My summer of 1958, part 1

If you had said to me, “Remember the time you lived at the farm and the well was dry?” I would have responded, “I remember the farm, but don’t recall a problem with the water.”

That’s why it’s nice to have a diary, that retro pen and paper version of a blog, which stands for [world wide] web log. While searching for another notebook, I unpacked a box and found my diary from 1958, a stenographer’s notebook with green tint pages and perfect handwriting in real ink, telling about my days with my grandparents on their farm between Franklin Grove and Ashton, Illinois.  I was there from June 1 to July 12, 1958, and indeed, the water problems were a focus of the first few weeks. I’d totally forgotten that part about pumping water, using a bucket, and driving to my parents’ home to take a bath.

To back up a bit, you need to understand my mother.  Just the sweetest and dearest soul, and always had a solution to anyone’s problem, especially anyone in her family. After my freshman year at Manchester College I wasn’t happy, and wanted to transfer, but I also needed a job for the summer.  My Oakwood dorm friends had all secured something interesting or exciting, and I was faced with going back to Mt. Morris and perhaps working at the drug store where I worked in high school, if it had reopened by then (had been a fire), or fill in at the town library (yawn) where I’d also worked in high school.

The steno pad’s first 10 pages were filled with notes comparing Manchester with Murray--the history, religion connections, majors, costs (Manchester’s tuition and fees were higher, but room and board lower—and all laughable by today’s standards, ca. $1,000/year).  Also in the steno pad were notes about the University of Chicago in a fine arts curriculum and vocational guidance with a minor in Spanish. Expenses were higher—about $1,755, but student jobs looked plentiful.  And then notes about the University of Illinois, what would transfer, a major in Spanish and a minor in Russian.  The notes end there, but I did transfer to Illinois and just by coincidence, that’s where my boyfriend was.

So back to Mother.  I got a little sidetracked.  She knew I was unhappy and that I didn’t have a job;  she knew her parents who were 82 and 84 (b. 1876 and 1874) shouldn’t be alone in their big old farm house in very poor condition. Although Mother and her siblings Muriel and Leslie, and the neighbors checked in often, it wasn’t the same as someone in residence. Neither one of them would consider moving, although they did spend their winters in an apartment in Orlando, Florida. Somehow, Mother convinced me I’d be doing her a favor if I worked as a housekeeper for Grandma, and she also convinced Grandma that Norma needed a summer job. Perfect.  She was a master at this! My grandparents didn’t really want me there (weren’t convinced they needed any help) and I couldn’t have imagined a less inviting or a more lonely place to be (I had spent the summer of 1957 in California at a church mission in Fresno and a year at college with many friends), but my mother appealed to my “missionary” spirit which was still rather strong in those days. I was the 50’s version of the SJW—social justice warrior.

I arrived at the farm about 4:15 on June 1, 1958.  My brother drove me there and helped unload all my clothes. . . .Stay tuned for the next installment of the Summer of 1958 down on the farm.

Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

Repeal the Death Tax--from 0 to 35% in 2011

"America’s family businesses and farmers were hit by a large estate tax increase, from 0% to 35%, at the beginning of 2011, making planning and passing on farms and businesses to the next generation even more difficult. As it stands, more than 70% of family businesses do not survive to the second generation, and a full 90% of family businesses do not survive to the third. In 2011, the political landscape has changed but family businesses are still struggling, family farms are liquidating, and even more jobs are at stake."

I didn't realize the death tax had made such a comeback. Why does the Obama administration hate small businesses and farmers so much? Easy. They are the backbone of the economy, and he wants it to collapse. So when conservatives say we want him to fail, we mean we don't want him to collapse the economy with oppressive taxes and regulations that destroy businesses and jobs.

My mother and her siblings inherited their parents' farms in Illinois and Iowa when they died in 1963 and 1968, however, the taxes then were so oppressive, most of the land had to be sold in order to pay the taxes.

"As part of the tax deal struck at the end of 2010, Congress set the death tax at 35 percent with a $5 million exemption for 2011 and 2012. The death tax did not apply in 2010 because the 2001 and 2003 tax relief abolished the harmful tax. Even though the death tax is resurrected, the new rate and exemption levels represent a substantial improvement from where the death tax was in 2000 before the tax cuts: 60 percent with just a $1 million exemption. Despite the positive advances the death tax is back in place and therefore has resumed destroying jobs and slowing the economy."

Death Taxes

2958 Friday Family Photo

Isn't this the most magnificent woodwork? It is called "pumpkin pine" and was used throughout my grandparents' home in Franklin Grove, IL. It is the heart wood from old growth white pine, so is extinct, I think. When I was a little girl, it had darkened, or may have even been stained dark, but my mother refinished every square inch in the house in the late 1960s. In fact, because she did it all by hand, she developed carpal tunnel and had surgery on her wrists. At one time there was a huge left over board in the garage--boards that width just don't exist anymore for pine.
My grandparents were lured back to Illinois from Kansas around 1908 with this farm (my interpretation) to help her father, then in his 80s. She was the only survivor of their four children, her oldest brother having recently died of blood poisoning from an injury on his farm near Ashton. The farm house was pieced together from a small house ca. 1850s, and a larger early 1900's style. Grandma completely remodeled it, adding this gracious dining room with a bedroom and balcony above it where she had hanging plants and flowers.

The photo was taken in July 1987 at an impromptu family picnic with a bunch of cousins, aunts and uncles, grandparents and siblings from both sides of my family, some meeting for the first time and probably last time. For over a decade, Mother had used the house as a retreat center for church groups and family reunions, but by 1987, my niece was renting it from her and that very happy period of Mom's life was over.

Mother is the little one on the left--all the furniture you see--the oak dining room table and chairs, and the birch kitchen chairs--was refinished and recaned by her in the 1960s. Next to her is my father's cousin Sharon, her daughter Christie, then my sister and me. I think we had about 20 people at the picnic--played badminton, croquet and enjoyed the beautiful scenery, which might just look like soy beans, corn, towering pine trees and acres of blue sky to the rest of you, but looks like home to me.

HT to my niece Amy, who gave me this photo, languishing in the attic of the farm house for years.

2188 Housing reruns

In the late 1960s, my brother bought the two bedroom house my parents purchased (their second, I think) in the 1940s. It's the first home I remember--where I kept falling down the stairs, where I sat on the front porch waiting for the mailman, where I made tents out of blankets and the dining room furniture. After her parents died in the 1960s my mother converted their farm home into a retreat center for small church groups and family reunions. My children have many happy memories of the big house and yard and vistas of cornfields and soybeans because we vacationed there during their growing up years. After my mother died in 2000, my father bought the small Lustron that his parents had built in 1950, and so we were all able enjoy that home a second time too. I almost expected to see grandma, who died in 1983, walking around the corner when I visited him. I never actually lived in the little 1950s home my parents lived in the longest (38 years), and when they sold it before moving to a retirement complex, they turned it over to my cousin's son. My grandparents' farm home near Franklin Grove that Mom remodeled in the 1960s is now owned by my brother, and his son lives there. But a bachelor's tastes are very different, and he likes bare floors and rustic antiques. When I visited there last fall, I really missed Mom because all traces of her are gone.