"November, Thanksgiving bring memories both happy and sad" from the November 20, 1978 Door County Advocate
By GRACE SAMUELSON
November, Thanksgiving bring memories both happy and sad
By GRACE SAMUELSON
Our Indian Summer days are over; winter is "a-comin on". A few last leaves cling to stark trees which just a short time ago blazed with glory; gentle breezes turn into rough, wild winds. Grey skies foretell of storms to come – the melancholy days, the saddest of the year. And for us, this year, there is sadness in the loss of our second sister, Verna. Still, a golden bridge of memory stretches out from all our yesterdays to keep our hearts in touch and span our todays and tomorrows.
Long ago in church we used to sing, "Will the Circle Be Unbroken?" But love is a circle that surrounds us always. Memory's threads are woven into a strong spark, to bridge the loss. From childhood, through middle age, to the elderly, we recall the little things: the traits, the strong faith, the understanding that was Verna's spirit. So, though she is no longer with us, we hoard our legacy of memories.
The poetry Round Robin, of which I'm a member had as its assignment last month, a Serendipity poem – a pleasant discovery made unexpectedly or by accident. For once, mine was sent in a little early – a multiple serendipity, but as usual, I was dissatisfied with my effort. I couldn't possibly squeeze in all of the wonderful little experiences that make each day a lovely thing. There are so many thoughtful, wonderful, loving, sharing and giving people in this world. So many beautiful things that happen. Strangers; old friends and new. So, in this sorrowing period, we were buoyed up by the loyal, caring, feeling of relatives, neighbors and friends. A golden span in our bridge of memories.
This November Veteran's Day exercises were held at the high school on Friday, because Armistice Day fell on Saturday. (I suppose I'll always call it Armistice Day, since I vividly recall the wild celebration at the end of World War I.) Now the Veterans of that war – fewer in numbers – and of World War II, the Korean war, and Viet Nam gather to observe the day with a reverent hope for peace. And 16 members of the Sault Ste. Marie Drum and Bugle Corps, their ages averaging 80, traveled to France to observe the 60th anniversary of W.W.I. there. The war for Democracy – the war to end all wars, we were told!
Around Armistice Day there is almost always a taste of winter storm; the last minute rush to ready the house for winter – not quite as great a problem in these days of combination windows and well insulated homes as our shelters in my younger days. I recall my father's and our neighbors' struggle to ready the house for winter, getting up those awkward, heavy wooden storm windows, banking the foundation of the house, weatherstripping doors and windows, putting up wind-breaks and storm sheds, getting the woodpile under cover. Ahead of us were surely days and nights of freezing cold, sleet, snow, blustery winds and dripping icicles. The path to the woodshed to fill the coal scuttles, carry in wood for the range and kindling could become an obstacle course. And who can forget the chill of that old pump handle, as we strove to compete with winds intent on getting as much water outside of the pails as on the inside. Or the dreaded trip to the little house out back where cold gusts of wind kept us from lingering long enough till the dishes were done! Even though the old range and glowing coal stove surrounded us with coziness, the upstairs bedrooms were shivering torture chambers. But they did assure early rising, to flee down the stairs and dress behind the stove with careful modesty.
Before the brunt of winter set in, some of Mama's relatives, or old girlhood friends would often come for a visit of a few days. We loved those visits; listening to stories of their childhood in pioneer days, hearing them exchange recipes. Coming home from school to find more ladies visiting, or perhaps helping tie a wool comforter, and enjoying a coffee klatch. Many times we would bring schoolgirl friends along to enjoy the goodies; often we went home with friends and were provided tea parties. I remember one friend of my mother's who used to play the piano whenever she came. "I'll Take You Home Again, Kathleen", "Sweet Evalina", and how she cried every time she would play "My Darling Nellie Gray." They kept busy knitting mittens, doing punch work on home made pillow slips, crocheting edging for underwear, and crazy-quilt patches of silk and velvet scraps for spreads or sofa pillows.
At that time of year disease often ran rampant through the town – quarantine signs appeared on many doors, measles, whooping cough, La Grippe; typhoid fever, small pox, chicken pox and the dreaded diphtheria and pneumonia. Little immunization was then known; we were vaccinated against small pox, but Mama and Verna were quarantined at home then while Papa and the other three of us girls camped out in the Harbor house across the street. Mildred Bagnall has a marvelous true story of the Canadian woman who vaccinated people for miles around in her own primitive yet sanitary method, doubtlessly saving many lives.
There were some people who had the attitude that childhood diseases were inevitable – might just as well have 'em and get it over with. Grandma Samuelson used to tell of one woman who carried her baby into a home where two children lay, peppered with measles. She thought this was a good time for the baby to have it. The baby, however, had terrible aftereffects from the measles; eye trouble the rest of her life. Grandma had good reason to cite the horrible examples since one family had come uninvited to her home, the children playing together happily until suddenly those terrible whoops filled the air. As a result, her two year old naturally got the cough, it developed into pneumonia, and the little boy died. Senseless irresponsibility on the part of those one-time visitors.
Whooping cough nearly took my life, too. Mama told me they called the minister in to baptize me at the house at eight months because I was so sick. Years later when I went to the hospital to have our second son, I had to leave Ruth quarantined with one grandmother with whooping cough while Mary was quarantined with the other grandmother with measles.
I remember the terrible fear that ran through the whole country when the Spanish influenza raged: schools and churches closed,. friends isolated, whole families down, people dying like flies. And, when we lived in Greendale and our children were quarantined to their own yards for six weeks during the polio epidemic, a wonderful neighbor planned a treat time each day when the mothers took turns to bring out crafts that would occupy the children, or treats. At the close of the quarantine time the village had a display of things made during that time, and I recall that Mary's sampler, "Let me live in a house by the side of the road and be a friend to man" took the prize. How wonderful when Dr. Salk discovered a vaccine to prevent that crippling disease!
I am so happy to have a bird feeder again, after going without one all summer. My grandson put this one up for me on a long arm of wood that can be moved to the porch rail for filling with seed. The cardinal hasn't come back, but the nuthatches, juncoes, sparrows, and some other birds have found the pot. So have the chipmunks, and a huge gray squirrel, who crawls "along the arm which holds it, plunks himself in the feeding shelf and gobbles all the sunflower seeds. I didn't begrudge him the feed until I watched him gnawing away at the cover and sticking his head inside, to get the rest. Ordinarily I'm not a violent person, but then I really felt empathy for the farmer's wife, who cut off the tails of the mice with her carving knife. Not having a carving knife handy I satisfied my spite by nailing the little feed door tight shut, and now I have to ease the seeds onto a sheet of cardboard and through a crack at the back of the feeder. So much for you, Mr. squirrel!
Thanksgiving ads are in the papers, "Specials" on T.V. and menus in magazines and on the radio. What changes in plan, preparation and foodstuffs since Great-grandma's day!
Then it took a week to get ready and Thanksgiving meant hospitality and family. Now, with things made much easier for us (and perhaps food more delectable to our sophisticated tastes) I think of many last Thursdays in November and given genuine THANKS. The happy Thanksgiving when Aunt Grace and family came, and I could brag at school that we were having turkey this year. That was wonderful, but no more delicious than the twin roasting chickens we ordinarily enjoyed, surrounded by all the succulent foods of the season; the Hubbard squash, sweet potatoes, fluffy white mashed potatoes, peas and little onions in cream; perfection salad; cranberry relish, savory dressing and mince pie.
The year my Normal school friend, Leila, came up from Prairie du Sac to be with us and I found a jug of wine some customer had given my father down in the cellar, put small glasses on our teetotaler table and Marion got too sick to enjoy her meal! My Thanksgiving in Bethlehem – my first one away from home. Then, the number at our table narrowed down, with Vera and Verna married. When our Keith was three months old Aunt Bertha invited us down to Jacksonport for Thanksgiving.
But Stanley's folks thought that was too chancey, taking a small baby such a distance in cold, snowy weather, in a drafty car with no heater. We had Thanksgiving with them and again two years later, without Keith, as he was in the Orthopedic hospital at Madison.
Depression Thanksgivings were bountiful; we had capons Stanley raised and later turkeys which James raised. (Those dumb turkeys; so delicate at the start; later roosting all over the orchard trees. You grew so attached to them it was almost a shame to eat them.) I remember the year Mary was born at my mother's and how the next Thursday Verna cooked the Thanksgiving goose and I ate my dinner alone upstairs and gave thanks for a healthy new baby. The year the children were all sick and Aunt Olive sent over a complete dinner. The restaurant years when we enjoyed arranging the horn of plenty of fruit and vegetables, the shrimp mold, and fancy breads, serving a happy meal to the public and later our own family, relatives, children and grandchildren by ourselves. The year after we'd retired, and Bob came to spend the day with us.
Our family gatherings are smaller now – our children have their celebrations at home, away from us. And this year there will be another vacant chair. But the thankfulness: for health, for love, for a God who supplies all of our needs – that's with us always. Awhile back, going through some of my old "collectibles" I found a rectangular piece of red glass with the words "THANK YOU" printed on it. (I presume it stood by a cash register in a store, reminding the clerk to say thanks). I put it in my dining room window. Now, whenever I come into the room that sign meets my eye, reminding me to say "thank you" for all the good things in life. And for faith in a life hereafter. HAPPY THANKSGIVING!
Courtesy of the Door County Library Newspaper Archive
Articles by Grace Samuelson
https://doorcounty.substack.com/t/grace-samuelson
Articles about Veterans Day