THE DUST WILL WAIT

When my mama and her eldest sister passed away in the summer of 1993, there were some boxes of old photos that came into my safekeeping.  Some had belonged to my grandmother Grace.  Others were from her mother, Augusta.  I spent many hours the following year sorting, scanning, and making attempts to identify them. There are yet photos that no one knows or recognizes and I have them filed under the category "Unknown."      This particular photograph has been the object of much conjecture and curiosity - especially when my brother Mike and I have discussed our genealogy interests.   Mike recently had the opportunity to read the journal written by the grandson of my great Aunt Hattie, my grandmother Grace's older half sister. Hattie was born in 1869 and married Herbert, a photographer, in 1887.  We knew that one of the reasons we inherited many interesting pictures was because of Herbert's livelihood.   Hattie's grandson Newton wa...

Today I sifted through some memorabilia that we stored in boxes over the years, following the death of parents and grandparents.  I am working on a project and I’m looking for a particular old newspaper clipping.  I failed to find the object of my search because I was sidetracked by headlines from The Portland News: BANDIT BUSY AT NOON . My husbands grandmother wasn’t concerned about a robbery on that October day in 1930.  Rather, she was the proud Mama of a little girl whose pose on a tricycle graced the spot under the headlines. Thrift With a Smile.   That is my late Mother-in-law, Joan (When she grew older she insisted that it be pronounced Jo Ann.)  She was a very pretty child who grew up to be a a strikingly pretty woman.   She had a bronzed copy of this photo that sat in her living room for all to see.  I’m not sure what became of her cherished item.  Her daughter (my sister in law) may have claimed it – an unfortunate occurrence, a...

Gattina, Writer Cramps , has asked to see our favorite Christmas decoration for the Fun Monday project this week. Mine happens to be alive and blooming - for well over 50 years. We always call it  "Mom's Christmas Cactus," because I retrieved it from her home when she passed away sixteen years ago. It did not bloom for several years and I was afraid that I didn't have the green thumb for zygo-cactus.   Fortunately, it grieved and I found a rhythm for feeding and watering. Now it is a faithful provider of lovely blossoms every winter.  Three years ago it bloomed from November until April. The plant is very large - and thus susceptible  to breakage from the people and pets who move about.  The pieces that break off are placed in water to root and then shared with other family members.  Each of my daughters has their plant growing from "Mom's Christmas Cactus."  But, now I think that "Mom's" refers to me. In November 2006, I posted ...

Ari, from Beyond My Slab , is the hostess of this week's Fun Monday, and has chosen a topic that gives me immense pleasure:  Old Things. Other than dust, I have nothing in my house more weathered and aged than Augusta's photo album.  I wrote about my great grandmother   (Augusta, Grace, Evelyn, Me) this summer. She was born in 1855 and died in 1937.     I can only guess when she acquired it. I like to think that she was a young teen when she chose to include a photo of the late President Lincoln.  Some other printed photos may be of other famous people of that era. My glasses give you an idea of the album's dimensions. The leather binding is embossed.  It is in dire need of gentle repair.  I have no idea how much that will cost. Note the interesting clasp.  The other one is in worse condition. Do you want to see the inside? Below are tin types of Augusta, her fi...

When I hear other people talk about time they spent with their grandparents, I feel deprived. I never met three of my grandparents, and Grandma Grace was somewhat feeble minded by the time I was old enough to know her. It never crossed my mind in the my early years to sit down and ask her questions about her life and her family. I even failed to get my parents stories. Now, I humor myself by seeking information through family photos, Internet ancestry sites, and hobnobbing with my brother Mike. He has spent hours and hours searching out distant relatives and constructing a family tree. Great Grandmother Augusta ( Augusta, Grace, Evelyn, Me) is one who intrigues me. I have possession of her personal photo album, which has tin types and some regular photos of her parents, her husbands, and her babies.   She was born May 16, 1855 somewhere in the state of New York. Pictures of her as a young woman indicate she had thick and...

When Amanda brought Curlymop to visit last weekend, she planned to search through our albums and copy some photos from her younger days. During her exploration, she became infatuated by the many old pictures that have passed down through several generations. “How am I related to this person?” “You mean you don’t know who these people are?” “I love this picture, mom! I want a copy to hang on my wall.” “I should probably write down the connection, although I doubt anyone will ask me.” “Oh! This is an adorable little girl in a bracelet.” She was experiencing the first symptoms of genealogy fever. It starts with a few photos or an interesting story about your grandmother. Then you find out something about Great Uncle George. Before long, you find yourself searching through old family bibles. Eventually, after a free trial, you fork out the membership fees to join an internet ancestry search. If you don’t have a natural immunity to it, you can develop a full blown case o...

My name is Fern Alice *****. I was born in 1909. April the 3rd, 1909. And I was born on a wheat ranch that my father had homesteaded; about eight miles from the little town of *****, Washington. They moved out from Kansas by train in the 1800s. And while my father built a house on the land that he homesteaded, he put a big tent in ***** where the family stayed while he built a new house on the wheat ranch. Roy was born there. The next year, Jennie was born there. So they lived in that tent at least two or three years 'til the house was built and they they moved out to the wheat ranch. Ethel, Grace, Blanche, and Floyd were born in Kansas and they moved out here by train. Paul and Roy and Jennie was born in ***** (in the tent there) and I was born on the wheat ranch. I only lived on the wheat ranch a year until we moved to town because, by that time, the older ones were ready for high school.They had to move to town so the older ones could go to high school. So,...

Part 1 of my father's short journal told about the depression and his experiences in California . Part 2 narrated a satisfying 5 weeks living off the fat of the land on a self sufficient farm in Southern Oregon . Befriended by a Hop grower in Part 3 , he was hired as a chauffeur and then offered a job in the hop fields. Dad described his first impression of life on in a Hop Yard in Part 4 . His high hopes of continuing the easy chauffeur type duties were doused by a hard dose of manual labor. The teasing by his fellow crew members and the young Russian beauties are not mentioned again. I think this says much about his discretion; Dad didn't kiss and tell. Part 5 describes a Hop Yard in the 1930's with detail - just in case you wonder where your beer has its earthy beginnings. Dad became the nozzle man on the spraying crew and a raise in pay. In episode six dad gets a little too involved with the bosses daughter’s romantic scheme. (Part 6) Picture from OREGON HISTORI...

We drove through the foothills today into the Blue Mountains . The gusting wind rolled like waves through the lush wheat fields and crested in the sun light. As the mountain road changes from paved to gravel it ascends into switchbacks that slice through rock-filled ravines and open meadows. The blustery air followed us up the crooked path. The tamaracks and pine trees whispered and moaned. The aromatic scents of wildflowers mixed with pollen and dust to tickle our noses. Our original goal for this afternoon jaunt was to utilize our permit to harvest rocks that have rolled into the roadway. The landscape around our pond and the waterfall feature has yet to be completed. One of those ‘always in progress’ tasks. However, my attention kept drifting from rock viewing to the symphony of sounds and smells. The blessings of living in a beautiful place and sharing it with those that I love felt overwhelming. My emotions climbed with the terrain. I saw the Memorial ...

Part 1 of my father's short journal told about the depression and his experiences in California. Part 2 narrated a satisfying 5 weeks living off the fat of the land on a self sufficient farm in Southern Oregon. Befriended by a Hop grower in Part 3 , he was hired as a chauffer and then offered a job in the hop fields. Dad described his first impression of life on in a Hop Yard in Part 4 . His high hopes of continuing the easy chauffeur type duties were doused by a hard dose of manual labor. The teasing by his fellow crew members and the young Russian beauties are not mentioned again. I think this says much about his discretion; Dad didn't kiss and tell. So, on to a part 5, where he describes a Hop Yard in the 1930's with boring detail. Unless, of course, you want to know how to grow hops for your own micro-brewery. (Part 5) A brief description will give one an idea of the appearance and operation of a hop yard. Hops are perennial plants which grow a new ...

In Part 1 of my father's short journal he told about the depression and his experiences in California. Part 2 told of a satisfying 5 weeks living off the fat of the land on a self sufficient farm in Southern Oregon. In Part 3 , he was befriended by a Hop grower and hired , and then offered a job in the hop fields. Part 4 begins with their arrival in Portland, Oregon. Keep in mind that Prohibition had just been repealed. After listening to Mr. Putnam and Mr. Wiseman talk breweries, beer, and hops for 275 miles I had become fascinated with hop growing, I thought how lucky I was to fall in with my new employer , for it looked as if I had a job for the spring and summer. It as also a chance to gain some valuable experience. The next morning Mr. Putman again gave me a dollar for my breakfast and dinner and told me to do as I pleased until noon. At that time he would go to Independence, near his home. I don't suppose he knew or guessed how far a bubble chaser could stret...

In Part 1 of my father's short journal my father talked about the depression and his experiences in California. Part 2 told of a satisfying 5 weeks living off the fat of the land on a self sufficient farm in Southern Oregon. In Part 3, he is on the move once more. He was a restless man. His journal began in 1933. I believe prohibition ended officially on December 5, 1933. ******************************** I wanted to get on the outside and rustle myself a job in competition with the unemployed. I arranged for a ride out of Cow Creek with the mail carrier, who also carried express, groceries, etc., for the scattered ranchers in the valley. He hauled me as far as Azalea, where once more I was on Highway 99. Its ever-rushing stream of traffic rolled passed me, the tires making that curious, slithering, lonesome sound so familiar to every hitch-hiker. I hadn't heard a train whistle for five weeks, but I did see a mail plane every day. Having decided to go back to Califor...

Continued from Part 1 , written by my late father (1900-1977) From San Francisco I hitch-hiked to Los Angeles. Luckily I made the trip in two days on Highway 101. I found everything normal after the disastrous quake. I found, also, that there was no chance for an outsider to get work. I never saw much of the damage done by the quake, since the curious were prevented from going into the damaged area. I stayed only overnight in Los Angeles and left the next morning on Highway 99, hitch-hiking to Oregon. I had an invitation from a friend of mine south of Roseburg to come up and live the life of Riley with him on his Cow Creek Ranch. I made fair time. I picked up some money by helping truck drivers load and unload. Part of the time I drove for some tourists who were worn out with too many hours at the wheel. That seemed funny to me, after having seen so many thousands out of work. It was true, nevertheless. My being a registered California chauffeur perhaps accounted for some of my lucky r...

The year was 1903 when Bessie and Charles Hoover bought the little German made suit for three-year old Oscar. At that age he would have preferred a drum or a wooden train. However, mom wanted to show off her little gentleman to all her friends.Oscar grew fast and it wasn’t very long before the suit was too small. Bessie packed it gently in paper and stored it in a bureau drawer. She cherished her little man’s expensive suit from the old country. When Oscar grew to an adult, married, and had children of his own, Bessie brought forth the suit as a gift.  Although his first born, Pat, was a girl, he dressed and photographed her in the suit. He did the same with daughter number two, and then finally, his own son.     Then the suit was wrapped up again and placed in storage until another generation of children marched through. The hubby was one of those that posed in the little woolen garment before it was placed in an updated storage compartment; plastic. Along...

This is a picture of my great grandfather and great grandmother (me, my mom, her mom, her parents) , Franklin and Augusta Castle, with Hattie. Hattie wrote some of her stories by pen before her death in 1965. I have been blessed with copies that I have tried to present without any correction. Just as she remembered them. Hattie had four older brothers, two of whom died in childhood. The new baby sister she speaks of is my grandmother Grace, followed by four more boys and another girl. My grandmother Grace didn't write any memoirs, however she had a treasure trove of old pictures, such as this one of her mom and dad and half sister. To you who choose to read on, thank you, and enjoy her memories. MY CHILDHOOD HOME I was born in the little town of Bucks Bridge, New York , October 2nd, 1869 , the year that the 1st railroad was completed across the U.S. But the following spring my parents and two brothers, Herbert and Newton , moved to a farm 4 miles o...