The Emersons - According to Verola, Part Two

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
• Verola's story (Part One) by clicking here

This week we will be entertained by Part Two of Verola Angeline Emerson's story. An identical twin, Verola (1920-2003) was one of a pair of baby girls who were added last to the Emerson list of 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.

Last week we concluded Part One by the telling of their favorite horse Frisky. This week the story picks up by sharing what Verola remembers of being a musical performer.

IMAGE: The Emerson's String Trio, left to right Vivian, Ivene
and Verola (ca 1930) outside their home in Torning Township,
Ward County, North Dakota, north of the town of Ryder. From
the Edwin J. Ostrom family collection of photographs.

               Verola Emerson’s Memoirs Part Two

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

Musical Performers

  When Vivian and I were very small, (we were always small), perhaps seven, eight or nine, we learned to play the guitar and sing close harmony. We sang at many public functions including Church, Camp meetings, family gatherings, Christmas programs, Farmers' Union Meet­ings, conventions and wherever entertainment was needed. We were like two peas in a pod. No one could tell us apart except members of the family and our father who never could tell us apart. When we were babies Mama felt for a wart-like growth near Vivian's ear to tell us apart in the dark while she nursed us.

  Sometimes we traveled for hours to sing. Bill always drove us. He never complained or said, "I have other plans," bless him! When company came on Sunday, we, the twins always enter­tained. We sang our hearts out, sad songs mostly, cowboy songs now called "Country", Christmas songs and many sacred songs. We sang few happy songs. We had 'city' cousins who often came on Sunday to visit. Our famous Sunday dinners were of real fried chicken, and home cranked ice cream. We, the twins always had to entertain which we re­sented as it interrupted our play time. When we sang our saddest songs, it never failed to bring out handkerchiefs and the dabbing of a tear here and there. This encouraged us to sing sadder and sadder songs.

  I shall never forget a convention when we sang before a huge audience. It was held in a large convention hall. It was just a sea of faces, but as I have said before, I am looking at this through the eyes of a child. I do not remember our ages at this incident. Perhaps eight or nine, we were always referred to as "The Emerson Twins". I don't remember anyone ever helping us through the maze of getting ready to sing. Mama left us pretty much alone. We were so small. How did they trust us? We tuned the guitar ourselves, and combed each other's hair, and prepared as well as two little bratty kids could. We were on our own, and rarely were we nervous. If I forgot a word, Vivian knew it. Well, we sang and the place exploded! We had to sing again - a second wild explosion of applause. We sang again. The place went wild. We sang a fourth and they had had a fun day.

  We did not have especially good voices, but we had very good harmony and we sang up a storm. They loved it. I don't remember who said it, but somehow it got back to us that Bill was in the back when we sang, and someone said some­thing about us not knowing who he was. He said, "They're my sisters." Now, that to me was far more than all the applause and adulation we received that day for Bill never, but never ever said he liked our singing. We were always looking for Bill's approval. In fact, we got Zilch, nada praise at home. All that was ever said to us was Mama saying, "Girls, don't you think you should practice?" She never nagged us, and most of the time we waited until the last day before we performed, then we would slip into the rear seat of Bill's DeSoto sedan and sing our hearts out. The best sing­ing we ever did was in the back seat of that DeSoto as the acoustics were perfect. Now, about this time of our dip into 'show biz', I don't remember ever being proud, vain, haughty or conceited about our sing­ing. We never thought we were good. We were raised to know that the devil has three children; pride, falsehood and envy, perhaps pride being the deadliest of all. Be not like the cock who thought the sun rose to hear him crow. We sang a lot in many places as we grew older, but I now wish we had enjoyed it more. Life is like licking honey off a thorn!

Papa and Mama

  Papa and Mama always took naps in the middle of the day. Is that why they had such good health and lived such long lives? Every noon, even at harvest, a hectic time, hot and eighteen hour days, Papa took half-hour naps. No matter how much noise, he took a pillow to lie down and rest and worked another full day. Mama did the same. It was never talked about or discussed. It was just part of their lives. 'Rest is not a sedative for the sick, but a tonic for the strong.'

  Sundays were a sacred day at our house and no work was performed except for those tasks that had to be done.

Go for a ride

  Vivian and I were home alone and I do not remember why. OOPS! Bill had a big GMC truck which was parked in the yard. What a fool he was to leave the key behind. We decided it should be moved to a better place so we started it, shifted all the gears which we fortunately knew how to do, and of course, we could not adjust the seat, consequently we barely reached the brake and clutch with our behind clinging to the edge of the seat. We parked it, got out and thought that was a pretty good job, but we still were not satisfied and decided it should be moved to even a better place so the other one took over. We moved it again. We went in the house, put the key back, and we were somewhat puffed up that we had been so successful in our adventure. Some little time later we decided that now that we knew how to drive we should go for a little spin - maybe out of the yard, up the road to the mailbox, past the Petersen farm, and across the state highway. I was driving, Vivian stood in the back watching for traffic as I was far too busy hanging onto the steering wheel while struggling to stay on the seat. My hands were full and did not have time to watch for traffic. She yelled to me that was all was clear so we zipped across the state highway and up this two-lane, narrow country road.

  Suddenly we decided that maybe we better not go too far and Vivian yelled at me to turn around. Silly. Where was I to turn around? We were on a country road in a big GMC truck and could barely see over the steering wheel. I saw a path ahead about the width of the truck and drove off the road onto it, turned around in a field and headed home. A piece of cake! I think then Vivian took the wheel and I stood in the back and became traffic control. As we passed the Petersen farm Vivian pressed the gas pedal and created a dust cloud that probably took the rest of that day to settle. Mrs. Petersen went ballistic! She told Papa everything the next day what the twins had done. Miracle of miracles they did not scold nor punish us. Do I remember a faint smile on Bill's face?

  Could it be that they were so grateful that they did not have to view our dead bodies in the local morgue, but that we were still alive? I cannot remember for sure if Bill ever left the keys after that, but that is how Vivian and I learned to drive - no Driver Education classes for us!

Denied Drama

  There was only one drama on the farm we were denied any part of, for we were not even allowed gallery privileges, and that was the breed­ing of a mare in season with a stallion. It was a closed affair. The barn doors were shut and locked with a strict warning to stay away from the barn. Now, of course, we saw all animals during their 'season', and it was no big deal. We sat on the top rung of the manger with our heels hooked into the space between the boards and watched the lambs slip out of their mother's bellies, and calves being born was a common sight. The birth of puppies and kittens was a routine incident. Mama had an incubator in our already crowded house, hatching chicks as the temperature had to be regulated just so, and when it would be the day they were due to hatch, we hung over the incubator and looked through the glass to see the eggs begin to crack. When a yellow chick came forth and then dry, Mama let us pick it out and put it in a clean box with a towel and put in some ground-up hard boiled eggs and water. We saw reproduction everywhere so what was the big deal? Bill was very particular what stallion bred his ‘in season' mares and hired someone who had a choice stallion to do the deed. It was like a staged affair.

  This particular day we watched as the stallion was brought to the barn and the drama would soon begin. I wonder now if Mama noticed that gradually her little brood of children disappeared as we snuck off to the barn. We scrambled quietly up the ladder and onto the hay loft directly over the horse barn. The cracks between the boards created a limited view of the scene below. Sometimes one might even find a knot hole which was perfect. This day I found a space between the boards, but alas! In my eagerness to see the forbidden procedure I brushed some straw dust out of the crack and it fell right on top of Bill's head. He knew instantly he had an audience. "Girls, get outta here!" We instantly scrambled back down the ladder and back to the house, our plan totally foiled. All we knew that there was some danger, why, I do not know, but the stallion seemed to be crazed, and the noise was not of a joyous occasion, but frenzy, intrigue, and danger. It was high drama the day our mares were bred. B-i-i-i-g-g deal!

Holidays

  Holidays, Fourth of July was a very special day in our lives. We celebrated it with gusto! We always had a huge picnic at Rice Lake, a rather large expanse of water with a grassy bottom, no shore to speak of except a slimy, grassy edge that tickled our toes. Once we got past all that, we played in the water for hours. I do not understand now why we dressed our best only to remove it all to put on our bathing suits. One year Mama made us frothy, pale lilac organdy dresses, and we had brand new black patent slippers which was all removed to go swimming. We got our hair wet which demolished the rag curl we had suffered through that morning. All the neighbors were there with their kids and everyone had brought a huge feast - no picnic basket for us. Boxes of food were carried to the car. No wonder we did this only once a year.

Turkeys

  Thanksgiving was not a particularly celebrated day. It was a somewhat of a stressful time as Mama raised turkeys and a few days before Thanksgiving she hired some of the neighbor boys and with my brothers would kill and dress the entire flock and take to town to sell for the holiday. Mama always got the turkey money as that was her project. Then she would send off a mail order to Sears Roebuck or Montgomery Ward fingering through the pages of a well-worn catalog. The days the mail-order catalogs arrived was a fun day at our house for we spent hours looking through every page. We spent hours scanning it, yearning to have this or that.

Christmas

  Now, Christmas was the day! It was very festive around our house as Mama began making her once-a-year Christmas candy. Oh, she made such wonderful candy, but we had it only once a year - Christmas! Yes, fruit cakes, cookies, and Hardanger lefsa, that is, pronounced har-dunger which one cannot say correctly unless you have a bit of Norwegian brogue. I cannot say it correctly for one has to twist the tongue a bit and I have never mastered that part. Poor me! She made a lot of Norwegian pastries, the names I cannot remember.

  We had cousins in Montana who sent us a real, live, evergreen tree one year for Christmas. I remember the day it arrived. It was wrapped in burlap. What excitement there was to unwrap it for it was so fragrant and beautiful. Now, where did we have space for a big evergreen tree in our already crowded house. We were so proud to have a real, live evergreen Christmas tree at our house, and it filled our friends with joy.

  There was much visiting with relatives, neighbors and friends and sharing of food and endless coffee drinking. Vivian and I usually got a doll which arrived by the mailman. They were in their boxes on the top of the folding bed cabinet. We stood and gazed at the boxes but knew it was forbidden to touch, but then we could not reach them anyway. It wasn't Christmas gifts that was exciting, but the atmosphere for we were fully aware that Christ had come to us as a BABE and this was His birthday. There were many school plays and programs enacting the Story of Christmas and we all had to take part, and it was very festive. I remember the huge, evergreen tree that stood in the [i]Lutheran church sanctuary. It was decorated and lit with real live, white, tiny candles attached to the tree by clip holders. Why the tree did not catch on fire is a total mystery to me now. We went home with a small striped paper sack filled with a real orange and hard candy.

Almost Froze

  It was another one of those terribly cold days, probably January. It was a Sunday because Mama was baking waffles and we had that only on Sunday. I played outside until it began to get dark. By the time I was ready to quit and go inside, my hands were numb and I tried and tried to turn the door knob to open the kitchen door, but I could not and I dare not take off my mittens. Finally, I got the door open and I fell on the kitchen floor in a frozen heap. I just lay there as if dead. Mama was standing at the stove baking waffles - it was almost dark and the lamps had not been lit. She paid no attention to me, but I saw her face in the glow of the fire around the rim of the waffle iron. She must have been in one of her reveries as she was totally lost to her surroundings, or that her wee child was dying on the floor. The home-made syrup was bubbling on the stove, but Mama was in another world. I got up off the floor realizing I would get no pity for the 'near death' experience I had just survived. Mama was not into pity - only sympathy and compassion.

Are you any Better?

  I remember complaining to her one summer day how badly Ivene and Vivian treated me. She merely looked down at me and said, "Are you any better? I knew I was not, and I already knew it was useless to complain to Mama. It was useless to express to her the terrible deeds those two committed to me every day - I should have been used to it by now!

Snuggle with Papa

  Viv and I sometimes climbed in Papa's lap while he was reading or sometimes visiting with a neighbor while they dis­cussed the political scene. We put our head in that com­fort zone area between his shoulder and neck and snuggled down and sat very still. After our cup was full, we scrambled down and ran off to play. There was that rush of 'hemoglobin' I mentioned.

Herding cattle

  We all had to take our turn at herding the cattle. It was a task one either hated or tolerated. It was a lonely job as we had to take the cattle into open pastureland and consequently, they needed a 'shepherd'. We always rode Frisky when herding. It was a great time to read Zane Grey's books, and it was at this time that I fell in love. Now, you can love someone, but that is totally different from falling in love. I was so lost in my romance with his novel [ii]”Nevada”.

  Often, while herding, I reclined on the grass, looked up at the sky and watched the white, fluffy clouds form their work of art. One could see all kinds of faces and then quickly pull out of shape and form another scene. It was fascinating to watch.

  The sound of the insects is loud when your ear is close to the earth, and the fragrance of wild flowers created a peaceful atmosphere which people would pay for today. Watching gophers was an unending source of entertainment. We poured water down a gopher hole to force the little creature to come out - all soaked and frightened, and run away probably- leaving a nest of tiny babies, but they caused a lot of damage. One year we were paid bounty for their tails. (Sorry, Leslie). Does this prove that our fun was not always pure?

  Papa scattered blocks of salt with minerals around the farmyard the cattle liked to lick, causing them to drink more water, making them give more milk. That figures, doesn't it? The constant licking on the salt blocks by the cattle’s long rough tongues formed beautiful sculptural images that glistened in the sun.

Bill’s Foot

  Mama never showed favoritism among her brood except when one was in pain. That one got all her attention. At a very tender age Bill ran after the cattle on a late fall morning, barefooted as usual. He stood on a rock which had absorbed the cold fall temperature the night before and as he did, he felt a chill go up his leg. The doctors called it "osteomyelitis" which is really a cold in the bone as I understand. It caused the bone to infect, and was difficult to look at. He sat in the rocking chair with his leg in a tub of hot water to draw out the infection. Other times Mama wrapped his leg, by the hour, in hot compresses. I know Bill suffered beyond descrip­tion, but he never uttered a word of complaint. I wished he would cry, or do anything, but he never opened his mouth. I often saw perspiration on his face, but we never knew whether it was the heat or the pain. How did Mama wring out those hot towels? She had no rubber gloves. Did she use only her hands which must have been terribly painful as the water was so hot? Few words passed between them; was Mama praying all this time? She was lost in her ministry of healing to her second son.

  This went on for years as the infection returned. I remember one time a pocket of infection formed and Papa sharpened a knife and slit it open while pus and blood came forth, and, of course, we had no pain killer. Through the years the repeated infections destroyed some of the bone and Bill carried ugly scars all his life. After many years of suffering, God healed him completely. Oh, how Mama must have prayed. We were not a demonstrative bunch. We were not a kissy, huggy group. But as I think of it now, why didn't I throw my little arms around his neck and weep for his pain, or told him I loved him, or just something? This is one time I wish I could do over. I do not remember at all at what age Bill was healed, but we all knew God had once again visited that Little House on the Prairie with His healing hand. Bill grew up to become the best dancer in Ward County, and he became one desirable dude to the gals which I don't think was in Mama's plan.

Evil Heart

  I must relate an incident in my little life that will reveal to you how even a little child can have an evil heart. I am ashamed to tell this, but I must even if it may destroy my paragon image! I repented of it many times, yet, I seem to see the face of God with a frown on His face for it showed my heart at the time, and it was not nice. I know He forgave me, yet it haunts me to this day. How could I have fostered such an evil plan in that little mind and heart? Mama left us to visit with relatives in Minnesota and we were in the care of our older sisters who did not know how to 'mother'. I was lost. I felt totally abandoned! I wanted my Mama, and she was not there. Oh, what a selfish heart I had. Well, God had an errand to do so He left me in charge of some angels, and they must have been playing 'Tiddley Winks' because Satan moved right in. I feigned an earache, yes I did, and a massive one at that! I cried and screamed in pain, my sisters did everything to console me. Our cousins, Inger, Edna and Esther, were there too and they tried to comfort me. The more they did the worse it got. They poured warm oil down my ear, they rocked me, they patted me, they held me, but to no avail. I completely ruined their day. What a little fraud I was, and now that I had started the whole charade, I had to continue it. I wanted my Mama to come home where she belonged. Did they suspect that maybe this was all an act? If they did, they did not show it. I should have been spanked and sent off to bed.

Girls...Time to clean

  One of our routine jobs was to clean the water tank. Papa said, "Girls, time to clean the cattle tank." We waited for a hot day which did not call for a long wait in the middle of summer. We gathered pails and bailed water until the tank was empty, pouring the water over the side creating a sea of mud. We stripped to only panties as we often fell down. The sides and bottom were covered with a thick blanket of soft, green terribly slippery moss which was but so soft to our feet, and it felt like satin to our toes. It was the best skating rink in the area and we took full advantage of the amusement.

  We skated up and down, back and forth, across, and up and down again until we had pretty much worn off the algae-like growth. Then we took brooms and brushes to clean the sides. We rinsed and rinsed, over and over emptying the residue over the sides again creating even a bigger sea of mud. Oh, how I wish I had some of that mud on my rose bed! It had to be the best fertilizer, but it was all wasted.

Polish the floor

  We used much the same method polishing the wooden kitchen and living room floors as they were covered with linoleum, and Mama used paste wax (no liquid wax in those days), and when it was dry we put on heavy socks and made it a skating rink! It seems to me now that we mixed play with everything we did.

Teachers

  We never had good teachers. It seems most of them, the females, were more interested in my brothers than in teaching us Reading, Writing and Math! I cannot remember if it was 6th or 7th grade, the year we rode Frisky four miles to school. That year was a total waste. We had a male teacher for the first time. He played accordion at all night country dances causing him to suffer from lack of sleep. Consequently, he took naps during class. The minute he fell asleep, out came the rubber bands to shoot each other. Then in the 8th grade we had another male teacher by the name of Rueben Carlson who made up for all the wasted years. He taught us more in that one year than all the others combined. I was having difficulty with fractions. He gave up his lunch hour to work with me until I understood. Bless him! If there is a special place in heaven for teachers who excelled in the classroom, he is there! Thank you, Reuben!

Vivian’s appendicitis

  When we were about eleven or twelve years old, Vivian was afflicted with appendicitis. But at first, the doctors did not diagnose it as such. They thought it was some stomach ailment. The roads were bad and the weather severe as it was the middle of winter. Bill had gone to Minot to check on Vivian who had been hospitalized by then. I was playing in the stairwell and I heard Bill come in the kitchen door. Mama had left Vivian in the care of a good friend, a Godly woman she met through the Church Of God. They were great friends. Mama asked Bill how Vivian was and I heard Bill reply that she may not make it. I dropped the blanket I was playing with and ran up the stairs, but two steps from the top I collapsed in a heap of tears. I begged God to save her life. I promised Him anything He asked of me if only He would spare her life. I could not even dare to think what life would be like without her, and I would not allow my thoughts to go there. Trying to keep my crying as quiet as possible, I covered my mouth with my hand. For some reason I did not want them to know I heard what Bill said. After some time, a sort of peace came over me and, no doubt, I resumed my play. Mama and her dear friend, Margaret Olson, knew the power of intercession and their prayers ascended into the Throne Room of heaven, and once again, God heard and answered.

No luxuries

  By today's standards would we be considered ‘under privileged', yet we had everything we needed. No, we did not experience any luxuries - no designer clothes, no scented baths, no down quilts. Mama made her own quilts from wool from our sheep. Papa sat and 'carded' wool on long, winter evenings after supper by pulling a bit of washed and dried wool through two paddles that resembled ping-pong paddles. They had steel tines resembling a brush, and Papa pulled the wool through it many times until it was just right - light and fluffy.

  No one 'carded' as well as Papa. He also knitted heavy, wool socks for the boys. We always had good warm clothes.

Medicine

  We had plenty of wholesome food, and when we were ill, which was rare, Mama fed us warm milk toast swimming in butter and too much sugar. Somehow warm milk toast had a curative ingredient for we always felt better after a plate of it. When we were sickly she would touch us a lot. She tucked the quilts around us by pushing here, tucking there, adjusting the pillow, or running her fingers through our hair. Did our temp drop a degree or two after this display of care? Probably!

Moved to Seattle

  Then in summer of 1936, Papa sold the farm and we moved to Seattle, but that is another story.

  So my dear Leslie, I hope this complies with your request for my memoirs. Seems I wrote a lot about Papa and Mama as we always called them until we grew up. The other 'memoirs' of my siblings included all members of the family and my remembrances are much the same and do not need repeating.

Your MAMA.   November 1998

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[i] Fron Lutheran Church and Cemetery, near the Emerson’s homestead.

[ii] Nevada is a 1928 western novel by Zane Grey. It is a sequel to 1927's Forlorn River.

[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. I hope you enjoyed reading about the Emersons who homesteaded on the grassland prairie of Torning township, Ward County, North Dakota.

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