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Copyright © 1993, Dale Isbell Excerpted from an e-robin email from Nelda Petrusich: 12oct2002 This summer though, I made a very cool discovery. I was looking in a Graber family history book (Regina Senner's aunt Katherina married a Peter Graber) and was facinated by a family that lost 7 of their 11 children. When I got to looking, here I found that in the 1950's they lived about an hour from where we live. I found a matching name in the phone book and called and sure enough it was the person. Long story short, that branch of the family all lives near by Salem Oregon. They were going to be having a Schrag family reunion and we went to that in September. (Regina Senner's mother was a Schrag.) After doing some research I found that we were related to these Schrag's 4 different ways. The reunion was fun and we got to meet many new relatives. They are mainly still all mennonite. I was able to get a Schrag family tree and also one of the relatives wrote a book about her family and their migration and life. It is called "For His Sake" by Mildred Schrock and they are still available. Return to Contents
From Geoff Anderson, 28oct2002
I remember mixed-feelings about our regular summer trips in the early 50's. This usually meant visiting our ample supply of cousins. With 12 pairs of aunts and uncles on mom's side alone, we typically never went to visit the unrelated. Of course, I was always completely overwhelmed by the presence of more than 2 or 3 people that I didn't know really well. So, at the Isbells', with about 9 cousins spanned a couple decades - not counting the recently revealed older sister we met in Palm Springs - my petals folded inward and I stayed in the corner.
Our family eked out a fair living in the early 50's. When I was 3-4 years old in Nanton, we had a water pump in the yard (although we likely had water inside as well - I don't think it ever came up for me.) When I was 5-6 years old in Sterling we had chickens, a cow that calved the second winter, a water pump at the sink and an outside toilet. Toward the end of our stay in that little house, mom established a chemical toilet in the closet, not exactly a water closet. As I recall, the closet was reserved for Mom. The lads invited to use it only in the deep winter months and for midnight tinkles.
For the 45 years that I remember, Mother always had her usual bags of goodwill items; historic tales of visits to second-hand stores with her sisters were legend. With mother, little was done in half-measures. She took comfort in an ample supply of semi-useful stuff. I recall cleaning-out the stashes of goodwill items from her one bedroom apartment after she died; this impulse began in her youth and grew to a crescendo.
Yet, I recall a sort of culture shock visiting the Isbell's. Aunt Dale was the great soul of our extended family. With so much radiant love, she still made room for an equal helping of religion. I remember the stories filled with the toughness of Rocky and the other boys, the inherent romance of the woods, and even Cousin Bob's encounter with the bear. It was a lot for a shy guy to wrap himself around.
I felt our family always had everything we wanted, although economic struggle went with the fierce winters of the post-war prairies. But the Isbell family was country and pretty poor. My childhood was simple; at Steelhead, life was spare. There were few "things" to provided texture. I remember a garden, buckets of water from the spring, and an "outside" pit toilet - we only visited in the summer, but that was rustic enough. I'd forgotten the farm animals.
It was a gauge of the relative deprivation (or was it politeness) of Dale's family how they swooped in on the 2nd hand provisions (stuff) mother had brought along. For mom, this must have been a strong reinforcement to her "Provider Aunt" identity - wherein mom took $3 to the 2nd-hand store and miraculously provided for a dozen relatives for the coming cold harsh winter. My mother loved to share her abundance, "Give a girl a dress and she will be warm for the winter, teach her to shop 2nd-hand, and . . . . "
Doug Anderson's Intro (to the proper application of dietary fiber) Milton Anderson's Last Schoolyard Fight
By the early '50's, when his sons, Geoff & Doug [yours truly] were in elementary school, he loved to tell his short sweet story as an example of the "only effective way to deal with a bully". We listened carefully, however we were city boys in Seattle and our only schoolyard resources were mudpuddles, so in our personal retellings, the savor of country life is lost.
Milton's story: "Yes boys, I know what it's like to have some ignoramus try to push you around every day. And get his pals to help him. Before we moved into Calgary [so Milton could go to a high school where geometry, calculus, Shakespeare, and what passed for French were taught], a damned big farm boy was constantly trying to pick a fight with me. We played ball after school out on the baseball diamond, which was in the middle of the pasture where we left our horses during school hours. Well I slid safe into second, this moron swore he tagged me out, and a shoving match ensued. I got a good headlock on him, and rode him to the ground just like bulldogging a calf. But he was still yelling and carrying on and calling for his pals to help. Well I had to shut him up...and all that was handy was a nice fresh steaming pile of, you guessed it, Rocky Mountain road apples!"
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From Eddie and Virginia Mccann, 28oct2002 Thankyou for your stories of the old days. It seems that preserving old memories becomes even more important after you become orphaned. I guess you could sort of accuse us of living in the past. When we first bought our farm out here near Onoway, it came complete with a 16'x20' one-room log cabin, 1938 vintage. The outside surfaces of the logs had been very roughly hand hewn with an ax. The chinking was not in the best condition, but we being young, romantic, and foolish, moved in during the month of March with our three children, the youngest of which was only three months old. The inside of the cabin was covered with blue building paper. It was cold and the wind blew straight through the walls making it difficult to keep the calendars on the walls. There was no electricity and no usable well. Eddie dug a well on the other quarter of land where we planned to build our house. We heated the place with a cookstove and a pot bellied heater. Although we were totally isolated sometimes for days at a time when it rained and the road got muddy, we thought pioneering was great fun! We lived in the cabin for one and a half years until we got a small house built. We had the cabin moved to our new yard site so we could use it for storage. There it stood for about 30 years. Then last year we finally had to either burn it or restore it. Eddie spent several weeks working on it. He had it moved to the other side of the lake. As a matter of fact it looks much better now than when we lived in it. Among the furnishings are a heater, washstand and medicine cabinet that Mom and Dad had in the old house I was born in. We love to go there to spend the night when we feel the need to get away from it all. We don't just reminice we live out our memories. Is it fun? You Bet! Return to Contents
Steelhead, BC c. 1957
One night when Bob was fourteen years old, he heard a
disturbance near a pen of baby pigs. It sounded like a dog
fight. Bob went out to see what was happening. He carried
his 22 rifle.
His dog was involved in a noisy confrontation in the brush
behind the pig pen. Bob went around to the other side
along a logging road to gain another perspective.
Suddenly a bear came crashing out of the brush. It was
standing about six feet away, erect with its front paws
raised overhead. Bob put the single-shot 22 to his
shoulder, got off a shot, turned around and ran. Soon he
became aware that the bear hadn't chased him, so he went
back to investigate. The bear was lying in the trail. Bob
had fatally wounded the creature through the lung.
The local paper ran an article on Bob, likening him to
Daniel Boone.
It happened in Fred Meyers. For those of you who do not live in the
Pacific Northwest, Fred Meyers is a grocery-department store. Think of
Kmart plus groceries. A sick friend had asked me to pick up some Tussin
and some Actifed.
I found the Tussin (generic variety containing guiafenesin and
pseudoephedrine hydrochloride, plus a cough suppressant) but the generic
form of Actifed was not on the shelf. Instead, there was a sign referring
the customer to the pharmacy counter.
At the pharmacy counter I asked for two generic Actifed boxes, and
received them. Then I went to the self-check-out counter and began
vigorously waving my purchases over the bar-code scanner. My two packages
of Tussin went by smoothly, as did the first Actifed package. When I
entered the second Actifed package the screen said, "Take item to checker".
The checker informed me that I could not buy more than three items
containing pseudoephedrine. Washington State has recently passed a law
to that effect. I suggested to her that it was a foolish law, and in
view of the fact that I was not operating a drug lab, the law ought not
apply to me, and further that we should together conspire to break that
law.
She wouldn't agree to do that, for it would, as she explained, put the
store in legal jeopardy. So I went back to my groceries and finished
checking out. As I passed the checker, I asked her for the package of
Actifed. She refused to give it to me, even though I assured her I would
go through the checkstand and pay for it.
I abandoned that effort and went immediately to the pharmacy. I asked
the same pharmacy clerk I had dealt with before to get me another package
of generic Actifed. She mentioned that I had just purchased two. I
admitted to that. She then asked the Pharmacist if it was alright to sell
me a third package. He said it was, and the deal was consummated.
On my way out of the store I was tensed in anticipation of being
accosted by the clerk, being shipped off to jail, serving hard time for a
violation of the drug laws, learning how to be a professional criminal in
prison, and my ultimate release to wreak vengeance upon an unjust society.
So far, so good. (Editor's Note: This manuscript arrived with no return
address. An enclosed note advised it was intended for the Round Robin
website. It was signed, "The Black Sheep".)
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