Illionois Small Town Childhood Memories

Hi cousin Alan, 

I only remember Illinois as a ten year old child and maybe for three weeks with Grandma Roberts (your Aunt Mae). If it was hot, I didn't notice it. Too much fun collecting lightning bugs in a jar; riding your horse bareback down a dirt road; slipping and sliding in the back of a wagon full of oats, bugs and grasshoppers, as your Dad brought it in from the fields; watching out for the "mean" goose in your barnyard; climbing Grandma's cherry tree; and endlessly cranking the ice cream churn. Yeah, it could have been hot, but I sure didn't notice. 

My Dad came to visit us at Grandma's. He took us to a movie on the main street of Roberts. That's before they moved the water tower. Back then they hung a huge screen on it and showed a black and white movie with Bob Crosby. (Who knows why this stuck in my head!) The three of us sat on a blanket in the middle of the street to watch. Just before we settled down, Dad took us into the corner soda fountain to get a malt or a shake.

I loved that it didn't get dark until after 9 or so at night. Meant our normal bedtime didn't mean anything in Illinois. Dark always came about 8 PM in CA. Even so, through our complaints that it was still light out, Grandma, at 9 PM would make my baby sister, Marilynn, and I up go upstairs to bed — where we could read for awhile. I'm a reader even today - although you don't like the books I read - i.e. "The Road", Ha Ha!. 

As I'd lie in bed reading in that glowing amber light of twilight, I'd also be waiting for the train whistle to announce the train was going through town along with the rhythmic click-clack of metal wheels against metal tracks. Such a comforting, haunting sound. 

Always one of the fondest memories in my life — that short three or so weeks with Grandma Roberts in Illinois and on your boyhood farm.

Love to you, cousin. So glad we reconnected.

Dawn

6/29/09  Dear Dawn,

o       They were called free movies.  The town merchants paid for them to promote Saturday night business.  That was when all the farmers came to town.  The movies were an extra incentive to be sure and come.  Nearly all the movies had a serial with them.  Tess was bound and laid on the tracks and the train was bearing down on her  -  and then the reel stopped!  You had to return next week to find what happened.  Nearly every small town had 'free movies'.  There was always a popcorn stand.  The one who ran it may have been practising his only source of income during the summer.  It was a time looked forward to by all the youngsters; more so for the commaradie than the movie.  The girls hung with the girls and the boys with the boys.  But they purposely crossed paths to tease and caterwaul each other.  Besides you didn't want to miss, you might catch sight of that pretty/handsom girl/boy that you had your eye on.  You are right, every one brought a blanket to lay down on the street.  And they were shared, you didn't necessarily sit on your own families.  Wonderful times; we'll not see them again - -

o        I have no idea why you remember Bob Crosby - - -

o        You memtion the water tower, did you know that Ralph Bradbury (a cousin of yours, about third) took a dare he could not fly his Piper Cub down main street because the tower was there.  He flew it and managed to raise the plane fast enough not to hit the tower.  You can agree to some weird things while sitting in a tavern.    

o        You are right again, it does get hot in Illinois.  Jane and I often slept on the grass as it was cool and a breeze often helped.  Then Dad built a screened in porch and we slept there.  That reduced our time of scratching mosquito bites considerably.  But I don't ever remember it being too hot to work or play.  

o        I'm glad you remember the farm.  I do too, and your reminiscence caused me to recall fond memories - Thank you, Dawn.  

o       The work you had done at the Robert's grave site is beautiful.  All of my sisters and I marveled over it.  You and Marilynn are to be complimented and praised.  Future generations will be proud to see their forefathers so well remembered.    Love, Alan       

Comments:

·      1) 6/29   Thanks for including me in the e-mail list, I enjoyed it.    Jim Sinsley

·      2) 6/29 Dawn -- you make childhood sound so appealing.  I remember lightning bugs --- something we didn't have in California.  Carolyn Lawson

      

·      3) 6/29    Dawn - What a charming and well written email - It truely is an ode to youth and fun and summer and great childhood memories! Well written too! Looking forward to seeing you on Thursday night! Lots of love – Michelle Milash

·      4) 6/29  Dawn,

o       I drove with Justin to Indiana last week. He got a job working for the Madison County surveying office. Justin's girl friend lives in Indianapolis. We drove really hard. Long distances everyday. I told him from the beginning that we were going to drive through Roberts. We drove past Dad's old house and through "downtown." I was tempted to stop at the Roberts Bar and Grill, but we were still pressed for time (at lease Justin thought we were pressed). We knew exactly where the cemetery was located. He had looked it up on Google maps. My mom gave me general directions to the Roberts grave site, but then lefts were confused with rights. The first familiar name I saw was Uncle Louie. He died in 1982 at the age of 99. Barbara and I met him the previous year when we did a cross country tour with Mom and Dad. Then Justin and I just strolled the rows until we found ROBERTS. Seeing Grandma Roberts' name, Uncle George, Aunt Elsie and Dad's head stone really got me choked up. 

o       I just wanted to tell you what a great job you did with the head stone. It was perfect. I had tried to make connections with people back there the year after Dad died. It just didn't seem to work. I think you had to be there to get the job done. You did it and did a fantastic job. I wish that I would have had some of Dad's ashes to bury there. There will be another time. We cleaned up all the Roberts head stones and took off toward Indiana.20A huge lightning storm greeted us as we hit the highway. It was entertaining for two hours. 

o       I'm headed to San Diego to visit Mom in mid July. Her vision is getting really weak. It will be great to visit her at the "institute." Thanks again sis, Brother Tommy

·      5) 6/30/09  Dawn, You bring back wonderful memories, and they are expressed in a captive, comforting story.  If I had your creative flow and were to write about my childhood, I would choose to relate it exactly like you have! This is really special. Thanks, cousin Dianne Wissmiller

The Sense of Us

The Sense of Us                              in Manitowish Waters, Wisconsin

Dawn Janov with her sister, Marilynn Roberts on their sister trip                                 June 10, 2006

 

Soft as a kiss for a newborn.

Quiet as a fawn that is hiding.

Comfort in a sweater well worn.

Here is a place for the finding.

Sharp as a twig that is broken.

Beauty in all that you see.

For others a place that will open

Doors to a deep inner peace.

Listen to the lap of the lake

Partnered with the chirp of a bird.

What a great way to wake

Without ever hearing a word.

Thanks to you, John and Barbara McFarland.

It is a perfect plan.

The neat, restful, darlin’

The cabin of the "Otter Clan!"

Horse Farm Babies

    Whew, going through photo boxes and albums the other day, the waves of memories were overwhelming. My friend Kathleen said, "Leave it for your kids to go through." But there are stories here and I'm a storyteller. Maybe it has to do with my long ago Cherokee genes, they were great storytellers, too.

    I've been a great believer in dreams, not ones that you have when sleeping, but dreams of what you want in life, what makes you happy. Since before I can remember, I've been obsessed with horses. My mother told me as a three year old, I would sit in a corner of the room and pretend clothes pins were my horses. In high school, when my friends got their drivers license they were excited to drive to the beach and hang out. Me, I drove to the Irvine Buffalo Ranch, took horseback riding lessons, helped feed and water the horses, cleaned stalls and drank in the smells and dreams of my own horse ranch.

    After college and much hated office jobs, my family doctor treating me for an ulcer, told me to stop making my parents happy with their expectations and go to Colorado, get a job on a dude ranch where I could be happy wrangling horses. Man that was a real shock to my system. Cried many tears of fear that I could actually do it, but I did just that.

    The Tumbling River Dude Ranch in Grant, Colorado, is where I landed. It was a small ranch - only 42 guests at a time. As the new wrangler, I asked Ray, the old head wrangler, what horse he wanted me to have to lead the trail rides. He laughed and said, "Pick any one out there."

    There was a stout buckskin that caught my eye, but not my rope. I followed that horse around for what seemed like an hour. It was quite the game, just when I'd get close enough to touch him, off he'd go around the corral... again. Finally I cornered him in an open stall, but that was only the start of my troubles with that horse. He spooked at everything, a rock, the wind through the trees, a cracking stick under his feet. His nose would go right up in the air and he'd wildly try to run. Now how can you run on a narrow mountain trail looking up on the sky? I rode that horse every day, leading rides, tailing rides. Put a tie-down to hold his head down helped somewhat, but I never got use to the sash-shays along trail.

    Halfway through the summer, Ray gave me my first spurs and said I'd earned them. I was hooked on horses even stronger then.

    That's my son, Jeremy, when he was 11 with the first foal born on our farm, Darq Sirocco, a black Arabian. Can't you see the champion that he later became? The horse and my son, both winners. The top photo is Jerry Sindt, trainer, with Sirocco winning a National Championship.

    Life happens in it's own time-frame. I was 32 when I finally bought my first horse, 38 when I bought my horse farm in Scholls, Oregon. By chance, my horses won in the Arabian show ring — big. Their babies won even more. It was a great life for myself and my two children.

    This is my daughter, Diane, on Champion Darq Moon. This was the first horse I bought. We called her "Suzie." Don't ask, because we don't know why. That's just who she was to us.

    The palomino mare above is Penny, a Saddlebred/Arabian cross who didn't have a baby who wasn't a champion at the horse shows. The baby by her side was one of my favorites, Wind Dancer. As soon as she could stand up, she was dancing, racing, prancing in style.

    I miss them all, through Mt. St. Helen's eruption and the ensuing ash, to the  difficult decision to sell them so they could fulfill their destiny. But they are all there in my memory, their smell, the sound of munching alfalfa and grain, their funny baby antics, their beautiful eyes, their trust. It's all there, just as though I can reach out and touch them... one more time.

Southern California Gal Hits Below Zero & Grey Skies Forever

If you were not raised in California, this story is for you. My first winter in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan was a real eye opener. Renting a too big, but very nicely furnished house in Bessmer, Michigan was a great start to my first winter experience. It was snowing and so beautiful. After dinner it was still snowing and even though is was dark, the streetlights cast delightful blue shadows on the new snow. It was quiet too. Unlike the patter of rain or the wind, snow doesn't make any noise. Snow seems to insulate any noise.

The next morning I jumped out of bed. I couldn't wait to look outside. It was another grey day, but it had stopped snowing. OMG! The snow had completely covered those bushes along our sidewalk. Just white lumps now. I couldn't wait to get out and play in that soft-looking white stuff.

What? The back door won't open. The snow has piled up against it. Here's another find. Snow can be heavy. Who knew? My husband, from this North Country, had to climb out a window and shovel the snow away before we could get out to do a few errands and later have lunch with his Aunt Mary and Uncle Joe.

I had been warned to layer my clothing to keep warm. No problem, long turtleneck, sweater, jacket. Throwing a knit hat on my head, pulling those boots on, out I went. Brrr. It was so cold. How cold was it? Zero. That's thirty-two degrees below freezing!

Plowing my way through snow up to my knees was damn hard work. Certainly not soft. Fell once and it hurt. Then I tried to get up, what a joke. Thank heavens my husband, trying not to laugh, came over to give me a hand or I'd have floundered there until Spring.

Couldn't understand why my nose kept running. Hard to wipe your nose with gloves on. Of course taking them off and on all the time made my hands numb with the cold. I wondered how I would know when frostbite sets in.

I'm cold in every inch of my body, my feet are cold, and my nose is frozen, though still dripping. There is not a warm spot on me. Finally we get to our lunch date. It is a custom for everyone to take off their snowy, wet boots in the entry. So I complied and tugged those icky boots off.

"Oh, child," Aunt Mary had a shocked look on her face. "Where are your socks?" Looking down at my bare feet, I answered, "I don't own any socks." You see no one wears socks in California - sometimes pantyhose with heels for that special occasion, but no socks with tennis shoes or flats. These were my first boots ever.

Well, I've never been rushed anywhere as fast as Aunt Mary rushed me upstairs, opened a drawer and gave me a pair of Uncle Joe's wool socks. Ah, they felt so wonderful and warm. I'll be eternally grateful for those socks.

P.S. I also learned that jeans are not warm!!! Wool pants and long underwear are what you wear "Up North." 

All Alone in a Furious Storm... help!

It wasn't quite dark. Just dark enough to create long, long shadows that danced a crazy jig across the road because the wind was BLOWING hard. No one else on this narrow two-lane road, my knuckles are white on the steering wheel. Here comes the rain... in sheets. I'm going through the heavily treed area now where the branches meet over the road in angry waving blows. Was that a scream? Man, my imagination is working overtime. The road is very wet, it's getting darker, I'm slowing down. Maybe that's not a good idea.

Dark. Very dark. Still raining torrents. Hard to see the road. The headlights are making strange images, or maybe they're just in my head. Is that my heart I hear beating? Got to remember to breathe. Ah, that's better. Now relax the shoulders. Oops, better pay attention to the road.

Gosh I hope I recognize the driveway. No street lights on this back country road. Ever so often, a glitter of light comes from a house way off in the distance as I pass by. That's a good sign. Getting into the area of lake houses at Little Girl's Point right on Lake Superior.

Yes, there it is, the Seagull Point sign. I pull into the narrow driveway, and run towards the cottage with my key at the ready. Luc, my long-haired Chihuahua is shaking at my feet. We're getting soaked, but I do manage to open the front door and burst into the dark house. On with the lights. Seems warmer already. Amazing how that works. Turning on the heat. What no heat? Just great. The temperature is dropping and it is cold. Oh no, all the lights go out. Calling the owner, now. He tells me the pilot light always blows out during a storm. Nice of him to tell me now. Also I'm told that the power will probably be out for days and that his handyman wont come out until tomorrow afternoon to relight the pilot light. Hey, but he does offer his cabin next door that has a wood burning stove.

After telling me details of how to get in, I gather my overnight things and head out with my little long-haired Chihuahua, Luc, who does not like this one bit. I've got my Gortex jacket hood tied tight, boots on. Luc has his raincoat on, too. Out in the dark again, with only a flashlight lighting about two feet in front of us. Luc is terrified but follows closely. The windbursts throw the rain around us. Luc is jumping in 180 degree turns. Finally we slosh our way over to the cabin next door. 

Yes, I found candles, matches and paper. In no time, the fire is roaring and Luc and I are drying out. Went upstairs to get a pillow and blanket for I'm certainly bunking on the couch in front of the fire tonight. Will morning ever come? Huddling with Luc under the covers... Please sleep, come quickly.

Running with the Deer

A few years ago on my way to Gogebic Airport in Ironwood, Michigan, under a bright sunshiny day, a cloudless blue sky and the grass waving waist high in nearby fields, I saw a doe with triplets peaking up over the grass. "Do you suppose that doe had all three fawns?" I asked, "Maybe she adopted an orphan?" With a quick smile and a knowledgeable nod, my forester friend told me, "I've seen triplets before, but it is rare." I'm sure that not everyone gets as much pleasure as I do seeing these three little ones in the most perfect setting, but for me, it is always lucky to see deer.

My cottage at Little Girl's Point is about a 20 minute drive to Ironwood, Michigan, the nearest town. Usually I would come home after dark. Everyone warned me to watch out for deer. It seems that deer hit cars on a regular basis in the UP (upper peninsula).

My car's speed drops from fifty-five miles an hour during the daytime hours when deer doze, to thirty-five mph from twilight on. I did see a lot of deer and felt fortunate when these majestic creatures would look at me from the side of the road, then flap their huge white tail and bound away.

One night on Lake Road, I had slowed down to twenty-five mph to make a sharp turn when a large doe jumped from nowhere right by the driver's side of the car. I didn't know whether to stop or hit the gas, so the car sort of did a little dance of indecision while to my surprise, the doe ran right alongside the car. It was magic looking eye to eye with her as we ran together down the road for what seemed like a very long time.

Since then, I've been told that fox and bear will also run beside a car. My, oh my!

Lake Superior in the Fall

Lake Superior is calling me. I can feel the nip in the air. Fall is coming soon. I've got to go back. The leaves start their neon color parade soon. They are so bright in the sunshine then flutter with shadows of blinkling lights under the canopy of hardwood trees. The hue is so intense, it actually hurts your eyes with flaming reds, oranges, green halfway to yellow. You won't believe it, but look closely at the photo on the right. I actually found trees with leaves turning pink!

It's a magic time for me. The smell of leaves falling down to the moist dirt below, turning into dank mulch. My eyes seem to see the forest, a wildflower, more sharply, more clearly. Ears on alert as a hawk shrieks overhead, or a twig that breaks under my feet. The touch of a loved one's hand in yours, a finger running along your check that follows down to a sweet kiss on soft lips.

There's a cottage at Little Girl's Point where I usually stay. A tiny white cottage that sits in a stand of trees with a panorama view of the Lake - Madeline Island to the west and the Porcupine Mountains to the east. Every morning as soon as it's light, I race to the big picture window in the kitchen to see what the Lake is up to. Some times, it is a shinny mirror broken only by a few whistling swans making their "V" ripple in the water. Other times, the wind whips up waves reminiscent of my California beach days. Every now and then I see off in the distance iron ore ships going toward Duluth, a fishing boat or two. I'm so homesick.