Amanuensis Monday: Christmas dinner at home (Elsie's Christmas book part 5)

Now, wasn't that clever of me? I very carefully arranged this transcription of Elsie's Christmas Book to conclude during the Christmas season... and then forgot to schedule the publication date. So here it is, a week late, and after the conclusion of the Twelve Days of Christmas. Oops.

Fanciful image of a dragon playing Snap-dragon, from Robert Chambers' Book of Days (1879)
The original uploader was Ziggurat at English Wikipedia., Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Here he comes with flaming bowl,
Don't he mean to take his toll,
Snip! Snap! Dragon!

Although Elsie makes no mention of a rhyme, which she surely would have done had she remembered one, she does recall a game of snap dragon. This is a game with which I am familiar in only a literary sense; it is not commonly played in my part of the world. Knowing it as a game from Victorian England (although apparently it originated much earlier), I often wondered whether my Victorian English ancestors participated in it, and here Elsie gives me the answer to that question.

Our Christmas dinners were a lot like we have today, with the exception of plum pudding, mince pies, mince meat tarts. Mother used to make me a white cake with lemon filling and soft white frosting. I couldn't eat raisins for some reason and all her Christmas dessert had a lot of raisins. I still like that kind of white cake.

The turkey was always placed in front of Dad at the table. Always at the head. of the table., that was his seat always andevery day, of the week. We all were at the table together every meal, that we were home. Especially for dinner. Imagine eight at the table every day and most every meal. Thats what it was like after all Mothers children were grownup.

Dad would say a grace and give thanks for the day. He'd stand up with the craving knife an the steel to sharpen the knife. He would hold the knife in one hand and the steel in the other. He would rub them both together a few times and then he would start to carve the turkey. He was pretty good at it. I often wondered if the knife needed sharping every time.

He would ask us what part we wanted. White or dark. He usualy gave the drum stick. I never asked for it but he would say I know what part Sis wants and it was the drum stick. As I grow older I told him "Dad I think some of the others would like the drum stick." So he started to cut some of the meat off and make more drum sticks, we always had such big turkeys, there was enough for everyone.

He had a little saying while craving "You can have the wings and toes but I'll take part of the parson's nose." The parsons nose was the part the tail feathers came out.

Dad had to have Brussel sprouts, if possible and Mom liked a little bit of celery, her words. Dad's dessert for Christmas was "little pigs in a blanket." They were made from little sausages rolled up in pie crust and baked.

Once Dad placed a lot of raisins on a heat proof platter and poured brandy over them, then he lit the raisins they flamed up. He told us to go ahead and eat some of them. I was afraid of the fire, we were told not to play with fire My brothers were really eating the raisins, saying they were good. Dad asked why I was afraid of them. The boys weren't. So very cautiously I took one at a time. They didn't burn at all, just no heat. They went out before you got to your mouth. I didn't eat many as I never liked raisins anyway. It was exciting to watch my brothers eating them. Dad called them snapdragons. Now I know how the fellows that swallow the flaming sword or sticks fool us. The fire goes out as soon as it hits your mouths. Alcohol is a cool flame.

One night Santa came to our house early. We were going to have dinner early as Dad had an appointment for the evening. We were just a bout thru when Dad excused himself and said he'd be back as early as possible. He got up from the table and went into the bedroom. He came back all excited and in a hurry. "Santas been here I believe, theres something in the bedroom and the window is open." We all jumped up and ran as fast as we could to the bedroom. Dad was still mumbling "He must have come thru the window." He had us convinced. Behold he had been there. And left a lot of toys. The window was wide open and the curtains were waving in the breeze. No one in his right mind would open a window in the dead of winter. Our bedrooms were real cold in the winter time. Just a potbelly heater and the kitchen range to heat the whole house.

I am sure Dad never intended to go to any meeting that night. He stayed home and seemed real happy to enjoy our gifts.

This time we never had to wait for Santa to come, he was ahead of himself, no waiting, we still hated to go to bed Christmas Eve. It was so much fun staying up and playing with our toys. We got some real toys this year.

I enjoyed writing this, as it brought many memories.

Elsie May Crocker

April 15, 1990 

Citation:

Elsie Crocker, "Christmas on the Farm when I was a Small Child" (typescript, 1990); copy in possession of Amber Brosius, 2020.

Amanuensis Monday: Christmas dinner with neighbors (Elsie's Christmas book part 4)

On the fourth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Four calling birds
Three French hens,
Two turtledoves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.

 

Contrary to popular belief, the Twelve Days of Christmas refers not to the days leading up to Christmas Day, but actually begins on Christmas Day and ends on Epiphany, the day celebrated as the arrival of the Wise Men. Therefore, it is currently still Christmas, and I am still fully justified in sharing Aunt Elsie's Christmas stories. Next week's transcription will also arrive during Christmas, and I will endeavor to complete the transcription in that week, and thereby avoid the sin of unseasonality.

Mom always left her shopping until the day before Christmas. Getting her last minute preparations for a large dinner the next day. I don't see how she did it. Christmas dinner was always on time with out fuss. Dad always wanted his meals on time, all the time.

We always had plum pudding and mince pie and fruit cake. A old English tradition. We loved to watch her make her plum puddings and mince meat and her fruit cake. If we were lucky she would give us a taste of the candied fruit, raisins or currants.

A day or so ahead she made her mincemeat tarts. To be heated up the day of the dinner. She would make a sauce for the pudding the last minute, it was served warm. This sauce had brandy and vanilla flavoring. This time of the year was the only time I ever saw brandy in our house. I think they kept it on the top shelf of the pantry. Dad called it "Chinese tea" No one was suppose to touch it, used for medicine only. Dads words no one was to mess with it. To my knowledge no one ever did.

There were no mixes of any kind, Mom made everything from scratch. She had her own measuring devices. Like a measuring cup she had a tea cup, and a ordinary teaspoon, a tablespoon, a dessert spoon (a spoon less than a tablespoon) a pinch of this and a handful of that. I have to have good recipes. Let the other fellow do the guess work.

We had a large round table that sat eleven or twelve, five of us and neighbors family of four and a hired man or two.

I can't remember when we never has a turkey for Christmas. Of course it usually was one we had raised. Whether we bought or raised our own we had to dress it. The legs and the head were removed. Then Mom would pour boiling water over the feathers. We then picked off all the feathers and that left a lot of pin feathers. My job was to pick the pin feathers out. You had to be careful not to break the skin, when cooking the juices would leak out. The pin feathers are feathers not fully grown.

The enterals were removed, saving the liver, heart, gizzard and the neck. Wash the turkey very good inside and out. The liver, heart, gizzard and neck are cooked until tender. Can put in the gravy or in the dressing.

Everyother Christmas we had the neighbors over or they had us over. The Church's that were our neighbors had a girl my age and a boy Bill's age. Margart was the girls name and Charly was the boys name.

This was the Christmas we were going to the neighbors (the Churchs). for dinner. We got up early. It had snowed during the night. It was beautiful everything completely covered. The white glistening snow was just like a winter-wonderland, not a mark any where. A unbeleivabe fairyland.

We were thankful for having all our animals save and warm in their housings. This day they would stay inside and eat and stay out of the cold.

We even hated to disturb the out side walks. We had to tho in order to care for the animals. Our dog seemed to like it, but I don't think he knew what it was. He would get in a drift and had a hard time getting out. Us children had a lot of fun watching him. We were there ready to help him if he needed it, but he seemed to enjoy every minute of it.

My dad and my brothers cleaned off the sleigh and got the horses hitched to the sleigh. We would carry some warm blankets to keep us warm. The boys wore jeans, but not the girls We had to wear dresses all the time. It wasn't lady like to wear any kind of trousers. Thats by we had to wear long black stockings in the winter time to cover up our long jhons. Long jhons had long legs, sometimes you had to fold the legs at the bottom to fit the stockings. At Easter, off came the long johns. Then our legs would be cold, but we never complained for they might put them back on us.

We wore the warmest clothes we had. Mittens and scarves were a must. Our noses were as red as a big red cherry. We would blow out our mouths covered by scarves, to see how much steam we could make. It looked like smoke curling up. This would make our scarves wet, our scarves were wrapped around our neck and over our mouths to keep the cold from our lungs. The scarves would get wet and the dampness would freeze and make frosty ice crystals, it would look funny.

The ride to our friends was fairly short, but very pretty. The snow on the fences and bushes side of the road made us feel we were in a different world. The horses didn't seem to mind the snow, they seemed to pick up their feet a little higher, as tho they were strutting. Ever once in a while we would see small tracks acrossing the road probably some rabbits hunting some thing to eat.

The neighbors welcomed us with open arms, everyone talking at once. Asking how was the roads, did you have any trouble getting here. What did Santa leave?

In side it was real nice and warm. The smells were wonderful. The chattering soon lessened. The fresh air gave us an appetite. We would eat right away as Dad had to have his meal at noon. The dinner was very good, but they never had all the goodies as Mom made.

We played with their toys for a while and then went outside to play in the snow. Mostly snowing snowballs at each other.

It was time to go home, saying our good byes, we felt bad that we had to leave our friends behind. We had had a super day. They lived just a short ways, away from us. Mother would say "just a stones throw away."

We had a very nice dinner but my brothers missed the plum puddings and mince pie. The ride home was great but not as pretty as the ride in the morning, the roads were slushy from the traffic We couldn't see the tracks of the little rabbits.

It is interesting to hear about the English Christmas traditions that traveled to the U.S. with the Underwood family, and ponder how they were lost before my generation. I have never so much as seen a plum pudding in person, let alone tasted one. I did taste mincemeat once, but it was not at a family Christmas celebration. Fruit cake, too, has disappeared from our family table, although I suspect that one was not a great loss.

I also find it interesting to discover that my great-grandmother's style of cooking did not work for Aunt Elsie. All of the Underwood girls were fantastic cooks by the time I knew them, and I had supposed they had learned it from their mother. However, it seems that Elsie, at least, must have learned her skills elsewhere. It makes me wonder where, as well as how her sisters learned to cook.

 

Citation:

Elsie Crocker, "Christmas on the Farm when I was a Small Child" (typescript, 1990); copy in possession of Amber Brosius, 2020.

 

Amanuensis Monday: O Christmas Tree (Elsie's Christmas book part 3)

To read from the beginning of Elsie’s Christmas book, click here.

It’s time for part 3 of Elsie’s Christmas book. This time Elsie discusses her Christmas tree and the things under it, as well as some activities in the snow.

I remember the first real live tree we had, I wasn’t very old then. Mom decorated the high branches and Bill, Walter and I did the lower ones. This was a special event. We weren’t used to such luxuries, but I must say greatly appreciated.

Dad had bought some clip on candles. The candles could be lit. The holders were clipped on the boughs. He had a pail of water handy in case of fire. He saw to it we were all together around the tree. Then he lit the tree. How beautiful we were spelled bound for a few minutes.

Dad didn’t leave the candles burning only a few minutes. The tree was still pretty and smelled so good, we kept it until New Years night. I still like to keep my decorations up until New Years.

Our stockings were filled with a orange in the toe some hard candy and a lot of peanuts in the shell. We liked the evening and shell peanuts and eat them. Once in a while we would get mixed nuts. Maybe a stick of peppermint. A small doll, a cloth book, pictures to finish with yarn, a toothbrush, anew comb, maybe some kind of a book. We got what Santa could afford to give us, but he never forgot us.

One Christmas I got a bake set, the set contained flour, salt, baking powder, and you had to add some water to mix so you were able to roll it out a little thicker than pie crust. The set contain the rolling pin, a cutter and a pan to bake them in. So my brother Bill and I decided to make these crackers. We used Mom’s oven to bake them. We were proud of them, but no one wanted any so we were happy we ate them all. I had helped Mom but not really to bake anything from the beginning, this time was my very first. My brother and I were pretty proud they turned out as well as they did. We used a fork to make the holes in them.

One year my brother Walter got a race horse set. He had been very ill that year, so Santa was very good to him. He shared it with our brother and me. We spent many of hours watching which horse would win. That was one of the joy of sharing.

I always wanted a doll even if it was a very small doll I enjoyed sewing for it and made many clothes for it. Mother never sewed but our neighbors did and I was given a lot of pretty pieces of material. My doll was the best dressed doll in the neighborhood.

Sometimes we got paper dolls that had their paper clothes to cut out They were fun too.

One year I got a big doll with brown curly hair, that went to sleep. She didn’t sleep long My little sister poked her eyes out. Mother fixed the eyes but the doll don’t go to sleep again.

 

I don't know what ever happened to Elsie's childhood dolls, but this one belonged to Elsie's sister, my Grandma Aileen. She has had a visit to a doll hospital in later years, and is thus in tolerable condition despite her age. (Before the doll hospital, she was rather terrifying.)

 

One Christmas Santa forgot to bring me a doll. I was unhappy that I cried but no one ever knew. That year Santa brought me a comb and brush set. I was always breaking the other combs my hair was so thick. I guess that was the sign I was growing up.

In Idaho Christmas always seemed to be a beautiful day. There was clean white snow everywhere. On every thing a winter wonderland. It was pretty but very cold. Icicles hanging from the roofs of all out buildings, including the house. The icicles hung from six to twelve inches long. The sun during the day would melt the snow as it ran off the house would freeze making more icicles and adding length to the other icicles there. The warmth of our stoves made the roof warm, which made the snow melt.

Some of the mornings I would get up and seeing my mom looking out the window, I would ask her what she was looking at. She would answer me “Oh, I was just looking out to see if we are going to be snowed in.”

Sometime we knocked the icicles doun and made ice cream, of course we had to break the icicles up and add salt to it. It freezes faster with salt.

We made ice cream in the snow, by using a tin bucket with a clencher lid (so the lid couldn’t come off and let the snow in the ice cream.) We used eggs, milk, and sugar. Of course we flavored with vanilla. We’d find a big drift of snow, then place our bucket in the snow. After a while we would lift the lid and see how it was doing. We took turns, turning the bucket. The ice cream was like our ice milk we have now.

Christmas after the chores were done we could do what ever we liked. We loved to play in the snow, making angels snowmen and making forts. We would have two forts a small distance apart then we would get in one and some of the others would get in the other. One would throw snowballs back and forth. It was fun snowballing but some of the boys would get water soak them, then they hurt when they hit you.

Even with wool mittens our hands would freeze, it was so cold. We had to change clothes when we came in to the house Mom made us soak our hands in cold water first than warm before we went to the stove. She was afraid chilblains. If they got warm to fast they would hurt. Mother never like to have us eat the first snow as she said all the germs in the air was in it.

The description of making ice cream in the snow reminded me of someone I knew years ago. Beginning in high school and on through college, I worked in an old-fashioned ice cream parlour, complete with a soda fountain. We had a number of regular customers, and I got to know some of them pretty well. We would chat while they enjoyed their ice cream treats. To this day I can still remember the usual order of a number of these people—as in, they could come in and say, “I’ll have the usual,” and I knew what to make.

This particular person’s favorite was caramel butter pecan ice cream, but how he wanted it served would vary. Sometimes a cone, sometimes a dish, sometimes a sundae… if he’d ever said “I’ll have the usual,” I wouldn’t have known what to do. We often chatted about many things, but one of the things that has stuck with me through the years is his memory of making “snow cream.” His description of the process was rather similar to the process Elsie described for making ice cream, except for a couple things. Firstly, I was under the impression (whether correct or not, I cannot say) that the snow cream used snow as an ingredient as well as a way to chill it, and secondly, the snow cream was flavored with maple syrup.

Citation:

Elsie Crocker, "Christmas on the Farm when I was a Small Child" (typescript, 1990); copy in possession of Amber Brosius, 2020.

Amanuensis Monday: The Schoolhouse and Santa (Elsie's Christmas book part 2)

Last week I discovered that Aunt Elsie really had written a Christmas book and I transcribed the first two pages. Now it is time to transcribe a couple more pages.

You may remember that she was telling about how they would prepare for Christmas in the one-room schoolhouse she attended. Here she continues:

The last school day before Christmas we would have a party. All the children were looking forward to it. We were to ask all our parents to come and enjoy our labors of preparing for the special day.

 

This is the second of the two photos I have showing the actual school room Elsie describes. Elsie is sitting in the front row, second from the right, in a white dress. Her brothers are also in the photo. Bill is in the second row on the very end, wearing overalls. Walter is standing behind him, on the very end of the third row, also wearing overalls.

 

I think all the parents were there, dressed in their best. We had a small program, then a sing along where every one joined in, parents and all. Some of us had to recite poems. My poem Dad told me. I was in the first grade. It was like this.

“The first time I stepped upon the platform”
My heart went pitty pat
For I thought I heard
Someone say Who’s little girl is that?

Refreshments were much the same as ours now: coffee, cookies and a mince ham bun sandwich. The children got lemonade. The very last thing the teacher would hand out a red mesh stocking, she had made out of the red mesh, she had bought for maybe five cents a yard. She sewed these stockings by hand or on a sewing machine she peddaled with her feet. Those days men worked for fifty cents to a dollar a day.

In the toe of the stocking was a apple or a orange, a little candy and a few peanuts with the shells on. Sometimes a small candy cane. Gee! We were happy we could hardly wait to get home to see just what we had. We’d put everything back in the stocking to admire for a while. Little things meant so much.

We got our chores done early that evening. Of course the chickens had to be fed, eggs gathered, woodboxes filled, the cows milked, horses beded doun. See that all gates closed, feed the dog. The dog always slept under our porch outside. We also helped Mom with the dishes.

Sounds like a lot of work but we had a lot of hands. Many hands make light of the work. We all had our jobs to do If we got thru our jobs we would help the others get theirs done. Then the evening was ours to do what ever we wanted to do.

I liked to sit on my dads lap and comb his pretty hair. At one time Dad had a mustache, I loved to curl his mustache. It curled up on the ends just like Grandpa Gene’s. Dad had some wax he used on the tips.

It was time to hang up our stockings for Santa to fill. We each hung up our own clean stocking. We didn’t have a fireplace We laid them on the couch all in a row. We called the davenport a couch those days. Dad would smile seeing three different size stockings all in a row. I was afraid the boys having the largest stockings would get more than I but Santa saw to that. But I was mistaken, we all got the accurate amount.

The excitement of Santa and his eight reindeers, with his big sack of toys, kept my brothers and I wide awake.

We had a lot of snow, so we were expecting to hear his sleigh bells. It seemed so long before morning, we tossed and turned, so hard to settle doun. Wondering what he would leave us.

My brothers room was next to mine, so we could holler back and forth, making it more difficult to fall a sleep. We listened real hard for his sleigh bells in the snow.

This was a long night however we finally fell asleep Early the next morning we were awake. The first one awake would wake the others. One of us would tiptoe doun the stairs, to see if our stockings were filled. Then he or she would tip toe back up the stairs and tell the others. He had been there, what a rush, everyone jumped up at once. We ran doun the stairs into Mother’s and Dad’s room to a waken them. Of course they were already awake, with all this excitement going on, how could they sleep? They seemed as happy as we were, with our gifts.

Looking back we never received much but no one could have been happier.

Our stockings were filled with nuts and candy, not so full you couldn’t take a hold of the top and carry them around.

Sometimes we had different kinds of candy allways wrapped in tissue paper, when it was put in our stockings. There was no waxed paper, aluminum foil or saran paper. Plastic was unheard of.

 

 

A platter of ribbon candy, a favorite of my mom's as well as Elsie.
Photo by Travel Photographer from StockSnap

We had peppermint sticks or hard candy with soft fillings, with different fillings and colors. We always liked these soft fillings, it was a surprise to see what color was inside. There was some round, round and flat with a pretty flower in the middle of it. These we never could [figure out] how they got the flower so perfect in the middle. We also had ribbon candy, it was different, it had different color stripes, it was about one and half inches wide and looped and pushed together like soft according pleats. This ribbon candy is still sold in the special stores today, at Christmas time. Also the candy sticks of different colors and flavors.

We didn’t get all this candy all at once but what Santa wanted us to have or what he could afford. Sometimes Santa gets short of money. He has a lot of children to visit.

When I was a little girl we were told, if we had been bad we wouldn't get any thing. He was supposed to have fairies to help him check up on us, if we had been naughty or not.

 

This time it is a little easier to choose a stopping point, as the subject changes slightly after this.


The reference to “Grandpa Gene” and his mustache puzzled me. I knew he wasn’t one of Elsie’s grandfathers; she never met either of hers, and their names were William and George anyway. After some cursory research, I am still puzzled. I am supposing that “Grandpa Gene” was a figure in popular culture at some point during Elsie’s life, obviously at a point prior to her writing of this memoir in 1990. Since I could find no mention of anyone with that nickname before 1990, I suspect that it may have been a local figure, well known in the Portland, Oregon area to a certain generation, but without a national audience to remember him frequently online.
 

I also chuckled at “We called the davenport a couch those days,” as one would be hard-pressed to find many people who still call a couch a davenport! Well, at least around here. Perhaps it is still common in other parts of the world.

Citation:

Elsie Crocker, "Christmas on the Farm when I was a Small Child" (typescript, 1990); copy in possession of Amber Brosius, 2020.

Amanuensis Monday: Christmas on the Farm (part 1)

I can’t believe it. I can not believe it. After all these years…

I have always been a festive person, of the type who not only doesn’t mind, but actually enjoys hearing Christmas carols and seeing tinsel and holly long before Thanksgiving. So it should come as no surprise that I spent a portion of yesterday watching holiday videos on YouTube. With a renewed interest, I watched histories and recipes regarding a traditional English Christmas. I contemplated attempting a plum pudding, despite having never seen one in person, and was fascinated with the game of “snapdragon,” in which children snatch raisins from flaming brandy. To any British readers, this may seem a natural and ordinary part of Christmas, but to a plain Oregonian like me, it seems exotic and frightening. I wondered how my British ancestors celebrated Christmas and whether they had ever played snapdragon. I thought about Aunt Elsie’s typescript, remembering that she had written “My Christmas book is separate form this one,” and I wished that such a book actually existed.

Yesterday, when I should have been strapping on my face mask and heading to the mall to finish up my Christmas shopping, I opened up my cedar chest and began flipping through the family files that Dad and I had hurriedly organized a few months ago, with the intention of scanning some of the more interesting items. And I did. I found some of my grandpa’s Army records, including his discharge papers, which I will examine more closely later. I found the pages torn from the Wade family Bible. I found the missing Civil War pension papers for Allen C. Wade. And then I found about a gazillion copies of Elsie’s typescript, all bound. (I will finally be able to make sure the pages of my copy of the typescript are in order!)

Curiously, only one of the bound volumes was in the blue cover I remembered. The rest had red covers. I opened one up, and a chill ran up my spine.

CHRISTMAS ON THE FARM WHEN I WAS A SMALL CHILD

read the first line. Was this truly the missing Christmas book? I read on… and on… and on. I closed the book with an exhaled “huh!” and a chuckle. I had actually found it. The lost Christmas book really did exist.

Naturally, the next step is to transcribe it. The same policies I used for the original typescript will apply to this one, namely:

• I intend to retain all of Elsie’s original spelling and punctuation except in the case when it is an obvious typographical error or when the meaning becomes unclear. Most of the manuscript was typed with the caps lock turned on, so the choices in capitalization are mine.
• Elsie used few titles or divisions in her manuscript. All titles (i.e. title of the blog), except those included in the text, are my own. The divisions will be at my discretion and seldom original to the manuscript.
• The original typescript was just that: a typescript. I hope to sometimes include relevant pictures. Any comment or caption to a picture is my own, and not original to the manuscript.
• Once or twice there are stories or names that would not measure up to today’s standards. Remember, this was nearly a century ago, when people had different notions about what was and wasn’t acceptable. I do not believe in revising history to suit modern tastes. This does not imply approval of the old attitudes, but rather an idea that we cannot deny our past and must be able to face what we were in order to move forward.

Now I will present the first couple of pages.

Christmas on the farm when I was a small child

Elsie Crocker

This farm was located ten miles from Boise Idaho and six miles from Meridian Idaho. Right in the middle of the fertile valley of Boise, Idaho. The place my dad had been looking for.

This ranch was called “Shaw’s and Dorr’s Orchard”. It was owned by two families, that lived in Boise. They visited the ranch often. They each had a family. The Dorr’s had a boy my age. The Shaw’s had a girl, whose name was Inez Shaw, whom my sister Inez was named for.

We stayed on this ranch for five years. We had a new house and all the necessaries when we moved in. They had a well dug and had it run by a motor. This was great, lots of nice pure water to drink. It was used for the animals and gardens.

Dad had hired men to help build the sheds, barn, and pig pen. We had two horses, one cow whose name was Queenie. One horse was coal black, his name was “Nig” The other horse was named Dick He was a pretty roan, with a white star on his forehead. Dick was a high spirited, but Nig was slow and easy. My mother thought Dick had a lot of “spunk”

We finally got turkeys, chickens, a couple of pigs, and our first big black and white dog, which we all loved. We called him Blackie, he would wake us up every morning.

Dad planted all kinds of fruit trees. The trees were small, so we had to wait a few years for their fruit.

Dad’s real job was to plant eighty acres of prune trees.

We finally got a root cellar where we kept our milk, eggs and fruit cool. The summers in Idaho were very hot Things spoiled fast in the heat. We never had an ice box, refrigerators were unheard of.

We felt fortunate to have a real nice house to live in. Lots of good pure water to use anyway we needed. Good rich soil to grow vegetables, chickens for all the eggs, we needed, and Queenie to give us milk and enough to feed the animals. Milk to drink and whipping cream for cakes and goodies. Yes we made our candy and pop corn balls. Money was scarce but money isn’t everything, Dad would say. We had each other and we were very happy.

Dad liked to see things grow, therefore we always had a lot of vegetables and flowers. Dad always planted violets close to Mothers bedroom window, she loved the scent of violets and always did.

Dad would plant a lot of popcorn between the rows of squash, pumpkins, and melons. The summers are real hot and dry just the right for growing melons. Oh! How good they are right off the vine. We had enough to share with neighbors and school friends.

We dried the popcorn on a spread out canvas or by twisting the tops together and hung up by the tops on a nail in the woodshed.

The popcorn had to be real dry to pop good. The ones that didn’t pop we called “old maids”. I think we still call them that.

My brothers and I had to shell the popcorn. We’d take two ears and rub them together. After the first kernels loosened up the others would come off easy. You had to be careful shelling the corn, because the popcorn had sharp points as sharp as a needle. That’s the way we could tell the popcorn from the regular corn. I think they have popcorn different now, without points.

A few days before Christmas we would pop a lot of corn getting ready to take it to school, where we would thread it with cranberries to make garlands. We used a needle and a strong thread. The red and white was very pretty.

Our tree wasn’t fir or noble as we have now. These kind of trees were scarce in Idaho. They had a few shipped in. I suppose they have all kinds there now.

The school was a one room school with all eight grades one teacher for all eight grades. My brothers went there with me or I with them. It was nice to have some help making our decorations, from the older students.

Our school Christmas tree was one the older boys, cut from the vacant lot next to the school house This tree was a willow or a shrub bush, no matter we loved it just the same.

We made ring chains and cranberry and popcorn garlands. We made other ornaments out of what ever we had to work with. The teacher had a beautiful honeycomb big bell in the middle of the room. She kept this always for the next Christmas. It was snowy white.

We would make paper doll strings, folding the paper many times and cutting a string of paper dolls, and holding hands.

Of course we had to clean out our desks to be all clean for Christmas.

This was a special day!

 

This is one of two photos in my collection showing the actual schoolroom Elsie describes. Elsie is sitting in the front row, closest to the camera, wearing a white dress. Walter is in the front row closest to the teacher, wearing overalls. Bill is, from the camera's perspective, directly in front of Walter, in the second row, also wearing overalls.

 

I will arbitrarily end there, as this memoir is difficult to divide into chapters. 

 

To continue with the next installment of Elsie's Christmas book, click here.

Citation:

Elsie Crocker, "Christmas on the Farm when I was a Small Child" (typescript, 1990); copy in possession of Amber Brosius, 2020.

After Elsie’s Manuscript

Aunt Elsie

If you have been following my Amanuensis Monday series transcribing the manuscript my great-aunt Elsie wrote, you know that it stopped before her family moved from Idaho to Oregon. However, I can continue (admittedly, in less detail) from there. Each time I visited her she told me other stories, which, thankfully, I recorded as soon as I got home.

I have before me the notes from two conversations with Elsie, one on 18 Apr 1999 and one that I unfortunately neglected to note the date, but it would have been in late 1998 or in 1999. Some of what she said repeats what is already written in her manuscript, so I will omit those parts. The rest I will sort more or less chronologically and present in the following paragraphs.

The day of one of our conversations. My “nephew’s” mom was also there, but apparently she was taking the picture.

Going back to the times that Elsie wrote about in her manuscript, she told me a couple things that she had not written about. She told me that when she was a little girl she used to sit on her dad’s lap and curl his moustache. She said he had some kind of special wax or cream that he would put on it.

She also remembered that her dad always said that tea should be the color of whiskey. Elsie told me that she was so young she didn’t know what whiskey was, but she always remembered that tea ought to be the color of it.

And now we arrive where the manuscript left off. The first world war has ended, and Walter Sr. (Elsie’s dad) has fallen in love with Oregon because berries and nuts grow on the sides of the road. He had been working in the shipyards in Portland during the war, while his family remained in Idaho. But now the war is over, and he has decided that the whole Underwood family will move to Oregon.

When they came, they took a train from Idaho to the Oregon town of Canby. That seems a remarkable stopping point to me, as Canby is a fair distance south of Portland, and a pretty small town. I wonder how they even heard of it. However, perhaps it was more prosperous at that time, or perhaps they knew someone there. Elsie said that they stayed with friends for a while, though she didn’t say whether those friends lived in Canby or Portland. And unfortunately, if she mentioned their names, I did not write them down. But after staying with those friends, whoever they were, the Underwood family got a house in the area of Portland known as Errol Heights.

Elsie left home at age 15; she didn’t get to finish high school. At that time she moved in with a prominent Portland family, the Banfields. There is now a freeway named after them. She looked after their little girl, Harriet. She also cooked for them. On Thanksgiving, she would prepare their Thanksgiving dinner before going home to her own family for the holiday.

The little Banfield girl picked out a set of dishes for Elsie. They were a buttercup pattern because she said that Elsie was just like a buttercup. Mrs. Banfield told Elsie to go to a particular store and look at this particular set of dishes. She knew that Elsie loved to set the table. So Elsie went to the store and looked. She liked them, but, she protested to Mrs. Banfield, they were so expensive, and she had such a large family. (Her “family” at this time is, naturally, referring to her parents and siblings. She had not yet married.) But Mrs. Banfield wanted her to have these dishes. So she had the store do a table setting display with them for Elsie and told her to go look at them again on her day off. Elsie felt very awkward about it, but Mrs. Banfield’s word was law, so she went. She nervously entered the store. The salesgirl asked if she could help her.

“I’m supposed to look at a table setting,” said Elsie.

“Oh! You must be Elsie,” said the salesgirl, and showed her to the table setting.

It was beautiful, but once again Elsie protested the price to Mrs. Banfield. It was no use: Mrs. Banfield wanted her to have the dishes, so she bought them for her. She also insisted to Elsie that they be used for everyday, not saved for special occasions.

At the time of my visit, Elsie proudly showed me the dishes, and told me that she still had the entire set. She was just shy of her 92^nd birthday.

She said that one time they had duck for dinner, and it tasted like fish.

Sometime after all the Underwood girls were out of grammar school, Walter and Flora Underwood (the parents) moved to Netarts, on the Oregon coast. Walter’s sister and her husband, known as Aunt Sadie and Uncle Alvy, lived next door. Walter built both houses. He preferred living at the beach to living in Portland. He sold flower bulbs there.

Here I must interject a story of my own. The houses in Netarts are no longer in the family, but when my Dad was a child he used to visit his grandparents there. When I go with him for a drive in that area it is like a guided tour: he points out the house that belonged to his grandparents and comments on the changes that have been made in the neighborhood, he shows me where the dump was where his cousins used to shoot rats, he tells about the dune that was behind the Schooner Restaurant and how the kids used to run down it until one day a boy was covered by sand and died. I have accompanied him on enough of these excursions that I can almost tell some of the stories myself, although Dad tells them best. He is an excellent storyteller. Like a little child, I beg him to tell them again and again.

One day, my parents and I were on such a drive, and we saw a garage sale sign. Not one of us can resist a garage sale. And then we realized that the sale was at Walter Underwood’s old house! We definitely had to stop. Among the other items displayed in the front yard were a large number of gladiolas. “The man who used to live here ran a nursery,” explained the woman running the sale. “That was my granddad,” my dad said. These were flowers descended from those originally planted by my great-grandfather. So naturally we bought as many gladiolas as we could carry—not only were they lovely to look at, but they were family heirlooms!

A gladiola resembling those we got from Walter Underwood, Sr.’s former garden.  

By 3268zauber (Own work) [CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

But we must go back in time again, and return to the stories that Elsie told me. There is little left; the rest is more like snippets of information than stories, but they are still worth telling.

During WWII, there was a scare at Netarts Bay. Walter Sr. and two other men watched on the ground all night, but fortunately nothing happened.

When V-J Day came along, people swarmed into Safeway, the grocery store where Elsie worked.

Elsie’s sisters Aileen (my grandma) and Inez worked for Jantzen Knitting Mills. Aileen was the floor manager, and Inez was a spinner.

My grandma, Aileen, is the last woman from the right in the second row. Her sister Inez is directly behind her.

Elsie also said that she remembered going back to Idaho and visiting her sister Vida’s grave with her mom. If you recall, Vida was the baby who died of typhoid fever, apparently when the Underwoods were living in Burley, Idaho. “Mom allways thought she could have saved Vida,” Elsie wrote in her manuscript. She told me that Vida had been the only one of the children who had brown eyes.

That is the end of the notes I took on the two visits I mentioned. There were many more visits and many more notes, but I was just beginning to become serious about genealogy and still had a lot to learn about organization. The other notes are scattered amongst my papers, yet to be sorted into any sort of identifiable structure. I often, when going through old paperwork, run across a stray piece of scratch paper or even an envelope covered in genealogical notes from those early days.

However, since you have already spent so much time getting to know Aunt Elsie, I suspect you may be interested to learn about the rest of her life.

She married a man named Ferris Jones on 21 July 1928 in Portland, Oregon. I don’t know much about their marriage, as Elsie seldom talked about it except when saying something like, “That was when I was with my first husband, Ferris.” I once asked her about Ferris, but all she would say was, “He wasn’t good to me.” They divorced sometime before 1960, but I have not yet been able to find the record.

Despite how well I thought I knew Elsie, I learned only last year that she was married on 9 July 1960 to a man named Donald Peterson. They probably met at work, since I know that Elsie worked at Safeway, and he was a meat cutter at Safeway. There are, of course, a number of different Safeway locations, and I don’t know at this time whether they were both at the same location, but it does seem the likeliest scenario. Their marriage, however, was very short-lived. Even my dad, who was a child at the time, was surprised to hear of this marriage, having no recollection of it, and I could not find a single picture of Donald in the family album.

Marriage record for Elsie and her second husband Donald. Two of the witnesses are Elsie’s sister and brother-in-law.

She married a third time on 20 April 1963 to Lee Crocker. This was the uncle that I knew, and the marriage that lasted. Elsie once told me how they met, and I know that I recently saw those notes, but evidently I did not put them where they belonged, because I don’t see them now. However, I do remember that the story involved square dancing and seeing Lee walking around with his three children.

Lee, as I knew him, was a quiet, but very kind man. Elsie, in contrasting him to her first husband, said, “He’s good to me.” Elsie never had any biological children, but she took in Lee’s as her own. Their mother had passed away in 1960. I know that Elsie loved those children very much. Every time I visited she was sure to show me the latest pictures of her kids and grandkids and to tell me what each one was up to. Unfortunately, I never got to know them personally very well, though we did meet a few times, but Elsie always made sure to tell me the latest news. (I suspect she kept them apprised of the latest news about me, as well.)

When my own grandmother, Aileen, passed away in 1989, Elsie and Lee took over as sort of my surrogate grandparents. It is difficult to put into words what they meant to me. It was shortly after my grandma died—memory makes me want to say the day after, but I’m not sure that is correct—that I spent a very special day with Lee and Elsie. I think it was the first time that I had stayed with them without my parents, and it might even have been a sleepover. But after that day, although I still missed my grandma, I didn’t feel quite so much like she was gone. And I knew that whenever I needed Grandma Aileen, I could always call on Elsie.

Lee passed away on 11 April 1992. After that, Elsie moved into a smaller apartment. I remember “helping” her move. (I doubt if I was much help!) We explored many treasures hidden in her huge closet. She did not have to move far; they had lived at an upscale retirement home called Willamette View Manor, and she stayed within the manor, just in a different hallway.

Elsie remained lively and spry into her 90s. She kept some rosebushes in the manor’s garden and made a habit of leaving roses at her neighbors’ doors in the morning so they would have fresh flowers for their rooms.

And then one day she fell. I have never understood how a broken bone can completely destroy a person’s health, and I probably never will. But Elsie spent the rest of her days in the hospital. She passed away on 20 June 2001.

I think her life was well summed up by one of her friends at the funeral. I don’t know who it was, only that she lived at the manor. She told my mom and me that, having no family of her own, she had never quite understood why Elsie was always talking about hers. Sometimes it would rather annoy her that Elsie was always talking about others. But, seeing how many people were at the funeral and how much love there was, “Now I understand.”

Amanuensis Monday--Elsie Crocker’s Manuscript, Part 21: Bees, Dogs, Chickens

To read this project from the beginning, click here.

It’s hard to believe, but we have come to the final installment of Elsie Crocker’s manuscript. This post transcribes the last two pages.

We moved closer to Boise. Here Dad got us settled before, going to Portland Oregon, to work in the shipyards. A war was going on, World War One. The pay was pretty good.

This place was a lot smaller than Shaws place. Dad got a lot of bees, about twenty or thirty swarms of bees. Dad got these bees ready before he left. He even put starters in the hives for the bees to build on. The starters. were a wooden slat with some honey comb across the top. The bees would fill in the rest and fill it with honey, some of the swarms did so well he put double decker tops on the hives. We had a clover lawn and ran bare footed most of the time, so you can imagine how many stings we got.

Walter Underwood, Sr. in his beekeeping gear several years later, in Oregon.

We had a lot of honey, we ate honey on everything. Sometimes the swams would split, if they had two queens. It was too crowed for two queens. The bees before leacing would swam on the out side of the hive. It would look real black with them, when they were ready to leave they would swarm in the air, making a round cylinder circle. Bill and I would try to stop them by throughing up rocks or dirt in the air. We didn’t want to loss these bees. Mother saw us one day She yelled at us to quit doing that as they may light on us. Where ever the queen stopped the rest stopped also.

Once in a while Bill would find a swarm in one of our trees. We would let our dad or neighbor. where they were. They would get an empty hive and try to shake some of the bees into the hive, hopeing to get the queen. The rest of the bees will follow the queen. They would leave the hive there until the next morning. Nine out of ten the swarm was in the hive, then they took the hive and put it with the others.

Dad wore a fine net screentype hat around his head. A cloth was fastened to the bottom of the screen and fell around his shoulders. He also wore long gloves. Some time he would get stung anyway. Did he look awful! He would swell up real bad. He never went to the doctors, but I’m sure he should have. Now days we get shots. Some people even die with bee stings.

At this place Mother had to sell the bees, hives and all. She just couldn’t take care of them.

We had some good neighbors close to us, I had a real good friend ashort way up the road. She had a married sister, with a very small baby.

My friend’s name was Roxy, her brother’s name was Hazel, a funny name for a boy, my mother always thought.

Roxy and I was together a lot. She started me to crochet. We were sitting under a shade tree, one day, she tried to teach me. I just couldn’t get the hang of it. But the next day I was out there by my self and made a lot of this lace “mile a minute” it was called. I could not make it that fast, but I had got the idea how it was done. I went into the house to show my mom what I had accomplished. Mother asked “Was Roxy here I never saw her?” No I did it by myself. I said. I just couldn’t make my fingers going and hold the thread in the other hand, after I had it figured out, it was easy.

Roxy had a big black and brown dog which thought could sing. We would find a nice shady place and Roxy would bring some dried peaches, her dog and a mouth organ. She would play the mouth organ and the dog would sing. We didn’t know then it hurt the dogs ears. He was howling not singing, he wasn’t held there or tyed, he could leave any time, but he didn’t. He looked very professional and cute. He would sit on his hind legs, with his front legs up, just like he was posing. I’m glad we didn’t have him sing the whole time we were there.

Roxy only took a few peaches a day, we would eat them. They were so good. Well, one morning Rozy’s mother called my mom and asked “How was Elsie feeling? Mother said “Just fine, why”? Roxy’s mother told her Roxy and I had eatened a half flour sack of dried peaches. Roxy was real sick. The peaches had swollen up in Roxys stomach. Roxy got well in a couple of days but that was the end of our afternoon dog shows.

Here is where we had a lot of watermelons too. Some one was stealing them so my brother Walter and the neighbor boy Hazel decided to caught them or to scare them away so they made some buck shots. Then that night we went out and layed doun in the water melon patch or near by. We waited and waited for a long time We got cold and damp. We finally gave up. Dis appointed no one showed up. Dad said he was glad That buck shot might of hurt someone.

We had chickens on this ranch, one afternoo it rained (as we would say) cats and dogs. The chickens were getting wased away. Mother yelled go fast and get the chicken coope door open or we will lose a lot of the small chickens, Mother and I was gathering them up in our aprons as fast as we could. It was really coming doun, I was running back and forth, trying to keep Mother from getting so wet. Well I stepped on a big clencher nail, which a nail with three sides for a point. It is so hard to get out once it gets in. Poor Mom had to get this out of my foot without hurting me to much.

And that is the abrupt end to Elsie’s manuscript, or at least my copy of it. When she first completed it, my dad, who was a printer at the time, made and bound several copies and distributed them to relatives. The copy from which I have been transcribing is not one of those bound copies. At one time it was stapled, but the staple has long since disappeared. Some day I would like to compare it to one of the bound copies to make sure that the pages are still in the correct order and that none are missing.

As you can see, this manuscript ends before the Underwood family leaves Idaho. Although I do not have the rest of the story in Elsie’s own words, I will soon post an entry telling the rest of the story as I know it.

Amanuensis Monday--Elsie Crocker’s Manuscript, Part 20: Sisters and snacks

To read this project from the beginning, click here.

In this second-to-the-last installment of Elsie Crocker’s manuscript, she relates a couple stories of two of her younger sisters: my grandma, Aileen, and the youngest girl, Inez. I particularly like to read of my grandma as a child. It is amusing to think of her as a pesky younger sister.

She also tells about some more of the foods of her childhood. I am not surprised that Elsie wrote so many times about different recipes, as Elsie herself—and, indeed, all four of the Underwood sisters—became an excellent cook herself.

Mother would cook for the thrashers when they came to our house. The thrashers would go from one farm to the other until all the thrashing in the community was finished. The men went from one farm to the other to help thrash. The wives would go with them to help the one that was having the thrashers that day. They would help with the cooking. The thrashers were fed well. We liked to watch them thrash. But wern’t aloud to get very close. As the shaff would get in our eyes, or get in the way of the machinery. It was exciting to see all the wheat filling the sacks. They called the stems of the wheat straw, used for bedding doun the horses and to keep other animals clean. When they finished there was a huge pile.

A threshing machine, perhaps similar to the one used by Elsie's "thrashers." 

By ThomasWeise (Own work) [CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0) or GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html)], via Wikimedia Commons

One day I remember clearly, we had the thrashers that day the straw was piled. As I usually collected the eggs, Mom told me to see how many eggs were at the top of this huge pile of straw. She knew there was some as she had heard the hen cackle, the hen cackles to tell the world she has laid an egg. I started to go, and there was Aileen crying and tugging at my skirt. I had to take her but it was going to be rough. That straw was stickery and light. I’d go about one step and fall back two. Carrying a small child on one hip and a basket for eggs in the other, was tough going. We found the egg, but I was tired, I wondered if it was worth it, going by myself wouldnit have been so bad but the extra weight made me sink deeper in the straw. My legs were scratched, I wasn’t very happy. I asked my mother why Aileen had to follow me everywhere I went. Mom told me I should be glad I had a sister who wanted to follow me. I am sure my mother was right. I never got upset after that, Aileen followed me every where any time

Mother made the best cottage cheese. She would put any sour milk she had, in a pan on the back of the stove top, where it cooked very slowly, until it separated. Rinsed it and washed it real good. She put the cheese part in a bag and let it drip dry. She the mixed the cheese with a lot of thick fresh cream, salt and pepper. Um’um good.

Dad would help us make pop corn balls which he never ate any (no sugar). Our snack food those days were pop corn and apples. No fast foods’.

We were always happy to get home to all the good smells especiallywhen Mom cooked the left over mashed potatoes and left over boiled cabbage, she fried it in bacon grease. This one of the dishes Bill and I would hurry to get to the table for. The smell was so good while we were doing our chores. We always when we were young had dinner at noon, and dinner or spper as we called a night meal.

We had a big irregation ditch next to our house, to one side. The ditch had a lot of rushing water going thru a culvert, the culvert ran under the road.

One night the neighbors were having a kids party. Dad was in Portland working for the war. Mother told us older kids, we could go to the party. She would go and visit a new neighbor and take Inez. Inez was not much over a year old. Mother was quite ready when we left the house, for some reason I had to go back to the house. I didn’t see Inez and asked Mother where she was. She asked Isn’t she there? I told her I couldn’t see her any where. We hyrriedly looked every where. Then I happened to remember her loving that little baby at Roxy’s house. She just wouldn’t go there surely, well, we started up to Roxys house. As we got started over the culvert. I heard a faint “Elsie”. I looked doun into this water and at the entrance of the calvert, her arms out stretched side ways was the only thing saving her from washing doun stream. I jumped into the ditch and grabbed her her out. I don’t know how I had the strength and couage to jump in that fast water. Mother was happy to see she was alive. We were both thankful we were there to save her, what if I hadn’t have gone back for something that night? I am sure the Man Upstairs was there with us that night.

Mom didn’t go to the neighbors that night, the neighbors came to our house. They worked hard and took turns pumping the water out of her. Mother watched over her to see if she was still breathing normal. Mother said to forget it but think of it as a lesson.

I enjoyed reading about fried mashed potatoes, as that is also a favorite of mine. I have never added cabbage to them, though. Perhaps I will try that one of these days.

I love that Elsie was so specific as to the time of the story of Inez’ near drowning. The details she offers would place the incident in probably the spring or summer of 1918.

Elsie told me another story of saving a little girl from drowning. This would have been several years later, when the Underwoods had moved to Portland and Elsie was working for Safeway. I believe that would have been in the late 1940s, 1950s or early 1960s. It was at a company picnic at a park. I’m sure that Elsie told me which park it was, but I didn’t write it down. (Genealogists often lament their slack note-taking in their early days, but I must excuse myself. Rather, I am glad that as a high school student I had the foresight to take notes at all!) There was a pond or a river there, and a little girl fell in. Elsie saw her go down once, twice, and then a third time. She remembered the old saying that a drowning person only goes down three times, and in she jumped.

To continue with the next installment of Elsie's manuscript, click here. 

Amanuensis Monday--Elsie Crocker’s Manuscript, Part 17: Food and Animals

To read this project from the beginning, click here.

In this installment, Elsie tells about a couple of foods that her family used to make, a misadventure with her father’s dinner, and a few animal interactions.

Sometime when it snowed, we would make ice cream. We started with a ten pound tin can with a clencher lid. We’d put some cream and a little milk, sugar, vanilla and eggs. We’d find a big drift of snow, we put doun in the snow. We took turns twisting and turning this ice cream. Of course we open the can up once in a while to see how it was coming a long. Icicies were used to freeze the cream instead of the snow, of course the icicles had to be gathered and copped up.

Mother made the best beef steak pudding, as she called it, it consisted of beef, a little flour, a little water, pepper and salt with a suet crust. She cooked it on the back of the stove allday long, on a wood stove. It was cooked in a heavy fire proof bowl, covered withe a cloth. Tied with a string. Then the pudding was put in a pan of water. This was a wonderful dinner with good mashed potatoes.

Mother cooked her plum pudding this way also.

One day Dad asked us to go over to the other ranch, across the flied, from us. This farm also belonged to the Dorrs and the Shaws. The tenants had moved and on one was living there. He had seen some scallions (little onions) over there going to waste. So one day Bill and I decided to go over and get some for him. We cleaned them and put them on the table ready for his dinner. That night Dad was happy to see that we had gotten his scallions. He took one bite. (What ever is this, where did you get this?” We told him it was what he wanted. Bill and I never had tasted or smelled garlic before. We thought it didn’t smell like onions. Bill and I got a kick out of this, he wanted us to get them and then they didn’t turn out right.

When the thrashers, came they would lift up the bundles of wheat. The binder had already been there and put the wheat in sort of standing up piles. The thrashers were pick up the piles and feed them into the machine to knock the wheat out of the stacks. Under some of these piles were a few baby mice, all pink and white. We children liked to watch the thrashers but also these litt mice. Bill and Walter being older than I, would encourage me to carry one of these cute little mice into the house and scare my mother. Of course the boys came with me but I carried this little cute mouse, by the tail into the house. I can still see Mother yelling “Get that out of here. One day she even got and stood on top of the table. Holding up her skirts yelled, Don’t let him loose in here

This was funny until one day, there wasn’t any mice. We found a water dog a little one, I was supposed to carry this in to the house. I took hold of his tail as I had did the little mice. He had a different He just curled up and bit me on the hand. That was the last I ever did that. The boys could carry their own animals after that.

I was surprised Mother didn’t like mice, as she had a little poem. I think she made up. The poem went like thi

     I’m only a wee little mouse ma’m

     I live in the crack of your house ma’m

     With a small piece of cheese

     And a very few peas

     Only having a little feast ma’m

     Oh, no need to open the door

     I can slip right thru this crack ma’m

I always enjoyed this little poem. She said there wasn’t anymore to it.

Every spring the sheepherders would bring their flocks of sheep, by our house, on thier way to the foot hills, to feed during the summer months. We lived on a small hill, we could see them coming in the valley below. The sheep would stir up a cloud of dust. Bill and I would run and get on the gate posts, the posts were flat on top, so we could sit on them. We waited for the band of sheep to come by. Then we would ask the sheep herders, if they had left any little lambs along the way that couldn’t make it. They would tell yes and where they had left them, not to far from where we lived. Bill and I would run all the way and fetch this cute new born baby lamb home with us. Sometimes there was only one and another time there would be a pair of twins. No matter we shared our little lambs. We knew how to feed them out of a bottle. Later they could eat grass and wheat like the big ones. We gave them a lot of love and attention.

Out of curiosity about that little verse about the mouse, I did a quick search on the internet. Without looking very hard, I found what is probably the original of that poem. It is entitled “The Mouse” and was written by Laura Elizabeth Richards:

I’m only a poor little mouse, ma’am!

I live in the wall of your house, ma’am!

With a fragment of cheese and a very few peas

I was having a little carouse, ma’am!

No mischief at all I intend, ma’am!

I hope you will act as my friend, ma’am!

If my life you should take, many hearts it would break,

And the trouble would be without end, ma’am!

My wife lives in there, in the crack, ma’am!

She’s waiting for me to come back, ma’am!

She hoped I might find a bit of a rind,

For the children their dinner do lack, ma’am!

’Tis hard living there in the wall, ma’am!

For plaster and mortar will pall, ma’am,

On the minds of the young, and when specially hung—

Ay, upon their poor father they’ll fall. ma’am!

I never was given to strife, ma’am!

(Don't look at that terrible knife, ma’am!)

The noise overhead that disturbs you in bed,

’Tis the rats, I will venture my life, ma’am!

In your eyes I see mercy, I’m sure, ma’am!

Oh, there’s no need to open the door, ma’am!

I’ll slip through the crack, and I’ll never come back,

Oh! I’ll never come back any more, ma’am!

(I found the full poem in Tirra Lirra RhymesOld and New on the Internet Archive and on Free Fiction Books. It also appears, missing the fifth verse, in The Unitarian Register, Volume 91, on Google Books.)

To continue with the next installment of Elsie's manuscript, click here.