Chapter 12 Our Comunnity

Sometimes memories of yesteryear float like little angels in and out of sleepy little towns, or in one window and out through another of special buildings where little feet used to run, jump and play. Or where you held sick little heads on your lap waiting to see the doctor, or shared an ice cream cone with a precious little boy and girl. Where your husband deposited your first cattle check, or you would buy a bag of calf milk replacer, or dumped your very first load of wheat.

Sometimes, beautiful memories are in the shape of people--your sweet, kind neighbors, or just friends who will live in your hearts forever. Sometimes they live in old homesteads that are over grown with grasses and weeds, forgotten at the end of a long lane, or in common little white farmhouses that are falling down and forgotten by everyone but you.

There are a few of these sleepy little towns that play a very important part in grandpa and my young lives. There are a few of those old buildings that hold fond memories in our minds. There are dear neighbors who were like grandparents or a sister and brother to us. There were special doctors, nurses and a pharmacist who gave of themselves until the end. So I cannot leave these precious memories unsaid. I will dedicate these next two chapters to our little community...our little world, and the way it was back when your mommy and daddy were a little boy and girl.

You follow a little county black top for four miles to a little sleepy town of 300 people. The black top makes a sharp curve to the south and becomes the main street of this little country town. Once or twice a day a train would blow its whisle long and hard, the signal lights would flash red, the warning arms would come down and the train would rush through this quiet, sleepy town and across the main street, on out of town and disappear into the pastures and fields beyond.

Just over the tracks on the west side of main street, sat an old green run down shed. One lone old gas pump stood out front. Inside that little run down shed is where you paid for your gas after a sweet, tiny, old, wrinkled lady had filled your car up to the brim. She was the owner. When you went in to pay you could have your pick of crackers, cookies, bread, candy, tobacco, that all sat on the old shelf. You could have your pick, that is, if you enjoyed the stale taste. Everyone loved her. It was her jolly good nature.

Down the street on the east side stood a two story hardware store. A couple about our age owned it. They carried everything. The floor was wood and the ceilings were high. There were aisles everywhere. Gallon paint cans sat on the floor under paint brushes that hung on pegs. There were rakes, shovels, hammers, axes, pitch forks- you name it- hanging over on the walls. You could buy garden seed, gloves, nails, wire, pipe, electrical supplies, plumming supplies....really about anything a person would need. An old tall, silver cash register sat among gloves, bolts and nails there on the counter along the north wall.

 Tom and Judy were our age and had two little girls. When you opened the door a little bell above it would jingle and Judy would come ambling up from her little desk at the back of the store. She would always have a smile on her lips. If you went in after school, you would see little girls doing homework or sometimes a small child playing with toys. Judy babysat also. Mark and Bret would drive to the hardware store often for a few nails, a bolt or two, or sometimes Mark needed a certain size pipe and Judy would go into the back room and cut it just the size he needed. She would bring it out and Mark would grab up something else. She would wave and say "I have it" and out the door he'd go and Judy would "charge it to our bill."

This little sleepy town of 300 people was the home of our post office and our bank. It was that old two story bank that Mark and I walked into the day we took out our first loan. It was Pete, the president of this bank, that welcomed us to the community and said he hoped we would choose to stay in the area. His wife gave piano lessons and when Bret and Kate got old enough she was the one who taught them while I sat on the couch listening or out in the car reading a book.

At the end of Main Street sat Fritz 66 gas station. It was a little square building in need of paint. Its big garage door stood open and there was always an old pickup or car up in the air...getting fixed. On the walls in the station hung fan belts of all sizes, radiator hoses and clamps, battery cables, windshield wiper blades. Out front were a pair of gas pumps. When you would pull into one, out would come Fritz. He would bend his skinny tall body down and look into your window, and ask "What can I do for you today?" He would crank back the numbers on the old gas pump to zero, and start pumping in the gas. As your car was filling, he would check your oil, wash your windows and talk! Fritz loved to talk. He would talk so much you could hardly get a word in edge wise. He had stories from way back and he knew everything about everybody in town and two counties away. Lots of time Mark would have a tire that needed fixing or needed to buy a spark plug or belt. He would always be late for lunch, because he was "talking with Fritz"

Seventeen miles south of our little farm on a main highway, was another special little town. This town was bigger with some 2,000 people. It had brick streets and little dala horses on poles all up and down the streets. Just off Main Street on Lincoln was where our doctor office sat. On down the street at the edge of town was the little brick hospital where Bret and Kate were born.

It may sound strange, but I have fond memories of our visits to the doctor's office. There were two doctors and a special PA who worked there. Sometimes we would sit there in the waiting room holding little sick children, burning up with fevers, or sometimes we held a new born in our lap, all anxious to see what the doctor said about them. It made me happy to hear the doctor say "Now he is doing great." or "She's so darn cute," It was in that waiting room that Mark and I sat all anxious to see what the doctor said about my "due date" .

They all were more like family to us. They called us by our first names, and had a welcome smile for us when we walked in the front door. The doctors acted like they had all day to talk with you and made sure all questions were answered before they told you good-bye.

On Main Street was a  nice two story brick building. This was the Hanson Drug Store. We would almost always make a stop there to have a prescription filled. Mr. Hanson had all sorts of interesting little things on shelves, or hanging on pegs or on one of those things that turned around. Greeting cards, coloring books, colors, hair nets, shower caps, razor blades, bandaids, were only a few of the things you could find there.

Sometimes we just went there for a treat after a doctor's appointment. If the kids were good we would walk in the door and over to the ice cream counter. Bret would climb up on one of the tall stools and I would lift Kate up on hers and take one myself. Mr Hanson, wearing his wire rim glasses, would come up behind the counter and ask. "And what can I get you today?" I would let them order what they wanted. Mr Hanson would place a cone under the ice cream machine and pull down on the handle. It would fill the cone with snow white ice cream and he would give it a little twist on top. Sometimes Bret and Kate wanted theirs in little dishes with a plastic spoon. They would sit there eating their cones or little dishes of ice cream real serious like, their little mouth and cheeks would have ice cream all over it. I would take a napkin from a small silver holder there on the counter, clean off their little faces, pay Mr Hanson and we would head to the IGA store at the edge of town. Little Kate would sit in the front of the cart and Bret would crouch in the cart among the cereal, milk, chocolate chips and bread.

There is one more little town that holds special memories. This little hick town only had 59 people living there. To get to it from our place, you took gravel roads north for ten or so miles. It only had a few houses and one grain elevator and a church. Often we would hop in the pickup with Mark and drive those gravel roads to buy some bags of fertilizer, cow mineral, milk replacer or even a bag of Coop dog food. This little elevator was the home of our good friends Gary, Marsh, Corkey, Bernie and Kathy. They loved the kids and both Bret and Kate would usually come out of there with a candy bar each. This is where we would haul our wheat which is a story in itself. That story will come later in the book.

So really....back 40 years ago, life was simple, slower and more "care free".  Everybody knew everybody. People trusted you and we watched out for each other. Together we made memories that would last forever