On a winter afternoon, when a person does not have anything too pressing happening, they might decide to make Christmas cookies. This was the plan my wife decided on Saturday afternoon. She gathered ingredients for the project and pulled out the recipe book. The first project was to be molasses cookies, an old favorite she had not made in years. There was a partial jar of molasses of questionable age in the refrigerator. Molasses is not one of those things used often and neither of us remembered why we had it. My wife was not sure it would still be good but naturally my response was, “what could go bad with molasses?” Taking my word for it, she whipped up a large batch of cookies. The result was not bad, they just did not look nor taste like molasses cookies. They were rather flat and tasted more like sugar cookies. I thought they were fine, but my wife found this totally unacceptable. They were going out. I put them in the garage to go out with the next trash run.
Molasses Cookies
With the purchase of a new jar of molasses, my wife made another batch of cookies. This time, they both looked and tasted like they were supposed to. The “bad batch” sat on top of the deep freeze waiting for my next trip out. In the meantime, I gave each of the dogs one of them. They thought they were good. Damon and Zane stopped by on their way out to cut firewood. I explained the cookie situation and they each tried one. They agreed, they tasted pretty good, even if they did not taste like molasses cookies.
Zane has been training a coon hound and has set up a bait station in the timber to attract raccoons so his dog can tree them. He puts out table scraps to keep them in the area. He suggested, rather than throw the cookies in the garbage, a better idea would be to take them to his bait station. Raccoons are omnivores and I am sure they would enjoy some cookies.
When my wife got done with her baking and cleaning up, she agreed, using the cookies for bait
would be a good idea and a nice ride in the woods would be fun. We bundled up and headed out on the side-by-side. It was sunny but cold with a brisk breeze that cut through a person. Going across the dam where the full force of the wind could hit us, we considered going back to the house for more clothes. When we got on the trail that winds through the timber, the going was much more pleasant. The wind was blocked, and the sun was warm along the trail. We made our way across Twin Sluices and into the next timber where Zane has his feeding station. He had put some food out the day before, but it was gone. I placed our cookies on the tree
stump that serves as his feeding station. I also set up a trail camera to capture pictures of his trained raccoons and anything else that might come to enjoy a cookie.
We had a nice ride as we drove the trails through the timber, stopping to chat with the wood cutters on our way home. They seemed to be enjoying themselves and had a large pile of wood on the trailer. We decided to leave before we got put to work. My wife was refreshed and ready to take on the challenge of Christmas sugar cookies. Hopefully they will work out better than the first run of the molasses cookies but if not, I know the raccoons like sugar cookies also.
Mayflower
Driving on North Court
Street, I saw a United Van Lines moving truck on a side street to the left. I first wondered, are they coming or going?
As I drove by, it looked like the driver had just opened the two side doors on the tall trailer. The homeowners were looking inside. Suddenly, I felt their excitement. At the same time, I shared their anxiety. I could imagine being overwhelmed, moving into a new home just one week before Christmas. Or, it could be they were moving out. I was curious.
I turned around in a driveway to go back for another look. From the opposite angle, I could see the trailer was very full. Since it was 8:00 in the morning, I concluded they did not just finish loading the trailer. These people were moving in. I stopped on the side of North Court and watched for a few minutes; it sparked memories of times when my family moved.
Dad was in the radio business and it seemed we moved a lot. The first move I remember was when I was 5 years old.
Dad was the manager of KRSD radio in Rapid City, South Dakota. He accepted a new position as general manager of KBIZ radio and KTVO television, and so, we moved to Ottumwa, Iowa. As usual, Dad moved before the family, to start his new job; then Mom loaded all the kids into the van to join Dad after the school year ended. But what about our stuff?
These days, most people will rent a trailer for local moves, and a U-Haul or Penske rental truck for cross-country moves. In 1966, U-Haul had rental trucks available, but nothing big enough to move the household for a family of fourteen. So, my parents hired Mayflower Moving Company.
The big semi-truck backed down Jane Drive, in front of our house in South Dakota. I thought it was the coolest thing in
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the world; in additional to the standard back door, the trailer had doors on both sides, too. The workers opened the side door toward our house, set a ramp in the door, and went to work.
I was entertained most of the day just watching them load the truck, even getting in their way a few times. (Several times.) By the end of the day, the driver closed the big doors, and the semi pulled away. I remember we slept on floors in our house that night, and then started driving toward Iowa the following morning.
The drive from Rapid City, to Ottumwa was ten hours. But that time did not account for meal breaks, or gas stops. Bathroom breaks were combined with gas stops, so you’d better go whether you needed to or not.
Gas stations were still full service in those days. I can imagine the looks on the pump jockey’s face when a van pulled up to the island. The side barn doors flung open and kids started pouring out like a Shriner’s Clown Car, all rushing to the bathrooms.
The bathrooms were located outside of the building. They would have both a men’s and a ladies room, but they were all ‘single seaters.’
I remember hoping the doors would be unlocked because going inside to get a key took time and I really had to go – as did my four brothers. The boys could go faster than the girls. When the boys were done, my sisters would also use the boy’s room, even though that was quite taboo back in the day.
After everyone used the restroom, we would look for a water fountain. If the gas station didn’t have one, we would fill a Tupperware pitcher with water from an outdoor spigot, and have drinks from Tupperware glasses. (Mom was a Tupperware dealer, so we always had the finest.) After everyone had a drink, we would load back into the van to get on the road again.
We must have been quite a spectacle as the gas station crew all stood in the service bay doorway.
I guess they wanted to see how, or if, all the little
clowns would fit back inside the small van. Mom would do a roll call, and wait for a reply. “Mary?” ‘Here.’ “Martha?” ‘Here’ “Patti?” ‘Present.’ “Barbara?” ‘Here…’
Eventually, kids would try to change it up a bit, just to be different. “Peter?” ‘Yo.’ “Danny?” ‘President.’ I remember when someone answered ‘President Johnson,’ and Mom replied, “Just say here, or present.” And so, the roll call continued.
The two youngest didn’t understand the concept of roll call yet, still Mom called out, “Judy?” some one would respond, ‘she’s here.’ “Jimmy?” ‘He’s here, too.” With the roll call complete, all present and accounted for, Mom started the van and we were on our way again. I waved goodbye to the gas station people, and they waved back. That made me feel good.
Eventually we arrived in Ottumwa. It was after dark when we pulled into the driveway of the big farm house on Angle Road; Dad was there to greet us. All the siblings were excited to run in and see the new house – some placing “dibs” on the bedroom they wanted. With five bedrooms, it was the biggest house we’d ever lived in.
I found a bedroom upstairs with lots of windows, and it had a fireplace. “I call this room,” I declared like a prospector laying claim to his lot during the Oklahoma Land Rush. Mom quickly informed me I was not getting the master bedroom; I didn’t even know what that meant.
“It means this bedroom is for your dad and me,” she explained. “And you’re not staying in here. You’ll be downstairs, in the back bedroom with your brothers Gerard, and Jimmy.”
“Jimmy,” I questioned. “Why does Jimmy have to be in our room? He wakes up a lot in the night.” Mom gave me a look that indicated that’s how it will be, and there would be no more discussion. Soon, the kids all returned to the van to grab their pillows and blankets. We scattered to the different rooms, and slept on the floors that night.
The following morning, the big Mayflower semitruck pulled into the driveway. The driver climbed
out of the cab, and soon a car showed up with more workers. Dad and Mom, along with several of the kids, stood watching as the crew opened the doors, and positioned a ramp. All our stuff was stacked and piled into the trailer. My parents looked inside…there was a lot of work to be done.
Three years later, my family had the same experience when Dad took a job in Madison, Wisconsin. I learned something new during that move.
Each time you move to a larger house, you’ll get more stuff to fill the house. We had a lot more stuff, including two more siblings; my brother Newell, and sister Nancy, were both born in Ottumwa.
In 1975 Dad bought KLEE radio. We made our final move as a family, returning to Ottumwa, Iowa. Of course, we had even more stuff to move, including two more brothers. Stevie and Richie, the final two sibling in my family, were born in Madison.
My brother Danny and I moved to Ottumwa with Dad in the middle of the school year. The rest of the family would join us after Memorial Day, when school was out.
I wasn’t in Madison when the Mayflower truck showed up to move us back to Ottumwa, but I remember the day Mom arrived with a van full of kids. Since we were moving back into our same farm house on Angle Road, for the kids, it was more like a homecoming, than a new house. The kids all slept on the floors that first night, except Danny and me, our bed was already there since we moved down early with Dad.
The next morning, the Mayflower semi-truck pulled into the driveway. We had a lot more stuff. I remember our bicycles were tied to the back of the semi-trailer. Dad and Mom stood in the grass alongside the driveway as the doors of the big trailer were opened, and a ramp
positioned to begin unloading.
This time, I was old enough to feel, and share my parent’s emotions; it is a lot of work moving a large family. Although it was early in the day, around 8 a.m., Mom and Dad seemed exhausted. They were excited to be coming back to Ottumwa, but I could also feel their anxiety. There would be so much to do after the movers drove away. Mom stood next to Dad looking at everything we owned, packed inside the Mayflower trailer. I could tell she felt exhausted when she said, “This is the last time, right, Dan?”
I had the same feelings for the family on the corner of North Court, and a side street in Ottumwa. I felt their excitement. At the same time, I shared their anxiety. I could imagine being overwhelmed, moving into a new home
just one week before Christmas.
I shifted my van into gear, and pulled away from the side of North Court Street. “Welcome home,” I said. “And Merry Christmas.”
