Our Odes on the Spinning Stool

My sister and I attended  a writing workshop where we were challenged to write an "ode" on an object from our childhood.  We both began writing immediately and wrote until the time was up. Only then did we realize that we had chosen the same object from our childhood.

Ode to the Spinning Stool by Carol Applegarth Stearns

How the old spinning stool always took the prominent place in the center of the large country kitchen of the ranch home.

How my Mother would sit on it looking out the east window as she did the dishes or peeled potatoes.

How my Mother would sit on the old spinning stool stirring the pot as she prepared the family dinner.

For the family who spent their time around the dinner table – telling stories and laughing.

How after many years, the old stool lost its cover, but, oh how it could still spin.

How the grandchildren sprawled on their bellies on top of the old stool and would spin until they got dizzy and fell off.

For my Mother who sat on the old spinning stool looking out the west window of the little home in town and wonder how 90 years could pass so quickly.

Ode to Mother's Spinning Stool by Helen Applegarth McConnell

I don't remember the arrival of Mother's spinning stool but I remember watching her sit on its cushioned seat as she washed dishes in the yellow kitchen of the ranch house where I grew up. 

I remember the spinning stool in the corner supporting the pyramid of metal cream cans. I remember the clatter of those cans in the dark when my sister bumped the spinning stool as we came home from a teen dance. 

I remember watching Mother sitting on it's fraying cushioned seat washing dishes in the ever changing kitchen of the house they moved to while I was in college. I remember my daughter poking a finger through the crumbling cushion while the spinning stool was spinning which pinched her finger severely. 

I remember watching Mother washing dishes sitting on a towel covering the bare metal seat of the spinning stool in the tiny kitchen of their house in town. 

I gave the spinning stool to one of Mother's young granddaughters. She plans to recover it.

In the Haymow

A Childhood Place: The Haymow

I remember the haymow in the old white barn at the south place.

In spring the hay stored there was coarse and dry. My sister and I made big “nests” where we could read or daydream or cuddle the kittens whose mothers had made smaller nests in the back sides of the hay piles.

In summer there was very little hay there. It was brittle and dusty and the sun shining through the high, dirty window created long, sparkling shafts of light – perfect for day dreaming on a hot summer afternoon.

By autumn the haymow was packed with fresh clean hay. The fragrant scent of the hay was mingled with the sweat of those filling the mow. There was only a small space around the top of the ladder to lounge against the tall piles of hay.

In winter the haymow was cold. We quickly pushed the hay through the holes to the mangers below so we could run back to the warm house and lounge by the Warm Morning stove.

(Excerpted from Class Exercise)

Chickens and Ducks

The Mother Instinct aka Chickens and Ducks

One year Mother decided to raise some ducks. I don't know why. She bought some Muscovy eggs and gave them to one of the setting hens. I'm sure the hen was quite confused when Mother would lift her off the nest two or three times a day, roll each of the eggs over and then sprinkle them with water. In due time the poor mother hen had a bunch of little funny looking “chicks.” She took good care of them teaching them to forage and scratch for seeds and bugs they couldn't pick up because their “beaks” were in fact bills.

One day my sister and I heard a loud, frantic squawking coming from the area of the pond created by the overflow of the barnyard windmill and tank. Thinking it was probably a water snake threatening the ducklings, we ran to the rescue.

We found the hen frantically running along the muddy edge of the pond as her babies cavorted happily in the water. Eventually, the babies returned to her side and dutifully followed her back to the chicken house. This was repeated daily for several weeks.

Years later, I was witness to the opposite scenario. I had finished a meeting with the ranchwife and was getting into my car when she said, “Watch this.” A duck had hatched a chicken egg. She was leading her baby to the hydrant in the barnyard. The hydrant was set to drip into a shallow pan so that small animals in the barnyard always had fresh water. The mother took a long drink and then got into the pan getting herself wet all over. Then she shook herself off and proceeded to try to push her baby into the pan. The chick protested loudly and ran away from the pan.

Mothering is universal. With my adopted children I have found myself in both these incidents.

Old Bill

A Person from my childhood

Bill was the year around hired man on the ranch for about 15 years.

He was about the same age as Daddy but he seemed older.

He always wore bib overalls. Daddy wore levis.

He stuttered a bit when he got excited or had a drink or two.

Bill seemed to be quite content taking his meals with the family,

Sleeping in the two room bunk house

Which featured a wood burning stove

And a sink with a hand pump and an outhouse.

Bill worked hard and was steady and reliable.

He didn't have a car.

On Saturday a relative would come to the ranch to get him

And would bring him back on Sunday evening.

Bill never corrected me or my sister.

If he saw something amiss in our behavior

Or danger in our actions

He would tell Daddy but he never said anything to us.

Bill was a private person and we really didn't know much about him.

When he died in his room at a residential hotel

We leaned that he had never married

And that he had served in the Army during World War II

Going to Grandma's for Christmas

Going to Grandma’s for Christmas (1950’s)

It’s Christmas Eve. It’s Christmas Eve. We’re going to Grandma’s. We’ve had a nap although we were too excited to actually sleep. We’ve had baths and our hair is in curlers. Oh hurry, Daddy, hurry. Do the chores as fast as you can. Take your bath as fast as fast as can be. It’s Christmas Eve. It’s almost dark! It’s time to go to Grandma’s house.

When I was in grade school, we went to my Grandparents’ house in Torrington, Wyoming for Christmas. On the 24th Daddy would do the chores very early but it would always be dark when we left the ranch 10 miles south of Alliance. And, it was so dark. There were no mercury lights that come on automatically at dusk. Farmsteads were visible only if they happened to have a yard light on when we drove by. Leaving Alliance, there were a few street lights at Angora and a couple at the junction but then it would be very dark the rest of the way to Scottsbluff. There we would see Christmas trees in windows, street decorations and a few lighted decorations in yards. Then it would be pitch black again with our headlights throwing thin beams down the road ahead of us. The stars, if it wasn’t cloudy, were low and bright. We would sing Christmas Carols and I could gaze at the black sky and imagine how startling a sky full of angels would be.

We knew which small town was next and we watched eagerly for the lights of each. In Morrill there was a lighted Santa standing beside the chimney on a roadside roof that made us laugh and heightened our excitement because we were almost there. Only Henry and then we’d be in Wyoming!

We were always the last to arrive at Grandma’s. My cousins from California, if they came, would come a week early and the other ranch living cousins had other family members who would do the necessary chores so they could leave home right after lunch or even earlier.

December 24^th is my sister’s birthday so as soon as we had been greeted, we would have her “birthday party.” After she had blown out the candles, we’d eat supper having her cake for dessert. While the women washed the dishes, we children put on our good clothes and the men arranged the chairs in the family room and made sure that the fire in the fireplace would last through the evening.

Then we opened presents. My uncles exchanged the same gifts year after year. I suspected that they really were the same gifts that were just put away with the Christmas decorations. One was a coconut with a handkerchief tied around the “face” and the other was a bag of nuts and bolts. Grandma and Granddad’s gifts almost always included new pajamas or slippers or a robe for each of us cousins. After the presents we talked and played with new toys or games and had snacks and sometimes some of the grown-ups would go to church. One by one we kids would go change into our nightwear and then clutching a favorite new gift we would snuggle together in the warmth of the fireplace and the soft lights of the Christmas tree and fall asleep on the family room floor.

After a big dinner on Christmas Day, we would return to our house. We could never spot the Santa on the roof in the daytime and coming from the other direction. This was just an ordinary, long drive home. Only the Christmas Eve drive in the dark was magical.

My Place

My Place

In the bedroom of my childhood

with the twin beds, each next to a window,

two small dressers and two yellow chairs from Mexico,

I breathe in the fresh air because the windows are open to catch the evening breezes.

I think of summer and freedom when I remember our room and its ceiling papered with yellow roses, where my sister and I dreamed of these days when we are “grown up.”

(excerpted from Class Exercises)

We Needed a Christmas Tree

We Needed a Christmas Tree

I was in upper elementary or early high school the Christmas we “needed” a Christmas Tree. Daddy picked Carol and me up at St. Agnes. Christmas vacation had begun and we were excited! Two weeks of playing with our pets, of no homework, of reading what and where we wanted to.

Mother had sent a list of course, so Daddy dropped us and the list at Safeway while he went to do something else then picked us up and we went home to the ranch.

At home we carried the groceries into the house and Daddy returned to the car. When he came in with a tree, Mother started to protest but Daddy put his index finger to his lips and nothing else was said.

Looking back, I can see that Irish optimism had trumped German pragmatism. Daddy's index finger to lips was not so much “don't talk” as it was “it'll be alright.”

Mother had probably decided that we didn't need a tree. We would be spending Christmas Eve and most of Christmas Day with our grandparents where there was sure to be a large tree elegantly decorated. Cattle prices had probably been low and she was in penny pinching mode. And, she didn't like the mess.

But, Daddy had little girls who needed the sense of family togetherness as we decorated. Who needed the creativity of decorating a tree just so and the awe of viewing our creation in the darkened living room and running outside to see if the lights shone through the windows. Daddy's girls needed imagination and flights of fancy and Christmas dreams.

We needed a Christmas Tree.

Boarding at St. Agnes

Boarding at St. Agnes

Background: St. Agnes Academy was established in 1908 as a Catholic High School for girls only. There were 89 day students and 1 boarder. By Christmas there were 19 boarders. The first graduating class was in 1911. Boy day students were admitted in 1925. I’m not sure when the elementary school was begun or when boys (elementary only) were accepted as boarders.

I began boarding at St. Agnes in second grade (1948-49). There were 27 in second grade. I think 6 were boarders.

These are some of my memories about boarding at St. Agnes. Our day began at 6:30 when Sister turned on the lights in the little girls dormitory. The dormitory had about 20 beds in two rows. Each had a chair and a night stand beside it. I can’t remember where our closets were but we had a row of sinks on the west wall and windows on the east. I had always had a window beside my bed so the bed in the middle of the room was a bit disconcerting. We had 30 minutes to get up, get washed and brushed, get dressed and make our beds. Usually Sister French-braided 3 or 4 heads of hair as she kept everyone moving so that we were all ready to march two flights downstairs for Mass at 7:00.

After Mass we went downstairs to the basement for breakfast. Tables were assigned. Usually there were two high school girls and 4 elementary boys and girls. Some of the high school girls were very bossy and I hated being assigned to their tables. Others were very kind and are friends to this day.

After breakfast we returned to the dorm in case we hadn’t gotten everything ship shape before Mass and then went to our classrooms. Primary grades were on the first floor and upper elementary on the second. The boarders had lunch in the dining room. There was no hot lunch program for the day students and I don’t remember that they brought their lunches to the dining room. I think that they ate in the class rooms or on the enclosed porch if they brought their lunches.

There was a little store on the second floor where we could buy school supplies or candy. It was usually open for the day students before school and for the boarders on Monday after school. After school we could change from our uniforms into everyday dresses and sometimes I took my boots so I could change out of the required saddle shoes. We usually had a light snack immediately after school and then we could play on the playground or in the basement playroom until 5:00. We also had the opportunity to learn to knit, crochet or embroider during this time. At 5:00, everyone had study hall or music practice. Music lessons were also given at 5:00.

We had supper at 6:00 and a bit of play time after supper. There was another study hall at 7:00. The elementary boarders went upstairs at 7:45. There were 5 bathtubs and the little girls had to get their baths taken AND THE TUB CLEANED before the big girls came up at 8:15. Our lights were out at 8:30.

Daddy Brought the Groceries Home

Bringing the Groceries Home

Daddy had gone to town. He was kind of late coming home. It was already dark when we heard the pickup rumble down the lane and stop in front of the house. When he came in carrying a box of groceries, Mother said, “Didn't you get . . . ?” Daddy sh-sh-sh'd her and set the box on the floor.

There was something alive in the box! Daddy lifted the flap. There, to my delight, was a puppy among the canned goods. Although, she was a rust colored Cocker Spaniel just a couple of months old, I named her Dusty. She had short legs and long ears and really looked funny trailing after Daddy's coyote hounds. She and I were good friends for many years.

When she got a little older, she really wanted to be a mother. Whenever any new animal was born, Dusty was there in the way. The hens and cats were very much afraid to have her around their babies and the cows and pigs angrily chased her away. The horses were a little more tolerant and when my second baby sister came home from the hospital, my parents folded up the legs on the baby basket because they were afraid Dusty would tip it over trying to see the baby. She would sit for hours just watching the baby and would bark softly if the baby cried for more than a few seconds without a parental response..

Dusty's funniest experience with this heightened maternal instinct occurred when a sow farrowed beside a haystack about a quarter mile from the ranch yard. Daddy took an old washtub in the pickup and gathered up the piglets. With the tub in the back of the pickup, he drove slowly to the ranch yard hoping that the sow would follow. She didn't so he left the tub of piglets in the pen and walked to drive the sow home. Seeing this prime opportunity, Dusty got into the tub with the piglets. When the sow saw that, she went berserk. Dusty sat in the tub and barked as the sow charged the tub repeatedly while Daddy was trying to lift Dusty out of the tub and dodge the charges of the sow and yelling at us to stay back so the sow wouldn't charge us. Finally, he succeeded in snatching Dusty out of the tub. After the sow had calmed somewhat he was able to lift the very shaken piglets out of the tub so the sow could nuzzle and nurse them. Dusty was also shaken and avoided the pig pen for several days.

Eventually, Dusty had a puppy and her “mid-wife” interest waned.

Years later when my sister was trying to help Mother remember pieces of her life, she asked why we had Cocker Spaniels as their ears were sandburr magnets and they were no good at all either for coyote hunting or cattle work. Mother replied, “It wasn't my idea.”

My First Horse

My First Horse

I know I rode horseback before I walked and probably before I could sit as my parents were ranchers. However, I got my first horse when I was about 5. He was a small, black-brown Morgan we called Morg.

Now I may have wanted a horse but Morg did not want a girl. In my memory, all these incidents happened in the first week of our relationship but they probably occurred over a longer period of time.

Morg obviously did not want me to ride him. I rode while Daddy was harnessing or un- harnessing his team or refilling his fencing cart or doing other light chores in the barnyard so he was keeping an eye on us. He would holler at me to tell me what to do but Morg did what he wanted no matter how hard I tried to follow Daddy’s directions.

Whenever I would guide Morg near the barn or the tall corral fence, he tried to rub me off. Daddy would get on him and he would walk beside the barn and fence but when I was on him he would lean into them.

The tank serving the corral and the barnyard was set into the ground. The side in the corral was about 15” above the ground but the barnyard side was only about 6”. I rode Morg over to the tank so he could get a drink. He stepped in with both front feet and would not or could not back out. Daddy had to come to the rescue. I did not willingly give him the opportunity to get another drink although a couple of times he was stronger than I and again stepped in. He drank from the tank normally when Daddy was riding him or when he was loose.

The crowning indignity came after a heavy rain and I decided to ride Morg across the puddle in the barnyard. He decided to roll in it! I jumped off and was still holding the reins and screaming at the top of my lungs as he rolled over and over. Daddy stood in the barn door and laughed until his sides hurt.

I don’t remember when Morg left the ranch but, in the fall, when I started school, I had my second horse. Buck was a big buckskin who would put his head down so I could bridle him by myself. He went wherever I wanted him to and walked beside the barn without leaning and got a drink without soaking his feet. I rode him to Kindergarten. He was my younger sister’s first horse and the horse our city cousins rode and a part of our stable for many years.

Turtle Eggs

Turtle Eggs

One warm, late spring morning, Daddy noticed that the gas truck driver had taken the pasture road to the neighbor’s and had gotten stuck. At dinner, he told my sister and me to ride over to the property line to make certain that the gate had been closed securely when he had finally gotten himself dug out of the soft sand.

As soon as the dishes had been done, we took off. We rode bareback as often as possible and since we knew we would be beside the fence so we could get back on if we had to close the gate, we galloped bareback out into the pasture.

It wasn’t hard to tell where the truck had been stuck. It probably had taken the driver twice as long to get out of the sand as it would have to drive the longer distance over the regular road. The gate had been closed securely but in the soft sand we saw some leathery eggs.

We jumped off our horses and gathered a dozen or so. We’d have pet turtles. We’d be able to show them off to our friends. We would have to catch bugs and things to feed them. We’d have to build a special pen for them so they wouldn’t escape but would still have space to move about.

Fortunately, I was wearing a kerchief so we fashioned a pouch to carry them home. Carol got on her horse and held the pouch while I got on mine. But I carried them home because I was older. No galloping now. I had to hold the pouch with one hand and the reins with the other.

When we got home, we found a pan and some screen. We put the eggs in the pan and covered them with sand. We put the screen over the top so the baby turtles wouldn’t crawl out. Then we put the pan on the cellar where it could absorb the morning sun. Then we set about designing a pen.

A few days later Mother came into the house from the back yard and said, quite sternly, “You take those baby snakes way out in the middle of the meadow and turn them loose NOW.”

Mother's Wash Day

Mother’s Wash Day

Mother had an electric washer almost before she had electricity.

In 1947, my parents moved from a leased ranch north of Hyannis to their own ranch south of Alliance. This was their dream and they wanted it just right.

Daddy knew what he wanted and how to get it. He moved the ranch yard a couple of miles north of the previous owner’s location. He nestled the house and barnyard against the hills protecting it from the winter winds. He put picture windows in the house so the morning sun shone into the living room and the wide vistas of the meadow and the hills beyond were always present.

He dug a well on top of a small hill behind the house and put in a huge supply tank. We had running water and a real flush toilet! But the element that really excited Mother was the wind charger in the back yard producing 32 volt electricity. Two shelves of shiny glass batteries stored the electricity and a gasoline generator supplemented the wind charger on days that the wind didn’t blow or when there was a greater demand.

Mother snaked a hose from the hot water heater in the bathroom through the kitchen and out into the garage to fill the washer. The washer had a small electric motor that powered the agitator and the wringer. Two tubs on stands completed the set up.

Wash day was a whole DAY. As soon as the breakfast dishes were done, the washer was filled with hot water. The white clothes were washed first and run through the wringer into the first tub of rinse water filled with lukewarm water. And the colored clothes were put into the washer. The white clothes were moved into the final rinse of cold water. The colored clothes were moved to the first rinse and Daddy’s work clothes were put to soak in the washer. The white clothes were hung on the line and the colored clothes moved to the final rinse. Then it was time to get dinner on the table.

After dinner, the white clothes were brought into the house for folding and the colored clothes were hung out. The work clothes were removed from the washer. (Mother didn’t run the Levis through the wringer because they were too thick.) The washer was drained and the first rinse water was poured into the washer and hot water was added. The work clothes were returned to the washer. This water from the first washer full was the only water not reused. The second washer full and the rinse waters were siphoned onto the garden or the trees or lawn or even carried out to the chickens or the hogs.

The final rinse for the white and colored clothes became the first rinse for the work clothes and a partial tub of cold water was run for a final rinse. It was mid- afternoon when the work clothes finally made it to the clothes line.

Tools needed for washing included a sharp knife or a grater for cutting up the bars of soap and a long handled wooden spoon or a stick for fishing the clothes from the hot water so they could be run through the wringer.

Later Mother got a wood burning hot water heater. It looked like a small pot bellied stove but had a large tank on the back of it. Now the hose came from the outside hydrant into the garage to fill the tank. In the winter, this was really nice because it warmed the garage as it heated the water. However, in the summer, it made the garage almost unbearably hot. In addition, the engine to generate additional electricity almost always had to be started at some point on wash day. It was very noisy. In the summer, the overhead garage door could be opened but in the winter the noise made conversation impossible.

As the family grew, additional cycles were necessary and of course, the weather always complicated the procedure. This was Mother’s washday for 12 years. In 1959, my parents purchased a neighboring ranch and moved to that ranch house which connected to city electricity. In 1961, Mother got an automatic washer and dryer but for several years she still washed the work clothes in the old wringer washer.