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, numbers six and seven on Ed's Ahnentafel report. 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, Vivian, Verola, and Ray. 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, and (Part Two) by clicking here
- Ole and Alice's stories were combined here
- Ivene's story (Part One) by clicking here, and (Part Two) by clicking here
- Vivian's story (Part One) by clicking here, and (Part Two) by clicking here
- Verola's story (Part One) by clicking here, and (Part Two by clicking here
- Ray's Interview (Part One) by clicking here, and (Part Two) by clicking here and (Part Three) by clicking here.
- Ole's story, (Part Two) by clicking here.
MY MEMOIRS, Part Two
by Estelle M. Olson
Written in 1996
I forgot to say, that
during haying when it was hot and dusty we would be so dirty by evening, after
supper we would often drive to Rice Lake, about three miles away, and take a
bath in the lake. Otherwise, it was to take a sponge bath in a small pan of
water, we would even have to share a pan of water with another person at times.
One fall Alice and I got a
notion we wanted to make some money by hauling bundles during thrashing. Bill
and Ole rigged us up with a rack and a gentle team of horses. We had to tend
our own horses, feed, water, curry and harness them. I had to stand on a milk
stool to get some of the harness on. Can’t remember what we were paid, but when
the thrashing run was over we had money! I think we ordered coats each out of a
catalog. They were beautiful black, nice material with seemingly large collars.
We also ordered shoes. I had to get some stylish, short boot type with a turned
down cuff. They were attractive. I still have the snapshot modeling our coats
and shoes.
 |
| IMAGE: Sisters Alice (left) and Estelle (right) Emerson showing their new shoes and black coats ordered from a catalog. Note Estelle's new short boots with their turned down cuff. See previous paragraph. Photo from the family collection of Edwin J. Ostrom. |
I went to help a
neighboring family milk cows and watch their small children. I must have been
only nine or ten. This lady was a very poor housekeeper. When separating the milk,
the cream went into the can where the previously separated cream went. By the
time it got full the cream was putrid as there was no refrigeration. In churning
butter, it was a mess as the cream was never cold so it too was rancid and
mushy. They had a new house, but she didn’t keep anything up. He was a good
farmer, but I think she broke him When we washed clothes, we would never wash
all the dirty clothes, just pick out a few at a time. I suppose we washed by
hand. I got a dollar a week and worked one month. I bought a hat and a pair of
shoes for that. One day in the middle of that month I got a homesick spell, it
was an awful feeling. She realized my problem, so she told me to go home for
the night. I did. I walked three or four miles, I’m sure. I must have gone back
and at least finished out the month or so. The man of the place would tell us
what to do when he was in the field. Often he would come home and she hadn’t
done it. He would fly into a rage, but she would come up with some excuse. Years
later after I had left home I heard he burned himself to death by pouring
kerosene on himself and lighting a match. No doubt she drove him to it. She often
was the talk of the community.
I worked sometime for
another neighbor to the north-the Carlsons. They had two sons. One helped with
the farming and the other one was sent to school to become a teacher. I think
he was Vivian and Verie’s teacher at one time. These Carlsons milked 20 plus
cows by hand. I had to help Mr. Carlson do the milking. I would milk two cows
to his one. In thinking about that sometime later, I think he dallied just to
get me to do more of the work. And who knows, maybe I was a show off too. I do
remember he was sort of a cutup. I rode a scroungy pony to another pasture to
get those cows home for milking. This pony was just scabby. In investigating, I
found he was crawling with lice. Oh how I hated to ride him. I don’t recall (sounds
like Hillary Clinton) how long I worked for them, or how old I was - maybe 14
or 15. They were nice people and good to me, and hard workers. She and I would
prepare food for Alvin and his dad for the day by cooking potatoes and meat and
whatever, packing it in layers of newspapers and placing all in a large box.
The men had to take barrels of water and feed, on a rack, for the horses for
the day as they had land some distance away.
My brother James was the
barber in the family. He cut everyone’s hair. I had stiff brown hair and it was
cut short in the back — shingled, we called it, or it was also called a “Buster
Brown” style. I was never satisfied with it. Alice had curly hair and often wore
a beautiful ribbon in her hair. This is proven by family pictures taken in
1921. I was so envious of her. She would pacify me by saying, “But you have
nice teeth and mine are ugly.” Alice and I were very close. We were together on
our first dates. Some of those dates were with nice guys and some were with not
so nice guys. I recall going with a guy who had a button missing on the cuff of
his shirt and had used a safety pin to hold the cuff shut. That turned me off
of him! That was the end of that romance. He was a good dancer, that was the
only thing I liked about him. And to think a safety pin broke us up. Oh well,
no love lost. I met my love that I’ve had my ups and downs with now for 62 plus
years and must here confess I have not been the ideal wife or mother. There are
many incidents I regret. There have been tragedies, sorrows, illness—like in all
families, along with the happy prosperous times. I have learned to bind the
unpleasant memories and rather touch the hem of His garment. Back to my
childhood.
Oh, those long cold winters,
would they ever end? But again we made the best of it by sledding in the snow
on the hills, which we had plenty of. We would slide down the long steep hill,
and halfway up the next one only to trudge back up the first hill for another
zooming ride down This would go on for hours until we either got too cold or
too tired. Dad made us snow skates out of short pieces of 2x4 boards. He would
cut some slits towards the top, taper the front and then fasten the skates to
our feet with straps. We would then skate on the snowdrifts. We often made taffy
candy. The pulling process to make it into a rope required buttering our fingers
to keep them from sticking to the candy. As it cooled we would twist it into a
rope and cut it into short pieces. From doing that we’d go out into the hay mow
to play on the ropes with our sticky hands and then accuse each other of
getting the ropes all sticky. No doubt none of us washed our hands after
pulling that taffy.
I remember one compliment
I got from Dad (and maybe the only one). I had worn a pair of shoes that needed
half soling. We had the equipment to do that. Dad kept telling me I’d have to
leave them home from school before they got so worn he couldn’t repair them.
Well, they were my good running shoes—I gave credit to those shoes for
outrunning, out-jumping everyone else at school—I could easily jump a barrier my
height. Well sure enough, on a weekend I brought these shoes to Dad to re-sole.
“No way, they were too far gone.” he told me. I just couldn’t part with those
shoes, so I repaired them myself; I recall to this day just how I did it. When
I showed them to Dad he was amazed and told me that I sure had done an
excellent job. That puffed me up so, guess that’s why I remember it so vividly.
After the long winters we
just couldn’t wait till we could go barefooted, which we did every summer.
Mother would first make us pick up any debris that we might cut our feet on.
Whoever got the most in our containers would get paid the most. Oh the endless
picking of rock out of the garden area, the weeding and the harvesting of the
garden in the fall. Even with our big family there was always some to give to
the neighbors. I remember carrying a pail in each hand, potatoes in one and
perhaps carrots in the other. Either Ray or Oliver, or perhaps Alice, carried
the same and we trudged across the hills to a neighbor’s northeast of us. I’m
sure it was two miles or more. Remember the Killmers? They were poor too. The
one room in their small house didn’t have inside walls—only the exposed 2x4 studs
that they had papered with newspapers, many layers in between and around and
over the 2x4. We all went to the same school. When I was in the first or second
grade, a horrible snow storm came up when we were at school. The teacher
wouldn’t let any of the pupils go home. One of the Killmer’s older boys took a
ball of twine, fastened it to their house and unrolled it as he went along and
tying it here and there to fence posts. He got to the school house with some
bread and butter. Soon James came too, across the hills braving the storm from
the opposite direction. He brought bread and butter too. There may have been
other food as well, I don’t recall (H.C.!) but I do remember that the Killmer’s
butter was so salty and Mother’s was so good and sweet. Oh how we relished that
food, as we were all so hungry. Some of us took turns sleeping on top of the
desks with coats under and on top of us, while others kept the fire going. Two would
go together out to the coal shed to fetch coal and keep the stove going. Both James
and the Killmer boy walked home again. I ’m sure the twine guide saved him as
no doubt he had to walk against the storm. The next day Dad came to get us with
sleigh and horses. He had to go the long way around as there were fences across
the hills. That was the first and last ride I ever had to school.
Mother was never one to
favor one child over the others. I’m sure we all tried conning her into it, but
she was too wise for that. Dad was more apt to take sides. We never really
liked to play cards with him because he didn’t want to abide by the rules. We
played Rook and Touring. Don’t remember any others. Mother wouldn’t allow the
regular playing cards in the house as they were known to get people hooked on
gambling in poker, etc. But we certainly didn’t mind. We enjoyed the other
kinds of cards. We played a lot of checkers, some marbles and I can’t remember
the name of a game or the pieces of metal with about four short prongs on them. [jacks?] We played hopscotch, anti-I-over (with a ball thrown over a building with
players to catch on either side), catch ball, some cricket (had to have a set
for that).
 |
| IMAGE: Emerson children: (l -r) Ivene, Oliver , Estelle, Alice (circa 1920), taken on the Emerson homestead, Torning township, Ward County, North Dakota. Photograph from the family collection of Edwin J. Ostrom. |
Mother would go to visit a
neighbor, Mrs. Peterson. I can’t remember her first name. She had to walk across
their pasture and there were always cattle—and always a bull. I had great
respect for bulls as we kids were warned again and again to keep clear of the
bull. If Mother stayed longer than l thought she should, I’d get worried and
think the worst had happened to her. In voicing my concern to her she said “Oh,
I carry a stick with me.” That was the only weapon she needed besides her God.
Then there was the
everlasting herding of cattle on the open range land. We’d get hot and tired
and thirsty. We had one cow so tame we could milk her anywhere. There were
times we’d be so thirsty we’d squirt some mild into our dirty hands and drink
of that. There were times I’d take a 22 rifle and a box of shells to shoot
gophers. One time I got a gopher with each shell. I’m sure nobody believed me
when I boasted of that feat. It could be that I practically stood within four
or five feet when the gopher was inquisitive enough to stick he head out of his burrow
I let him have it.
We spent Sundays at Rice
Lake. It had a nice sandy beach, I learned to swim and dive off the big diving
board. Oh, so much fun. One time I made too straight of a dive and hit the
bottom with my head (again, I could have broken my neck). Thank you God. It
jarred my mouth open so got sand in the gum I was chewing. Gum was hard to come
by in those days. That was another lesson I learned. There were times we’d go
to Rice Lake in the winter to skate as there was solid ice on the outer edges.
Alice teased me by skating out towards the center where the ice wasn’t safe.
I’d scream and scream at her to get closer to shore. I can see her yet showing
off out towards that thin ice. I think she ruined the day for me. One time she chased me
home from the fields with a snake on her pitch fork. I could feel that snake
being dropped down my neck. We were shocking grain bundles, no doubt I had
aggravated her to the point that putting a snake down my neck was deserved.
Ole, with his strong hands, would grab us around the base of our necks, not meaning
to hurt, but would raise us a foot off our chairs. He got a kick out of our
reactions. The little peeves are remembered.
When Ruby went away to
teach school, she seemed to send all of us younger ones presents for Christmas.
Oh we were proud of her. This one time she gave Alice a doll. And what did I
get? A doll bed! Now Alice could play with her doll without the bed, but have
you ever heard of anyone playing with a doll bed?! We always got something for
Christmas, Mother saw to that. But it was always clothing. I don’t ever
remember toys. We were taught the real meaning of Christmas, that it was our
Savior’s birthday. There was no Santa Claus myth. Mother would teach us poems
and songs and readings we would give on Christmas Eve, and perhaps also on
Christmas Day if we had company.
I do remember another
compliment, anyway I took it as a compliment. Our teacher in school taught four
of us girls to dance the Highland Fling, a Scottish dance. It was sister Alice,
Evelyn Jacobson and Betsy Kolobakken and myself. I was the youngest and
smallest. Maybe eight or nine years old. We performed at a school program and a
few other functions. After the program and lunch, some of the older people
wanted me to go through that dance by myself, so they put on the record and I
went through the routine by myself— got a lot of applause.
I loved riding horses. We
always had good speedy ones. After we graduated from having to walk after the
cows for milking from what we called the north pasture, and when we learned
well enough to ride; then it was to saddle the horse and go for the cattle.
This one horse was so well trained I could open the gates, pull it back along
the fence, support it on another post so when it came to closing the gate again
I could reach it from the horse, pull it over to close it again without having
to get off the horse. When we were smaller and had to walk after the cows, we
were always sent in twos. Maybe because of bulls. And of course we were always
barefoot, no matter how careful we were to not step on those low growing cactuses.
Occasionally we would step on one, then had to sit down and pull their sharp
spines out. They were so painful.
One time two of us rode
for the cattle. I had to ride the one without a saddle as we only had the one
saddle. And of course, there were two. After we’d gotten the cows in the home
pasture it was to race to the barn. My horse, I expected her to go one way
around the barn, but instead she made a quick turn to go the other way which
sent me flying to the ground. Again I could have broken my neck. Thank you, God.
As I landed on my head I got that barnyard dirt in my mouth. Another stunt we
often did was to ride the horse in full gallop to the barn door, let the horse
go on in and I’d grab for the top of the door frame and hang on, being pulled
off the horse. If I had stayed on the horse I would have gotten bruised or
broken legs as the door was that narrow. I’m sure I learned that from my
brothers. At one time we had a horse pasture, seemed we had several head of horses.
Oliver and I were sent there to pull up water by hand with a rope and bucket
from an open well. Guess we must have taken too much time as Dad came to meet
us. Walking across the hills carrying a rope, he thought surely one or the
other had fallen into that well and it could have happened even though it was
curbed up three to four feet, as the horses were thirsty and crowded around us.
We realized Dad must care about us after all, or was it Mother who made him go
check on us?
When I’d go to visit my
neighbor friend I was given strict orders when to come home. Why was there such
a temptation to always be late, only to have Mother come up the road to meet
me, carrying that famous stick of hers? I don’t remember that she ever used it
on me, but no doubt I got that pull on the hair at the base of my neck as
horrible punishment as it went deep into the pit of my stomach.
When the twins, Vivian and
Veri, were babies and needed their naps, why weren’t they put to bed and told
to go to sleep? No, at my busiest time making mud pies and all the busy things
a 7-year-old has to do, Mother would call “Tootsie come rock the babies to
sleep.” It was to rock the one and put the other in the baby swing over the bed.
I sat so I could reach this swing and give it a push to lull her to sleep, so
would put the one down that I’d rocked to sleep, then try to get the other
sleeping one out of that swing. I’d stand on the bed and hoist on the baby and
about that time the bed sagged. I didn’t have the height to pull her up out of
the swing, and so the bottom of the swing came up with the baby. So it was to
uncross her legs that were gripping the bottom of the swing, and try all over
again. Up I’d pull, down went the bed. Crying and exhausted, I’d eventually get
her out of that swing, no doubt waking her up bawling and have to rock her back
to sleep. All this time my work being neglected in my play house.
Mother with her big
gardens, recruiting all the younger ones to help, usually it was to pick off
the rocks, in buckets, to keep us employed with less complaining. She bought a
little red wagon which made the task not so boring. She would insist we learn
to like certain vegetables by eating just a little to begin with, and to keep
on until we acquired a liking for them. To me leaf lettuce took the longest. We
liked most all vegetables raw. So many things were pulled from the garden,
either wiping off the dirt on our clothes or washing them in the stock water
tank. We’d peel loose the top leaves of cabbage and gouge a few mouthfuls then
carefully lay the top leaves back to try to cover our snitching. I’m sure Mother
soon put a stop to that too.
Our school nearest home was
closed due to small enrollment so Viv and Verie, perhaps Ivene too, had to go
to a school three or four miles east of our home. They had to be taken and gone
after by car. This one time I was home alone and was to go get the girls from
school. Bill had, I think, a Studebaker. The garage was attached to a granary
with another granary only four feet or so from it. In starting the car, it
fussed all of a sudden and black smoke was coming from the engine. I got frantic
as I thought of those granaries on either side with grain in them I got out of
the car, went to the front, got one foot on the wall of the garage. The garage
had a mud floor and mud from the front wheels had left a ridge of dirt behind
the front wheels. I pushed and pushed, rocked it back and forth until I got it
over that ridge of dirt. I kept pushing it-even up a slight incline-far enough
so if it did explode it wouldn’t endanger the granaries. I opened the hood and
there was a small fire on top of the engine. I ran to the house, got some water,
poured it on the fire. I waited a few minutes, got in the car, started it and
went to get the girls at school. We do hear of supernatural power. At any other
time, there was no way I could have pushed that car depending on my own
strength… as I was always a skinny petite kid. But in that emergency I thought
of the year’s labor and income of that grain and the buildings that were so
close together; they would all burn. I had to save them and let the car burn.
No doubt in my mind, God’s power came upon me, then praise His name, He spared
the car too. Another time I was home alone again. Late one evening after dark
the boys had gone to Rice Lake to a dance. We had a shed behind the granaries
and garage where they stored oil, gas, etc. for cars and machinery use (that
too would have burned had the car exploded). I saw lights from a car come down
our driveway, thinking it was whoever coming home. But they never came into the
yard. Soon the dog barked and very angrily ran down to this shed and back to
the house. Soon I went out and the dog really wanted me to go along to the
shed. I knew then someone was stealing gas. I went a ways with the dog and then
yelled, “Whoever is there, I’m sending the dog after you.” I heard gas cans
being dropped and the dog took after them, but they got into their car and took
off.
When Rice Lake was so
popular, we would go there every Sunday (after Mother had our Sunday School) to
spend the day. We often walked the three miles. James had a roadster (car), but
only room for two or three people. Wouldn’t you know a neighbor man (Melvin
Jacobson) would walk over to ride with James and us kids had to walk. Not only
did he do that, but he came most everyday walking across the fields just in time
to eat with us at noon; this happened many times. Hope someone had the nerve to
tell him he wasn’t welcome. That got to be very perturbing for us kids to think
he had the nerve to come and ride with our brother and we’d have to walk the
three miles. I’m sure we complained to James about it too. Could it be he
really didn’t care to be seen with three or four bratty kids as he was eyeing
girls about then?
Oh such memories. Why do
kids like to ride in the back of pickups and trucks? Bill was driving the big
truck. I was standing in the box holding onto the top of the box towards the
open end. When Bill swerved the truck to miss a pot hole it caused me to swing
out of the box all the way so my body hit the outside of the box. I expected to
land way out in the ditch. In swerving the truck again, it caused me to swing
right back into the box! No doubt I stood closer to the cab thereafter.
Whenever the men went for
hay with a team and hayrack, a load of kids went along. There was a piece of board
broken out on the floor of the rack. Oliver sat with his feet down that opening
and in swinging his feet one foot got caught in the spokes of the wheel. He
screamed. Before anyone realized what was happening the team of horses stopped.
Who stopped those horses? Again, “Thank you God.” His leg was badly injured,
but not broken. He suffered a long time with that leg. Mother surely must have
spent a lot of time on her knees praying for God’s hand of protection over us.
Like the time in haying when the stack was finished. Whoever it was threw the
three tined fork down to the ground landing so the tines went right between
Ole’s or Bill’s toes in their bare feet. We were in the hay fields bare footed
too.
Mother started us out
sewing by first hemming diapers, as there were plenty of them. Then we moved on to
hemming flour sacks for dishtowels, also we pieced them together for sheets.
Alice and I seemed to be the diaper washers. At that time, it was to put the
messy ones in a container, half dried and reeking. No doubt it was Vivian’s,
Veri’s and Ivene’s. So we had a huge tub full, having to use several waters;
then I think they went into the hand powered washing machine, then into a
boiler of hot water to sterilize on top of the wood stove. Clothes washing days
disrupted the whole house—which consisted of two rooms downstairs and one
upstairs. We had to take leaves out of the big table, making it smaller, to
make room for the wooden washing machine, the rinsing tubs, etc. Dad often
pumped the machine with a foot paddle and a hand lever that worked with us
young ones running them through the hand turned wringer and hanging them out on
lines that seemed to cover the whole backyard. Wind, snow, hot, cold those
clothes were hung outside. Often to bring them in frozen stiff to dry in the
house. We’d grab a frozen long john and have a little dance with it before we
took it into the house with frozen fingers. Back to the diaper washing. We would
have an auction sale on them, Alice yelling, “How much?” and I offering 50
cents for the diaper and $1.00 for the s---! Anything to lighten the unpleasant
task.
Mother would give me old
“dressy” dresses discarded from older girls, mostly Ruby I presume, although we
were sent huge boxes of clothes from some relative. She would say “You rip
these apart and make dresses for the twins.” I remember 2 different styles I
made. Two had peplire [?? maybe peplum] skirts; the other two I had to use different
material from a worn dress for the short puffed sleeves and collar to match.
Both sets turned out just as cute as could be and each set had to be just
alike.
Do you remember the frost
that would build up on the one window upstairs in the winter? Mother wouldn’t
let Dad put on a storm window as she wanted to be able to open windows to air
out the room no matter how cold. We’d have a contest who could put their bare
foot on that frosted window the longest to melt their footprint through the
thick frost. Another contest we used to have involved us kids. It was our job
to regularly clean the huge wooden stock water tank. We’d scrub it out so clean
then fill it up with flesh, clean, cold water. The pump was powered by a windmill
from a very deep well. We’d strip off most of our clothes and sit in that tank as
it was being filled to see who could sit in that cold water the longest. When we
did have sense enough to get out we were so cold we could hardly walk.
I had a friend in school,
Laura Armstrong, (or was it Helen). I got permission to go from school and stay
overnight. The family was rough. We heard rumors that her mother made “home
brew” and often had questionable men buy her brew. When Helen and I got to
their place, quite a distance from school, we went in the house. Her mother was
in a bad mood, swore and raved. I got scared as I wasn’t used to that from
home. I said to Helen, “I better go home.” Helen agreed. It was already quite
dark as it was winter. I walked all the way home across the prairie over one
hill and then another. I often saw dark objects which always turned out to be a
clump of bushes. Mother was just shocked
to see me walk in after dark. I could have gotten lost as I walked through an
unfamiliar area. Seems it was a clear night and too, eyes do adjust to the
darkness. I never asked to go stay overnight with Helen again. She felt so bad
over that incident. I felt so sorry for her as I knew she didn’t have a very
nice home life.
Another time I remember I
was in early grade school, or even a preschooler. We were to sit down to
breakfast. Geneva had to go in the cellar for something (the cellar was a trap
door in the floor of the kitchen). As she stepped off the bottom step she felt
something furry and soft. It was always dark in that cellar. There was one small
window, but perhaps it had already been covered with “banking” the house for
the winter. (Which consisted of manure from the barn. Dad even used the fresh
stuff to plaster up openings in the foundation——it worked!) Back to this soft,
fury object. It turned out to be a skunk. In putting a wagon load of potatoes
in the cellar the day before, someone had forgotten to close up the opening
where they unloaded the potatoes into the cellar. This skunk found the opening
and went in to explore. Mother cleared us all out of the kitchen. Dad went down
the steps into the cellar, grabbed the skunk by the tail and carried him
outside through the kitchen with the table laden with our food for breakfast.
He carried the skunk quite some distance from the house, then one of the boys
shot it. Then it let loose with its stinky spray. In carrying it out by the
tale, the skunk couldn’t release his spray. Again, this was a miracle from God.
Why didn’t that skunk let go his spray when Geneva stepped on it and in that
cellar was our food supply for the winter. We even kept the bread in a barrel
down there along with milk, cream, butter and leftover foods. It was our
pantry, refrigerator and different supplies. Everything would have been ruined
along with the winter’s supply of potatoes and other garden produce. What a
miracle, “Thank you, God.!”
Nuf said,
E.M.O.
[end of Part Two]
I took delight in Estelle's closure, "Nuf said!" And I have to agree. Hers are the last from the children of Reinert and Dora Emerson, I haven't learned of any more. There were an amazing ten who shared their stories.
Once again we are at the end of this week's article. I want to thank Cousin Ed and his family for helping to bring these stories to us. It is so entertaining to learn of life and growing up in rural North Dakota. I hope you enjoyed this post and that you have a good week. See you next time and thank you for stopping by.
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