Today, I'll fill out some of the information I told you last time. I talked to my sister, Grace Krebs, who lives in Murray. She is a wealth of information and, of course, she remembers more than I do about things that occurred when I was very young.
I learned who the mystery "cousin" was who introduced my mom and dad to each other. Her name is Nora Kartchener Black. It turns out that Nora was a friend of my mom's and Nora married a cousin of my dad. I guess after Nora married my dad's cousin, both mom and dad considered her to be a cousin. Mystery solved. Anyway, from my view, I appreciate her involvement.
I should tell you about my birth. My mother's first six children were delivered by a midwife, whose name was Emma Nielsen. But by the time I came along, a doctor had moved to town. Great, huh? Well, not so great! Seems that the good doctor was at a party of some kind when I was giving indications I wanted out, so they went for the doctor. His name was Dr. Sherman. (Now, my mother's mother's maiden name was Sherman. This Dr. Sherman was no relation, thank goodness.) Dr. Sherman was not happy at having to leave his party so when he came to our house he was in a hurry to leave. I wasn't moving quite fast enough, so he pulled me instead of allowing me to come at my own speed. Then he left, and we have to suppose, he went back to his party. He apparently had a really lousy bedside manner, as well. However, everything seemed to be okay but as the months went on, my parents noticed that I couldn't hold my head up. Mom told me that I was over six months old before I could hold my head up at all. You know, I still occasionally have a little difficulty holding my head up for long periods of time without getting neck pains. But do not worry! I have found a solution. When I need extra help to hold my head up, I have a horseshoe shaped pillow that I wear around my neck for support. Now, all I need is a harness with reins and I can help pull the wagon.
But, that's not the whole story. That guy, who called himself a doctor, left in such a hurry that he didn't fill out the paperwork for a birth certificate. Thirty-seven years later when I went to apply for my first passport, there was no proof that I had been born. All my brothers and sisters were dutifully listed, but not me. So, you ask, what did I do? Fortunately, I had my certificate of blessing and my certificate of baptism. Then, I had to fill our a four-page application which required some signatures of people who were there when I was born. Fortunately, my mom was still living and she signed it and my sister Grace signed it. Or, I could have used the signature of my oldest child, Bret. But with the other two signatures, I didn't need his signature. The fact that I had given birth to a child seemed to be proof I actually live.
Hey, there is more. When I talked to the people at the Health Department who keep track of birth and death certificates, they suggested that I sue this Dr. Sherman. No such luck! He was already dead---and, I learned, he had lost his license to practice medicine because he performed an abortion on someone. (In those days, abortions were very definitely illegal.) Oh, by the way, Dr. Sherman's youngest son, Johnny, was a couple months younger than I so I attended school with him for several years until their family moved to Salt Lake City. That's where he lost his license.
My mom always said it was just about the worst experience she'd ever had and if she had ever had another baby, she'd definitely have had the Midwife in attendance. She didn't want any more doctors delivering her babies.
Oh, let me tell you about our house. When I was born our family lived in a two room house. I don't know exactly the size of the rooms but my best guess is 14 feet wide by 12 feet long. The whole house was 14 feet wide by 24/25 feet long. There were eight of us. Don't even ask where we all slept. I know where my mom and dad slept and I know where I slept except when I was first born. Maybe I slept in a dresser drawer or a cardboard box for a while. Maybe Grace will remember. My folks had a really big metal crib. I think George slept in it for a while after I was born. But as I grew, I eventually slept in the crib and the crib was in mom and dad's bedroom. My brother, Sherman, slept on the front porch. He had a waterproof canvas to put over the top of his bed. Good thing! Grace told me when it snowed in the winter, she had to go out and sweep the snow off his bed so he could get up in the mornings. But where was everyone else? I don't know and Grace said she doesn't remember. Anyway, one room was called the "bedroom" because that's where our parents slept. The other was a real all-purpose room. We had a big kitchen stove in there.
I must tell you about that stove. It was huge. It had a seven gallon reservoir attached so we had hot water whenever there was a fire in the stove. The oven was large enough that mom could bake eight loaves of bread at one time with plenty of space between them so they would bake evenly. Now, that's kind of oven Hansel and Gretel pushed the wicked witch into. It was easy to build a fire in the stove and easy to keep it fueled. Now, mind you, that was the only heat in the house so, at night, the fire would go out. The top of stove was huge so several things could be cooking at once, plus heating extra water in a large teakettle, and doing dishes in the dishpan at the same time.
Also, we had a table in the room, four upright, wooden chairs and four stools my dad had made. No big easy chairs, that's for sure. There wouldn't have been room even if Daddy could have afforded one. I remember my mother had a rocking chair but I don't know when she acquired it. I'll have to ask Grace. At night everything would have been pushed back against the walls or into a corner, because there were people sleeping in that room, as well.
And here's another thing. We didn't have an inside bathroom. Obviously, there was no room in the two-room house-----so, we had an "out house." It was a real jewel. It was a three-holer.
For you who have no idea what I mean--well, you remember the story of "Goldilocks and the three bears? Goldilocks went into the deserted house and found three bowls of porridge cooling on the breakfast table. She tasted the porridge in the biggest bowl and it was too hot. The porridge in the middle-size bowl was too cold. The porridge in the littlest bowl was "just right." When I was a child, the littlest hole was "just right." You get the idea. The outhouse was maybe 50 or 60 feet west of our house and those treks to the outhouse in the middle of the night were, to say the least, cold! The only "bathroom tissue" I remember as a child, were the old Sears Roebuck or Montgomery Ward catalogs. The glossy pages were almost worthless but if that's all there was, that's what you used. We found if we wadded the sheets and opened them again several times, it reduced the glossy a little. The sheets that were just black and white weren't so difficult to use, but they always left black ink on your backside---just like newspaper leaves black ink on your hands.
When I was nine or ten years old, we retired the three-holer and Daddy built us a brand new outhouse with a concrete floor--but it only had one hole. So, if someone was in there you just had to wait. I will be telling you more about outhouses later. Now, please don't presume that I have a fixation on outhouses because I have several stories relating to outhouses. It's just part of my "pioneer" history.
I'm not sure whether we had running water in the house when I was born. Daddy built an addition onto the house shortly after I was born. It was a "lean-to" and very small. It ran the length of the house but was only about 10 feet wide. He made the lean-to into a kitchen, pantry and screened porch. Finally, the cook stove had a home in a kitchen and the room where the stove had been became a "living room." Don't let that word fool you. It was still used for sleeping. And, we had running cold water in the kitchen. We still had to heat water when we wanted or needed hot water.
That's about enough for today. It's been fun remembering. AND there's lots more.
I love you all.
I learned who the mystery "cousin" was who introduced my mom and dad to each other. Her name is Nora Kartchener Black. It turns out that Nora was a friend of my mom's and Nora married a cousin of my dad. I guess after Nora married my dad's cousin, both mom and dad considered her to be a cousin. Mystery solved. Anyway, from my view, I appreciate her involvement.
I should tell you about my birth. My mother's first six children were delivered by a midwife, whose name was Emma Nielsen. But by the time I came along, a doctor had moved to town. Great, huh? Well, not so great! Seems that the good doctor was at a party of some kind when I was giving indications I wanted out, so they went for the doctor. His name was Dr. Sherman. (Now, my mother's mother's maiden name was Sherman. This Dr. Sherman was no relation, thank goodness.) Dr. Sherman was not happy at having to leave his party so when he came to our house he was in a hurry to leave. I wasn't moving quite fast enough, so he pulled me instead of allowing me to come at my own speed. Then he left, and we have to suppose, he went back to his party. He apparently had a really lousy bedside manner, as well. However, everything seemed to be okay but as the months went on, my parents noticed that I couldn't hold my head up. Mom told me that I was over six months old before I could hold my head up at all. You know, I still occasionally have a little difficulty holding my head up for long periods of time without getting neck pains. But do not worry! I have found a solution. When I need extra help to hold my head up, I have a horseshoe shaped pillow that I wear around my neck for support. Now, all I need is a harness with reins and I can help pull the wagon.
But, that's not the whole story. That guy, who called himself a doctor, left in such a hurry that he didn't fill out the paperwork for a birth certificate. Thirty-seven years later when I went to apply for my first passport, there was no proof that I had been born. All my brothers and sisters were dutifully listed, but not me. So, you ask, what did I do? Fortunately, I had my certificate of blessing and my certificate of baptism. Then, I had to fill our a four-page application which required some signatures of people who were there when I was born. Fortunately, my mom was still living and she signed it and my sister Grace signed it. Or, I could have used the signature of my oldest child, Bret. But with the other two signatures, I didn't need his signature. The fact that I had given birth to a child seemed to be proof I actually live.
Hey, there is more. When I talked to the people at the Health Department who keep track of birth and death certificates, they suggested that I sue this Dr. Sherman. No such luck! He was already dead---and, I learned, he had lost his license to practice medicine because he performed an abortion on someone. (In those days, abortions were very definitely illegal.) Oh, by the way, Dr. Sherman's youngest son, Johnny, was a couple months younger than I so I attended school with him for several years until their family moved to Salt Lake City. That's where he lost his license.
My mom always said it was just about the worst experience she'd ever had and if she had ever had another baby, she'd definitely have had the Midwife in attendance. She didn't want any more doctors delivering her babies.
Oh, let me tell you about our house. When I was born our family lived in a two room house. I don't know exactly the size of the rooms but my best guess is 14 feet wide by 12 feet long. The whole house was 14 feet wide by 24/25 feet long. There were eight of us. Don't even ask where we all slept. I know where my mom and dad slept and I know where I slept except when I was first born. Maybe I slept in a dresser drawer or a cardboard box for a while. Maybe Grace will remember. My folks had a really big metal crib. I think George slept in it for a while after I was born. But as I grew, I eventually slept in the crib and the crib was in mom and dad's bedroom. My brother, Sherman, slept on the front porch. He had a waterproof canvas to put over the top of his bed. Good thing! Grace told me when it snowed in the winter, she had to go out and sweep the snow off his bed so he could get up in the mornings. But where was everyone else? I don't know and Grace said she doesn't remember. Anyway, one room was called the "bedroom" because that's where our parents slept. The other was a real all-purpose room. We had a big kitchen stove in there.I must tell you about that stove. It was huge. It had a seven gallon reservoir attached so we had hot water whenever there was a fire in the stove. The oven was large enough that mom could bake eight loaves of bread at one time with plenty of space between them so they would bake evenly. Now, that's kind of oven Hansel and Gretel pushed the wicked witch into. It was easy to build a fire in the stove and easy to keep it fueled. Now, mind you, that was the only heat in the house so, at night, the fire would go out. The top of stove was huge so several things could be cooking at once, plus heating extra water in a large teakettle, and doing dishes in the dishpan at the same time.
Also, we had a table in the room, four upright, wooden chairs and four stools my dad had made. No big easy chairs, that's for sure. There wouldn't have been room even if Daddy could have afforded one. I remember my mother had a rocking chair but I don't know when she acquired it. I'll have to ask Grace. At night everything would have been pushed back against the walls or into a corner, because there were people sleeping in that room, as well.
And here's another thing. We didn't have an inside bathroom. Obviously, there was no room in the two-room house-----so, we had an "out house." It was a real jewel. It was a three-holer.
For you who have no idea what I mean--well, you remember the story of "Goldilocks and the three bears? Goldilocks went into the deserted house and found three bowls of porridge cooling on the breakfast table. She tasted the porridge in the biggest bowl and it was too hot. The porridge in the middle-size bowl was too cold. The porridge in the littlest bowl was "just right." When I was a child, the littlest hole was "just right." You get the idea. The outhouse was maybe 50 or 60 feet west of our house and those treks to the outhouse in the middle of the night were, to say the least, cold! The only "bathroom tissue" I remember as a child, were the old Sears Roebuck or Montgomery Ward catalogs. The glossy pages were almost worthless but if that's all there was, that's what you used. We found if we wadded the sheets and opened them again several times, it reduced the glossy a little. The sheets that were just black and white weren't so difficult to use, but they always left black ink on your backside---just like newspaper leaves black ink on your hands.
When I was nine or ten years old, we retired the three-holer and Daddy built us a brand new outhouse with a concrete floor--but it only had one hole. So, if someone was in there you just had to wait. I will be telling you more about outhouses later. Now, please don't presume that I have a fixation on outhouses because I have several stories relating to outhouses. It's just part of my "pioneer" history.
I'm not sure whether we had running water in the house when I was born. Daddy built an addition onto the house shortly after I was born. It was a "lean-to" and very small. It ran the length of the house but was only about 10 feet wide. He made the lean-to into a kitchen, pantry and screened porch. Finally, the cook stove had a home in a kitchen and the room where the stove had been became a "living room." Don't let that word fool you. It was still used for sleeping. And, we had running cold water in the kitchen. We still had to heat water when we wanted or needed hot water.
That's about enough for today. It's been fun remembering. AND there's lots more.
I love you all.
