who whinnied and embarassed my Mother endlessly. My horse stomped and nickered, whooshed and galloped, all to her dismay at the local mom and pop corner grocery. I had to swing my leg over and off to dismount, and then tie him to the rail. She turned every shade of red in the book, but I didn't notice. I was in heaven, even if it was imagionary. Much of this lasted through my pre-teen years. 12 and 13 brought changes, and horses became something to dream about, not own invisible ones. The holtsers and guns and hats and shirts were lost to childhood, probably adopted by my little sister. OK..now the pictures are explained...*VBS* In the second and third pic, I'm slightly older, but still not that strange transforming age of 12 or 13. Childhood lingers around the edges, and you can see I
am still delighted and charmed to be "with my Dad". I hope I didn't give you a wrong impression in my post Remembering my Dad. The later part was what happened in my 17-18 year old self. A time when one should begin to make some life decisions and be ready to act upon graduating. My Dad owned at least one suit besides his wedding suit. He hated wearing a suit and tie, but would when it was necessary. I have NO idea why he has one on in these pictures. They probably are dime store(vs.fair)pictures. He's never wear a suit to the fair. It might have been our joint birthday month, October. We both look pretty happy and relaxed.
My Dad was a very, very hard working man. He has farmed and logged with his father and brothers in Northern WI. He married my mom just as the Depression was ending, having worked WPA up north, planting trees. How they survived in their little cabin on Depression rations amazes me. But they did and were happy and heading into a better life with my arrival pending. He had the new job with a future, a place to live, and a baby on the way. Of course, I WAS suppose to be a boy..sorry Dad! He had always been a hunter and a fisherman, and they ate a great deal of vension and pan fish. We did all through my childhood. My Dad read to me as a toddler, buf that fell by the wayside once Gram moved in with us. I think it was about that time that he took whatever part time work he could get after his regular 8-4 shift at the machine shop. But on weekends we went fishing, and he taught me to fish, patiently baiting my hook with worms. We were cane pole fishermen, with corks. Bobber in bright plastics were far off in the future. I helped him dig worms, carefully picking up each one as long as it didn't wiggle too much...LOL He taught me to pick blueberries, and wild blackberries. How to look for and find wintergreen plants in the woods, with their shiny red berries. I rode along to my Uncle's house while he hoed potatoes, and I got to play with my cousins. Eventually I would get to hoe potatoes, picked them up in the autumn, and begin to appreciate how much work it is to grow cucumbers for money. It takes a long time to pick a pound of the tiny ones they use for gerkins. They pay the best, and as they grow bigger they can still be picked for other grades. I spent alot of time with my dad, being the tomboy that I was. Especially after my baby sister was born when I ws 7. I tagged along after Dad whenever I could. I went to the pulp wood forest with him, riding his Uncles big draft horse, and played in the woods while he skidded logs for paper. We ate lunch from our brown paper bag, drinking water from a gallon glass jug that had previously held vinegar. Plastic still was an unknown. Sandwiches were wrapped in the wax paper bread wrappers. Summer seemed endless to me, and that was a good thing. For when the school year started I saw little of my Dad except at supper and on the weekends. With 3 adults and 2 hungry kids to feed, he worked evenings often, pouring iron in the iron foundry of our landlord. I think the rent was often paid that way. In autumn he picked apples at one of the local orchards, every weekend, and sometimes taking one week of his vacation and working out there for the apple harvest. Sometimes he just worked his vacation for the double pay. One week was always saved for deer season....you could hardly blame him.I love him fiercely all those years. I ached for him with an awareness of how hard he worked and how little he complained. I ached when he and my mother quarreled, which was often. I ached at seeing him mend his own overalls by hand with a large needle and size 50 black thread. I begged to do it for him, but was told it was too hard to pull through, or that he was almost done. And I suppose when the ache becomes too much, you run. You disappear into the scenery, you get as busy as possible elsewhere. You begin working at 15 without working papers. You are home to eat and sleep and as little else as possible. Learning to cook or sew wasn't an option. I learned to do dishes, lots and lots of dishes, wash clothes and mop floors but not much else. By now Gram has her own little 2 room apt in our building, and I spend alot of time with her. Keeping her company, or playing marbles or hiding out from my Mom.
There really isn't much I can say in my defense except when faced with the choice, you either stay or you go. To stay was to agree(or something) to that place in life, that lifestyle or something similar.I didn't stay. My life has been completely different. My sisters stayed. Their lives, in my opinion, has been achingly similar to my parents....lots of struggle.
I believe my Dad to be one of the very finest people on the face of the Earth, I admire his strength in the face of impossible odds. Life was not kind to him. The only choice I see him making was in marrying my mother, whom he loved dearly. But that falls on top of being born at the end of WW1, of growing up 'into' the Depression, and then life happened. A first child born, and then another mouth to feed, forever, the MIL. A son born in 1945, after a difficult pregnancy of bedrest, the death a few hours later and an unexpected funeral on top of hospital bills. And so it went for him. He didn't complain, he didn't quit, he didn't turn to drink until very later in his life. And he went on to conquer that also. He left 3 daughters who loved him dearly, and 9 grandchildren, 5 of them mine, adopted. His worldly posessions were few, his retirement had been modest. He lived with my DH, 4 kids and myself the last 2 years of his life. He died at age 79 of bone cancer. He was the best possible kind of Dad on the face of the earth.
.JPG)
