March 1, 1987
Sounds of my life that I remember -
The rumbling sound of the bread dough mixers at three a.m. in our bakery. New neighbors were aware of this too.
The rhythm sound of a baker beating egg whites in a brass kettle with a brass whip.
The crackling sound of dozens of eggs being broken.
The crackle and snap coming from a sixty-gallon kettle of lard rendering.
The hissing sound of ammonia leaking from a refrigeration unit.
The mysterious sounds coming from an air brake compressor of a steam locomotive.
The whistle talk of the two switch engines as they conversed in the night.
The whistling of a south-branch engine coming from Derby way asking admission to the Chariton yards.
My father calling at five a.m. to “hit the floor.”
My mother crying out when she rocked on her long hair.
My father’s snoring, and if you were wise you didn’t mention it the next day. When someone dared to, he would say, “If Mother didn’t complain, why should someone in another room?”
My brother Howard tiptoeing up the stairs at three a.m., only to be met by Father waiting at the top.
Father telling Henry Gittinger, editor of the paper, he was going to break his pencil because of an article he had written that Father disagreed with.
The welcome amen said by Reverend Story of the old UP church after an hour of preaching.
The mine train coming in with the whistle sounding “hip hip hooray”, providing no one had been injured or killed that day.
The sounds of miners’ voices as they streamed up through town from the Rock Island track. They were thankful they were safe and anxious to get home.
Shotguns going off at dawn on July 4th.
Iron-wheeled wagons creaking and crunching as they rolled through the snow on a winter day.
Hearing coal haulers discussing that eighteen hundred pounds made a ton, when I knew in school we studied it was two thousand.
The old fire bells ringing out on a cold clear night. The faster ringing when there was a drowning.
The fire station in those days was right where it is now and the horses were kept in a livery stable right across the street. At the sound of the bell they raced across the street and got in position. The harness was suspended above them. It dropped on them, was fastened and away they went. Fire-building material was already laid in the boiler and was roaring in a minute. Signs on the walk in front of the fire station and livery stable warned of horses racing across the street. Those sounds won’t ever be heard again, that’s for sure.
Hearing Thompson Ashby singing in a beautiful voice as he worked on his farm by Norwood. He is now one hundred one years old and lives by himself. At one time he was a member of our Presbyterian Church choir.
A rather queer shrill scolding sound that my mother made when she was displeased with something. With seven children about, and about that many more around, we heard this sound quite often and we took heed.
One of our German bakers had the habit of uttering a phrase whenever a difficult job was completed or a product turned out OK. It was in German and no one paid any attention. Somehow Mother learned he was saying, “The baby is born.” It was done in all innocence and was just something to say, indicating a job was done. Mother didn’t like it, and of course it stopped.
The noise of horses drinking from a water tank where the water had to be hand pumped. When we got a power pump I know they didn’t drink as much.
The beautiful baying of coon hounds when on the hunt.
The neigh of a mare when her colt was being left behind or out of sight.
The tuning up of high school band before a play.
Dripping water from the roof being caught in pans placed here and there in the attic.
The dreadful sound of a flue burning out.
Cars going along on the pavement with chains on.
A T Model Ford coming home on the rim after a flat tire and no spare.
The horrible sound of a runaway team and wagon.
The fuss my father made when someone had gotten into his three-for-five-cent cigars.
Our ride -
Prior had a cold, so George and myself took off in my car at 2 p.m. It was a beautiful sunny day. Went to Lacona and toured the town. Did the same at Milo. Went west to Highway 65, then south to Lacona corner and turned west, winding up in Osceola. We drove around Osceola for half an hour or so, and then came to Woodburn. Lucas was next. We came out of Lucas on the north side of the tracks. At the Fry Hill corner, we saw a string of wild turkeys crossing a field. We drove up the road and stopped while they crossed single file in front of us. It was the highlight of the day. We got back home at 5:30 p.m. Saw a robin and many large hawks.
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