Tell Us About
The Good Old Days
THIS IS THE STORY OF A LIFETIME -MINE-
-PREFACE-
I express appreciation to the many who's help and encouragement made this book possible. To two sisters, Merlyn and DeAnn and brother, McKay who have prodded me to complete this work. (I got even with them by including them in this book.)
To my children: * Arnae, who in addition to her encouragement gave me a little hard bound notebook for Christmas years ago with this inscription inside the cover; "To be used only for notes and memos for your upcoming book." * Alese and Doug for their "long distance" and constant supporting interest.
A special thanks to Raylene for editing and correcting her Dad's spelling. To Jozette for her editing and typing. To Kent, for his "time out" from work and sleep to get me out of trouble with this computer.
To the grand kids who have often patiently listened to stories about the "Good old Days". To those who have been a part of my life and are included in the drama of this book.
Finally, a special thanks to Barbra who had helped and supported in every way in addition to being patient with the late night sessions, while this book was in the preparing. In addition to my thanks to the above, I express my love to my wife Barbra and my family. To them I dedicate this book.
And happiness to you is my purpose in writing it.
A word of caution: I am not a writer and I spell poorly. I have never learned a foreign language mainly because have a terrible time with the domestic one. I leave participles dangling and never could "congregate" a verb. Even yet, I cannot understand why, if the plural of goose is geese, why the plural of moose is not meese. My English teacher says of this writing, that my pro-nouns are still amateurs. Some of the verbs I use resemble a strange species of literary wildlife.
SECTION ONE: EARLY YEARS
How It All Started
I was born on a cold winter morning in a small farmhouse that my father had built with his own hands. The year was 1932, and times were hard for everyone. But my parents never let us feel poor. We had food on the table, a roof over our heads, and more love than any family could ask for.
My earliest memory is of sitting on my mother's lap while she read to me from the family Bible. Her voice was soft and gentle, and I can still hear it today when I close my eyes. Those quiet moments shaped who I would become.
Our farm was small but productive. We had chickens, a few cows, and acres of wheat that seemed to stretch forever to my young eyes. Every member of the family had chores, and we learned early that hard work was just part of life.
The summers were my favorite time. The days were long and filled with adventure. My brothers and I would explore every inch of our property, finding treasures in the most unlikely places - an arrowhead in the plowed field, a bird's nest in the old oak tree, tadpoles in the creek.
Mother would call us in for supper just as the sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. We'd gather around the big wooden table, bow our heads for grace, and then dig into whatever simple but delicious meal she had prepared.
The House on the Hill
Our house sat on a gentle rise overlooking the valley below. Father chose that spot because he said you could see weather coming from miles away. "A farmer needs to know what's coming," he'd say, squinting at the horizon.
The house itself was nothing fancy - just four rooms and a porch that wrapped around two sides. But it was home, and every board and nail held a memory. The kitchen was the heart of our home, where Mother performed daily miracles with simple ingredients.
I shared a room with my brothers. We had one bed for the three of us, which led to many a midnight scuffle over blankets. But we also shared secrets and dreams in that room, lying awake and talking about what we'd do when we grew up.
Farm Life
Life on the farm followed the rhythm of the seasons. Spring meant planting, summer meant tending, fall meant harvesting, and winter meant surviving. Each season had its own challenges and rewards.
I learned to drive a tractor before I could drive a car. By age ten, I could milk a cow, mend a fence, and help birth a calf. These weren't extraordinary skills - every farm kid knew them. But they taught me responsibility and the satisfaction of a job well done.
The hardest times were when the weather turned against us. I remember one summer when the rain simply stopped. Day after day, we watched the sky, hoping for clouds. The crops withered, and I saw worry lines deepen on my father's face. But we made it through, as farm families always do.
School Days
The schoolhouse was two miles from our farm. We walked there every day, rain or shine, snow or heat. My brothers and I would set out just as the sun was coming up, our lunch pails swinging at our sides.
Miss Henderson was my favorite teacher. She had a way of making even arithmetic seem interesting. She also introduced me to books beyond the Bible - adventure stories that transported me to places I'd never dreamed of visiting.
I wasn't the best student, but I tried hard. What I lacked in natural ability, I made up for in determination. That's a lesson that's served me well throughout my life: persistence can overcome almost any obstacle.
Summers at Grandpa's
Every summer, we'd spend two weeks at Grandpa's place in the mountains. Those were magical times. Grandpa's farm was bigger than ours, with a creek running through it where we could fish for trout.
Grandpa was a master storyteller. In the evenings, we'd sit on his porch while he spun tales of the old days - of pioneers and Indians, of gold rushes and cattle drives. I hung on every word, and I suppose that's where I developed my own love of telling stories.
Grandma's cooking was legendary. Her apple pie could make a grown man weep with joy. She taught me that food made with love tastes better than anything you could buy in a store.
SECTION TWO: GROWING UP
High School Years
High school was a revelation. Suddenly, the world seemed bigger than our little farm. I met kids from town who had electricity and indoor plumbing - luxuries we wouldn't have for several more years.
I played basketball, though I wasn't particularly tall. What I lacked in height, I made up for in hustle. Coach Thompson used to say I was the scrappiest player he'd ever seen. I took that as a compliment.
It was in high school that I first saw Barbara. She was a year younger than me, with dark hair and the prettiest smile in three counties. I was too shy to talk to her then, but I never forgot that smile.
First Jobs
My first real job was at the feed store in town. Mr. Peterson hired me to load bags of grain for customers. It was hard work, but I was young and strong, and I was proud to be earning my own money.
I saved every penny I could. Father had taught me the value of thrift, and I knew that someday I'd need money to start my own life. The deposit on our first house came from those early savings.
Working at the feed store also taught me about dealing with people. Mr. Peterson showed me that a smile and a kind word could turn a customer into a friend. "People don't just buy products," he'd say. "They buy from people they like."
Courting Days
I finally worked up the courage to talk to Barbara at a church social. My hands were sweating and my voice cracked, but she laughed - not at me, but with me - and that put me at ease.
Our courtship was old-fashioned by today's standards. We went to church suppers and school dances. We took long walks along the river. I held her hand for the first time under a harvest moon, and I thought my heart would burst.
Her father was skeptical of me at first. I was just a farm boy with big dreams and empty pockets. But I worked hard to earn his respect, and eventually he came to see me as the son he never had.
The Big Decision
Asking Barbara to marry me was the scariest thing I'd ever done. I'd rehearsed my speech a hundred times, but when the moment came, all those carefully chosen words flew right out of my head.
I simply said, "Barbara, I don't have much, but I love you with all my heart. Will you share your life with me?" She said yes before I'd even finished the question.
We were married in the little church where we'd first talked. It was a simple ceremony - we couldn't afford anything fancy - but it was beautiful. Looking at Barbara in her mother's wedding dress, I knew I was the luckiest man alive.
SECTION THREE: FAMILY LIFE
Starting Out Together
Our first home was a tiny apartment above the hardware store. It had one bedroom, a kitchen barely big enough to turn around in, and a bathroom down the hall that we shared with two other families.
But we were happy. Barbara could make any place feel like home. She hung curtains she'd sewn herself and planted flowers in boxes on the windowsill. Every evening, I'd come home from work to find her humming in the kitchen.
Money was tight, but we never went hungry. Barbara could stretch a dollar farther than anyone I've ever known. She had a gift for making something out of nothing, and she never complained about what we didn't have.
Building Our Home
After five years of saving, we had enough for a down payment on a piece of land. It wasn't much - just an acre on the edge of town - but it was ours. I spent every weekend for two years building our house.
Friends and neighbors helped when they could. That's how things were done back then. When someone needed a barn raised or a house built, the community came together. You knew that when your time came, others would be there for you too.
The day we moved in was one of the happiest of my life. Barbara cried as we carried our few belongings through the front door. "We're home," she said. "We're finally home."
Raising Children
Our children came along in rapid succession - four in six years. The house that had seemed so spacious suddenly felt very small. But it was filled with laughter and love, and that made it feel like a mansion.
Barbara was an amazing mother. Patient, loving, and firm when she needed to be. I tried to be the kind of father mine had been - present, involved, and always ready to teach a lesson or share a story.
Watching our children grow was like watching a miracle unfold in slow motion. Each first step, each first word, each first day of school - these ordinary moments became extraordinary memories that I treasure to this day.
Community Service
As our family grew, so did our involvement in the community. I served on the school board for twelve years, helping to build the new high school. Barbara volunteered at the hospital and organized the annual church bazaar.
We believed that you have a responsibility to give back to the place that gives you so much. Our parents had taught us that, and we tried to pass the same lesson on to our children.
Some of my proudest moments came not from personal achievements, but from seeing our community come together to help those in need. When the Johnson family lost their home to fire, the whole town rallied to help them rebuild.
SECTION FOUR: REFLECTIONS
Lessons Learned
Looking back over my life, I've learned a few things that I'd like to pass on. First, hard work never killed anyone, but laziness has killed many dreams. Whatever you do, give it your best effort.
Second, family is everything. All the success in the world means nothing if you don't have people to share it with. Treasure your loved ones while you have them, because time passes faster than you think.
Third, be kind. You never know what battles other people are fighting. A kind word or a helping hand can make more difference than you'll ever know.
What Matters Most
People often ask me what I'm most proud of. They expect me to talk about business successes or community achievements. But the truth is simpler than that.
I'm most proud of my family. Of Barbara, who has been my partner and best friend for over fifty years. Of our children, who have grown into fine men and women. Of our grandchildren, who carry our legacy into the future.
Material things come and go. Fame fades. But love - the love of family and friends - that's what matters most. That's what I'll take with me when I leave this world.
Looking Back
As I write these final words, I'm sitting on the porch of the house I built with my own hands. Barbara is inside, preparing dinner. Our children and grandchildren will be arriving soon for Sunday supper.
I think about that small boy on the farm, dreaming of adventures. I've had more adventures than I ever imagined - not the kind you read about in books, but the real kind. The adventure of building a life, raising a family, being part of a community.
If I could go back and talk to that young boy, I'd tell him not to worry so much. I'd tell him that life has a way of working out, as long as you keep faith, work hard, and love with all your heart. Those are the good old days - not the past, but every day we're blessed to live.