Hidden treasures

Little could my grandmother have known that the letters, news clippings, greeting cards and invitations she kept, neatly organized in bundles, would bring us so much joy a half-century or more later. And not only bring us joy but teach us of the past.

Following the death of Uncle Marvin last August, the century-old farmhouse in White Lake, South Dakota, of which he was the last occupant, had to be emptied. Its contents included boxes of memorabilia tucked away by Grandma: dried corsages, yellowed news clippings, a few recipes, calling cards, letters.

There was correspondence back and forth between Grandma and her sister, Johanna, telling of family news between Iowa and South Dakota, keeping in touch through the sadly-lost art of the written letter using linen paper and a fountain pen. I learned my Grandmother, whose given name was Christina (or Christena) was called Stina by her sisters and brother. I had never heard her referred to as Stina before.

What really struck me is how organized Grandma was. Each bundle was packaged in a recycled paper bag like the kind you got at the five-and-dime, and labeled: Pa's Birthday 1957, Mother's Day 1962, and one labeled:

There was a thick bundle of letters tied with string, and as I began to open them, I realized what this package was: every single letter written home from Uncle Marvin when he was in the Marines, stationed in California, from 1950 to 1952. The first letter told of his arrival and the last said he was leaving to come home as his discharge had been processed. Every single letter that warmed a mother's heart and assured her that her son was safe; every single letter bundled for safekeeping.

She had a similar bundle from my Dad when he served in the Navy ten years earlier, but she had given that bundle to my family already. My sister, Joan, has scanned each one for an album she entitled, Dear Folks, as all his letters began.

There were letters and cards sent to Grandma from her grandchildren through the years. They are priceless to us now. My favorite is one I wrote to tell her I was pregnant with my first child, and she would be a Great-Grandmother. That was 1966. Thank you notes from me for bridal shower, wedding and baby gifts were among the many other treasures.


I also came across something from a
bygone era I had never seen before: a formal engagement announcement. It was engraved on a little card such as you would get for a high school graduation. I hadn't realized that was done.


As I had offered to take on the task of going through all these boxes, uncovering their precious contents made me realize what an awesome assignment and honor this really was. I spent many happy hours just marveling at what had been kept by my Grandmother. She must have treasured these cards and letters as she was a practical farm wife who didn't place importance on frivolous things. I just think the messages and words spoke to her heart and she couldn't bear to part with them.

The packages have now been sorted and divided, pertinent papers shared with other family members. They, too, are enjoying reliving words and greetings of the past, recalling memories as told in the assorted messages.

And so, almost fifty years following her passing, Grandma is giving us gifts. Memories she kept for us, safely wrapped in bundles in recycled dime-store bags. Tucked away in back of her linen closet.

Waiting to be discovered.

More farm treasures

While in South Dakota recently to attend my Uncle Marvin's funeral, my Aunt Lois, Aunt Norma and I spent a day cleaning the old farmhouse.

We barely scratched the surface, but it gave us a chance to look through some old farm treasures in the house. Reminiscing as we went from room to room, we uncovered one object after another, each with wonderful memories attached.

I remember Grandma having a crocheted and starched teacup and saucer on her coffee table. I assumed she made it, since she did crocheting.

As a farm wife, Grandma awoke when the rooster crowed to announce a new day, and I am certain she didn't sit down until dinner was served, dishes were done, cows were milked, cream was separated, chickens were all in their coop, children were tended to, and the house was in order.

Then I can imagine her relishing a few moments of contentment to sit in her rocker, crocheting on her lap.

My aunts and I discovered the teacup and saucer I remembered, along with a delightful pair of crocheted high-heel shoes, upstairs, put away with other trinkets. A bit dusty, but oh, so charming.

But, said my aunts, Grandma did not crochet them.  Aunt Johanna, Grandma's sister, did.  Grandma crocheted more practical things like towels, pillowcases, and some decorative throw pillows.

They must have seen the look of longing on my face, and said I could have them.  I was thrilled!

When I returned home, I gave the high-heeled shoes to my sister, Joan, and decided to keep the cup and saucer, which were slightly out of shape from years of being put away or just being handled. I wondered if I could gently wash them and re-starch them.

I remembered Grandma telling me they were starched using sugar water. So I Googled.

Voile! I found a recipe:

Old-fashioned starch used for crocheted pieces

1/4 cup water
3/4 cup granulated sugar
Mix water and sugar in a small pan. Stir the mixture over low heat (do not boil) until clear and not sugary. Remove pan from heat, and let mixture cool.

Dip pieces into mixture. Gently squeeze out excess starch, then shape and allow to dry.

So, I used a lingerie wash and gently moved it through the water; then placed the cup over a small china cup, and the saucer over a small glass bowl to dry.

I then made the sugar mixture and let it cool.  Holding my breath, as I could well imagine this being the ruin of these cherished pieces, I cautiously dipped them into the mixture, and placed them back on the china cup and glass bowl to mold them back into shape.

Success!

After brushing off some of the excess dried sugar, I now have a much cleaner cup and saucer, a remembrance of my beloved Grandma, crocheted by my Great-Aunt Johanna.

Little could these two women know then how their pieces of art would become heirlooms, and how much these would mean to me someday. 

Treasures of the heart. ♥

Rooms with names

The two-story South Dakota farmhouse was large to accommodate my Dad's family of nine. 

Two bedrooms downstairs, along with the living room, dining room and kitchen.  Five rooms upstairs. Beautiful hardwood floors. And one teensy-weensy bathroom.

But what was unique about the farmhouse was that most all of the rooms had names.

Well, the kitchen was just "the kitchen." A large cast iron stove took corn cobs for heating, kept in a basket alongside the stove. The window above the sink not only let the sunlight in, but provided a view of the yard and barns. Chickens scurried about, while the dog, (first Pudgy, then Butchy), slept peacefully in the shade. 

The dining room contained a large table covered with oilcloth. This middle room, between the kitchen and living room, doubled as an office-of-sorts, with a desk piled with mail and newspapers, and a record player for 45 rpm singles. From the dining room, one could usually hear Ferlin Husky singing Cattle Call, or crooning, Ah'd walk fer miles, harsh miles, fer my momma and daddy...".

Grandpa and Grandma outside
the back door by the pump
used for drinking water.
The three dining room
windows can be seen.

The coolest thing about this room was the built-in buffet.  It separated the dining room from the kitchen, and the doors and drawers could be opened from either direction. Silverware needed in the kitchen? Silverware needed in the dining room?  Either way, there it was.

The living room had a deep ruby red frieze couch and matching chair, with doilies made by Grandma to cover the arms and backs. A crocheted cup and saucer that Grandma starched with a sugar mixture adorned the glass-topped coffee table. A door leading to a large front porch was in the living room, but, sadly, the front porch, called the "East Porch," was seldom, if ever, used.

The “East Room” was one of the main floor bedrooms, where Mom and Dad always slept when we visited there.  The other bedroom was Grandma and Grandpa's room. All the bedrooms had iron beds and wooden dressers.

The “Toy Room” (our favorite) was the first room you came to upstairs. It was filled with charming toys once belonging to my aunts and uncles, played with as they were growing up. Paper dolls with plastic stands, an old-fashioned green wooden toy telephone, dolls with plaster (mostly cracked) heads, that we lovingly placed in handmade cradles, my aunt Lois Ruth’s candy bar wrapper collection, and many other assorted and sundry old treasures.

At the far end of the upstairs was the “Book Room” that housed Uncle Erwin’s collection of  academic and philosophic books on shelves and in big foreboding trunks. He also had a fascinating collection of matchbook covers. All the matches were torn out and he kept only the covers. They, and the books, are still there in that same room.

In the middle of the "Toy Room" and the "Book Room" was the "Boys’ Room.”  This was where Uncle Erwin, Dad, Uncle Herb and Uncle Marvin slept. Bereft of any decorating whatsoever, it was obvious the boys slept there. Iron beds, one wooden chair, a calendar on the wall.

The "Girls' Room" belonged to Aunt Norma and Aunt Lois Ruth. As we grew older, this became our favorite room. The closet was full of old Prom dresses,  pressed corsages, summer sandals and high heels which we clomped around in.

A deep blue bottle of Evening in Paris and tins of talcum powder sat alongside jars of Ponds cold cream and a brush and mirror set on the dresser. Ah, we were princesses in this room.

If Lois Ruth happened to be home, we’d “powder" her back. My sister, Christine, and I would first sprinkle eau de cologne on her back, then dump talcum or dusting powder on it. This would make a wonderful paste and we’d rub it all in. Although the bedroom reeked of perfume and powder, we thought it was great fun, while Aunt Lois thought it was pure bliss.

The last room actually had no name, but it belonged to Aunt Loretta. Again, an iron bed and a curved, skirted make-up table, painted blue and white, with a hair brush and mirror set. It was our least favorite room because it had a stuffed owl in the closet. Intriguing, but it gave us the willies.

We considered all of the rooms in the farmhouse special. They all contained abounding love, energy, and warm memories for my Dad's family, and then for us.

Each of us felt as special to my grandparents as the rooms with their own names.

And the legacy of love, energy and warmth were passed on.