Ethel Proctor-Life Story Part Two

My Book of Memories

by Ethel P. Formo

1910-1978

     We had driven in the surrey, some seven or eight miles to Sunday School.  Of course we stayed to Sacrament meeting too.  Since it was a farming community and the farms were quite far apart, everyone brought something to eat between Sunday School and meeting.  It was served pot luck style in the Relief Society Room.  Of course, the Relief Society room was the biggest of the school rooms where there were tables and benches instead of regular school desks.  Since the church served as a school house or the school house was our church, I never knew just what place we were in.  There were swings made of heavy ropes with a board at the bottom to sit on out in the yard. 

     We all had to take turns and sometimes we never did get a turn. But there were other things to do and always someone to gather us all together to sing or recite poetry or whatever anyone could do.  We also had to take turns at the toilets.  They were set back in the farthest corners of the play ground.  To the west was the ladies because it was the closet to the door.  When a little one had to go it was usually a race for the Moms to get there on time.  So, of course, the one on the other side of the grounds was for the gents.  Of course to a four year old it was kind of mystifying to hear an older girl say, “Why can’t we go in the other one.  Tommy’s mom takes him in ours, and he’s a boy.”  Of course our little legs kept dancing while waiting our turn.  Sometimes we’d hear a voice from inside say, “Go around to the back if nobody’s looking.  Just don’t wet your pants or you’ll get whopped.”  Well, since someone said we could, it must be all right.

     On the way home from church that day I got awfully sick to my stomach.  I up-swallowed so many times I couldn’t bring anything more up.  Mom held me all day and all night feeding me sips of warm tea.  In the morning they asked Dr. Davis to come out.  He said Mom was as a good nurse and besides some nasty medicine, he gave her to give to me he said I couldn’t have anything but soda crackers and tea until I felt real good.  He said I had stomach trouble, whatever that meant.  It was okay at first but soon those crackers just didn’t taste good anymore.  I wanted some butter on them.  The doctor said I could not have any butter so I refused to eat.  Just drank my tea and got so very thin.  Finally the doctor said I could have a little jelly but still no butter on the crackers.  Soon my appetite picked up and I got well enough to eat with the rest of the family.

     While we lived on this farm we had some neighbors about a quarter of a mile away.  They had a beautiful white house with six steps leading up to a big wooden porch-awning on it.  Mrs. Jensen was quite a tall stiff-backed type of person that scared most people.  She was very unfriendly and critical of everyone. 

     Whenever Mom baked an extra big batch of cookies or bread or something else nice she would send us down to Mrs. Whitney’s with some and at first also the Jensen’s.  She was never got thanked for it from the Jensens.  In fact, the third or fourth time Rozella and I took a pan of hot rolls over for their supper, (there was Mr. and Mrs. Jensen, and their son and daughter), Mrs. Jensen met us at the door and sent us away.  She said there was “no one sick so please stop bringing food over there.”  Our hearts were broken and we were in tears when we got home.  Mom never said a word but the tears rolled.  We had often had company and men would often refer to someone as “High Pockets.”  It never meant anything to me until years later when I understood who they had been talking about,--Mrs. Jensen, no less.

     The daughter (I can’t recall her first name so I’ll call her Dora) was two years older than Rozella and they got along pretty good whenever they were allowed to play together but I was the little snip and couldn’t play with them without getting a slap or something from Dora.  Then Rozella would take my part and fight her back.  I would always cry, not because I had been hurt, but because Rozella had.  She was such a dear sister.  The only time I ever saw Dora actually cry was the day we moved up to our new home.

     Dad had bought a farm next to Uncle Will’s and Aunt Amelia’s [Hone].  Aunt Amelia was an older sister of my mothers.  They lived in a big yellow brick house with lots of lawns and trees all around it.  Aunt Amelia was a hard worker and her place was covered with flowers.  Tall spindly golden rod in the corners and along the fence.  Blue and purple morning glories beneath the golden rod.  Hollyhocks of every color and so tall they seemed to reach the sky.  There were cosmos, sweet Williams, buttercups, marigolds and sweet alyssums.  Of course Uncle Will didn’t mind, for he raised bees and sold honey in the fall.  He was famous for his clear pure sweet honey.  To the west of their house was their raspberry patch.  Both red and black berries the size of walnuts almost.    Then her vegetable garden separated only by a fence from where Mom’s garden would be.  They both had big gardens so they would have plenty of bottled vegetables for their families to eat during the winter months.

Amelia Ludlow

     A friend, John Gollaher, had come from Utah to find work and since he was a carpenter, Dad had let him build our house.  It was simple but very compact and pretty.  We had three bedrooms, a front room and a big roomy kitchen.  A nice big porch spanned more than half the front of the house with four steps leading up to it.  It was painted a beautiful shiny white with green trim.  I was so proud to live there.

     But Mom and Dad had worked so hard getting everything moved from Mr. Aurbaugh’s except the last essential things.  Dad had the wagon loaded and we had said our goodbye to Mr. Aurbaugh.  Uncle Will would drive the team and wagon while Dad would bring the surrey with the family in it.  As we turned out of the gate and started down the road, it seemed like we were leaving everything behind.  I was frantic.  Dad had let us kids sit in the back and as the team stepped up its pace, I jumped.  I wasn’t quite five yet and it was a long drop but I couldn’t leave all those wonderful times behind!  I hit the soft dirt at the side of the road and rolled.  It didn’t hurt much and I was too scared to scream so I just laid there.  I knew if something wasn’t hurt I’d get a scolding.  Mom and Dad never spanked us.  All it took was a look or a word, and I’d rather have a beating any day.  I supposed, anyway, I’d never remembered getting a spanking except on my birthday to know what one was like.  But that sad look on Mom’s face could break my heart worse than anyone knows.  No spanking could have hurt as bad as how I had hurt my Mom.  I don’t remember even reaching the new house until next morning.  Nothing seemed broken nor even hurt so I woke up to a brand new experience.  I can’t even remember Mom nor Dad scolding me.  Just a glad happy smile that I wasn’t hurt.  Maybe they didn’t know I had jumped but instead thought I had fallen out when the horses stepped up their pace.

     My brother, Max who was twenty-two months younger than I, was getting big enough so we could have great fun together.  It was great fun chasing the chickens around the yard until Dad put a stop to that.  He said we scared the hens so bad they couldn’t lay their eggs.  We had a big red rooster though, that would take our prodding just so long, then he would turn on us. Sometimes it was hard to make Mom and Dad believe it was the rooster who was responsible for the long red scratches on our arms, legs and once in a while on our faces. 

     Mom was Dad’s only help.  She would see that we were fed and dressed then Elwood (Woody, we called him) would have to tend us and herd the cows down the lane while Mom helped Dad with the plowing and seeding.  Unbeknownst to Mom, Elwood taught Rozella and me how to build the fire and start the meals.  I think he was about five years older than Rozella and we adored our big brother.  Of course, we often had small burns but we didn’t dare tell Mom how we got them.  Woody often got scolded for not keeping us away from the hot stove.

Elwood (Woody) Proctor

     I was nearing six years old and had my chores appointed for me.  To keep us out of mischief we had to weed the garden everyday---each of us had so many rows to do.  Then we had to pump the well and bring fresh water into the house in time for supper.  While Mom got supper and Dad put the horses up for the night and milked the cows we had to pack wood and kindling in.  Elwood had to bring in the coal for it was too heavy for us to pack.  When supper was over, we had to take turns helping with the dishes.  We were tired and ready for early bed.  Either Mom or Dad would come tuck us into bed, making sure we said our prayers.  Then there would be a lullaby or two to put us to sleep.  

     One day, Elwood had had trouble bringing the cows home so Rozella and I peeled the potatoes and carrots while Max packed in some kindling.  I can’t remember how it happened but just before Mom got in, I had burned my hand badly, and was in tears. We had tried to build the fire and I had gotten that hot lifter over the back of my hand.  I packed that scar for forty years or more.  We were given orders never to touch the stove again unless a grownup was with us.  Rozella loved to try to cook and I felt good if I could help----if she just didn’t make me help---so we would go ahead despite the orders and pretend to Mom and Dad that Elwood had done it.  Several times our meal was too small and Mom would have to find something to fill in.  There were times we cooked way too much but no matter what, we always had to clean our plates.  Both Mom and Dad had been taught that food was precious and would often comment, “It’s better to bust belly than waste food.”  Yet none of us was ever over weight until we were married and had families of our own.  

To be continued next week