Chapter 5: Our Country School

In 1886, when Carl was seven years old, he started school. Like most of the children of pioneers of Swedish descent, he neither spoke nor understood a word of English, but children soon learn. He carried his noon day lunch, a sandwich of bread and molasses, in a little pocket that Mother had sewed on the inside of a new little coat. That was the beginnings of school for the Peterson children. All of us completed our grade school training in that little white school house, District No. 9, in Clay township.

How long before this time this school house was built, I do not know, but there it remained on the corner about three-fourths of a mile west of our home as a beacon of learning until the Gowrie Consolidated School District was formed; the fine modern building erected; and school buses went out into the country, bringing the country children in to attend a good graded school, starting a new era of schooling.

Rural school, location unknown

These school houses were all built after the same pattern. The school room had three windows on each side; at the front a raised platform for the teacher’s desk; in front and on both sides, black-boards; on one side of the teacher’s desk a globe of the world and on the other, a Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary. To the side front stood the cast iron heating stove; on the rear wall was a tall cupboard for lunch pails; on the side walls various specimens of the pupils’ best work. When Carl Knock taught our school he secured pictures of all our Presidents, which we framed and placed in order of their presidency above the blackboard on the front wall. This might have been a fore-runner of visual education. In the hall entry to the building were hooks for all the wraps, but in winter time overshoes often were arranged in a circle around the heater to dry out and be fit to put on at closing time. I must not omit to mention the shelf at one end of this hall where stood the water pail, with a dipper which was used by one and all. Water was carried from the nearest farm home, and the pupils took turns doing the task.

There was also a coal house which in warm seasons the girls would fix up to play house in. Another “family” would live in the storm cave if there was no water in it. These storm caves were built after the terrible tornado struck at Pomeroy in the 1890s. Only once was it used when a storm threatened, and at this time there was about a foot of water in it. So the older boys and girls stood barefoot, knee-deep in water while the teacher and little folks crouched on the steps. It got dark as night, but turned out to be only a bad dust storm.

The pioneers showed by their action in erecting these schools that they knew the value of schooling for the children. They were placed at the section corners, two miles apart each way so that some children were fortunate in living quite near to school while others might have as far as two miles to walk. These walks were generally shortened by cutting across the fields.

Our walks to school stand out in my memory, especially when in the spring we could walk barefoot, and often linger along the way to pick wild flowers, buttercups, violets, and other flowers which grew in abundance by the road side. The teacher generally had several bunches of wild flowers on her desk. Often school would continue into June, and then there was an abundance of wild strawberries to pick and eat on our homeward way. Never did any fruit taste sweeter or more delicious.

There were rainy spells when water would overflow the grades, and we would have to carefully pick out way if we had our overshoes on. Naturally, if barefoot it was the more fun to wade through the water. What child does not revel in wading?

In winter the story was different. Bundled up so that only noses and eyes showed, we bravely trudged through deep snow and facing the biting cold wind. Seldom, if ever, did we get a ride to school. Of course there were days when we had to stay home from school when it was too stormy. That was especially true of the little folks. We all hated to miss a day of school.

There are many memories linked with that little school house, standing on an acre of ground fenced all around with a board fence. There was plenty of play ground space, and recess time was as much enjoyed in olden times as it is today. Favorite games that I remember were “Pump, pump, pull-away,” “Last couple out,” “The old witch,” “Bear” (something like the modern game of “Cops and robbers”). Very little ball was played because of the different ages and sizes of the pupils, but “Anteover” over the school-house roof furnished plenty of competition between the two opposing sides. Aross the road from the school yard was a large slough or pond, generally too overgrown with pond grass to afford good skating, but we enjoyed wading there in warm weather.

Unless the weather was rainy or stormy, the pupils were expected to all go out at recess to work off some accumulated restless energy. It was not often that the teacher had time to supervise or join in the games, for her time was filled with putting extra assignments on the black-board; extra samples to supplement those in the arithmetic books, for example. I can still see the board filled with these examples in the four fundamentals: their purpose being to develop accuracy and speed in figuring. Long division combined addition, subtraction, multiplication and division so was much stressed for the older pupils.

Speed an accuracy were given in a test at the Friday afternoon time of ciphering down, much enjoyed by all. For beginning with the first graders and their simple examples, the winner would choose another contestant until the exciting last minutes when two eighth graders would compete for the top honors. Proud and happy was the winner. Similarly, contests in spelling down took place in that happy time on Friday after the last recess. In this way accuracy and speed in two very important subjects was stimulated.

Reading and writing, spelling and arithmetic were stressed much in those days. Much so-called “busy work” helped pupils to keep occupied after they felt they had properly learned the assigned lessons. This was became when teaching grades one to eight, a teacher had little time for supervision. In one front side of the room was a long bench for recitation of lessons. A very limited time (often as little as five to seven minutes) could be spent for each class in order that all would have time for a recitation. It followed that pupils of country schools had to a great extent depend on their own initiative and efforts, and really had to learn how to study. The last term I went to school I was a lone eighth grader and brother Carl, who was my teacher, just assigned so many pages for each day and hardly ever had time for me to do any reciting. Still he kept an eye open to see if I applied myself as I should. One day a book agent came during school hours and as, proverbially, book agents are persistent; so was this one, and took some of the teacher’s valuable time. I was an interested listener-in and my eyes were not on my books! To my dismay that day I was called on for a recitation and other classes were skipped over! No doubt big brother saw a chance to teach me a lesson in another subject than in my text books.

The need of a school library for use as supplemental reading gave rise to the custom of having one evening’s entertainment a year for fund raising. Generally a pie or box social was the best means of raising money. The entertainment varied from community spelling bees, to programs put on by the school, consisting of songs, dialogues and recitations.

For these events folks really turned out. Many bought lanterns to hang up for lights. Sometimes a lamp or two added extra illumination. Grown folks squeezed themselves into even the primary children’s low seats. I can’t recall where the school children were, probably back stage in the hall. This was a high point in every winter term. The funds raised were wisely spent for children’s classics and supplementary readers, also some appealing story books of the age like the Five Little Peppers series, the Elsie Dinsmore books, the Fenimore Cooper books, etc. These books could be taken out and brought home, but the most use of them was made when pupils got permission tot ake a library book to their seat after lessons were learned.

There was also in later years a traveling township library, augmented each year from a township fund. For several years after I had finished eighth grade, Carl was secretary of the Township School Board and one of his duties was to select and send for these books from the book supply company. He, in turn delegated this delightful task to me. Esther was much concerned lest I should grow to a lazy good-for-nothing, for when that package of books came I felt I just must read every one before they were distributed to the various schools.

These school houses could comfortably accommodate about 25 pupils. Then, as now, enrollment varied by cycles, depending much on if large families would move onto the rented farms in the district. When I was six years old, Mother kept me home until the spring term, as Marie Callerstrom that winter had 35 pupils enrolled. So crowded was the room that the smaller children had to sit by threes in a double seat. In contrast about 15 years later one winter term there were only three pupils enrolled. Until just the last few years the school year was only seven months long with quite long vacations between terms.

On the back of this photo, my dad wrote: “This is, I believe, a copy (perhaps an enlargement), of a picture I had printed from an old picture that, as I recall, I acquired after my mother died. It may be of the students at the country school the Peterson siblings attended, but I can identify no one of them.”

Whatever the enrollment a teacher must be read to teach first to eighth grades if needed. No normal school training was necessary, no not even a high school diploma. Any one who could pass the rather difficult teacher’s examination in the subjects to be taught, plus Didactics, or the art of teaching, would be granted a third class certificate. After some months of teaching experience this could be raised to a second class certificate. The salary? As I recall, it was $35 a month for third class, and $37.50 for second class, but dollars had more value then than now.

By diligent review and study, Carl, Esther, and I secured teacher’s certificates and taught in the local schools for various lengths of time. I marvel at our self-assurance in taking on the teaching of neighborhood children who knew us so well. but there was a wonderful co-operative spirit in those home districts and we got quite good results in our teaching efforts.

The country school teacher’s work did not consist merely of teaching. No, she was the school janitor as well. This meant coming to school early on winter mornings so as to have the room warm for the first early arrivals. It also meant carrying in coal and carrying out all the ashes, sweeping and dusting. Before the school year began in the fall it was the duty of the school director to thoroughly clean the school house. From that day on it was up to the teacher to try to keep the dust down. In winter snow scattered on the cold floor in the morning kept down a lot of the accumulated dust. Often times pupils would volunteer to stay after school and clean black boards and erasers.

Sometimes on nearing the school house one could see smoke coming from the chimney. This meant that some wandering tramp had spent the night there. any a tramp slept on those long recitation benches! It wasn’t much use to even lock the door, for they could easily com in through the windows. It always was with a sense of fear that the door was unlocked for the tramp might still be there, but it never happened in our school. However, although for that one day, the fire need not be started up in a cold room, there was the task of carrying in more coal and also more ashes to empty, before beginning the day.

Some pupils would come so early they almost beat the teacher. No one wanted to come late for we all enjoyed the brief opening exercises, always a portion read from the bible and the singing of a gospel hymn, and perhaps a patriotic song. Roll call was often answered by quotations we had learned, and proud was the pupil who some time found a new one to copy into our copy books. Often times the teacher would also read a chapter from some interest-book, like a continued story. After that we were all ready for the day’s school work.

Not very many pupils took the eighth grade county examinations for they had no hopes of going farther with their education. Be it said, thought that the Petersons one and all did “graduate” from country school, and went on to some further schooling.

I want also to tell about our Bible schools — in summer — then called Swedish school, since Swedish reading, spelling, and composition was taught as well as the Bible History and Catechism.

Two years I well remember when we had two months of summer school, one month in District No. 8 and one in District No. 9. Since the summer days were longer it was as well to make good use of the day, so our school days began at 8:00 A.M. and kept on until 4:00 P.M. None of us considered it a hardship to attend. We thought it was a privilege for we enjoyed the association with our neighbor children of different districts; maybe also the change to get away from home duties. We had one teacher born in Sweden who was very strict, but when in a good mood would sit down and relate the most wonderful stories about the Norse men and Swedish history.

One summer when I was about 9 or 10 years old, I memorized the whole Luther’s explanation of his Small Catechism, about 100 pages including all the Bible verses. As I later have adopted the English as my “church language” I have often regretted that this memory work was not in that language, for what one learned in childhood remains in one’s memory.

When it was Mother’s turn to board the teacher it was Lawrence’s job to carry his noon lunch packed in a grape basket, to us it seemed to much, compared to what we carried in our own dinner pails, and to our childish minds came the questions, “Why the difference?”

Until the time of World War I, Swedish was the home language for many. Carl tells how he didn’t know any English when he started school, and he was not the only one. That first year I taught in the Telleen school, it was next to impossible to make the pupils speak anything but Swedish on the play ground unless the teacher was out there to enforce it. In fact, an English speaking family of several children learned enough of the Swedish language to carry on a conversation with the “Swedes.”

After World War I, there arose a decided opposition to any foreign language being used even in Sunday School and church. It hastened the turn-over from the Swedish, even at worship. This was a real loss to many of the dear old folks whose heart language it was, but viewed after 35 years, one can see it was the best of continued church work. As an example, when I taught Swedish school in the summer of 1915, there were several pupils who were struggling to memorize the catechism in Swedish, a language which they did not even understand. The change over was far from painless but because of the external pressures it was necessary. It has been our regret that we who knew two languages equally well, were not able to pass on this heritage to our children, but the trend of the times was against it.

Chapter Four: Home Improvements

After Serenus was born, the family numbered eight and the little old house was just too small for the growing family. Plans were made and the new house was built in 1893. The was quite an undertaking, but finally the last mortgage on the land had been paid, and of course building costs were not then what they are now. The lean to kitchen was torn off and the main part of the old house was turned half way around the forms the back part of the house as it now stands. Thus, the family lived in this part while the new house was being built. 

The Peterson family, 1905. Back, left to right: Lawrence (17), Naomi (15), Serenus (13), George (22), Esther (24), Carl (26). Front, left to right: Ruth (10), Jonas (60), Lillian (5), Emma (43), Laurine (1) (on lap), Milton (8)

When Father was to do anything he wanted to do it up right and the new house was one of the very best in the country round. The rooms were large and airy. There were good floors and nice wood-work. Only in the very large parlor was the floor laid of six inch boards. It was taken for granted there would always be a wall to wall carpet there. This rooms was furnished with a nice woolen ingrain carpet, some beautiful cane seated chairs and a red plush sofa. That’s all I remember about this room, for it was seldom opened up and used only when company was invited. But one day when little Lawrence got his fingers squeezed in the clothes wringer, I so well remember how Mother comforted him by the simple expedient of bringing him in to sit on that wonderful red plush sofa!

There were styles in building then as now. And so, though the wood-work in the bedrooms upstairs was simply varnished and the natural beauty of the wood retained, not so down stairs. Much work was done on a ground coat of paint, then graining a pattern in a darker color to resemble wood grain But was years passed by this wood-work was less attractive and harder to clean, and yet that finish cost much more in the first place.

In the new house there was plenty of room for the growing family and more comforts, though a coal stove furnished the only heat in winter. Stove pipes leading up through two upstairs bedrooms took off some of the chill, but we used to grab out clothes and run down stairs to dress where it was nice and warm. Some houses in later years were heated by hard coal stoves, which gave out a delightful warm glow through the icing-glass [isinglass] body of the stove. We never had one of these, but a soft coal stove with a protective grill work was bought after Serenus as a baby fell on the cast-iron heat and badly burned his face, leaving it badly scarred for months.

Spring and fall house cleaning was really a big job in the new house. Five of the rooms boasted of carpeting; wool ingrain carpets in the spare bedroom and the parlor and the small bedroom downstairs. Two rooms had home woven rag carpets. An old lady in town, Mrs. Stone, wove the carpets for Mother. Under each carpet was put a layer of clean straw, clean at least when first laid down. Then with a mechanical device called a carpet stretcher the carpet was pulled taut and tacks drive in about every three inches. It looked real nice when the job was well done. Then came the time when all these tacks had to be pried up with a screw driver, and the carpet taken out to be beaten clean of dust. This was a big job. The straw, now all filled with dust. was replaced with clean straw and then again the task of laying the carpets. What a lot of dust could be accumulated over one winter, especially from the coal and ashes from the heating stove which added to that tracked in by many feet.

But, on the whole, work was easier in a roomy new house, and there was also room for boarding the school teachers. Both the public school and Swedish school teachers often stayed at our place. When any carpenter or other work was to be done in those days, it was taken for granted that the work men also got room and board for now there was plenty of room at our house.

A few years after Father died, the farm house was modernized (I think it was about 1910). Again the Peterson house became one of the better farm houses around Gowrie. A full basement was put in and a hot water heating system installed. The west wing was added, providing a nice kitchen and pantry downstairs and a bathroom and storeroom upstairs. A large cistern was built and the house well dug, with the pump on a screened-in porch right outside the back door. With plenty of water near at hand, running water was also installed. Truly a marvelous changed from when Mother began her housekeeping in that first little house on the prairie thirty years before. To this day the old farm house provides a comfortable living, as our family experienced when during the depression in 1933, we left our home in town and move there to live in order to make both ends meet after Clarence lost his job at the bank.

The new big barn had been built some years before the last improvements on the house. Uncle Callerstrom and Adolph Blomgren built the house in 1893 — the barn was the last big carpenter job that Uncle did. In the fall of 1914 Carl built the double crib which burned in that awful fire in the fall of 1947, the last fall we Strands lived on the old farm place.

Chapter Three: The Family Grows

When Carl was 18 months old, Esther Adelia was born. Help was not easy to get but this time old Mrs. Hendrickson had come to help Mother. Then the baby did not come at the expected time and after several weeks, Mrs. Hendrickson had to leave as her own family needed her. So when Esther was born Mother had no help after all.

The family kept on increasing. Esther was not quite two when George was born. As a baby he had several spells of convulsions, and no doubt this was the reason that he never was strong and well like the rest of us children. Then followed a really difficult time for the little family. After a miscarriage it seemed that Mother could not regain her strength and for months was unable to work at all. Help then as now was hard to get, though her cousin Emma Seashore was there for awhile. At times Father would be alone to care for the three little ones as best he could. Carl and Esther say they well remember the very thick pancakes he used to bake for them on top of the cast iron heating stove. Neighbors were helpful and kind, and came often to wash, clean up the house and bake.

Original Peterson farmhouse and granary, circa 1883. From left to right: Carl, Jonas, George, Emma, Esther. Note the small spruce trees surrounded by wood-post enclosures.

Though Carl must have been only about six years old, he has recalled of how on Christmas Eve, three forlorn little folks were sitting in the dusk, on a shawl spread on the floor for warmth, when Theodore Hultquist, a cousin of Father, who was working for Mr. Lennarson, came over and brought them some little gifts and Christmas cheer.

It took much urging and encouragement from her cousin Emma and her neighbor, Mrs. Woodard, to get Mother to try to walk again. Almost as when a child, she had to learn to take those first steps. But gradually she regained her strength and was able to care for her family, who so much needed a mother’s care.

Sorrow came to the home when their next baby, lovely little blue-eyed Elvera, died at the age of nine months, but before long there was a new baby. Lawrence was born on March 20, 1888.

It is difficult for us of this generation to grasp the monotonous trend of the life of those days. Seldom were they able to go to church, and Mother grieved over this. For some time before Lawrence was born, her Uncle Carl Gustaf came to help with some building. He was the uncle who was also a lay preacher, and Mother has told of what a season of refreshing this was to her starved sould, as he read and explained the Bible and sang to them.

It was quite an event when in 1890, just before I, her sixth child, was born, Mother got her first washing machine. Until then all washing had been done on a wash board. On the 3rd of July, after 10-year-old Carl came home from the last day of school, he and Mother did a big washing. The machine was operated by a push and pull handle on the lid of the machine, and standing over the hot steam was not an easy task, even for an older person, but this was Carl’s task from then on.

That evening as Mother realized her baby would soon be born, she had Father bring the children in to Auntie Callerstrom’s “for a visit,” while Auntie came back to assist at the child birth. The next day there was a Sunday School picnic out at the Isaacson farm. Dinner was served pot luck style, but at tables, the older folks were eating first. Esther relates how they then let the little folks eat on the dirty dishes to save washing! In those days children always waited till all the older folks were served. Folks were not so afraid of germs then as now! How well I remember us thirsty children crowding around th water bucket and all drinking from the same dipper.

But germs there were in those days too. We had the usual childhood diseases in turn. After Serenus was born the whole family had the whooping cough, even the baby. There was no known relief in those days and it had to run its course. Imagine six children sick with the whooping cough at the same time!

Except for Carl, who was born in Illinois, Auntie Callerstrom had served as mid-wife for all of us children until Serenus was born. She had learned much from experience, and when she was called out on November 14, 1892, she saw that this time Mother needed a doctor. With his slow team of horses Father set out for Gowrie. There he found old Doctor Evans unwilling to come with him, so he had to continue on to Callender and Dr. Fox came with him to the aid of poor Mother who had waited in pain all that long time. It maybe was a blessing that rough old Dr. Evans refused to come after all, for the younger, more skillful doctor was able to change the position of the baby so all went well.

The first small house had a sort of attic or loft, not plastered, which had to be used as an extra bedroom, even in winter. With the many cracks and crevices in the rudely constructed homes of pioneer days many folks were pestered with bed bugs. To make matters worse, these bed bugs would be carried in clothing and so spread from one house to another. One fall Mother’s step-brother, Gottfried, who had recently come from Sweden, came to stay with them after working for sometime for other families. He and Carl shared this attic room, and Mother let them take care of the room as at that time walking stairs was difficult for her. Imagine her dismay when one day she did go up to clean and found the bed literally crawling with bed bugs. The only thing to do was to empty and burn the corn husk filling of the mattress, wash all the bed clothes and then souse every crack and corner with kerosene. As I grew older and helped with the house-cleaning, I remember how as a precaution against bed bugs, Mother would use a feather and soak every crack in the wooden bed steads with kerosene each spring and fall.

Every fall we would go out into the fields and gather sacks full of the inner corn husks to replenish our mattresses. The ticks were washed and kept from year to year, but the husks would get matted and dusty. It took skill in those days to make up a bed so that it was smooth and even. One had to reach in through the opening at the top of the mattress and kind of level off the hollows and bumps made by our bodies, a far cry from the inner-spring mattresses of our day. Of course, there were no springs at all until many, many years later.

As the family increased so the work increased for Mother, and it was only be each one doing his or her share to help, that all the work could be done. The spring that Ruth was born in 1895, Esther stayed home from school to help. Then the next year she went back to school for review before taking the county eighth grade examinations. Likewise, when Esther began to teach school in the spring of 1903, I stayed home, as Mother was not well that year. So, though not quite 13 years of age, that spring I baked large batches of bread, (12 loaves at a backing) scrubbed the floors and did the heavier house work. At that time a 50 pound sack of flour lasted only one week. One time I recall Father bought 20 sacks of flour at one time.

It was quite a thrill for me that later that spring I could pass the eighth grade examinations and rank first in the whole county, even though I had not been attending school. I was awarded one year’s free tuition at Tobin College, but could not avail myself of it, as I was needed at home.

When Milton was born on September 4, 1897, it was just at threshing time. Esther, only 16 years old then, was responsible for the threshers. At this time the Jacobsons lived on the Woodards’ farm. Mrs. Jacobson came up to help Esther but her little three months old Leonard was a “colicky” baby, and cried all the time so it wasn’t too much help. Cooking for the threshers was no easy task under any circumstances. Esther will never forget how as the men went out after dinner one of them clumsily tipped over a large can of water brought in for preparing the next meals and though it flooded the kitchen, he only laughed; while she had extra work of cleaning up that mess before getting supper on to cook. The crew with the threshing rig were often rough and unmannerly. These men also stayed nights wherever they were working. The good old days? — not for the farm women.

Though I was only seven years old, I so well remember when Jonas Milton was baptized at home; how Rev. Landell looked at the slip on which the baby’s name was written, showed it to someone and smiled as if her were amused. Of course Milton translated the Jonas to John as he got older. He and Leonard Jacobson were inseparable playmates as they grew old enough to be left alone together. In those days there were no clean sand piles for children to play in so their favorite play spot was the accumulated pile of ashes. They enjoyed this ash pile, but the mother had to wash some very dirty little boys.

When Lillian was born January 27, 1900, I was ten years old. This time our good neighbor, Mrs. Knock, came to take care of Mother and baby for the first week, and I spent a wonderful week visiting with the Knock girls. This is really one of the outstanding events of my childhood. Their older sister, Emma, took good care of us all there.

Though there was the same difference in the ages of Milton and Lillian as between the rest of us, it has seemed as if there was a closer bond between those two — they seemed almost like twins. Perhaps this was because for a while it seemed as if the family had reached its full number so there was not a new baby crowding in on their play. It was not until Lillian was almost five years old, that Laurie was born on September 9, 1904. Mother was then 42 years old, and not at all well. In fact, she herself feared she would not live through this child-birth. But all went well and little Laurine became the pet of us all, but especially of Father.

About this time Father got a bone infection in his little finger. For weeks that infection caused an almost unbearable pain until two thirds of this finger, bone and all, had literally rotted away, leaving only a loose portion of flesh which he himself one day cut off with just an old pair of scissors and then fainted dead away as he tried to walk to a chair. How frightened we all were. But after that it miraculously healed.

After this, though only about sixty years of age, Father withdrew from active farm work, leaving the management up to the boys, who were naturally interested in the newer methods then coming in and also in the tiling of the lower ground, as the county ditch had gone through and provided an outlet for the water. From then on we remember Father sitting in the shade of the big maples in summer, and by the bay window in winter, entertaining Laurine who was left without playmates, since Milton and Lillian were already of school age. Part of each afternoon Father would lie on the bed upstairs by the west window, reading his Swedish newspaper and also a weekly newspaper, “The Chicago Inter-Ocean,” which furnished all the news we ever got from the outside world even up till Father’s death in 1915. How times have changed in these last 40 years.

It was about this time that our Grandfather Sjostrand died, and Mother invested her legacy from Sweden in a piano. After Esther had taken lessons on the organ from Mr. Lagerquist, she in turn gave the rest of us lessons. Father loved organ music but had no taste for what he called the tinny sound of a pianoi, and he would retire upstairs when Ruth and I began taking lessons from Hilma Liljegren and practiced on the new piano. The old organ later was placed in the school by Esther when she taught District #9. I have often wondered what became of it after the consolidation of schools, for there are happy memories of childhood when we would gather around the organ, and sing our favorite hymns. May of these Swedish hymns are indelibly impressed on our youthful memories.

When Esther was 17 years old, she went to a sewing school for three months. Mary Hicks taught may girls of those times what I later years we might call Home Economics. After completing thus course, Esther went out to various homes and did sewing. She earned 50 cents a day and her board, for a ten hour day of sewing — just five cents an hour!

As with her organ lessons, Esther felt she should pass on the sewing skills to me so I took could carry on, which I did do after she left for Omaha. But, maybe I was the black sheep of the family! I did not love fancy work like Mother and Esther did. And I surely hated to sew. I can well remember angrily crying as I saw doing some sewing which Esther thought I should be learning. I loved to read, and read anything and everything I could get hold of. I loved to work out of doors. But how often in life one must learn to do work that is not what we might like to do. That is a lesson I think we all learned in our youth.

Chapter Two: The Home on the Prairie

Father bought the first 80 acres of the present Peterson farm for $800. In the sale was included a team of horses and a walking plow. The former owner, a Mr. Hildreth, had built a house which compared favorably with homes of that period. It had two rooms; a living room and a bedroom with a lean-to kitchen, a small cellar and an unfinished loft.

Here they established their new home. It was a lonely place for the young bride for at that time the Woodards had not yet moved onto their place so there were no near neighbors. On all sides spread the wide expanse of prairie, broken only by many ponds or sloughs. There were no trees, nothing to break that expanse of prairie. Often Mother would walk to town to visit her aunt and cousins. The distance was shortened by making a bee-line across the prairie, though the distance now by road is almost four miles.

About Christmas time the call of the gold mines got too strong for Father. Since Mother shrank from going with him and sharing the rough life of a mining town, he brought her to Illinois to stay with his Aunt Lovisa in Galva. This was not an easy time for the young wife, now expecting her first child and her husband so far away. However, in some respects she had an easier life then than later when alone with her little ones on the farm. Aunt Lovisa tried her best to make this period not too difficult for the young niece.

Carl Algot was born August 6, 1879, and about six months after this in the spring of 1880 Father returned from Montana, never to go back. It must be said here that had it not been for Mother’s steadfast refusal to go to Montana with him, there would not have been this history of life on the Peterson farm which from that time on was to be their home. Father was not a farmer at heart, but for the rest of his life he was a farmer. He was always a very hard worker ad put in almost too long days, from dawn to dusk, following the walking plow, cultivator or harrow Horses he must have in order to till the ground, but the first years they did not even own one cow. The only milk they ever had was when Mr. Knock, a good neighbor, would walk across the prairie and bring them some. Can it be that milk is so essential for building good teeth and bones? Now 77 years old, Carl, who as a child seldom had milk to drink, still has his own teeth. Some of the rest of us lost ours long ago!

Father did not care for animals and when a cow was bought, it was Mother’s task to do the milking until Carl grew old enough to help, as he did at an early age. Most farmers raised hogs, but not Father. As I remember in later years, we had a small pig-sty and pen in which was one very big, very fat hog destined to be butchered. Pork was the staple meat of pioneer days for it could be kept better than beef. Pork sausage and the lean meat could be fried down and covered with lard, while the fat was put in a strong salt brine to keep. At that, thought it often was exceedingly salty, it tasted good to hungry appetites when fried crisp and served with milk gravy. It was however, a welcome treat when one of the neighbors would butcher a hog, for always neighbors would share the fresh meat; “smakekott” it was called.

I have digressed, so must go back to the time when Father, Mother, and Baby Carl came to make their permanent home on the prairie in the spring of 1880. A neighbor, Mr. Knock, had kept the team of horses, so now on to farming. Can we envision the Iowa prairie at that time? Only small fields as yet of the virgin sod broken by a plow; the many sloughs or ponds where no crops could be raised and no trees to break the monotony of the landscape.

The Woodards had now established their home and the hours yards were separated only by the line fence. Mr. Woodard had a wonderful hobby of planting trees and he had an extra supply of seedling soft maples. In his spare time Father would go and bring home trees in his wheel barrow. These he planted around the house-yard, and to the north a wind-break.

From Sweden comes the love of evergreens, and six spruce trees were planted on the front lawn, where for many years they have stood as sentinels, a land mark of our home place. However, two of these spruce trees, and almost all of the maple trees are now gone. I wish I knew where he got the Siberian crab-apple trees which were planted in the south west and north west of the house-yard. They grew into a dense grove and provided many more crab-apples than one family could ever use.

In later years there would be very deep drifts of leaves in the fall under these trees, which calls to my mind an unforgettable experience as a very young girl. I was along at home and was supposed to rake these leaves together in piles. I presume Father or the boys had in mind to burn those leaves later. With the over-confidence of youth I thought I could burn the leaves myself and I set them afire. It was a dry and windy day. The flames leaped high and even caught in some of the branches of the trees. Terror-stricken I watched, and prayer that the fire would not spread. What a relief when the flare-up stopped.

A few other apple trees were also planted later, but nothing like the orchard that Mr. Wooded planted to the north of his yards. In later years when Carl rented the Woodard farm, those trees bore an abundance of the most wonderful apples, many of which we did not even know the name. Summer, fall, and winter there were apples, so many of them we could not even give them away. What has happened to our ground, that such perfect apples do not grow around here anymore?

Father soon found that eighty acres was not enough land for one farm. In 1884 he bought the east and north forties for $8 an acre, and two years later the south forty was bought for 420 an acre. At that time he could have bought that whole quarter section for the same money, but who wanted all that pond ground? Never did he dream that some day that land would be drained and produce good crops.

Prices were not high, but neither was the income from the farm. Mortgages had to be taken and with interest made a heavy drag on their income. Mother has told of how when the last mortgage was paid off on the land, she resolved that never again would they go into debt.

As an example of how little was paid for what farmers raised then, this story may suffice. One year they grew a very good crop of potatoes. They had a double wagon box full besides what they would need for family use. Since Mother had helped pick them, Father generously offered her whatever these potatoes would bring she could have to buy something for herself. The whole load was sold for $5.00 to a neighbor and Mother bought herself a nice little bonnet. Even in those days there was a price squeeze on farmers.

Those first years were indeed meager years. As yet only small patches of the ground were under cultivation and prices were low, far lower than farmers get today with their larger fields and more abundant harvests. Father bought the lot in town with the vision that some day a home could be built there. But in the early years he build a corn crib on that lot and in winter time he would haul his corn and store it there. That meant shoveling it two extra times by hand of course, but then he had it convenient to sell when perhaps there would be a rise in price during a busy season. It would seem as if he had the nucleus of the idea of the ever normal granary for his crib on the farm would thus be ready for the new crop of corn.

Since Father worked long days in the field, life would have been very lonely for Mother had it not been for her near neighbor. With only a fence separating the two homesteads, what a boon it was to have this good friend. Mrs. Woodard was part French and a very friendly and talkative person. At first Mother felt she waned to hide when she saw her neighbor coming, as it was still very difficult for her to understand and speak the English language. Still no doubt her familiarity with the new language can be attributed to this vivacious and friendly neighbor.

The Woodards belonged to the Dunkard Brethren Church, whose faith differed much from the Lutheran belief. Mrs. Woodard liked to discuss these differences and Mother could only listen as she had not the ability of the language to express her views. Finally she begged Mrs. Woodard, “Lizzie, let’s not talk about religion,” and with true understanding, Mrs. Woodard replied, “Alright, Emmy, you go your way and I’ll go mine. We’re going to the same heaven.”

Mr. Woodard was an ordained pastor of their Church and even though he was a farmer, he never dressed in the overalls that other farmers wore. It seemed beneath his dignity. I so well remember his broad-rimmed hat, long beard, and clean shaven upper lip. Simplicity in dress was a mark of their faith. Mr. Woodard never wore a necktie. Mrs. Woodard’s dresses were fashioned with a tight fitting bodice and long full skirt. What impressed us children was that ordinary pins fastened the bodice as buttons would savor of vanity. We marveled at how she could care for her babies without those pins scratching them! In about 1895 the Woodards rented out their farm and went to take up homestead land in North Dakota, but moved back to Iowa later. Other neighbors in those early days were the Knocks, the Lennarsons, and the Ericksons. They were all the most wonderful neighbors.

Our Family Story: Chapter One

For the next nine or ten posts, I will be sharing an account of her parents’ life together that my grandmother Naomi Peterson Strand wrote in the mid-1950s. 

The typescript includes small line drawings above each chapter heading. I presume that Naomi drew these herself.

Our Family Story

 

by Naomi Peterson Strand

Chapter One

EARLY HISTORY

Father, Jonas Peter Peterson, was born March 28, 1845, in Tigerstad, Småland, Sweden, His parents were of the class of small farmers so common on Småland’s rocky hillsides. As was the case with many of the young men of Sweden, he left for America to escape the compulsory military services of his home land. How ironical it is that wen his grandsons grew to manhood, they here, in the land of freedom, were subject to military duty.

Coming a stranger to a strange land, he found his way first to Kansas where he spent some time working on a railroad. But soon he came to Montana, and for some time ten years worked then in the gold mines, sharing the rough life of those early days in the mining camps.

Mother, Emma Sofia Sjostrand, was born February 24, 1862, in Kalltorp, Kalmar Län, Småland, Sweden. Her father also owned a small acreage but the land was tilled by a renter or “bonde” who lived in a separate house on the little farm.

By trade, Grandfather was a carpenter and also the coffin-maker for the community. Always a very timid child, Mother has told of how frightened she was when she oft-times had to sleep in the room where there was an unfinished coffin standing. Grandfather was also almost a genius at the art of inventing. He designed and built a primitive threshing machine. He even built a cabinet organ. We can see some of this inventive ingenuity shown forth in his oldest grand-son, brother Carl’s love for machinery.

Mother was the oldest child. She had two little brothers, Alfred and Johan. The family was poor, having only the bare necessities of life. The “bonde” owned a cow, and sometimes when the children were ill, they were given milk to drink, but then they were too sick to enjoy it. At Christmas time or at some other festival time, they had “kalas” — a big company dinner. For this even many good things were baked and prepared for the feast. But before and after the “kalas” there was the fasting to make up for the feasting!

When Mother was but six years old, and her little brothers were four and two, their mother died. Then followed difficult times in the little home. Mother was sent to stay with her Grandmother many times. It was a long walk for a small girl through the woods, a distance of about one Swedish mile which equals seven of our miles, and she was often frightened on that walk. But not as frightened as she was the day she came to her Grandfather’s home when they were preparing to butcher a pig. Poor little Emma, for she was commanded to hold a vessel to catch the blood from the animal. Of the blood, a dish called palt was prepared. Beside herself with fear, she ran and hid in the woods. Her Grandmother was a very kind and understanding person, but not so her Grandfather, who was often harsh and much feared by his little granddaughter. But this time she would rather take any kind of punishment than to obey.

After three years her father re-married. Soon there were more little mouths to feed, and living was very meager. The new mother was very kind to her step-children, even though busy with her own growing brood. For some years Mother attended the parish school, learning not only to read and write, but was also instructed in the Bible, Catechism, and Church History — the curriculum of schools in Sweden.

When Mother was fourteen years old, her step-uncle Jonas Peter came back to Sweden for a visit. He spoke in glowing terms of the wonderful opportunities in the new land across the sea. When he was ready to return to America he had persuaded his youngest brother Fred and his sister, Sofia, some other relatives and also his lovely step niece, Emma, to go with him to the land of promise.

So it was that on her fifteenth birthday, Mother left her home land. It had seemed best for her thus to try to earn her own living, but she often said that if her father had been there when the ship was to take sail, she would even then have gone back home with him. It was a fearful journey across the wide ocean and to a strange land for a timid young girl of fifteen. But Grandfather had left and there was no alternative now but to get on the ship with the others of the party.

The journey across the North Sea was very rough. All the young girls on board slept on one long bench and all were very seasick. Emma and Sofia, two very young, very seasick, and very homesick girls, lay holding each other’s hands and trying to comfort one another. However, after they left Liverpool, the voyage across the Atlantic was not so rough and as every journey sometime much come to an end, so did this one.

That one sea voyage was enough for Mother. Father in later years dreamed of, planned and saved for another visit to Sweden, which however, he did not live long enough to realize. But Mother had no such dreams.

When after a two week’s voyage they reached New York, both of the girls were very glad to see land again. From New York they took a train to Chicago where they visited awhile with a cousin. It was here that Mother first heard that new and strange American language. She wondered if she ever would be able to learn it. It is really remarkable that with only three months of schooling in this country, she understood, spoke and read it easily. In later years she could even write letters in the new language, with better construction and spelling than many high school graduates of today. As she grew older she said she had to learn it well so that she could talk with her grandchildren. For after World War I all foreign languages were frowned upon and only the two oldest of her grandchildren learned any Swedish at all. The rest of them were all “green Yankees” when so easily we could have taught them Swedish for naturally we, as children, learned to speak, read and write the Swedish language.

After visiting for some time with relatives in Illinois, Aunt Sofia remained there and later married Charles Munson. For some years they lives in Galesburg, Illinois. Mother, however, came farther west to Gowrie, Iowa, Here Uncle and Auntie Callerstrom had made their home and here she was made to feel as if she indeed was one of their own daughters. To us, Auntie Callerstrom was like a grandmother. Although she herself had a large family, it was to her that Mother could come for help whenever needed.

Mathilda Marie Sjostrand Callerstrom, Emma's father's sister

Mother’s confirmation instruction, begun in Sweden, was interrupted when she left for America. There was not yet an established congregation in Gowrie and Mother went to live with her Uncle Carl Gustaf for some months while completing this instruction in Dayton. She also stayed part of the time at Rev. Hemborg’s, working there to pay for her keep. However, she was at her uncle’s farm home when confirmation day came and that day there was such a terrible blizzard that it was feared they couldn’t get to the church. In those days to travel in such a storm was hazardous, for one could easily get lost on the vast expanse of unfenced prairie. Her uncle decided to try it, and they did get safely to church in time for the service.

That fall she attended the public school in Gowrie for three months. At this time the school in Gowrie had just two rooms. Since Mother did not as yet know much of the new language, she naturally was enrolled with the smaller children. Learning to read was not difficult, for she easily memorized the first and second readers. Pronunciation was harder. Unlike the Swedish, this new language had so many different sounds for each vowel. Since “us” is “us” and “up” is “up”, she was very much embarrassed when the others in the room shouted with laughter when one day she pronounced the word “union” as “onion.”

Auntie Callerstrom had a growing family, and Uncle, a small town carpenter, earned small wages. So it was necessary to Mother to quit school and find work to earn her own keep. All she could do was house-work. She went to work for Rev. Youker, the pioneer Congregational pastor in Gowrie. The Rev. Youker was a kind man but rather eccentric. For example, he always wore white trousers, whether he was receiving a caller, milking his cow or working in his garden. The washing and ironing of Rev. Youker’s white trousers, without benefit of washing machine or electric iron was no small task. Often Mother would even be hungry for Mrs. Youker always kept her cupboards locked and food was scanty. Their usual breakfast fare was just cold boiled potatoes.

In the summer of 1878 Father returned from Montana where he had gone back to work in the gold mines. Mother was then a beautiful girl of sixteen, and Father was thirty-three. He asked he to marry him, and though, as she often said, she was nothing but a child, she gave her promise. They were married in the Callerstrom home on July 22, 1878, by the Rev. C. A. Hemborg of Dayton.

This marriage certificate that I found in a box of family papers shows the presiding minister to have been named Westerdal, not Hemborg.

Errata

Just tonight, I figured out that the last five postings were mis-dated. In particular, the last three which were written from California and were dated "1942" but were actually written in 1943. Who of us has continued to write in the previous year for sometimes a good while into the new year?

The years have now been corrected, and those three posts will just be out of order.

March 24, 1943

March 24, 1943

425 S Cabrillo Ave

San Pedro, Calif

Dear father, mother and the folks at home,

Well, “spring is cub” to southern California I think. My cold is over tho for several days now so I really can’t talk like that now. Yesterday and today are very clear and quite warm days so I think that perhaps the rainy season is over — altho it drizzled some Tuesday morning as a final gesture of orneriness. When I went down to dinner yesterday I didn’t wear my jacket for the first time in months and I was really comfortable without it. No doubt it will now get so warm that I wish winter were still here. However, I am glad for every day that passes since the time comes closer when I will have the opportunity of coming home again. Someday it will be for good and then I’ll feel happier.

I have been feeling a little tiredish the first part of this week but I am better now. Sunday, inasmuch as I worked in the morning (graveyards), all the sleep I got was about 5 hours mostly in the afternoon so I was pretty tired by Monday morning. Tuesday morning was a hard morning inasmuch as plant IX wasn’t working so hot so again I felt pooked out when morning came. The high pressure separator wouldn’t let enough product out even if the motor valve was wife open so the product backed up into the scrubber, from whence I had to remove it. When I was fooling around with it, the recycle gas rates varied so much that the temperatures moved around somewhat so I had to adjust them later — worse of course on Plant IX which is adiabatic (no heat-transfer) and has no automatic temperature control like Plant I.

As I said before I feel pretty good this afternoon tho after my first sleep of the day. Friday will be my day off and Saturday I start working the afternoon shift. Thursday night the Luther League is going bowling. I won’t be able to be at the next L.L. meeting as I will be working days on that Sunday.

For your information an analyst is one who (around here) works in the laboratory, performs analytical tests and in general does laboratory work as small column distillations etc. An operator is the individual taking care of plants I and IX which are pilot size editions (semi-commercial) plants of those used for making toluene and aviation gasoline. An operator is an advancement from an analyst inasmuch as it requires more knowledge of what is going on and entails more responsibility but the work, unless something unusual arises, is no more difficult than that of an analyst so that I would hardly call it a real advancement. However, it is in general regarded as such as it is a stage thru which new employees pass around here more or less by custom.

I think I’d rather work in the lab almost. Being an operator gives you contact with reality tho that the laboratory doesn’t tho. That is, you realize more what something of commercial size around a refinery looks and acts like. Of course, the columns are under the operators care also when they are running (as they are not now) so that the very fundamental unit process of distillation is encountered. These columns are to the lab columns as Goliath to David or more so.

I will enclose some bonds in this letter and I mean it this time.

Thank you for the letters, mother and father. They bring me home (almost) and set me down among the things that I like. I am glad that you liked the cake, daddy.

How did Vivian happen to get in quarantine? I have heard none of the details.

I seem to be running out of things to say so I will stop.

With love

C.P.

P.S. After chasing around in the stores trying to find something suitable for a 25th wedding anniversary, I have given up. Most of the stuff I don’t think you would really want to have — at least I wouldn’t, and therefore assume you wouldn’t. So I am sending along what I would have spent and why don’t you get something for yourselves that you would really want — maybe like a lot of books. I take the pleasure, Mr. & Mrs. Strand, of congratulating you on your 25th wedding anniversary. How ancient I feel to be saying that.

C.P.

March 5, 1943

March 5, 1943

425 S Cabrillo Ave

San Pedro Calif.

Dear father, mother and the folks at home,

Rain, rain, go away!

Come gain (we hope not!) some other day.

As I write this the rain has gone at least temporarily but the sky is still cloudy and the sun isn’t out so we’ll probably have more despite my little ditty. It hasn’t rained much since midnight but previous to that time it rained hard and steadily for long periods. It did not however begin in earnest until I was home yesterday from work for which I am duly thankful. When I was going to go downtown to dinner or rather the usual someplace in-between-dinner-and-supper it was raining hard, but Mrs. Wills lent me her umbrella so I got downtown without getting very wet.

On the way back the rain let up for awhile. After that it rained more but I went to bed almost immediately since my feet were wet and cold and bed was the best place to warm them up I thought, so I don’t know just how much it rained. Last night and this morning also, the P.E. was under water in some places. By the way, you should here [sic] the frogs around the place into which the harbor dredgings were pumped. The croak was so loud that you can hear them above the noise of the P.E. which is certainly no mean accomplishment. Dwight says he has heard uninitiated riders on the P.E. wonder what the funny noise is when going around that way. Last night also the P.E. got stuck behind a banana train so we were late getting to Watson about 15 minutes.

Tomorrow night is the special congregational meeting being held to find out what should be done about our financial situation. Fortunately, things seem to be taking care of themselves somewhat so the situation is definitely improved from what it was. Some non-member of the church but [sic] a $100 bill in the offering last Sunday so that helped things a lot. If we get the back bills paid up things will be a lot better and easier I think.

Sunday night is the Luther League fellowship program at church which I will be glad when it is over.

I think that I am going to go to the show “Casablanca” over the weekend if there is time which there probably will be. The show as [sic] some of my favorite actors in it so that is why I am going.

This week I have been working with plants I and IX mostly so that I suppose I will be working as an operator pretty soon. It will be more interesting, at least for awhile, altho it will be not as clean as laboratory work altho that is no particular deterrent. It means tho that I will be back on work involving shift changing and I don’t think it will be possible to work one shift steadily as I have been.

I received a letter form Vivian the other day and she asked me to write to her in Chicago but unfortunately the date she wanted the letters to reach her in Chicago by had already passed here when she got the letter [this doesn’t make any sense] so I guess she won’t get any from me because I didn’t send one. She writes that the snow is going in Iowa and that they were having a typical spring day at Iowa City — students river banking, the windows in the Chem building all open, people dawdling around not doing much of anything. So much nicer than to have it rain so much. The rainy season should be over by the 1st part of April however. Sometimes it rains steadily thru March tho I have heard. I think that if we would sell Calif. to the Japanese, that’d fix ’em in short order.

I seem to have some to a dead end as far as news is concerned so I believe I’ll stop. This letter is written later this week so you probably won’t get it till Monday or Tuesday.

With love

CP.

P.S. Didn’t you promise me you were going to send me some cookies, mama? Remember the old four-oclock cry — “I’m hun-gry!” Well I am for some of your cookies.

February 16, 1943

Feb 16, 1943

425 S Cabrillo

San Pedro Calif

Dear father and mother and the folks at home,

This last week has been really warm in Calif. — much warmer than ordinarily at this time of the year. The nights also have been considerable warmer than usual which is peculiar since even tho the days may be warm the nights are usual [sic] cool. Several days I am certain the temperature has been 85°F or better. Today I was very comfortable walking downtown in my shirt sleeves. The air was very clear today. you could see the outline of the mountains across the bay which has happened only a couple of times since I cam out here. From the Watson station, when I am waiting for the P.E. in the morning I can usually see snow-capped mountains in the interior but I guess that they really must be a considerable distance inalnd, altho some of the details see quite clear.

There doesn’t seem to be a lot to write about this time but I will try to make out a decent letter anyway altho you make [sic] think I am writing to fill up space part of the time.

I got a valentine from Vivian on Monday and it was a picture of herself. I suppose that you may have gotten one also. Personally I thought it was a good picture of her and very typical because she is smiling a great big wide smile. It was a very nice valentine I thought.

Thank you mama, also, for your “valentine” letter and you father for your letter. Why don’t you write too, Verner?

I am very anxious to hear how Vincent came out in his application for meteorological training. That is pretty interesting stuff I think from what experience I have had with it, and what is more may be very useful after the war is over because as I believe I wrote to you from Iowa City, meteorology has had its face lifted in the last decade or so and a lot of new opportunities are presenting themselves in that field.

Last night the Luther League cabinet met to arrange the next program as is the usual custom. It was relatively simple this time as we will have the Fellowship Program for the program and this had been largely planned already bu the L.L. headquarters. All I will have to do is announce what’s going on which is a nice easy think I think.

I have been getting along with less sleep lately and I have not been sleepy at work either. This may have been due to the fact that I am running some sulfur analyses now and as these are somewhat new to me and a little tricky, they keep your attention pretty well. Furthermore, the work has sort of piled up again so that there is more to do than you can accomplish. Last night was a hectic night. There were 4 distillations going — 3 at the rate of 5 ml/minute part of the time so that they required almost constant attention and then later at different rates so you had to look at them rather often. The other was a micro-distillation which I started on my shift.

Starting a distillation always takes time and this one took more since the column and everything had been dismantled and had to be assembled before it could be begun. Then there were 5 bromine values to get (and I could have run a couple of more if I had had the time) and the samples hadn’t been caustic washing yet so I had to do that to [sic]. Then there were the afore-mentioned sulfur analyses with which I am inexperienced and which I could have paid more attention to profitably. In sulfur analyses of petroleum stocks as gasoline, a weighted quantity of sample is burned and the SO₂ produced oxidized to H₂SO₄ by NaOBr soln & the SO₄ determine by BaSO₄ precipitation under conditions such that nephelometric (light dispersion) properties of the resulting sol’n or mixture are related to the SO₄-concentration. Burning the sample is an art and I have not exactly got it yet.

Last night one of the samples I was running burned beautifully but the other was high in aromatic content and I had an awful time. One of them (they are run in duplicate) smoked very badly which renders the analyses somewhat doubtful. This last occurred when I was taking care of the other or remaining article on the menu for the night, namely looking at Plant VII to see that things were operating ok and taking some data.

This morning I felt sort of used up. When you have a lot of things to look after, you have difficulty sometimes in remembering everything. Last night I made only one real boner and that was in mh bromine value analyses. These have become so mechanical that I sometimes do not watch too closely what I am doing. Anyway after diluting the samples in CCl₄ I neglected to homogenize the sol’n in the volumetric flasks and I was 1/2 thru the analyses of 4 samples before I remembered it. That set me back a whole half hour that could have been profitably spent doing something else. I have not done anything like that for sometime now. Of course you make minor mistakes ever [sic] once in awhile like overrunning a titration or miscalculating something but that’s more or less normal and is easily corrected or repeated.

I may be conceited but I think there is more analytical work done on graveyards than on the other two shifts put together. I am certain I get 75% of the bromine values, about 1/3 of the gravities and R.I.s [refraction intercepts], all of the Westphal densities and naphthenic R.I’s and since Rod went back to Emeryville about 1/2 of the sulfurs. The only think I don’t do much of is run dispersions which I do only occasionally. Besides that I take care of any distillations going, Plant IV and Plant VII when they are operating which Plant IV is about 99% of the time and oh yes, make up the solutions. I haven’t made up the solutions for the sulfur analysis very much yet but the bromine value solutions always seem to run out on graveyards.

I suppose that this sounds like I have a very exalted opinion of myself which I don’t because most of the time I feel that I am not doing everything I should as I should but I am certain that the statements I have made could be vindicated by looking at the analytical record books. o well, I live in anticipation of the day I can loaf on my 40-acre farm.

My income tax is going to be $85 this year which is more than I thought it was going to be.

I am going to stop now

With love

C.P.

P.S. Please don’t think I’m sold on myself as may have sounded from this letter which really I’m not. I’m certain I would be better at loafing on a 40-acre farm than working as a chemist.

February 14, 1942

Postmark Feb 14, 1942

Saturday afternoon

Iowa City, Iowa

Dear father, mother, brothers and anyone else who may read this letter,

Well, a lot has happened since I wrote to you last. The main thing that has happened is of course that the navy has decided that Iowa City has some very good facilities for a naval cadet training center, so they are giving the U. of Iowa the inestimable privilege of turning over the Quadrangle, Hillcrest and the fieldhouse to the navy for that purpose. This of course means that the residents of the Quadrangle will have to be moved to other living quarters so that the naval cadets can move in. The evacuation of the Quadrangle will have to be complete by March 31. The residents will be moved out in sections at university expense and at least some kind of quarters provided for them either in private homes, the Law Commons, new dormitory units or cooperative dormitories. I will not have to move till the very last, that is on or by March 31.

My studies are coming along as usual — the same old rather uninteresting stuff. Their degree of intolerability is only slightly below that of conditions in general in the U.S. today.

The laundry bag arrived this morning. Thank you very much mama for the geranium, the butter & cheese, the cupcakes, the gredda-kaka (?) and of course, the clean clothes. Somehow or other, the laundry bag is more a means of getting good things to eat rather than a means of securing some clean clothes.

It has been snowing off and on here for several days. The snow has been coming down very nicely most of the time, sort of slowly and in big flakes. I love to watch it snow that way, even if it does mean a lot of slush thereafter. The temperature however has been hanging around freezing all of the time.

The school program down here has been accelerated. Spring vacation and exam week have gone overboard. This does not mean there will be no finals, rather it means that each final will be given in the last class period or periods and will be shorter than usual. This means that the semester closes May 10, and that the next day May 11, the summer semester opens. There is however about 3 days along in there when I plan to come home. The summer school will be over July 31, so that I suppose I will go to Calif about one month earlier than I had previously planned. Every time I think of it I sort of get griping sensations in my stomach. I can’t see why I seem fated to fool around doing what I don’t want to. I suppose you can’t expect anything else, however in this very democratic country.

I went to the swimming meet between Minn & Iowa last night. I should have studied but I was fed up for awhile. It was rather dry however except for the diving. The divers, three from Iowa, and two from Minnesota, were beautiful physical specimens. That goes especially for the two Iowa divers, Vargon and B----i (I can’t spell it as its Polish or something). [Biedrzycki — thank you Google!] Both of them are not too tall but they are certainly well-muscled. Vargon has a chest that looks like something like barrel. Sometimes I think it would be a lot of fun to try to draw an athlete like that. It must take a great deal of ability to make his muscular development seem real. Someday if I get around to it, maybe I’ll try it. Just now however, I don’t seem to have much time for such things.

Thank you, daddy and Vincent for the letters. Incidentally, Vincent when you said “I am writing you because of mama’s prevalence etc etc” you caused all the dead English teachers to turn over in their graves. “Prevalence” is just not used that way.

If any of the family have any bright ideas on how I am going to get all my stuff moved on the $1.00 which the university is going to allow each evacuated Quad. resident, please let me know.

By the way, when did the additions to the Strand cow family occur which Vincent mentions in his letter?

What happens when you don’t get more than seven hours of sleep per night? Answer: you get sleepy.

With love

C.P.