The Emersons - According to Verola, Part One

Ed's Day Wednesday

Dear FOLKS,

Each Wednesday I continue to share family information that was provided by my late cousin Edwin J. Ostrom. We now focus on stories and anecdotes regarding Ed's maternal grandparents, Reinert Immanuel Emerson and his wife Dora Elisa Nilson. We have learned of the records found for Reinert that I wrote earlier as a report. You can see this report by clicking here.

In recent weeks the memories have included those of their children Ruby, Geneva, Lola, Ole, Alice, Ivene and Vivian. These you can read through the following links:

• Ruby's story by clicking here
• Geneva's story by clicking here
• Lola's story (Part One) by clicking here
• Lola's story (Part Two) by clicking here
• Ole and Alice's stories were combined here
• Ivene's story (Part One) by clicking here
• Ivene's story (Part Two) by clicking here
• Vivian's story (Part One) by clicking here
• Vivian's story (Part Two) by clicking here

This week we will be entertained by part one of Verola Angeline Emerson's story. An identical twin, Verola (1920-2003) was one of a pair of babies who were added last to the Emerson offspring. So with interest we will learn of being a part of this large homesteading family from its youngest member. We have already read the memories of her twin Vivian.

IMAGE: Verola and Vivian Emerson, ca 1922.
Photo file from Edwin J. Ostrom's family
collection.

Verola Emerson’s Memoirs

Verola's introductory comment: November, 1998. To my daughter Leslie and my son Lance.

THIS I REMEMBER

  I read somewhere, "Nothing is so strong as gentleness; nothing so gentle as real strength," and wasn't it Leo Duscaglia[i] who wrote in one of his books, "Gentleness can only be expected from the strong?" Of all the superlatives I could give my parents, gentle­ness is perhaps my choice. Papa and Mama were Godly people with a meekness that gave them their strength for does it also say, "meekness is not weakness?"

ND Prairie

  We were all raised on a large farm on the prairies of North Dakota. Now, perhaps it was not large to many, but remember, I am looking at all this through the eyes of a child. Some have looked back at our small house and saw only drudgery and poverty and work. Oh yes, fun times too, but I see it as a warm, cozy, loving place full of joy and fun, some sadness, yes, but a springboard for thirteen lively kids to grow up and enter the grownup world having been taught all the virtues we need as we had a Bible-toting Mama who knew the Word of God by heart, and I wonder if she wasn't constantly in a state of prayer. How could a Mama raise thirteen wild kids without being in a state of 'totality' with God?

Mama

  Mama never fussed over herself. I never saw her take to her bed claiming illness. Did she ever feel sick? Of course she did, but she never said so. She never complained. Did she ever feel tired? Of course she did, but she never said so. Was she ever exhausted and completely burned out? Of course she was, but she never said so. Were there times when she wanted to kill one of us? Of course there were, but she never said so. She lined us up on Sunday morn­ings with freshly brushed hair, clean faces and hands, and our Sunday School clothing on, and we had church around the kitchen table. Now, we had a large kitchen table but as I said before, I am looking at this through the eyes of a little child. Perhaps today it would not look that large, but we fed threshing crews at that table, and more than once it was filled twice each meal during the harvest season.

Reading

  This is how I learned to read. We had to take turns reading from the Eggermeir's Bible Story Book which was next to importance to the Bible. It was filled with pictures which made the stories come alive to us. I can still see the picture of Samson tearing the lion's mouth. This only proves that a pic­ture is worth a thousand words.

Fron Lutheran Church and Cemetery

  A Lutheran church was near us, the same high-steepled church one sees all through middle America. It was used mostly for Christmas programs, Lutheran confirmations, and funerals. It was a spooky place. The graveyard was always overgrown with weeds and tall grass, and it seems most funerals were always sad, tragic ones. Some young person had been killed in a car crash, or been killed in some other freak, farm accident, or a baby died. It was a place of mourning and grief. A story was repeated time and again that a neighbor had seen a car stop there and a young woman in a long flowing dress went to use the outdoor john, and as she returned to the car, her long white scarf floated in the wind, and it freaked out the horses close by. Needless to say, I always skirted the church area. The Lutheran doctrine did not line up with Mama's Bible therefore, we never attended church much even the few times it had a pastor.

Stickler

  Mama was a stickler that good work be done. She believed in the old adage that, 'be the labor great or small, do it well or not at all,' or 'whatsoever is worth doing is worth doing well.'

  We were never allowed to be sloppy about anything. She was well organi­zed in everything she did even in planting her gardens. The rows had to be just so. Everything had its place, and if it were not put back after using, there would have been total chaos! Did she come by that trait naturally, or was she forced to learn that by necessity? To this day I see that virtue displayed in the lives of all my siblings. Yes, I see it in my own children. Thank you, Mama!

Hair Care

  Mama wore her hair brushed back and in a bun, mostly I suppose because then it took care of it the rest of the day. Even with all of her endless toil, she put Vivian's and my hair in rag curlers as if she didn't have enough to do. She tore cloth into strips, dampen our hair, and sit on a chair, wedge us between her knees like a vise so we could not move, as we were in perpetual motion, and she began at the top of our head and wind a strip of hair around the rag curler, then she turned us again until we had a head full of rags. When it was dry, she pulled out the rag curlers. Could it be she did all that on two wiggly kids just so she could sit down for a few minutes?

Custom Clothes

  I cut the legs and arms off my winter under­wear one winter, or was that Vivian, and that was the only time I remember Mama being angry. She was putting fresh pillow cases on our pillows and she threw it at me. I was filled with humiliation and remorse.

Parents

  I have no memories whatsoever of my parents in wordy combat. Did they ever quarrel? Of course they did, but we never saw it. I never did. Papa adored Mama. In later years he never walked by her without patting her buns. He would sneak up be­hind her and nuzzle her neck. She was the dominant one and he knew she had a kind of wisdom he didn't fool with.

Mama’s afflictions

  Mama had eczema once I remember, but God healed her. She had diabetes and lost sight in one eye which caused her to wear a black eye-patch over that eye for some time, but God healed her. She stepped on a rusty nail pro­truding from a board one summer and it infected and she got blood poisoning. She attended the Church of God Summer Camp Meeting and came home healed.

Sulfur Treatment

  Every spring as we shed our long-legged winter underwear she gave us a goodly helping of dry sulfur as a blood cleanser to set us up for the ravages of summer. Oh, how I dreaded taking that powder. We tried to wash it down without choking, but it clung to the roof and sides of our mouth and I choked. My eyes teared up, and you could not complain because you could not breathe, but we suffered through that pure agony which happened only once a year.

Cozy house

  I remember so well one summer day I walked into our cool living room and Alice and Estelle, I think, had just put up freshly starched and ironed curtains on clean windows. Those fresh curtains were so fluffy and ‘poofy’ as the gentle breeze floated through the window. The linoleum floors had just been waxed and all the furniture had been polished. Oh, I thought it was so cozy and grand. I can still see the rocking chair in its place. Who cares if the Endersen’s have a bigger house.

Embroider

  In January we often had blizzards and school was closed. Think of all the play time we had on hand. But no, Mama got out the bleached and hemmed flour sacks she had prepared for just this day and we were taught how to embroider. When Vivian and I were a bit older Mama cut skirt and blouse fabric and we were taught to sew our own clothes.

Bread

  I am sure we were probably no more than nine or ten years old when we had to learn to make bread. Mama made her own yeast using corn meal as its base. It was cut into squares and was as hard as rock so she soaked it overnight in water and the next morning it was robust with life, foamy and alive! She put a backless chair stool by the huge flour bin in the cupboard, poured warm water into a huge pan, salt and the yeast then we mixed it up and added flour sifter after flour sifter of flour until it was just right. Then we oiled it well, covered it with a clean dish towel, and put it in a warm place to rise. Making bread was serious business and we were never allowed to mix play with bread-making. There must have been numerous times when it would have been easier for Mama to do it herself for we must have made a mess - it took longer, but her patience never faltered. Thank you, Mama!

Fresh Water

  We had a wonderful supply of good water from a deep well, pumped by a windmill. Neighbors sometimes ran out of water and brought their herds to our water tank to drink.

Lye

  However, it was hard water and Mama 'broke' it by dissolving lye in a little dish of water which was added to her laundry water. One stormy, summer Sunday evening the two barrels of water had been pulled up to the house on the stone boat ready for Monday's wash. The wind was fierce, and the sky looked like tornado weather. I watched as Mama mixed her lye in a small bowl to add to the barrels of water. Just as she poured the noxious liquid into the barrel, a strong gust of wind whipped the lye solution back into her face. I stood there in terror, wondering if it had reached her eyes. Mama lifted her apron quickly to her face and stood there in total silence. She never uttered a word. Oh, how I would love to have heard the prayer that went forth from her to her healing God. She lowered her apron, washed her face in the other barrel and pro­ceeded with her task. How many times did God heal her? She was never out of fellowship with Him. Oh, the tragedies that were averted because of her relationship with her Lord!

Our Home

  More about our home. Others have written about how small it was and it sounds like it was a shack. Well, yes it was - almost, but any house would be too small with thirteen kids to raise but we were not all there at the same time. By the time we little ones came along the older ones were gone. I remember it as a small house with Mama's hollyhocks covering the south side of the house, a huge flower bed on that side with every kind of flower, and an enormous vegetable garden on the other side of the driveway. In the hot summer someone pulled barrels of water on the stone boat up to the gardens so we could water. To Mama, the flower garden was every bit as important as the vegetable as she supplied flowers anywhere needed. She loved beauty. I don't remember picking any flowers to put in vases in the house, but they were everywhere out­doors. We had to pick potato bugs off the potato plants all summer and as we picked them we put them in a bottle so they could not get out. They had a strong odor for such a tiny insect. We also had to pick mustard out of the fields which we did in the evenings as it was too hot during the heat of the day. No sitting around as couch potatoes watching Gunsmoke or Little House On the Prairie - we were the 'Little House on the Prairie'! Yes, we worked hard, and we played hard.

Rocks

  Every spring as Mama set up to begin her gardens, we had to pick rocks. It was a never ending task. We had a small wagon and we filled and filled it, over and over and dump it on the rock pile. Did God choose North Dakota to dump all is unneeded rocks[ii]? We had a grove of trees behind the house which had been planted years before as a windbreak from the northeast winds. It was a fascinating place to me and a good place to hide.

Jake (Jacob) Endresen

  We had a neighbor friend that Papa spent time with, Jake Endresen, who was a real boozer but only when he went to 'town'. His 'town' was a little burg called Douglas which was only a dip in the road, but it had a flourishing tavern. Jake almost always got looped so our Papa's life was in jeopardy every time he went to town with Jake. Did Papa go with him to watch over him? Papa did not drive so all he could do is take care of him. Jake drove a huge Dodge. Did Mama pray a lot when Papa went to town with Jake? Oh, but they were good friends. They had a large family too and a big house, but they did not have God.

Frisky

  FRISKY! How do I tell about Frisky? That name is such a misnomer for the dictionary says frisky is "lively and playful." Well, yes, she was that, but much more than that. She was sophisticated, regal, refined, genteel, noble, majestic, grand and supreme! How's that? We hung all over her. We slid over her rump and hung on to her tail as we slid down her backside. We crawled between her legs. We kissed her all over her face and neck. I loved to lift her mane and smell her hide and kiss her on that soft, velvety, black area by her mouth. Did she know us all by name, or did she have her own names for us? We touched her so much. Did she live that long life because we touched her so much? The famous psychiatrist, Dr. Menninger, wrote that hugging can lift depression enabling the body's immune system to become tuned up. It goes on to say hugging breathes life into tired bodies and reduces tension. In "THE JOY OF TOUCHING" it states 'hemoglobin in the blood increases when you are touched, fondled and hugged and it is that part of the blood that carries oxygen to the heart and brain.'

  Frisky was fondled, hugged, touched and kissed. I went to the barn many times to curry, brush and comb her. How she loved attention. She was a beauty. Bill had her on the race track one summer during the County Fair. She had a kind of elegance.

  My most vivid experience with Frisky was on a terribly cold and stormy winter day when I was maybe ten or eleven years old. I was needed to go find the horses that were some distance away. I do not know where my brothers were or why I was chosen. We never argued that I remember. "Let George do it", was not an option. The decision had been made. So I saddled Frisky and off we went. All I knew is that the horses were somewhere up by the church. My head was encased in a warm, knit cap, and a scarf over my face with only my eyes exposed as it was many degrees below zero. The snow was drifting badly and it was difficult for a horse to break through the drifting mass. I let her take her own pace. We wandered around but I could not spot those beasts, and I was getting colder by the minute. We knew Frisky so well by now, I knew she was wondering what I was doing. We looked and looked, Frisky and I, and no horses. I knew I could not go home without them. Why did they send me anyway? I'm just a little kid. What is a little kid doing out in a 30 below blizzard, lost, cold, perhaps freezing to death searching for some dumb, lost horses anyway?

  It was getting dark and soon I would have to give up and go home in defeat. I began to cry and thought 'what a lousy way to die.' Suddenly, Frisky's ears went up like flags on a victorious ship as she spied the horses for they were pals of hers and she could also smell them. I spotted them too and when they saw us, they took off for home. It was Del Mar and Santa Anita all the way home. I stopped crying but by now the tears had frozen on my lids and I could not open them so I lowered my head and gave Frisky the lead as I was so cold I feared I might fall off and die in the snow. But I prayed I might last until I could fall on the straw in the stall where it was warm. When we entered the barn Frisky went right to her stall as she always did. I merely slipped like heavy molasses off a wooden spoon. I laid in the straw for a few minutes as I was dazed from the tempera­ture and wind. Then I got up and hung onto Frisky's neck and no words passed between us, just emotion. She saved my life, and somehow I knew she knew it.

  One summer day, and as all things on a busy, working farm, everything was accepted as part of life, it was received, grieved over, and passed on. Frisky was dead! She had somehow gotten into a bin of poisoned grain that was prepared for the rats, mice, gophers and other rodents. I went by myself to view her bloated, dead body, and the grief that tore through my little frame is beyond words to tell. I did not want anyone to tell me, nor did I ask, who had been careless enough to leave exposed poison around. My grief was intense, but we never talked about it again. I think she was buried somewhere, but to this day I do not know where.

  Did God use an eraser on my memory as I remember nothing after viewing her remains. She was so beautiful. We sometimes had funerals for dogs and cats, but Frisky's death was a somber affair. We just kind of walked away, each into his or her own grief chamber. None of us were great at sentimentality anyway, and grief was a very private matter.

Frisky threw us

  A tender moment with our beloved Frisky was a warm spring day Vivian and I were riding her home from school. There were ponds all over where the snow had melted and what a delight it would be to ride through a few of them and splatter the road. Frisky thought otherwise and refused to go.

  We would not allow her the rein (probably Vivian), and she had no choice but to take us through the pond. We were really acting up as we had shed our winter underwear by now and freedom was ours. Frisky was fed up so she stopped in the middle of the pond, gave a quick jerk and we were flat on our faces in the water as of course we were riding bareback, She just stood there, shaking, for she knew she had done a dirty deed which we fully deserved.      ....End of Part One.

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[i] Source: Wikipedia Felice Leonardo "Leo" Buscaglia Ph.D. (31 March 1924 – 12 June 1998), also known as "Dr. Love," was an author and motivational speaker, and a professor in the Department of Special Education at the University of Southern California.

[ii] Unneeded rocks. Glaciers pushed down from Canada digging ponds and carrying massive amounts of rocks. When they began to retreat, embedded rocks dropped on the land and melting ice filled the gouged out depressions aka ponds/lakes such as Rice and Nelson Carlson Lakes. [These are often referred to as erratic rocks, those that are different in size, color and composition than the native rocks that are left behind by the receding glaciers.]

[Above sources were included with the original file.]

I want to thank the members of the Emerson and Ostrom families who helped to bring this story to us. I also want to thank you for joining me in this week's Ed's Day Wednesday article. We continue to learn about homesteader's life in the rural area on the grassland prairie of the northern midwest and mainly Torning township, Ward County, North Dakota.

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