Grandma (part 2)

I have worked in the church since I was thirteen years old, taking charge of a Sunday school class at that time. I had been secretary in Primary and counselor in Mutual before I was married and left the Joseph ward.

Our social events and parties were different in our small community than those in larger towns and later years, but we had many enjoyable times as growing girls and boys. We learned to skate, play ball, ride horse, fly kites, walk stilts, wade and swim, and minds. For more quiet and refined parties we would have oyster suppers, ice cream, or honey or molasses candy pulls. Or we would have popcorn and parched corn parties. They were all fun.

One outstanding summer party was the bull-berry gathering. We would take our buckets and walk about two miles to the meadows down by the river. Here we worked hard, breaking limbs from the big bushes, and placed them on canvas blankets, then with sticks we beat the berries off and filled our buckets. Even our lunch pails were filled after we ate our noon meal. We were tired but happy girls who trudged home at dusk with our heavy loads of bright red berries to make jelly for school lunches the following winter.

When I was about eight years old, I heard and saw for the first time, a phonograph. It was a rather peculiar machine, having roll records. We paid five cents to have the rubber tubes put in our ears, and hear two or three tunes. One I distinctly remember was “The Swannee River.”

We had a very happy home, and our parents were kind and understanding, but firm with us children. We were expected to obey and to do our share of the tasks in the home. We were taught to pray when we were very young. In fact, I can’t remember when I first knelt in prayer at my mother’s knee or by my little bed, then we always had our family prayer at least one a day.

A night if I was a really good little girl, and got ready for bed willingly, I was invited, maybe, to spend a short time in bed with my father before my mother retired. This was my real treat, to be wrapped in papa’s arms and exchange our little secrets, and until I was quite a grown girl I still loved to sit on his knee or the arm of his big rocking chair, and comb his hair and caress him a little when he relaxed for the evening after his hard day on the farm. Lucky is the little girl who has a wise and loving father, and a beautiful sweet mother to teach the gospel by their very fine inspiring way.

When I was about fourteen years old my father was the parent in charge of the ward dances and I was allowed to go with him and mother sometimes. I shall never forget the thrill I had when he so politely chose me for a quadrille, and how much care he took to teach me how to swing gracefully, change partners on time, and stand erectly like a real lady when it wasn’t my turn to dance.

In my imagination my father was almost perfect. I assisted him with the chores about the yard and farm, he taught me the true gospel of Jesus Christ. His conception of the two great commandments was broad indeed. He truly loved the Lord and his fellow men.