The summer I was 16 my parents let me drive by myself to Ten Sleep, Wyoming to visit Vernon and Doris Rice. Vernon was my dad's cousin; in fact, my dad was named after Vernon's dad, Edward. They had come to visit us the summer before and invited me out to visit them at their ranch in Ten Sleep (418.3 miles from Clifton). This was before the Ted Bundy days so getting lost was the biggest fear parents had.
Those who know me know that I'm a real homebody so this was quite the adventure. Things went quite well until I was somewhere near the Idaho-Wyoming border. The road wound through the tree-lined canyon. The problem with that is that there were tall trees lining the road and the sun was out so it gave an on and off again flickering effect. I can't even watch the water running in the bath and it gave me a really bad case of motion sickness. That's the only time I thought of turning around, but I'd promised them a visit and stubbornness is a Rice family trait.
After what seemed forever, I came across the Badlands. They are just as described. It was so wonderful to reach the pretty town of Lander, population about 7,000 which seemed like a major city. Ten Sleep is two and a half hours from Lander. The thing is it's like a mogul moonscape. You cannot see any sign of life, just dirt mogul after dirt mogul. Just when I was about to lose hope, right around the next group of moguls, there was nestled the cutest little town!
Ten Sleep was so named because the American Indians measured it as ten sleeps from Ft. Laramie, Yellowstone Park, and Stillwater, Montana. (That's how I used to tell the kids how long it was til Christmas, etc, so many more sleeps.)
Vern and Doris were salt-of-the-earth people, very welcoming. They were ranchers and far more important in the community than I realized, though they gave no indication. Food was homemade. Doris made beautiful quits and she gave me one.
Vern took me out on the ranch to check on the sheep. He had two sheepdogs, Ping and Pong. I had not ever seen, nor have since seen, anything like the work they did. He just whistled here and there and those dogs acted like kids turned loose in a candy shop. They must have run miles gathering up all the sheep and did it so fast they were like two little blurs. My recollection is that they were big collies, black and white.
One day they took me to Buffalo, a town you would expect they would film Lonesome Dove or Longmire. He bought me a beautiful yellow western scarf. It was a wonderful day and a wonderful trip. There are many wonderful people who bless our lives.
Saturday, November 16, 2019
Tuesday, November 5, 2019
"Mark"
Over the last several years, but more this year, I've been doing "indexing", which is looking at an old record that was handwritten and typing it so it's easier to read. Also, as the old images fade, they aren't lost.
The last few months I've been averaging around 2000 records a month, half an hour or so each day. The ones I'm doing now come in amounts of 5, but there are some that have had 10. You can select the types you want to do. The last census was actually fun; get me in a routine and stand back. The ones I'm reviewing right now are WWI draft registration cards from Pennsylvania, people born towards the end of the 1800's. Because of the time period, the names are all male.
(I had to give up on the death records because it made me too sad, infant mortality being so high.)
While typing the draft cards, I think of what their lives must have been like back then: clerks, teamsters, machinists, a doctor, so very very many listed as miners. In Oxford History, a book written by Oxford residents, Orthea Moser and Dee Boyce, there is an account of a miner family that was so tragic I still can barely think about it. We may think times are hard now, but we don't have any idea how rough it was back then.
I think of the mud in the streets, the women washing clothes on washboards or rocks, field work, open coal fires, no communication with loved ones far away, working with dangerous chemicals. It helps keep me appreciative of my blessings.
On the sort of humorous side, I kept noticing that on the signature lines, there was often an up arrow, fitting "Mark" in between first and last names. Who knows how many records I've messed up adding the middle name of Mark when it actually just meant someone was writing the name for the person who couldn't sign his name but was placing his "mark" on the line.
The last few months I've been averaging around 2000 records a month, half an hour or so each day. The ones I'm doing now come in amounts of 5, but there are some that have had 10. You can select the types you want to do. The last census was actually fun; get me in a routine and stand back. The ones I'm reviewing right now are WWI draft registration cards from Pennsylvania, people born towards the end of the 1800's. Because of the time period, the names are all male.
(I had to give up on the death records because it made me too sad, infant mortality being so high.)
While typing the draft cards, I think of what their lives must have been like back then: clerks, teamsters, machinists, a doctor, so very very many listed as miners. In Oxford History, a book written by Oxford residents, Orthea Moser and Dee Boyce, there is an account of a miner family that was so tragic I still can barely think about it. We may think times are hard now, but we don't have any idea how rough it was back then.
I think of the mud in the streets, the women washing clothes on washboards or rocks, field work, open coal fires, no communication with loved ones far away, working with dangerous chemicals. It helps keep me appreciative of my blessings.
On the sort of humorous side, I kept noticing that on the signature lines, there was often an up arrow, fitting "Mark" in between first and last names. Who knows how many records I've messed up adding the middle name of Mark when it actually just meant someone was writing the name for the person who couldn't sign his name but was placing his "mark" on the line.
Tuesday, May 7, 2019
The Party
Last year I traveled to 12 different diners/drug stores from Ephriam to Logan in search of the perfect ice cream malt. There were a few pretty good ones, and some that they should have been embarrassed to label "malts". It's been a fun journey, and I finally found the perfect malt, interestingly made right here at home.
For my birthday a couple of weeks ago, we threw a big party. Sherry was able to come down from Canada for a week, Nik got has Master's in Education, several other birthdays had just passed or were just coming up, plus next month we have another graduation. The rain has made the whole county beautiful, so why not have a soiree, not that we need a reason to party?
In preparation, I purchased six gallons of BYU ice cream. They know their business. I bought an 8-ft sandwich from Walmart and have to say it was pretty darn good. We had salads and chips and my sweet granddaughter, Taylor, age 12, spent an entire day making and decorating a 6-layer birthday cake. THANKS, TAY!
The weatherman had predicted rain for that Friday for ten days in a row. The night before, they changed that to rain/possibly hail. There were about 40 people coming and though we are used to being crammed together, this would be a stretch, but the night actually turned out beautiful. They were able to play Kubb. We brought out the patio heater and sat around like moths til 10:30 or so. What a wonderful night. The only negative is that some of us were pretty teary-eyed knowing Sherry and family would leave the next morning and who knows when we will see them again. I watched her hugging and snuggling those little granddaughters, sucking in the memories.
We still have 3 gallons of ice cream left over, so come on over.
For my birthday a couple of weeks ago, we threw a big party. Sherry was able to come down from Canada for a week, Nik got has Master's in Education, several other birthdays had just passed or were just coming up, plus next month we have another graduation. The rain has made the whole county beautiful, so why not have a soiree, not that we need a reason to party?
In preparation, I purchased six gallons of BYU ice cream. They know their business. I bought an 8-ft sandwich from Walmart and have to say it was pretty darn good. We had salads and chips and my sweet granddaughter, Taylor, age 12, spent an entire day making and decorating a 6-layer birthday cake. THANKS, TAY!
The weatherman had predicted rain for that Friday for ten days in a row. The night before, they changed that to rain/possibly hail. There were about 40 people coming and though we are used to being crammed together, this would be a stretch, but the night actually turned out beautiful. They were able to play Kubb. We brought out the patio heater and sat around like moths til 10:30 or so. What a wonderful night. The only negative is that some of us were pretty teary-eyed knowing Sherry and family would leave the next morning and who knows when we will see them again. I watched her hugging and snuggling those little granddaughters, sucking in the memories.
We still have 3 gallons of ice cream left over, so come on over.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
