The heart of hearth and home and the back yard.

The center of the home was usually a fireplace.  This was replaced later by wood burning stoves, but let's just stick with the fireplace for now.  The focal point of the fireplace was a trivet.  Our forefathers were famous for using 3 points to hold and lift.  My husband always said "Give me a pivot high enough and a lever long enough and I can lift the world."  And I am sure many of our modern day inventions went back to that statement.

The trivet was a 3 point apparatus made of iron and usually was decorative, unless the man of the house was lazy.  It set on the hearth, which is the floor of the fireplace.  It usually had a hook that could pivot.  The "tea kettle" was filled with water and hung near the fire.  When hot water was needed the pot was swung over the fire and very quickly came to a boil.  The water was then ready for bathing, face washing, dish washing, cleaning the floor or any of the myriad of chores pioneer women did every day.

Out side in the back yard, but not that far from the house, set the 3 legged cast iron kettle, pot, cauldron, or whatever they were calling that on any given day.  This is where the real work went on.  The other was for women's work, but do not be confused here and think women had chores and men had chores.  Men had their chores, but when there was no one to help them, they became an extension of the women's chores.  I do not know how they arrived at a 3 legged kettle as opposed to 4 legged, which it seems would be more sturdy, but there never was to my knowledge a 4 legged kettle.  3 legged is what it was.  The job of the 3 legged kettle was endless.  It could be used on Monday to scald a hog that was being butchered.  Tuesday it would have a slow fire to render the fat of the hog into lard.  Oh, and the pork rinds from that lard would be snacked on and used as flavoring all winter.  Wednesday might find mother killing and cleaning chickens, ducks, turkeys or geese.  Thursday she might decide to do the laundry so water was heated for that.  Friday was usually cleaning day and we needed hot water for that.  Those are the things that were every day use of the 3 legged cast iron but usually some one would come by and want to do something and sometimes all kinds of vegetables and stuff were thrown in and we had a feast.

And when the work of the kettle was done, mother was not.  She sifted the ashes from the cleanest part of the wood that was burnt and stored them for her lye.  Soap making was an art form back in those days.  We had a metal bucket that set by the back door and any grease or oil went into it.  When it was full, mother would heat it slowly and strain it into the "soap making bucket."  When the time was right she would melt that nasty stuff.  She then slowly dripped water through the clean, light gray ashes which made lye.  This was quickly stirred into the melted, cleaned fat  using a hammer handle.  If all went well, the grease would begin to solidify and mother would pour it quickly into the soap box.  If anything was off it would "set up" on the way to the box and the hammer handle would be embeded until we shaved off enough soap to free it.  Worse yet was when mother was a little off and it did not set up.  It just set there until she threw it out.

Ever smell lye soap?  Back in the day it had a pungent odor and an off yellow color that mellowed with the ripening.  After I married for what appears to be my last time, I had time on my hands, so I tried quilting, weaving and lots of other things.  Finally I decided that I wanted to try soap making  I was pretty sure I was not going to do the ashes part so I went off in search of lye.  It was very easy to find.  It was in Safeway, right down on the bottom shelf under the drano and that sort of stuff.

(I must deviate for just a paragraph here to tell you that buying lye in any store did not last long, because the yoyo's that were cooking meth and stuff like that began using it for their process.  Safeway had already began to lock up all the cold and allergy stuff used in the process, so of course lye went by the wayside.  I can still get it through a wholesale house, but I had to put up my first born child and 3 acres of ground for every pound I wanted.)

To make a long story short, I lined a box with a tea towel, just like momma used to do.  I followed the directions to the letter and soon poured the conglomeration out into the box.  When it was the right consistency, I cut it into squares with an old iron butcher knife.  It said to wait and let it cure for 6 weeks.  So I did.  At that time I removed one of the square bars.  I thought it looked a little rough, but what the hell.  I started the shower and stepped in with my little bar.  I would give it the supreme test for sensitivity on my face.  Lord, my eye immediately began to burn like it was on fire.  I was crushed!  Not only was my labor in vain, but now I was going to be blind on top of it all.  Luckily my husband was home that day and when I went crying to him he just laughed.  Damn him!  "Yeah, soap will do that."  But he was right!  Now I make soap that looks like this:

This is soap like momma used to make only instead of used up cooking grease, I use olive oil, lard, tallow, and stuff like that.  It is smooth and creamy  with tiny bubbles.  I have found since I started making my own soap that my skin is not dry and that is because what you buy at the store is not soap, but beauty bar, bath bar and words like that.  Soap does not appear on the lable.  I used to sell this, but  now I just make it and usually give it away.  

Well, once more I got off target, but you will get used to that.  But just look around you at things in your life that have a 3 point apparatus and you will know what I mean.  If you are old, like me, you can visualize the bales of hay being lifted into the hay mow.  Or if you ever blew the motor in your old Chevy you probably used a 3 pint lift to pull the old motor out and swing the new one in to place.

So, for now, from one old lady to those of you who still remember the old days, have a good one and remember, 

You can not sprinkle showers of happiness on others without getting a few drops on yourself! 

Where are the Kleenex?

I know you will not believe this, but there was a time when there were not Kleenex!  Worse then that, there was a time when there was an ironing board in every home and an iron in every plug in.  Before that there were pieces of iron which were shaped in a rather triangular manner and placed on the wood stove to be heated to use in the chore of getting wrinkles out of clothes and other household items.  The clothes and other household items were first washed in a washing machine (God I love the way we used to name stuff for what it was used for in the home!)  The clothes were then hung on the  (get this!) clothes line to dry.  When they were dry the ones we did not want to have wrinkles in, were sprinkled.  It was called sprinkling because we put water in a "sprinkling bottle"  which had a top on it with tiny holes to let out tiny sprinkles of water.  See, when the clothes dried with wrinkles in them, they had to be dampened and ironed on the special board  (hence the term "ironing board).

A little aside here, back in the days that this went on a woman was judged by how white her whites were and the uniformity of how her clothes were hung on the line to dry.  There were 2 kinds of clothes pins which held the clothes on the line.  They were both wooden.  One type had a spring and it pinched open, was placed over the item on the line, and then released to hold the item in place.  The other was also wooden but just slid down over the item.  It was best if you had only one kind, because that is just how it was.  A drop of "bluing" was put in the second rinse water to make the whites appear a brighter white.  We even had sets of tea towels which were used for drying of the dishes back then.  (These also required being ironed.)  That was way before automatic dish washers.  The tea towels were embroidered in one corner to denote what should be done that day.  As I recall, the litany was:
 "Monday, wash day,"
 "Tuesday Iron day",
"Wednesday Mending Day",
 "Thursday Shopping Day",
"Friday Cleaning Day",
"Saturday Baking Day,"
 "Sunday Worship Day".
And the world pretty well turned on that unless there was a death or something else equally catastrophic.  Iron day was always special.

Mother would sprinkle the clothes the night before, usually.  Then when she got home in the evening the ironing would commence.  First was baby clothes, then little girl clothes, then boy clothes, men clothes and household things that needed ironed.  But what was really special was the little ball in the corner of the sprinkled clothes.  That was for which ever one of us that had been the best and begged the hardest.  It was the handkerchiefs!  Since there was no such thing as Kleenex, when we needed our nose "blown" mother would whip the handkerchief out of her pocket and pinch it over our nose and tell us to "blow."  ( A little aside here.  I was always hoping I was the first to use that particular handkerchief  as I did not want to have my nose any where near where someone else had undergone the ritual of nose blowing".

But there seemed to be magic in the ironing of the handkerchief.  They had to be square and have no wrinkles.  Most of them were women's  "hankies" because men mostly blew their nose into the air and pinched it off.  Gross, grosser, grossest comes to mind.  Women's hankies usually had a hand crocheted edge.  They were also of thinner fabric.  Each one of us girls took pride in the handkerchief ironing, because we were preparing for the day when we would be the lady of our own home and have our very own iron and ironing board.  Back in those days everything was preparatory to the day we would marry a wonderful man and spend our day making him happy and keeping his home.  So it was always  with great pride that I presented my freshly ironed handkerchiefs to mother and waited until she inspected each one and told me to put them in the "handkerchief drawer."  My life at that point had meaning!  Ah, but time marches on now doesn't it?

Today we have a washer and special liquid soap designed to remove stains, followed by fabric softener to remove wrinkles in the dryer along with removing static cling.  The iron is downstairs, or in a cupboard some where and it really is not needed if you get the clothes out of the dryer in a timely manner.  This did not happen overnight.  As I recall, I tried to get my girls interested in the fine art of ironing and they thought I was nuts.  As for handkerchiefs, those are replaced by Kleenex that are disposable.  And why on earth would we want to reuse a hanky when Kleenex goes in the trash and is added to one of the 697,000,000,000 + piles of trash floating around in our sweet earth today?

I long for the good old days when we actually used stuff that made sense and called it by the name it was used for at the time of use.  So many things in my kitchen are now obsolete, ironing board just being one.  My mangle is a collectors item.  Where are all the rolling pins?  Potato peelers? Lemon juicer?  Sausage stuffer?

Maybe I am the one that has outlived my usefulness?  Ya' thnk?

Laundry time at the new place.

Always before doing the laundry had consisted of scrubbing clothes on the scrub board, wringing them out by twisting them and then dropping them into a tub of rinse water where they were swished around by hand, wrung out again and dropped into another tub of water.  A final wringing and then they were placed on a wire "clothes line" to dry.  It was an all day job!  But when we moved in here we were surprised to find that it came with a washing machine.  As I recall it had a gas motor and sat in the kitchen.  The tank on the motor was probably coal oil.  Maybe kerosene.  Maybe gas. The motor caused the agitator to go back and forth, thus beating the clothes clean and eliminating the need for the scrub board.  Mother did, however, pre scrub the collars of the shirts on the scrub board.  We must have been very dirty little kids, especially our necks.
This new washer was great!  It even had a "wringer" which was two rollers and you turned a crank and placed and item of clothes between the rollers and the water ran back into the washer.  This was wonderful and made Mother's work so easy!  But alas!  It had been left there for a reason.  The second time the laundry was done the motor gave out and could not be repaired.  The rollers did not do a good job of wringing.

So, Mr. Reuben Floyd Bartholomew, land owner went into town and opened a charge account and purchased a brand new, never used, white  washing machine for his wife.  That was the most beautiful thing we had ever seen.  And it was electric!  It plugged into the one plug in that was in the kitchen.  (More about the wonders of electricity later!)  The best part was the stop lever on the wringer.  If you got your fingers in there by accident, you could smack the lever with your free hand and the wringers would stop and open allowing you to retrieve your appendage.  The alternative was to be pulled through the wringer and spit out in the rinse tub!  So wash day now became a joy!

Water would be heated in the 3 legged kettle out back with a wood fire and carried in by buckets to fill the washing machine.  Cold water was carried for the rinse tubs.  The final rinse always had a dab of "bluing" added so the white clothes had a hint of blue instead of the drab gray of the women who did not use bluing.  The first load of clothes washed was always "the whites". The whites were placed on the clothes line to dry and life continued.

 Oh, forgot to tell you the very first thing that happened was the bar of lye soap was grated into the water and agitated until it dissolved.  I must elaborate on how the lye soap came to be.
 When the lye soap supply started getting low, the first step was to clean the ash bin of the stove out and build a fire with a certain kind of wood.  The wood was important as it affected the color, smell, and texture of the soap.  This ash was saved for "soap making day".  On soap making day the 5 gallon bucket of grease we had been saving for this occasion was carefully heated and strained into another clean can.  Only the top was used as the bottom contained water and lord only knows what else.  This was placed on the back of the stove to be kept warm. Mother would place the ashes in a colander lined with several layers of cheese cloth. She then carefully dropped water into the ashes which ran through and was caught in a vessel of some sort underneath the sieve.  When she thought it looked "right" she would place a raw egg still in its shell in the mixture.  As I recall when all was right the egg would do something "proving" the lye.  When that happened there was a flurry in that kitchen like you would not believe!

The kettle of warm grease was set on the floor, someone poured the lye into the grease can while mother stirred frantically with a hammer handle reserved for this purpose only.  Depending on the strength of the lye, the heat of the grease and the humidity of the air the grease would start to "trace" means to  show marks of the hammer handle.  When the trace marks showed the concoction was poured into a wooden box that was lined with cloth.  If any part of the procedure was not perfect two things would happen.  If the mixture did not trace, then lye was off and the whole thing a waste and had to be thrown out.  If it traced to quickly it would set up on the way to the mold.  Usually the hammer handle would be trapped in the soap and could not be retrieved until the soap was all grated.  But if everything was perfect and the grease extra clean we would end up with white soap that actually lathered.  Back then a woman's worth was often connected to that bar of soap she produced, and to her credit, my mother rarely failed!

That scenario is what went through my mind when Chuck Vail gave me a gift certificate to Vitamin Cottage and I saw a book on soap making.  I figured if my mother could do it under the primitive conditions she did it under that I could surely turn out a bar to be proud of and that is what I have done.  Sadly nobody ever asks me what my soap looks like, but I think I will show you anyway.  The best part is what this does for my skin. See, this stuff is made with all natural ingredients so rather than plugging up my pores with petroleum distillates, it opens them and keeps my skin young.  I have a lot of repeat customers for this soap and my lotions.  Just goes to show, that no matter how things change, the more they remain the same.  When I first started making soap I could buy lye at the grocery store, but then the druggies learned how to use it and embalming fluid to make drugs and it is no longer available.  I have to order it online and I am limited how much I can buy and I have to certify that I am not a drug lord.

So while my mother made her own lye and used grease and it was a crap shoot what she would end up with, I have controlled conditions and it always comes out the same.  I use pretty molds and package it for eye appeal.  I keep thinking maybe one of my kids will take up the banner when I can no longer do this, but none of them are showing any interest.  Guess it is what is known as a dying art.  Much as my life has become!  When I take flight for the big homestead in the sky there will be a bunch of kids standing around shaking thier heads and wondering what to do with all the kettles, thermometers, molds, bags, fragrances, oils.  Ah!  An estate auction to die for!!

Back to Nickerson.

For those of you who do not know, this is an iron.  Does not even faintly resemble the Rowenta that sets in my sewing room and give me a burst of steam when I want it.  In our kitchen in Nickerson, was a very big wood cook stove.  It was made of cast iron and burned wood as the fuel source.  It had a tank we kept full of water which came in handy for dish washing and all kinds of stuff.  It was probably 3' by 2 1/2' and had an oven on the bottom part.  That never made sense to me since heat rises, but that is how I remember it.  The cooking area had several lids that could be lifted off to put more wood in when needed.  It had a shelf above where momma kept the salt, pepper, sugar, and a grease can.  The grease can was aluminum and after frying something, the excess grease was poured in there.  It had a strainer in the top to keep out the crumbs.  We used the grease over and over until it became "rancid".  Can you believe that? 
This was not our only source of heat for cooking.  We also had a small stove with four burners that was powered by either butane or propane.  This was used in case of an emergency.  An emergency usually meant we had run out of wood for one reason or another.  Since it was Jake's job to keep the wood pile chopped into manageable size logs, it was most always his fault!  The "good" stove was also used for frying chicken on Sunday.  I think that was because we were not supposed to work on Sunday.  It was a day of rest.  Cooking on the "good" stove was always fun.  Jake and I did that.  Oh, we fried the chicken and boiled the potatoes and I am sure momma made the gravy, although I learned how from some where! 
We did not attend a formal church until I was in seventh grade.  That was when momma got her cancer and had to have a hysterectomy.  The ladies from the church brought us food and made our dresses for school that fall.  Then we started attending the Christian Church up on Main Street between the school and the doctors office.  More about that later.
Back to the kitchen.  The water source was a hand pump and below it was mounted a sink with a pipe that run out the wall into the back yard for drainage.  The health department's of today would have had an absolute stroke when they say the Muscovy ducks playing in the water hole back there.  I am sure in this day and age, looking back on the living conditions, they would have been described as "squalor".  However, I want to go on record right now and tell you that those were the happiest days of my life and I would not trade one minute of them for all the tea in China! 
(That is what we used to say when we really liked something.  We knew if we had all the tea in China we would be very rich and to not trade something for all the tea in China was the highest compliment we could make.)
In the center of the kitchen sat the "wringer washer."  It was called that, because that is what it was.  When we moved in momma had one that had a gasoline motor, but later she got the electric one with the safety feature on the wringer that if you got your hand caught in it and it was going to rip your arm off, you hit the lever on top and it popped open.  The wringer was used to run the clothes through to "wring" the water out of them.  Otherwise, we had to twist them by hand to get it out.  So when wash day came (and if I looked at the tea towels, I would know what day it was, but it seems like it was Monday) we drug the "wash boiler" down from the hook and set it on the stove.  Water was heated on the wood stove in the winter.  Summer was different.  We also had a "three legged"  cast iron kettle in the yard.  We pumped water into buckets and carried it to the kettle where the fire was blazing merrily and began to heat the water.  Again Jake was expected to tend the fire, which meant feeding the fire god logs.    Since we were extra clean, we had two rinse tubs.  These had to be cold water.  In the last rinse tub went just a tiny bit of "bluing" which gave the white clothes the hint of blue which made them appear more white.
But the most important part was the soap.  Tell you where we got our soap.  In the corner of the kitchen set a metal bucket.  In that bucket went all the grease that we did not use for other things.  When it was half full it was strained into a clean metal bucket.  When the time was right, momma dripped water through pure wood ashes and made her own lye.  This was poured into the warm grease and stirred vigorously  with a hammer handle until it began to "trace".  At the first sign of "trace" (which you actually have to see to know what it is) it was poured into a wooden box lined with an old tea towel.  This process was a definite art.  I have seen the soap set up on the way to the box and the hammer handle remain in the mass until all the soap had been grated and it was free at last.  This lye soap varied in color from dark tan to pure white.  The pure white meant that every thing had gone just right and it was perfect. 
Mother was a pioneer woman that I have learned to appreciate more the last 30 years of my life than I ever did before.  I make my own soap now with commercial lye that is called "sodium hydroxide" because the first time I listed "lye" as an ingredient my customers were afraid of it.  And I can not buy it at the store anymore.  I have to order it online and sign all kinds of affidavits that I will not be making "meth" with it.  Phshaw!
I have no doubt repeated myself today and told you things I have already told you on this blog, but I will try to do better next time.  It is just that my childhood was so important to making me who I am today, that I want everyone to know about it.  I left home when I was 18 and was so happy to escape those early years and move on to bigger and better things.  When I turned 50  I decided that I should rethink my childhood and I have become more fulfilled than ever and I want  the whole world to know that the values that were instilled in me at my mother's knee are the driving force behind the woman I have become.  Makes me sad to think what I could have accomplished on this earth if I  had pulled my head out of my ass way back then.

If you wonder where I went...

First was the Church Bazaar at First Congregational United Church of Christ.  That tied in nicely with the Handwoven Holiday at the Vail Hotel, and now I am out in Pueblo West for 4 days at the Jingle Bell Boutique.  And while all that is going on, I am selling like crazy on eBay.  Christmas season is upon us you know.  Sunday will wind up the craft sales and I will be left with just the eBay stuff, but I am making good use of my time.  House taxes and insurance along with the car insurance will pretty well wipe out my meager savings.  That and the fact that my list that I buy for went out the window when it reached 45 recipients explains my poverty.
I decided many years back to just give the kids soap and lotion and maybe a little something personal.  So usually when Santa pulls out of town, my cupboards are bare.  Had a granddaughter call the other day and say she wanted to come for a visit.  Sorry, dear girl, but I am tied up and can not get loose.  I do hate to do that, but I can only be in one place at a time.  Next week is Thanksgiving and then the Weavers Guild meeting and in the meantime I need to get ready for World AIDS Day.  And all the time eBay marches onward.
I do enjoy doing the Jingle Bell Boutique.  I see people I missed at the Vail and others, I just never get the chance to see.  I did not realize that the Jingle Bell has been going on for 37 years right there in Pueblo West.  It has been held in various locations over the years, but it is unique in that each person has thier own specialty.  Like I do the Soap and Lotion.  Helen does the crochet and knit.  Sue does canned fruits, jellies and such.  Mary Jo does breads, toffee and peanut brittle.  Booths, Beech's and Mary Petersen are wood workers.  Marjorie used to do the baskets, but she retired.  Rikki does quilling.  And we have a couple new ones this year, but I forget thier names.  I get to sell my books cause they never had an author before.  Last night they all went to the Hen House for supper, but I could not go cause I have the geese waiting at home, you know.  And the dogs and the neurotic cat.
So just be patient and I will be back into my routine here very soonly.  And I  will have a full report on World AIDS Day happenings here pretty soon.  And, yes Amy, I will get you cookies sent before Christmas.

 

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The upper room at the Vail sale!! (poetry)

This is the slide show for the work that goes on at the sale that no one sees, but everyone appreciates because that is where our paychecks come from. 
I have very carefully put the caption under these and I hope they are still there.  Let me know if they are not and I will spend hours and hours correcting that little chore.
Today the sale is ending and we are picking our stuff up at 5:30.  If anyone can help Susan on Sunday with the loading out, she would be most grateful.  I am churching, then PFLAGing and then they will be done.  If I get a minute I will zip by and see if I can help.

Today is October 28.

And this is my brother Jake when he was in about the eighth grade.  See that scar on his cheek?  Do you know how he got that?  I remember.  We were living on the Stroh place on the edge of town.  Lot of memories there.  Donna stuck her finger in a turtles mouth and it was the general consensus that they could cut the head off, but the turtle would not release her finger until the sun went down.  Seemed nothing ever stopped until the sun went down.  Kill a snake and it would wiggle until the sun went down.  And then when the sun did finally go down, the boogie man would come out and get us if we were not very, very good!
I was going to write about Jake, but memories of that period are very fresh today, so I am just going to remember them.
The year must have been 1947.  Sister Dorothy was born while we lived on the Stroh place.  Mom laid in bed for 10 days and missed harvest.  Dad was not happy about that, but 10 days was how long one laid in bed after giving birth.  At that time Josphine was in charge of us while mother helped with the farming.   That would have made her 12 years old at the time.  About right.
Mother always went to "Club" once a month.  I do not know what "Club" was, but she drug us along and we all had to set in a row up against a wall with all the other little kids until club was over.  And we had to stay clean.  That was not hard to do unless there was a mud hole on the way to club, where ever it was.  I know it was close because we walked.
The chicken house was where all the action was.  Something was always getting in and stealing a chicken.  Once dad thought it was a fox, but laid a trap and found out it was a weasel.  No way to keep a weasel out of the hen house. 
Once while we were setting in the back yard, the old yellow tom cat came up with a baby chicken in his mouth.  Mother immediately sent Jake and the tom cat into the forest.  Jake carried a hatchet and was under the strict orders that the tom cat must never be seen again.  Shortly after that mother could not find her potato peeler. It seemed I recalled Jake taking that to the forest and told mother so.  She said I was a trouble maker.
The best part of the whole day was when we brought the cow up.  See, we had a milk cow and the grass was very green along the road that ran in front of the house.  So each morning Jake would take her out and stake her along the road.  He went several times and moved her, but when it was milking time, I went with him to bring her up to the barn to be milked.  She was very slow, but if we grabbed her tail she would run.  Sometimes we did that.  More fun than you can imagine, but sure made milking her hard because she was upset and would not release her load!
Dad had three sons before he married mother.  They had been placed in an orphange when his first wife died, as I recall.  I remember when Gene Barthololmew, the oldest got out of the Army and came for a visit.  I do not remember Richard or Earl coming during that period, but they had been adopted and had thier own family.  I did meet them in later years.  Richard Nichols and Earl Siefert.
One memory that is so vivid it hurts of that period is our hair care.  When we needed a hair cut, mother would set us on a box on a chair, place a bowl over our head and cut our hair to that length.  Then she trimmed our bangs.  Wish I could find one of those pictures! But the worst part was the washing of the hair.  We did not have running water, hence no hot water.  What we did have was a pitcher pump that pumped water by raising and lowering the handle.  When hair needed washed mother would grab the kid that was next in line which in this case was me and tuck me under her arm.  Josephine would pump the handle up and down and water would pour forth and mother would jam my head under the water, the apply soap which I am sure was lye soap and work it into my poor scalp.  Then back under the pump I went and my God that water was cold!    Since I was only 6 years old at the time my memory of a lot of things is not real clear, but on that one thing I am sure.  Bath time was once a week and it occured in a galvanized tub.  Littlest kid got the first bath and the reasoning behind that was that the younger they were, the cleaner they were.  Josephine always got the last one and by that time there was a soap scum floating on the top and bath had a whole new meaning.  To this day I stand under the shower with the water as hot as I can stand it.
I remember the old cow dying and we had to move her body to the pasture because there was some sort of disease and the only way to get rid of it was to burn and bury the carcass.  Must have been anthrax, since I think that occured about that time.  Not sure she had it, but we did it anyway.
That was also the first time I was ever allowed to go to the store.  I felt so big walking that mile to Flemings grocery with my hanky in my hand and the money for the loaf of bread tied safely in the corner.  I remember Mr. Fleming gave me a piece of candy because I did such a good job.  I recall that it was very scary being alone out in the big world when I was 6 years old.  But I look back on that simple life and it breaks my heart that our kids today will never know the simple joy of a mud puddle, a dying turtle, or a trip down the dirt road to bring the cow up!