Growing up in Hagerman Valley
by Lora L Lewis and Cheryl Sandy Miller
Forward: This story began when I asked Cheryl in the spring of 2022 if she knew of anyone that could write a continued story for the newsletter. She immediately suggested Lora, who readily agreed! How thankful we all are she shared some of her life with us.
Bio of Lora L Lewis
My full name is Lora L Sandy Silver Lewis. I grew up in Hagerman Valley and attended Hagerman Schools all twelve years. We lived on a ranch out three miles southeast of Hagerman. My father and mother’s names are William Alfred Sandy and Florence Mary (Jones) Sandy. Mother is still living at the age of 100 in the house she was born in. I have three siblings, three children, one grandchild and a wonderful husband.
There was never a question in our household of the four children going to college. I obediently obliged, majoring in Elementary Education and later received a Master’s in Curriculum and Instruction. I taught for over 35 years, mostly in public elementary schools. I had the privilege of teaching in the first, second and third grade classrooms for many years giving the children wonderful classroom experiences of writing, editing, memorizing and performing plays with costumes and props on stage. I set my rooms up with creative activities, learning centers, art and writing projects, daily note taking, plays to be performed on stage, all school k-6 music performances in the school gymnasiums.
Other teaching positions I held were that of Title 1 teacher for 1st-5th grades, elementary school librarian, ESL tutor, Music and Performing Arts teacher for 1st-6th. I planned and choreographed many elementary Christmas and spring performances, as well as a program to honor the Veterans on Veterans' Day.
My granddaughter and I have many created several dance videos, performed and shared music, singing at various events with guitar and piano, She and I are currently practicing and preparing to be in the play ‘School of Rock’ with the Magic Valley Dilettante Group at CSI, the end of February and beginning of March of this year.
I am volunteering to write for the Magic Valley News. Back in the summer of 2022 my sister, Cheryl Sandy Miller, happened to be visiting with CJ Holmes, our Magic Valley News creator,
editor and publisher. CJ asked Cheryl if she knew anyone who could write, Without hesitation, Cheryl said my sister Lora can write. CJ then reached out to me about writing and the rest is history (no pun meant).
It is my pleasure to share my stories with the Magic Valley News readers. CJ has now made them available online for any that were missed. Magicvalleynews.com
I had a wonderful childhood in Hagerman and those days are etched in my mind. I am hoping to one day put all the short stories together in a book form for my kids to read in the future and others to enjoy. Life is a lot different now than it was in the 50’s and 60’s. Preserving those special memories is my gift to the future..
If I can bring a smile to someone, it’s all worthwhile. I honestly don’t know how I can remember so many details of my childhood. I can only write the history from a young person’s perspective. It was a good life and so innocent back then. I had freedom on our farm where my mind could expand, to be imaginative and also inquisitive.
Our mom, dad and grandparents led by example. They were from the depression era and World War II time when nothing was taken for granted. The people were hard working people, as were their friends. Everyone helped each other.
I want to thank my sister Cheryl for volunteering me to write. It’s not the first time she has volunteered me in one way or another. Thank you to CJ for her assistance in final edits. To other friends and family: Florence Mary, Mark, Allie, Chad, Anna, Travis, Steve, Robert, Ruth, Catherine, Coletta, John, Sivita, Pete, Kathy, Marie, Aysa and all others who have given me encouragement, ideas, editing time, history information, cheering me on and lovingly standing by my side throughout the last few months of writing about Growing up in Hagerman Valley.
Also, a big thank you to my readers and much appreciation for the kind comments! You are why I keep writing! To you I am truly grateful!
June 2022
As a 4-H youngster, I was given the honor of ‘club reporter’. Taking this seriously, I became more of a kid's private eye observing every move of fellow members who individually demonstrated extraordinary sewing or cooking projects. As protocol would have it, my reports were sent to the ‘Gooding County Leader’, our local newspaper. Much to my surprise, I was awarded a ‘golden trophy’ for best 4-H reporter! It then dawned on me, then and there that readers enjoy ‘feel good stories’!
When it comes to my childhood in Hagerman Valley, I have kind of a photographic memory. It wasn’t the ‘Leave it to Beaver’ days, but close! Mom was a farm wife who wore house dresses with skinny belts. Her hair was shiny, wavy, natural
blond, shoulder length and perfectly parted on the side. She attended women’s clubs and was on many committees in our small community. She taught us that volunteer work was essential. In addition to all of her responsibilities, I vividly remember her staying up late at night to mop and polish the dining room and kitchen floors, after everyone else in the family had gone to sleep (but me).
I had short uneven bangs and would rather climb trees than practice the piano. Being one of the youngest in my classroom, schoolwork was a challenge. I strongly disliked red pens and vowed if I ever became a teacher, I would never use them. Strangely enough, in adulthood after thirty-five years of elementary school teaching, I did not correct kids' papers with red pens.
My older brother was a big tease, but came to my rescue on a couple of occasions. My older sister and I were best friends. She was organized, got good grades, practiced the piano diligently and was a natural hair stylist for many of her friends before prom nights. Our younger brother...
July 2022
Our younger brother was active, adventurous and fun. Before he was born my sister tried to put mom on a diet, so mom told her the treasured secret that she was pregnant, however, gave my older sister strict instructions not to tell anyone, yet. Quickly after that moment, my sister ran up to the end of the dirt farm road where I was standing to tell me the good news. We were both so excited!
Dad was hardworking with a farmer’s tan, had a sense of humor and lived by the standard that a handshake was as good as a contract. He belonged to many community committees and worked his way up as chairman of a few boards. In his earlier years, he was a Navy/Air force Radioman and learned Morse code.
Growing up on our farm was so much fun! I often tagged along behind dad, especially when he milked the two jerseys. I can still hear his voice from far off from the other side of the rolling lush green pasture, ‘Come Boss, Come Boss’ I’d hear him call the cows.
Standing between the pasture and calf pen in the center of the fence stood a fully grown maple tree. I often hoisted myself over the calf pen, then stood on my tiptoes to catch its low branch. Clinging to the bark, I shimmied around to catch another one, like a little monkey. I sat in the tree V for a few moments rest, then crawled backwards down a droopy wider and rounder tree branch that bowed just above the ground. There I balanced a few feet above the inside of the pasture. It was so easy for me to pretend I was riding a horse, bouncing up and down, as my feet barely touched the ground. I felt safe and happy to watch dad walk slowly behind the lumbering red and white jerseys.
The milking area had a slightly slanted piece of cement for the
two cows to stand on, where each had a place to eat. I hopped off the tree branch and ran to catch up. Dad had mixed up sweet oats and molasses to entice the cows.. Unbeknownst to dad, I had already helped myself to the sweet treat on more than one occasion.
Dad picked up his simple ‘T’ stool to sit on, made of a couple of short pieces of ‘two by fours’ nailed together to form a ‘T’. It was just the right height for dad to sit and balance on as he milked by hand. Cats running wild, in all colors, came from nearby farms and fields to get a taste and fill their empty hungry tummies. Dad gave the first few squirts toward the wide mouths of those brave ones who came in the closest. Fresh warm liquid splashed to various parts of their furry faces, long rough tongues stretched to the max, licking up every drop.
When Dad began milking he poured the first portion of milk into an old silver pot by a gray tree stump, which was chopped off just above the V. Like a magnet the cats came from all directions for the prize! We once counted twenty-one wild cats!
After two of the buckets of milk were filled for home use, Dad carried them by the handles, around to the back door of the large white farmhouse, into an oversized utility room. There the milk was strained through a round silver contraption, then poured into large plastic Tupperware containers and placed into a five foot tall, roundish, 1950’s refrigerator.
Cream rose to the top of the milk several inches thick over the next couple of days. Mom would then skim the cream off to make fresh homemade bright yellow butter, in a large wooden bowl. We kids took turns pressing around the butter with a flat wooden paddle to squeeze out any extra milk. The large butterball looked like the size of a cantaloupe! Mom later formed smaller squarish lumps of butter for use at the dinner table or for baking.
Mother cooked for farm hay crews and workmen. At our farm, lunch was called dinner and dinner was supper. About the only time we referred to lunch as the middle meal was when we had white wonder bread sandwiches with bologna, smothered with mayonnaise, dill pickles and mustard, on a picnic with a red checkered tablecloth by Billingsley Creek on a fishing day!
The midday meals, during the summer months, were a major undertaking and priority, yet mom…
August 2022
...yet mom could pull it off easily without a hitch! There were many steaming platters and bowls full of garden vegetables, homemade rolls or bread and homemade jelly in abundance with a variety of baked, fried, sautéed or stewed meat. All food was hot and ready on the table, at the same time! She was a master cook, truly a mealtime artist. We weren't lacking for healthy, homegrown, organic food. However, it wasn't called organic food in those days. It was called "grown on the farm."
Spring and summer brought much excitement to the family farm; picking asparagus and strawberries planting tulips, tending the garden, riding with dad on his red tractor while he stirred up dust in the distant fields, going on the school bus to the Gooding swimming pool for lessons, and floating on inner tubes down Billingsley Creek on Saturday afternoons, (just to name a few).
In the early spring we had asparagus growing in abundance on the ditch banks. A couple of hours before supper, mom might say to us, ‘Girls, go pick some asparagus’! Now the main north ditch was nearly ⅔ of a mile away, so we grabbed our slip-on tennis shoes, tied the round white shoelaces in loose bows and headed out with large brown paper bags which were really saved grocery sacks. Mom did ‘Recycle’. It was called ‘Reusing’ in those days.
There was no wasting any time along the familiar dusty road 'high-tailing it’ to the end of the upper lane. Finally arriving, we climbed the ditch bank to search for the green treasure. There should have been many clumps of young asparagus from which to choose. However, neighbors and other folks from around and about often helped themselves. But not to fear, we already knew the ‘hotspots’ and they were not easily accessible. Back around on the other side of that high weedy overgrown ditch-bank and in further lies a wild mossy dark swamp that most intelligent onlookers would think twice about taking any chance to explore or partake of. Hiking around to the ‘hotspot’ was not an easy feat for two little girls. Our clean shoelaces got all dirty while we acquired many leg scratches and mosquito bites.
On the other side of the bank there were thin scrappy hunched -over tree limbs bogged down by long thick scraps of dark hairy sea-moss which would make any child’s imagination run wild. I could conjure up new scenes with my wild imagination for my original (in my head) book entitled ‘Swamp Monster, protector of Asparagus” scaly green monster appearing out of the dark murky pond and trapping us in despair where we had no chance of escape. Branches seemed to secretly sway behind our backs.
I imagined that the monster’s giant feet were squishing along the bottom of the swamp with a suction sound of size twentyseven feet pulling away from the sticky murky bottom. At any moment the whole swamp could swallow us up! I was hoping to avoid conflict. The seven-foot-high ditch seemed to be about fifteen feet high to a little kid. However, my older sister was very brave! She stuck to the task at hand and didn’t seem to be scared at all! I don’t think I ever told her about the swamp monster. Why bother?! Maybe she didn’t notice! No time to waste! Carefully we stepped around the edges of the green pond on the untouchable side as we climbed up the ditch bank and filled our grocery bags with snappy young green asparagus stalks. We could have won an asparagus picking contest! Retracing back quickly around the pond was easier, knowing we were getting out of there!
I sensed great satisfaction as we returned to the safety of that familiar dusty pasture road which led us home. We enjoyed the
crunchy crunch as we sampled the fresh raw vegetable, pulled directly out of the organic dirt right next to where we barely escaped the clutches of ‘Swamp Monster, protector of Asparagus’!
A great benefit at supper was seeing the whole family enjoying piping hot, perfectly steamed asparagus mom had prepared for the whole family! Little did our parents know what we went through that day to acquire it. I knew that the same process would need to be repeated later in the week, but I would be ready! Fortunately, this was seasonal!
September 2022
Grandmother, on my mom’s side, whom we lovingly called ‘Nana’ was quite a character. She was of medium height and had a thin straight figure. Her short dark curly hair was fashionable for the women of her age. She owned a daring sense of humor and could get away with saying almost anything about anyone or any situation.
My older sister of three years and I often caught our grandmother saying humorous statements at events such as at ice cream socials, women's’ auxiliaries, local fund-raisers and other outings. She had a knack for thinking ‘under her breath’. For example, she’d notice something funny, strange or out of place about someone then she’d mumble the truth in her mind out loud! Then realizing that we girls, two of her granddaughters, were standing beside her listening and observing, she would quickly redeem herself with a follow-up statement (an unrelated compliment) about the person she was referring to, such as; “Oh, but she is such a lovely person indeed, just so nice!” or ‘Oh my, her fingers are quite nimble at quilting club, I hear!” or “My my, she certainly knows how to ‘CAN’ those peaches to perfection’!
Nana wasn’t one to gossip to others about others, however, she knew much of the local chatter, due to the fact that she had good ears and a bunch of close friends who spoke liberally about the Hagerman news which traveled up and down the streets and across town! I knew this because Grandmother would speak of it within the family. Mom took it with a grain of salt, though. Mother didn’t listen to much ‘hearsay or there say’. She’d just reply, “Uh Uh.” and change the subject. I imagine that some of the vocal news was about as factual as the game of gossip where kids sit in a circle and whisper something around until it is spoken out completely different from the first to the last child. We all know how that goes!
Nana (we were told) once had hair long enough to sit on. Her long hair was of the attributes that was attractive to grandpa in the early days, whom we lovely called ‘Papa’. One day when they were first married (we heard through the years), due to the fact that our grandma Nana had a mind of her own, she chopped off her hair, very short! Papa wasn’t happy with her, but what was done was done! Her long hair became a bobcut!
Grandma Nana was a very giving person. She was one of the first to greet new folks into town, taking them a little something for dinner and offering them flowers. Her yard and garden were abundantly filled with beautiful long stem roses and irises of all colors. She shared her flowers around and about in a myriad of ways. She gave them to the new folks, to friends, and shared them at weddings and memorial services. She made huge bouquets of flowers for a local church altar in the season of blooming. Her roses and irises grew in abundance early in the spring, all summer and into fall with some of the autumn plants. Her yard was a showcase of color!
I remember when my sister and I were young Nana brought us to her house to create beautiful May-day-baskets for the ‘older ladies’ in Hagerman. Flowers were brought to the kitchen table. She proceeded to show us how to arrange them into lovely little wicker baskets. We loaded beautiful arrangements into the back of her long Buick and then took us to her friends’ houses so we could hang May-day-baskets on their doorknobs. We were instructed to ring the doorbell, run off, jump into the back of her car so as not to be seen. There was only one problem! She pulled out so slowly we knew that the person opening the door could see the backend of her car!
Other times, Nana would take my sister and I with her to visit her friends. Her best friend, Hazel had soft white short fluffy hair and a sweet face. Her puffy cream-colored couch had giant pink decorative roses and green stems adorning the fabric. My feet could barely touch the edge of the couch as I sat right up against its back. Waiting patiently in a little blue dress, I watched my feet move around in my soft white lace up shoes with short bobby socks. My toes touched together then they pointed outward, then touched together again, over and over for my own entertainment.
Nana and her friend, Hazel sat across the room in the smaller matching living room chairs. They shared stories, chuckled and chattered. Then after we had waited for what seemed ‘an hour’ or more, it finally happened! “Would you two girls like a cookie?'' offered Hazel with her pleasant voice. We bounced off of the couch and were directed to another room. The kitchen area had a little round table in front of two corner windows facing Hazel’s own flower garden. We sat down on small white metal curve-topped chairs, careful not to pull off the lace tablecloth which draped way down over the sides. Hazel served us hard store-bought cookies on fancy clear glass plates with scalloped edges and a glass of milk. The cookies were like Oreos, only the lemon flavored kind. While Hazel and Nana walked outside to look at the pretty flowers, I took a lofty risk. Not wanting to be caught lacking proper table manners, I quickly ate the creamy vanilla inside part of the cookies first! My sister took one small bite at a time, making them last. Nana loved rodeos. We had our own rodeo in the famous Hagerman Park. She slipped each of us kids a five dollar bill not to ride a calf. Not that we would have! Five dollars stretched a long way in those days and our older brother took it to the next level. He told her that he really was going to ride a calf! Nana slipped him a ten dollar bill to keep him off one! His trick
worked and that’s the way the story goes! There were lots of bucking broncos and bulls at the Hagerman Rodeo!
Back in those days we had a local newspaper called ‘The Gooding Leader’. They must have been hard up for news because…
October 2022
Back in those days we had a local newspaper called “The Gooding Leader”. They must have been hard up for news because Grandmother ‘Nana’ would often call in the details of our special family dinners along with what we ate and who was in attendance: “Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, homemade rolls, buttered green beans, Jell-O salad and for dessert a round three tiered white cake with creamy chocolate frosting hidden between layers.” Listed were gifts given, from who, how many birthday candles were lit on the cake, a list of individuals who were in attendance and ‘A Happy Birthday' song sung by all!” ‘Nana’ never missed a beat to give our family ten seconds of fame!
‘The Gooding County Leader’ printed lots of happy news so at the age of ten I submitted our weekly 4-H club agenda, receiving a trophy for the best all around 4-H reporter! I don't know if any other 4-H club reporter in the area actually submitted regular reports, but I appreciated the recognition and most of all the shiny trophy!. All I know is that I was just told to write, so I did!
In my opinion, our particular 4-H club seemed like a three-ringcircus with multicolored fruity Jell-O flops, drippy cake decorating demonstrations and perfectly unique knitting projects. As an official club reporter, I took notes to my designated 4-H notebook, reporting on what seemed to me as funny mishaps of ordinary 4-H meetings with young kids. The newspaper liked it and I learned then and there that ‘Feel Good’ stories appeal to readers. Our 4-H leader was extremely patient and confident with children, so she encouraged me to write.
Each August, we finalized our projects which were then submitted to the ‘Gooding County Fair’ and displayed at the 4-H Building. All projects in their specific categories were judged by a team of professionals. Each ‘Grand-Prize’ and owner were photographed and often written about near the front of the newspaper. Even though blue was my favorite color, I mostly received an red ribbon for my ‘Seven Minutes to the Oven’ banana bread. It may not have been in perfect championship form and color, but my family seemed to love it! Mom had lots in the freezer, too!
Hagerman came alive with activity throughout the Autumn months. School began, leaves turned many shades of red, yellow, orange and gold in the days when there were still obvious seasons and there were fabulous fun fall celebrations circulating around Hagerman Valley.
In those days kids were safe to run up and down the streets knocking on about any door with a porch light on. Grandma ‘Nana’ made a big deal out of ‘Trick or treating’! First, it was
the big build up of purchasing a couple of hundred full sized chocolate candy bars! In the early 60’s candy bars cost about 5 cents and rose to a whopping 10 cents by about 1968. This may sound cheap, but for those times it was a worthy expense and was our Grandmother Nana’s ‘Pride and joy’. In today’s dollars it would be compared to (taking in consideration cost hikes) about what they cost today, times 200 candy bars. She looked forward to the event all year long. Purchasing all those candy bars was an investment, but well worth it for those Hagerman ‘Trick or Treating’ children!
Next, in Grandmother’s unique way, she arranged and displayed the chocolate bars on real full-sized rectangular silverplatters, front and center on her original cloth covered piano bench close to the front door. A light lace tablecloth was draped over the card table where the ‘Trick or Treaters’ signed in.
Kids from all over Hagerman Valley flocked to my grandmother’s house, the evening of October 31st. Later, with the list in hand, she might give their grandparents a nice remark or call about their children stopping by her house or subtly letting them know what part of town their grandchildren had been ‘Trick or Treating’ (since everybody knew about everybody else in town). Each year, like clockwork, a predictable long line up of costumed children waited outside the front door of our Grandmother Nana’s house, to ‘Sign-in’ for those full sized Chocolate Hershey’s Candy Bars!
During harvest the Hagerman community depended on an abundance of garden produce to dry, can, freeze, store in a cellar or fruit room. All individuals in kitchens were consumed with preserving fruit and vegetables for the winter. Among other crops, Dad grew Idaho Russet Potatoes and Fields of Sun Glistened Corn. I observed dad offering neighbors large sacks of corn and potatoes. In return they would often reciprocate with bushels of apples, peaches, tomatoes and you name it. When dad came home with the extra produce, Mom would drop everything to turn her attention to the process of canning and freezing food for the family at a moment's notice! It suddenly became a production line, as she solicited the assistance of her two young daughters.
During harvest, we joined in as a family to preserve corn for winter with the help of Nana and Papa. Our farmhouse utility room held two oversized porcelain sinks mom used to wash fresh produce and pluck deceased chickens (not at the same time), a washer/dryer set,1950’s style refrigerator for fresh milk from two jerseys dad milked twice daily, a huge old fashioned roundish silver milk-strainer, an extra stove mom had for canning fruit and baking additional food for holiday meals, a small wooden table, an outside pane window, built-in clothes hamper and a double closet partly empty where dad stored his plaid checkered work shirts along with a few pair of dark navyblue worn levis.
Our utility room’s abundant floor space provided ample space for up to three or four spring baby lambs. We fed these newborn's specialty powdered milk for ‘bums’ from tall thin 1960’s pop bottles which had spring water added to fill, we gave it a
shake, then finally secured each bottle top with a black rubber suction specific for the orphaned lambs’. Since Grandpa Papa raised three bands of sheep for his profession, baby bum lambs rotated through our utility room every January, February and March.
To the outside of the utility room led to a cement platform. Three wide cement stairs went down to the backyard. To the west of the stairs and lining the backyard was an oversized scruffy hedge giving privacy to the length of the house. Three beautifully mature maple trees planned years before stood perfectly and measured meticulously apart in front of the hedge. Between the left two maple trees hung a clothesline with clothespins ready for use. I often used the far right maple tree for climbing, as a few years before my older brother nailed wooden blocks up the trunk constructing a makeshift ladder leading to a hidden…
November 2022
I often used the far right maple tree for climbing, as a few years before my older brother nailed wooden blocks up the trunk constructing a makeshift ladder leading to a hidden… partially built tree house. Since my older brother had abandoned his tree house and had sort of grown up, I took ownership. Not asking permission, I often climbed up to that tree house to ‘see the world’! Inside the uncompleted structure behind limbs and leaves I secretly listened to conversations of family members out on the porch. The roof of our farmhouse, horizontal to my view, looked enticing enough! I promised myself that I would climb up there someday. From the tree house I watched wild cats roam freely, stocking mice by the nearby hedge. I observed work trucks and tractors coming and going to and from the fields. Best of all, birds of all sizes would sail through the air and sometimes reside on the branches.
Climbing down the tree and in view were three large windowwells spaced to the length of the house. West daytime sunlight illuminated through these glass window-wells into our farmhouse basement. I spent much scientific observation time watching light yellow squarish cat-spiders making occasional webs in the corners of these wells. However, more often than not, I searched for real live newborn kittens where a mother cat in the wild may claim one of those window-wells as a warm home for her new family.
Needless to say, the kitty-cat got its way! I abruptly let go as it jumped ‘mid-air’ sideways, then landed in the lime green bathtub under a dripping faucet. Its back arched, tail puffed out resembling an undecorated wiry Christmas tree, bearing sharp pointed teeth, hissing a daring scolding hiss, wide-open yellow eyes surrounding the shiny black thin vertical lines that spoke loudly, “I dare you to get close again!” I understood it well! Rushing out of the windowless bathroom and to get the last word, I flipped the light off leaving the furious wild-kitty in the dark, all alone! “I’ll teach you” I scolded back, shutting the door tightly!
Next, running to an unoccupied kitchen, I jumped up on the counter to a high cupboard that contained the family medical supplies ‘which were supposed to be out of reach to children’. As far as the cat goes, I would bet that somebody in the family got a surprise! I never heard about it again, however, that was dad’s after-work washroom!
Fall time meant the family gathered together to ‘put up corn’. This meant much family chatter working together in assembly line fashion. Mother set up a cardboard table behind the house by the back step between the north the window-well and my climbing tree. A red and white plastic tablecloth flapped up in the air over the top of the card table as she laid it down flat to the four corners.
All hands were on deck! Grandma ‘Nana’ and Granddad ‘Papa’ each put on an apron. ‘Nana’, had a pink and white cloth checkered tie around the top of the waist kind with a big bow and one large lace topped pocket to the right side. Papa’s simple apron was tied behind his neck and then again around his waist.
Each participant in the family had their place in the assemblyline. Dad brought the corn from the field in tall sacks and husked them. Mom, busy in the utility room, heated oversized silver cook pots where bubbling water seemed to come alive with dancing golden nuggets.
My sister and I rotated between assisting with the husking, carrying pans of cooked cobs to the card table and trimming off the corn. My favorite job was creating and cutting off long strips then sneaking a sample. The sweet corn tasted crunchy and juicy all at the same time! A fall and winter time sweet treat!
My sister and I enjoyed hearing warm cheerful table conversations. Nana’s chuckles and sense of humor along with Papa’s calm, kind sense of purpose set us in motion for a lifetime combination of both. Nana told funny stories and shared bold reviews of Hagerman events and stories of the past, while Papa with his gentle subtleness and sweet side smile spoke rarely with politeness, kindness and a listening heart. Their lives were a tribute to hard work, dedication and a genuine giving spirit. They led by example, while treating others fairly. At the corn cob table, I felt as if I was breathing in my own heritage, forming future beliefs and mixing many of their values into my own ideas, Some inherited from mom and dad, as if it were an orchestrated symphony.
We used large silver table spoons to scoop up and reassign just the right amount of yellow kernel nuggets into small clear plastic bags. Flexible paper-covered medal-ties twisted to secure the tops of plastic-filled bags made the process complete, since zip locks had not yet been invented. The corn packages were flattened out, placed in clean cake pans and ready to relocate to one of our two large freezers. The basement fruit room was home to an upright and our oversized floor freezer was outside in a lava rock cellar by the front porch.
Holidays and all winter, we enjoyed the fruits of our labor. Many fall meals graced steamy hot corn in mother’s special
oval porcelain bowl. This unique antique bowl adorned small pink decorative roses painted just on the inside and a golden colored scalloped edge around the top, as detailed as a silverlining summer sunset. This brilliant bowl filled with sunny elegance sat alongside other tasty garden dishes on the dinner table. A sweet buttery aroma filled our family dining room air reminding us of good times together, visiting and conversing with Nana and Papa, sitting and working at the corncob table with that red and white checkered tablecloth way into the early fall evenings.
Autumn soon turned into November with Thanksgiving family time full of love and laughter. Mom spared no main dish while extended family pitched in to bring their favorite tried and true best recipe. I remember our Great Grandma Justice with her long homemade light blue best dress on, gathered at the waist with a half inch belt. She wore round spectacles, sported short curly gray hair, gracefully walking in her tall thin stature, proudly bringing in her peach pies with a perfect golden brown crust.
Mother used her best dining plates only for holidays, placed on the long thin wooden sewing table brought to the dining room from the upstairs sewing room, now graced with overlapping creamy lace tablecloths. The best part was that four lucky kids got to sit at a children’s table by the fireplace!
Mother always cooked a huge flavorful perfected turkey with all the fixings. Dad faithfully mashed up the potatoes with warm milk and butter, then carved the juicy turkey just before we all sat down. There were designated seating places as Dad spoke a prayer of thanks. Thanksgiving brought to us smooth cranberry sauce, olives for the tips of kid fingers, happy times with family, warmth, love, chatter, laughter and the greatest peach and pumpkin pies ever!
In the days after Thanksgiving we ate lots of yummy turkey rice soup made by mom! November soon turned to December as we looked forward to the delightful Christmas holiday season.
December 2022
December was a festive time in Hagerman Valley. Each year, like clockwork, hay wagons with carolers made their way up and down the city streets. The wagon my sister and I rode on originated from the little white church we attended on the east side of town. More often than not, Dad volunteered his truck and hay wagon for these once a year, evening, sing-alongs. Participating youth bundled up in warm attire; sweaters, snow hats, mittens and crocheted scarves. Homemade afghans and woolen blankets lay on the laps of students who were sitting on hay bales covered by tarps. Dad or another volunteer driver planned to stop by the doorsteps of many respected older folks in town.
Traditional Christmas choruses were well known by most Hagerman students back then thanks to our wonderful school
music teacher, Mrs. Joyce Snapp. ‘Oh, Come All Ye Faithful’, ‘The First Noel’, ‘Joy to the World’ and ‘Silent Night’ were sung, to name a few, as the wagon moved slowly along. Small song books were supplied for the teenagers, as a backup for second and third verses. Most of the youth group kids came prepared with a flashlight and extra batteries. Folks would leave the warmth of their fireplaces momentarily and step outside to hear the young carolers sing.
Smiles from doorsteps were all the reward needed as we sang to Hagerman friends. At an ending destination volunteers filled Styrofoam cups with foaming milk and a combination of bitter baking powder chocolate with a heaping spoonful of sugar and topped with marshmallows! Laughter and chatter filled the air as youth reminisced about the fun evening of caroling, while they drank the sweet warm essence.
At home, Christmas began with the tree. Excitement was felt as dad carried in a perfect ‘not so perfect’ pine. Dad was always so proud of it! He’d stand back and take a look at the finalized straightening, “Now that’s a Tree!” he’d say! Then once it came into the house, the decorations came out and we had a lot of them! First, the lights had to be unwound and laid in long strands on the floor from the dining room, through the kitchen and to the living room. Then, we began the fun task of winding the strings around the tree from top to bottom. One could never have enough lights! Our favorites were blinking ones! Finally, the Christmas Tree was topped by an Angel.
Next, colorful bulbs which were packed up the January before came out. Special tree decorations brought back good memories of the year they made their first debut from friends and neighbors.
My most enjoyable step in the decorating process was called ‘Icicles’!! I got a little carried away in my younger years. While my older sister pulled the silver icicles apart meticulously placing one or two on specific places of each branch, I put on a few more, like gobs at a time, just for visual effect! One could never have enough sparkles! At some point, someone came along and regrouped the icicles while I was not watching. It seemed like there was a more uniform look the following morning! Santa must have sent his busy elves early, or was it my sister putting on her final touches?! All in all, the tree looked quite beautiful, with all the branch spaces filled in.
It was great fun to wrap presents before the big holiday! We had a huge built-in gift wrapping drawer, by the family room. Much of the wrapping paper was stronger back then and salvageable. Some individuals in the family used a table knife to carefully open presents, where the package had been taped, and some of us did not. All leftover paper, still in pretty good shape, was folded and placed back in that gift wrapping drawer, to use again. There were abundant choices of colorful printed designs, available for all celebrations! With each use, the same pieces of wrapping paper got smaller and smaller as they were smoothed and placed back into that familiar drawer space. There were lots of pieces of ribbon there, too!
Every December, back then, my mom’s brother took our family photo. The pictures were in black and white and photo-
graphed in front of the farmhouse fireplace. We all got dressed for the pictures, I looked a little goofy with my uneven bangs, one knee sock lower than the other, a shoe bent over to the side or just a giddy smile. My older sister, on the other hand, had nicely kept hair, stylishly coordinated outfits, proper posture and looked ready for the photo. To this day, she always looks well put together and even has her own clothing business! My little brother who came along six years after me looked so cute with his hands folded together for a timely family photograph! He sported a little suit jacket and bow-tie at the early age of eight months. I will always be grateful to have those special photo memories, thanks to our Uncle Bill!
The big event of the year was our School Christmas Program. When I was in first grade we dressed up for a play presented on the auditorium stage. A few children dressed up like angels, but most played the part of kids seeing Santa on Christmas morning! I was relieved not to have to wear pajamas, however glitter glued on the angel wings scratched between my shoulder blades. I alerted the first grade teacher and she summoned the second grade teacher for a serious talk.
They momentarily gave my shoulders a microscopic look. I felt so important to be the center of attention! “Her skin looks Very Irritated” one remarked. “Wow”, I thought, “I learned a new word, “irritated!” But, that was that, as both turned their attention to other children. “Over here, Someone, Anyone?” I spoke beneath my breath. That was it!! I endured the glittery scratchy wings the rest of the concert. Irritated or not, it didn’t alter my belief in real Christmas Angels!
At the end of the annual school Christmas Programs we could count on Santa Claus making an exciting anticipated appearance. ‘Merry Christmas’ Santa would shout out to ‘One and All’ as he skipped merrily around the edges of our gymnasium. He was so jolly but seemed like he could use a few more cookies and milk. Each student anxiously received a small brown paper sack from Santa and the teachers filled with a popcorn ball, coveted hard ribbon candy, special salty snacks, traditional red and white striped candy canes and other goodies any child would enjoy. Every Christmas Santa strangely resembled one of our long-time Hagerman residents, Mr. George Lemmon, who was dearly respected and loved!
Back on the home front, we kids each received a main toy from Santa Claus. I remember the excitement running around the corner early one Christmas morning to see a doll about as big as myself sitting in front of the fireplace with a light blue dress, my favorite color. My sister received an identical one with a light pink dress, her favorite color. Each of us four kids had been given a large red felt Christmas stocking created by our Great Aunt Marjorie, with our first initial of our names sewn on the toe and white pom-pom tassels sewn on the top. We could count on Santa giving us each a sweet orange, some candy canes, real socks to wear to school (every kid’s favorite gift) and other small items such as playing cards, jacks, jump rope and other small toys.
Grandmother Nana and Granddad Papa came to our house for Christmas dinner every year. Papa was a gentleman, polite,
kind and a good listener. Nana brought her chuckles, pies and vocal local news! Someone from outside of the family brought old fashioned fruit cake. The grownups charmed themselves with a half slice of cake with coffee, on clear glass dessert plates later in the afternoon. Maybe the grateful grownups were just being polite, but we kids stayed as far away from the overly sweet and obviously sour substance as possible! We never could understand what all the fuss was about and instead anticipated pumpkin pie with lots of whipped cream!!!
On the other hand, baked ham with pineapple was a hit for the children! Mom’s famous high rising homemade dinner rolls, yummy buttered yams with marshmallows, golden sweet corn from our fall harvest, plus all the extras left us with pleasant memories to last a lifetime. Mother, who is lovingly named Florence Mary, after her two aunties, was an experienced, artistic, wonderfully perfected, Masterful Cook!
Vacation between Christmas and New Years brought all kinds of adventure! It got much colder than it seems to get these days. We often loved to ice-skate on the local Sloughs (pronounced Slews). South of Hagerman there were, and still are, duck and fishing ponds on both sides of the highway just north of the Gridley Bridge that crosses the Snake River. The pond on the west side of the road would freeze solid many inches thick. It enticed local kids to enjoy abundant safe winter fun. No one thought of this as a concern, as it had been a local Hagerman Valley ice skating destination for generations.
On one of those pleasant skating outings, as usual, many kids were skimming across the frozen pond. It was a clear, crisp wintery day. All were bundled up to enjoy an afternoon of peaceful bliss and fun with friends. There were no worries of any kind from anyone. My sister and I had just arrived, laced up our leather ice skates and had enjoyed about five minutes of delightful freedom, on the south-side of the ice.
After a few moments of skimming in circles and figure eights our serene quiet quickly subsided. We heard a definite breakage! Crack, Crunch, then Splash echoed clearly across the pond from the north-end. The tulies/cattails stood at attention as we heard many older teenage voices ring out, “GET OFF THE ICE!!!” Our icy world of skating on the safe ponds, as we knew it, was about to change!
January 2023
January without fail was icy and cold. Ponds actually froze solid. Many young people owned a pair of ice skates which had been gifted to them at Christmas. There was no need to pay an ice skating entry fee because Hagerman Valley had its own natural outdoor ice skating rink, used for free. Just north of the Owsley Bridge, on the west side of Highway 3O, lie the duck and fishing ponds. For generations these small bodies of water, locally known as the sloughs (pronounced ‘slews”), froze many inches thick as if they were created not only for fishing in the summer months, but also for friendly freezing family fun, come winter.
Parents could drop off their kids for several hours, without a worry. On Saturdays a good number of individuals were known to be flying safely around and across the frozen body of water. Sounds of blades popping, hopping and stopping echoed across the arctic-like air. Amateur spins leaving thin blade-cut trails in the ice left evidence from the more experienced local ice-athletes. Toppling participants quickly rebounded with no evidence of accidental battle scars, bumps and bruises under layers of warm clothing, hoping no one would notice.
Students could get away with building small bonfires close on the edge. Anyone could skate off the ice at a moment’s notice enticed by the brilliant red, yellow and orange flames to warm one’s back and hands. For those more prepared with an adult supervisor, tree limbs whittled to a point lay close by, for roasting hotdogs and marshmallows.
Organized youth groups often enjoyed a Saturday of play on the frozen ponds. On one of those pleasant skating outings, as usual many kids were skimming across the frozen pond. It was a clear, crisp wintery day. All were bundled up to enjoy an afternoon of peaceful bliss. There were no concerns or cares of any kind. On this particular Saturday, a locally sponsored multi -age youth Sunday school party consumed the local ice-rink with fun, food, and a hot dog roasting bonfire.
There was a spot on the north side of the sloughs that was supposed to be off limits to youth. This smaller area featured thinner ice lined by cattails.
These plants, or as we called them,’Tullies’, grew around the pond's edges. Unbeknownst to the supervisor, some of the twelve and thirteen year old boys decided to ‘part waves’ from the rest of the group and have their own fun! My older brother pulled a twine rope behind him tied to our old red wooden sled which had peeling paint and metal sliders. They headed toward the Tullies. A couple of my brother’s close friends, one being a neighbor from across our upper pasture, decided to have some ambitious adventure and a rambunctious ride. One of the boys shouted, “GET ON YOUR MARK, GET SET, GO!”! The two raced right past my brother, spun around, challenging each other to a duel as to who could land front first, simultaneously on the wobbly wiggly sled.
Five minutes before, my sister and I had arrived, laced up our white leather ice skates and had enjoyed some delightful freedom on the south-side of the ice. After a few moments of skating in circles and figure eights our serene quiet quickly subsided. We heard a definite breakage! CRACK, CRUNCH and then SPLASH echoed clearly from across the north-cattail area! The Tullies stood at attention as we heard voices ring out, ‘GET OFF THE ICE’!!! Our world of free skating on the safe ponds, as we knew it, was about to come to a screeching halt!
One of the boys jumped off just in the nick of time! The other student went down with the ship!! The adult former marine supervisor jumped into action! He motioned everyone nearby to back off as he quickly reached for a limb, which had already been cut to length for the hotdogs and marshmallows. George was still frigid and cold up to his neck! Thankfully, Warren
Berry’s quick thinking got him out in record time!
News spread rapidly about the ice pond incident. No newspapers needed in Hagerman for the word to get out in a few hours that the ice was no longer safe to skate. I’m sure there were those that snuck out there after dark, but my sister and I were not allowed to go anymore.
Fortunately, we had some smaller shallow ice ponds on our farm! We enjoyed the challenge of skating around the natural bubbled imperfections. In those days ice skates didn’t have ankle support that they do now, but that did not stop us from the thrill of the adventure!
My little brother, Robert and I had very good friends, the Tupper kids. David and Becky’s mom, Faye and our mom, Florence Mary were best friends, so we got to have many play days at our place or theirs. They often skated with us in the winter, in addition to other seasonal kid activities.
January, February and March were exciting months on our farm as large groups of sheep were about to have their baby lambs.
In our early years, my sister and I had…
February 2023
John William Jones, known as Johnny, was born in Southern Wales in 1886. While living in Wales, at age twelve, he worked as a stable boy for a local lawyer. At around fourteen years of age, he delivered milk on the streets of London. He had an amazing singing voice and made time to sing in a Welsh Boys’ Choir at St. Paul’s Cathedral. When the time was right, at about age sixteen, Johnny crossed the Atlantic to the United States of America, to start his new life.
Johnny found his Uncle Thomas Jones in a mining area in Northern Idaho. The family story is that Johnny took the job to hold spikes for miners to chisel out holes in rock for blasting dynamite.
After several months, Johnny journeyed down to Southern Idaho to Hagerman Valley where his Uncle Dan was located. Jay Farmer was lambing his sheep operation on Dan Jones’s property. There, young Johnny Jones worked as a night watchman overseeing one band of (2,000) sheep. After a while, Johnny talked his boss into being the camp tender for two bands (4,000) sheep. When the opportunity arose, he attended a one room schoolhouse to continue his education.
Being an astute businessman, he went into partnership with his boss and later bought out the entire sheep operation. It grew to several thousand more sheep. Johnny ran the business on his Uncle Dan’s ranch. He continued working alongside many great Basque sheepherders, who he employed. When his Uncle Dan passed away, Johnny and his sister Mary Ann inherited the property. Johnny bought out his sister’s part of the inheritance, taking on the entire Dan Jones Ranch in Hagerman Valley, which is on the north side of Vader Grade.
One-hundred and thirty years later, it is still family owned. In the meantime, Ethel Hulda Justice, born in 1896 and one of five siblings, was living in the Justice house below the Justice Grade, where the family had homesteaded. Her parents were William and Willa Justice. Ethel, who had long brown hair she could sit on, was in the original class in Hagerman Valley, going all the way through from first to twelfth grade. She also proudly belonged to the first Hagerman High School Graduating Class of 1914.
That fall, Ethel attended the Albion Normal School for Teachers. After graduating she taught at Clover Creek School. Later, when Johnny and Ethel met, she became the apple of his eye and love of his life. Johnny and Ethel (our future grandparents) were married in the early 1920’s had two children. Florence Mary, born in 1923, was named after her two aunts and John W. Jones Jr., born in 1926, was named after his father. Family and friends called him Bill.
The family spent their winters in Hagerman during lambing season and summers in the Stanley Basin Area, where the sheep grazed on the high mountain meadows. Grazing fertilized the ground and also kept the wild feed short, preventing grass fires. Johnny’s sheep were part of the entire industry that utilized and trailed sheep through Wood River Valley. That legacy is kept alive today through the ‘Trailing of the Sheep’ Festival in that area.
The family spent many months camping out. Johnny told Ethel when they got married he wanted to take his family along with him. They were an original power team couple, doing everything together! Ethel had their bags packed, ready to go at a moment's notice. She kept a little cardboard box, on hand, filled with lunch supplies: a picnic tablecloth, tin plates, cups, mayonnaise, cans of tuna and chicken, a loaf of bread, sweet pickles and napkins. There were also precooked potatoes and boiled eggs in the refrigerator, to quickly make a potato salad at their picnic site.
In those days, there were many picnic spots along the way to Stanley from which to choose. One could drink cold water out of mountain rivers and springs, without a worry. The fresh clear mountain water quenched everyone’s thirst. It was fun for Florence Mary and Bill to wade in the shallow spots of the Wood River.
In Ketchum they regularly stopped to see Jack Lane, Johnny’s good friend. He owned an old- time mercantile. The store carried everything from canned peaches to overalls, flour and sugar to medal shovels. The store had more length than width. There were two long counters, one lining each side of the store. The goods were stacked on tall shelves behind the counters. An oversized black cash register sat on the left side counter. In the middle, half way from front to back of the room there sat a pot-belly stove which kept the area warm, depending on where you were standing.
A little ways in front of the pot-belly stove stood a wooden barrel. Roundish wooden chairs with armrests sat around the barrel. Center stage on top of the flat part of the barrel sat a
sturdy red and black painted checkerboard. Land and livestock owners in overalls sat around. While Johnny sat down to get caught up on the news. Ethel and the two children would go next door to the drugstore to get an ice cream cone. Continuing on the journey over Galena Summit was much different than it is today. The winding roads were narrower than they are now and not paved. Ethel would often get out and walk down the other side, as brakes were not always reliable. Family stories passed down spoke of tree logs which were often chained to the back of Johnny and Ethel’s car to keep it from rolling too fast down the mountain, Galena Summit.
Once as the family drove to Stanley, in their Buick, a lone sheep was spotted with Johnny’s livestock brand, the three dots. Johnny walked over slowly, laying his hand on the sheep as he gently guided it to the car. Everyone piled out of the vehicle and Johnny sat the sheep in the middle of the backseat. The sheep sat between the two children, Florence Mary and Bill, for the rest of the ride until Johnny and Ethel drove around and found the ‘band’ of sheep to which the lamb belonged. Johnny’s original quote has been passed down through the family generations: “The sheep paid for the car. The sheep can ride in the car.”
March 2023
Our Grandfather, Johnny Jones, came to the United States by himself on a ship at the age of sixteen, then worked hard many years to build up a good sized sheep operation. Each day, whether working outside of Stanley grazing his sheep in the meadows or overseeing his ranch in Hagerman Valley, Johnny wore a dressy long sleeved button-up collared shirt and wide patterned tie with a pair of gray thin striped bib-overalls. When it was cool outside he sported a traditional Welsh men’s button-up long sleeved wool sweater. Every season, everyday, he wore a light gray 1940’s style hat, except in the house. While at Stanley the family spent time enjoying nature in the unpredictable summer weather. One day, his wife Ethel and their young son Bill were sitting close to a lake enjoying the sparkling view.
Their dog wouldn’t stop its excessive barking. It was becoming quite a nuisance running around trying to catch their attention. Finally, Ethel picked up little Bill and moved to another location away from the water’s edge. It was only a few minutes later that the entire bank where they had been sitting slid into the lake. That little dog had a sixth sense for sure!
Lambing season was a busy time for the whole family! Sheep were trailed back through Wood River Valley to the Hagerman Ranch. Basque sheepherders working for our granddad were all part of the trailing. Thousands of sheep walked through Wood River Valley. There was a time when wool was quite profitable for its warmth and longevity. Many ranchers from throughout Magic Valley trailed their own sheep from the mountain country though Wood River Valley.
Once back on the ranch in Hagerman, the mama sheep began having babies. These were moved to the long warm lambing sheds which were covered by thick roofline tarps. Inside the lambing sheds were endless pens, each just the right size for a mama sheep and its baby. All lambing sheds housed pot-belly stoves that were fired up to keep the areas warm.
As the little lambs grew they were moved to larger pens outside with their mamas. A boulder rock inside each pen made play easy so the young ones could jump up and race over them with a short line of lamb friends following. What the first young lamb did: run-hop-turn, the rest followed almost exactly, like in the game of ‘Follow the Leader’.
Johnny’s daughter, Florence Mary recalls the cookhouse up on the hill. Even though the kitchen was small, it was highly functional. At the moment of entering, one was met with the fragrant aroma of cooked beans and ham-hock or bacon. Dutch Oven round Basque bread, freshly baked to perfection, sat on the kitchen counter. A roast was about to be taken out of the oven. Vegetables, salad, canned fruit and dessert were ready to go on the table.
Once the cook asked young Florence Mary if she would like to ring the metal dinner bell beside the front step. Florence Mary wasted no time ringing it many times before someone let her know that was enough. The kind, hardworking sheepherders came from the various parts of the operation. Up the hill they took wide steps to the outdoor water pump where they took turns splashing plenty of cold turns splashing plenty of cold water onto their sunned faces. Rolled up sleeves above elbows, bars of soap were thrown to each other to lather up their strong tanned arms.
Inside the cookhouse just on the other side of the kitchen and past the tall counter, steaming food was placed on a long wooden table. Equally long benches sat on both sides. The men took their places straddling over the benches to sit down and wait for everyone to arrive. The food was passed around and no one began eating until everyone had dished up.
Basque bread, made in Dutch oven style, provided more than enough for all. The beans were passed around and each filled up their round tin plates with narrow bowl-like edges. Bread was used to scoop up the brown beans, down to the juice. There was much speaking in the beautiful Basque language and hearty loud laughter. No food was wasted and no hard workers went away hungry.
Florence Mary remembers living in the cookhouse with her family during the winter lambing months. She and her brother Bill walked a mile to meet the school bus five days a week. One day the school bus didn’t show up because there was so much snow on the roads. Their country neighbors, the Vader’s, who lived beside the Vader Grade, invited them to stay at their house and play with their children for the day. At the end of the day, she and Bill walked back the mile through the deep snow to the cookhouse. All day their mother, Ethel, had thought the children were at school!
The cookhouse was small but cozy! A small ‘lean to’ room was
added for Florence Mary, as she was three years older than Bill. For fun, Florence Mary and Bill rode horses and spent time looking out for the newborn lambs in the warm lambing sheds.
At the end of lambing season the shearing began which gave the sheep fresh haircuts and preserved their wool. Long gunny sacks were stuffed full, stacked high on trucks and shipped out. All the work finally paid off! Everybody was ready for spring!
April 2023
Hagerman Valley was a small close knit community in the 1920’s, 30’s, 40's, 50's, 60’s and beyond. Everybody pretty much knew everybody. People looked out for others and kept a watchful eye out for the neighborhood children. There wasn’t a playbook written, but there might as well have been.
My grandparents and children lived in three locations in the 1920’s to 1940’s: in the family sheep ranch cook shack southeast of Hagerman during lambing season, the Stanley basin area in a two room camp house during the summer sheep grazing months and at their main house in Hagerman, between those times. After the busy lambing season, late spring, they moved back into their Hagerman town house.
Built in 1902, the townhouse originally had two rooms and two porches. Consequently, it went up for sale from a doctor in 1922, the year my grandfather and grandmother were married. Their first child, Florence Mary, was born eleven months later. The date of her birth, May 2nd, 1923. The house was full of friends and family awaiting her arrival. The ‘Ladies Aide Group’ was across the street in another home looking forward to good news and couldn’t wait to see the new Hagerman baby!
The home where Flo was born, has been added on to several times throughout the last hundred years, has housed six generations of family and guests, ten decades of holidays, patio picnics, birthday parties, recitals, special dinners and many more happy occasions and celebrations. If the walls could only talk! Flo is about to be 100 years old this May 2nd, 2023! She lives in that same house where she was born, is quite healthy for a lady of her young age and she still tells the stories! Walls don’t have to talk!
Back to the 1920’s and 30’s, the homes of the residents in Hagerman, were spaced far apart. Not all of the current townhouses had been built yet. Even though the family lived within the city limits, there was a small dairy across the street from their house. Many people enjoyed a milk delivery service from this small local dairy. Young Florence Mary and Bill Jones often ran across the street to ask if they could help deliver the milk. The dairyman was grateful to have a couple of kids volunteer to ride along to jump off his delivery truck, gather up yesterday's glass containers off the doorsteps and replace them with fresh new bottles of milk. What a great life!
While living in the Hagerman home there was an incident out-
side on the sidewalk where Bill toppled over his bicycle breaking his leg. When Bill began first grade his broken leg was still healing. Flo, being only three years older, pulled him in a little red wagon to and from school everyday until he could walk again on his own.
Flo loved organizing neighborhood plays. She wrote original scripts, scheduled tryouts for parts and planned costumes and props. After several practices parents of the participants and extended families came to the Jones yard to watch the children’s polished performance. In return for all of Flo’s efforts, lots of guests came to the family home to celebrate her birthday party. In fact, so many families came that her dad, Johnny, had to go to the local grocery store to pick up extra ice cream, just to accommodate the high volume of attendees.
One birthday week, there just happened to be a sale on red socks, in the dry goods part of the mercantile. Many parents, unbeknownst to others, partook of the red sock sale! So the day of the birthday party Florence Mary received abundant pairs of red anklets! Later, when all of the socks were washed, you guessed it, they faded! From then on instead of red socks, Flo ended up owning many pairs of anklets in various shades of light and dark pink!
There was a small movie theater in the town of Hagerman back when. The kids met up on weekends to enjoy some popcorn and a good show. It was the ‘hot spot’ in town. Florence Mary and her brother often enjoyed movies with the other students for a safe form of entertainment. With the town ‘busybody’ on the lookout, it was a rare teenager who attempted to make any trouble!
The movies back in the mid to late 1930’s cost about 25 cents and brought lasting memories to many individuals of the time. Although, one sad day, unfortunately, the movie theater burned down. There have been many replacements through the decades and the old-timers still talk about that movie theater. A successful business, in front of where the movie theater once stood, is our current ‘Bullets & Brew’, which comes highly recommended for a Hagerman Valley drive through!
Continued in another ‘Story in May’ which is about thirty cups of coffee or herbal tea away!
May 2023
It was the spring of 1934. At the age of eleven, Florence Mary Jones had a serious leg break on the family sheep ranch. She was riding on the side of a lambing cart en route to the lambing sheds. The wooden cart had individual sections designed to temporarily give a short ride to mama lambs and their babies. Unfortunately, the heavy cart tipped over while going over a bump, pinning Florence Mary underneath a metal wheel. The workers quickly went into action to lift the cart off her. One of the strong Basque fellows carried Flo to the cook shack. He carefully placed her on the backseat of her parents’ Buick, at the direction of Ethel, Flo’s mother. It seemed to be a long
drive to the Twin Falls Hospital. Coincidentally, the specialist on call at the hospital was Dr. Lamb!
X-rays revealed a complicated break, zigzagging from hip to ankle. Dr. Lamb said “Let’s see” as he gently twisted this way and that, then gave an abrupt yank of the leg. The zigzag break went right back together! (Definitely don’t try this at home!)
After casting Flo’s leg, Dr. Lamb gave her strict instructions to stay in bed for six weeks. Many of Flo’s friends came to visit during that time of bed rest. She had a pile of homework to keep her busy. In about six-weeks the leg was as good as new. Thank you, Dr. Lamb! Also, thanks to the Lord above for the obvious miracle!
Decades ago, Hagerman housed a little drug store with an oldtime malt shop. Older students often congregated there after school. It was between the Grocery Store, which is now our Papa Kelsey's and the Post Office where we now have the Hagerman Museum. The soda fountain area had tall metal stools in front of the bar-like counter and round red leather seats that spun around. The tall stools were attached to the top of a long horizontal step. Behind the high counter, in front of the stools attached to the back wall hung a mirror where customers could see their reflections, like in the movies! Decorative mahogany framed the outer sides.
The high school after-hours attendant wore a white paper serving hat while taking orders with a smile, pulling down levers for soda drinks. Milkshakes were whipped up in an oldfashioned metal blue/green milkshake-making machine, which stood to the right in front of the mirror.
In those days it was customary to have a small-town busybody. This self-appointed person informed parents of their children’s whereabouts. When Bill Jones, Flo’s brother, was in high school he used to stop by the malt-shop everyday after school to have a milkshake. It was a safe environment for students to congregate. Each milkshake was served in a tall clear crystal decorative goblet. A red striped paper straw stood straight up through the whipped cream topping.
One day this ‘busybody’, a long time local resident, made an urgent call on her black rotary-dial landline. This was surely ‘Hot off the Press’ News! With an abrupt and authoritative voice she spoke, to the point, “Ethel dear, are you aware that your sixteen-year-old son, Bill, is stopping at the drugstore malt-shop every day after school with other high school students?” Ethel, not surprised at her nosiness, answered, “Yes, I am quite aware! In fact, I give Bill change each morning for the milkshake of his choice.” It seemed that Bill had a very lean stature. His mother, Ethel, hoping he would put on a pound or two, slipped him some coins before school, each and every day to stop at the drugstore on his way home. These afterschool milkshakes had a ‘Sweet Purpose’! Needless to say, this nosey well-meaning individual was put firmly and kindly in her place by Bill’s mother, Mrs. Johnny Jones (at least until the next time)!
June 2023
Decades ago, across the street and east from the malt shop stood a small movie theater. Here the teens gathered on weekends to enjoy some popcorn and a good film. It was another popular spot in the small town of Hagerman. Florence Mary and her brother Bill often enjoyed movies of the day with the other students. There was an older individual who took it upon herself to lookout for the welfare of the teenagers in Hagerman and report back to parents and grandparents any suspicious activity. With the town gossip on the lookout it was a rare teen who attempted to make any trouble at that movie theater! There was a rumor that this much older individual was spying from the balcony, however it was never confirmed. She could have been anywhere at any time. A few teens learned of their whereabouts from parents as soon as they got home from a group activity.
A movie ticket back in the mid to late 1930’s cost about 25 cents. The experience brought lasting memories to many youth and individuals of the time. The older folks still reminisce about the fun they had on Saturdays going to a special movie in Hagerman. One day, unfortunately, the small movie theater burned down. There are conflicting views on how it actually happened, but sadly it was never rebuilt. The students had to find other forms of Saturday afternoon entertainment.
Florence Mary Jones loved riding horses on the family farm. Her own mother worried about her riding so much (but that didn’t stop Florence). One day the horse she was riding spooked and abruptly took off for its own version of a long ride! Flo hung on for dear life! Barely able to hang on, she rode like the wind! Her mother’s screams faded in the breeze from afar, as the horse and Flo moved farther and farther away!
Gaining speeds she had never ridden before, the pounding of its hooves became louder against the hardened dirt road, the horse’s nostrils flaring in and out with every endless breath. It did not respond to the pulling of the reins or her yelling of “whoa”, as she continued trying to maintain control. Where Blackie was going she did not know, except forward.
Flo's eyes watered until she could barely see. The only thing left to do was pray and depend on the riding skills she had acquired through the years. Blackie didn’t look like there would be any slowing up soon as they were approaching a distant highway. It was only a matter of a few moments that they would end up on the paved road to possibly be hit by a vehicle.
At more than a fast gallop they flew by the irrigation ditch, up a small incline, around a curve by an old shadowy apple orchard and past the high ditch bank where she and her family had often picked asparagus. Would there be an approaching truck outside the field gate? It felt like she was riding a racehorse getting ready for the Kentucky Derby!
Down the last stretch, which soon became the edge of the ranch. “What was their fate?” Pressing her knees firmly against the sides of Blackie she could barely make out the farm bound-
ary. Through wet eyes, “Could it be real”? It was too good to be true! Maybe it was a mirage! Directly, in full view, the field gate was closed!
Her imaginative thoughts ran wild, still wondering, “Would the horse try to jump over the gate? Would they get tangled in the fence? Would either of them survive? Was their fate sealed?” She shook off the negative thoughts, “I’m trusting you, Blackie!”, she yelled through the wind.
These questions and answers raced through Flo’s mind. Closer and closer her ride came to the gate down to the last stretch! Then, as suddenly and as quickly as it all started, everything came to a sudden stop and there was silence, except of course for Blackie’s heavy breathing. Air rushed in and out through his nostrils as if there was an oxygen shortage. He seemed a bit confused by the gate while frozen for a moment in time. Flo put her hand gently on the side of his soft neck. “That’s okay, Blackie. We got it.” She whispered calmly.
Now Flo could think clearly. She pulled on the reins, then backed him up, pulling and turning on his reins. Blackie turned around. “Let’s walk back," she suggested with a couple of clicks. However, seeing from whence he came, undeviating from his plan, Blackie’s head bobbed up and down as if not finished. Then like an arrow that was shot from a bow raced off toward his place of refuge. The barn was about a mile away. With the saddle cinched well in place, Florence bent forward and prepared herself for another wild ride!
As Flo’s light blond curls flew back behind her neck, she held on for dear life, taking the opportunity to imitate a jockey, while holding on to the reins and long black horse’s mane, her feet planted firmly in the stirrups.
Young Blackie, determined and didn’t let up speed, hooves kicking up dirt on the field road. Aligned with the tall ditch where the family had picked asparagus, back past the old apple orchard, ran down a short incline, and straight by the narrow irrigation ditch. He kicked up more dust over a giant red ant mound, then swiftly passed the farmhouse, sliding-trotting down the steep gravely farm road to the bottom of the hill.
Just a little ways farther along another curve and to its final destination; that red barn with all the familiar sights and smells Blackie had longed for. There, the saddle would be removed, knowing he would get to munch sweet molasses grain, finally getting his way, returning to the horse corral.
The Basque Sheepherders ran down hill to the barn to see how she fared, with Flo’s mama not far behind. Her blond curls were a tangled mess. She didn’t care jumping down out of the saddle to the straw floor. “Are you okay?” The Basque workers inquired as Florence’s mother was obviously still shook up and crying. Flo brushed and hit the dust off her wide tan riding pants with a pair of light leather gloves. After a few seconds, she looked up. To their surprise Florence Mary had a big wide smile on her pink windswept face. Her sparkly blue eyes were shining brighter than usual. “Oh Yes indeed!” She declared, “I am more than okay! This was a wonderful day!” She then paused patting Blackie, “That was the Best Ride I ever had!!”
July 2023
Back in the summer of 1921, a young married couple homesteaded a piece of property in a northern mountain area. Unbeknownst to them the winters were extremely cold and harsh. As they endured the winter, snow piled up past the windows to the roofline. There seemed to be nonstop blizzards. It was nearly a full time job digging out paths with snow many feet high on both sides of the walkways. However, in order to keep the property, they had to remain on the site for one full year. It was a relentless, exhausting experience for the couple to endure the severe winter, not to mention to keep a food supply.
Springtime brought snow melt. The dirt roads seemed to take forever to clear out. The couple decided they’d had enough winter mountain living! Johnny Jones, a sheep farmer, heard about the area on a wonderful meadow and bought it at a reasonable price. Since it had already been homesteaded for a year, he didn’t need to stay through any more winters.
Johnny married Ethel Justice in the spring of 1922. Florence Mary was born May 2nd, 1923 and her brother Bill August 2, 1926. As the children grew, summertime was an exciting time for the Jones family. They packed up and headed north from Hagerman every summer. Florence remembers the little camp house they stayed in. It had one main room with grey cement floors. In the northwest corner stood an adjustable round wooden table with claw feet where the family ate three meals a day. In the evenings they sat around the table playing card games.
Centered on the opposite side of the room stood a deep double white porcelain sink. It held water carried from the near-by stream where Johnny would assist Ethel washing dishes after supper. There was no refrigerator so behind the sink, on the wall there hung a simple cupboard painted light bluish-green, encased with strong wire mesh around the outside. Night air circulated around the food where it would stay cold. Any food supplies that needed to stay cold throughout the day were placed in the nearby mountain stream. Most canned food was kept in the storage shed.
A black camp stove burned red hot where cooking took place. Boiling water in an oversized dented stainless steel teapot was ready to be used for coffee or hot chocolate. A shiny round tub available for scrubbing clothes was filled with several pots of steaming water heated on the cook stove. The same tub was used for occasional baths and more than one would use the same heated water. It was a lucky individual who got to use the tub first or even second! Of course, everyone’s privacy was respected.
In the corner a few feet to the left of the stove was a double wide bed with squeaky wire coil springs. The only extra small room was barely big enough for another double bed and a single bed for a child.
Going out the back of the camp house, a squeaky screen door
would slam shut whenever someone walked through. Leading to a back porch on a wall to the right hung various leather workhorse collars and bridles. Many bib overalls and extra warm woolen jackets also hung on the large rusty nails. The outhouse was quite a hike out back. It was not a fun event to get up in the middle of the night to walk out there. could think of many kinds of creatures that could be lurking about. High pitched squeals from a lone hawk could set a heart pounding. Glowing eyes often appeared in the meadow, as a wave of thunderous hooves clambered through the forest.
A covered sheep wagon sat close to the camp house and trail. One of the sheepdogs usually came up to walk alongside Florence when she walked through the night. If any wild animals were close by, the friendly Collie would let her know. Its sweet disposition calmed her spirit as she put her hand onto its soft black and white fur.
The Collie brushed beside her leg when they walked together through the darkness to and from the camp house.
Mornings, Florence and her brother Bill often watched the sheep in a nearby meadow. Where one would go, the others follow. For example, if a lamb wandered toward a cliff, they’d all follow! Border Collie Shepherds protected the sheep. It was fun to see the dogs watch over the sheep and round them up.
Border Collies are one of the smartest dog breeds in the world. They are intelligent, loyal, good natured and trainable. Collies lay low and run smoothly around the sheep. Most of Johnny’s sheep dogs were a mix of Australian Shepherd. They worked the sheep a little more aggressively. If a sheep wandered a little away it might receive a soft nip on the ankle from a Shepherd Collie. This would send a clear message to go back to the band.
These sheepdogs were accustomed to familiar Basque commands. If there were danger the dogs worked together making the sheep to form a tight bunched up circle. If the sheepherder wanted to move the band of sheep to another grazing spot, he called out a command and gave a specific signal. The sheepdogs organized and kept the sheep together, moving them quickly. The dogs in the back pushed the sheep forward. The ones on the sides kept the sheep bunched up. The Shepherd Collies had a special bond with their Basque sheepherders
During the winter months the sheepdogs were kept in a warm place at the Hagerman ranch. Each space was approximately eight feet wide, twenty feet long and eight feet tall. The backs of the kennels had covered roofs about five feet off of the ground and eight feet long for shelter and shade. The sides and top of the spaces were made of wire netting to keep the dogs safe. A few highly intelligent dogs were used to protect the lambs from feed-trucks and horse-drawn wagons. When new puppies were born, a cat was placed in the kennel to live with the mama dogs and babies. Many wild cats ran around the ranch barn, grain bins, lambing sheds and hay stacks catching mice. Since puppies were raised with a kitty
buddy, when grown the dogs never chased cats away. A sheep wagon seems simple, but they are far from that.
August 2023
Sheep/camp wagons have always been an important part of the sheep industry and Basque culture here in Idaho. John Sandy remembers growing up in the 1950’s - 1970’s helping attend sheep camps with his grandpa and his uncle, whom we fondly referred to as Papa and Uncle Bill. John describes the camp wagons in detail as he remembers them.
Inside each wagon was a wood stove with a flattop made of cast iron where beans and other food were made. A coffee pot full of water boiled on the stove. Coffee was added directly to the water. When it boiled enough, most of the coffee sank to the bottom, ready to drink. However, there was still always a little chewing involved with the morning brew (thus, the term ‘Camp Coffee’). The stove also held an oven where large round scrumptious loaves of Basque bread were baked. The aroma lasted all day!
Inside the camp wagon all areas were used, a shelf over the bed held items such as clothes, along with a 30-30 rifle and extra bullets for protection. Extra storage under the bed held canned and dried food, also pots and pans with dish and laundry soap. Coffee, sugar and flour were camp staples. The back of the wagon also opened where dog-food was stored.
The sheepherders enjoyed salted dried cod fish and lamb roast. They almost always had ham and eggs, hambone, dry beans and slabs of bacon. Nothing ever spoiled. Canned peaches and strawberry jam were among favorites, string beans and peas. Dried soup, canned milk and yeast kept on hand. About four dozen eggs were brought to camp every few days. Corn was not eaten as the sheepherders said it was for livestock.
The plates had sides about an inch high. Cups and plates were metal porcelain usually covered with many chips from years of banging around. An appetizer for most evening meals included a piece of Dutch oven bread covered with beans and bean juice. For dessert they often made peach cobbler. Flan was enjoyed as a type of custard made with condensed milk and caramel sauce. Camp flan, according to John, was unbelievably good!
One large pan was used for washing hands and dishes. It was normally kept under the bed. There wasn’t room for a secondary pan in the sheep wagon. A holder for a coal oil lamp gave them light at night. A pan holder was kept outside the door on a nail or screw for washing hands. The pan holder folded up on the bottom half of the door. Doors opened, half top to see out like a picket-door to control the temperature inside. The stove could make it very hot.
A portable stairway stood at the bottom half of the door and kept in the commissary wagon when not in use or changing
camps. There were holders on the outside of the wagons to carry things like shovels and axes. Leather straps were screwed to the sides to hold a long shepherd’s hook. These were for catching sheep in need of doctoring. Vet supplies and wool clippers were kept in an outside attached compartment. Other compartments held wool clippers, hammers, rasp-nails and also a frog-knife which was kept handy for tending and cleaning horses’ feet.
The commissary wagon was hooked to the back of the camp wagon. It held harnesses, saddles, saddle blankets, bridles, halters, horseshoes and supplies. If they were in the mountains a bear trap was kept on hand, in case a hungry bear put the sheep in danger.
The commissary also held wood for the stove when it was cold and for cooking. There was access in those days to lots of mountain wood. Two large truckloads of pine were brought from the mountains each fall and used for heating the lambing sheds in the winter, where sheep had their babies. When camping in the desert, sagebrush was used to burn which smelled horrible. To offset the odor, pine was hauled from the large ranch cookhouse pile. This made the campfire scent much more tolerable.
The commissary wagon also held a big tub for washing clothes and watering the horses. A 50 gallon barrel held water when no stream was nearby. It was also filled up from springs when accessible. Most individuals didn’t worry about water filtering in those early days.
Supplies were brought to them by the case and kept in a storage room at the main camp. Every three or four days their camp was resupplied, but sometimes weather, a ranger or other unforeseen reasons prevented them from getting to the camps, so the sheepherders had to be self-sufficient. When they were far back in the mountains, a schedule would have to be set for the camp tender to bring a pack-horse down and pick up the supplies.
Each camp had two people, a herder and a camp-tender who lived at the camp about nine months out of the year. The herder was the most senior and had been with the sheep for several years training in the camp. The camp tender would take care of the camp and do the cooking. One would stay with the camp and the other one would go meet for supplies. If something threw off the schedule the supply would be left at a designated wagon or they come again the next day at the same time. John reminisced that he really liked to ride a horse and lead a pack-horse with the supplies. They rode to the tent or a wagon where supplies were left to pack into the camps.
A single band had about 1200 ewes with their lambs. Twin bands had about 900 ewes with their twin lambs. There was a black sheep or a bell sheep for about every 100 in a band. The bells and black sheep would be counted. If one was gone, odds were a bunch were missing, so they would be looked for. If they were not found, the boss was informed who spread the word to other owners. Often strays were picked up by other bands which were usually someone else’s sheep. Each lamb
would be picked up by someone else or another outfit, were sorted in a corral and returned to their rightful owner. The herders and camp tenders took great satisfaction in taking care of their sheep.
The yearly schedule was as follows: (continued in the Sept. issue)
September 2023
Sheep wagons were essential to a sheepherder’s way of life. They became symbolic of a pure simple lifestyle. Shepherds were self-reliant for weeks on end, each living alone in a small space, taking care of hundreds of dependent wooly animals, providing them with needed protection and full guidance in the open range (along with the help of very smart trained Collies); explained Nancy Weidel in ‘Sheep Wagon, Home on the Range’.
A sheep wagon’s Dutch door, with the top opening separately, served several functions, she added:
1. A herder could keep watch over the sheep from the wagon door.
2. The door provided air ventilation as the stove could become quite hot.
3. With the bottom half shut, sheepdogs and wild animals did not have access to the sheepherder’s private living quarters.
4. A major function of the half door was allowing a camp tender to stand and extend his arms through the upper door opening, while holding on to horse's reins. In those early days, horses were used to pull wagons from one location to another during trailing and grazing times Back in the 1930’s to 1960’s our Grandpa, Johnny Jones Sr. (Papa) took part in the trailing of the sheep. Sheep Wagons with horses, sheepherders, camp tenders and thousands of sheep moved through Ketchum. To this day, the Wood River Valley famously recognizes and still celebrates the ‘Trailing of
the Sheep’, around the second week of October.
One of Papa’s grandsons, John A. Sandy, nephew of Bill Jones Jr. remembers the yearly schedule as follows: They would begin the yearly lambing season in Hagerman on about January 15th and finish in March, after all the new lambs were born. Then all adult sheep received a brand new haircut for the warmer weather, referred to as shearing.
One band of sheep contained 2,000 to 2,500 sheep counting ewes and lambs. After each lambing season, in early spring, the first bands of sheep were trucked to the deserts to graze on the fresh grasses and plants. One of those bands went to the desert between Gooding and Shoshone, grazing to the north and ending up at Cove Creek, between Hailey and Ketchum. Another three bands of sheep grazed across the Bruneau Desert and then crossed the bridge across the Snake River below Bliss. Then they slowly grazed north of Bliss and Gooding, across the Gooding Fairfield highway, heading toward the Camas and Blaine County line, where they were close to a creek and crossed another bridge. There the bands were put in temporary corrals around June 1st. Then these three bands were trucked from the Camas and Blaine County line over the Galena Summit.
After that, a couple thousand ewes (female sheep) went to Bear Valley just across the Boise County line and mixed with other bands (each marked with our grandfather’s three dot brand). Thus, all four bands became two bands. There were also several hundred yearlings added to the groups. Male sheep were mingled with the ewes in August. (The plan was for baby lambs to arrive approximately five months later, beginning the next year, around January 15th).
Up north, in early summer, after the lambs were shipped and bands had been mixed together, some of the Basque Sheepherders would stay in Bear Valley and others would attend sheep outside of Stanley and maintain the main camp. There was hard work to do such as cutting trees for poles and posts, mending fences, fixing sheep corals and chopping wood. Baby lambs and their mothers would have to be kept warm later, so firewood was cut, loaded and hauled down to the Hagerman ranch, to be used in the lambing shed’s stoves, January through March.
As fall neared the sheep walked many miles to the south. The 'rule of thumb’ was to be back over the summit by October, due to snowfall. Snow could pile up about three feet a week. After crossing Galena Summit, one band walked to Cove Creek by Ketchum. Grazing the sheep over the mountains and through the valley meadows was naturally nourishing for the grasslands and forest by keeping the plants low and less prone to fire hazards. In addition, sheep naturally fertilized the grounds in the meadows and forests, which was good for replenishing and growth.
The sheepherders and their very smart Collie dogs guided the bands to graze toward Carey, then across to Rupert while the sheep enjoyed beet tops and turnip pastures until about midDecember. Other bands joined them. Back in the day it seemed to snow about the middle of December so the sheep were fed
extra supplement food. Some of the Basque workers would return home to Spain to visit family in the winter months, so additional help was hired in December for the upcoming lambing season.
John recalls, at times, taking fixings for Christmas dinners to sheep camps out on the desert, enabling his Uncle Bill to spend some quality Christmas Eves with his wife and three daughters. John remembered the snow was deep enough that he would have to put chains on all four wheels. Chains were easier to deal with than digging out a stuck truck! Tires had carved snow tracks on the desert roads to follow, through dips, drifts, around brush and rocks (at least until the next big winter storm). “Those Christmas Eve meals were going to be delivered no matter what!”, John emphasized!
When arriving at camp, the sheep were grazing around sagebrush on fairly thick mustard plants. The tops were full of seeds and the sheep loved them. Tufts of grass were saved from snowfall where small patches of ground appeared under the sagebrush. If natural plants weren't out in abundance, the sheep would be fed pellets with lots of grain and occasionally hay. The sheep's’ wool kept them very warm, but sometimes they had to be taken back to Hagerman a couple of weeks early if the winter was extra ‘blizzardy’.
The Basque sheepherders were always happy to receive Christmas Eve dinner prepared by skilled cooks in the family; Bill’s wife Deloris, his mother Ethel and sister Flo. Upon arrival, the camp was already cleaned up and ready to go with tin plates set on a small fold-down table right next to the sheep wagon. Men at the winter desert camps always looked forward to a cooked juicy turkey and every delicious dish imaginable: creamy mashed potatoes with gravy, sweet potatoes with marshmallows on top, turkey stuffing, olives, green salad, soft rolls and butter, sweet strawberries, peas and pickles, a gallon of fresh milk and scrumptious homemade apple pie. John reminisced “Makes me hungry just thinking about it!”
October 2023
Lucas Sorrosua was born in 1897. As a Basque Immigrant he came to this country looking to work hard and find a way to help his family back in Spain. He ended up on our grandfather’s ranch south/east of Hagerman working in the sheep industry.
Later, Lucas sponsored his nephew, Javier (Jay) Sorrosua who followed him to the ranch. Jay stayed devoted, working on the family farm the rest of his life. Jay was strong, smart, happy, intuitive, unique and a good natured human being. He’s irreplaceable and missed by many in Hagerman, Gooding County and beyond!
I also remember Lucas well, back to the age of four to seven. It wasn’t so much the way he looked, as it was his kind disposition. Mom let me run out to greet him every time I saw his water truck pull up to the ranch gas pumps, which were near our farmhouse.
Speaking in broken English he asked me simple questions about my day. When I answered him, he nodded slowly and thoughtfully replied, “Ohhh, Ohhh”, like I had said something really important. His gentle smile made me feel accepted and secure in those few special moments.
Each encounter I had with Lucas Sorrosua amounted to about as much time as it took to fill the water truck with gas. He sometimes lit-up, as he stepped away from the gas pumps. I was intrigued, as no one in my immediate family smoked.
I observed Lucas rolling his own cigarettes with small thin white paper. He sprinkled a line of Bull Durham Tobacco pinched from a little square tobacco tin. I can still smell the tobacco from memory, both sweet and dusty. I was told recently by my older brother that Lucas’s pockets often became worn- out from the tins of tobacco they held. Workpants had to last, so those pockets were re-sewn or replaced often by his caring wife.
Even as a little child, I noticed that he wore his pants way too big! It always looked like they were going to fall off! They were held up around his hips by a well-worn brown leather belt. He wore a 1950’s men’s cream colored hat, for work, tilted slightly to the side. There was no doubt that he was a traditional hardworking Basque gentleman. He and his wife lived in a home, gifted from Grandpa, located by Justice Grade, just north of Hagerman.
In the summer, Lucas worked at the Stanley camp and surrounding areas, where the sheep grazed. Of his own choice, he slept in an aged storage building at the mountain camp using a sleeping bag on an old army coat. The building had a visibly worn out roof. During the day, the sun shined through the roof and at night stars were visible from where he lay. When asked about rain, he replied, “No Problem!” as he held up an irrigation tarp that he slept under during a night’s rainstorm.
In those days, drivers didn’t have four-wheel drives. Lucas always kept chains around the rear tires of his pickup and a shovel in the back to dig himself out, if he were to ever get stuck. He was well prepared!
Lucas got along well with all the other sheep men. He told many stories. Even though I couldn’t understand them, I noticed he could easily hold the attention of the others. He enjoyed having a good time whether he was working with the sheep, sharing a meal at the cookhouse or an after hours leisure time when men stand around, visit and hold the end of a long piece of wheat in their mouths. Being one of the originals on the ranch, from the Basque country, he was wellrespected.
Lucas was dependable taking care of the sheep, devoted to Grandfather and advanced to foreman. Lucus put himself on 24-7 duty at the ranch. There was one of many stories from my older brother, John, who shared about a sun-visor that came loose in the truck Lucas was driving in the desert. Lucas picked it up, looked it over and said, “I never use this thing anyway!” tossing it out the window!
One day in October 1962, Lucas wasn't feeling well, his right
arm hurt badly and he had chest pains. He insisted on working anyway. There was a place at the Shoshone water storage tower where trucks loaded water for their livestock. He had just been there and hauled water to the sheep outside of Shoshone, also delivering groceries to the men and had lunch with them. Had Grandpa known Lucas felt sick he would have told him not to go to work. Papa learned about it after the fact.
Even though Lucas felt unwell he drove the truck all day and back down Ritchie Road, toward the top of Vader Grade. Stan Penfold happened to be driving behind him, in his school bus. Stan observed the water truck going about twenty miles an hour in front of him, weaving back and forth across the road. His bus couldn’t pass. Next thing he witnessed was the water truck veering off to the left, rolling over into the corner field.
When Lucas didn't show up at the gas pumps that day, someone came to the house to give the sad news to Grandpa (Papa) who responded with, “Oh, my Lord!” He walked out of the house and up the dirt road to what we called ‘the corner’. He sat down by the ditch bank and stayed there for a very long time. He and Lucas had not only worked together for many years, but he was a long time trusted friend.
Mom and dad were quietly discussing matters in the other room. I was confused by the discussions of Lucas, so I went out to the edge of the lawn gazing across the far away pasture, waiting for any sign of the water truck to round the bend by Tate’s house. Every day after that for some time, I stood at the edge of the lawn watching for his truck to come. If I waited, he’d come, I thought. “Where’s my friend?” I missed him!
However, Lucas’s life on this earth was over in an instant. I don’t suppose anyone realized I looked up to him so much! In those days everyone was busy doing chores inside or working on the farm. How would they notice?! Children were protected by ‘not talking about it’. It was no one’s fault. Everyone was dealing with their own emotions and I was young. Adults assumed children didn’t need to deal with grown-up stuff, so I
really didn’t know all the details until years later.
Lucas was a special person and was missed by so many. His kindness in valuing my words, during those small moments at the gas pumps, had a life-long impact on me. Never underestimate the power of a word of interest in the life of a child. To this day the memory of his short presence in my life brings me happy thoughts, smiles and gratitude. Lucas Sorrosoa is still remembered and appreciated!
November 2023
“Bertha’s Country Beauty Parlor”
Back in the late 1950’s, mom Florence Mary loved styling the hair of her two young daughters. She spun small amounts of damp locks around her pointer finger, a few strands at a time. Curls resulted in all around bouncy uniform ringlets, fashionable for little girls of that time. Mother often dressed her daughters in fancy pastel look alike dresses, mostly homemade, for a variety of special occasions. White, stiff and full petticoats made the skirts poof out even more. Recalling a crunching sound with each and every skip, feeling like a real standout, I was one of those girls!
On one particular day, Grandmother bought us each a fancy store-bought dress, then whispered quietly that we were going to ‘Surprise our Mother’. I figured this was one of her many secrets. Perhaps the surprise would be a bouquet of flowers or a lovely necklace.
Somehow Grandmother talked our mother into letting us go with her for the afternoon, but instead of going to Nana’s house we passed town and headed west toward the Snake River, which wound around the outskirts of Hagerman Valley. “Hum '', we wondered. “Where could we be going?”
Grandma drove way out into the country and after a while we rode off the paved highway, down a windy dirt lane, by many trees, to a white 1940’s home. We were greeted by Nana’s friend who opened the screen door just wide enough for a kitty to slip by.
Bertha, a small sturdy lady, sported sandy colored hair, with short free lance wind blown curls. Wearing a printed cotton beige dress with tiny blue flowers and green leaves, her thin waistline balanced a fabric matching belt. She wore cream colored chunky heels with rounded pointy toes, thick beige nylon stockings with a seam up the back and a gray striped apron with three large front pockets. The back door of her home, led into her ultimate home-based business: Bertha’s Country Beauty Parlor! She seemed eager to get started!
Being an investigative child, I noticed details of her beauty parlor. Spiky black hair curlers, bobby-pins and brushes to the right of a round antique style mirror; black combs with pointy handles sticking out from a tall clear glass of fresh water. I also noticed one silver hair trimmer with a black and white striped cord, a wide plug-in and its case.
A muted blue/green spin-around barber's chair, firmly planted in front of the parlor mirror on a short dresser which formerly belonged to a wooden antique bedroom furniture set. I knew this because my mom had a similar completed bedroom set in her master bedroom.
The barber’s chair looked like it had years of use, as evidenced by uneven cracks with little white frayed threads stretching its leather upholstery. The foot pedals and armrests were made of silver stainless steel.
Nana left us in Bertha’s capable hands. “I’ll be back later”, Grandmother waved. I cranked my neck as far as I could to see through the cat screen, taking in a glimpse of the back part of Nana’s Buick as she drove out of sight, dust trailing down the road near the trees.
Turning back to the parlor, a short piece of two by four board lay balanced across the arm rests for a child to sit on. “Who could that be for?”, I wondered. Bertha summoned me to climb up. It was a long climb! Once at the top, I turned carefully sitting obediently on the board, my legs dangling. It was very flat and hard. Bertha indicated that her son, Paul was waiting outside to play a game of tag. I noticed the look of annoyance on my sister’s face, as she reluctantly complied.
I looked at my reflection in the mirror, admiring my fresh curls. Bertha flipped a plastic apron up in the air. As my eyes followed the apron, it floated in slow motion falling like a falcon hunting for prey silently onto my lap. Something was up! Bertha tied apron strings around my neck, holding up my long hair.
It seemed that my sister and I had hair that was admired by many of Mother's friends. This was evidenced by their kind conversations about us, smiles and comments. Certainly Bertha would compliment me, as well. I was waiting for her words, however, she was all business!
Then as the moment of truth rolled around, Bertha picked up a pair of long sharp black and silver scissors. I heard her snip them several times for the warm-up above my ears. Perhaps she was going to do some sewing.
Then the inevitable! Those darn scissors began chopping off my bouncy locks. Fresh morning ringlets fell to the floor on that dark gray rubber mat. I bent down and stared at the base of the barber’s chair. My mind was a whirl of disbelief, as I thought, “Maybe they could be taped back on!” “Please look straight ahead”, Bertha directed.
In a moment of haze, I recalled back to when I myself had cut the long blond ponytail off of my sister’s 1959 original Barbie doll with the black and white striped strapless bathing suit. This was payback time! “So sorry sister!” I thought that Barbie’s hair would grow back!
I’m guessing that there must have been some kind of communication mix-up between our Grandma Nana and Bertha. Cut the hair could mean trim, or trim the hair could mean cut. Nana was a little bit free-willed. She had her own vision!
However, even to this young child, the mirror told the tale of
my new very short, close to the head haircut. I barely recognized myself! The bangs were shortened up to that 1950’s uneven little girl’s look. I noticed lots of high forehead showing! Next, a strong smelly solution was applied to my reconstructed hair. It made my eyes water! I heard the words ‘Now we will apply’, whatever that meant! Looking out the window, I saw my sister run by again in the other direction, way ahead of Bertha's younger son. Cheryl’s pretty ringlets bouncing in the breeze. “Run for your life!” I wanted to warn her through the window!
It seemed to take forever to put my hair into those flat silver pin curls. There must have been a thousand! Then, Bertha motioned me to jump down! She pointed to a giant upside down blueish/green cone shaped hair dryer that looked like a spaceship. I’d never seen one like that before! Our hair dryer at home was small with a soft plastic hat. It had a long round tube that fell over the shoulder of the one getting their hair dried.
“Stay under here”, Bertha said. Then she turned on the very hot air blast. Now it seemed like I was in a hot air balloon ready to take off! My imagination got the best of me! Would the circus be able to get me down?
Bertha turned her attention to my sister, who was summoned into the beauty parlor. Now from under the huge bluish/green hot air balloon, I tried to get my sister's attention by pointing straight up to my own head. Would she recognize who I was? She of course couldn’t see my hair under the drier and shrugged her shoulders. Cheryl had no idea about what was to come next.
I squeezed my eyes shut for a few seconds asking the bluebird of happiness for help. I remembered seeing it yesterday on the lawn picking up worms! “Over here! Could use some assistance!”
Up on the barber’s chair my sister climbed, as I watched and closed my eyes again. The thought occurred to me, “ Mom is not going to like this!” Now our hair won’t wrap around her fingers.
“What lovely curls!” Mom's friends would often say, when they noticed the little Sandy Sisters dressed alike, hair combed in uniform bouncy long ringlets. Confidence faded into a distant memory of this little girl.
*Next, my older sister went through the same process, as my head got hotter and hotter under the space balloon. I’m sure by now, I was nearing the moon! It wasn’t enough that it happened to me, now I had to witness my sister’s curls being chopped off. My eyes went up and down, as I followed them to the floor.
“Won’t your mother be surprised!” I could read Betha’s lips from inside the spaceship. The heat was getting more intolerable. It seemed like my sister’s time went much faster, possibly because she didn’t have to be reminded to sit still.
Finally, it was time for my sister and I to trade places. I was glad to get out because it appeared I was approaching mer-
cury and ready to melt!
December 2023
“Bertha’s
Country Beauty Parlor “
(story continued from last month)
Grandmother had a surprise for two of her granddaughters back in the early 60’s. She thought she might give the two little girls a brand new hairdo without mentioning the plan to their mother. Grandma had a special event coming up in which the girls were going to participate.
She belonged to a group called the Rebeccas, a charitable organization and would soon be sworn into a leadership position. In order to prepare two of her granddaughters to participate in the one time special event with her, she decided to load them up in her Buick and take them for a ride.
Both children had semi-long curly hair which their mom often spun into nice bouncy ringlets, stylish for the time. They were about seven and four, so whatever Grandma had in mind would definitely be a surprise!
As the young girls sat on the leather backseat of the 1960s Buick they wondered what excitement was about to take place that day. Nana drove past the town of Hagerman and straight west, then parallel to the Snake River, finally turning onto a curvy unpaved road lined by trees. She made good time, dust trailing behind. Shade and light flickered through the back window onto the faces of the two children. Soon their ride came to its destination: Bertha’s Country Beauty Parlor.
Opening the screen door just enough to greet us, Bertha the beautician kindly summoned everyone in. Grandma seemed in a hurry to go somewhere else, so she left her two granddaughters (my sister and me) in Bertha’s capable hands.
We each took a turn on the swivel barber's chair. As the youngest, I was first to sit on the hard board for small children, while my older sister awaited her turn, playing in the yard outside. After the plastic apron was tied on me, to my surprise all bouncy ringlets fell to the floor. I sincerely hoped they could be taped back on!
Next, a lotion called perm was worked into my already natural curls. Flat silver hair clips held what was left of my new short pieces in place. After that I jumped down and took the first turn under the giant blue green stationary hair dryer which resembled a hot air balloon or maybe even a spaceship, depending on the depth and width of my wild imagination. My older sister then sat in the barber's chair.
From under the space cone hair dryer I tried to warn my sister, but it was no use, while I witnessed my older sister's hair being chopped off. The perm solution was applied along with what seemed like a thousand silver style wave clips.
Next, we switched places and my sister sat under the over-
sized hair dryer. As she adjusted to the chair heat, it looked like she was going to take off on an outer space expedition! See you on Saturn, Cheri!
The hard wooden board again went back across the barber chair arms for me to sit on. All those flat clips pinching my head were removed. Ouch! My hair looked curlier than I’d ever seen it before. Shirley Temple came to mind, except my hair was shorter than her hair in the picture movies. Mine was very close to my head. At that moment I would have been grateful to look like Shirley, slip on some shiny tap shoes and go for a ride on a good ship with a lollipop! I already had naturally curly hair, so why the curl perm?
My thoughts went back to the lovely recent wedding where my sister and I had been flower girls. We wore identical starchy light blue dresses with even lighter blue full puff petticoats. Mother had styled our hair in her usual bouncy all around ringlets. We wore lacey blue headbands. Both of us had white patent leather mary-jane shoes with new white anklets. While posing for the wedding party pictures my older sister stood perfectly straight as instructed. I as usual was a bit off, this time bent sideways with one foot dangling down over the church kneeling ledge. Smile for the camera! Click! If only I could go back to that day, I’d straighten right up!
Meanwhile, back to reality at Bertha's Country Beauty Parlor, my sister and I stood looking at each other like it was a reflection, hoping we each didn’t look like the other. Who was who?
I’ll give the beautician credit for being a fabulous beautician in her time, at least with the older ladies. It could have been a misunderstanding between Bertha and our grandmother or was it about a Surprise?!
Soon Grandma pulled up into the beauty parlor’s driveway to pick us up. She stepped through the back beauty parlor’s door wearing a light blue woolen pants suit with some short black chunky high heels. Her hair had just been trimmed, washed and styled with her weekly hairdo from another local beautician. She looked really nice!
The only detail I don’t recall from this whole memory is Grandma’s facial reaction when she first saw us. I’m not sure if she was surprised, happy, matter of fact or just in a hurry. She clicked open her shiny black purse with the two curved handles and reached for her checkbook to pay.
Grandma wrote her check while Bertha swept up our once light but now dusty ringlets off the floor. I waved goodbye to the soft curls with the tops of my fingers, which slid from a metal gold-colored dustpan into a tall silver garbage can complete with a bottom peddle opener. The curled ringlets slid out of view. I tried to get one more peek up on my tiptoes, but to no avail. Bertha placed the check in her large square apron pocket and gave it a pat.
We both piled back into the backseat of Nana’s Buick and looked at each other with wonder. How were we going to explain this to mom? I thought back to when I slept all night with gum in my mouth. The next morning it was tangled in my hair. It took mom a long time and a lot of patience to get it out. I
suppose she could have cut my hair then, but she patiently washed and worked at it. Seemed like it took hours! That was part of our mother's ingenious and thoughtful ways. She was patient, kind, caring and diligent. She never complained. She could come up with ideas that worked!
Meanwhile, we pulled up to our house. Mom was upstairs by her Singer Sewing Machine. Running up the stairs first, with my older sister Cheri dragging behind, I called out, “SURPRISE” and jumped around the corner! I did notice the look of shock and disbelief on Mother’s face when she first saw me bounding in. It looked like Mommy’s rosy cheeks had turned pale. I wondered if the sewing was just too much for her that day or if she really was so ‘Surprised’!
Mother forced a little ungenuine smile and told us girls to go outside and play. What was done was done. We went directly outside toward the two large maple trees which held the familiar friendly rope swings dad had installed for us in late spring. We swung high as we could hoping for a real take off! Instead, we jumped into large piles of autumn maple leaves that dad had raked up and left in front of the rope swings. Leaves got all over our hair royally messing up the new looks. We giggled and that felt good!
That evening my sister and I still got to wear our crunchy dresses for that special event where Grandmother was honored. I never told anyone about the space trip from the hair dryer. No one said, ‘What pretty bouncy curls’ anymore. However, the store-bought dresses we wore caught much attention!
As for my sister, she knew more about what happened than me and seemed quite a bit embarrassed. Our hairstyles looked more like all the older ladies now. Maybe we could have more reasonably passed for space- aliens. After all, I imagined we’d been there!
In any case, Bertha’s Country Beauty Parlor is forever etched in our memories! Our hair did grow out, but it took a few years of goofy locks to get straightened out. Ringlets were a distant memory. One thing is for sure, our Grandmother never stopped being proud of us!
As for our mother, Florence Mary, she always made the best of everything. Years later, when she turned 100, she admitted the short haircuts and perms were much more than a surprise! She was steaming upset inside, but we didn’t see it. One thing for sure, we survived the ordeal and there were many more adventures to come! By the way, Nana never never surprised Mother again!
January 2024
“The Snowman”
On Saturday, January 9th, 1960, the beginning of a new decade, the sky was filled with flakes that resembled large pieces of white bowed Belgium lace, gently falling to the earth. It was
a cold, calm, clear morning in Hagerman Valley, not a care in the world. The fireplace roared inside. Icicles formed outside. Soft snow blanketed the family farm in every direction the eye could see.
Gazing out a picture window from the dining room area, I longed to be part of the outside winter dance. I could imagine spinning in circles with arms wide to the side looking up and allowing frozen water from heaven to melt into my mouth. Leaping up high I’d fall into a snow angel position where my arms and legs could fly freely in harmony with a crunchy sliding sound. I wasn’t about to miss this chance! It was now or never!!
Racing into my bedroom, I looked in both closets, through every drawer and even under the bed for my snowsuit, mittens and rubber boots which latched at the top with a stretchy band and button. Maybe Mom knew where I left them.
Running into the kitchen I noticed Mother had already made her special French toast for everyone. Homemade butter and sweet maple syrup sat on the dining room table. My throat had been sore for the last couple of days and it seemed like a bowl of cream of wheat sounded so good. Before I could make a request mom was already carrying out creamy cooked cereal made with warm milk ready to pour on top. How could she read my mind?
My older brother finished up breakfast in a flash. He ran to get on his warm coat with a zipped hood and fuzzy lining. My sister took her time eating breakfast and helped clear the table. She carefully put on her coat, mittens and scarf, then gave me the ‘I’m sorry’ look. Did she know something I didn’t know?
My excitement grew assuming I would be joining my siblings outside to play on the new layer of snow. Then I heard the words from mom sounding almost in slow motion, “You'll need to stay inside so your sore throat won’t get any worse.” I think I read her lips exactly, but was it true? A perfect snow day turned into an inside day, on a Saturday?! I felt that I would faint away and remember this my whole life!
At my young age there was nothing much I could do except go stand by the picture window and watch. My older brother had already been rolling the first deck of the snowman. He looked like he was having so much fun! He was going rather fast just like a locomotive! I noticed the lawn changed from a pure white winter wonderland to many wide smashed and mashed paths with tracks from his big boots. Pieces of green and gold grass now peeked out, laying in all directions.
My sister soon joined him in working on the next layer. She pressed together a small snowball and came to the window to show me. I felt like I was watching a movie play out before my bright eyes. She made it round and hard and then the process began. Placing the snowball between the paths she bent down and gave it a nice roll, then another and another. Although not as fast as my brother, it soon took shape, round yet oval.
I wondered who was going to roll the snowman’s head. I thought it should have been me, being the third child and all, however, I wasn’t out there to make it happen. I could just
imagine how beautiful and alive I could make it look. If I couldn’t dance out there, at least the snowman could.
I ran quickly to the refrigerator as there was something I could do to help. Opening the vegetable drawer I peered in on my tiptoes hoping I could find a carrot. Sure enough there was a small orange stub left. I reached in and helped myself. Running to the window I tried to get someone’s attention, waving the carrot stub from one side to the other. I was so close to the window that the space where I breathed began fogging up. Taking my arm below the elbow to wipe it off, I noticed my older sister standing outside waving at me. This was definitely a gold star moment!
I watched my brother, lost in his own world, finish up the bottom part of the snowman leaving it close to the window. I knelt on a kitchen chair to better see out. My sister, Cheri kept rolling and rolling her snowball in the few spaces my brother had left. He and my sister picked up the second big snowball and carefully laid it on the base. Then in a flash the third small one was rolled and placed on top.
Taking the little stubby carrot piece to the door, my sister reached through the screen to get it. It was so short, an onlooker wouldn’t have noticed it was a carrot, but we knew. I could see them placing small round dark rocks for the eyes and mouth. Two sticks were put in for arms and a broom to its side which was a nice added touch. A small wooden flat barrel lid served as the snowman’s hat.
Suddenly, after noticing all the excitement outside, dad came into the farmhouse for a few brief moments. Dad looked down at me gazing out the double pane window by the dining room table. I heard him say that he would go get his Polaroid camera to take a photograph of all of us near the snowman. My mom, Florence Mary agreed!
That was the moment I was waiting for! Quick as you could say “Jack Frost”, mom had my coat, scarf and boots in her hands. She helped me slip them on and do up the buttons. I was so happy to be able to join my siblings for a special snow photo! The snowman looked even more alive in person! His body was-
n’t completely round. The cracks between layers had been filled in and patted firmly. The base and second layers were about the same size. In fact, the middle might have been a bit larger than the bottom.
The best part of all, was that our reddish brown and white dog, Swivel, decided to get in the picture with us. He was so happy to have everyone outside with him. He would soon be in the house getting warm by the fireplace with the rest of the family, while we enjoyed hot chocolate.
My throat got a lot better in about the next forty eight hours. Who knows, if I hadn't been sick and had to stay inside that Saturday when we got four inches of snow, this moment may not have been such a valuable memory. As it is, that winter day in Hagerman Valley, when we made the Snowman, is etched in my mind!
Later that January, I lay outside on our cold white lawn with a big wide smile. Tiny pieces of snowflakes did a disappearing act on my eyelashes and rosy red cheeks. Looking up, I imagined white small dove feathers floating down from heaven.
This time Mom was on the inside of the house peeking out through the double pane dining room window. Our eyes met as I saw her lovingly wave and smile. I really thought the snow angel was the best I’d ever made!
Our Snowman still stood straight and tall, carrot stub for a nose, a flat barrel hat on his head, rocks for eyes and buttons, an old broom at his side. Little did I know then that this moment for me would stand still in time.
Snowmen will always be fun winter creations that are passed down from one generation to the next. They give children, families and friends a chance to laugh, play and participate together in many positive, joyous moments. I remember such a time in Hagerman Valley on that wonderful wintery Saturday, back in1960! It was a photo moment!
February 2024
“Tales of Bridge Club”
Back in the 60’s when I was very young, ladies often formed card playing clubs. Mom with her friends from Hagerman and surrounding areas were no exception. Once every few months Mother hosted the local bridge club in our farm farm home. It was a big deal! As her two daughters my sister and IAs her two daughters, my sister and I had to help clean the house from top to bottom. No corner was left with dust! All card tables had to be set up with fancy tablecloths. She then went to work on refreshments.
Mother often made ribbon sandwiches for these special events. She first spread cream cheese with diced green olives and red pimentos on pre-sliced white wonder bread. Next came brown bread with sweet pickles mixed in spam and mayonnaise. The next layer had more wonder bread with ground chicken, beef or tuna with mayonnaise, then brown bread
again with egg salad. One could never use enough mayonnaise in those days! Then came another slice of the white wonder. Finally when all the layers were complete the sandwiches were sliced into rectangles with the crust cut off. The sandwiches were placed on a silver platter into the newly cleaned refrigerator.
Mother also made homemade cake from scratch. You name it, she could whip up any flavor: vanilla, lemon, German chocolate and strawberry swirl. She put them in three or four layers, with frosting or pudding in between,, and not a crack on the sides or top and served with homemade whip cream. She made either large layered flat rectangle cakes, stacked round ones or other shapes like a heart. This day’s choice was her famous layered cake!
As the lovely ladies arrived, they came dressed in their best floral cotton cotton dresses with thin matching belts or flared skirts with tucked in lacey blouses with tucked in lacy blouses, nylons with the seam up the back and high heels with pointed toes. Some wore nice stylish hats and matching gloves all for bridge club!
On each card table we girls placed two small crystal bowls, one bowl filled with fat turquoise and pink square mints with little white sprinkles adorning the tops and the other bowl filled with salted nut mix. We heard lots of chatter as the ladies arrived, all punctual, clutching hand hand purses, lots of bright red lipstick and perfectly pointed bust lines, the styles of the times.
Now, in those days cigarette smoking was often accepted in others’’ homes, restaurants and public buildings. No one in my immediate family smoked, however my hospitable mother politely allowed any card players to indulge. As strange as it may seem, Mom asked my sister and meme to place ashtrays for a couple of ladies ash disposal. Laying out crystal and silver ashtrays seemed routinely normal to us.
One of the silver ashtrays had a long handle and a hinge that allowed its fitted top to open and close. I was rather amused to bang the lid several times, before placing it by a nice lamp in the living room.
My dad was not happy to have anyone smoke in our farm home. Even though he didn’t say anything, we girls could tell by the disgruntled look on his face about the smokers and their fancy jeweled extendable cigarette holders as he left the house to work on the farm. Mom had placed decorative burning candles here and there to soak up the cigarette odor. Strangely enough we didn't smell the odor later.
Passing through mom’s sparkling kitchen and taking their usual places in the living room, the ladies casually discussed the latest news, club memberships, board meetings and volunteer work. Eavesdropping, we sisters could hear the chatter of individuals indirectly attempting to one-up the others with light casual talk of their amazing awards, high accomplishments and recent excursions. Mother, a kind and caring hostess, didn’t participate in the gossip. She was a master at changing the subject!
As the card games began, I noticed red sharply pointed fingernails. I wondered if a prerequisite for playing cards was to hold them with four nails for all to see, to use a straightened thumb and index finger to obviously pull out preferred cards and to hold a mint precisely by one’s red lips for those extra few seconds. Of course, not all of the ladies had fancy manicures. Some of them, like my mom, were farm wives and didn’t have the time or desire to indulge in such luxuries.
The ladies got right into the business of Bridge. My sister and I did our best to get out of the way. Sis went to her bedroom to work on some homework, but all I could think about was that cake and when we could have a piece of it. I watched the deeply involved card players in the living room and they seemed to take forever. Why did we girls have to wait until all the ladies were finished? I just couldn’t wait!
Hoping that no one would notice and using a clean table knife I carefully ran the flat blade under the cake from sliding it from one side to the other. Sure enough a bit of cake came out from the bottom with some base frosting. Pushing the mash onto a crystal plate, there was enough for a nice heaping taste. I tried to cover up the evidence by wiping around the bottom of the cake, sweeping away the crumbs, scooping up extra unorganized frosting, then flattening the aluminum foil to do away with evidence, hoping there would be no wrinkles. Surely mom wouldn’t notice the slope in the center. I casually retired to my bedroom with an early plate of refreshments. Yum!
When the card game was over, the ladies filled up their own crystal plates with ribbon sandwiches and a pink mixture of fruit, red Jell-O and whipped cream. I noticed my mom give the slopped cake a double look, but didn’t say anything. Mother was a problem solver, so she quickly cut the best pieces for her guests and my sister (who waited) and solved the dessert error with gobs of whipped cream on the top. Who could resist?!
The card players stayed most of the afternoon. Then, as usual, they left one by one saying ‘Thank you’ and ‘Oh, what a wonderful time!’ Plans were made for the next week’s bridge club location. It seemed like most of the players took turns, however I doubt anyone could compete with my mom’s magnificent hosting, not that there was any competition…
Mom got right to work with the clean up. “Girls. come and help,” she summoned. My sister politely complied. Mother gave me the look of, “Anything to say?” I slowly confessed, “Sorry Mom!” I knew then that she knew and I knew and that was all that was said.
At the next bridge club Mother hosted, I helped whip up and frost the beautiful cake. It looked too good to eat! I dutifully waited until the end of the card game and had a piece properly, at the dining room table with my sister. I thought it was the best homemade cake I’d ever tasted!
March 2024
“Beulah’s
