The Ruby Chronicles (#12)

My Mother’s Hands

Editor Note:  The Ruby Chronicles essays come to me courtesy of Sid Stivland.

This final episode is pure poetry.

As I close my eyes and try to recall what my mother’s hands looked like, I see beautiful loving hands.

Day after day, they were hands who did so much hard and varied kinds of work.  They must have been very tired at times.

Without a blender, she kneaded much bread dough, made many pies, cakes ‘from scratch’, and cookies.

Her knuckles must have been sore from rubbing the clothes on the washboard.  At times the skin must have been rough – never having and using a moisturizing skin lotion.

With clean hands she was always ready to serve unexpected visitors – friends, relatives or neighbors – a cup of coffee and goodies.

If the fingers – not crippled or deformed by arthritis, ached, there was never a complaint.

In loving service, her hands did all they could for her family.

At the close of a meal she sat with folded hands in silent prayer for gift of food and daily care.

Ruby Johnson Anderson

Editor note: Ruby attended District #76 school west of Lowry, then Lowry High School, then Glenwood HS, graduating in 1933.  She received teachers training and taught in 4 Pope County rural schools over a thirteen year period from 1933 until she was married in 1946.  For 2 years, 1933 to 1945, she taught at Dist #76.  From 1935 to 1938, she taught at Dist #32 in White Bear Lake township, from 1938 to 1939 she taught in Dist #28 in Nora Township, and from 1939 to 1942 she taught in Dist #26 – Ben Wade Township.  Her last assignment was back in Dist #76, her home school, where she taught from 1942 until she married in 1946. 

If you have any photos of rural Pope County schools, would you be willing to share them with me?
Email: ussbb62@gmail.com

   


     

The Ruby Chronicles (#11)

World War II Days

Editor Note:  The Ruby Chronicles essays come to me courtesy of Sid Stivland.

The war did affect my life as a civilian.

As a rural school teacher, I had to issue booklets of ration stamps to applicants who came to the schoolhouse before or after school hours.  If a booklet was misused or transferred, it could be taken from the holder by the “Office of Price Administration” and the person would get a stiff sentence.  Commodities rationed were coffee, sugar, butter, and shoes.

People who used cars to get to work got enough gas.  I had never owned a bicycle and a new one was not available, so I bought a used one (not in the best condition) at the Hoplin and Nelson Hardware in Lowry.  I thought if I biked the three miles of rough graveled road to school occasionally, I’d have some extra gas for going shopping and bowling in Glenwood.  But this proved too taxing as often the wind had increased by evening and I’d have to call my dad to come and get me.

By making the coffee a little weaker we always were able to offer a friend or neighbor a warm cup of coffee. We made corn syrup cake, cocoa cake, and apple sauce cake using one fourth cup sugar and three fourths cup white syrup.  Sugarless cookies tasted good too. We on the farm churned some butter so that was not a problem.

I had one pair of shoes for work and one for dress.

One product often missing on the grocery shelf was jello.

Our community was different when many young folks either enlisted or were drafted in 1942.  There were less young people at the summer wiener roasts and winter house parties.  If I wouldn’t have been so busy with school work and helping my aging parents I would have felt very lonely.  My boy friend, Iver, and two of (his) brothers and a sister enlisted in 1942.  His youngest brother enlisted in 1944.

My good friend, Adeline (nee Anderson) and I made a train trip in 1943 to California where Iver was stationed.  He showed us many points of interest; Golden Gate Bridge, China Town, museums, zoos, flower gardens, and we rode the cable car.  Iver and I became engaged.  It was difficult for me to leave as I knew he would soon be going overseas.

Praise God all the brothers and sister came back unharmed in 1945 when the war was over.

Ruby Johnson Anderson

The Ruby Chronicles (#10)

An Unforgettable Dirt Storm

Editor Note:  The Ruby Chronicles essays come to me courtesy of Sid Stivland.

This day is going to be different, I realize, as I hurriedly unlock my school house door.

The wind velocity is greater than the previous days of this very dry season.  As the morning wears on the wind blows harder and harder.  The air is getting thicker with dust hiding the sun.  Oh, how I wish for and pray for a gentle rain.

By mid-afternoon the curtains are moving slightly and fine silt is sifting in through the windows. If only I had a gas lamp as the room is getting darker and darker.  It is impossible for the children to concentrate on their studies.  They are anxiously looking out the windows.

Suddenly there is a knock on the door.  The first parent arrives and asks that his children may be excused early.  With eager anticipation the other children wait for their parents to come.  

The room is now empty.  Since driving visibility is poor, I too better leave early.

Oh, how I will appreciate a gentle refreshing rain, blue skies, and bright sunshine again.

Ruby Johnson Anderson

The Ruby Chronicles (#9)

Editor Note:  The Ruby Chronicles essays come to me courtesy of Sid Stivland. 

Country School Teacher 

Did we have colder weather and more snow years ago?  I think so.

The rural teachers did their own janitor work – made the fire – often carried in wood and coal, swept the floors, shoveled snow off the steps and out of the outhouses. One morning when I came to school after a heavy snowfall and much drifting, I found a four foot drift right in front of the outside door.  And the snow shovel was inside!  Luckily, the family with whom I was staying lived less than half a mile from school.  I trudged back through the deep snow and borrowed Mr. Barsness’ shovel.  I had a good fire going and the outhouses shoveled out by the time the pupils arrived.

What a luxury the last year I taught in Pope County – I had an oil burner jacked stove.  It was great to come to a warm school room and be able to begin with school work immediately.  Yes, and we had the convenience of electricity then, also.  No more did I have to read by the kerosene lamp hung on a bracket on the wall.  

Did teachers strike for higher wages?  Oh, no!  This was Depression years.  My first wages were forty dollars per month.  The school year was eight months.

Because all homes did not have telephones, schools were not closed for bad weather.  In 1936 when the thermometer registered forty degrees below zero one morning, Ralph Moe, people with whom I stayed, took me by horse and sleigh to school.  He made the second mile trip at 9 o’clock when he took his son, Leslie, to school. Three youngsters who lived south of school, the Albert Olsons, walked.  There were no frost bites as they were so warmly dressed.

There was no hot lunch program.  However, pupils could bring hot chocolate or vegetables in a little glass jar to set in a water pan on the stove in the mid-morning.  By noon the food was hot and the tantalizing odors made us all hungry.

The last year I taught, I had one of my most difficult walks to school one morning.  The thermometer read twenty below zero.  Two cars stood in our garage; neither would start.  Dad’s car, a 1937 Chev – “a good starter” had an appointment at the garage that day and Iver’s Plymouth, not so dependable, would not start although it had started at midnight.  Iver was in the service.

Because of my dad’s health he could not take me by horse and sleigh.  I bundled up well and started hiking the two miles over the fields through the deep snow.  One time I sank into deep snow up to my waist.  For a fleeting moment I thought, “Can I make it?”  Fortunately I was young and strong and walked as fast as I could and arrived at school before any of the pupils came.  I felt doubly blessed to have the oil burner.  

Preparing for the large evening annual program was a lot of work but much fun.  Humorous skits and dialogues brought many laughs.  A lunch consisting of a sandwich and a cupcake in a paper sack sold for fifteen cents.  Coffee was cooked on a kerosene stove or at the neighbor’s.  Later in the evening the young folks pushed the desks aside and played games like “Four in a boat” and “Virginia kneel”. On the last day of school we picnicked in the school yard or at a nearby creek. (Since we didn’t have electricity or an oil burner in my home until later, using lamps and heating with wood and coal was not so difficult.)

Despite the hardships, teaching in the one-room rural school was rewarding.  The children respected their teacher and their parents.

Ruby Johnson Anderson

The Ruby Chronicles (#8)

Editor Note:  The Ruby Chronicles essays come to me courtesy of Sid Stivland. 

A Scary Morning

The fog was so thick I couldn’t see beyond the hood of the car.  This was the day I had to bring the cream to the Lowry Creamery on my way to school.  To make matters worse, moisture froze on the windshield.  The wipers stuck.  Again and again I got out and scraped off the ice.  I drove at a snail’s pace staying as close to the side of the road as I dared.

I thought I was alone on the road.  Suddenly, when I stopped and scraped off the ice on the right side of the windshield I saw two big lights come directly toward me.  I ran, jumped into the car, and swerved it to the right as I said aloud “Oh, my goodness”.  In another split second we would have crashed head-on.  

The big smelly oil transport truck hit the left back fender and went on without stopping.

With chattering teeth and wobbling knees, I brought the cream to the creamery.

A few days later when the fender repair man asked me “Do you know your left head light is burned out?”  I then realized why the trucker headed directly towards me.

Ruby Johnson Anderson