Vestibule to Heaven
After my Mother and Father's lengthy honeymoon, they decided to settle down in
Springfield, Missouri. I have no knowing how many years they lived there, but I do
know that my sister, Velva Jean, was born there.
My father felt that he didn't want to live permanently in Springfield, and when he
learned that there was a Soldiers Home in Danville, Illinois, he told my Mother he
would like to move there because some of his buddies who served with him in the
Spanish-American War would very likely be there, and he would like to visit with them
from time to time, so they moved to Danville. Danville was my birth place, and almost
three years after my birth my brother, Lawrence, was born. Our parents were so pleased,
for after having two daughters, they were now blessed with a son.
Mama and we children grew to love living in Danville as in a short while we had acquired
quite a number of friends, and our close neighbors were wonderfully dear and kind.
We loved visiting with an elderly couple who lived just across the street and who were
as loving to us children as if they were our grandparents, and we loved them dearly.
That happy relationship was not to last, for again, our Father wanted to pull up stakes.
He was raised, you see, on a very large farm near Frankfort, Indiana, and since quite a
few of his relatives, including two brothers and their families, lived in and around
Frankfort, he desired to move there, and so we did.
Just as soon as we were moved though, we were warmly welcomed by quite a number of
relatives, and this lifted our spirits greatly. Mama really liked her sister-in-laws,
and we children were overjoyed with having cousins -- some about our ages -- to play
with. We soon grew to love living in Frankfort, and our Mama became happier than we
had ever known her to be!
A wonderful big consolidated school was barely two blocks away, and this pleased Mama.
My sister, Velva Jean, who was almost three years older than I, was the first to go to
school there, and she loved it. I could hardly wait until I was old enough to go, and
when I was finally old enough, I was one happy child! I loved my teachers and was
fascinated with books, and was so thrilled over being taught to read. A number of our
cousins attended classes in that school also, and it was so nice seeing them between
classes, going up and down the big wide stairs. They always called cheerily and waved
to me.
Saturdays were very special times as Mama would take us children downtown to shop.
First, though, we had to take baths, and while we were bathing, she chose the clothing
she wanted us to wear. She assisted us with getting dressed, and with a pleased smile,
she would tell us how pretty we looked. Mama always looked pretty, too, with her long hair
coiled with a fancy comb atop her head, and the little curls that fringed her face
made her look all the more attractive.
The little curls were made by wrapping short strands of hair with "kid curlers." She
looked so dressed up in her pretty long skirt and frilly blouse. For dress-up times,
she wore very high heels, as being short of stature they gave her a high society look.
She wore fancy petticoats under her dress skirt, and as we walked, we could hear her
petticoats swishing with her every step. She always smelled of sweet scented talcum
powder and had a clove in her mouth to sweeten her breath, she would say, but removed it
from her mouth when she arrived to where she was going. We loved being with Mama and
were so proud of her, and were so glad she was our Mama.
We didn't live but a short distance from downtown, so we enjoyed the walk, only we children
practically danced all the way as going shopping with Mama was such a happy time. It was
fun going in stores where Mama shopped, and we never fussed about waiting through her time
of shopping because we knew we would be rewarded! For when she had purchased the items
she came for, she took us children to the Ice Cream Parlor for delicious treats, and how
we did enjoy that!
Now, because Dad never got over missing farm life, unbeknown to Mama and us children,
he had been looking for a "just-right" farm in the farming areas around Frankfort, but
to no avail. One day he told Mama and us children about his disappointment, but added
that he had learned about a farm much like he wanted to own, and that it was for sale.
The owner was selling because he was quite elderly and no longer able to take care of it.
Dad said the farm was about ninety miles southwest of Frankfort, and that he wanted to go
see it, and he left. When he returned, he told us that he had bought it and seemed in
"higher spirits" than he ever had been!
This was very sad news, though, for Mama and us children, because we were so happy being
near our relatives, and we found it very hard to be cheerful knowing we had to leave the
happy life we had enjoyed with our dear cousins, aunts and uncles.
When we first moved to the farm, we went through a bleak time, trying to accept that
different way of life and adjust to it, but folks began coming from the little town of
Stanford, Indiana, and from the nearby farms, to welcome us. They told us about their
active and interesting way of life, and the warmth of their visits lifted Mama's spirits
greatly. We children were happy that, once again, we would have young friends our ages
to enjoy being with.
Our farm was not nearly as large as the surrounding farms, but out father said it had
been a very productive one and it would be again as he had plans to make every acre
yield it's full potential.
Mama was pleased that there was a wonderfully big apple orchard, pear trees, cherry
trees, quite a few Alberta peach trees that produced large, luscious peaches, which one
could break in half easily, and there were grape harbors, too. Mama was delighted that
she would have an abudance of fruit to preserve and for us to eat.
When we arrived on the farm, it was the beginning of planting time, and my Father
planted a nice vegetable garden for our use, as well as a large "truck garden" in which
he planted vegetables that he would see at the markets in town. Also, he bought a flock
of laying hens and planted an acre of strawberries and black raspberries. Our small
farm was becoming lovely to look upon. Our father also bought a nice mare, a milk cow,
some pigs to fatten, and the tools he needed to work with. Although he worked long hours,
he was content and seemed proud of his many accomplishments.
In a few years of time, the farm was being wonderfully productive. The picking of
strawberries and raspberries were chores for my sister and me, along with the help of
our brother. We had begun picking early in the morning so Dad could take the crates into
town to the markets. Then, we were assigned the chore of hoeing the garden while Dad
was gone. I had plans to go see my dear elderly friend, Ellen, that afternoon, so I hurried
with my hoeing and would cut a plant down once in a while. And Lawrence, who was hoeing
a few rows from me and being so careful, became unnerved over my fast hoeing. He would
say, "Elda, Elda, Dad will kill you," but I couldn't slow down for I had told Ellen about
the time I would come for my visit. So, having brough a can of water to "replant" the
ones I had snipped off, I hoped they would stay "alive-looking" for several days, and
by that time, Dad would be blaming their demise on cut worms, which had been plaguing
us for some time. A bit of lunch and a bath in Mama's galvanized wash tub soon put me
in the pink.
I was an unusual child, I suppose, for though I enjoyed all my young friends, I so loved
to visit my elderly friends, especially Ellen, whom I visited often! I was intrigued
all the while she shared the experiences of her earlier life.
The burning dust from the road could be felt through my sandals, so I hurried my steps,
but the road that zigzagged through Stanford was fringed with big shade trees on both
sides, and so I meandered more slowly in that enveloping coolness which was as
refreshing as a cool drink.
Dear Ellen was waiting at her gate to greet me. Her wrinkled face was beaming in a
happy "Welcome!" She suggested that we sit a spell in the two-person swing set that
was placed near the deep well with the old oaken bucket. She then drew an icy bucket
of water to give me a drink. A big oak tree blessed us with a wide spread of shade, and
it was so pleasant to sit there with Ellen and to listen to her soft voice.
I shall never forget what a saintly sight she was with her "crowning glory" of long
hair coiled atop her head, and I loved walking up and down the cobblestone paths that
separated her rows of vegetables and flowers. She was wearing a long calico dress,
and as we walked, it swished crispily.
Flowers were her love and her hobby, and they were a bright living picture -- a
splendourous site! As we sauntered up and down the paths, she would stoop to cup a
special bloom with her hand with reverence. Oh, the very air was filled with a sweet
fragrance that caused me to feel like being in Fairyland. It was fascinating watching
the butterflies busily sipping nectar from the flowers, and I was certain that the
reason they were so beautiful was because they feasted on beauty.
These afternoons were such happy times, and when finally it was time to leave, I felt
sad to leave Ellen, but I came back to visit as often as I could. So, we waved goodbye,
and I hurried my steps toward home.
We were blessed with several years of enjoying those very special visits, and I shall
ever remember how entertaining Ellen was with sharing interesting happenings from her
earlier years. I learned so much from her that I've since applied to my own life.
After having enjoyed her beautiful flowers so much, I was sure that one day I would have
a beautiful flower garden and yard, too.
In late summer, Ellen became quite ill, and a daughter came to take care of her. She
lingered for weeks, and I felt so sad as I wished she could get well, but by Fall, she
was more ill. In a short while, she went away to Heaven. I missed her dreadfully, but
one thing I knew, that she didn't have very far to go, for her flower garden was truly
the "Vestibule to Heaven!"
--by Elda Elizabeth (Routh) Eddleman (1910-1999)
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