Monday, March 4, 2013
Little Family in a Little Town
The picture was taken in the front yard of the parsonage in which we lived in Bladen, Nebraska. I am guessing it was Spring or Summer of 1938.
We moved to this village of perhaps 500 souls in the Summer of 1935. Little Sister was born in March 1937. We moved to Colorado on July 4, 1939.
It was in Bladen that my first memories of life on this Earth are set. In addition to my awakening awareness of my surroundings, I was exposed over the years to the stories the parents told of the times here.
One of my memories involves a blue drinking glass and a two-inch crescent scar across my right wrist. Somehow the glass was broken in the kitchen, and Mama's Little Helper was carrying some shards oh, so carefully, in his hands, taking them to the back porch and the trash receptacle. For no good reason, other than to create a tale and a memory, MLH stumbled on the threshold and fell. The glass provided a severe cut to the base of the right palm, so Mama said. It has migrated fully three inches up the inside of my arm in the intervening three-quarters of a century.
I also have a weirdly disfigured left index finger, the nail of which requires a minimum of nine snips for a proper trimming each week. That's a nine-snip nail. Three-year old self had climbed onto the deck beneath the windmill. The child was fascinated by the action of the pump rod and for no other good reason, reached toward it. Unfortunately, the rod had a bolt protruding which came just to the level of the deck before returning on its upward stroke. That spot was exactly where the child had his finger when the down-stroke was completed. Smash!
I have many other memories, both mine and those of my parents, which are set in this village. Perhaps I shall attempt to mine and refine some of them!
Though I have worn my hair combed straight back pompadour style for decades, left to its own devices, the part still falls on the right.
You might also like this Bladen story posted here.