by Ethel P. Formo
1910-1978
During
the summer months, Uncle Will’s bees gave us quite a lot of trouble. At first we were both afraid and fascinated
by them. Uncle Will would put on a heavy
jacket and a very wide brimmed hat. Then
he would drape himself with soft white netting.
The net would extend out and down over the brim of the hat and under his
chin where he would close it by pulling a draw string. That way he could see what he was doing and
avoid being stung about the face and head.
A high collar on the jacket protected his neck. He wore fine fitting leather gaunt-like
gloves that reached above the elbows and rubber boots about his knees and
feet.
I often wondered how he protected
himself from his belt to his knees. I
never found out. He would go out and
gather the honey combs and place them in a big vat to drain in a special
building built just for that purpose. He
would replace the frames in the hives while the bees hummed and dived in
protest in huge swarms, but it never seemed to bother him. I guess he had become immune to their
stings----only he never seemed to get stung.
One day Uncle Will wasn’t feeling very good and the bees had to be taken
care of so Dad volunteered. Aunt Amelia
saw to it that he was dressed like Uncle Will but he got stung twice. Was he ever sick! We nearly lost him. Never again would Uncle Will let Dad near the
honey house. And Dad would always go out
front and up the road to their house instead of taking the short cut. Of course the bees would fly many miles
hunting for flower nectar to make their honey, but the chances of being stung
out in a barren road were much less.
Rozella and Max and I were scared stiff when the stings made Dad so sick
but small minds soon grow brave again.
Before long we were slipping through the fence again at the end of the
gardens and our short legs would sail us past the bee hives and over to play
with Lee and Rebe. I swear those two
never got stung---so why should we? The
oftener we tried it the braver we got.
Then one day---Disaster We had
stopped to pick some raspberries and Max’s little red nose was the target. He let out a scream that brought everyone
running. Of course the first thing to do
was try to get the stinger out. No way
would he hold still for that, so on went the traditional mud pack. The only thing that will ease the burning
sensation and draw out the stinger. He
was a sorry looking sight. Thank
goodness he was not as allergic as Dad but his nose swelled up so big it made both eyes turn black. What a grotesque figure for about ten
days. I don’t think Max ever traveled
that path again as long as we lived there.
Sometimes Uncle Will would let us help in
the honey house. We had to press the
honey out of the wax combs into various sized hot buckets to be sealed
immediately. Of course we were only
allowed in there if we had scrubbed our hands and faces and tied a white towel
around our heads. Then Uncle Will would
tie a huge white apron around our neck that would reach to the floor. It was such a thrill to see that pure clear
sweet honey we could eat. We really
could anyway, but it always tasted best right from the honey house. And ohh---to chew that sweet bee’s wax with
honey still in it was a delight beyond words.
Eventually we became accustomed to the
bees and I think when that intense fear of the bees left us they seemed to
quiet down. At any rate we learned to
catch them inside the hollyhock blossom and you could expect a sharp
sting. Of course, we would grab for the
mud when that happened and never, never would we complain. We wouldn’t dare.
We loved to scatter the straw around to
pile it up to make rooms for a play house.
We were always being warned of the danger of the straw stack collapsing
in on us and being smothered to death.
But the warning was soon forgotten. With Mom working out in the fields
so much, I’m sure she and Dad prayed constantly for our welfare while they were
away. Their prayers just had to be answered
for we seemed to get away with it every day.
Fall weather came. Oh what a busy time. The pumpkins and squash had to be picked and
stored in the straw stack. The carrots
and cabbage had to be dug then buried in a pit Dad had dug. The outside cabbage leaves had to be wrapped
around the inner head to keep it crisp and clean. No way could one be buried if the outer
leaves had come loose. Then they were
turned upside down so the roots were above the ground thus giving something to hold and pull up on. The carrots were topped and piled up and
covered with straw. Oh—how fresh and
crisp they kept all winter long.
It was time to cut and stack the
hay. There were no bales in those
days. It had to be pile high in stacks. The derrick forks had to be pulled up by
hooking one end over the top of a very tall frame that could be moved from
stack to stack area. While Elwood and
Dad leveled off the hay as it was pulled to the top and dumped, we kids had to ride the horses forward to
raise the loaded fork, then be able to back them up to lower the empty
fork. We had two beautiful big mares
named Maude and Pet. They had a
reputation all over the country. They
were big and willing and together could pull a load that even questioned the
ability of a couple of elephants. They
were very much in demand to help people get unstuck in the fields. Sometimes Dad wondered if he had two horses
of his own or if he should quit farming and just hire out his team.
Max would straddle Pet and I would handle
Maude. Our legs stuck straight out from
their backs they were so wide. We loved
to ride and didn’t mind the long hours it took to make a hay stack. Pet and Maude seemed to know us and were very
gentle and careful. One day Max fell off
and old Pet just stood there never making a move, until he had been rescued but
she was a quiver all over and her eyes were big and frightened.
It was my first year at school and I loved
it. But it had its drawbacks. One day we were coming through the
fields. There were about ten of us. My sister Rosella was the tom-boy of the
family. No one had better dare her to do
anything or it would get done. She loved
to climb trees and rob the bird nests.
Or she would climb up in the rafters of the barn hunting for bats. All the boys liked her. If I was ever choosing up sides for a game
she was always the first one chosen. But
even at that age not everything is acceptable.
One day we were coming home from school,
Rozella and Serge Marshall, a neighbor boy seemed to think Rozella was an angel
on legs, were walking ahead of us. All
of a sudden Serge put his arm around her neck and we heard screech. She had swung her lunch bucket and hit him
just above the eye then took off on a run.
Serge wouldn’t tell us what happened but he scurried home. We were finishing supper, when here comes
Mrs. Marshall and Serge. He was dragging
back but Mrs. Marshall was mad. It had
taken her until then to find out what had happened. He kept saying it was his fault and not to
blame Rozella. She had come over to find
out what Rozella had to do with Serge having a whale of a black eye and a lump
the size of a chicken egg just above that eye.
Rozella
Rozella said, “I hit him with my lunch
bucket. He don’t need to think he can
kiss me!!” Her eyes were blazing. Mrs. Marshall was very apologetic and after
accepting a piece of cake and a cup of tea, headed home but left Serge to play
for awhile. We were all playing again as
though nothing had happened. Isn’t it
great kids don’t seem to hold grudges once they’ve made their point?
One day we were playing out by the
haystack. My brother Elwood, my cousin
Eugene Hone and a neighbor friend their own age had been whispering together
quite a while teasing us little ones beyond words. Finally they took me aside and asked me to go
in and tell Mom that Rozella had fallen off the haystack and was dead. No way would I go for that. Finally they started bribing me with pretty
robin and sparrow eggs. They added a few
marbles, still my answer was no. Gene
and Owen left but were soon back. They
added a couple of pencils---one had not even been used---a very tiny cupie
doll, beads, two pennies and bright piece of cloth to make a dress or blanket
for my rag doll. There was a whole
shoebox full of goodies! I couldn’t
resist such treasures. I went slowly up
to the door and hesitated. They urged me
on. I went in. Mom was cooking supper. She asked where the others were and asked me
to call them to eat.
“I can’t,” says I. “Rozella fell off the haystack and is dead.”
Mom dropped the spoon, grabbed hold of a
chair and almost fell. That scared me
and I started to cry as she went running out the door. I could hear the other laughing---then all
was silent. Mom came back into the house
and her face was white. She never said a
word, just looked at me. I buried my head and sobbed. She gathered me in her arms and stroked my
head. “Why, oh why don’t she spank me?”
I thought. But I think what she was
doing would hurt me more than any spanking she could give me. I’m sure she was right for it haunted me all
my life that I could have been so cruel to such a wonderful person. A spanking can be so easily forgotten. I think we accept it as payment for a
misdemeanor. I felt like crying every
time I looked at either Mom or Dad for a long time. I’m sure she must have told Dad all about it
but would not let him spank me either.
George Kidd and Annie Ludlow Proctor
We lived about 2 ½ miles from school if we
cut through the fields. It was 5 miles
around by the road. Since there were no
buses and everyone was so busy in the fields, we had to walk to school. But we didn’t mind. We’d often rob the chicken coup on the way
out and trade the fresh eggs in at the little country store near school for a
pencil or a bit of candy, or whatever the “store man” felt like giving us. I was afraid to take more than two at a
time. So I usually ended up with an all-day
sucker or a pencil.
But it was more fun just exchanging parts
of our lunches with the other kids. Mom
would let us mix cocoa with thick cream to make a thick paste and spread it on
our good home backed bread. We were very
popular lunch exchangers. In fact Mom finally had to put a stop to it because
we were making more sandwiches than she knew we should eat. We got pieces of chicken, cake, cookies,
other kinds of sandwiches or whatever—even for our good cocoa sandwiches.
