by nibbling on the growing vegetation consisting mostly of future wheat crops. I remember talk of rabbits overrunning the countryside, multiplying by the thousands, their bodies infested with vermin presenting a dangerous situation for the domestic livestock and a possible solution. A peril of major proportions affecting humans envisioned by the authorities guided the menfolks to consider the organization of a rabbit drive or drives, an encouragement as an humanitarian act by taking to the fields, rounding up the culprits & using shotguns to eliminate a health menace. Malnutrition or an organism carried & spread by other wild creatures might have created the catastrophe. One also heard of a mad coyote (having rabies) or a mad dog to send fears through the populace. An eatable rabbit, the cottontail rarely seen by us, a cute little bunny with a fluffy tail hung around alfalfa fields. Another rodent, a gopher or ground squirrel who made a shrill sound, presented a pretty picture as it sat on its hind legs, but wow, could it disappear quickly within a second after it had spotted us. It had completely vanished into its burrow. My mother called it a "pivver", a whistler.

Rattlesnakes, seldom encountered except in Rocky Coulee (Moody station) or Puff, Washington, didn’t concern us children even though Daniel and Jacob underwent a few skirmishes. We hardly ever invaded their natural habitat among the hillside rocks, under cliffs or in sagebrush territory. Little knowledge did I have of nor was I familiar with the following: bobcats, skunks, moles, bullsnakes, porcupines, weasels, Hungarian partridges often called sage hens or quail, mud hens, water snakes or toads.

As for birds who inhabited the district from 1900 to 1929, my discovery of the bob-o-link, a migratory songbird of North America proved to be accidental; a favorite whose melodious songs greeted me in the mornings on my way to school. The meadow lark with its yellow breast, also a songbird in the Moody locality would burst forth with a song for us to enjoy on our trips to the grandparents’ house. Scarcity of bats in the barn, a welcome sign as far as we knew pleased us. Sparrows appeared everywhere as well as bluebirds; redwing blackbirds frequented some neighborhoods. The horned owl, also a light gray owl along with unnamed species of owls lived in abandoned badger burrows. We often spied magpies, members of the crow family chattering away. The golden and bald eagles nested in tall trees near Odessa, Washington. Every kind of hawk mostly classified as night hawks, sparrow hawks and the most common of all we termed "chicken" hawks would circle above the barnyard looking for prey with a good feast in mind. In case we spotted a hawk before the chickens noticed an enemy appearing skywards, we’d yell, "Choo, Choo" alerting the fowl who skirted fences or buildings seeking shelter. Pheasants, unknown to us, nested in alfalfa areas near irrigation ditches; my first introduction to the bird as delectable substance occurred after I entered high school.

Fishing on dry land proved unprofitable up to the time of an exposure for a projected grade school picnic at Pacific Lake located north of Odessa. Crappies, carp, sunfish, perch, bass and catfish considered pan fish including turtles thrived in the lake. My father decided, since he couldn’t afford a fishing license or whatever the reason that I should fish rather than participate in games with my schoolmates. As to the bamboo pole fishing equipment, it probably grew at the edge of the lake. To it my father attached a cotton string as a line recycled from a package of groceries purchased from a store, a hook fastened to the opposite end required bait. After that procedure I was ready to catch a fish. I don’t remember if we had any natural lure like angleworms, bacon strips or chamois skin. Probably not, what can one catch with a bare hook? A huge turtle, my only catch of the day killed all other chances and my interest in fishing leaving me to nurse a sunburn. After that my father developed an interest in pan fishing bringing home his limit for my mother to clean and cook. A sudden tiredness had overtaken his best intentions catapulting him into bed. Not until many years later did I awaken to the fact how fishing tires a person.

Other games we played at school during recess and lunch hour and at home in Rural America not aforementioned were: Stilts, my brothers made them by manipulating two long pieces of lumbar as poles fitted with foot rests along their length to be used for walking, Ring around a Rosy--A Pocket full of Posy, Post Office a kissing game, Tit-Tat-Toe, Cat and Mouse, Red Rover-Red Rover-Andi Come Over, Leap Frog; I neglected to explain in regards to Pump-Pump-Pullaway that the person who was it said, "If you don’t come, I’ll pull you away." London Bridge is falling down, falling down, My fair Lady we would sing after two lines of players had lined up, side by side, holding hands high in the air over the top of the players as they passed down the aisle, Lady was the clue for the encirclement of a player who then considered eliminated stepped aside, the last remaining person won the game. Our parents stayed skeptical of pocket knives until the boys became more responsible; whittling small toys from pieces of wood fascinated my brothers’ curiosity. A sling shot, fashioned from a "Y" tree twig and rubber bands cut out of discarded inner tubes with which to shoot pebbles didn’t set too well with my sisters and me on account of its conflicting uses. We also played tricks on each other by posing the following question: "Did you get the letter I sent?" A "No" answer urged the questioner to reply, "Oh, I forgot to stamp it" and at the same time stamped with his foot on the innocent person’s foot. We often played "Dead Chicken across the Road" counting from one (want) it to eight (ate) it.

I preferred school activities along the lines of arts and crafts as a diversion from the daily lessons; the school district furnished a splendid variety of materials with a word of caution as to their uses. The quart jar of paste excited us to a point of tasting the white adhesive while the construction paper stirred our imaginations. After all these years I still enjoy creating paper objects to entertain the little cherubs; myself, also. Besides I can afford to buy it now. The exact mixture of flour and water satisfied our yearnings at home in devising scrapbooks, etc. Paper, a treasured item, had many functions in the households of the pioneers. Outdated catalogs, Sears and Montgomery Ward, contained slick colored pages for fashioning a bead. We decided a size first, choosing the length and thickness before cutting the triangle, began at the wide edge rolling the paper onto a sturdy needle, firmly set the point with paste; the application of a light coating of shellac preserved paper to enhance the finished product for stringing later. To design a more attractive bit of jewelry, insert a glass bead between each homemade one whether for a bracelet or a neckpiece. A pair of scissors could do wonders with pieces of paper folded a certain way; snowflakes were a specialty as each one, a unique creation hung in places like windows for winter decorations. Children's innovative ideas transcribed into Yuletide decorations beautified the tree for the program every year. I discovered various illustrations and craft suggestions in the Book of Knowledge which we found very helpful. The lanterns we wove with construction paper were made by folding one sheet in half, then we cut through the folded edge every half inch but left an inch margin at the open ends. After unfolding that sheet, we proceeded to cut strips of paper one-half inch width of different colors for the weaving in and out crosswise until the sheet was completely filled. The two edges opposite the first fold had to be pasted together while the ends of the strips needed to be secured the same way, then it was only a matter of fastening a short string to one of the open ends and hung up to resemble a lantern. At Halloween, cut-outs of pumpkins from orange paper, black for cats and witches adorned the school windows as well as being lined up at the top of the blackboards. For the Thanksgiving season, pictures of turkeys, pilgrims and Indians replaced the previous holiday trimmings while Christmas wreaths and Santas appeared in appropriate colors to wind up the old year. Again for Saint Valentine's Day, the artists devised original designs for an exchange of superfine intricately wrought card deposited into a decorated box with a slit in it. Valentines were particularly meaningful for 7th and 8th graders since by then boys and girls began to show an interest in each other. Verses such as the following were written inside the folded greeting cards: Roses are Red--Violets are Blue, Sugar is sweet--And so are You! or The coast is clear--The sledding fine, Come and be My Valentine. George Washinton’s hatchet with a cherry tree, "I cannot tell a lie" to commemorate the Father of Our Country and honest Abe Lincoln could not be overlooked when their birthdates rolled around. I found this caption under a picture of Lincoln: "His Words Never Die" and I quote, "I do the very best I know how--the very best I can; and mean to keep doing so until the end. If the end brings me out all right, what is said against me won’t amount to anything. If the end brings me out wrong, ten angels swearing I was right would make no difference." Not only decorations but programs featured the holidays during the school year. How all of us yearned for training in addition to the experience awarded us by appearing before an audience cannot be stressed too much! One of our teachers remarked to my oldest brother that a program without his siblings’ participation was an impossibility. Plays and songs took top priority when it came to entertainment pertaining to memory work. I simply loved to memorize whatever came my way. Just recently I ran across the following: "Learning by heart is a kind of organizing one’s thoughts," if you’ve got words, you start associating. It’s a marvelous alternative to being depressed. I often wonder how I ever managed to memorize all the theorems in my solid geometry textbook and why I ever signed up for that class.

I had long learned before reaching the seventh and eighth grades that any misbehavior necessitating a reprimand in the form of a spanking from the teacher, another of the same kind awaited me upon returning home.

Social functions never really flourished among the young people in the countryside outside of church and school. I can recall a few box socials at the school house for the young men and women of the community as an evening get-together. To honor St. Valentine’s Day could be appropriate for the boys to show interest in girls and vice versa. The gals were called upon to prepare a few goodies, mostly home-baked in hopes of snaring a future husband. Attractively adorned individual boxes enticed bidding by budding swains on the contents as well as the possibility of getting more familiar with a certain lady. Once in a blue moon hints as to whose box was being auctioned went awry causing a few disasters. It stimulated a tremendous amount of fun among all the participants while at the same time raised funds to augment the system’s kitty for extra essentials.

Music and more music, the vocalizing of songs absorbed via repetition of religious or patriotic or emotional subjects filled the air as entertainment on the farms. Our parents visited with their friends in different homes, the emphasis on a song fest and prayer, granting themselves countless pleasurable hours. Musical instruments and pianos as rare items among the earliest pioneers became more accessible in the early twenties in family homes encouraging children to seek lessons. We all longed for the opportunity to develop our musical talents which some of my siblings satisfied many years later; in some cases via their children. The wide open spaces on the farm gave the children the opportunity to exercise their vocal chords.

Being confined to the farm had its advantages; we stayed out of trouble. The machine shed housed the combine, drills for seeding and tool shop; fascinated by the various tools, their multitudinous uses awakened our hidden curiosity to the point of experimentation. I remember a homemade contraption resembling a forge, although an open apparatus resembling a nest holding hot coals to heat a branding iron for marking the horses. After heating rods or irons, one was able to pound and straighten them out on the anvil with a hammer. A vise, securely fastened to the workbench sporting jaws to hold an object, was maneuvered by a lever. We often clamped a small stick or piece of lumber between the jaws to saw into two pieces. I don’t believe any serious injuries befell us in the machine shed. Accidents did emerge in spite of warnings; a case in point when my father flew around a combine shaft luckily sustaining only bruises which left its mark on me because I was led to his bedside for a final farewell before his journey to a Spokane hospital. Our bicycle, a grindstone with pedals used to sharpen scythes, sickles and knives could be found on almost any farm. One day when a group of children sought recreation in the shed, a newcomer attempted a ride on our "bicycle" but landed on the ground; to our amusement she uttered the words, "Don’t look through my panties." We played in the granary partially burying ourselves under the wheat kernel and or walked in them cooling our bare feet in the wheat storage bin. "Memory like the ivy clings to olden times and ways and things."

Emaus church on the Lincoln-Adams County line had its problems--a minister supplied the pulpit every other Sunday so a layman read the text in his absence. Men members took turns. Not every substitute possessed the exceptional skills required for the task; jealousy and dissension commenced to kindle animosity among the Brethren. When the smoldering fire burst into flames, my father took his family to the Ebenezer Congregational Church at Ruff, Washington, for about a year until the furor subsided. It’s interesting to note that in the early days most of the ministers with a few exceptions had come directly from Germany to tend their flocks of Russian-Germans. No doubt education played a deciding role as in the case of Pastor E. Bernstein of the Ruff congregation which we had joined until a possible return to Emaus, an harmonious status again.

My grandfather, Henry Trupp Sr., moved to Ruff after my grandmother’s death in ‘26 where he lived up to the time of his demise in 1935. My parents had moved to Beaverton, Oregon, but returned to Ruff to attend his funeral and burial at the country cemetery alongside his second wife. I was almost thirteen years old and up to now still have vivid recollections of my father conducting his stepmother’s funeral service at her home. My father’s half-sister became Mrs. William Dirks in 1923. Aunt Katie and Uncle Bill lived at Ruff for seven years. Uncle Bill, a native of Russia, an affiliate with the Mennonite group, moved his family to Neppel, now known as Moses Lake after his termination of employment at Laing's mercantile store. Laing's store, a trading post, exchanged goods for our live chickens, my mother’s home-made butter and our farm’s surplus eggs. I don’t recall exactly when we switched our allegiance of grocery purchases to Michaelson and Koth’s outlet at Odessa. I do know we shipped 5-gallon cans of heavy cream to Spokane or Snohomish via train from the Marlin station. The name of the creamery has slipped my mind but this little gem remained ensconced forever: "When a hot pan I must lift, Save my fingers with this gift; And when you have cream to ship, Ship it to _________ every trip."

While we cultivated--plowed, sowed, harvested and reaped--at the Schell place up on the hill north of Ruff some of us resided there temporarily schlepping hither and yon, home on Saturday evening to refill the larder, back on the road Sunday evening after Christian Endeaver for another week of work. Esther was chief cook and bottle washer while I hoed weeds. When the Ostwald family who farmed west of Ruff received an eviction notice, my father gave them temporary shelter at the compound we were occupying; that meant some sharing of quarters. A summer-time adventure for all of us as I elected to ride via wagon and horses to pick up the last load for transporting it to the Schell site. The children performed a final chore ordered by the parents who were angry with their landlord; the breaking of the windows on a barn, chicken coop and shed horrified me to the point of detestation. Did I deserve to be a witness to such a dastardly act? I knew my father would have been shocked if he had become aware of the incident. I also had ridden on the wagon not realizing that I sat on a sizable slab of bacon concealed in a flour sack until I discovered upon alighting from the horse-drawn vehicle that I smelled like pork including a grease-stained garment. The family moved to Tacoma to seek their fortune in the lumber industry. Mismanagement had been their downfall in the raising of wheat because the head of the household was more interested in religious endeavors of his own desires and the condemnation of young people’s recreation such as playing baseball.

Our land holdings extended as far west as Wheeler, Washington; that is, as far as working it. I must relate several short episodes in connection with the area. One Sunday evening as we were traveling to that acreage with a wagon filled with supplies and kids drawn by horses and my father as driver, something spooked the horses who sprinted forward into a rapid run, no way of stopping them either, we kids hung on for dear life in fear of the consequences when all of a sudden they slowed down. The next day I wore one of my brother’s bib overalls to work in the field, I believe to hoe Russian thistles, my long braids of hair hung down my back shaded by a straw hat. Within sight of our shack and across the road lived another family. One of their boys spotted me in my garb, rushed into his house and excitedly announced to his mother that Trupps had a lad with long hair. Never in all my wildest dreams did I ever expect to experience the current trend in men’s hair styles. Ruff, a 1910 townsite, its land donated by the railroad company, was named after Gottfried Ruff who had taken a homestead across from the railroad. Shortly thereafter, Ebenezer church, Laing’s merchandise store, pool halls, a warehouse and wheat terminal, hardware store, more churches, hotels, a post office and schoolhouse among other buildings were built as more people became residents. Joshua Elmer had a portrait studio and with his expertise photographed the early families, their farms, equipment and occupations. We lived about 8 miles northeast of Ruff, the most convenient shopping center since Moody never grew into a town other than having a wheat terminal for shipping and lumberyard; the distance to Odessa from the place of my birth totaled 16 miles. At the present time one can only vision wheat terminals with piles of wheat, a far cry from the bustling communities of yesteryear, Ruff as well as Moody, the shift to Moses Lake where Uncle Bill had the only service station in town in the early thirties. To think this all transpired throughout the entire time of my life span beginning with my birth in 1910 to the present year, 1987.

Dust storms, Ah, Yes! We often had what we called "whirlwinds" in the inactive plowed but left unplanted ground for the summer months. It seemed their emergence from the horizon loomed up in a spiral form perpendicular from sky to earth while the wind gathered and blew the dust around and around as it traveled across the fields. We avoided being caught in any whirlwind on account of the force it projected on its journey; it soon lost its energy to vanish as quickly as it materialized--never showing any evidence of being dangerous. When the ordinary dust storm commenced to heap its fury onto the populace, no particular preparation was made to counteract its velocity, an obvious impossibility, but all windows remained closed (the dust piled up to two inches in height between the screen and window) while the people and the animals endured its vengeance in hopes for a disturbance of short duration. By way of a gloomy visibility, one observed the mature dry Russian thistles also known as tumbleweeds rolling over the countryside, piling up along the barbed-wire fences; soil from the fields filled the air, blown back and forth, eventually settling and practically burying the fence posts. Farmers hauled manure from their barns into the fields to spread it on bare spots here and there in hopes of halting soil erosion caused by frequent dust storms. Eventually many farms were abandoned because all the top soil had blown away. Years later, after the end of a dry cycle in addition to changes in farming methods revolutionized the countryside, one finds the land in production again via wells and irrigation. The latter brought about diversification of crops enhancing the tillers’ income. Before all the aforementioned turnabout materialized, my parents with all of their children, except Fred, had moved to Portland seeking greener pastures. As a result of the move, my father had licked his hay fever attacks; he with his family fared well in the new environment. I found this clipping in my scrapbook: There is no truth to the rumor that "Gone With the Wind" was written by a desolate farmer after a dust storm. The last humdinger of a dust storm I recall sprung up in the early 30’s while I attended college in Pullman; daytime darkness created by dust rolling in from the northwest direction (Big Bend Country) over the Palouse hills obscured the sun alerting folks that a storm was brewing on the horizon. In reading the descriptions written by newspaper reporters in 1980 when Mt. St. Helens erupted, a similar scene repeated only with more devastating results. My sister related that the dust seemed so thick inside the house necessitating a lighting of a kerosene lamp. That’s almost unbelievable! I experienced a minor duststorm in the 1970’s while attending the Deutsches Fest weekend, Odessa’s most noted activity invariably scheduled for the third weekend in September. The longtime residents and natives rushed to their dwellings, closeted themselves inside, none stirred or traveled anywhere, but Esther insisted that I tag along to roam around the deserted town taking in the sights. That evening when I removed my white anklets, I discovered a sudden change of color. The area is still plagued with an occasional dust storm but not too severe, although traffic is halted in order to prevent road accidents until the wind ceases to the extent that enough dust settles for the traveler to continue his journey.

Our visits to the town of Odessa before I reached my teens were limited to July 4th; my siblings and I awakened to the fact that we’d like more personal involvement in obtaining first-hand knowledge and adventure the town provided preferable to the hearsay dispensed by our schoolmates. I can’t say when my father purchased his first car, a Buick; while the dirt roads with their ruts hampered our travels somewhat, we did manage more family trips. Just when Jacob and Daniel begged for permission to take turns behind the wheel of the auto is another mystery; my brain shelf refuses to release those memories. My sisters and I never had an opportunity to operate an automobile; for me, the moment did arrive in 1956 at the age of 45. My mother’s two brothers (one was married) resided in Odessa after leaving a farm at the beginning of the twenties. We enjoyed happy times with Uncle Jacob, his wife, Aunt Pearl and Uncle Adam, but we’d walk to the heart of downtown at least once during our visit. Cement sidewalks caused a burning sensation on the soles of our feet even though we wore shoes. That was about the time we were introduced to the luxury of ice cream cones. What a treat! A nickel for "spending money" was considered a significant amount. An often-repeated story which I heard during my high school days always produced a great deal of laughter concerning two gals and their first ice cream cones; not knowing the proper procedure in consuming the confectionery, the dispenser received a request to the tune of, "Spoons, please." Other remembrances of my childhood, assimilated into my memory bank like the food into my system, need to be shared. After World War I when surplus uniforms appeared at Michaelson and Koth’s, a retail store, I can still see myself being fitted with a coat manufactured for the ex-soldiers. Wool material in olive drab for the army seemed OK but unappreciated by an eleven-year-old girl especially to wear to school. Unhappiness, embarrassment and reluctance best describe my emotions in that confrontation, a lingering unpleasant commemoration. To protest or show one’s disgust was unheard of; appropriate clothing, even for young children did matter. In connection with World War I, the story was told that Rev. A. Reiman, pastor at St. Matthews church in Odessa from 1916 to 1920 who had sympathized with the Germans, was ordered to parade on Odessa streets carrying the U.S. flag. Another disturbing factor of significance--the town of Krupp’s name change to that of Marlin. Expressions aimed at German-speaking people strained friendships.

As I continue my record of events based on my personal experiences at home and at school, one might wonder about the frost encountered on our rides to the white place of instruction. One morning as we were going down a slight incline with the standard horse and buggy, Dolly, the mare, skidded on the icy surface landing on her belly to our dismay. She arose immediately without any fanfare, continued the journey in a safe conventional manner delivering us to our destination in due time. In our excitement we informed the teacher of Jack Frost’s visit. Before beginning the day’s lessons, the schoolmarm inquired as to our caller; naturally we glanced about the room in anticipation of encountering a guest. Imagine the embarrassment and disappointment we suffered by having such short memories! Our one-room country educators possessed unforgettable talents. Their backgrounds varied but the training each had been subjected to, at an institution of higher learning in the basics, provided classroom leadership. I still marvel at the beautiful costumes, quite simply designed and sewed for programs presented by the students. Be it of cloth or crepe paper, nothing equaled their attractiveness. How could I forget the Indian attire I wore one Thanksgiving to portray the first inhabitants of our great country--brown muslin material for the two-part garment, the pants with fringe on the outer edges the length of the legs, long-sleeved blouse decorated with more fringe, a headdress with a band around the entire head across the forehead, feathers protruded upward in the band, my thick braids of hair hanging down my back--I carried a make-believe hatchet and about three of us (pupils) performed an Indian dance sporadically uttering a war whoop and patting our mouths with the left hand. Another time I represented grass in a play by wearing a green crepe paper dress, another girl posed as a lily in white crepe paper, one as a rose, etc., Jacob depicted a ballerina in a recitation, "Rings on fingers, Bells on toes, I shall make music wherever I go, Don’t you think I’m sweet?" That might not be exactly right, but it was the gist of things. Roses on my shoulders. Slippers on my feet.

Our school lunches bordered on the unique; homemade bread soaked with runny jelly didn’t suit my appetite. Only the skins of fruits were cooked for juice which mother then combined with a small amount of sugar for boiling. Such thrift! Hunks of cooked sausage and an apple or onion kuchen completed the menu; a hungry child couldn’t be choosy. Onions were a staple food in our household, probably healthy, too. Fresh fried potatoes in combination with onions served daily, finely chopped green onion tops, into the pancake dough they landed, but plain pancakes with Karo syrup certainly tasted good. Boiled-down watermelon juice (an exceptional flavorful concoction pleased the palate), a spread of butter couldn’t be beat. For a child a hand-propelled churn constituted a tiresome task. Henry liked the thick cream seconds before it turned into butter to spread on freshly-baked bread. Someone else drank the buttermilk. I didn’t care for the so-called milk soup made by cooking the noodles first, adding milk and served hot; dried fruit soup (a mixture of dried fruits cooked in water, thickened with flour and Karo syrup and adding thick sweet cream just before serving), too rich for me. That with raised doughnuts was the usual Saturday night fare. We weren't allowed to converse at the table, laughing was taboo. My father held "the Andacht" after breakfast; that is, he read verses from the Bible and offered a prayer. Each one of us recited an individual prayer before a meal.

To continue with my grade school days, I remember that two students would raise the flag every morning by fastening it to a rope which was then pulled to the top of the flag pole. Before leaving for home after the school day had ended, the flag was lowered, removed from the rope and folded for the next day’s ritual. (One did not dare allow it to touch the ground.) We began the school day with a flag salute followed by the singing of "America". How patriotic we all were! The FLAG! White is for purity, red for valor, blue for justice and all together make the flag of our country to be cherished by all our hearts to be upheld by all our hands.

My brother Henry subscribed to the Washington Farmer; where it was printed I can’t say, but I do recall reading it religiously. Where he obtained the money is also a mystery, but I do know if one of his siblings had a nickel, he managed to talk us out of it. We were also saddled with household chores; for instance, washing dishes was quite a task with no running water; it had to be pumped out of a cistern and lugged into the house to be heated in the reservoir, a water storage tank attached to the opposite end of the woodburning cooking stove’s firebox. When the water cooled in the dishpan, it was set on the burner section, a flat surface, for reheating. No whistling tea-kettles in those days, just ordinary teakettles which supplied additional hot water. Home-made soap, its ingredients consisted of used lard, chicken fat, etc., in a combihation of lye and water made by my mother substituted for the detergent used today. It was an inexpensive cleanser with a recycling overture, an exacting task I have performed the last 46 years. I add ammonia and boraxo for a whiter wash eliminating a commercial bleach. Other assignments--removing smoke from lamp chimneys attributed to the burning wicks accumulated in the form of a film which shut out the much required light. Trimming wicks and filling the lamp receptacle itself with coal oil kept one of us busy in anticipation of the long winter evenings; lessons had to be studied for the next school day. Then there was the eternal mess of removing ashes from the metal ash boxes that were so much a part of the so-necessary wood and coal equipment used in every household.

On Sunday mornings, my father required a valet but the boys were excused, a more appropriate substitute involved a maid in the form of a daughter. Dad’s complete Sunday attire bedecked his made-up bed for a quick change of clothing. His shoes, polished to perfection set in a rightful position on the floor close by. We girls argued about that duty because we misunderstood his responsibility for his own clothes. We had only two dressers or bureaus for storage capacity to provide for nine people and those had two or more drawers causing garments to be piled a mile high, a difficulty my father couldn't cope with since he was always in a hurry to unearth his clean laundry. The walk-in closets of which there were two in the four bedroom home lacked sufficient space also; besides each one of us possessed a minimum wardrobe so we managed somehow. Most of it was homemade especially the underwear, a product of bleached flour sacks (more recycling). At least it was cotton, washed easily and wore well.

When I became interested in recipes--I must have been eleven going on twelve years--I had the desire to learn how to bake cakes and cookies or pies. My dear mother used lard in her pie crusts, but because of her inability to read, neglected the creation of cakes. Oh, she had a cookie recipe stored in her brain in which a dab of lard and expensive sugar used sparingly fashioned a pastry item a wee bit better than bread. It was a treat and we gobbled them up. We didn’t realize then that sugar and fats were detrimental to one’s health, so fortunately we didn’t pay the price of losing our natural teeth at an early age or pile up cholesterol in our arteries although we consumed fats in our meats--pork, beef, sausage, etc. As my interest in baking goodies became more apparent, I discovered a common ingredient--shortening--in all the recipes. I was in a quandary and pondered for awhile, questioned a two-year older sister who ridiculed my inquiry. So my investigative instinct considered an addition to the grocery list. My father purchased the groceries at Michaelsen and Koth’s Mercantile Store; the telephone rang with my father on the line. "Marie, what is this shortening?" I responded, "SHORTENING". Poor Dad gave up since the grocer was as ignorant as we were, and he returned home minus my request. How I learned or became aware of shortening in our cellar in the form or lard or butter has not been retained in my memory cells. But I did begin my baking of cakes, etc. One time I forgot to add the soda, the disastrous results caused me to eat my own cake, a flat one-inch high product.

Confronted later with another problem, quite a puzzlement, an Aunt mentioned spuds. Now, what were spuds? I questioned my older sister who had a good laugh. To think it was the lowly potato of which we had oodles. Live and learn! I often thought how was I to learn without asking questions.

Hand sewing was used rather than a sewing machine--even the smallest scrap of fabric was valued because the supply was scarce for a pioneering family. Possibly students will realize the spirit of the people in the past who "made do" so creatively with the little that they had. My illiterate mother did teach me to sew, and after we acquired a sewing machine, I couldn’t wait until I was able to reach the treadle which aroused my curiosity. My mother sewed beautifully (no doubt taught herself) using the simple machine stitch, and the cotton thread didn’t break like the junk which is manufactured today. I taught myself to sew a perfect seam before enrolling in a primary sewing class in my first year of high school; the review was a mere matter of brushing up my natural skills.

As a seventh and eighth grader, I became quite interested in my teacher, advisor and confidante with whom I shared my thoughts. "A teacher affects eternity," Henry Brooks Adams once wrote, "he can never tell where his influence stops." Some teachers have that special spark which awakens love of learning (or love of life) in their students. Education is experience--it is life itself. So that spark became fire while I planned a high school education.

In 1988, Jennie Jantz who married Art Krehbiel and raised a family resides in the town of Ritzville, Washington. A great teacher with a remarkable influence in my life--the impressionable years, to say the least. I had set my sights on a continuous school program with Miss Jantz’s encouragement. My brother Jacob and I shared a birthday gift in the form of a Kodak Brownie presented to us by Miss Jantz on "our day" (we are exactly a year apart) on my 13th and Jacob’s 12th btrthday. What a treasure! It was a priceless gift and so welcome as it recorded photos of many people and farm memories that otherwise would have been lost. I used it in high school as well as in college; I’ll always be thankful for her thoughtfulness!

The farm provided endless work every summer. Russian thistles were ever present and eradication continued indefinitely. A wide-brimmed straw hat, a boy’s long- sleeved cotton shirt and bib overalls, the usual garb essential daily under a hot sun protected one’s skin and arms. I substituted jeans for the bib overalls in later years when fishing for salmon. I was always conscious or aware of the consequences of the sun’s rays long before all the emphasis on skin cancers so dominant today. In fact, I had no hankering for a leather-like skin produced by a sun tan.

At the end of the school year after finishing the 8th grade studies, the State of Washington Education Department required state examinations for a diploma as eligibility for entering high school. Since Odessa, even though in Lincoln County, was a shorter distance than Ritzville in Adams County, I elected to take my exam at the Odessa schools under the supervision of Peter Jantz, Jennie’s uncle, who was the Principal of the Odessa Grade School. I recall the arithmetic exam with which I had some difficulty. Mr. Jantz checked my paper I was handing in and advised me to look it over once more. Math was my weakest subject, and it was of utmost importance I pass the test for myself and my teacher. My diploma was issued June 27th, l925, and signed by Alice Ripplinger, State Supt. of Adams County; H. H. Scheller, the clerk of the School District # 73, Schafer School; Fred Rink and Sam Schafer. Receiving my diploma prompted my teacher to send me a congratulatory letter and a gift. My first purse, genuine cowhide in a light gray, a proud possession still rests among my souvenirs. I carried it with me to church but my mother discouraged that practice. One didn’t display one’s pride. After living for 77 years, I still consider myself meek and humble, constantly struggling to reach the top rung of the ladder. The following is a copy of the letter I have cherished ever since its writing.

Cheney, Washington July 22, 1925

Dear Marie,

I started to write to you a couple of days ago and didn’t get any farther than "Dear Marie". That shows how much time I have to write to my dear friends. I read in the Spokesman Review that you and Fred had passed. I sure was tickled pink over you children. I’m sending you a little graduation gift. To put in all the money you earn this summer so you can go to Hi School this fall. Is your Dad going to let you go? It sure would be splendid of him if he would do such a thing for his daughter. If you can’t go, just remember that you can still always get knowledge from good books and magazines and newspapers. If at any time I can help you any please let me know and I will do my best. I am greatly interested in you and will keep track of you in the coming years to see what will become of you. Of course I know you will be worthy of honor for you will be a very nice lady. Be sure you come and visit me whenever you have time.

Well, dear, I hope you are going to be able to go to Odessa Hi this fall. You will never regret it.

Are you still cooking for Fred? Say, Marie, I sure did enjoy your letter. I am very sorry I didn’t get to answer sooner.

I have 2-1/2 more weeks of school and it sure does make me glad for I am just awfully tired already.

Reuben is going to Odessa this fall also. Isn’t that nice? Oh, I just love to tease, but I guess it’s best for me to be still, eh? All right, I’ll be good now and go to sleep. Tell the other kiddies “hello” for me. I’ll write to them later. If you have time, write to your friend,

Miss Jantz

The summer of 1925 passed by slowly since I gave the matter of entering high school careful thought. I begged and I pleaded because of a goal I had set for myself to someday be independent and make my own living. I finally assumed I would get to Odessa that fall in spite of every possible obstacle such as basic finances and living quarters. School buses didn’t serve our district, my memory fails me as to the existence of any school transportation at that time. I had an Uncle and Aunt, Jacob and Pearl Libsack who resided in the town of Odessa. My father approached the subject of my room and board, and they consented on a temporary basis in exchange for a hog, possibly additional remuneration. The currency required for textbooks and a minimum of garments supplied by my father was a sacrifice made by the family. In racking my brain I still have visions of the Montgomery Ward catalog lying open on the dining room table to pages of unmentionables in hopes my father would allow me to place an order. He did! Out of the kindness of his heart!

My schooling had begun after having placed my meager belongings on the back seat of the automobile, and I sat alongside them on the way to town. "I’m staying," I told my father, "there’s no other way." I was 14 years old, determined and persistent. I had done hard and heavy work on the farm, had milked my share of cows, etc., deserving something better in the future, such as running water, a bathroom; in all respect, a better life must be around the corner. Besides, I was "extra baggage", a mouth to feed. "Where there is a will, there’s a way."

One day, my Dad inquired at the bank of the possibility I might work for my room and board in a private home. The banker, Jake Hopp, showed an interest, but his wife was recuperating from surgery. They had two small children and a full-time housekeeper for the time being. When Mr. Hopp related the feasibility of it to his wife that they could handle the idea of a high school girl working for room and board, they gave it serious thought. Mrs. Hopp as a friend of Grace Williams divulged the workability of Mrs. Williams providing my room and board for work performed by me until Mrs. Hopp could manage her household activities again. The result--A HAPPY, HAPPY ENDING!--I continued living and working in the Williams’ household. My benefactor had discovered the advantages of the duties I performed so willingly for the exchange of room and board. I had arrived to the point of making my own living-- What a glorious feeling, and there was no turning back! A single bed in the corner of an open room, a small dresser, a portable clothes closet at the other end of the room sufficed. A screen I opened and placed around my bed every evening offered privacy. A side door of the house into my room served as the front door of their house. Every morning after dressing, I made my bed, folded and placed the screen in its proper place and presto, an open room through which one reached the Ladies Ready-to-Wear Shop. Mr. Sam Williams had been a barber in Montana earlier but became the town’s plumber with a shop on Main Street. I do remember the winters he disliked crawling under houses to thaw frozen pipes--a dirty cold job. Mrs. Williams, besides marcelling hair (a deep soft wave made in the hair by the use of a heated curling iron) managed a dress, coat and hat shop similar to a Mom and Pop grocery store. The front of the store faced the street along the sidewalk with living quarters behind the business section. First, the shop, the width of the building, then my temporary bedroom alongside their bedroom, the living room the full width of the house with entrances leading to the bathroom and kitchen with a wall in-between and another small bedroom one could reach from the bathroom or the kitchen near the back door. It was a long house, with two wood heaters and a wood-burning cook stove which also heated the kitchen. Lloyd Williams, the son who had graduated from the Odessa High School, occupied the bedroom off the kitchen. He worked as a mechanic in a garage where he spent his evenings, too, that is after supper. Mr. Williams enjoyed card games in the downtown area after his supper. He also read the daily and Sunday Spokesman-Review printed in Spokane, Washington. Mr. and Mrs. Williams took pleasure in duck hunting and pan fishing at the lakes located north of Odessa. Wild duck didn’t compare to the duck fare my mother served from her barnyard fowl. The Williams’ pursued their hobby on Sundays so I was always entrusted with the cash box of the Saturday receipts.

My daily routine began with setting the table for the breakfast meal and setting the food on the table. I always washed the dishes before rushing off to school in the mornings. At noon, I rushed home to eat lunch, again prepared by the lady of the house, quickly scoured and rinsed the tableware by hand and dishrag (no automatic dishwasher in those days). Back to school for my afternoon classes and immediately after the day’s dismissal I was on my way with my homework for the following day. No loitering was tolerated as chores were waiting for this busy teenager. Since this home lacked laundry facilities, the dirty clothes were carted to a different residence for laundering on Monday mornings. The ironing was an after-school project on Tuesdays, a regular job. I was curious concerning electric cords, sockets, etc, so one day I stuck my finger into a socket withdrawing hurriedly for a lesson on electricity. Ordinarily I set the table for our supper and peeled potatoes to be boiled. Mr. Williams brought home the meat to be fried at the last minute. A bell attached to the front door of the shop alerted Mrs. Williams that a customer had entered which interrupted some of our meals at times but not very often. She also carried a line of stamped embroidery goods--pillow cases, dresser scarves, table cloths, hand towels, etc. Silk stockings rather than nylon occupied the shelves, also. The proprietor ordered coats, hats and dresses from the Seattle and Spokane wholesale houses on trial from which she would select the appropriate articles to be sold. The rest of the garments were returned via mail which I transported to the post office, another duty I performed occasionally after school. Mr. Williams drove the family Model A roadster, a one-seater with a small trunk for his line of work in which he also brought home the freight and mail. Odessa also had a dray line used for deliveries to the other businesses.

I had acquired a few skills such as crocheting and embroidering before entering high school which proved to be an asset. Whenever I had finished my homework and school assignments, I was busy with needlework. I considered it recreation while at the same time I earned money. Mrs. Williams displayed the finished product in the windows of her shop to advertise the stamped goods. Eventually the completed item was purchased by a customer in her search for a last minute gift. How fortunate I was to have taken advantage of such an opportunity! I embroidered and crocheted for my mother, too, items which are still in the family today. She traded butter and eggs or cream for the stamped goods.

I spent some of my spare time reading magazine articles and stories in The American and Good Housekeeping which were very fine magazines at that time, informative and educational. I wasn’t too interested in the short novels. I liked reality and facts. The teachers of English assigned required reading of library books for book reports but what I really hungered for was time to learn how to use the library facilities. That opportunity was granted many years later in summer school at Washington State College, and I became a librarian in addition to teaching in high school at Tonasket, Washington, where I had completely recatalogued the entire library along with the typing of all the title, author and subject cards. A herculean task without extra pay. The daily and Sunday Spokesman-Review were available in my secondary home in Odessa. I attended Sunday School and morning church services at the Saint Matthews Congregational Church and Christian Endeavor in the evenings, a service held for the young people. I sang in the Junior Choir and practiced on Thursday evenings, a weekly session I really enjoyed. Since I lived on Main Street in the downtown area, I always had to walk alone but the streets were safe then.

For several months in the spring of 1926, I had ridden with the minister, the Rev. Johannes G. Eckhardt to the country church, Emaus Congregational on Saturdays or Sundays for religious instruction in the German catechism in preparation for confirmation. I was confirmed on June 20, 1926. My classmates were: Elizabeth Homberg, Marie Lenhart, Martha Kissler, David Iltz, Fred Kissler and my brother, Jacob Trupp, who were all about 13 or 14 years of age. I had sewed my own dress for the occasion.

The fabric, a crepe de chine in a light tan, wasn’t a simple material for a novice to handle or manage. Subjects in my first year of high school included a course in sewing and Mrs. Grace Williams was always eager to assist me whenever I was confronted with a stitching problem. I altered dresses which were hand-me-downs donated by Odessa townspeople.

I couldn?t participate in after school hours? activities, no time for play except basketball games by the boys? and girls? teams in the evenings. I was a true and loyal supporter by cheering the teams on to victory. Orange and black, high school colors, portrayed in some of the songs and yells by the students in atten¬dance urged the team to win the games. Proud we were of our teams who earned and received trophies for their efforts. Some of our superior athletes took honors in more than one sport activity. In school each class elected its own officers who presided over the meetings when held. The training these students experienced in¬fluenced them to assume responsibilities as student body officers. The Boys? and Girls? Glee Clubs performed and entertained at different school functions includ¬ing Christmas programs. I always admired the students’ talents. I took part mostly in church programs. Too bad we didn?t have a school paper to record the news. That was one item I introduced and carried out in my teaching career.

I studied German for two years to enhance the language I already spoke; knowledge I still use now in my reading, translations and understanding of my native tongue. It is said a person who knows two languages can be classed as two persons, a plus situation.

I always worked on my parents? farm during the summer months to the point of poetic inspiration in my writing of “Approaching the Farm”. Milking cows, a daily routine, hoeing weeds in the garden plot and Russian thistles in fields of summer fallow (land left to rest a year), the feeding of chickens and ducks, cleaning coops and barns , the everlasting day in day out tedious farm jobs kept one busy. The waste water was carried to the pigs. One summer I drove two head of horses hitched to a dump box while my brother Fred handled the six horses and the header. We cut all the hay. The dump box, a replica of the header box with the back side missing so the hay could be dumped from it into the field for a later pickup by a regular headerbox drawn by two horses and possibly manned by two men. After the loading, it was hauled and forked into a hayloft or on a haystack in the field. The hay was fed to the livestock during the winter and early spring months. Straw, after the grain had been removed from the stock was also utilized as feed or bedding for the farm animals. The header was a harvesting machine, McCormick-Deering, pushed by six horses. It had three wheels. One was the drive wheel which created the power to run the machine. On the rear was a single wheel with a platform over it on which sat the header puncher to drive the horse and steer the machine, also to raise and lower the cutting bar. It had a long spout with revolving canvas dra¬pes in it to elevate the unthrashed grain into the headerbox, which was pulled alongside with two horses.When the box was full it would be driven to the stack and pitched onto the stack by hand while another empty headerbox would take its place alongside the header. The summer of 1929 my father, Jacob, and I cut our entire crop in this manner because the grain was so short with poor unfilled heads that this was the most inexpensive method of harvesting what there was.

I was unaware of the fact that a neighbor girl coveted my job in the Williams? household but her method of telling tales out of school went unheeded. I had not informed my employer of not planning to return to school. Because of my persis¬tence to continue my education, I lured highschoolers from our neighboring farms to Odessa to work for their room and board. The town families who participated by opening up their homes to assist young people?s desire for an education deserved to be commended in giving up their privacy for such a worthwhile project.In later years, school buses provided the crucial transportation so that the students were able to live at home with their parents and siblings. My youngest sister, Helen, took advantage of this opportunity plus a lot of abuse from the naughty boys because of her shyness.

Before I graduated, my parents had moved three miles south of town to a farm on a bus route and one heard whisperings such as: “Why doesn?t Marie live at home now?” That fell on deaf ears; I was proud of my independence at such an early age. I always appreciated my parents? approval since I was extra baggage at. home. My mother wasn?t ready for the rocking chair; in fact, a rocking chair never enticed her because she enjoyed work to her dying day, at almost 82 years of age. I was available for her “Golden Years” by performing household duties she no longer had the energy to execute. We were never allowed to shirk our responsibilities, that was considered laziness (Faulheit) which was disgraceful to one?s character, making one feel guilty and ashamed. Living in town, experiencing the convenience of a bathroom and running water, especially hot water was a Godsend three times per day while washing dishes. From that time on I have always considered doing dishes a fun time. I had set a goal in my life and I relished the requirement in attaining my objective.

The people I admired most were my teachers. Who else might be available to set a fine example for a teenager or be in a better position to do so? I also got caught up in the fact that we were not very well-off people financially and education was really a way to improve my standard of living. Public education is an investment. It worked that way for me. Mr. L. W. Lee, the Superintendent of the Odessa Schools held that position for many years, a tremendous influence and credit to the community. D.W. Buchanan, a former football star served as the high school principal, boys? coach and taught chemistry. When I was a sophomore, a Mr. Franzen held that position for that year until Mr. Buchanan?s return. About eight years after my graduation, I had the privilege of teaching under his supervision at the Endicott Schools. If there ever was a disciplinarian, he was it! Katherine Krehbiel taught Home Economics and German; I remember she lived at Rev. Graedel’s house during the week but spent the weekends with family members in the Lind and Ritzville, Washington areas.

An interesting episode linked to my German studies may be told at this time as to increasing my written knowledge and grammar of another language. This was a time to realize the reason for knowing one?s English grammar. The question is sometimes pondered, “Why study a certain subject?” The answer became obvious! Little did I know at the time that my first teaching position depended on my knowledge of German and English. I had also leaned toward writing, especially since the fifth grade. We were trained to read an article to be rewritten in one?s own words, later to write of personal experiences, the farm supplied an unlimited source within a family of nine.

Finding a subject for an original 2500-word theme required in my Senior English Class pre¬sented no problem under the tutelage of Miss Eleanor Byers. I must have thought about happiness a great deal because I entitled my story –“Happiness At Last”. Was I surprised when Miss Byers read my story to the class; sad to say I never learned what the other members had written. Miss Byers directed the music for the entire school. She gave me a Webster?s English dictionary which I used during my college days and teaching career to which she had a tag attached with the following words: “From someone who likes orderly surroundings"--Miss Byers.

Miss Gertrude Schlauch, the math mentor encouraged me in my algebra and geometry studies. I memorized the geometry theorems; in fact, the entire textbook because I just couldn?t reason them out. No doubt benefitted in the line of self-discipline. Lo and behold I fumbled my way through solid geometry and Algebra III; no more math until after marriage as the bookkeeper for our refuse business. In the meantime, I had managed my money.

A class in General Science under Miss Schlauch followed by Biology taught by Mr. Franzen and a Chemistry class completed the science courses. History from Ancient to Modern to U.S.History and Civics by a Miss Gilbert, Miss Proctor and L. W. Lee gave me the foundation for college, no Mickey Mouse stuff. I passed up the oppor¬tunity for a typing class; many years later I picked it up in practice sessions at the end of a day of teaching school. A lucky move I had made to satisfy a requirement in my library classes at summer school at WSU.

I was blessed with many fine friends during the years of 1925-29. The community had built a new high school building, and my class of 1929 were the first graduates to hold commencement exercises in it on May 17th. Again I had sewed my own dress in pink chiffon trimmed with pink lace and my long braids lost in the barber?s shop in 1928 were a thing of the past--so I thought. My short hair was marcelled but I allowed it to grow again in college; once more I had long braids until many years after my marriage. I had not grown in stature but in realizing that knowledge is an endless field to pursue to eternity.

I mentioned earlier having access to the Spokesman-Review. I read the cartoons “Dagwood and Blondie” and “Little Orphan Annie” every day. “Dorothy Dix” was the most interesting column, much like “Dear Abby” or “Ann Landers” found in our Portland paper today--information stressing the use of common sense in current problems. The Spokane Daily Chronicle was an evening paper. It, too, became extinct after the invention of radios. Now with television there is less reading, and the telephone has replaced letter writing.

I remember the school authorities getting excited about a smallpox epidemic. They had had one many years earlier when vaccinations were administered to young girls leaving hideous scars on their upper arms. This time it was directed to the legs. Evidently I had been exposed to small pox in grade school because my brother Hen¬ry?s body showed a few pox and our school was closed. This time in high school a Dr. Thompson, a general Practitioner, performed that duty. Dr. Bresee, a long time Odessa dentist pulled teeth. I had a toothache and was in need of dental care. I wanted permission from my father to visit the dentist in his office. He politely informed me if I sought dental care, he would not be responsible for the bill. My father claimed lack of money but he and the dentist managed to work it out, and I had my tooth or teeth pulled, just two which were two too many.

The prairie father was lax and uninterested in the things that mattered and were of importance to the family members. My father, a man of many friends and strict integrity and above all had a firm hand on his family. By today?s modern standards would seem unduly stern. Yet many times I was thankful to have been reared that way. I gave second thoughts to temptations because of my strict upbringing. For instance, one evening after a school function a group of us high school students walked down a road, I was on my way to my temporary home when all of a sudden the group ran into a backyard to steal apples. I stood on the road for minutes in deep thought but soon sauntered down the road leaving my so—called friends behind. I could not accept their escapades in the future. Once in awhile in my growing-up years I was confronted with uncomfortable episodes in which discipline played an important role. Come what may, I resolved never to be in that position again. I?m not too sure that doses of reality aren't important in building character. People who have struggled to get where they are today seem to have the richer personal history and better survival instincts. I was proud of the fact that I was neither tardy or absent from school during my high school education. I had a few discom¬forts with my throat but didn?t have a tonsillectomy until the summer of 1936 be¬fore beginning my first teaching position. I was long overdue and especially fortunate not to miss college classes on account of sore throats and colds.

I also had a habit of literal translations; I recall several: I thought a Mr. Swartz, our neighbor should be Mr. Black and that table salt walks instead of runs. After accepting ridicule good naturedly I tried to be more careful but it?s still easy to misplace an adverb. I also discovered an idle brain is the devil?s work¬shop, a statement made by our senior class president, Flobelle Lenhart at the banquet in 1929. Our class motto read “The higher we rise, the broader the view” and the class flower, the pansy, while our class colors were orchid and silver. The adjective naive described me perfectly after growing up on a farm and earning a di¬ploma by attending a one-room country school house for eight years. Did I ever have a lot of catching up to do! Imagine my chagrin when a former high school classmate remarked, “How did you ever get through college when you were so dumb in school?” At least no town cop ever grabbed me by the collar to threaten me with a jail sen¬tence! I had no desire to run around on the streets at night and get into trouble. Besides, my father was determined that none of his children should ever land in jail and we were well aware of that. I don?t remember that I ever felt that the rules were too strict or I was deprived of anything.

The arrival of May 17th, 1929--a joyous day and significant event not easily forgotten by an 18-year old who realizes it?s not an end but a very important beginning. During my teaching days I often reminded my students of this truth:

High school years are the best years of one?s life, cherish them! “That?s exactly what my dad tells me,” remarked one student. Now I was confronted with a dilemma of major proportions; I yearned for a plan to continue my education at an insti¬tution of higher learning. Where was I to get the money? Preparations must not be overlooked, time must not be wasted if my goal was to be accomplished. One had to be in the upper 1/4 of his graduation class to be accepted at WSC. I have forgotten the exact requisites, but I believe the Odessa School Superintendent followed all essential instructions for my entry. I had written to the YWCA, an office in connection with the college concerning a board and room opportunity similar to my previous situation. My memory fails me again as my thoughts return to the wonderful people who gave what knowledge they possessed so readily by advising me. What influenced me to forge ahead into unknown circumstances? “It” was out there wait¬ing for me.

Already the summer of 1929 due to lack of moisture, wheat crops around the area suffered growth to the point that our harvest produced inadequate hay which was almost impossible to cut. Stalks of grain, deprived of sufficient height produced practically no complete ears of wheat; consequently, a blow of major proportions to the farmers. That describes my father?s predicament and his only alternative left was to salvage something without incurring hardly any expenses. That summer, my father, my brother Jacob and I cut the entire crop with the header and header box. There was no threshing of grain to be done. My father had promised me wages, but he had no income. My spirits sank to their lowest level. My brother Fred came to the rescue by borrowing $150.00 from my Uncle Con Libsack which covered my first year?s college expenses with a surplus for the next year. I had remodeled hand-me-downs in the line of clothing. One didn?t keep up with the Joneses those days since we were all struggling to keep our heads above water. The emphasis to remain financially able to stay in school took precedence over all else. The purchase of a large trunk which is still in my possession today sufficed as a storage area for my belongings. Most high school graduation gifts proved to be useful. Just why did I need an incense burner? So with $150.00 in cash secured in a handkerchief and Henry driving the family car under strict orders that nothing, absolutely nothing dare happen to it, Henry and I left for Pullman, Washington in lofty hopes of finding employment. I?ll never forget the date--Saturday, September 20, 1929.

Lo and behold! Mrs. Mabel Preston, a widow was waiting for me at the YWCA. Mrs. Grace Williams? recommendation read as follows: To Whom it May Concern--The bearer of this note, Marie Trupp, who was with me thru the four years of high school, faithfully attended her duties, proving herself to be reliable, industri¬ous and very trustworthy. I was hired, and after settling in, Henry left for home. I looked forward to the so-called Freshman days; the class totaled 1160 members, the largest ever. After the collapse of the stock market in November, enrollment decreased sharply within a few months. Required placement tests conducted during the first week with satisfactory results, assigned me to a regular English class. “Bonehead” English classes designed for students lacking grammar, correct spelling, etc., offered an intense review, a preparation for theme writing. No college credit was given for the course. Most professors seated the students alphabetically in the classroom; I recall sitting next to a huge football player, I wonder now how he fit his body into the average-sized chair. Already I was preparing myself for teaching by assisting him with his lessons. I?m reminded of a statement made by Cicero , “What nobler employment, or more advantageous to the state, than that of the man who teaches