boxes of dented cans, an excellent resource for supplementing our food supply.
We had our cow for milk and churned our own butter, the garden for fresh vegetables in the summer, chickens for eggs and eating, as well as rabbits and pigs. There was no need to go to a grocery store other than for a few items like flour, salt, pepper, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and Crisco.
A baptism service was scheduled for all new members. The church did not have a baptistery, and the belief was that a person should be fully immersed in the water, not just sprinkled with it. I was on the list of participants to receive this Christian sacrament of rebirth, and my time came. Everyone sang the hymn by Robert Lowry, “Shall We Gather at the River?” My father waded out into the water. All I could see was his head sticking up. Names were called, and each person walked out into the water. My father greeted them and quoted something (I guess it was from the Bible), and then immersed them into the water. I watched as they came up dripping wet and shaking from the chill. I decided this was not for me, so I ran through the woods and waited while my name was called, hidden behind a tree, and then quietly walked to the car. After the ceremony, my parents and I drove home in silence. Being baptized was never, ever mentioned to me again.
It was rare that my parents would go away without me, but when they did, Grandmother Hertel would come. She always had a handful of books, which I loved. It seemed something unusual would always occur. The happenings were mostly self-inflicted, because with her there was a sense of freedom, relaxation, laughter, and “just plain fun.” One of these times, I decided to go up to the meadow and pick wild blackberries along the fence rows. I came home with a few berries in my basket and my body full of hard, red, infuriating, itchy chigger bites. These were summer pests, mites or bugs that would suck your blood and cause intensely irritating itching. I had more chiggers than berries. Chiggers loved the blackberry habitat. Grandmother wrapped me in cool, wet towels, and we slept on the floor. Throughout the night, she replaced the cool, wet towels to comfort me.
Another time, I came down with the mumps and began hallucinating in the middle of the night. Grandma was a great nurse. She had the right touch to comfort, cuddle, and help make the worst situations better. There was a trip, and Grandmother could not come. Let’s be realistic: She lived in Fort Wayne as a working woman; and even though she came by train on Granddad’s passes, this was still a chore for her.
On this one occasion, I was sent to the Enlows’ farm. The Enlows went to our church. They had an older daughter who lived away from home, and she had come home for a visit. Lucky me! Sarah and I shared a small, cramped room upstairs. It reminded me of a storeroom or a small attic. That did not matter. Sarah shared stories of her life, read to me, and played music, and one day she took me for a walk through the woods. We came upon a flowing creek. Quickly, we removed our shoes and stockings and were tickling our toes in the water, jumping from one stone to another. Finally, we sat down by a tree to savor the stunningly beautiful view. It was so quiet and tranquil. As we were returning to the house, all I could think about was revisiting this walk, the flowing stream, and the sense of peace. And it happened. Sarah’s mother prepared a picnic lunch so we could have another outing in the woods. Sarah took her guitar, and I carried the lunches. When we arrived at the stream, we tossed off our shoes and stockings, jiggled our toes in the water, and ate a bite, listening to the quiet and savoring the scene. Sarah began to strum, stroking her instrument lightly with her fingers. All of a sudden, her beautiful, light, delicate, clear voice gave me my first taste of “Cool, Clear Water.” That was where we were: in the midst of cool, clear water flowing between our toes.
“The shadows sway and seem to say
Tonight we pray for water…cool, clear water
And way up there He’ll hear our prayer
And show us where there’s water…cool, clear water”
I don’t remember all the words, but I do remember “cool, clear water.”
It was cool, it was clear, and it was water. As I watched, listened, and felt, I thought, “This beauty must last forever.” And it did in my mind.
The church was blossoming. My dad was getting recognition in the district. The district superintendent, Melvin Snyder, was a frequent visitor, and we always remembered his love of buttermilk. General officials in the church were guest speakers.
One in particular was Paul Elliott. Dr. Rev. Elliott took a liking to me. It was a defining moment in my childhood when he asked my parents if he could adopt me. Apparently, at the time, he and his wife were unable to have children, and they would be able to educate me. The point I remember was, “We will give her a good education.” What impacted me is that I really believed my parents gave his offer serious consideration. I always wondered why, and in my mind were a number of reasons; but I really didn’t want to know, so I never asked. As I reflect back, did he see a curiosity, a vivid imagination that was being squashed? Did he think my parents were poor and always going to be poor, so my education would not be affordable? Did he notice or sense a conflict between me and my mother? Was he attempting to save a really troubled child? What was the motivation? I will never know.
I must have been a handful. But was I really? Or was it like I thought at the time—that I was just living life? Exploring, testing, discovering, questioning, and attempting to make sense of the world that surrounded me? I had not long before experienced a few minutes in time wondering, “What had happened to the world?” Now that I had a second chance to try and find out about this thing called “the world,” I wanted every taste, every smell, and every sight and sound. I wanted more and more.
When family, friends or visiting dignitaries came, it was fun and a joy to take a day trip to Marengo, Indiana. Traveling less than 10 miles we visited the most incredible cave with mineral deposits and beautiful stalactites and stalagmites. Marengo Cave was discovered by two school children in 1883. A brother and sister were playing in the thick wooded grove with undergrowth of vines and ferns. They stumbled and fell into a sink hole and were attracted by an opening, leading to the discovery. Tours commenced soon after. It was an awesome sight and a thrilling experience sharing this underground wonder.
The lady who owned and operated the nearby grocery store, June Walts, became close friends with my mother, and they remained so for the rest of their lives. June’s husband, Bob, taught school in Grantsburg a few miles up the road. Twighla, their daughter, became my close friend.
We did not attend school together. She attended school in Grantsburg, where her dad taught. Twighla and I would play together on non-school days and during the summer. One day, after Twighla and I had finished a game of checkers and I was headed home, I stopped to glance at the candy bar case. I asked June if I could have a candy bar and pay her later. She gave me my Baby Ruth, and I was on my way. Remembering seeing my mother take a bill from my father’s wallet, I was thinking I could take a coin from my mother’s purse. I ran upstairs, pulled open the bottom dresser drawer, and took a dime from my mother’s coin purse. I closed the drawer and ran downstairs, not realizing how much commotion I had made and how much attention I had drawn to myself. I was out the front door and down the lawn when I suddenly heard a loud call: “Martha Ruth, where are you going?” My little hand was gripping the dime tightly. I answered, “Nowhere.” The reply: “Oh, yes, you are! And what do you have in your hand?”
