Decoration Day

Will it ever warm up this year? Here I sit with packets of seeds waiting for the ground to warm up so I can plant them. (By the time you read this, hopefully they will all be sprouting!) We often recall the weather of years past by what it was like on certain holidays, birthdays, anniversary, etc. For example, the last bouquet of the year was often picked on October 8th, my monther's birthday. "The Last Rose of Summer." And yet one October 8 my brother froze his ear on a trip to Forest Hill cemetery . . . and it was rubbed with snow, the standard home remedy of that day. The first flowers of the year were evident on Memorial Day, even if we had to buy them.

The Incline Station on Superior Street

The Duluth Incline Railway

Preparation for Memorial Day began several days before with a trip to the greenhouse. Since we had no car, we took the stret-car from home to downtown, 7th Avenue West & Superior St., where we transferred to the Incline! Too bad that is gone now! Now there was a ride! As thrilling as a Ferris wheel ride, it creaked and groaned as it jerked its way slowly up the hill, stopping about six times to let passengers on and off. As the doors closed, the operator would pick up his phone and call "East car clear!" (or "West car clear") in such a sing-song voice that one had to KNOW what he was saying as otherwise one could never figure out what was said! We kids would practice it, imitating him until told to stop. Higher and higher it climbed until the buildings got flatter and smaller and we looked out over rooftops, the whole bay and the lake. The thrill was well seasoned with FEAR; yet we asked every trip to be told again how once long ago the cable had broken and the cars plunged into Superior Street. When the fear about surpassed the thrill of it, we reached the top!

The "Dinky"

There we transferred to the "dinky" which was just a trifle anti-climax after the Incline ride. That thing swayed and screamed its way through the woods, around curves as such a fast clip until it ended at Duluth Heights. From there we walked to Austin Greenhouses. My mother was a friend of the Austin sisters who owned the greenhouses so we were always given FREE our choice of a Begonia. For us children, this was always such a difficult and time consuming choice as each one looked bigger and better than the last. After Mom had picked out her plants, we were invited into the house for cocoa and cookies. (That was the only subdued part of the whole trip!) Then we were each loaded with boxes, as much as we could carry, for the trip back to the "dinky", the Incline "down-trip", the street-car and home.

Duluth Street-car. Note that it is electrically powered by overhead wires.

Add to that load, garden trowels, rakes, a picnic lunch and you will see how loaded down we were a couple of days later when we went to the cemetery . . . also via street-car! While Mom dug the grave-shaped beds and set out the plants, we kids played tag and hide-and-seek among the tombstones. No sad emotions involved for us as our grandparents had died before we ever knew them . . . it was a big fun-type adventure. Now we just pay a fee and someone else does the watering of the baskets . . . a lot less hassle, but . . . . . . ???

(Ed. note: A history of the Duluth Incline Railway is available to read at the Zenith City Archive. Follow this link. Also at the Zenith City Archive is a brief history of the street-car system and the "dinkies". Those street-car and "dinky" operators had to be a tough bunch!)

Notes from Barb: Potatoes

The highlight of my garden harvest this year was the potatoes. I had never planted them before so now know what I have missed all these years! Digging the hills is almost like opening Christmas packages . . . you just don't know what you've got there. And for me, each potato was a bonus. Last spring I had a small bag of old potatoes that had gotten soft with sprouts some at least a foot long, so I was taking them out to the garbage when I remembered that I had a row of unplanted dirt along the shady side of the garden where nothing ever did grow good so I decided I'd stick these repulsive tentacled blobs there and if nothing came of it, I'd only be out a bit of my labor. I knew just about nothing of potato culture except to bury them in the ground . . . I put one potato to a hole. There were only eleven little shriveled, mushy seed-potatoes! So this fall I pointed and Bill dug! Voila! I couldn't believe the results as smooth, beautiful potatoes lay there as each shovel was turned. We got 3/4ths of a bushel . . . and I would have thought myself lucky to get a peck! Some were huge . . . none were tiny. Maybe I am psyched up about them because I never tasted any better than these.
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This is another potato story and I swear it is TRUE! The main character must remain nameless for fear of repercussions. I will refer to her as Mrs. X. She planted a little garden in her back yard . . . her first garden . . . and nothing did well. She had a college student living at her home who was majoring in agriculture so she asked her what would grow well in the soil she had. The student took a soil sample and said that in the condition the soil was, potatoes would be the only sure bet. So next spring Mrs. X duly planted some potatoes. Next fall the same student came back and one day casually asked how the potato crop had been. Mrs. X said, "It was a complete flop! About the time I thought the potatoes would show, the darn plants all died!" The student, a girl brought up on a farm, said, "Don't you ever call a farmer a dumb hick again! You city gals are so stupid! You have to DIG potatoes!!!"

This just goes to show you that can raise a kid, send her to school and assume she picks up bits of information along the way even thought some things are not actually taught to her. But am I a failure as a mom since I never got around to mentioning that potatoes grew underground?

Notes from Barb: The Great Depression

(Ed note: This article is dated Nov, 1987. This was just after the largest percentage decline - to that date - in the Dow Jones Industrial Average. It was a nervous time for many.)

Events on Wall Street these past few weeks brought to mind some recollections of the last big depression. The market crashed in '29 far away in New York City and was of no particular concern to us. Sure, we knew some rich folks lost a lot of money and some of them took their losses very hard, but that was their affair. Little did we know. It took nearly two years for the full effects to reach the mid-west. We lived in Two Harbors, a one-company town. Rather than wholesale lay-offs, the Company cut the shop workers down to two days a week. My father, a shop electrician, made 88 cents an hour. But prices were so much less, too. A loaf of bread went for a dime; butter, a quarter; gasoline was about twenty-cents a gallon; a soup bone was a dime . . . or if lucky, sometimes it was free. A night at the movies cost a dime with a free glassware dish to entice in customers on certain nights. (I thought these free dishes were crappy then and even now, knowing what collector's items they have become, cannot work up any enthusiasn for them. I still have some pieces as I just don't throw away anything in working order.) The best part of living in a one industry town was that everyone was in the same boat . . . no one had any extra money so there was no peer pressure. People took pride in getting by. We ate, we paid the rent. And we often waited through several pay days to get a much needed item like shoes or a coat. We made clothes over from cast-offs and we ate a lot of hot ceral and stews. But I don't recall ever feeling underpriviledged . . . was that term around then? We all took pride in "making do."

President Roosevelt started many government programs . . . alphabet programs such as the W. P. A., the N. R. A., the C. C. C. etc. How those bureaus have grown! I often wonder if anyone in Washington knows what all the letters stand for? Most of the young men from Two Harbors went into the C. C. C. from which we have a legacy of beautiful forests now. And the W. P. A. made the lovely stonework buildings at Gooseberry State Park, a monument to the Depression and a joy for many years yet to come. The C. C. C. also strung many miles of rural telephone lines back in Lake and Cook counties. You could spot those lines for years by their red-topped poles. There was no Social Security, no Welfare, no Medicare. People laid away for a "rainy day" and for their old age. I recall one woman remarking about a family whose father was laid-off. "He worked steady for ten years so the must have enough laid away for at least two years!" So we survived and kept a measure of pride.

I guess what I am saying is that if a depression should follow this market crash, we are going to be dealing with a whole different type of people .  .  . and a whole different attitude in Washington! It won't be the same.

Notes from Barb: More about Mack

Mack
(From the back of the photo: "A gentleman dog in every way!"

Last time I told you about Mack and the dog-sled race. As I said, Mack took his doggie-duties very seriously . . . and that got him into trouble. He loved the command, "Sic 'em!" and would act menacing with bared teeth and growls, sometimes adding a little nip if he deemed it necessary. (Nobody teaches his dog that command today.) He knew the property line and woe to trespassers. Basically, he was a conservative bigot who would not tolerate anyone who HE did not think was "normal". This included people with beards, people with packages, different clothing, alcohol breath, or anyone running, to name a few of the intolerables. He did love our mailman and greeted him with leaps and yelps, then accompanied him on part of his route. Then we got a new mailman who was frightened of Mack's warm welcome and kicked the dog in the face . . . and so then the war was on! Father wasn't about to go to the downtown post office daily for our mail. The U. S. Postal Service can be formidable enemy. Then someone shot at the dog, so we knew we were in trouble.

A family friend, Mr. Schnuckle, owned the Zenith Broom Factory in west Duluth and he needed a good watch dog. He had purchased a German shepherd for the job but that did not work out. So he suggested we trade dogs. I guess our childish loyalty was less that skin deep as we were delighted to get a dog that looked exactly like Rin Tin Tin, the movie hero (canine) of the day. Oh boy, look what we got!

So Mack went to the broom factory and we got Rudulph! He did look like the real thing, . . . but he would not go out with us . . . all he did was sleep. And we found out in the first few hours that Rudolph was "paper-trained". The sight of any recumbent paper triggered his inner mechanism. Now Papa was not neat when he read the paper, so soon as he finished the sports section, Rudolph got to it. His popularity went ziltch! The second day we had him, Mom sent me to the grocery store for a length of butcher's paper in which to wrap some clothes for storage. She put the paper on the bedroon floor while she folded the garments sprinkling pepper and moth balls on them. Rudolph saw the paper. I saw Rudolph. To save the paper, I yanked it out from under the dog, sending him and his deposit flying all over the bedroom. And who do you think got bawled out? ME! Not Moma who was stupid enough to put the paper on the floor and not Rudolph who defiled it. No, it was MY fault! I hated them both for such gross unfairness.

On the third day Rudolph took off and found his way home in a few days. When Mom called Mr. S to report that his dog had left, she was told that Mack had chewed off his rope and was also gone. Mr. S said he had driven Mack all over town to "lose" hin so he would not find his way. It worked and Mack was lost. He also said that Mack was just too good as a watch dog and would not let the emplyees into the factory.

All our loyalty to Mack returned with a rush. It was a bitterly cold winter and our dear dog was lost. We had an ad in the paper for two weeks offering a liberal reward. Many people called and said the had found the dog so Papa took the street-car to check each one out. Black dogs, white dogs, tiny dogs . . . all "look exactly like your description". Papa's patience wore thin. One man called saying he had run over a collie-type dog but further talk proved it was not Mack. He and my dad talked long on every dog they had ever known. (Dog lovers are like that!) Fortunately this man kept the phone number because weeks later he called to say that a dog that seemed like ours was living in his haystack . . . an unfriendly dog who hid when anyone appeard and only came out to eat the food this kind man put out for him.

So once again Papa hit the trail in search of Mack. Yes, it has him! And he wasn't about to get separated again so almost tore down the phone booth when Papa called to say they were on the way home. It was 20 below zero that night so when a street-car came by, empty, Papa asked if he could ride with the dog. No way. No permit. But if they got off when and if anyone else got on? No permit, no ride. So Papa and Mack walked in that cold from 57th Ave. W. and Grand to 14th ave. E. and 9th.(Ed. note: For those not familiar with Duluth, that is a walk of seven miles.) Mom woke us when they got home and what a reunion that was! Everyone including the dog cried with joy. The basic problem was solved soon as we  moved to Two Harbors where Mack got a fresh start in a new territory.

Notes from Barb: The Ice-Box

The first place we lived on Park Point was a summer cottage . . . not meant for winter. We moved in March and it was COLD but we were healthy and just dressed warmer. The cottage was mostly open underneath, built on posts, the center one being quite a bit taller because all the floors slanted away from the center. In the kitchen a person rolled toward the window and climbed up to the sink. When dining we had a choice: Do you want to eat clutching the table to keep from falling over backward, or would you rather fall into your soup?

The interior walls were made of some type of pressed fibre not much thicker than carboard as they bent and buckled between battens. And the woodwork was a rough sawed lumber. Not exactly the Ritz! And all painted in shades of chocolate from bittersweet to cocoa which may sound tasteful but was, in fact, quite depressing. So the first thing I did was get permission to paint the kitchen . . . bright and sunny colors with flowers and scrolls around the window and over the sink. The cupboards consisted of a kitchen cabinet and open shelves on the wall. And there was a ice-box. One puts ice in the top; it melts and drips into a pan that slides undereath. Never having had any experiences with an ice-box before, I was always forgetting to empty that pan so it would over-flow and run into the low corner. Next thing, I would find the baby having a delightful swim in that pool.

Since we had moved to the Point to be near our boat, we used it every chance we got, usually going out on Friday after work and coming back Sunday night. The Lake Trout were plentiful so we often went to Knife River, fished around the Island, and tied up under the railroad bridge for the night. (The river is too shallow now but there was often another fish-boat in there, too.) Now our land-lady watched over our cottage like a mother with a sick child. She was usually on the other side of any window if we happened to peer out. So she would see the ice-box water in the kichen corner, use her key, and empty it . . . of course with a leture to me on proper care of an ice-box. I guess I am a slow learner because I so often forgot.

One evening we heard the splashing of the water and there was our daughter in the pool again. "Damit. I always seem to forget." Bill said he would fix it once and for all . . .so he got out his trusty .44 and shot a neat, round hole in the corner! The water gurgled out into the sand and that was that! We never had that problem again.

AND . . . the land-lady never saw a puddle in the corner again so complimented me on finally managing to learn to take care of a simple thing like an ice-box!

A Ride on the Montauk

(Ed. note: The Montauk was a paddle wheel excursion boat - a sidewheeler - that ran between the harbor at Duluth up the St. Louis River to  Chambers Grove in Fond du Lac. Click here for more info on the Montauk.)

A Ride on the Montauk

The biggest event of each summer when I was a child was the Sunday School ride on the Montauk with a picnic at Chambers Grove in Fon du Lac. Mom carried a wood-slatted picnic basket with our lunch. It had no top so a colorful table-cloth covered the foods, and crammed on top of that were our sweaters lest it turn chilly. (It never did, the way I remember it.) Very few people had cars so mothers had to be pack-horses carrying all that was cecessary for their brood for the day.

I remember the thrill of those boat rides: the hot oil smell of the noisy engine, the rhythmic splashing of the paddles, but most of all I enjoyed watching the wake splash against the shores. The river and bay (Ed. note: "bay" is Duluth-speak for the Duluth-Superior harbor) had many floating islands then . . . one would see an island, sometimes quite large, about 20 ft. in diameter and you could not tell if it was a "real" island or a floater until the boat's wake hit it. The the treese would bob and wave back and forth. Some were quite small with only a clump of birch and hummocks of grass. I'd imagine what it would be like to be on one and ride up and down with the undulating waves. How come there aren't any floating islands anymore? We still have the clay banks with birch trees on top but they never seem to fall into the river in large pieces to make islands now. What was different then? I know the Montauk threw up a huge wake. Could that have done it? I just don't know.

Fond du Lac was ALWAYS hot . . . hot and muggy. The mothers would sit and fan themselves with the cardboard fans that merchants used to give away . . . with advertising on them of course. The kids ran around yelling and having a good time until the Games were to begin. I felt sorry for our minister, Rev. Adlard, who would put on a full head of peppy enthusiastic talk trying to get everyone interested in the games: Sack-race, three-legged race, finding the watermelon, etc. It just seemed too hot for organized play. His children would put on their happy faces and ask us all to join in on the fun, even tho we were all melting. Really, it was fun after one got involved. Then there was the lunch which made it all worth while. And "pop" which we never had at home.

Once as we were on our way back down the river, the sky suddenly turned very dark and a downpour pelted those of us on the open deck. One woman started screaming and cried out, "The boat is sinking!! Run to your mothers!" Kids began to scream, too, as my mom went up to the screaming woman and shook her, telling her to stop this at once. She did, but lots of kids were still frightened. I thought the shore was awfully close so no one would have drowned anyway . . . just would have gotten a dunking. It did make that trip unforgettable. Fond du Lac was always so hot on our picnic day . . . "A nice place to visit (by boat) but I wouldn't want to live there." I humbly eat those words today. (Ed note: Barb and Bill spent the last years of their lives in a house on the river in Fond du Lac not far from Chambers Grove.)

Notes from Barb

Notes from Barb: Introduction

My father had two sisters, Barbara and Mitzi. They lived in Duluth and Two Harbors on the shore of Lake Superior. Mitzi moved to Omaha and, a bit later, Dad moved there, too. Barb stayed in Duluth.

Barb was an artist and an athlete. A more smooth and graceful swimmer is hard to imagine. She painted landscapes, mostly in oils. She did rosemaling. She did beautiful, artistic wood-burning. She sculpted. And she wrote.

Barb and husband Bill lived on Park Point with daughter PerryAnn and son Mark. While living on the Point, she wrote occasional newletter articles called "Notes from Barb". I have copies of a few of those articles. They provide a peek into times past in the Duluth area and I'd like to share them with you. With three exceptions, I don't know when these articles were written.

The first one to share is entitled "The North Shore".

The North Shore

The North Shore is the most beautiful spot in the whole United States! That is a statement my father believed whole-heartedly and he never missed a chance to press the point. In fact he sought out opportunities by going to places tourists were and welcoming them to "his" domain. He'd talk with then trying to get them to admit that this was indeed the place to be. (He should have worked for the C. of C.) If he got an opinion to the contrary, he'd grumble for days at their lack of appreciation of beauty or their "just plain stupidity." Here's one comment that, while it disagreed with his opinion, he never-the-less enjoyed: There was a young fellow from the Dakotas who said he did not think much of the view around here . . . every which way he tried to look, trees got in the way!

And then there was the wheat farmer, also from the Dakotas, who said that Lake Superior couldn't hold a candle to the view of a ripe wheat field, - that in a breeze, the wheat waved just like the water on the lake here, except that it was golden rather than blue. "Then you DO think the lake is pretty?" my dad insisted. "Yah, but all you can do with the lake is drink it, and a wheat field is money in the bank and so is really prettier!"

A farmer from Iowa said that he had been told so much about how gorgeous this drive up the shore was supposed to be but HE was very disappointed. He had driven all the way up to Canada and back and had not seen one decent looking farm on the whole trip!

Once the folks asked a neighbor to come with them for a picnic up the shore. The neighbor said, "No thank you. I've already seen it!" (Blasphemy! She'd SEEN it? When? In the afternoon an a clear day? At sunset? During a Northeaster? Good Grief, the fool says she has seen it?) And, another couple had the audicity to decline a similar invitation with "What's there to do up the shore except sit on a pile of rocks and look at a lot of water?" These two remarks lived forever in infamy . . . he could never forgive them.

My brother, his wife, Dot, and three year old son, Fred, came up from Omaha for a vacation trip. First, they spent a few days visiting Grandma Hartman, Fred's first visit with his grandma. Then they went up the shore and got a cabin up the Gunflint. Dot sent my brother to town to get some groceries. She asked little Fred if he'd like to go along and see Grand Marais. Sure! So when my brother and Fred returned from Grand Marais, Dot asked Fred how he like Grand Marais. "We never even went to her house", he answered. (Ed note: I thought they said we were going to visit Grandma Ray!)

Have you hard the one about the boy who asked his father where all these rocks came from?  And the father said, "Son, the Glacier brought them." "Where is the Glacier now, Dad?", the boy asked. "It's gone back for more rocks!"

New Rooms

A week ago (or so) we got a new PahaQue 12x12 foot screen room. We hope to use it to provide shade and shelter from (light) rain while camping with our Scamp.
http://pahaque.com/product.asp?productID=101919

PahaQue 12x12 Screen Room

We figured on using it as our "outdoor" dining room, as well as shade and shelter. It only took us (Nancy and I, it DOES take two) a few tens of minutes to get it set up.

Today, we got a 12-foot diameter Clam Six-Pack Screen Room. We figure it will be our "outdoor" living room/den while camping.

Here I am contemplating the beast itself:

Out of the box. Now what?

Now what?! Just reach in and get started!

Well, let's get started.

 In only a couple minutes, maybe less, the structure is up and I'm setting the door posts.

Just a couple minutes later. (Ignore the time-stamp.)

That was easy! Really. One person, just a couple minutes from bag to done!

All done!

The Clam Six-Pack Screen Room is super easy (!!) to set up. Really!

http://clamoutdoors.com/ice_fishing/screen-tent.html

Even better, take down and storage is just as simple and easy! I am very, very impressed.

So, now we have our dining room (the PahaQue 12x12) and the living-room/den (the Clam Six-Pack), and the bedroom (our Scamp 13') we should be set for a while. On the other hand . . . 

Next up, the billiard room!