The Willawaw

By Hugh Singleton

In the valley of the Chattahoochee the consistently muddy river flows at a rapid pace between the tree-lined banks of plantations established in the days when the red man occupied most of Georgia, Alabama, and Florida. Andrew Jackson had yet to bring his army to Horseshoe Bend and determined white men often had to defend themselves from hungry red scavengers who regularly raided along the river in Georgia, then escaped into Alabama with livestock from the Georgia farms, often leaving dead and wounded farmers in their wake. Owners constantly searched for different ways to intimidate the fierce warriors. This was said to be when the Willawaw came into existence, although nothing of a factual nature was ever found to substantiate the rumors.
     Captain Winston Burnett, owner of the four thousand acre Burnett Plantation, was credited by his slaves with releasing the Willawaw on the banks of the Chattahoochee in response to a raid which resulted in the loss of almost fifty prime beef cattle. Captain Burnett never claimed credit for the Willawaw, nor did he ever admit having anything to do with the massacre of a thirty-eight member raiding party found two days later lying dead and mutilated less than a day’s distance into Alabama. When the Captain and his party of armed slaves left that scene of horror to search for his cattle, the slaves spread their wide-eyed tales that a Willawaw was loose and roaming the banks of the Chattahoochee.
     Superstition was rampant in the lives of slaves as well as among the redskin tribes. While no two people could describe a Willawaw nor agree on its habits, blacks and Indians agreed that it was a ghostly phantom, never seen and it was inescapable; a vaporous monster given to ripping apart the bodies of anyone or anything that crossed its path. Some seventy-eight red bodies were found torn apart and scattered along the river banks between Irwinton, later known as Eufaula, and Fort Gaines, a small stockade with just eighteen permanent troops. It was rumored that Indian raids in that stretch of the river ceased entirely until Captain Winston Burnett was killed in a duel and ownership of Burnett Plantation passed to his oldest son, Marcus. During the Indian wars that brought Andrew Jackson’s army south into Georgia, Florida, and finally to        Horseshoe Bend in Alabama, Indian raids increased and slaves who fled their plantation homes to live with the Indians spread tales that the dreaded Willawaw had left the Chattahoochee. Indian warriors claimed that fear had driven the monster away; that the redman’s magic was too great for it.
     Through the years that led to civil war and freedom for the slaves the Willawaw seemed to have disappeared. Then in 1999 a gruesome murder occurred at Shaw’s Landing. Miss Angie Criddle, a life-long resident of Clay County was fishing in the river, something she loved to do on Saturday afternoons. She was brutally attacked and left for dead by a river tramp, who then proceeded to take the radio, the spare tire, tools, blankets and a flashlight from the vintage auto that Miss Criddle had driven for thirty years. As the tramp was loading his spoils into his bateau, Miss Criddle regained consciousness but remained quiet despite her throbbing head and watched the thief furtively.
     “He was just starting to push his boat into the water,” she told Sheriff Watson later, “when something hit him so hard he went head over heels into the river. Then it looked as if he was yanked back out of the water and thrown into the thicket around that big pine tree. I couldn’t see into the thicket, but there was a great deal of thrashing about before everything got real quiet. That’s when I ran to my car and called 911 from the cell phone I keep under my seat.”
     Deputy Palin drove Miss Criddle to the hospital in Eufaula while the sheriff and two deputies combed the area where she was attacked. They found no tracks except those of Miss Criddle and the thief. His dismembered body was strewn where Miss Criddle had pointed out and blood was splattered everywhere. The sheriff was never able to identify the dead man nor trace the old bateau. Miss Criddle appeared on several television news programs and also described her encounter to various civic groups. Sheriff Watson never mentioned the red eyes that had watched him from the thick woods along the Chattahoochee.

copyright 2014, Hugh Singleton

Hugh Singleton was born 1931 in Cuthbert, a small agricultural town in southwest central Georgia.  The Singletons date back to the pre-civil war days, with older roots  paternal roots go back to England; maternal to Ireland.  Hugh’s higher education consists of business school training in accounting and administration.  He served four years in the U.S. Navy, 1951-1955.  Hugh  enjoyed a career with the NCR Corporation and retired at the end of 1993.  Hugh and his wife  live in a retirement community near Leesburg, FL where they enjoy a number of activities.

I Have Seen The Future

by June T. Bassemir

Company from out of state came this past week end.  We hadn’t seen them in twenty years.  The coats were hung in the hall closet and immediately the 50 year old said he wanted to show us something.  Out he whipped the IPAD...a truly remarkable technology tool.  He clued us in on the family tree – then searched my walls for pictures of relatives long gone, to fill in the gaps of the tree he had on the IPAD.  From there he showed us something “really new... it will blow your mind."  And it did!

There is now technology that will print in 3D and he used the IPAD to show us the advertising video of the company in NYC that does it!  All three days of the visit, the 8” x  9” [?] screen was in constant use.  There was little conversation exchanged...even when another part of the family came to visit. 

As soon as my son and family came through the front door they were immediately whisked away to see the IPAD in action.  It was on the floor for all to view what it could do.  No one asked how the intervening years were spent or what was going on in their lives now.  From the floor the “screen” came up to the table and was a camera speaking to another IPAD back home.  The caretaker in Florida put the mother in front of their IPAD.  She is in the throes of Alzheimer’s and was not making sense.  The husband and son at my table were keen to have us witness the confusion of the poor woman.  UGH!  This is entertainment?

The IPAD may be yet another “friend” that has entered the home, but it has taken over in the life of this visiting cousin and was even in evidence - placed as it was on the console of the car - when they drove away.  I guess at that point it was a GPS.

It’s not hard to imagine the time when everyone will have an IPAD.  The instruments will talk to each other and there will be no face to face conversation. Yes, I have seen the future and it ain’t pretty!  

copyright 2013 by June Tuthill Bassemir

Saga Of A Cadillac

By Darlene Jennings

 I parked her back in August when she developed a power steering fluid leak.  Once Johnny B. and I had braved the blazing afternoon sun to fill up the reservoir but within a week the steering was squealing again.  So she was parked with all good intentions of getting her to the shop asap.  After six months bouncing around in the vw convertible and only putting the top down a couple of times to load flea market finds in the back seat I decided the time had come to turn my attention back to the caddy. 

 That car holds so many memories.  The Cadillac was a perfect baby-sitter when my granddaughter was a toddler.  Jeez…  she loved all of those buttons. (The same ones that don’t have letters on them anymore from cleaning with Windex.)  Just plop her in the front seat (keeping a good eye on the shifter for safety) and she would punch buttons, blow the horn and “ride like Clyde” in the power seats.  The radio was fun too. Off and on, off and on.  She seemed to prefer music from the 80’s so there is something to be said about those genes from her parents.  Climbing from the front seats to the back seats held a special fascination until she discovered that there was a secret compartment in the back seat console.  Ok…she broke the cup holders but big deal, I don’t ride in the back seat anyway.

 By the time her brother came along I had grown accustomed to the red Georgia clay on the back of the front seats.  Now really, do you think two toddlers in car seats aren’t going to constantly kick the front seats?  Try as I may I still can’t get that smoky red color off the leather.  If kicking wasn’t enough fun they both learned to roll the back windows up and down until I was finally smart enough to hit the lock button.  I still feel a little guilty telling them they broke the windows.  Anyone with grandchildren knows that all kind of stuff gets under those cumbersome car seats…..crayons, bubble gum, ink pens, French fries, hair barrettes, Ninja warriors, you just name it.  I could have had a yard sale right out of my car.

 If that car could talk it would tell you about trips to the North Carolina mountains slipping and sliding on ice, week-ends in Charleston and Savannah with girlfriends and countless trips to Athens, Georgia for visits.  It always amazed me how my daughter Traci could get in that car, lean the seat back oh so far and immediately fall asleep for hours and hours. She would then amazingly wake up when we reached our destination.  Well at least I didn’t have to listen to “Are we there yet.?”

 The 2002 auto has been in the shop more times than I want to count.  As of today I have replaced the engine twice, a transmission, the radio and entire electrical system, along with batteries, alternators and some other stuff I have tried to forget.  Naturally I have run through three sets of tires driving the past ten years from Pawleys Island to the office in Myrtle Beach five days a week.  She’s got more miles on her than Carter has liver pills but I can’t bring myself to say goodbye.  My family tells me she’s a lemon and my friend Darryl Hammond says “Set it on fire” but my heart screams Noooooo.

 “The good news..” says the Cadillac repairman last week “is that you do not have to replace the power steering pump.  Seems there was a broken motor mount causing the engine to shift back and forth that put a hole in the power steering line.”  Great I think…lets fix it.  He casually mentions that the engine thing also created a small hole in the air conditioner line and then they will need to flush the power steering reservoir.  “Oh, and there is a head light bulb out and you really need to shine up those head light covers as they are a mess.  And one more thing….all of that power steering fluid was leaking on your fan belt and caused it to come loose so you need to fix that as well” he says.  Ok …. I’m guessing we are up to $500 in repairs by now.

 Needless to say I was excited about picking her up yesterday.  I was already planning a trip down to Charleston on Saturday.  Ready to rock and roll in that smooth ride.  I should have known something was up when the girl in the dealership asked me if I would be paying by credit card.  I pulled out the American Express card. (The same one that is still carrying a balance from December’s cruise with the grandkids.)  “That will be one thousand seven hundred and thirty one dollars.” she calmly says.

            Does anyone have a match?

copyright Darlene Jennings, 2013 

 Darlene Jennings is a native of Myrtle Beach, South Carolina and dates herself by remembering when "we turned off the two downtown traffic lights in the winter." She grew up with sand between her toes and sand-spurs to boot.  Proud mother of two and grandmother of two, Darlene has been self employed for over thirty years in Community Management.  (A job that sucks the soul right out of you, she says.)  Her relief is community service and writing spur-of-the-moment short stories. Many stories have been shared with family and friends who suggested she write a book.  But that just sounds like another job to Darlene!

Fall News from Hortonville, WI

Cold, cold, cold.   Temps barely get above freezing, and it is always windy here on the Miller Farm.  No snow yet, but am sure it is being organized at the North Pole to swoop down on us.  All the yard is winterized.

Veteran's Day was on Monday November 11.  Was also my brother Bob's 88th birthday.  He always said when I was young that the 11th was red on the calendar because of his birthday.  Little did I know at that time it was called Armistice Day.

Russ being a former Marine, went to 3 different programs, one at the Lutheran  High School where they served 180 former servicemen a good breakfast, scrambled eggs, bacon, hash brown potatoes, grapes, apple and orange juice and lots of strong coffee.  Because it has been 40 years since the Vietnam War ended, those service people received special recognition.

The afternoon program was at Little Wolf High School, Manawa where Russ graduated in 1950 before joining the Marines.  The speaker was Chet Krause who was in World War Two and one of the first soldiers with General George Patton, who entered Buchenwald Concentration Camp in Germany.  Said he will never forget the stench of death.  Chet came back to Wisconsin and founded a newspaper.  He is 90 years old and very bright.

The week before we did another program where the Old Glory Honor Flight people talked.  They take veterans to Washington D. C. to see the monuments.  Russ is on the list for next spring.  They just returned from a trip with Vietnam veterans to see the wall.

Terrible Huricane in the Philipines, thousands of people dead and so much destruction.

Halloween was the end of the month of October.  Oliver, Tucker, Cassidy, Elena and Sean came out to the farm, and then trotted to the new Houses in Hortonville and got a half bucket full of candy.  They had nice costumes.  Said the people in town that gave out the candy were even dressed in scary clothes.  Very generous with the loot.  Their begging helped.

Marianne and family got a new puppy, a very cute little fuzzy dog.  It still pees and poops in the house.  Will grow to about 11 pounds.  Hope it doesn't visit our house any time soon.

Went to a church dinner, swiss steak and ham and all the pie we could stuff down.  Then went dancing in the afternoon to wear off some of the calories.

Baked a bunch of squash, oh how good that tastes.  One of my favorite vegetables.  Was to Sheboygan last week, for Cousin Louette Ostermann's 80th birthday party.  Nice drive down that way, so many abandoned barns where  farmers gave up milking cows and only do cash crops now,   corn and soybeans.  Some subdivisions.

Two new families have moved in our R&D Heights and two more homes are being built, ready to be sold.  20 years since our cows have gone.

Wrote a story for my home town weekly paper, here is a copy if you care to wade through it.

Russ and Delores

(Editor: We'll run the story next week, Delores.  Thanks for your newsy notes and stories!)

Lost Jobs and Why...

  

 by June T. Bassemir

I’m no great economist but in thinking about lost jobs, surely it is happening because of the current technology and the Internet.

 

It must have been the same way when the car was introduced and the horse and buggy was not used for travel anymore.   That invention put many people out of business including the blacksmith, the wheelwright, the farmers that grew the hay/ alphalfa, the carriage makers, the lantern maker, the people that made the metal box heaters and maybe even those who manufactured those nice wool carriage robes to warm the feet.  The only difference is that this technology is happening faster and faster whereas it took decades for the automotive industry to supply everyone with a car or two, thus reducing the horse to a recreational role.

In my lifetime and over the last ten years I have seen many jobs lost and I can see more to come due to this technology.  Take the maps that used to be available at the AAA store.  It was such a delight to go there and ask for help in mapping out the proposed trip out West.  A little spiral group of maps marked on each page, called a Trip Tick, gave us explicit roads to take from page to page.  Now, with the GPS there is no need for these maps and no doubt the number of employees who used to map them out for us, is reduced... or none at all as they have lost their jobs.

The tie industry is dying because men don’t really need to meet the public and be dressed for the office anymore as lots of men work from home.  The tie and the anchor of the tie tac was a necessity of not so long ago but now if the tie flaps and dribbles into the soup it gets discarded for an open neck or a logo printed T shirt.  That put the designer of the tie, the manufacturer of the material, the artist who designed it, the tie tac, the men at the SWANK company and the women who sat at the sewing machines, not to mention the salesman who sold them, out of business.

Let’s talk about the telephone... oh my!... what a change there!  All that plastic that used to make a telephone has visibly disappeared.  No longer do we even have to lift the receiver when it rings... we just need to press a button.  Think of the wires that went into the old design.  And then the subject is compounded because telephones now are also cameras.  And that leads us into discussing film which is getting harder and harder to find.  My old camera was so good but what good is it without any film or without the man/woman to do the developing?  How are they supporting themselves?  How ‘bout all the photo albums with their empty black pages or the more recent plastic sleeves for the pictures to occupy?   Did the manufacturer have other jobs for those people?

We hear the expression of trickle down economy and I know what that means.  It means when folks don’t have a job, they stop buying unnecessary items and only buy the necessities of life.  Take the antique business and those that sell beautiful things for the table, of yesteryear.   Now it may be a stretch for you to realize that these folks are going out of business and are looking for other ways to put money in their pockets because of technology.... but think about it.  Why do we need to entertain anyone for dinner or for a party when all we need to do is text our friends instantly to see what they thought of the latest political speech or what our favorite baseball team did in last night’s game?   Entertaining our friends and family has taken a back seat to instant communication through technology.  

The typewriter is gone, the ribbons for it – gone.  Thank goodness there is still paper but how long will that continue? 

Banking...that’s another story.  I am resisting paying bills online but most folks do their banking that way thus reducing the number of tellers needed at the bank. More jobs lost.

What about the Post Office?  Who ever thought that would go out of business?  Certainly not me, who looked forward to the letters that filled my mail box and lifted my day of housework and motherhood with joy.  Today it’s a special day to note in my Day Book when a real true-to-life-letter is received instead of the junk mail that goes directly from the mail box to the recycle bin in the garage.  The computer with easy to use e-mail is the culprit and very soon the mail lady will join her predecessor, the Pony Express rider in obscurity.  That’s a large lot of people out of work. 

Books....will they really go away?  Even now, the publishing agent is selling apples on the street because who needs him or her when they can self publish?  You might think the Library would be closing too, but fortunately they have taken another direction and have thought of other ways to remain open.  Cafes and plush chairs for the public where they can read a book with Kindle is one way.

Now: for the real serious part of this dispatch.  Technology has certainly changed our lives and one has to ask if it has been for the better.  For those of us who can remember a slower pace of life, we think technology has some serious drawbacks especially for the young minds so immersed in it.  It has introduced an open door for evil, hatred, and sin to sneak in. There’s no need to spell it out here..... you know what I am talking about but...... I don’t remember bullying and suicide before the Internet arrived. Only time will tell what the real path of technology will bring to all of us.  Will it eventually be a balance of good or will that scale continue to weigh us down? 

 June Tuthill Bassemir is the widowed mother of four and grandmother of 10.  An artist and writer, she  volunteers as a docent in a 1765 farm house.   June loves old cars and antiques, and has also enjoyed furniture stripping and rug hooking.  "I used to say I was a stripper and hooker.but with so many trips around the sun, no one raises an eyebrow anymore. They only laugh."  June has given up furniture stripping, but is still an avid rug hooker.

The News From Hortonville

Delores Miller writes from Hortonville, Wisconsin

Mid October, 2013

Autumn weather here on the farm, time soon to hunker down for the winter.  Leaves turned beautiful colors and slowly falling off the trees.  Garden is finished for the year, was a  very good crop.  Flowers froze.

But we did take a week's vacation and drove to Branson, Missouri, 1635 miles round trip.  Country music theaters, over 60 of them, and we managed 14 of them, 3 each day, morning, afternoon and night shows:

Dolly Parton Dinner Theater, Dixie Stampede, very good.

Brett Family - too modern for us.

Roy Rogers, Jr.  Very good, nostalgic for his FAther's toons, cowboy style.

Presley - Someone gave us free tickets, worth $70, and good front row seats.

Branson Scenic Railroad, a 40 mile trip.  Visited with people from Colorado.

Veteran Uniform Museum, clothing and rifles from all wars.

Jim Owens, a favorite singer of ours.

Shoji Tabuchi, the Japanese Fiddle Player, getting to modern for us, left early.

Russ 81st birthday October 9, took him out for breakfast at the Waffle House.

Supper at the Cracker Barrel for Country Fried Steak.

Doug Gabriel, good.

Bald Knobbers, silly comedy and good music.

Hughes Brothers, 5 brothers, Mormons, with 35 children all in the show.

Branson Belle Showboat on Lake , dinner

Ripley's Odditorium in Branson

theater

A Patsy Cline imitator, good old music.

Packed most of our own food, because we didn't have a lot of time to eat out, too many shows to see.  Nice motel, with a refrigerator and microwave.  Been 6 years since we were to Branson, then saw all their Christmas shows.  This may be the last time we have the strength to travel that far.    Had beautiful weather while in Branson, had to come home through St. Louis in the rain and dark.  Stopped by Keith on the way home, he had a good rice and ranch chicken lunch for us and sent some home.

All for this time,  
 

Russell and Delores Miller

copyright Russell and Delores Miller, 2013

 Delores Miller lives with husband Russell in Hortonville, Wisconsin.    In the summer of 2007 they  celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary with a party hosted by their five children and ten grandchildren.  It’s been a long road.  Dairy farming until retirement in 1993, they continued to 'work' the land, making a subdivision of 39 new homes on their former hay fields.

Testament

Laine Roberts

July 16, 1975 - September 15, 2013

I never met Laine.  She was a friend of a friend.  I may not have seen the world  in the same light as she did.  I may not have been able to believe as passionately as she did.  But I can truly appreciate her fervor and dedication to her ideals. And I would have liked to have had her as a friend.  I know too many people who are afraid.  Laine was not afraid.  Not till the end.  She wrote her testament as it appears below.  How long before her demise I don’t know. 

 

About Me

 

I BELIEVE  that the most important part of life is

       forgiveness and that if we had that everything

       would simply become alive again.

       I care nothing for material wealth.

I BELIEVE  in complete benevolence.

I BELIEVE  that trust is all that matters.

I BELIEVE  that pride will cripple the entire world.

I BELIEVE  that everything organic is completely and

       totally alive and aware of all existence.

I BELIEVE  that David killed Goliath with one stone.

I BELIEVE  that Jesus Christ was risen from the dead.

I BELIEVE  that I am just as black as I am white.

I BELIEVE  that every single bird of the air deserves as

       much oxygen as I do.

I BELIEVE  in love at first sight.   I BELIEVE in one love.  

I BELIEVE  in a savior.

I BELIEVE  that I would be living on the streets if I did

       not have others to look out for.  The roof over

       my head is for them, not me. I am not alone in

       this world.  I have peace.  I experienced my

       deepest peace the first time I realized

       that I had nothing.

I BELIEVE  I have received the Holy Spirit.

I BELIEVE  that I have become one with God.

I BELIEVE  that I am a sinner and that this world is

       absolutely crushing me because        

       I cannot stand to see it.

I have seen fish made into enough to feed four. 

I have witnessed devils and I have seen angels.

I know that I am human  and that everything that is

       wrong in this world seeks to destroy

       my spirit, soul, and mind.

I BELIEVE  that I am just like you.

I BELIEVE  that I have committed every sin in my heart,

        including murder.

I BELIEVE  that blood was shed for me.

I BELIEVE  that I receive grace that does not belong to me.

I BELIEVE  that everyone should be included and that no

       one is ugly nor stupid or fat.

I BELIEVE  in the truth and I believe that

       everyone should experience it.

For reasons unknown, Laine took her own life 

this past September 15th.

She quieted her body, but not her soul.

 

The Good and the Bad

by June T. Bassemir

 
My daughter came for a visit last week ahead of her Japanese husband’s flight by seven days.  That was good because it gave us a chance to meet and visit with my brother at Jones Beach which is about 60 miles to the West of Jamesport.  Brother Chet lives north of Jones Beach by about 20 miles.  It was our first 2013 warm spring day and we took our lunch.  Jones Beach has only one parking lot open due to extensive destruction from “Sandy” last year.

 With a full tank of gas the Honda was ready to travel on route #27 which is the secondary main road going from West to East ... or East to West.  It was decided to use that rather than the parallel Long Island Expressway, normally referred to as the LIE, “the world’s largest parking lot”.  As it turned out that was also good as exits are far apart.

All went well on Route 27 until we exited before our correct turn.  Instead of going south we were headed north and the map to show us the correct route to take, was out of reach in the back seat compartment.  That was bad but Diane found a good place to pull over and I got out of the passenger side to retrieve it.  A quick look at the car and I noticed the right rear tire was flat.  That was really bad.  Fortunately, a garage selling tires was within a mile and we limped to the place where two men sat waiting for customers.  That was good but their sign said “Used tires...Cash only”.  That was bad because my wallet had only two dollars and my daughter’s wallet was empty.  Searching everywhere for more money, as the man removed the old tire and prepared the newer one, I remembered stuffing some bills into the small compartment near the shift.  That was good because there was a twenty, two fives and a one.  That was bad because the cost of the tire was $35. plus tax but I found loose change to make up the difference in both door handles.  That was good.

We used the cell phone to call Chet to let him know what happened but that was bad because he is hard of hearing and couldn’t hear what I was shouting at the top of my lungs for the whole world to hear.  He blamed the cell phone for breaking up but eventually we were able to get out two words..."flat tire”.

That was good – at least he would know why we were going to be late.

The rest of the day was pleasant and our return trip back home was without incident.  However the very next morning the tire so recently purchased at the seedy garage was as flat as a pancake and you know that was bad!  Two new tires were purchased from an honest tire specialist nearby who suggested I go back and complain but there would be no compensation from the “Cash  only” place and I would be out both the time and gas to get there.  The bad tire waits at the curb for my next garbage collection day and that is good.  It was an expensive trip to Jones Beach on our first warm day - the last of April.

 June Tuthill Bassemir is the widowed mother of four and grandmother of 10.  An artist and writer, she  volunteers as a docent in a 1765 farm house.   June loves old cars and antiques, and has also enjoyed furniture stripping and rug hooking.  "I used to say I was a stripper and hooker.but with so many trips around the sun, no one raises an eyebrow anymore. They only laugh."  June has given up furniture stripping, but is still an avid rug hooker.

The Battle For The Marshall Islands

By Kevin Schmitt

 I thought I’d share with you some of the things my dad told me about his Navy days. It all began in Idaho, believe it or not. That’s where boot camp was, near Lake Coeur D Alene. (That’s about thirty miles east of Spokane Washington, in case you’ve never been there.) For Dad, it was a great experience. The lake is long and narrow, like Loch Ness, and so clean, they even had a rule against pissing in it.

 Dad was seventeen years old and had been brought up with wood chopping and winter outhouses. So the rigors of a Rocky Mountain boot camp didn’t ruffle his feathers one little bit. In fact, there was just one thing that came into his life that was totally new to him, and that was a young man who was half black, and half Cherokee Indian. His name was Jamie Jameson, and he hailed from the state of Georgia.

 I suppose you could say that Jamie was a social trail blazer. In order to gain acceptance, he had to be twice as good as everyone else, but real modest about it. Dad didn’t take to him right off because Jamie could run like the wind, whereas Dad was built for weight lifting. Running is a very important part of boot camp training, so if you’re a bit slow at it, you just might resent those who are not. Maybe Jamie sensed that---maybe not. But one chilly night when Dad was standing guard duty, Jamie showed up with a cup of coffee. Dad didn’t stop being a racially ignorant person that night, but it was a beginning.

 After boot camp, Dad’s platoon got on a train and headed towards the ocean. (Which seemed like a very fitting and proper place for future sailors to be.) Idaho hadn’t taught them a thing about the South Pacific, but what the hell, everything would work out just fine. Palm trees, naked native girls, and a few near sighted Japs they’d have to bump off.

 They could hardly wait.

 They had to change trains in this little mountain town and it was winter so they all headed for the only restaurant to be had. Trouble was, no colored folks were allowed. Well, the kids in that platoon were more redneck than not. But Jamie had won them over at least to a point. Anyway, a platoon is like a gang. You mess with one member, you mess with all. So the platoon formed up in front of that café and no one was allowed in. A deputy sheriff was called in, but that man was no fool. He took one look at all those uniforms and realized that his handcuffs would be staying in their little case.

 In the end, everyone was allowed in, and just to pour salt onto the wound of the proprietor, Jamie was told to take a healthy dump in the bathroom so he wouldn’t need to go on the train.

Continued HERE 

Kevin Schmitt lives in Minnesota and has been a factory worker for thirty-five years. His hobbies are camping, cross country hiking, kayaking, and playing the Boehm type flute (Irish folk music and marches.) When the weather is too God awful for anything else, he writes and practices a bit of Karate kata. He is not a cool person, and he is aging rather quickly.

For The Love of Kathy

by Frank Beresheim

          I went to my bedroom,  sat down in my single bed.  I stared up at the ceiling and nursed the beer I was drinking.  I often thought of Kathy her long red hair, freckles, blue eyes and a smile that could light the sky.  Those were the times of my life, always believed she was the one.  We always had fun together, we liked the same foods, music, she played keyboards and I played guitar, walks through the city, long bike rides.  We had a lot of fun riding around in my old white Cadillac.  She was always happy until my drinking got worse, and she left me, with the saddest face I had ever seen.  I finished my cigarette, put the butt in the can, and got ready for bed.

          I laid down and closed my eyes and I wound up in Crazy Charlie’s Bar and grill.  Charlie’s was one of the most unique bars I had ever had the privilege to drink at.  It had a coffin nailed to the ceiling along with many other things, like a violin, several women’s garters, funky glasses, an old wooden tool box, including hundred of more items.  I looked in the dining room, and saw the tables with the butcher paper across the table, and crayons.  I remember going in there many times with Kathy.  We had fun writing on the paper, drawing pictures, and was reminded that this was where I first told her that I loved her. I wrote I love you in all in red, in a red heart.  When she first saw it, she appeared to be shocked, but did not reciprocate it.  I remember thinking, maybe she doesn’t really like me.  I got up to go to the bathroom, and as I walked by her, she grabbed me by the waist and rose up to greet me with a kiss.  She looked me straight in the eye and said “I love you” right out loud, followed by a big kiss.  I said I would be right back, and headed for the bathroom.  I used the facilities and when I washed my hands I looked up at the mirror and mouthed the words she said "I love you",  I felt like the greatest man in the world, she loves me.  We ate our dinner and went back to her place, spent the night loving each other. 

CLICK HERE to Continue. 

 Frank Beresheim was born in New York City in 1959 and  moved to the Catskill Mountains as a child, returning to Queens at age 16, where he began writing poetry and playing music.  Married in 1988, Frank found his way back to the Catskills and never looked back.  He lives with his wife and two teenaged sons in the friendly community of Saugerties, NY.

On The Trail of Laura Ingalls Wilder

"The Stove," a real luxury item back then.

 

by Delores Miller

When our five children were small, one of the first joint gifts Santa Claus laid under the

Christmas tree was the complete set of Little House On The Prairie by Laura Ingalls Wilder. All read the books many times, until they became tattered and torn. Now, 35 years later the eleven grandchildren are reading the same books. I read this collection in 1945 when the Wisconsin Library sent boxes of books to our small country school.

Among the titles are Little House in the Big Woods, set in Pepin, Wisconsin where Laura was born in 1867. Little House on the Prairie depicts journeys in a covered wagon,  Farmer Boy, set in New York where Laura's husband Alonzo spent his childhood.  On the Banks of Plum Creek, set in Walnut Grove, Minnesota.  Long Winter was set in DeSmet, South Dakota. Russ read this often, and when we had a blizzard, he wanted to string a rope to the barn like Laura's Father had to do.  By The Shores of Silver Lake, took place a railroad surveyor's shack in DeSmet. Laura married Alonzo in 1885 and The First Four Years recalls when they lived on a tree claim before moving to Mansfield, Missouri

Now that travel is more convenient, we visit the historical sites mentioned in Laura's books: Pepin, Wisconsin; Walnut Grove, Minnesota; Mansfield, Missouri and DeSmet, South Dakota. Historical societies have put on pageants and plays depicting the books.

Laura Ingalls Wilder began writing her books in 1932 when she was 65 years old. Maybe there is hope for Delores to write commercially yet. Laura died in 1957 in Mansfield, Missouri at the age of 90, Alonzo died ten years before. They had one daughter Rose, also a writer, and all are buried in Mansfield. We have visited the cemetery.

We purchased the complete set of Laura's books from Abebooks.com. Used, they were about $50 for the nine books. The grandchildren enjoy them immensely.

If you want to learn about Pioneer life from the eyes of a child, re-read the Little House On The Prairie books. The television show is fake, nothing like what the show presents ever happened in the books.

Life In A Log House

By Delores Miller



When immigrants came to Wisconsin from Germany, one of the first things they had to build, of course, was a house.  This land was covered with virgin timber.  In 1889 Ludwig Knaack, his wife Augusta (nee Hauschultz), and two sons, Charles and William came to Wisconsin, purchased 80 acres of land in Section 21 of Dupont.  Planted a large apple orchard in front by the road and named their farm Orchard Lawn Farm.

In 1892,  hemlock logs were hacked down  from their swamp and they commenced to build a home.  25x35 feet, two story, 1750 square feet, a good sized home, but then again more children arrived, Lillie, Emma, Ottro, Frederick and Johanna.  All were members of Trinity Luteran Church, West Dupont and family members are buried in the cemetery awaiting eternity.  Walked to German Catechism classes at Marion for eighth grade confirmation.

Dug a partial basement, used for storing fruits and vegetables, trap door from the kitchen, outside entrance.  Two doors front and back.  Brick chimney half way down, wood cook stove and heater to warm the house.  Four rooms downstairs, 3 upstairs.  Porch front and back.  Eight logs high on the first floor, 4 upstairs.  Balsam roof rafters, pine boards covering and red cedar shingles.  Dug a well for water, a cemented pit with a pump jack.  Logs were squared and hollowed at the ends so they fit snuggly together.  Cracks were filled with a plaster lime mixture, with shingles wedged.  Rough boards and latts were nailed over to keep the plaster from falling out.

The Knaack family lived in this log house until 1947, when they  had an auction, sold out and migrated to the Pine River area.  Reinhard Hintz acquired  the farm to pasture cattle.  Ray and Violet Arndt obtained the farm in 1964.  This log house stood forlorn and abandoned.  Because the roof was rotting, Ray put metal on to save from deterioration.

The Marion Historical Society, with members willing to save the log house, contacted the Wisconsin Conservation Corps, who dismantled the log house, numbered each log, and reassembled the house  exactly as it appeared in 1892 in Marion seven miles away.  Doors were made from old lumber, inside walls were covered with shiplap lumber and old newspapers.  A concrete base was poured, layered with 2x4s and matched pine floor boards.  Items were donated,  begged or borrowed: stoves, an organ, rope beds, cribs, cradles, pots, pans, rag braided rugs, pictures, etc.  This log home located near the baseball field  in Marion is a perfect example of life in a log house in the early years of 1900.  Every one should go visit and explore and hear the history from the volunteers.


HOMESTEAD

My axe is dull, my saw is gone,
These trees will stand forever.
The stones that I would lay them on,
Will one day break and sever.

The grass is in your garden now,
The weeds grow green and high.
Upon the hill I used to plow;
Our little creek is dry.

No happiness is here for me,
And though you bid me stay,
I only know, I only see
The road that leads away.


August and William Riske, twins were born on January 12, 1864, came to America in 1883 when they were 19 years old.  Purchased land in Dupont, which now 125 years later is still in the Riske name, 120 acres.  August Riske, 1864-1939,  married Hermine Lutzow, 1859-1914, had two daughters Clara Genskow, 1896-1991, and Ella, 1890-1900.  Ella died of typhoid fever when she was 10 years old.

William Riske, 1864-1941 married Hannah Dordell, 1874-1949, and had five children, Paul, 1896, Alma, 1898-1900, Martha Seelig, 1899-1979, Emil, 1902-1978, and Harvey, 1910-1981.  All were members of St. John's Lutheran Church, Marion.

Both brothers were well-to-do farmers.  William built a two story log house, 24x28, along with a  blacksmith, wagon, and buggie shop.  A two section barn, log and wood frame.  A 12x26 concrete silo was built later.

August Riske bequeathed his farm to his daughter and husband Arnold and Clara Genskow who farmed until 1948 when the Emil and Frieda Riske family moved across the road from their log house.  This is now the home of Edward and Mary Riske, located on Quarterline Road.  The log house of William Riske fell into disrepair, trees and bramble bushes covering   this fine home, and now in 2010 only memories and photographs remain.

                            copyright 2010, Russell and Delores Miller

Anyone with links to, or who is researching the Hauschultz / Hauschulz / Howschultz / Hochschultz / Hochschulz families' genealogy is most welcome to contact Jade Wuiske who has  extensively researched this family tree for over a decade via email.  Her address is  
jwuiske@live.com  
Also, would you please copy me, the editor, on any information so that I can send it along to Delores. Thank you.
dave@windsweptpress.com



 Delores Miller lives with husband Russell in Hortonville, Wisconsin.    In the summer of 2007 they  celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary with a party hosted by their five children and ten grandchildren.  It’s been a long road.  Dairy farming until retirement in 1993, they continued to 'work' the land, making a subdivision of 39 new homes on their former hay fields.