September Beginnings: Chapter 2 Part 3

Continued from Chapter 2, Part 2

In his later years, and especially after Mother was gone, Dad became my counselor.  He patiently listened to me, as he did to all six of his children, without being judgmental, or without jumping in and saying, "Well, here's what you ought to do."  One time, I was in Fort Collins, Colorado by myself where I was teaching  at Colorado State University for a semester while on leave from Brigham Young University.  Dad and Elna, my stepmother, thought I needed company so they came from Washington to see me.  Dad and I went across the street from my apartment house to sit at an open-air picnic table that we came to call our "office" in the plaza of the little shopping center there.  We frequently went over to our office  during the week of his visit and sat and worked through the trials and tribulations of life.  In turn, when I went to Olympia to visit, Dad and I often escaped down to the shop he had manufactured from an old log cabin by pouring a cement floor and fixing up the roof and walls.  There, amid the woodworking tools and sawdust and familiar and much-loved smells of wood and wood finishes we convened to discuss life and how we were coping with it.  As Dad got older, he became increasingly frank about his own life and the problems he had faced.  His revelations, hardly startling, made me feel much more at ease about my own life, realizing that each new generation has few, if any, original experiences.

The last time I saw Dad, I drove up to Cody in northwest Wyoming on a beautiful August day in 1992.  Dad and Elna had moved back to Cody from Olympia the previous year.  I drove over South Pass in southwest Wyoming, down the awesome eastern face of the mountain, through Lander and Riverton and Shoshoni and the Wind River Canyon, then through Meeteetse and into Cody.  We held our usual discussions and literary reviews, talking about Dickens and the Brontes and Louis L'Amour's superiority (in our minds) to Max Brand and other Western authors.  We pored over back issues of the Powell Tribune, our hometown newspaper, so we could provide needed commentary on weddings and other local happenings.  We talked about family and life and what it was like to be back in Cody.  I took along a bushel of Gala summer apples which Dad enjoyed immensely.  I began the journey back to Utah with a light heart and the sure knowledge I would be back next summer for a longer stay.

Then, in the early darkness of a cold March morning of the following year, my phone rang at 4:00 a.m.  I knew what had happened before I picked up the phone.  I didn't want to pick it up because I didn't want to hear the inevitable and painful news. Reluctantly, I lifted the receiver and raised it to my ear because I knew I had to.  It was my brother Steve.  "It's Dad, isn't it?" I said.  "Yes," he replied.  "How did it happen?", I asked.  Steve replied that Dad had gotten up to go to the bathroom in the Cody hospital where he was recuperating from pneumonia, suffered a heart attack, and fell to the floor.  Dad did not want to go to the hospital with his pneumonia, and we originally thought he had no more than a bad cold.  Unlike the time of Mother's las illness, no one entertained a thought that Dad would die.

Now there was nothing to do but make a numb and empty journey back to Cody without Gala apples, without hours of book and family discussions and without the recounting of slightly ribald old stories told countless times over many years.  Now I was without a Dad to listen to me tell him how I was doing and about what I wanted to do and reassure me that I would make it.  Now, my plans thwarted for a longer visit later that summer, all I could do was stand numbly by the open casket in the mortuary and place my hand on his cold hand one last time and run my fingers through the thin strands of white hair on his lifeless forehead while those around me watched in anguish.

Mother's illness allowed her more time to recycle her life in her mind than did the circumstances surrounding Dad's death.  But as he became more reflective in his las years when he wrote his life story and kept a sporadic journal, some of the following memories of his life may have filtered through his mind.

Russell's Story

I've worked long enough today.  Time to go home for supper.  Hey Min, what's for supper.  Anything good?  Guess I'll have to go to town in the morning and get a new part for the tractor.  Couldn't fix it by kicking it.  I'll take the cream to the creamery and see if I can get enough to pay for the tractor part.  Where is life going?  What good is it all?  Shoveling dirt, hoeing weeds, coaxing irrigation water that wants to run in the wrong direction, pitching hay, hauling manure, cleaning up the Jones place, cleaning up the Shumway place.  I'd rather be in the shop making inlaid pictures.  I need a new Stetson hat, but Minnie will howl about that.  Well, we should get the sugar beet check before long.  It looks big when it comes, but after we pay the bank and the Farm Security and the fertilizer and tractor fuel and gas bills and pay rent on the land to Grandpa Wasden I'll be lucky if there's enough left to take the kids to the movies.

To be continued . . .

Russell Marion Blood and Father's Day

It seems appropriate as Father's Day approaches, to include some of Dad's own words on how he came to marry Mother and father six children. At the time that Dad met Mother (Minnie Arrilla Wasden), he was living and working for his Aunt Elsie and Uncle Dewey in Sunlight, Wyoming, (mailbox, Painter, Wyoming), which is to the north and a little west of Cody.
"In 1929, Minnie Wasden came up to work at the ranch for the summer. She was a school teacher. But I must go back several years and tell about my romance with another schoolmam.
Dewey's brother Prestly had a ranch at the lower end of Sunlight Basin and they had four children, so they built a small school house and the county hired a school teacher. Her name was Bernice Bruce. She had black hair and dark eyes with long lashes, a tad on the plump side. Needless to say I fell madly in love with her, so did Dewey's boy, Jack, so we took turns courting her. I always felt that I had the upper hand, but later found out that I was being two-timed after a few exchanges with Jack. So then we just strung her along for the rest of the school season.
I thought that Minnie was kind of homely at first" (Mother's pictures of the time do not reflect this - Dad was obviously used to a different kind of beauty), "but she had the kind of classical features that showed so many different facets of character that I found her fascinating, and so established quite a romance.
But, alas, we had a couple of girls from the East who were visiting for a couple of months, and I, feeling my oats, latched on to a girl who was six years older than I. Her name was Pauline Beck. She was a nice girl, and so I abandoned Minnie; mostly, it was an ego trip because here all of a sudden I had a rich girl, also two in the same summer.
There was a rodeo in Cody every summer the third, fourth, and fifth of July, and there was always a big dance. The dance hall was called Wolfville. Minnie and Pauline were there, and I picked up Bernice, who at the time was working in Cody, so I was a busy boy trying to keep all of my girls straightened out. Was I on top of the world! Minnie fooled me, though, because she had taught school at Meeteetsee the last winter, so she had a lot of cowboy friends who took over all of her dances, so that took me down a tad.
I was driving the truck into Cody about two or three times a week, and Pauline usually went with me, so I completely abandoned Minnie, but like all dreams, Pauline went home, and as I watched the train pull out of the Cody train station, I had a terrible feeling of loss. Of course, it was a kind of dream world that I was living in. I really thought I was in love with this twenty-six-year-old girl who probably had never done without anything, and here was this twenty-one-year-old kid without anything except a couple of pairs of Levis and a pair of boots and a big hat.
So, through the long winter, I kept busy working on a new dining room, kitchen, and rough neck dining room, making pole furniture and mourning my lost love. . .
Minnie came back to work in the spring after school was out, and we patched up everything, so we were off to a fresh start. No more rich dudines, but back to reality.
And so our romance blossomed, and how. In the fall she started teaching in Powell, and I did most of the trucking, so we used to meet at Corbett, which was the ditch rider's house. Elna, who was Minnie's sister, and her husband, Oscar House lived there. He was a ditch rider for the Powell irrigation district. Elna used to fix us goodies to eat, so she helped our romance considerably.
Minnie's father was not too keen on the situation. He thought she was maybe chasing after me. I forgot to mention that she was Mormon, and here I was, a Gentile who smoked cigarettes and had a drink occasionally. I left the ranch about Christmas time in 1930. I joined the Mormon Church and we were married on the 23 of December in Bishop Carlton's house in Lovell, Wyoming. Minnie's mother and her sister Sofe were there, but not her father. I'm afraid he thought I was a pretty poor husband for his daughter. On the 24th, Minnie's mother had a family dinner to celebrate the occasion, and on Christmas day we took off for Denver in Minnie's Model A. Coupe. . . "
Now, I want to skip ahead to part of the story that Dad wrote about much later: "When I said I left the ranch to get married, I didn't give a full account of how I left it. Uncle Dewey had gone to New York, and Aunt Elsie, Jack and I were left at the ranch. Aunt Elsie, thinking that Jack and I needed a vacation, gave us each fifty dollars and sent us to Cody. I spent most of mine on a suit" (this was the light brown Hart, Schaffner, and Marx suit that Dad wore for years and years), " and Minnie drove up to meet me and took me down home [Penrose] to face the music. Unfortunately, and this I have always regretted, I left Jack without saying where I was going. I always wondered how he felt when I disappeared - likewise, Aunt Elsie."
There are six adult children alive today, who are very grateful that Dad married Mother, and that we were able to lead the life that we did because of their planning and hard work that they accomplished all of their lives. So, on this Father's Day, we celebrate and say, "Thank you, Dad. We're grateful that the orphan boy finally found a family and a home that he loved all of his life."

September Beginnings: Chapter 2 Part 2

Chapter 2

Russell

Part 2

I also think about Dad coming into the tiny kitchen-eating area from the barns or the fields or the shop, leaving his irrigation boots or muddy and often manure-covered Wolverine work shoes on the porch, hoping a mouse would not take refuge in them during a break.  We knew he was back in the house because he would lighten up the air with a Great Caesar's Ghost," a "Holy Moses," a "Judas Priest," or a "Man oh Mystery."

I think he liked the Caesar's Ghost expression the best, with great emphasis on the Caesar part.  I never did learn the origins of the "Man oh Mystery" bit.

Then I think about him getting up at 3:30 or 4:00 a.m. to go change the irrigation water, shoveling dirt and coaxing water down countless furrows, struggling for years against the overwhelming pain of a stubborn hernia.  Sometimes he would come home in excruciating agony after trying to push his stomach back together, his anatomy defying the assistance of the miserable truss he often wore.  He neither thought he could afford to have his hernia fixed nor that he had the time to do it and besides was probably afraid of the operation.  Later, as an older man, he had his repairs made and wished he had taken care of things years earlier.

I can still see Dad poring over the veneer and shop tools catalogues, carefully working out an order for a few more pieces of bird's-eye maple, cherry, walnut, or other beautiful kinds of wood that were like wonderful friends to him.  His passion for wood and for making beautiful inlaid pictures enabled him to find energy and time to pursue his woodworking skills until the end of his life.  A familiar memory is one of Dad sitting on an old white stool as he cut the intricate pieces of veneer on a Delta scroll saw.  This stool had been in our family forever and had only recently been cast aside without due regard for all the bottoms it had supported during its long and uncomplaining service.

Whether Dad wanted to be a farmer or not, he loved the outdoors and the peace and quiet that Penrose offered, the smells of plants and animals and the sounds of livestock and poultry in the barnyard.  He pursued his farm work with unrelenting energy, never giving up on his hopes for a better sugar beet crop, a larger milk check, more hay to last the winter, more heifer calves, and the possibility that he could skunk the grasshoppers.

Dad hated to kill animals.  He used his .22 rifle only as a last resort to put suffering animals out of their misery.  But no amount of betting from me would ever persuade him to teach me how to shoot a gun or learn how to hunt.  Similarly, Dad had little use for dogs which he alternately called pothounds or potlikkers, explaining that a pothound was a large dog and a potlikker a small one.  We had two when I was a child, and I do not know whether they were pothounds or potlikkers.  The fate of one remains a total mystery.  The other tangled with a skunk and I never did learn what happened to it either, so we had two unresolved dog mystery.  Dad had a love-hate relationship with his dairy cows.  The gentle ones were long-standing members of the family, cows like Blackie and Blondie.  But his relationship with Old Red was much like that of Captain Ahab and the Great White Whale.  They both approached each other with extreme wariness.  Our milk stools were "T"-shaped, made by nailing two short pieces of 2 x 4s together.  I usually made an extra one, just in case Old Red demolished another one.

Dad provided the leavening in my relationship with my mother who always expected more perfection than I was willing to display and greater speed in attaining it than I often demonstrated.  Mom and I had a continual contest of wills which did not diminish the typically unspoken affection we both had one for the other.  But when things in the house were a little on edge, I could always escape to the fields or the cowbarn with Dad, and there we could manufacture rewritten songs we dared not sing in the house, and discuss the affairs of the day.  I could listen to his favorite stories of devilment and mischief he had perpetrated as a youngster, convincing me I was not half bad after all.

From September Beginnings: Searching for My Wyoming Legacy, Chapter 2 Part 1

This post is a continuation of the earlier post under the same heading.

Chapter 2

Russell

When I think of Dad, I think of him out in the cowbarn while we were milking cows and in the hayfield hauling hay and in the beet fields hoeing and thinning countless rows of sugar beets.  I remember him on frigid winter Saturday mornings when he enlisted my help to haul hay or sugar beet tops or haul a pig or a cow to the Powell Livestock Auction Market.  I think of his frustration while fighting kicky cows after already having worked twelve hours in the fields.  I remember countless times when Dad tried desperately to find a bolt or fix machinery without having to take an offending part to Gail Burke at the blacksmith shop in Garland for repair or go to town for a new one, thus unexpectedly throwing the work schedule off for a half day or more.

I remember with great glee when Dad rounded up "us kids" to go off to the movies and when he uncomplainingly sat through endless band concerts in the Powell High School gym, always assuring us how wonderful they were.  I believed him and glowed with pride.  I remember when we would park the old Model A by Lord's Feed Store or by the Wyoming Hotel while he would go to the movies and we would go to a band practice or to a Halloween party in the old Powell High School Cafeteria, which perennially smelled of my detested carrot-and-raisin salad.  I remember the night that the movie was "The Song of Bernadette."  We thought it was going to last all night before Dad would come and take us home.

I always knew how hard Dad worked but I have only recently come nearer an understanding of just how close to the edge of financial disaster my parents were through all the years we were at home and for some years afterward.  Every bit of cash spent on us was painfully spent, for my Waltham high school graduation watch--which, sadly, did not run very long--and then for my blue plaid dress suit bought from J. C. Penney's in Lovell (which I would quickly outgrow, being only 15 when it was purchased), and for my brown Samsonite suitcase which I plastered with decals of the Future Farmers of America emblems.  This suitcase accompanied me on countless FFA and band trips and then was borrowed by several friends at the University of Wyoming who had even less money than I, and who had no luggage to take on their honeymoon.

To be continued . . .

Missionary Journal

Both Elizabeth and I have worked on transcribing Grandpa Wasden's missionary journal. I am not very far in the process, but in sharing this small portion, I don't want Dwight to think that he can get what he asks for every time (i.e. recipes and now Grandpa's journal). However, when he has a good idea, it is definitely worth responding too. Transcribing the journal is a very tedious task. I keep wanting to correct his spelling and punctuation, but Elizabeth was instructed that we should not make any corrections in order for the transcription to be authentic. So, this has been typed exactly as it is written in James Brooks Wasden’s missionary journal. There have been no spelling, punctuation or grammatical corrections made. For those who do not know the history of James B. Wasden, he was a self taught man with very little formal education.
A Missionary Blessing.
Given upon the head of Elder James Brooks Wasden, in the Salt Lake Temple Annex, March 16th, 1898. by Presidant J. G. Kimball.

Brother James Brooks Wasden: By the authority of the Priesthood which we hold, we ordain you A Seventy in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latterday Saints, and seal upon you all the gifts and blessings, keys and powers pertaining to this high calling in the Holy Melchisedek Priesthood. And we pray our Father to bless you as you have never before been blessed, that you may comprehend the powers that are conferred upon you in this ordination for you are A witness of the Lord. It is your privlage and your duty to preach the Gospel, to be A preacher of righteousness, to labor among the children of men in the world. It is your privilege to leave your home, to take upon you the cross and to follow Christ, to forsake your father and your mother, your brothers and your sisters and every blessing that is given unto you in this your home and country, to preach the Gospel. If you are not willing to do this, you are not worthy of being A disciple of Christ. And we pray our Father to fit and qualify you for this labor; and in as much as you have been called to labor as a missionary in the Southern States, we set you apart to perform that duty, and pray our Father to give unto you wisdom, to help you to be wise and choice in your word, that you may learn to love the souls of the children of men, and have there confidence and there sympathy; and when you shall speak in public or in private, that your words shall carry conviction, that they shall be weighty, that the children of men shall consider them and realize that you have spoken under the inspiration of the Holy Ghost. Do not be deceived by rong influences; but remember that the Lord will not forsake you, if you are faithful; He will come to your rescue, light will dawn upon your mind, intelligence will be given unto you, no harm or accident shall be fall you, but you shall go in peace and return in safety. The hand of the Destroyer shall be staid in your behalf, and you shall be able to faithfully fulfill this mission. If you desire any greater blessings than have been conferred upon you, you are entitled to the same if you will live for them. So we admonish you to be encouraged, to be hopeful, to have your heart filled with charity, and you shall succeed. We bless you to this end, Dear brother, and say unto you that you have received A great blessing, A great privilege, this day. WE set you apart to this mission, dedicate you to the Lord and to the ministery, reseal and reconfirm upon you all your farmer blessings, and we do it by the virtus of the Priesthood, which we hold, and in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen
1898
Dues paid to Confrance President.
All paid up until the last of August 1898.
July 24th Sent $4.50 cts to Chatanooga Office. To be placed to my credit.
Sept 22 Dues to Pres J Z Brown 10cts

A pleasing form, A generous heart.
A good companion, just without art.
Just in her dealings, faith to her friends.
Beloved through life, lamented in the end:

Browards Neck, Duvalle Co. Fla
September 7th 1898
Received word of President Wilford Woodruff death in California at San Francisco U.S.A
Cash Credits and P.O so on and so forth
July 16 1898
16 Rec from Mrs. … $1.00 and b stamps .24 cts
“ “ Christena Christenson $1.00
Rec from W W Wasden 25 cts in P.O. Stamps
“ “ Mrs M Metcalf 10 cts Lost dates between …
“ “ Mrs T C Wasden 25 cts

Aug 5th “ “ 8 cts
“ “ 1 Photo
Aug 17th P/O Elder C. B. Snowball $3.00 for shoes
20 cts sox
Received at E. Ellis Maryety Duvall, and give C. B Snowball credit at Chattnooga Tenn Office $3.25
Placed to H Summerhays 60 cts at C. Office for ½ doz B of M

Aug 30th
Rec from C Office 1 …. Fluid. 1 box lether preserver, 1 tie, 1 pack envelopes. 1 writing pad
Sep 5th
24 cts P O stamps from Mrs. T C Wasden
“ 14th Rec from Chattanooga Office 2 W shirts $1.10 2 C Collars 30 cts. 1 Record Book. 1 Pack Envelopes 1 copying Pencle
“ 14 Charge to Eld A G Sedgwick account. 1 W Shirt. 1 Record Book. 1 C Collar. 1 Copying Pencile

1898 Mar 25 Jacksonvill Fla
Got up at 6:30 this morning went down twan and harbor of the St. Johns River. Seen meny Ships, some of larg size. Went back to lodging house – took Breakfast for Elder Wixon and Elton and myself. After Breakfast went to Depot took train for Sanderson Fla at 9.25 am for our dest. Which we arrived at 10.40 a.m. Met Elder John Z. Brown. At station and Bro Westor and Bro Kenova. Took dinner at Bro Westor.. Then walked 3 miles to Bro Mann’s took supper and held meatting in eavening. Had good time stoped all at Bro Mann.
Mar 26
Took breakfast with Bro Mann. Passed fornoon at studing and walking in the woods. Had dinner at Bro Mann s. after dinner studied awhile then about 3 oclock road out with Bro (. _ Terrell. Took supper and held meatting in eavning Was good attendance and had good meating. Blessed three children of Sister Sapp s oldest 6 years July next. Slept at Bro J K Terrall s
Mar 27
Sanderson. Baker Co, Florida
Sunday morning arised at 6.40 oclock. Took walk in woods, come back and dressed for Sunday School. Which was held at Sanderson. Which was well attended about 40 all together, and had agood time and good Order was kepet. After noon meating was held at Bro Mann School house, had good meatin. Went to Bro Mann s, held eavning meating and staid all night. And after afternoon meating pertook of an harty Supper at Bro Mann s. Walked about 8 miles all total.
Mar 28
Took breakfast at Bro Mann s. Took short walk after Brekfast. Came back wrote too letters. One to C and one to W. Took dinner at Bro Mann s. Then went to Bro Terral s and had Suppper. Bless too Children and then went to bed.
Mar 29
Took Breakfast at Bro Terral s then went to Bro Mann s. Took dinner and Supper. And stad all night. Enjoied a pleasant rumble after supper.
Mar 30 Sanders Fla
Took breakfast at Bro Mann s. Studied in fornoon. Then walked over to Bro Terrall s for Dinner. Then went to Bro Manns and met Bro Pres Cuttler and Elder held Elder s meatting in the woods. And rec instructions worldly of following. Elder Wixon goes to _eva Ga and Elder Elton to Putam Ga, and Jas. B. W. to St John s Ga . To supper at Bro Terrall s and held meating at Bro Mann s and staid all night. Elder Wixon and Elder Geo went to Sandars on there way to there field of labor.
Mar 31
After taking breakfast at Bro Manns Pre Cuttler and Elder Brown Elder Elton and my self started for Sanderson. A distance of 3 miles. After making a few nessary arrangements Elder Brown and my self started on our journey southward, arriving at Bro Hills for dinner and staid all night and visited.

Report for Month of March 1898
Miles rode by rail 35
Miles walked 26
Families visited 8
Families revisited 8
Books give away 8
Meatings held 7
Report for the month of April 1898
Miles walked 232
Familys Visited 10
“ Revisited 75
Tracts Distributed 16
Dodgers “ “ 16
Books sold 12
“ “ Givaway 1
“ “ loaned 2
Meetings Held 28
Gospel Conversations 1
Children Blessed 1

Step Mother

This is Mary Quick Blood, who married our Grandfather Roscoe after the death of his very young wife, our grandmother, Louise. Mary became our father's step-mother, who did not treat him equal to that of her own two children.

An Old Envelope

Remember these? It is fun to look at the price.

Great Spelling

In posting this you should come to know I have little pride (left). It is difficult to imagine that I went on to the county spelling bee, was hired by the Second District Court because I got all spelling words correct in the spelling portion of their employment exam, and have spent 44 years (as of tomorrow) helping Paul figure out how to spell certain words. That just goes to show we have to always look at "potential". I don't know how I came to have this letter, but as I went through more stuff, there it was.

Fun and Nonsense

More From Grandpa Wasden's Little Brown Notebook

These are the other notes that were in Grandpa's little brown notebook. Hopefully, if you click on the image, it will enlarge enough so you can read it. Many of his notes are very smudged, especially those in the first few pages.

Dad's (Russell Blood) Pocket Knife

Since everyone is so busy posting family keepsakes on here, I thought I'd post one of the few that I have.  Dad probably carried this pocket knife every day of his life.  The bone handle is worn down to a smooth surface, and the metal plate is almost worn off. I was witness countless times to one of the main uses of this knife, which was kept to a razor-sharp edge, when Dad performed numerous operations on young male pigs and calves, so to speak, and one monumental operation on my 700 pound Duroc Jersey Boar which won the grand champion ribbon at the Wyoming State Fair but which soon met his inglorious fate in the sausage grinder.  One time while Grandpa Wasden was about to perform this operation, after studying the young pig for awhile, he announced, "aha, a seedless grape!"  Sorry if this makes anyone squeamish, but such was and is life on the farm and we never thought anything about the necessary routines of farm chores.

Grandpa Wasden's Little Brown Book

I suspect I am not the only one who can remember how Grandpa Wasden always seemed to have this little book, or one similar to it, in his pocket, along with a little piece of a pencil, so he could make notes when the occasion required it. Following are some of the items that are in this booklet.

Which child do you suppose practiced their art work on the back page?


This little booklet is very small, but it contains so many tidbits about Grandpa's life, from working at Yellowstone, to church records, to accounting of where he spent his money, and the quote from Pres. Roosevelt. Hopefully, if you click on the pages, they will enlarge so you can read them a little better. If anyone is interested in more of the pages on the concrete pour, please let me know.

Letter from Jas B to Gramma

The original of this letter must exist somewhere because I only have a copy. Note the letter heading.
The text of the letter follows:
Yellowstone Park Wyo Aug 24, 1903
Dear Gramma
Your most welcom letter was reced A few days ago, And it gave great satisfaction to know you were getting along so well as you are An if you can but take things quiet and not worrey And do that. That is realy nessery and not wothe about eny thing else you will get on alright I am sure. I realise you have much to contend with and feel the responsibility resting upon you And while that is the case just take your ease and let others do the russling and worring. Now as to the farm I wish it was so we could buy it but just at presant that looks rather doubtfull. But as I look for work to be threw here by next Months end we can then talk matters over and deside on the best corse to persue in the future. Tilda spoke of keeping me home after this And I don't think Shell have hard work to do that as I am so tired of this kind of life. Well Gramma let your helth be at all times the foremost consideration And May God Bless you in your indeavors. As ever your Son, Jas B Wasden.
Remember me to all the folks And write soon. All is well fat and sassy here. Bye Bye.

Mystery Man

And this is? I think this picture came from someone's locket because of the way it was cut. It is in very poor condition.

Which of us never played with this steel rule, making it bounce up and down, or unfolding it to see how far it reached? I, for one, was fascinated with it. The shop had a special feel for me because it was the very essence of Dad. I used to like to arrange - or rearrange - things on the bench in the back room of the shop. thinking I was being helpful. I'm not sure if I put things where Dad would have wanted them, but he never said anything. The tool on the right was Grandpa Wasden's.

Remembering Father

Can you smell the shaving soap? That stirs up memories of seeing Dad shaving in our kitchen/bathroom on Sunday mornings while several other activities are going on around him - Elizabeth and I doing the breakfast dishes, one or two trying to brush their teeth. How did we manage to get around each other? I also have memories of watching Dad shave even as a small child when we were living in the little brown house. Most of all, the smell of the soap just makes me think of Dad.

Letter from Dr. Quick about Roscoe Blood

Dr. Quick was Mary Blood (our father's step-mother's) father. He was the attending physican for our grandfather Roscoe. In this letter to Roy Blood, Roscoe's brother, he tells of the suffering of Roscoe's last days. Though we never knew him, we mourn at his pain and wish we could have all been there to comfort him.

March 19, 1943 letter from Elizabeth

This letter speaks for itself. When Dad found this letter in his things in the early '80s, he brought it to me, chuckling about the "Dear Rus" greeting. I suppose the attitude carries over from some of the earlier pictures of me. Anyway, this is pretty newsy, and if any of the three of us want to tell our children how tough we had it growing up, just read this one. Dwight and Louise were in the 6th grade and I was in the 2nd - and these chores didn't include the Saturday chores. Mother must have been milking the cows in Dad's absence. I'm not sure what "help with the cows" included. It was surely too early in the season for them to be in the pasture? Obviously, though, we had our appointed chores - and other letters indicate that we were getting some money. However, I think that the separation was pretty traumatic for us.
It's also obvious that I had a problem tracking across the page. I'm not sure why the writing ran downhill, but remember, I had just learned cursive this year. And, I can't remember who Mrs. McFarland was - obviously a teacher. Alice Carroll was my 2nd grade teacher. We certainly talked about grownups in a very familiar way.

Letter from Louise, 1943

Another letter from the March that Dad was in Edmonton.

Louise always was the neat one - This letter reflects her tidy habits. She is the only one of us who mentions Ann - Judy must have really been minding her business. Can't believe we were so self-absorbed not to include more about our baby sister, and our little sister. Glad that has all changed.

Letters from Ralston, 1943

Sorry these copies are so awful. I made them in 1994 when I had access to the letters. When you click on them to enlarge them, they are readable. As we get better copies, I will exchange them. However, I had so much fun in reading through these serious letters to our father who was far away in Edmonton, Canada, working as a carpenter on a war project, that I really wanted to share them. Each of the three older children wrote letters, and they reveal so much about them. I'm assuming that Dwight would have been in the sixth grade in March of 1943? I'm not sure if he's boasting about how he has been disciplined at school, or just stating the facts. And now we know what happened to Dwight's wonderful comic book collection. Ah, me! All of the letters I read through impressed me. In the early '70s I taught Junior High English, and I had few students who could write as well, both in penmanship, and in expression.

CABIN AT THE RANCH IN SUNLIGHT

Until I scanned this picture, I always thought it was just a photo of the cabin which Dad helped build while living at the ranch. Be sure to enlarge to see who is sitting on the rail of the front porch!

Just for Fun

What will the weather be like today? This is what has been going on in the mountains - this was taken on Friday. There was lots of snow under those clouds.
And this is what is going on down in the valley. What crazy weather! Happy Sunday.

Veronicka Mach Krajicek

This picture is undated - I always thought from this picture that our great-grandmother must have been pretty strong spirited. Her sisters called her Vera, but I also found in the Round Robin that she may have been called "Sarah". Who knows? She lived in Aunt Nance in Pocatello the last years of her life, but she is buried in the Cody, Wyoming cemetery - probably because that is where Elsie was living at the time.
These are the Mach sisters in later years - Veronicka is in center front; the others sisters' names were Kathrine "Kate", Annette "Nettie", and Anna. I don't know which is which, do any of you?

Minnie and the motorcycle

Our uncle, David Wasden, and Mother had an interesting relationship. She wrote letters to him on his mission - I have some of the ones he wrote back to her, correcting her spellings, and, in general, writing "down" to her. Don't know why she continued to write. When he came home, they still had a friendship - there is a picture she took of him on the motorcycle at the same place that Dave took this picture. Don't know when their relationship became so "techy", but there were years of alienation. Then, in later years, in the late '70s when Mother and Dad came to Powell to see me, they went to Cody to see Dave, and he insulted her so badly that she never went back. It seems strange to me when the six of us get along so well, that one person could short-circuit that sibling relationship that can be so precious.

Wasden Pictures

Is this the picture of Grandma that also hung in their bedroom? Elizabeth, is this the black dress you wore?

James Brooks Wasden

Letter from Home

By August of 1953, I was getting desperate for more news from home, so I made up this "form" letter, which was pretty nonsensical, but Daddy rose to the bait. One of the funniest things is the way he signed this - and you can tell that we worried about politics, even then. The desperation of the situation on the farm - barely squeaking by - comes through in all of Dad's letters.

Velna's Gourmet Veggie Soup, as Reconstituted by Dwight , Part 2

This is a report. It was another cold, wet, nasty,dreary, cold (did I already say that?) day in the great northwest. So to warm up the body and the spirit, it seemed like the perfect time to try out the recipe section of the blog. Velna's soup offered the most hope of comfort. Bob and I give it the full star value. I am just glad I made a big pot so there will be some to warm up for tomorrow. Once again the blog comes to the rescue. Thank you, one and all.

News from Penrose, June 30, 1953

When this wonderful communication came to me, I had been in Laramie almost a month, and was dreadfully homesick. I had just graduated from high school, had worked two weeks as a secretary for the welfare office in Cody, when Dwight sent word via Western Union that he had a line for a couple of jobs for me if I could come to Laramie with Mother and Louise for his graduation from the University. I jumped at the chance. The two weeks in Cody, staying in a room in the old Green Gables with a bathroom down the hall, and eating in restaurants three times a day had only enhanced my loneliness. (Mother had rescued me during the weekend.) However, I hadn't anticipated the terrific homesickness I would suffer from for most of that summer. Only having Dwight and Velna in the same town saved me - and they were very busy, so I didn't see them too often. Getting letters, notes, etc. from home really saved me, and I'm sure I laughed long and hard at this clever message from Judy.

Important Happenings at Home - Spring 1953

In the spring of 1953, I rebelled against the edict that I could not try out for the Senior Class Play, "The Madwoman of Chaillot", although I had been promised an important part. Mother and Dad's reason (valid, I realized in later years) was that they didn't have the time, energy, or money for gas to take me to play practice 5 nights a week for 6 months. However, I worked a deal with Mrs. Kells, the mother of my friend since 3rd grade, Shirley Kells, and was allowed to stay in town with Shirley during week nights. Then Mother and Dad would pick me up on Friday night. Shirley was involved with the play, also, so we either walked, or she pedaled me to play practice on her bicycle. (I never learned to ride). Because I was gone from home during the week, Ann, who was 11 years old to my 17-almost 18, would send me little notes via Audrey Baxter, a classmate who also rode our bus. This is the only one I can find, but it more than compensates for the loss of the rest. What stupendous news Ann had to tell me! Changes were in the air - I always thought Ann would grow up to become a news reporter, but that didn't prove true. The incredible loyalty that I felt from my siblings has continued through the years.

One important side note. When I went back to live in the house at Penrose from the spring of 1971 to the spring of 1973, the old stove was still there. It didn't work very well anymore, and I was able to buy a new electric stove with a self-cleaning oven. However, the linoleum was still on the floor- almost 20 years later.

P.S. Ann, I hope this isn't embarrasing to you - it is such an endearing communication.