Memorial Day anniversary

Ken and I spent our anniversary hiking on Pilot Mtn. last weekend. It's where "Mount Pilot" got its name from the "Andy Griffith" show. Andy Griffith was born in Mt. Airy, NC, near here. Here I am pointing to the peak, after sweating my way up the side of a cliff face, where rock climbers like to go.

Here's Ken, whom you will meet at the upcoming reunion if you haven't met him before. Only a little more than a month to go! Yay!

Restoration Row

Timothy Egan had this excellent piece in the NYT about the Plains and the restoration of the prairie.

Here's the the beginning:

PAWHUSKA, Okla. – It is hard to love a land you don’t understand, and for most of my life I had no idea why anyone would ever live in the Great Plains – let alone love the place.

Flat, featureless, boring. Those were the words I heard growing up whenever someone would mention the plains. My view was informed by Dorothy’s Kansas, which looked scary and Gothic even before the twister took her house and Toto, too.

But then I spent some time here, mostly listening to people in the twilight of their lives tell about the land when it turned on them, during the Dust Bowl of the 1930s. At the end of a long day of hearing stories, I would go for a run in the wind, and sometimes get a glimpse of the magic of the place — a pronghorn antelope in a sprint, a sky blushing pink, the quiet when the air finally settles.

There are people with us still who remember the Great Plains in its birthday suit, grass as far as the eye could see, what Walt Whitman called, “that delicate miracle, the ever-recurring grass.”

Read entire article...

The case of the tractor and the Kansas Supreme Court appeal

Allis-Chalmers Model E tractor, 1929

Through Mike's diligence down at the courthouse, we have an abstract from a lawsuit involving his grandfather Paul Harden from 1939, filed in Clark County District Court and appealed to the Kansas Supreme Court.

It seems he had agreed to trade an Allis (sic) Model E tractor to B.J. Herd of Coldwater for a newer model (one assumes) but arranged to keep the tractor until a prospective buyer could come and look it over. The buyer, one H.W. Estes, a farmer near Sitka, came to look at the tractor, and Paul gave his assurances as to its working order.

According to the abstract, Paul made the following statements about the tractor: “I have overhauled this Allis tractor and it has not been run more than 10 or 12 days since it was overhauled. When I overhauled it, I put in new sleeves and pistons and rings, also a new water pump, also one new drum with new pinions to prevent it from wearing, and also everything else which would make this tractor in tip top shape. Nothing needs to be done to it except felts on the drums, and gaskets for the oil pan. This tractor is in No. 1 shape and you won’t need repairs for it for 2 or 3 years. It is ready to go to work and you cannot overload it in the field.” When the tractor did not crank readily and ran with a miss, Harden stated to the defendant (Mr. Estes): “When you put in a new spark plug instead of the imperfect one in the tractor it will go right off and be ready to hook onto.” Harden further stated to the defendant: “Other than what I have told you this tractor is in good shape, and I will guarantee that I have told you all that is wrong with the tractor.”

An antique farming website says that this particular model tractor was made in 1929, so it would have been about 10 years old at the time.

The defendant told Paul and Mr. Herd that he knew nothing about tractors and that, relying on what they had told him, he would take the tractor. He was to pay Mr. Herd $100 by check and give him a promissory note for $100 at 10-percent interest. Also, he had a Wallis tractor he agreed to trade to the Allis dealer for a $100 credit. He told Mr. Herd that he had a great deal of farming to do and needed a better tractor in good repair.

Now, the details are a little unclear, but it seems Paul delivered the tractor to some designated location in Sitka. Mr. Estes claimed in his countersuit that the tractor was not in good repair, that it would not crank when a new spark plug was installed, and was a piece of junk.

When Estes did not pay what he promised, Mr. Herd took him to court, in November 1939, with Paul as a witness. As often happens, Mr. Estes countersued, saying he had been cheated, that Paul and Mr. Herd connived and colluded between them “with a purpose to blind, cheat and deceive this defendant, by means of false representations…” He denied receiving the tractor, as it was apparently left, inoperable, wherever it had been delivered to, and he was unable to do the planting and farm work he needed to do, now having no working tractor. The damages he claimed amounted to $100 for his Wallis tractor, $35 for repairs, $370 for damages to his crops, and $300 in punitive damages.

He further asked that Paul be made a party to the suit, claiming Paul arranged to get a deal on a new tractor if he helped Mr. Herd sell the used one, and so convinced the buyer it was worth more than it really was. Paul filed a demurrer on Dec. 12, 1940, basically saying the defendant had no basis to bring suit against him.

Mr. Herd won his case against Mr. Estes in Clark Country District Court, but Estes filed for an appeal to the Kansas Supreme Court. He lost his appeal in a Feb. 17, 1941 decision.

We don’t have our grandfather’s opinion on this case now, but it seems likely that Mr. Estes was correct when he said he didn’t know anything about tractors and simply was unable to get it running. The abstract states that Mr. Herd had done some repairs on it on July 4, 1939, but Estes probably felt he bought a lemon. To our knowledge, there has never been any rumor that Paul Harden was less than scrupulously honest in his business dealings.

I like to imagine that the tractor was left on the Sitka corner and that it sat out there for three years rusting while the case wound its way through the courts...

Memories from Uncle Bob

Willis, Lloyd, Frances, Bob and Duane (I think) Harden.

A few years later, Bob, Duane and Ray Harden at what looks like a previous family reunion in the 70s. Sorry for the polyester!

Uncle Bob had memories to share in response to those by Ray and Dan. I wish Grandpa Duane was around to tell us what he was thinking when he built that ladder...

I don’t remember what year it was….maybe the 40s. In those days we bound feed stalks and then hauled them on an old flat bed truck. It took quite a crew of men to cut the feed and haul it to the cutter. A lot of the men used tobacco – they either smoked or chewed it. Well, my little brother, Ray, happened to find part of a pouch of chewing tobacco. I don’t remember whether it was just me or one of my other brothers with me who talked Ray into trying a little. He did but, boy, was he sick that night. I don’t know if Mom ever found out or not, but I know Ray never did it again.

And I remember when Duane built a ladder on the old windmill tower. I think Frances and Willis were also in on this scheme to fix a place to dive off into the tank. Duane couldn’t wait to cool off, and he climbed up the tower, but he didn’t have it nailed to the tower very well and it fell down with him. Boy, he lay flat on his back with knocked the wind out of him, but he got back up after a while.

Sometimes it can get a mite windy in Kansas...

Looks like some broken windows, but the house is still there!

The younger boys check out the damage to the shed.

The new combine was stored in the machine shed when it was blown down.

Many trees and branches blown down.

Mike shares some more memories of life on the Harden farm, including recollections of the Dust Bowl days and going through a tornado that caused some damage while Willis was living there with his family in 1957.

“This Ole House”
“This ole house was home and comfort as we fought the storms of life.
This ole house once rang with laugher;

this ole house heard many shouts;

now she trembles in the darkness when the lightin’ walks about.”

Dad told me when he (Willis), Duane, Bob, Lloyd and Frances were small children back in the 1930s they had the measles. Grandmother had them in the downstairs bedroom; at that time it was the middle room on the north side of the house which is now the bathroom.

One of the dust storms of the ‘dirty thirties’ came up, and in order for Grandmother to keep the kids from getting sick from the dust, she had to hang wet sheets in front of the windows. There were people who died from dust pneumonia, and others suffered long-term effects. Dad said he remembers watching the sheets turn dark from the dust. Grandmother would rotate the dirty sheets with clean sheets. She soaked the sheets in a tub of water, rinsing the dirt from them, and rotated them back and forth on the windows throughout the day.

There were windows in each of the three downstairs rooms on the north side of the house. When I was a boy we nailed plexi-glass on the outside of the window using strips of lath to seal up the window and keep out the cold air. In the spring of each year the plexi-glass was removed.

We could tell how hard the wind was blowing by the pitch of the wind howling through the window frame. The harder it blew, the higher the pitch as each window had a different pitch, which made for an interesting howling screeching sound. Sometimes you could actually see the house walls move and most definitely could see the curtains move. Outside, the trees roared in the wind. Between the thunder and lightning, rain beating on the windows and sides of the house, trees roaring, windows howling, and walls moving, I remember having several anxious thoughts go through my mind.

In 1957, we experienced a wind storm which blew out windows, knocked down tree limbs and destroyed a shed. It happened during the night. I remember sleeping in the downstairs bedroom where the bathroom is now. Mom and Dad slept in the bedroom on the east. Dad had trouble getting me awake, so there was some delay in getting to the basement. Just before we got to the bathroom (old bathroom), the window blew out, imbedding glass in the wall. Without that hesitation, we probably would have been in the bathroom when the window blew out. Some windows on all sides of the house were knocked out. Water and glass were everywhere throughout the house, and the yard was full of tree limbs. It was later determined that due to all the damage, we had probably experienced a tornado. (See newspaper clippings above.)

Milking Memories by Mike

The early Sixties, with the Harden house in the background. Ruth and Mike holding King; Jim and Phil on the spotted pony, Buttons; and Paul on the other pony, Beauty.

Mike, son of Willis Harden, has provided us with this account of working on the farm, and particularly, milking cows. Ever wonder why store-bought milk is pastureized? Well, you won't after reading about Mike's experiences! I've read stories about people these days who will go to any length to get "raw milk." I imagine most milk today is collected by machine, though. Sorry, cats!

“Well life on the farm is kinda’ laid back,
Ain’t much an ole country boy like me can’t hack.”

There was always a jersey milk cow or two around to milk. We had plenty of milk and cream growing up. We boys did some of the milking; of course dad was around to lend a helping hand most times. Mom churned her own butter, and Mom also made the best cream apple pie; we had cream, the thick kind you ‘cut’ with a spoon, for hot cereal, bananas and cream with sugar, and cream for ice cream. Maybe milking the cow was worth that cream apple pie!

For those of you who don’t know, cows are milked twice daily, morning and evening, so the first step in the cow milking process would be to gather up the milk cow(s), especially if the cows were on wheat pasture. If you didn’t leave the cows off the wheat overnight, the milk tasted like the green wheat (green wheat makes milk bitter and makes the milk smell), so after milking the cows, we left them in the corral overnight.

The cows were kept in the corral west of the barn so before each milking you had to get the cow into the barn, and at times this could present a problem, especially if the cow had a sucking calf by her side which you removed overnight. Get a bucket of grain and an ole milk cow will most generally follow you, so the routine for milking was to retrieve a bucket of grain from the grain bin, pull off a flake of feed and put both in the stall for the ole cow to eat while you milked her. Sometimes the cow would immediately go to her stall and allow you to walk up beside her and lock the stanchion. At times the cow refused to go to the correct stanchion or not keep her head in so you could lock the stanchion. If this were the case, you had a battle with the cow, so you resorted to a little persuasion (board, stick, etc.) to convince her to comply. If the cow wouldn’t keep her head in the stanchion while you walked up beside her to lock it, you would have to put a rope around the stanchion and pull it shut locking her head in place.

Most times I put ‘kickers’ on the cow so I didn’t get kicked. ‘Kickers’ are two V-shaped pieces of metal with a chain between them that you put on the back legs of the cow. The V pieces of metal fit on the back of each leg and the chain was adjustable and it went around the front of her leg. The trick was to put the two V pieces of metal, one for each leg, on without getting kicked. Once that was accomplished, you grab your milking stool, which was a 4 x 4 piece of wood a foot long with a 1 x 4 a foot wide nailed on top. Having your milk bucket handy, you would proceed to sit down on the stool beside the cow with your head and shoulder in her flank. The reason for your head and shoulder in her flank was very important due to the fact you could apply enough pressure in the cow’s flank to discourage her from kicking you, and it also allowed you to feel the kick coming to get out of the way and try and deflect the kick. I’m not for sure my exact age when I first started milking but I am thinking I was approximately close to or around 10 years old.

We always had plenty of cats around the barn as you needed the cats to eliminate the mice and rat population. The cats liked to come up and lick the milk, which could disturb the cow and she would either kick or side-step them. My bucket aim wasn’t always sure all the time so I seemed to spill a little milk on the outside of the bucket while I was milking the cow. Once I remember the cow stepped on a cat’s tail and the cat bit me and ripped a gash in my hand. My hand bleeding probably meant the bucket of milk was spilled and I couldn’t finish milking due to my bleeding hand. Needless to say, I remember the cats did create problems with the milking process. I remember kicking the cats to get away from the cow; sometimes I would tease the cats and squirt them with milk from the cow’s teat. Almost every time when I got enough milk in the bucket I would pour the cats a little milk in a pan and place it far enough away from the cow and me to keep them occupied and happy by filling their bellies full of milk. I guess I could’ve killed ‘em, but what’s a barn with no cats?

You couldn’t milk with gloves on your hands. When it was cold I remember my pinkie fingers were always the coldest. I thought my little fingers were going to freeze off so sometimes I would squirt that warm milk from the cow’s teat on my little fingers just to warm them up.

During hot and warmer weather you had to deal with the pesky flies. The cow would swat flies with her tail and in more times then one she would manage to hit you in the back of your head with her feces and urine covered tail. You learned to deflect the tail so it wouldn’t end up in your milk bucket, and you had to watch for her tail coming in the bucket from the opposite side too.

Now there is an art to milking, and if you were really good at it there is a technique of putting your toe under the bucket tipping it back a little and to the other side and aim the milk in the bucket. This procedure allowed you to keep the bucket further away from the swatting tail getting in the bucket from the other side and further away from the rear of the cow, which is important as you will read in the next paragraph. The cows would kick at flies and as a result of their kicking, sometimes not all the time, their foot landed in your pail of fresh milk. What would you do? If you dumped out the milk, you probably had just a little to take to the house and most likely receive a good chewing out.

At times the cow had her ‘nature calling’ as you were milking her; you could feel her back hump and watch her tail go up. The trick was to grab the bucket fast enough so that none of this ended up in your bucket of milk. With the bucket tipped with your toe, the bucket would naturally be further forward and to your side of the cow and easier to get it away quickly. If you did not remove it at first, it was probably far enough away to escape the onslaught (foot or the ‘nature calling’). Of course you had your own personnel problem here to, you did your best to keep as much of the (nature calling) off of you due to the splattering. We didn’t have any available water in the barn to clean yourself up with if you did get splattered.

At times when you went to get the grain out of the bin, there might be mice, snakes, opossum, raccoon, or a skunk in the grain bin you had to deal with. In fact, you also found them in the barn, and occasionally after finishing with the milking, I’ve been surprised by a skunk or opossum showing up. You could sometimes hear but not see the varmints and as a youngster that created a little anxiety for me. I just had to learn to deal with them.

When I had finished milking I had another little problem to deal with the dogs. The dogs were after the milk too, just like the cats, and the dogs could trip you as you walked to the house with your bucket of milk. I would yell at them and would try to keep them away from the milk. It was easy to give the cats milk in a pan so they would leave you alone. But it was another matter getting tangled up with the dogs tripping you. Yes, I remember well the hardships I faced milking the cows.

As I recall, Mom never did say anything to me about any of the residue in the bottom of the milk bucket or the color of the milk I brought her. After all, she strained it! To my knowledge it never made any of us sick, and we all seemed pretty healthy. I still love milk It is one of my favorite drinks, and I probably drink a half gallon of milk each day.

“Thank God I’m a country boy!”

mike

Memories from Uncle Ray

Harden Farm circa 1940s...

I was child number 6, born to Paul and Florence Harden in the farm house in Lexington Community, December 15, 1931. I believe my name was picked by my older siblings who had a favorite teacher named Ray Simmons. It had been a long “dry spell” (5 years) since the last baby, Lloyd. I don’t remember much about it, other than what I was told, but Lloyd apparently got the pleasure of watching out for me and keeping me entertained when Mom was too busy to do it. (He still tries to keep me entertained – what a great brother.)

Many of my memories will parallel Dan’s, since we were only 16 months apart, but I will try to fill-in some of the blanks. Yes, we slept in the southwest upstairs bedroom, which joined the attic through the clothes closet. That attic was sometimes used as a playroom when it wasn’t too cold or hot, but mostly it was as most attics, a storage room. And Dan and I discovered a large pottery bowl up there that served as a urinal when it was just too cold to go to the outhouse. I’m not sure whether it was Mom or Frances that discovered this very practical use of the large white bowl, but I do recall that Mom saw to it that we got the pleasure of removing it and cleaning it. (This event preceded indoor plumbing.)

The only heat upstairs was through a register through the floor in the southeast bedroom and through the ceiling above the stove in the dining room. Obviously, the “older boys” received the benefits of a heated bedroom. We “little guys,” Dan and me, had to rough it with the only heat coming from a flatiron heated on the stove and wrapped in a towel at the foot of our bed. It did feel good as long as the iron was warm. The first stove I recall was wood-fired, only one for the whole house, in the dining room. The kitchen stove was also wood-fired, although I believe Dad would manage to buy a ton of coal which lasted much longer than the wood. And this presented another chore for us, to see that there was plenty of wood on the back porch along with a bucket or two of coal.

Gathering wood for the stoves was another event. I believe it was Uncle Henry that had a “Buzz Saw” (about a 36” circular blade mounted on a mandrel and driven by flat belt from a tractor--very dangerous) Dad, Uncle Henry and the older boys set the saw up down by Bluff Creek. I believe they used a team of horses to drag dead logs and limbs from the cottonwood trees to the saw site. Uncle Henry ran the saw and Dad or one of the older boys would catch the 18” log as it dropped from the saw and throw it into the truck. The truck would be unloaded out by the chicken house for the winter supply of heat.

Dad was one of the more progressive farmers in the community, and he always had equipment and utilities ahead of the neighbors. The electricity for most farmers in the community was generated by a “wind charger”, 32 volts dc. Dad had a gasoline powered “Kohler Light Plant” that generated 110 volts dc, 1000 watts. That was enough electric power to operate an electric water pump and an electric iron for Mom to iron clothes with. But, we only ran the generator when we needed water or lights. Later, he got a larger Kohler Plant that generated 1200 watts at 110 volts dc.

Keeping cool in those 100-110 degree days and 90-95 degree nights was another story. Mostly, we sweated a lot, but my ingenious older brothers, Duane and Willis, built our first air conditioner (water cooler). They built a wood box that covered the lower half of the 2 south windows in the dinning room. The outside of the box was covered with a straw-filled pad contained between chicken wire. They installed a pipe across the top of the pad that had a series of small holes drilled in it and connected it to the garden hose. (Remember we now had an electric well pump that came on when the pressure got low.)

Mom would open 2 north windows and the good old perpetual southwest wind did its part blowing through the wet straw pad to cool the whole downstairs without an electric fan.

I also recall our first experience with indoor plumbing and running hot water. Prior to this, our hot water came from a copper boiler mounted on the side of the wood/coal-fired kitchen stove. You would “dipper” out what water you needed and then re-fill the boiler.
Summer showers were not a problem – we had a 55 gallon drum mounted on the roof of the work shop/shower house that was heated by the sun. But, winter baths were another story – sponge baths mostly. But I can recall Mom putting a wash tub on the open oven door of the kitchen stove and bathing us “small tykes” there. Later, Dad got a kerosene-fired water heater that was installed behind the kitchen in what was to become our indoor bathroom. I believe we had a bathtub installed sometime before the toilet. But, before we could have an indoor toilet, we needed a septic system. The tub water and kitchen sink water (gray water) was emptied into a cesspool (Dan’s Sewer), which was nothing more than a covered “hole in the ground.”

Dad got plans (from the Protection Plumber, I believe) for building a septic tank and drain tile field. Duane, Willis and maybe Bob hand-dug the hole, about the size of a grave. They then formed the walls and partitions of the tank, hand-mixed the concrete and filled the forms. They also hand-dug the tile field that ran from the back of the house, all the way to the road east of the house. They had to haul all the sand and gravel from the creek, hand-shoveled, of course. The completion of this project allowed for the plumbing of the toilet, bathtub and kitchen sink. We were now modern. The year? Probably 1938-39. All of this modernization was prior to rural electric power (REA). That didn’t come to Lexington Community until around 1948 after WWII, so even the youngest of us didn’t see Rural Electric Power during our years of living on the farm.

All of us spent our elementary school years in a one-room school house with one teacher. And this school house was not equipped with indoor plumbing or electricity. We did have two out-houses (boys & girls), a wood/coal shed for our winter heat, a well with pump outside the front door and a barn to stall our horses if that was our mode of transportation. Yes, we swept the floor, cleaned the slate boards and dusted the erasers at the end of the day and brought in a supply of firewood for the next day. If we had a school play, we had to use gas lanterns for light. Dan shared his experience with the horseback riding, but I believe his “old gray mare” was, in fact, a Shetland pony, and she was mean. But we also occasionally rode “old Pete,” a very large cow horse. He didn’t “buck,” he was just too wide for Dan to keep hold of and he would often slide off. I spent 7 years in that school. We moved to town when I was in the 8th grade.

No, we didn’t have store-bought toys, we made our own out of blocks of wood, nails, wire, metal and whatever else we needed to make plow tracks in the dust under the big old Chinese elm tree out by the workshop/shower house. The run-off from the shower kept the big old tree well-watered. I can recall one occasion when Dad took us to Protection around Christmas-time, and I remember walking around a table that had toys on it. I don’t remember whether Dad bought us anything or not. We wore overalls with patches on the knees. Mom would salvage some useable denim from worn-out overalls to make patches for the better ones, but that is what every one else was doing too. Since Dan & I were too young to work in the field, we watered and hoed the garden, fed and watered the chickens and hogs, went to round-up the milk cows and get them in the corral so the older boys could milk them after they got in from the field. We would catch 1-5 chickens every day for dinner (sometimes getting to kill and de-feather them).

Harvest time was always the highlight of the year. It seemed to be a community contest to see who would be first to start cutting wheat. I think Dad got the first self-propelled combine (a Massey Harris) in the county. He got one of the first new tractors available after the war (an Oliver 99 that came with steel wheels – converted to rubber using surplus bomber tires). Dad got the first commercial cattle-hauling license for the State of Kansas, and as a result of his trucking capabilities, we hauled thousands of bushels of wheat to the elevators after railroad cars were available after the harvest.

My days in the Harden Farm House pretty much ended when we moved to Ashland in 1942. We would go out on weekends and Mom would clean house, wash clothes and whatever else needed to be done that the older boys hadn’t taken care of. And that all ended after Duane & Linda were married and set up housekeeping on the farmstead.

How grateful I am for the heritage I have. Mom became a Christian the year I was born, so I never recall a Sunday I was not taken to church along with the rest of my brothers. I need also to honor my sister for her mothering of Dan and me until she married and left home. My mother’s prayers for her family were eventually honored by all her children and many of her grandchildren coming to faith in the Lord Jesus.

GOD IS GOOD!

The Diary of Randall Rice Arnold

Headstones for Emeretta Arnold Harden and her infant who died soon after, Rosa. Photographs courtesy of Phil Harden, who took Uncle Willis to Indianola, Iowa, to visit the graves and also the farm where she and Nathan had lived. No one has really explained why the name on Emeretta's grave is Hardin (yet the baby's stone has it spelled correctly). One could speculate the stonecarver ran out of room, but Randall Arnold also refers to his son-in-law as Nathan Hardin. It does look like the baby's stone was added at a later date, perhaps by one of Nathan's grown children...

My mom was given this journal by one of our aunts, I think. We had been told that the Arnolds which Emeretta Arnold Harden was descended from were a prominent family in early America, and it turns out to be true. And if a web page compiled by the New England Historic-Geneological Society is accurate, Randall and Emeretta were relations of the American statesman, Stephen A. Douglas. Not only that, but the Arnolds trace their ancestry back to Welsh kings! A good excuse to name future babies or cats Cadwaladr or Gwenydd. Here is the Arnold history, if you are interested.

My mother wrote the following, and I have added notes from my exploration into census and other historical records:

The following is a transcript of a journal written by our great, great, great grandfather, Randall Rice Arnold. He attempts to tell the story of his family for the benefit of his son, Joel C. Arnold. The book this was taken from is located at the home of a woman named Lillian Moon. I assume that she is a descendant of Joel C. Arnold. The original is a hand written ledger dictated by Mr. Arnold in 1886, when he was 80 years old. Some of it is hard to read, and the spelling and syntax are not always correct, but I have tried to interpret his intent. Someone tried to transcribe parts of the book at an earlier date, so I have included every part of it that makes sense to me.

There is also a handwritten genealogy of the Arnold family up until Randall Arnold, but it is hard to make sense of and difficult to read. Apparently, this was taken from another book about the family. The publisher is listed as The Tuttle Pub. Co, Inc., Rutland Vermont.

Now we begin the begats:

The first entry is of Nicholas Arnold, born 1550.

His son, William Arnold, was born 6-24-1587 in what looks like Illchester, England.

Somewhere in the tale is an allusion to Matthew Arnold. He was apparently a close relative.
Stephen was born 12-22-1622 in Illchester and died 11-15-1649 in Pawtucket, Rhode Island. Stephen married a woman named Sarah, daughter of an Edward Smith and no more is written of these two.

(There is mention of another relative, Governor Benedict Arnold, born 12-21-1615. The date of birth is too early to have been the same BA who was the famous traitor in the American Revolution, but might have been a progenitor. jv)

The next entry is of another Stephen, presumably his son, who was born 11-27-1654. He married a woman named Mary Sheldon and her parents are listed as John and Joan Sheldon.
(There is a gap here in the record, and I assume that these later births occurred in America, as Randall later indicates that the family emigrated around 1698. I’ll continue as it is written: jv)

Edward Arnold was born in 1707 and is listed as married to a Hannah Sheldon.

Then come the more detailed and interesting characters of the story. The next entry is Stephen Arnold born 1738 in Pawtucket, RI. He married Rhoda Rice, daughter of Randall and Dinah Rice. She was born 2-20-1741. Their story is the first in the narrative.

They had a son named Randall Rice Arnold, born 9-22-1770. This is the child born on the high seas on one of his father’s trading ships. He married Eunice Crary, the daughter of Ezra and Keziah Crary who were Irish and Scottish, respectively. There are more stories of them further on.

The next Randall Rice Arnold is the author of this journal. He was born 6-22-1806 and is the father of Emeretta Arnold Harden and the Joel C. Arnold, to whom this journal is addressed.

The journal is signed
Westerville, Ohio November 1886
Randall R. Arnold


The Journal of Randall Arnold

My father, Randall Arnold, who was a son of Stephen Arnold, was born on the broad ocean September 22, AD 1770. My grandparents were on a voyage from Boston, MA to the West Indies. Stephen had been employed in the building of ships and other water craft until he married Rhoda (Roby) Rice, a native of Vermont. Soon after his marriage, he was employed as a hand on a sailing vessel to the West Indies, then a pilot, and afterwards a sea captain for a succession of 12 years. It was on one of these voyages that they did not see land for 12 months, during which time my father, Randall was born. He was named after his mother’s father, Randall Rice.

It was in the midst of the Revolutionary War that Grandfather (Stephen Arnold) had eight valuable sailing vessels used in the line of commerce on the Atlantic, traveling from Boston to the West Indies.

The government of the United States pressed these ships into service and at that time he abandoned the sea life and settled on a farm in Clarendon, Rutland County, VT.

In 1811, Congress appointed a commission to settle and compensate for the value of the ships it had pressed into service. It was agreed and stipulated in writing and signed by the commissioner and my grandfather. By this agreement, he was to have been granted three townships of valuable land in the rich river valley of the Wyoming in Pennsylvania, which was to be surveyed by the government and transferred by title in compensation for grandfather’s ships appropriated by the government. The contract was never fulfilled because in the winter of 1812, the British came up the Potomac and burned Washington, including all records pertaining to the foresaid settlement. My grandfather died a few months later in 1812 at the age of 85, and my grandmother died in 1818 at the age of 88. Both lived and died as Christians.

It was about this time that my father and his family moved to Ohio with the colonies named Vermont and Parue. (Are these Quaker? Other? No explanation is given anywhere as to the connection. jv) [The Arnold history indicates some of the Arnolds went to Peru, NY, so that is probably what he means by the "Parue" colony. jrp]

The family was destitute in the dense forests of Ohio. They tried and failed to revive the agreement that they had with the government. Thus the promised land was lost and transferred to the settlers actually living on it. All of those aware of this contract have since passed to their last resting place after enduring the toils and hardships of the new country of Ohio.

Now Randall tells of his mother’s family:

My mother, Eunice (Crary) Arnold, was born in Rutland County, Vermont on April 22, 1776. She was the daughter of Ezra and Keziah Crary. He was Irish and she was Scottish. Randall says his grandmother was a relative of the poet, Robert Burns. These grandparents emigrated to America soon after their marriage and settled in Rutland County, Vermont. Ezra died in 1815 and Keziah in 1778 when his daughter was only 2 years old. Her father remarried and the family united and lived happily.

Grandfather Ezra was mechanical in his habits and in later years he occupied a cooper’s shop and manufactured the finest tubs, buckets, firkins, cans and pails. His tools were of the best quality and well organized for use. My earliest recollections are those of being at his shop with my mother while still wearing baby clothes. From Grandfather’s shop, my mother would lead me over to the mill of my uncle, Nathaniel Crary. His mill was powered by water from Otter Creek, brought by a flume to the water wheel. The mill made cloth for everyday and Sunday use. The machines were of his own design, but the cards had been brought from England. [Nathaniel Crary is listed in the 1830 Census as being, it appears, between 60 and 70 years old. He was buried as Col. Nathaniel Crary in the East Clarendon Cemetery, Clarendon, Vermont, according to the records of Vermont Revolutionary Patriots. jrp]

(He explains daily life at the time). It was in those primeval days that making clothing from homespun, caring for the dairy, making sweet butter and cheese was the order of exercise. It was the healthy breeze that wafted from the mountains of Vermont that gave a glow to the face and a relish for labor. And the songs of “Auld Lang Syne” -- shall they ever be forgotten?!

(Now he tells of his mother, to whom he was obviously devoted. If the narrative appears dissociated, it is because it is taken from 2 separate sources. The words are his.)

I am impelled to give a brief tribute touching the cherished memory of my dear mother, whose company I was permitted to enjoy until I was 13 years of age at her death 7-12-1820. From childhood, her disposition was shown to have been of a pure religious cast. She was shown to have a love for the fine arts and I remember that she often amused the children of the household with exhibitions of fancy work of her own hands and skill. There were other strong traits of character combined with her excellent genius and worthy of notice were her excellent moral traits, ever imparting to her children the precepts of all the moral attributes which make up the man and woman to a high standard of a virtuous life and that truth and honesty were the elements combined to make the present and future life one of joyous realization. And she never neglected an opportunity to impress these sentiments in the tender minds of the children.

Another fine trait of my mother was often shown by her love of poetry, being by nature a poetess and she would often prepare apt music to accompany the poetry for use in church under her leadership. Another noble trait of my mother was the love she had for the comfort and appearance of her family. In the later years of her life, I have heard her tell of depriving herself of sleep so that she might have everything complete for attending church so that the family would appear in neat dress from the head to the white stockings which she spun and knitted herself.

And now, another narrative from Randall Rice Arnold: I was born 9-22-1806 in the town of Clarendon, Rutland County, Vermont. Being the youngest of six brothers, I was relegated to be the “chore boy” of the family and so was much in company of my mother, from whom I learned much that was of great advantage to me in later life. I need only relate that my mother was a Christian woman in every sense of the term. While it may be true that all are born with certain traits of character, early training has much to do in shaping the habits of life.

When I was 6 years old, my parents and their family joined a colony and moved to Ohio in the summer and fall of 1812. (Again, I wonder what affiliation they had. jv) After completing the long journey over a wagon road, the emigrants were occupied with selecting locations for homes, clearing the land and building log cabins to live in. Consequently, the early part of my young life was devoted to preparing the virgin soil for cultivation, rather than preparing the young mind for the enjoyment of the harvest of a well-storied mind.

When I was 17, after the death of my mother, my father returned to Vermont to settle the estate of his father, and married his second wife. He exchanged his land in Vermont for land in Illinois, and when he returned, we continued on to Illinois. For about two years, I continued to help him improve his farm, build a house, etc. With father’s consent, I returned to Ohio in the fall of 1824 and chopped and put up firewood at 16 and 2/3 cents per cord. With my earnings, I bought a suit of winter clothes. I attended school in a log cabin for 6 weeks and learned my arithmetic and writing, without any grammar.

On March 9, 1825, I began work with Artemus Cutler for six months at nine dollars a month learning carpenter work. He was living on the west side of Alum Creek, in Blendon Township, about one mile south of the Franklin/Delaware County line. Our labor that summer consisted chiefly of carpenter work. It was thus that I began my first lessons in carpenter work. The prominent notion in my mind was to become a skillful mechanic, a profession which might give prominence in life and a worthy good patronage. After fulfilling my engagement with Mr. Cutler, in the autumn of 1825, my enterprise became very successful and I became a subject of much skill and my work was in good demand in the community. Consequently, I became a member of the society of good families.

It was while thus employed as a mechanic in constructing plain dwellings and other out-buildings that I contracted with Mr. Israel Baldwin, who was a farmer in the community, to do the carpenter and joiner work on a house he wished to build. The location was about midway between Mr. Culter’s house and the county line.

(Now he gets sentimental, jv.) There is always more or less romance connected with a mechanic’s life that finds employment where grown sons and daughters still live with the old folks at home. This sentiment proved correct in the case under consideration, for in fact, Mr. Baldwin had a daughter who possessed graces of a charming kind in the eyes of a certain young man. The parents of Mary, for that was her name, discovered early the magnetic influence she had which seemed to attract rather than repel the feelings and when a spare moment occurred, should induce the daughter to bring clean towels to the wash stand. …..It was those delicate hands of Mary that gave assurance of a genial heart and mind. Therefore, it was no marvel that a wedding should take place in the house I had labored to build for Mr. and Mrs. Baldwin.

And it came to pass in those days when the bright September sun sent its flowing rays over the landscape at eventide, there could be seen people collecting together at the farm house of Mr. Baldwin of Blendon Township. The 15th day of September AD 1827 was the wedding day of Randall R. Arnold and Mary Baldwin, daughter of Israel and Hannah Baldwin. The ceremony was performed by GW Hart, Esq. at the house of her parents in Franklin County, Ohio.

The bridegroom was attired in a new suit of black cloth, with a light colored vest. The bride wore a light tulle brocade of a cream color, and wore slippers to match. After the ceremony, a good dinner was eaten by the family group who had gathered to witness this imposing rite thus consummated by the contracting parties. It is further related that in those days after the marriage, Mary became one of the charming housewives of the land and everything about her household denoted a worthy companion and well-balanced mind. We lived in a log cabin, comfortably furnished……..and worked and toiled for the comforts of a young and growing family, an account of which seems fitting in connection with the history of those youthful days when hope was fed by the clusters of children around the board each morning, noon and evenings. (An account of each child will follow.)

I worked as a carpenter until the fall of 1831, when I moved to Galena, Ohio, and began to work at my brother Ira’s store as a clerk. After 6 years he sold his store and again I took up my trade of carpenter and joiner.

When I was 27 years old, I was elected a Justice of the Peace and in the autumn of 1838, I returned to Blendon, in Franklin County. From that time to the present I have been occupied most of the time with public trusts, as a Notary and Justice of the Peace, which office I still hold.

Mary died of a stroke Sept 24, 1875, at the age of 65. “The early day but cheers the bird, The summer days unfold its leaf, And autumn crowned with riper fruit, Is gathered like the harvest sheath.”

I married a second time in 1876 to Lucretia Ingalls. [In the 1880 Census, they are still married. She is 64 to his 74. His occupation is still listed as Notary Public.]

(At this point, he rambles on and on, in poetic form, about the various children in his life and how much he missed his wife. Lots of poetry and flowery sentiments in this journal. jv)

Now he tells about his 6th child, Emeretta, who was our great, great grandmother. This is in longhand, either in his, or someone he dictated it to.

Emeretta Arnold was born at Galena, Ohio, January 19, 1838. While she was less than a year old, she became afflicted with a chronic diarrhea. We were then living in Galena in a new house which I had built near the northwest part of town. Her complaint had reduced her to a mere skeleton, and she avoided all manner of nourishment. She laid in her little cradle, a helpless child. It was about 9 o’clock one evening when she had every symptom of sinking into that sleep which knows no wakening, when I went directly to the doctor and got some of the best old brandy to be found. I warmed some with water and put in some loaf sugar. I gave her a few drops at a time and bathed her body in the warm brandy and, holding her to my bosom, in a manner, I brought her back to life. She took nourishment from her mother who had also tenderly nursed her through her sickness.

She was a sweet child and we exerted every effort to save her life. With the broth(?) of a young lamb, Emeretta soon gained strength and improved steadily after we settled in Blendon Township. She grew to become a beautiful and intelligent young woman.

Emeretta was married to Nathan Hardin 8-22-1854 at her parent’s home in Westerville, Franklin County, Ohio by the Rev. Slaughter. Their oldest child, Mary E. was born in Westerville 9-19-1856.

Randall says “she had a sweet curly head of hair, but died in Bowling Green, Indiana, 9-19-1862 where Nathan and Emeretta had moved in about 1860. It was sad news to read the letter telling of the death of that sweet child, who in her infancy clung to my strong arms so affectionately, and yet the charms and beautiful curls were hid from sight beneath the clods of the valley.”

Emeretta and Nathan moved to Bowling Green, Clay County, Indiana where 6 more children were born:

Louretta M. 7-19-1859
Jennie M. 8-10-1861 died 9-19-1862 (She died the same day as Mary. I wonder why? jv)
Charles E. 8-26-1863
John M. 12-27-1865 died 7-4-1876 in a tornado
Susan M. 12-15-1867
Belle S. 10-31-1869

The family then moved to Indianola, Warren County, Iowa in about 1870. The children born there were:

Henry L. 2-6-1871
Rosa N. Born 12-15-1873, died 14 days later on 12-29-1873 and buried with her mother.

This is what Randall had to say about the death of his daughter:

“In the midst of their labors, our beautiful daughter, whom we had nursed back to life when a child and who had become a cherished wife and mother…while yet in the prime of life must be stricken by the inexorable icy hand of death on the 19th day of December 1873, while she was taking the last look at her infant babe of 4 days….And then passed over the mysterious river from the company of her husband and her dear children who survived to bury the infant child by the side of its mother….But I am happy to learn of the sweet disposition of Emeretta’s surviving daughters, who are so much like their departed mother in looks and her pleasant way of expression. May God preserve them in mercy to see their dear mother beyond the river of death.”
May happiness be their lot, Wherever they may be
And joy and pleasure light the spot That may be home to thee.


The children of Randall and Mary Arnold are listed below:

Alfred 3-8-1829 born Franklin County Ohio
Emily 12-7-1830
Joel C. 3-18-1832 born at Galena Ohio (This is the son to whom the journal is dedicated)
Israel B. 5-11-1869 at Galena
Emeretta 1-19-1838 at Galena
Henry H. 12-10-1840 in Blendon Township.
Clarissa 12-10-1845
Ida 4-28-1852 She, being the youngest, became the solace and help to her afflicted mother in the last years of her life.

He continues with the marriages and deaths of the children. I have included only the story of Emeretta.

There is no date to record the death of Randall Arnold. We can only presume it was shortly after he wrote this journal, as he said he was 80 when he wrote or dictated it. [The records from the Blendon West Pioneer Cemetery in Franklin County, Ohio, show that Randall died Sept. 22, 1898, at the age of 92! jrp]

There is more information listed about Joel and his wife Susan, and their children. I would assume that it was one of these children who preserved the journal so that we have it today. As I said at the beginning, it existed as late as 1986 at the home of Lillian Moon, whoever she was and wherever she lived.

I have the original copies and any of you are welcome to see them at any time, but I have condensed most of the information pertinent to this family into this document.

Nathan and Emeretta Harden

The first Harden to come to Clark County was Nathan Harden. He was born in 1831 in Knox County, Ohio, and was the son of Nathaniel and Mary Harden. Nathaniel was born in Pennsylvania and had perhaps been a coal miner there, before moving to Ohio to farm. By 1850, the Hardens had seven children living in the household: John, 21, Nathan, 19, Lewis, 17, Henry, 15, Mary, 13, Lydia, 11, and Mahala, 9.

Nathan was living in Westerville, Ohio, when he was first married and working as a carpenter and builder of houses. (It is surprising that he was not called to the Union army during the war. Some of his brothers might have been, but we have no record of that now.) We know about this period from the journal written by his father-in-law, Randall R. Arnold. He had moved to a farm in Iowa in about 1860 with his first wife, Emeretta Arnold Harden, born 1838 in Ohio. They were married sometime before 1857 in Ohio and moved in the next couple of years to Indiana, where their children Lucetta, Charles Edward, John, Susan (Sue), and Sarah Isabel (Belle), were born.

In the early 1870s, they moved to Warren County, Iowa, near Indianola, and Henry L. Harden was born in 1872. Emeretta died in December 1873 after giving birth to their ninth child, who died soon after. There may have been some bad blood between Nathan and the Arnold family, according to Charles Harden. This was probably after Emeretta’s death. He might have asked them to help care for some of the children and they were unable to, or it may have been something else. It certainly shouldn’t matter to us 150 years later.

After Emeretta’s death, Nathan married a woman named Emma Hammond, and together they weathered a tornado, “one of the most destructive storms which ever visited the State,” according to the newspaper account. On July 4, 1876, the tornado that destroyed their Iowa house also killed 11-year-old John when he was thrown from the bed in which his brothers, Henry and Charlie, were also sleeping. Henry suffered a fractured arm and collar bone, while Charlie had only a broken arm. The barn on the property still stands today. A pie safe built by Nathan survived the tornado and remains today in the home of Maureen Harden Herd in Protection, KS.

Emma died, also in childbirth, in 1877. With five children to raise, Nathan married again not long after. His third wife was Viola McDonald, who was 24 years old to his 47. They had one son named Nathan (Natie) who had been born the winter before Nathan and the boys left for Kansas.

It appears that Viola’s family, the McDonalds, had heard that there were good opportunities in Kansas, and in February 1884, Nathan and his sons Charles, 21, and Henry, 12, arrived in Lexington Township (after a short residence in Mulberry, Kan.), and staked their claims along with Viola’s brothers, about two miles north of Lexington, on Bluff Creek. Since they arrived in February, it makes sense that Nathan left Viola and the younger children in Iowa while he and the boys came to Kansas to stake their claim.

The lands of Lexington Township were carved out of land set aside as the Osage Indian Trust Lands. Land was sold by the federal government, with proceeds going to the Osage Tribe. The pre-emption laws pertaining to the Osage lands restricted each adult to 160 acres, but each adult in the family could file a pre-emption claim. The law specified that the settler had to live on the land for only five months and pay $1.25 per acre to gain title.

The Hardens built a dugout or soddy, like all the other settlers, and began to clear the land. Charles was not yet 21, so he helped his father get the farm going. He went to Cherokee County to work in the coal mines at different times to earn hard cash, and when he had enough to file his own claim, he did so on the tract just east of his father’s claim. (This land is located up by the Shattuck Ranch, and is no longer in the family.)

By fall of 1886, Nathan had built a proper residence, with 100 acres under cultivation and a small herd of 60 cattle. He was listed in the census there as a master carpenter. (He was contracted to build the District No. 40 schoolhouse, or Shattuck School, in 1886. It was moved a few years later, two miles north, by putting the building on skids and pulling with horses.) Several of his descendants inherited this skill and have lent their hands to the building of Lexington and Ashland.

The rest of his family seems to have joined him by 1887, but by all accounts Nathan’s third marriage was not a happy one. The frontier life must have been difficult, and it must not have been easy for his wife to have been left behind with the young girls and a baby.

One wonders how all of them managed to survive that first year without crops, a garden, or even a proper dwelling. Grandpa Charles told a story about how he and the younger children were sent over to the Week’s Ranch (now Shattuck ranch) to ask about buying some feed for the animals they had brought with them from Iowa. It was around noon, and all of the cowboys had come to the house for dinner. They had hung their guns on the porch, and as the children passed by, Belle and Sue became very frightened. They had never seen so many guns at one time or in one place. They ran back to the wagon while Charles negotiated with the foreman for the feed.

Sue must have gotten over her initial fear, since she married Fred Lewis, the ranch foreman, a few years later. Clark County must have seemed wild and untamed to these newcomers. Undoubtedly, farmers in Iowa had guns for killing small game and protection from the occasional wolf or other wild animal. But so many in one place!!

In order to raise money for improving the “Pleasant Valley Farm,” Nathan and Viola mortgaged their patent quarter in 1887, but they had financial difficulties and a foreclosure suit was initiated against them in 1892. According to the records, it seems that the farm was bought at auction by Nathan’s mother-in-law, Mrs. Sarah McDonald, so that the family could stay on. However, Nathan and Viola filed for divorce that year; but the Lexington book says that the divorce was later refused and that Nathan was given custody of young Natie.

During this time, Nathan traveled back to Iowa to visit his daughter, who had become Mrs. Belle Van Sittert. Then he seems to have gone to Oklahoma to see another daughter, Lucetta, and to look for a new homestead. After returning, he reconciled with Viola, and they eventually resettled, with Natie, in Shawnee, Okla., near Lucetta.

Nathan died soon after, and Viola remarried. He is buried in Shawnee, Okla. The claim he proved is now known as the Statton farm in Lexington.

Let's go back to the beginning...

Earlier in January, I wrote about what I thought I knew about the Harden history. Turns out, it was mostly wrong. So that is why we are doing this book, so that other Harden descendents won't turn out quite so ignorant as I am.

As part of this process, I got to read John Vallentine's "Lexington 1884-1984: The History of a Kansas Community," which is a fascinating book if you are interested in that time. It contains so much detail about all facets of life back then. I wonder what he does now. I see on the web that he has written other family histories besides his own. Maybe he is a geneologist or historian... Anyway, I hope he does not mind that I have cribbed heavily from his book for our story. Don't anyone tell him! I doubt he would sue me for plagiarism, but better safe than sorry.

And now I will begin with the story of Nathan and Emeretta Harden.

Design for T-shirts...

Hey everyone, this is the design I made for the reunion T-shirts. I hope it's okay. I took the design from a photo I found in the Lexington book, taken around 1908. I kinda wanted them to do it in a small logo up on the left breast to hide the flaws, but it looks like it's going to be honkin' big instead.

Judy remembers her grandparents

Little Judy Anne Harden with her grandmothers: (back) Florence Harden, Florence Sanders, her mother, Linda Sanders Harden, Lillie Ferguson, May Sanders, (front) Hattie Bard, Agnes Harden.

I guess some of my very earliest memories involve my grandparents, both sides. I was a fortunate child to have had 4 grandparents living until I was a young adult. I also had 4 great-grandmothers and one great grandfather alive when I was very little. I do not remember some of them, but others I remember very well.

I remember going to church at the Christian camp with grandmother Florence, and a few times to the church in Lexington. She made me sit still and be quiet, and I was not allowed to fall asleep, lest it become a habit.

I seemed to stay with the Harden grandparents more than the Sanders, I suppose because my folks didn’t want Don and me to fight, and as rambunctious as he was, they thought the two of us would drive our grandparents crazy.

Don stayed with the Hardens during the last half of his senior year in high school, after my folks had moved to Garden City, so he got his fair share of Grandma and Grandpa. But when the folks were away, I always seemed to stay with the Harden grandparents, and Don stayed over at Protection with May and Clemmie Sanders.

During one of those stays, I accompanied Grandmother to a doctor’s appointment in Wichita. It seems like we may have stayed overnight, I’m not sure. But I do remember that we were going up in an elevator (my first time) and the operator was a Negro. I suppose I stared at him, because we didn’t have black people back home. I remember that I asked Grandma why the man looked like that and she just said that that was the way God had made him. And that settled that. I suppose I was 3 years old or so. I never learned discrimination because it wasn’t taught. Sometimes we talked about how poor and unfortunate black people were, but we never made fun of them. That may have been the same trip where I nearly got run over by a fire truck. I was frightened by something and ran ahead of Grandma and Grandpa, and as I ran toward the car, a fire truck emerged from a driveway right in front of me. I had only seen pictures of them in story books up to that time.

And oh! The stories!! Grandmother expected us to take a nap after lunch, and to make that more appealing (I always fought naps), she read stories. Bible stories, historical stories and a lot of stories about great women: Clara Barton, Florence Nightingale, Dorothea Dix and Jane Addams, among others. Grandma also told stories about her growing up years, and stories about her own children. I guess I learned to read by listening to Grandma read aloud to me. I followed along as she read and learned many words ahead of my class. I couldn’t wait to learn to read for myself.

Grandpa told stories too, but I never knew if he was pulling my leg or not. He was a great kidder, and I suppose some of the fish tales he told me were obvious to others, but not to me. I believed everything he said.

Grandpa had retired by the time I was old enough to remember. I remember him smoking a cigar a time or two, but not for long. He always had some project going. He seemed to personally supervise the building of the church, the Highway 160 Café, the museum, and I know he also took great interest in the farming operations that Dad and my uncles were involved in. He always seemed to be doing something. Grandpa did most of the grocery shopping, but Grandma ordered them over the phone and had them delivered, too. And I remember how their house smelled…like Grandma’s cold cream.

I sort of lost my close contact with them after I went to college. I visited them of course, but didn’t see them on a weekly basis. After I moved back to Ashland, Grandma became a great source of wisdom for me. I think she was the smartest woman I ever knew…not just facts on the Bible, but other everyday stuff, current events, cooking, sewing, budgeting, it seemed like anything I asked her about, she had an answer or suggestion. And thankfully, she never offered advice in anything but a helpful, loving and non-judgmental way. That was the best part. As we discussed world events, Grandma would say that the world would live in peace only when people learned to love the way Jesus taught: without hatred, jealousy, or judgmental attitudes, simply accepting people as they were, not as we would have them to be.

And I was taught by Grandma and Grandpa to be as generous as possible. The family has no idea of the number of people they helped, not only financially, but in other ways. And how many people they testified to about the love of God!! They had a great influence on the whole community, and not just their family.

Grandad outlived Grandma by several years, and unfortunately, his mind wasn’t as good as it had been, so there were many times he didn’t know when, or where, he was. I saw him daily at the nursing home, since I worked at the hospital, and he always knew me. But there were other family members he didn’t know. I always thought his mind was like one of those lantern shows, where scenes pass back and forth in front of you as you watch. He would confuse his children with his parents, and there were times when he didn’t know Grandma. In his mind, she was still the 20-year-old girl he had married, and at 92, Grandma had changed, so he didn’t recognize her at all.

One day he was worried about something and was quite agitated. He needed to talk to the folks about something. It took a minute, but I finally realized that he was talking about his parents. I made the mistake of saying that they had been dead for a long time, and that sent him into tears. It was as if he was reliving some day in his childhood, and his parents were alive and well. After that, I tried not to upset him. Sometimes he was looking for a pail to water the horse, or needed his car keys to get the mail. The staff always remarked at how smart he was….he could do pretty complex math problems in his head. And he was always looking for something to fix.

Needless to say, I miss my grandparents, all of them. But I am so glad to have known them. They taught me everything I know and hold dear…not the technical or clinical stuff, of course, but the day-to-day secrets of living. And the joy of being accepted and loved, no matter what naughty thing I had done. They never judged or criticized. I guess it was their way of letting me make my own mistakes and learning from them. I only wish I had been smart enough to listen to their opinions.

(I don't know who Dorothea Dix was, (here's her Wikipedia page) but there is or was a large psychiatric hospital here in Raleigh named for her. It recently closed, but it sits on a beautiful piece of undeveloped land on a hill overlooking the city. Some people want to turn it into a park to honor Dix and preserve this lovely spot. Some just want to put townhouses and stores on it, I guess.)

Here is a photo of the dedication of the First Church of God in Lexington, the one Uncle Dan mentions in his reminiscences below. I scanned it from the Lexinton book, so it's not very good. You can't really make out Uncle Dan, though that may be Great-Grandma off to the left. The date is March 17, 1940.

As always, if the pic is too small to see, you can click on the image to make it larger.

Painting on the Wall

Uncle Dan sent me a copy of this painting by Meyndert Hobbema, called "The Avenue, Middelharnis," with this note: "This picture hung on the East Wall in the dining room, over the day bed and by the telephone. Our phone number was 24F04. Four longs and four shorts. A party line. I saw the original in London."

I wonder who has the print now? The picture I remember most at Great Grandma and Grandpa's is of the old man praying over his daily bread and bowl of soup and Bible. I see it is called "Grace." I used to see it while staying with them. I remember at breakfast once, Great Grandpa offered me a bowl of Cream of Wheat. I wanted to put sugar and milk on it, but he said I should eat it with butter and salt. He insisted it was better that way! It seemed weird at the time -- forego sugar for salt?! But who knew I would go on to one day eat grits with butter and salt down South? (I still eat Cream of Wheat with brown sugar, though.)

At another breakfast, he gave me some Grape Nuts. It seemed like a tiny amount in the bowl, so I said, "Grandpa, can I have more cereal than that?"

"All right," he said, and shook about twice that amount of Grape Nuts into my bowl. "Let's see if you can eat all of that, now." Who knew that cereal could be so filling! I could eat at least two bowls of Cap'n Crunch and not feel as full as eating those darn Grape Nuts. I like them now, though.

Great-Grandma and Grandpa also had a lava lamp for several years. I liked to watch it in lieu of "Lawrence Welk," but as a result, I came to think of lava lamps as something old people had, not something for young, groovy people. : )