Part I • Part II
"Concentric"
"Once my
youthful world was bounded
By a circle at
your feet,
Then the lines
were stretched and widened
To the
schoolyard and the street.
But the center
of my circle
Was your
tender, watchful care.
And when
storms or darkness gathered,
My footsteps
led me there.
Far horizons
called and claimed me,
But they kept
us not apart.
For an
ever-open highroad
Was the
pathway to your heart.
And although
the circle widens
To some
distant, shining star,
I know your
love will find me,
And your hand
will not be far."
~Josephine
Wetzler
When I was eight, my dad talked to me a lot about being baptized. Then
one Saturday in the May right after I turned eight, he took me up back of
Grandma’s house to a turn in the canal and baptized me. The man who confirmed
me was Orson Ricks. His daughter was so sweet and good, you just loved to be
around her. Her name was Isabella. She had pretty red hair; it was long and in
two pigtails around her head. Her oldest sister was my teacher in the fourth
grade. Near the end of the year our teacher married my cousin, Irvin Widdison,
then even later the schoolhouse burned down. Then on May the 4th or
5th, Isabella died. She was so pretty when we went to see her. Her hair was so
shiny and a white bow was on her tummy to hide the swelled look a little. They
said she had dropsy and leakage of the heart. I was one of the flower girls and
carried gladiolas. As I stood by her, I
promised never to forget her, or how she looked; and always to close my eyes in
prayer, because she did.
That summer Dad helped me join the Farm Bureau’s Pig Club. The class
work was a little over my head, as I was younger than the rest, so Isabella’s
older brother Robert helped me with long division in figuring pig-feed. I had
two purebreds, Madison Beauty and Black Bob. Bob finally grew to be a huge
beast, about 700 pounds, and Madison Beauty was about 500 pounds, but she was a
good-looking lady and never outgrew it. When I was in the fifth grade, we had
to go two miles to school, until the new building was finished. Mr. Henry
Wardell was our teacher. Two grades were about all we needed in one room and as
he taught the sixth grade about Longfellow and some of his favorites, we
listened in. So from him I learned to love poetry. He was a great dramatist,
and because of him I can see how powerful a good teacher could be.
About this time Dad had a hired man named Bunker Box. He worked in the
summer and fall for us, then went to Ricks in the winter. He was a football and
basketball star, and the most real matador I have ever seen. One day Segus, who
was Dad’s purebred Holstein bull, got loose. When he was a year younger, I had
chased him with a home made bow and arrow, but a year changes a bull. When
Bunker and Dad tried to corral Segus, he took serious offense. So around and around
they went. The orchard had only small trees 12 feet high or so, and a little
more than a broomstick trunks, but they were all the protection Bunker had most
of the time. Even so, Segus plowed into a couple of them. We kids climbed in
the manure spreader to see the show from a safer distance, and the show was
really on. They purred and dodged, and at tight moments Bunker chewed his apple
harder than ever and the bull got the core right between the eyes. I remember
this very clearly, but not the climax. Finally, though, with both Bunker and
Dad mounted and working together, they drove the bull to a sturdier corral.
Bunker was a big blond fellow with this shoulders, like my own son much later
and like him, too, he fell heavily and swiftly for one girl, Eva Fritchie. Soon
they were married and moved away.
We used to have a lot of programs in our school. It was a real challenge
to keep one renderable song ahead so we could sing at the next one. They
probably sounded pretty silly to the teacher. We had a lot of peanut showers,
too. Everybody brought a big bag of peanuts to school, then in the afternoon,
after recess, we’d get someone to call her out and when she came we all threw
peanuts at her or him. After that we gathered them again and had a party.
In the summers, the two celebrations I looked forward to, were the
fourth and twenty-fourth of July. There were the program, parades, rodeos,
fireworks, and foot races that made them all such wonderful days. They helped
us remember our independence and the pioneers.
No comments:
Post a Comment