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Esther Miller Map

Winter in the Old House

Posted on: 04.07.20 | by Mary

By: Esther Hastings Miller

The first winter in that old house was decidedly not too pleasant. We finally got heat but there was no water until the floods of spring. The following two winters were much better.

Yes, my bedroom was still cold. Yes, I still had piles of blankets and listened to my radio until late at night. But evenings were usually spent in the kitchen. Dad worked swing shift in town, leaving before we got home from school and getting home after midnight when we were already asleep. Because we were on the afternoon shift at school at least one of those winters, we had mornings to do homework, so evenings were reserved for games.

We both got hot lunch at school and Mom cooked a big meal at noon for Dad, so supper was soup and sandwiches or whatever we had on hand. Then we’d sit around the big oak table and play games. We had no TV, the radio had moved permanently to my room, and we had no record player. Electronic games had not been thought of yet and card games were yet another “work of the devil.” (Ours was a very religious, conservative household!) So, we worked jigsaw puzzles or played word games or made up games of our own. We played dominoes almost every night and learned to add in our heads faster than you could ever punch numbers into a calculator (which also had not been invented yet). Some of our games were based on the Bible. “Name all the Bible characters you can think of whose names begin with A, then B, and so on.” Adam, Andrew, Absolom on down to Zachaeus and Zephaniah.

If there was heavy snow overnight, we gathered around a radio (maybe we’d gotten another one or else I brought it down to the kitchen) to see if Clive School was closed for the day. “Hooray” if it was, grumbles if it wasn’t. If we got lucky and the snow was too deep for school, we immediately bundled up and spent the rest of the day sledding down our long hill in the front yard. If the snow was just right, we could even go into the pasture to the east of the barn, pack down a run all the way down the pasture and across the barnyard, and down the front yard—one long, truly fine sledding run! The only way to stop after such a nice long run was to turn sharply just before we hit the lilac bushes at the bottom of the yard. There had better be enough snow to cushion our tumble as we flew off our sleds. Then back up the hill we trudged to do it all again.

Christmas has always been my favorite holiday and country Christmases seem best. Our presents were usually something we needed but they were always wrapped and put under the tree. Until the last year when we couldn’t afford a tree. We knew that Santa Claus and decorated trees were not the real reason for Christmas but the idea of that big box of decorations sitting in the storage room was just too sad to bear. No Christmas tree. Whatever would we do?

The last day of school was a snowy one and again we walked all the way up our driveway, thankful for the tracks Dad had left when he drove to work. We went in the back door, hung up our coats and stashed our boots then went up the steps to the kitchen door. Ahhh…the smell of fresh bread right out of the oven. Maybe there’d even be Mom’s applesauce to go with it. WAIT A MINUTE! Over and through all of that wonderful warmth and fragrance was the unmistakable scent of a Christmas tree! There it was in the corner of the living room, kind of small, but already decorated with all of the beloved ornaments and icicles and the lights that all went out if one bulb burned out.

It was a few days before we figured out the Christmas tree was Mother’s broom stuck in a bucket with rocks. Wired to the broom handle were branches she had spent half the day cutting from the many evergreen trees in our front yard. It was the freshest smelling Christmas tree ever. And the best loved!

Note: This is the sixth of 11 stories written by Esther Hastings Miller.  Follow along as she shares her precious memories of growing up in Clive, Iowa.

About Esther Miller:

My parents, younger brother David, and I moved to the old house at the end of what is now Swanson Blvd just before Christmas in 1957. The address was University Avenue and the house may have been the “Kurtz Hill” mentioned in Mildred Swanson’s story about sledding. That yard was outstanding for sledding!

I was in fifth grade at Clive School and David was in third. We lived in that house until June of 1960 when the property was sold and we had to move. We moved to the Johnston area where we went to school for a year. In September of that year, my father was severely injured at work and was never able to work again. We moved to Des Moines, since Mother didn’t drive and Dad couldn’t anymore. And then, in December of 1961 we moved to California. Mother had gone to school in a small town in Southern California in the 40s, so she had friends there and she knew the climate would be a lot easier on all of us.

Both David and I finished high school in California, then I attended two small colleges nearby and graduated, first in my family, in 1970. I worked as an occupational therapist with severely handicapped children, then took several years off to raise my own two children. I eventually returned to work until my husband took early retirement. We traveled around the country in an RV, a long-time dream of ours, until we found some place we wanted to move to.

We sold our home in California and settled into an old farmhouse in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia where we lived for several more years. I returned to California a few years ago and now live way out in the country. Do you see a trend? I love living in the country and over the years I’ve built on the skills I first learned in that old house in Clive.

Radio in the Winter

Posted on: 04.03.20 | by Mary

By: Esther Hastings Miller

I’ve already mentioned how cold it would get in that old house where we lived. My bedroom was the coldest in the house and all winter I was buried under plenty of heavy blankets and quilts. I went to bed early to stay warm and to listen to my radio.

My radio was AM only, as all radios were then. It was a Zenith “portable” my parents had bought when I was little, which meant it was not a piece of furniture. It still had to be plugged in and weighed a few pounds. There were tubes in it which had to warm up before any sound came out and it had a loop of wire on the inside of the back panel which served as an antenna. That radio warmed a spot on the edge of my bed and I snuggled in close, partly for the warmth and mostly so I could hear it. I didn’t dare turn it up very loud or Mom would know I wasn’t asleep and I was probably listening to that evil rock and roll. That music was the work of the devil – all the old folks knew that.

I listened to all the rock and roll stations: KIOA and KSO in Des Moines, KCMO in Kansas City, WLS in Chicago, KOMA in Oklahoma City, KOA in Denver, KOB in Albuquerque, and WWL in New Orleans. Those were my regulars. On winter nights, each of those stations came in loud and clear. There were others and sometimes I’d slowly turn the dial, listening to the weak stations fade in and out. One time I even managed to get a Boston station. Oh, and there was the station in Del Rio, TX. Anybody who listened to radio in those days can remember how the announcer drew out the DELLL RIOOO, TEXAS. The reason everybody in the Midwest and into Canada could hear Del Rio, TX was because its transmitter was across the border in Mexico and was running 100,000 watts, twice the legal power of US stations.

One night I was listening to WWL in New Orleans and it didn’t play the national anthem and go off the air at midnight like any sensible station would. Instead it had some really loud music I’d never heard before and then some man was yelling into the microphone and I couldn’t understand a word he said. I listened to this several nights in a row and suddenly realized what he was saying was “Señoras y Señores.” OMIGOSH…he’s saying “Ladies and Gentlemen.” I knew there were other languages, but I hadn’t figured out yet that everybody says the same things with just different words. What an eye-opening moment!

So, then I listened closer and figured out they were reading the news. Eisenhower and Khruschev sound pretty much the same in English and Spanish. I eventually wrote to the radio station and got a letter back explaining that I was hearing Radio Free Cuba, just after Castro had taken power there. The most troubling part of that news was that there were other stations beaming Radio Free Cuba to the island nation, but they weren’t on my dial! They were shortwave. I had no idea what shortwave was and nobody I could ask. So, for years I was just incensed that there could be radio stations I couldn’t hear. It just wasn’t fair!

Maybe there is something to be said for boredom and lack of heat. Those long winter nights in that cold bedroom led me to a hobby few women ever consider, much less enjoy. I’ve been a licensed amateur radio operator for over 30 years and I do know what shortwave is now. And for the record, I still have the Zenith radio. Of course. Every ham has the radio that got them hooked.

Note: This is the fifth of 11 stories written by Esther Hastings Miller.  Follow along as she shares her precious memories of growing up in Clive, Iowa.

About Esther Miller:

My parents, younger brother David, and I moved to the old house at the end of what is now Swanson Blvd just before Christmas in 1957. The address was University Avenue and the house may have been the “Kurtz Hill” mentioned in Mildred Swanson’s story about sledding. That yard was outstanding for sledding!

I was in fifth grade at Clive School and David was in third. We lived in that house until June of 1960 when the property was sold and we had to move. We moved to the Johnston area where we went to school for a year. In September of that year, my father was severely injured at work and was never able to work again. We moved to Des Moines, since Mother didn’t drive and Dad couldn’t anymore. And then, in December of 1961 we moved to California. Mother had gone to school in a small town in Southern California in the 40s, so she had friends there and she knew the climate would be a lot easier on all of us.

Both David and I finished high school in California, then I attended two small colleges nearby and graduated, first in my family, in 1970. I worked as an occupational therapist with severely handicapped children, then took several years off to raise my own two children. I eventually returned to work until my husband took early retirement. We traveled around the country in an RV, a long-time dream of ours, until we found some place we wanted to move to.

We sold our home in California and settled into an old farmhouse in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia where we lived for several more years. I returned to California a few years ago and now live way out in the country. Do you see a trend? I love living in the country and over the years I’ve built on the skills I first learned in that old house in Clive.

Miracle of the Well – Part 2

Posted on: 03.31.20 | by Mary

By: Esther Hastings Miller

The well that had been dug by hand back many years ago and then had gone unused until it silted in was now back in working order. It provided cold, clear water for the two years we stayed in that old house. Even in the hottest weather, we didn’t need ice. We’d just go to the tap and get a drink of wonderfully cold spring water.

Another family rented the barn and started with three horses then added several more animals and they all had plenty of water to drink. Even if somebody left the stock tank faucet running, the well recovered quickly and we never went without water.

One evening the sheriff came and gave us notice that we were being evicted from the house. The property had been sold to someone new and he wanted to move his family in. Mother was home alone and was in tears when we arrived and gave us the bad news. How on earth could we live anywhere else? The house wasn’t very nice but oh, so much land to run around in and grow gardens in and be free. Finally, we lived in the country and now we’d have to move. My heart was broken.

My mother in healthier days at our old Clive house.

But before we could move, something worse happened. Mom got sick. Mom never got sick. She was always there for us, always doing what Moms are supposed to do. And now she was in bed, too weak and too sick to do anything. Finally, we called a doctor and he came out and gave her some medicine and slowly she got better. Still weak, she could get out of bed for a while every day but couldn’t do much work around the house and definitely couldn’t do anything about moving.

Near the end of the month, the new owner came out and got really mad to see that we were still there. After that he came nearly every day, after Dad went to work and before we got home from school. Every day Mom would be crying. Mom never cried. Moms don’t cry, they just do what Moms do. And she wasn’t able to do what Mom was supposed to do.

Finally, the man told her his family was moving in on Saturday and we could live on the grass in the front yard but we had to be out of his house. There was a house for rent in the paper that morning and Mom called about it. We could afford the rent so she said we’d take it even without seeing it and we started moving out while the new family was moving in.

Dad took the new owner out to the pasture to show him the well and then they came back to the house. Dad’s face was white, his eyes wide. The man’s face was red and he was yelling. Dad walked over to the kitchen sink and turned on the faucet. Out came sputtering, muddy water. Dad explained that he took the cover off the well to show the man the nice level of the water and all he saw were bricks falling in from the sides and muddy water all stirred up. He was afraid to stand too close to the well, not knowing if it was going to cave in. The man was sure Dad had done something to make the well cave in but I knew Dad would never do that and besides, he was so pale and scared, I knew he didn’t know anything about it.

We moved and didn’t worry about the well anymore but our friends with the horses had to move them to another place because the well never recovered.

Note: This is the fourth of 11 stories written by Esther Hastings Miller.  Follow along as she shares her precious memories of growing up in Clive, Iowa.

About Esther Miller:

My parents, younger brother David, and I moved to the old house at the end of what is now Swanson Blvd just before Christmas in 1957. The address was University Avenue and the house may have been the “Kurtz Hill” mentioned in Mildred Swanson’s story about sledding. That yard was outstanding for sledding!

I was in fifth grade at Clive School and David was in third. We lived in that house until June of 1960 when the property was sold and we had to move. We moved to the Johnston area where we went to school for a year. In September of that year, my father was severely injured at work and was never able to work again. We moved to Des Moines, since Mother didn’t drive and Dad couldn’t anymore. And then, in December of 1961 we moved to California. Mother had gone to school in a small town in Southern California in the 40s, so she had friends there and she knew the climate would be a lot easier on all of us.

Both David and I finished high school in California, then I attended two small colleges nearby and graduated, first in my family, in 1970. I worked as an occupational therapist with severely handicapped children, then took several years off to raise my own two children. I eventually returned to work until my husband took early retirement. We traveled around the country in an RV, a long-time dream of ours, until we found some place we wanted to move to.

We sold our home in California and settled into an old farmhouse in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia where we lived for several more years. I returned to California a few years ago and now live way out in the country. Do you see a trend? I love living in the country and over the years I’ve built on the skills I first learned in that old house in Clive.

Miracle of the Well – Part 1

Posted on: 03.27.20 | by Mary

By: Esther Hastings Miller

I mentioned that we went to church a lot. On the nights that we didn’t go to church, we had family devotions. One of us would read a portion from the Bible, then we’d quote verses we’d memorized or we’d play a game based on the Bible, each of us would pray, and we’d end with the Lord’s Prayer. Once in a while, Mother would pass around the promise box. The promise box had Bible verses printed on small cards. Each verse was some kind of promise.

Late in the first winter we lived in the old house, we had gone without running water for four months. One night, I drew a promise from the box and it was from the book of Isaiah in the Old Testament, chapter 44, verse 3: “For I will pour water upon him that is thirsty and floods upon the dry ground.” When it was my turn to pray, my eleven-year-old faith prompted me to tell God that I was going to hold Him to His promise. We were definitely thirsty for good water (and profoundly tired of hauling it) and I fully expected Him to come through for us!

 For I will pour water upon him that is thirsty and floods upon the dry ground.

That spring there was rain. And more rain. It must still be in the record books. Rain and melting snow made Walnut Creek, where the Greenbelt Park is now, fill the entire woods. Water was up over the barbed wire fence that ran along the base of the railroad track that went out to the steel plant. There must have been flooding all over town but I just remember seeing weeds and leaves caught on the top strand of wire on that fence.

One day when there was a break in the rain, Dad and an uncle went out to the well. Dad put an old ladder down there, tied a rope around his waist, and climbed down. The bottom of the well…a spring, really…was only about 9 or 10 feet down. Uncle Gordon handed him a shovel and a bucket and Dad started digging the sand and silt out of the bottom of the well. Suddenly he yelled up that water was coming in FAST. He climbed faster and Uncle Gordon helped haul him out. They grabbed the ladder and watched the well fill with water. It filled to the overflow pipe at ground level, then slowed down. Very little water ran out the overflow.

Back to the basement they went, pumping air from the long lines to the house. Finally the air was gone, the pipes were full of water and we had running water in the house!

For the next two years, the well never failed, even when deeper wells over on Harbach ran dry. The water was cold and clear and an inspector said it was the best water he had tested in years. Mom could run her washing machine, we could take baths, and eventually another family rented the barn and watered several horses from that well. It filled rapidly until it reached the ground level, then stopped.

I’ve never drunk better water anywhere.

Note: This is the third of 11 stories written by Esther Hastings Miller. Follow along as she shares her precious memories of growing up in Clive, Iowa.

About Esther Miller:

My parents, younger brother David, and I moved to the old house at the end of what is now Swanson Blvd just before Christmas in 1957. The address was University Avenue and the house may have been the “Kurtz Hill” mentioned in Mildred Swanson’s story about sledding. That yard was outstanding for sledding!

I was in fifth grade at Clive School and David was in third. We lived in that house until June of 1960 when the property was sold and we had to move. We moved to the Johnston area where we went to school for a year. In September of that year, my father was severely injured at work and was never able to work again. We moved to Des Moines, since Mother didn’t drive and Dad couldn’t anymore. And then, in December of 1961 we moved to California. Mother had gone to school in a small town in Southern California in the 40s, so she had friends there and she knew the climate would be a lot easier on all of us.

Both David and I finished high school in California, then I attended two small colleges nearby and graduated, first in my family, in 1970. I worked as an occupational therapist with severely handicapped children, then took several years off to raise my own two children. I eventually returned to work until my husband took early retirement. We traveled around the country in an RV, a long-time dream of ours, until we found some place we wanted to move to.

We sold our home in California and settled into an old farmhouse in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia where we lived for several more years. I returned to California a few years ago and now live way out in the country. Do you see a trend? I love living in the country and over the years I’ve built on the skills I first learned in that old house in Clive.

Esther Hasting Miller’s Stories

Posted on: 03.24.20 | by Mary

 

Esther Hastings Miller shares 11 stories capturing her precious memories growing up in Clive, Iowa, during the late 1950s and early 1960s. Please find all 11 stories listed in the right sidebar and join Esther on her trip down memory lane…

About Esther Miller:

My parents, younger brother David, and I moved to the old house at the end of what is now Swanson Blvd just before Christmas in 1957. The address was University Avenue and the house may have been the “Kurtz Hill” mentioned in Mildred Swanson’s story about sledding. That yard was outstanding for sledding!

I was in fifth grade at Clive School and David was in third. We lived in that house until June of 1960 when the property was sold and we had to move. We moved to the Johnston area where we went to school for a year. In September of that year, my father was severely injured at work and was never able to work again. We moved to Des Moines, since Mother didn’t drive and Dad couldn’t anymore. And then, in December of 1961 we moved to California. Mother had gone to school in a small town in Southern California in the 40s, so she had friends there and she knew the climate would be a lot easier on all of us.

Both David and I finished high school in California, then I attended two small colleges nearby and graduated, first in my family, in 1970. I worked as an occupational therapist with severely handicapped children, then took several years off to raise my own two children. I eventually returned to work until my husband took early retirement. We traveled around the country in an RV, a long-time dream of ours, until we found some place we wanted to move to.

We sold our home in California and settled into an old farmhouse in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia where we lived for several more years. I returned to California a few years ago and now live way out in the country. Do you see a trend? I love living in the country and over the years I’ve built on the skills I first learned in that old house in Clive.

 



*** Samples of old recipe books shared by Esther Hastings Miller.***

Betty Crocker's Bisquick Cook Book

Betty Crocker's Bisquick Cook Book


Betty Crocker's Bisquick Cook Book

Betty Crocker's Bisquick - inside pages.


Jello Cook Book

Jello Cook Book

Cakes Men Like Cook Book

Cakes Men Like Cook Book


Our First Winter in Clive

Posted on: 02.26.20 | by Mary

By: Esther Hastings Miller

It had been a mild fall with little or no snow when we moved to the old house in Clive. I remember because Mother marveled that the ground was still bare. In 1957, houses…especially old houses…were not insulated. Wood-framed windows usually leaked air, and glass was singled-paned. The insulating value of a single pane of glass must be just about zero.

We had a coal-burning furnace with a stoker to automatically feed that coal to heat a big jacket of water which circulated through the radiators. Except it didn’t. Nothing worked. The stoker didn’t work. There was no water in the system. The water pump didn’t work. There was air in the lines from the well, which was way up in the pasture behind the barn, all the way down to the house. And finally, there was no water in the well.

At least my brother and I got to go to school where it was warm but Mom and Dad were stuck without heat or water. Grandpa and my uncle were furnace men and Grandpa was an electrician, so together they got the stoker working again and after several days, managed to get enough water into the system that we got heat. Of course, the snow arrived before the heat.

Either the landlord replaced the pump or Grandpa got it working and I can remember to this day the sound of a water pump pumping air from the lines. But there isn’t much point in pumping air if there is no water at the other end. The well was hand-dug, lined with un-mortared bricks, and covered with a big wash bucket and a heavy rock. If you took off the bucket, you could see the well wasn’t very deep but it did have a little bit of water in it. If only we could get it.

On Christmas day, Dad got enough air pumped out of the lines that the little bit of water in the well made it all the way to the kitchen. Mother’s greatest gift that Christmas was enough water to wash every dirty dish in the house. All the everyday dishes, the wedding dishes, the left-over, seldom-used funky dishes that didn’t match…everything we owned got washed that day. And then there was no more water.

For the rest of the winter our water came from three sources. Every morning before school, I filled Mom’s canning kettle as full as I could with the cleanest snow I could find…no mean trick when you have coal ash everywhere. The kettle was put on the radiator to melt and that was dishwater, wash-your-hands-water, scrub-the-floor water, and finally, at the end of the day, flush-the-toilet water.

Cooking and drinking water came from a 10-gallon galvanized bucket we took to church every week and filled with good city water. If that ran out before the next church service (we went to church a lot), then we’d take the bucket to the railroad station and pump water from the hand-pump outside the station. That water had an iron taste to it, either from the water itself or from the pump which was so rarely used.

I think Mom must have saved some of the snow melt for mornings and heated it on the stove so we could wash our hands and faces before school. Back then, most people did not shower or bathe every day. One good bath on Saturday night was common. Besides, it was winter. Nobody got sweaty and stinky…at least no stinkier than anyone else.

Our lack of water lasted until spring when The Miracle of the Well occurred.

Note: This is the second of 11 stories written by Esther Hastings Miller. Follow along as she shares her precious memories of growing up in Clive, Iowa.

About Esther Miller:

My parents, younger brother David, and I moved to the old house at the end of what is now Swanson Blvd just before Christmas in 1957. The address was University Avenue and the house may have been the “Kurtz Hill” mentioned in Mildred Swanson’s story about sledding. That yard was outstanding for sledding!

I was in fifth grade at Clive School and David was in third. We lived in that house until June of 1960 when the property was sold and we had to move. We moved to the Johnston area where we went to school for a year. In September of that year, my father was severely injured at work and was never able to work again. We moved to Des Moines, since Mother didn’t drive and Dad couldn’t anymore. And then, in December of 1961 we moved to California. Mother had gone to school in a small town in Southern California in the 40s, so she had friends there and she knew the climate would be a lot easier on all of us.

Both David and I finished high school in California, then I attended two small colleges nearby and graduated, first in my family, in 1970. I worked as an occupational therapist with severely handicapped children, then took several years off to raise my own two children. I eventually returned to work until my husband took early retirement. We traveled around the country in an RV, a long-time dream of ours, until we found some place we wanted to move to.

We sold our home in California and settled into an old farmhouse in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia where we lived for several more years. I returned to California a few years ago and now live way out in the country. Do you see a trend? I love living in the country and over the years I’ve built on the skills I first learned in that old house in Clive.

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