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Latah County Oral History Collection

Remembering Latah County and Idaho Life at the turn of the 20th century

« View All Lela Grace Jain Wicks interviews

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Date: October 03, 1974 Interviewer: Sam Schrager

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SAM SCHRAGER: Grace Wicks was very observant of life on her family's farm in the Genesee country side when she was a girl. She enjoyed it all: from the fruit garden, dogs and horses to exciting town trips, their Indian neighbors and a club that brought the geography of the world to their door. She rem embers difficulties as well, especially her mother's frailty and loneliness the strenuous pioneer life and also the danger of rabid dog, rattle snakes and the nuisance of certain birds. She also tells of operating the Genesee telephone switchboard- on weekends.

MRS. WICKS: I am Lela Grace Jain Wicks. I was born in 1906 at the top of Coyote Grade in Nez Perce County, State of Idaho. I was the youngest of five, and my mother forgot that this after-thought child of hers was born in Nez Perce County because her other four were born in Latah County. So she registered our births in Boise, the State Capital, as having all been born in Latah County, and when I discovered this I pointed out the error. We wrote to the State Capital and we found out it would take an act of God, even though Mother and the nurse that at tended her were still living, to get that location of my birth changed. So that's the way it is in Boise. Since I was born in 1906, I have many early day memories and since I was a later child in the family I spent much time alone with my par ents. Which meant that I adopted or by osmos_is or capillary attraction, or what have you, acquired a great deal of their thinking, so that I feel very at home in this period. I loved my home and I loved my family and we all loved our friends^ so there was great empathy that went on around our table on the back steps that went to the kitchen over any tasks that were shared.

And since the help that was employed in the home was always a neighbor or a neighbor's child, or somebody who homesteaded next door, or some body who was connected in some way by place with where we lived, we were very polite to them, and they were very polite to us.and we were on an equal, or near ly so, social basis. I'd like to talk a little bit about the Indians I have known. One of them in particular, was my father's landlord. His name was Steven Rueben, and he was a fullblood who had inherited or been given by the government, ajlotted, I suppose I should say, a large tract of land which was across phe canyon from our house, but adjacent to my father s land, which was also across the can yon from where we lived. The Rueben ranch was a choice place, and Father ran it for many years. It was distinguished by having a large orchard that I don't have any idea who planted, but it certainly wasn't an Indian- because they weren't along in our culture enough to provide in that way for fruit. But someone had planted a large orchard there, and the Indians would come and pick fruit from time to time, particularly the squaws. lee they were unobtrusive and didn't bother anybody. SiFt I remember one day, a lone rider came up the road from the Clear water River and down through our gate and down our driveway a**d?~past the house and past the barn and 6tit through the corral and down across the canyon over to the Rueben ranch. Now I watched him the whole way with my father's good field glasses because I was a bored little girl and had lots of time on my hands. Sor anything that was moving, that was a little out of the ordinary got full attention, 4m lie went over to the Rueben ranch and ndpne was there. So he took the woodbox, emp tied all of the contents on the kitchen floor, tramped it down a little, and went out and filled the woodbox with apples. Then it was a little large to put on the back of his saddle, and a little large to balance on the front, so he had great difficulty in getting it back (on horseback) to where he wanted to go.-3- I watched this procedure and was a little amused because, of course, Mother interpreted what had happened, and I don't know how many apples he got home with, but that made a very entertaining interlude for me. The Ruebens were a , fine family, and Steven Rueben was an ordained Presbyterian minister! so when he came to dinner on went the white tablecloth and a good meal was provided, Imean a company Sunday dinner. 4fM the Reverend Steven Always said grace. We were accustomed to grace when our grandfather came, but not when our dad presided.

Now another Indian whose land bordered us on the north was Eddie Connor. Eddie I think also was a fullblodded Indian, and a handsome large man. who had a very round head. one time I embarrassed my mother greatly by saying to Mr. Connor, "Mr. Connor, what makes your head so round?" And of course, he laughed and Mother laughed, but she could have killed me. (chuckles) Connor performed a nice service for us later in life because there was a suit brought regarding the boundary line, of the home place, and it was said that we had forty feet of someone^land, the full west border of the place, which was on a straight line and which had a few locust trees on it, and several walnut trees that Dad had planted along our driveway. Those trees and Mr. Connor's testimony saved that forty foot strip of land over this long space for our home place. It seems that the law recognizes a border if it has living growth on it that shows length of time. And since both the walnut and the locust trees were of large size, they knew that that land had been paid taxes upon and farmed by the owner of our place who was/Walter F. Jain^for all those many years. Also, Mr. Connor testified at the trial that he had known my father for some years and that indeed in all that time Walter had farmed this land. I have an other tiny story about the locust trees One time at an early period when Dad and Mother were out working in the garden, they finished what they were doing, and Dad put a case knife up in the crotch of one of the trees. Now a case knife is a full-sized dinner knife w. ith a wooden handle. It was used by early day-4- bachelors and that sort of thing, but it never was used in serving food at my mother's table*, however, I suppose that's the kind of cutlery that my fatker had when he was a bachelor before he was married. .... fit any rate, it was in the family possession, and was the handy tool that day.

Well, wz(one came along to finish whatever th job had been going on, and so the knife stayed in the tree and in due time the tree grew around it and further, completely covered it. -feSi I have tried to find it since: There is not one blemish on the trunk of that tree which still, sixty years later, is right there and the knife is completely gone, incorporated in the middle of that tree. Dad took great pride in his orchard and all of us savored the delicious fruit that came to our table from time to time. Dad felt that fruit or vegetables were to be had in their season and he gave very little time to winter strawberries or winter tomatoes. What he thought was good was what was picked and brought immediately Mto the table, and indeed there never was a better taste when it was accompanied by homemade well jjpjig butter and good thick separated cream, jEhat was ambrosia/ In his orchard he had early peaches, and Ja$4 peaches, silver prunes and plums and purple prunes. He had peach plums, which I see now at an exhorbitant price in the market, and which we didn't care for and there were tree of, so the children were put to taking these to the pigs. I never see them on the market at fifty cents for about six that I don't have a little of my hair curled, (chuckles) Dad also sum mer apples. fall apples and winter apples. And how we did enjoy those. Mother made wonderful sauce and we also had three kinds of black cherries; Lambertsy Bings and Black Republicans. -Agtfsince we ourselves were black^Republicans, those had spectial empathy. In that garden was anjsnormous patch of red raspberries. These were the bane of the women's existence, because they never could keep all of the dratted things picked in season, and when my brother finally brought his bride there she thought she'd never had such a burden placed upon her. "9t it had, in the middle of this patch a bare place which was wrought by a large-5- young man, probably about fifteen, named William Nixon, whose father and mother were very old friends of the family, and who came to pick raspberries with the family and who sat down in aconvenient area and pulled the raspberry vines to convenient distance and filled his pail. Of course, the patch never recovered from his picking, but we always called it the William Nixon garespot, and it «emained there as long as the patch did. (laughter)

My dad was agreat homemaker. He not only planted those blac^alnuts which still line the driveway, long since unused, But he had lovely roses along there too. And also, from time to time, beautiful patches of strawberries. Iremem ber one time when he had adear friend who^usband was apioneer, John Ha He had John and haAsa. Hall in that garden, and bet Mrs. Hal] . no matter what, he could find a strawberry too big for her to consume in one bite, and not have juice run' t i;; from the corner of her mouth. Well, asnw Mrs. Hall was a very beautiful woman, who took great pride in her appearance, and whom we all dearly loved, but she took his bet^ and he found an enormous berry which she promptly popped in her mouth, and down the corner of each side came the red marker of her defeat. (chuckles) We also had blackberries from time to time, but they were such space pigs, and took such a lot of room, and were so difficult to pick that Dad eliminated them. The garden was a great source of pleasure to Father who as a pioneer boy deeply cherished good food, and when guests came to see us, which was nearly every Sunday in good weather, he loved to load their rigs, ow it wasn't a buggy, and it wasn't a wagon and it wasn't a Model T— whatever anybody came to our house in was a rig, and he loved to load up their rigs with delicious things from the garden. It swelled his heart to be able to do it) he felt just warm and loving and provident and so rich when he could do this. Aff lis long as I can remember my father as a host he continued to do this, even when he retired to and kept Jersey cows because they were fun. He told me one time, "I like to go up to the poojihall and play a little solo with my best friends, and maybe win a hickey, and bring you home a chocolate bar, and then go out to the barn and feed something." He had Jersey cows because their cream content was so high.

And there was just one terion about a good Jersey. She had to have long enough so a man could get his hands on them because: be damned if he wanted to have that milk sprayed all over the lower part of his palm when he tried to milk a short teated cow-- he wouldn't have her. (chuckles) Dad and his dogs were a great pleasure to me, too. The first dog in the family that I remember, was a character. I the story goes was a baby in my cradle on the south porch, and my arm was just long enough so that my hand could poke out between the slats at\ the side of the cradle; Mother . working in the kitchen with the door open between us, heard a little thump, and a little sigh and looked out to find a most engaging black dog with white around his muzzle and a weariness to his body, a worness to the pads of his feet, contentedly licking the hand of "MM baby. They named him Jack, and figured that probably hiL had grown so tired he no longer could follow the cov ered wagon which had gone along the road that morning. I am sure the family that lost him were sore of heart, but he was our great good friend from then until when he died, which was many years later. The trouble with Jack was that he liked to roam at night, and the neighbors didn't caee for his visits. So the man on the horth, who was farming the Connor place shot him in the right hind leg and somebody-we never knew who- shot him in the l^fi1 hind leg and the right foreleg, so poor Jack had to hobble around in great misery, and no one ever thought of taking out those bullets. They just left Jack get along and he lixzked those wounds from then 'tilj he died, and of course, must have suffered terrible pain. These days we'd have him in to the vet in a minute, but those days to take an animal to the vet meant that he had to be an animal that paid his way, and, of course, Jack was the best stock dog in the world, but after he became impaired he was a beldtved pensioner. Along with him was Stub. warned for his short, bobbed tail. He did all the work after Jack was incapacitated, and since my father always had cattle to some extent . little "jag" of cattle they were called, then he would be the mainstay for corraling them, for gathering them for a driveJaa just bringing them home at night. A man with stock can't get along without a good dog because if he does he v wasteSan amazing amount of time. Another dog we had that was my father's dear friend, was MiSy. She was an Australian Collie, and a spayed female,, «ffli .she accompanied us always to the toilet which was out to the north of the house, ad as we went to and from, a nice little dog let us know her presence by leaping and touching with her cold nose in very gentle, but insistent fashion our right elbows. Of course, she got many a pat and all kinds of lovely visiting, both going and coming, and we enjoyed it. and she enjoyed it. (chuckles)

My father, it fell to his lot to have to shoot each of his dogs when they became so old that they had to leave this world and it was kinder to do it thus, and each time it was a major, major operation for him, and one which he could hardly bear to do, but he was always Sffeftt with himself as with the necessities of life. One time when I was a little girl, during World War I, and my father had returned to the farm, because my big brothers, who had been running the farm, and who were about nineteen and twenty-one almost, v^nz.' beirw occupied by World War i; Trimima. we went back to the farm to grow food. "Slit during that time my dad came home from riding down on the river, and he found along the way a little cur puppy^, .aflft-" it had been put out of a sack, I suppose, somebody figuring it would die, and they wouldn't have to have the pain of putting it to deathj and so they put it out to starve to death or a coyote to get it. jft Dad, of course, he couldn't stand that, so he gathered it up and tenderly brought it home to his little girl. I thought it was yummy; it was the sweetest little old pup--as every pup is—and so I carried it every place I went. And I'd m had it in bed with me if Mother would have allowed, but that certainly was beyond the pale, we had no animals in the house; none whatever, ever, though we dearly loved them them and had 'em as part of our lives, just outside the door. This little dog and I had a traumatic experience. I carried it, as I said, every place I went, and one night I was feeding the chickans, and I had a big pan of feed, and I was holding it in my left hand with the doggie balanced on the pan, and then with my right hand I strewed the wheat, a«d the dog became impatient with this and jumped or fell to the ground stumbled over the the little soft belly, and my foot came right down on it and broke it^s back. Oh! Ithought I'd die that was one of those things. We learned on a farm that you never think too much of an animal or anything, because you have to kill your own had rattlesnakes on this place, so that everywhere a child's foot would set down-in wheat, in weeds, in grasses, in any growth you watched where your foot went. This was also helpful so that you didn't step in a cow pie! But in the main, it was to protect us from snakes. I learned to tell a rattler from a bull snake, which was protect^., a rattl We were given great instructionrrm instruction, as to what to do when we found a rattler. We were to send somebody in the party, if there was one, to the house, while someone who had spotted the snake kept it in vision. nd that way a big person could come with ahoe, the twenty-two )Qr an axe and dispatch the snake. We were never to let it out of our sight.

then in that area we were to be exceedingly wary for the next several days because the mate would come to hunt it_s partner and would be found in-.fchearea. This happened invariably. Apparently snakes are monogomous and mate for life. Nov, I don't know whether this is true or not, but certainly we got snake after snake after snake because it came to follow it s dead partner. We found one right at the door of the barn coiled ready; we found two, that I know of, in the raspberry patch. One time years later, in another canyon, working for my brother, my husband had a snake slither down the handle of his hay fork as he pitched a bundle into the wagon. Of course, these snakes were complete enemies, and no one protected them, ever. There were good snakes, of course, who killed blacksnakes and water snakes and harm less garter snakesan. that were protected because they killed varmints too, but for the deadly snake, we were ' very, very busy dispatching them, and the same in the bird world. We were taught the good ones and the bad ones, had large flocks of pigeons, and my mother made delicious pigeon potpie. "Zhese pigeons, however, were dirty creatures, and Father had to finally kill them all off because they roost high, they are very prolific, and their drop pings are very bad for hay; animals don't like to eat it after it has been pol luted. droppings on machinery is damaging they have the poorest of domestic instincts- in that they'll lay their eggs with one or two sticks on a two by four shelf, just a stud going along in a shed, so they don't bother much about their eggs rolling off or their young rolling off. An amazing number of them didn't, ^nd the birds were beautiful as they flew and beautiful as they walked. There's nothing prettier than the streamline of a lovely pigeon, and their coloring is out of this world. So many varieties and such a lovely sound to their wings and to their cooing. We loved them. ~WMDad had them first in a cote, but they outgrew that in short order and then took over, first the machine shed and then went into the barn. im When they began destroying the hay; ( Dad had to take action. Now, we had pillions of swallows, who built their sweet little mud nests around. We had lots of bluebirds in those days, and yellow canaries, and we loved them and protected them in every way we could. Jtet the English sparrow began to invade, and that sparrow was really a destructive animal. It was almost as bad as a magpie~-both of which are predators of other animals nests and both homes that are made by other birds; kill their young, scratch out their eggs and take the places themselves. We were taught to destroy if pos sible vboth species of birds. A hawk now was a somewhat protected animal, part icularly if it was a large hawk—a redhead or a barnhawk. They sailed so beauti fully in the clouds against the wind. Sometimes they couldn't make any headway at all with the breeze they tried to go against. And those amazing eyes of those creatures way up there in the air/ wo^lA see the movmment of a mole or a tiny squirrel or a little mouse, way down in the hog pasture, and ZOOM, they'd come down and feM it. Now, a sparrow hawk was another thing. We killed sparfow hawks religiously. That's what the twenty-two was used most for-^-to hit a sparrow hawk square in the eye—that was the goal. Because a sparrow hawk ate baby chickens. We had a little flurry with our pigs, too. Our pigs were in a pasture north of the house, out back of the toilet, and off to themselves where their noise or their odors didn't distress the household. They were great snake killers. Apparently the layer of fat under a pig's skin protects him from the venom, be cause they could kill rattlers or any other kind of snakes and they were great to help keep down the population of snakes. time we found He kind of pig that was new to us.

It was a Missouri Razorback that had been shipped in in a government project, and those razorbacks were indeed high along their backbone, and they had hair straight up along that area. Now our Poland Chinas and Duroc Reds were nice, round, flat-backed pigs, and they were domesticated and we could live with them nicely, but those wretched razorbacks ate Mother's chickens! And I tell you, it was the chickens life if it got into the hog pasture. So we couldn't get rid of those creatures fast enough. The only time a red sow or a black sowoh, we had a few New Hampshires, too, with the white band around their middle- -/lie only time those were dangerous was when one of their little pigs got caught intA,:fence. Now, a baby pig is tiny, like any other animal for ±ty species when its young, and so it will go through a crack in the fence, and in due time it grows and it gets so big it gets stuck in the hole that it has been using all this time^ Ugl it'll squeal— oh! It's being squeezed, and it doesn't like it and it raises a r«^er a the mother sow gets very excited, and she nip the pig to increase it s efforts, and if she draws blood, which she easily can, she becomes very excited, and she'll cew the pig up— to death. Mother, being a town girl didn't know about all this, but she was game, art She took the axe one day and got in a pigpen and fought off two enraged sows who had a pig that they were just dispatching. Ad he took the axe with her (laughter) and I remember seeing that axe flailing and Mother's apron flying and her determined, beautiful little face set in lines of complete combat and she was whaling away at the hog with the sharp end of the axe, meaning, of course, to hit 'em with the dull but she got a little confused. Well; anyway, she scared off the women-- (Ifiqghter) and saved the piglet. Bat fcity mother didn't often take any hand in the operation of the farm, however^ outside the house, never. She never gath ered an egg, she never picked a pea- she sometimes did fruit, but not other things.

(End of Side A)

Mother was never well. I have known long periods of time when she lived on parched bread and cocoa. She was a dear, charming, loving, intellectual woman, and she didn't fit the diet— the sstringent diet of salt meat and hotcakes and winter vegetables, such as cabbage, kraut, and roots. About the only one I imagine she could consume was carrots, and in the days before we processed vege tables r and that was not done until World War I in our home, at least Mother's diet was so limited, She'd had her babies fast and without aWeat deal of care. So Mother was never well, and the Sunday visitors many times were a great burden to her. She always said two things that stuck in my mind: One of them was that a man had six days of work and on the seventh he did chores, and he went maybe to the neighbors on special errands like castrating the calves or something^ 'cause that"could be done on horseback but to a woman there were sexgn days of work, be cause on Sunday she had company in good weather and in bad weather it was not suitable to go any place in the rain or snow or cold. The other thing she said was that a female animal before giving birth or even before conception, was given a little time to rest and be ready for her inner chores, but a woman had her child ren when she was depleted physically and conceived most easily. She thought the reason for this was nature's way of perpetuating the race. If this female was going to die, she could surely repooduce first. By weakest, I think she felt-12- that she understood it as the fact that she seemed to conceive when she was, in her words/'run down! When she was tired and least physically fit to handle the business of having a child, then was when she conceived. And she had her first three children in about five years, less than five years. Then there was a space of three and then there was a space of four, and she prevented, she felt, con ception by nursing her children overlong; because as long as she nursed a child she cUfc't conceive. course, in those days of no restrictions of any kind on reproduction, a woman just lived as best she^ could. father said to me one time, "I never felt anything but a welcome for one of my children." Well, now whefe. children just came whether they were planned for or invited, then I think that was quite a statement of character on his part, And it's been greatly reassuring to me; because certainly as number five, when it took my mother forty eight hours to bring me into the world with the longest and most painful of del iveries, I would not have known life had it been a planned family. I have known more than one offspring that was the flower of the flock that was born lafeer. My mother, of course, was just thirty when I came, but there is an illustrious fam ily in Moscow- whose name I shall not give because I'm going to tell some sec rets. -?M this dear lady was to have_her fifth child and she did not want it. But here she was pregw -again. In the family way; they called it then. Well, she went club of 8 nice lady friends here in Moscow on a picnic down to Kendrick. She climbed a tree and jumped off. She did it repeatedly. She thought maybe she'd miscarry. Arte fci this day and age where abortion is sup posed to be fully accepted, I do want to say that the Lord kept that baby for her and he went on to be. probably as illustrious a son at this community has ever produced, having later been president of the Ford Foundation, Dean of the Business School at Harvard and presently lives in New York. I speak of him only with admiration. Jfttil I tell this story only because one of her peers told it to me as an illustration of what nature does for the human family when therec is no planning.

I would like to go back for a moment and talk about my mother as a lonely woman on the farm. She could see no light in any window o- another white woman from her house. She could see way across the Clearwater River over toward Ruebens and Look Out^and sometimes we could see a light from over there and with the field glasses we could distinguish buildings. But the Rueben ranch house was hidden from ours by the trees, and besides that, it was never inhabited by anyone but a hired cook during harvest. No Indian woman ever lived there and no white woman ever lived there, during my memory. This had occurred earlier, but during my memory. Up north of us on the Connor place from time to time there would be a woman, but the house was just up around *, bend, so it could not be^seen from our place. SIR Mother was accustomed to daily company. Her father had had a grocery storg,and meat market and later a'factory back in Gladwin, Michigan^before theyJ migrated West. She was accustomed to people. So, the other day I ran onto a catalogue which was, I think called the Jolly Jokers, , no,that isn't the correct name— I'll hunt it up one of these days. This catalogue was of a club of lonely people who wished to correspond with each other over the whole surface of the globe. tggdmSQ Mother joined it— it cost a big fat ten dollars! But she joined the club and geography came alive for us children^, because there was Mr . Jones down in Quito, Ecuador^, who sent her gifts and sent her interesting letters,' and the gifts would be such things as the carving of the local water carrier, or a lovely embroidered doily, that if enough such doilies were put together, a pretty hand-embroidered hart" could be made. Or such— this was sent as a sample of the handwork of the Indian women ?- the area. Or there might have been* a girl whose last name was Magna laughter, and she was from Denmark. jsbA c^he sent Mother a piece of handwoven linen which I still have, and which is as heavy, almost, as foil, for thickness and strength of texture. Or. there was a young man in Tunis. There various people who sent her the sands of local fivers so that she had anc enormous collection of the sands of the rivers of the world. SliSSaRlTf Ve knew about the Dnieper, we knew about the Amazon, we knew about the Ganges, we knew about the Marne, we knew about the rivers on the surface of the earthy because Mother had a little sample ofjsand'taken from right alongside that flowing water. This was delightful for us all, and it made the mail such an.important thing because scarcely did Dad get on horseback and go to town (because there was no rural j delivery in the early timej and get the mail and inside would be all of these delights. My mother's mind was always alert and curious and enjoying. And no mat ter if it was a stray of any kind who tied his horse at our front gate and came up to be fed ""because of course you fed any human being who came to your door^ because, otherwise they would have to go hungry because there were no restaur ants around, of course, in easy access. So anytime somebody needed bed or board, any human being gave it to em. you gave them what you hadj aaak if it was very limited that was never questioned. 4ndScarcely did anyone ever of fer to pay. This was beside the point. The point was, that Mother would have somebody to visit with for a while. Anil no matter who it was«if there were some that she just couldn't find mucts of interest in, but mostly Mother could find something to visit with . .in this traveling person. usually housed the school teacher who taught about half way down the Coyote Grade, what they later named Rattlesnake College. Aflt she usually had one or two hired men at her table. Her htcake griddle could bake six large cakes at a time, and of course, the main staple of any good workingman's breakfast was something that stuck to his ribs—called a good hotcake. Dad always had smoked, cured meat so it would be bacon or ham, hotcakes and fried eggs for breakfast with lots of homemade syrup. ^SM. That was a good enough meal for anybody. And all the people could work on it, go to school on it, $er starve to death on it, if her name was Le[a Jain.~) that's the way we lived as for diet in the winter timei. I knew at the time it was difficult for Mother, but now that I'm a grown person, how much more I empathize with the maladjustment in which she lived, and how hard it must have been on my father who held her dear and had to witness all this and at the same time, never could have a shoulder-to-shoulder companion who earned with1 egg's and butter and produce, and who also was a constant drain for doctors' bills.

I'd like to talk a little more about the Indians I have known, because I left that subject. Just over from our farm was three 'ps' in the pron unciation because that's the way I was taught. He was an Indian man who came up to his eighty— that's eighty acres alloted by the gov ernment—with his two squaws each summer. His place, the Connor place the Rueben place, like all Indian homes had a dooryard utterly alive with hollyhocks, which only allowed for tramped-down paths to and from the door, to the house and to the toilet and to the barn. Otherwise, they grew all over the place. And hollyhocks, to me are Nez Perce flowers. Peopeqtalk but we said Peopeopatalik however it was, he came up in the summer and once in a while he'd come up and visit with my dad who was great friend^ of all the Indians. Another Indian who came to visit us was Charlie White. He was a halfbreed and a handsome large man who was a great baseball catcher in later timesy and played on the same team with my husband, who was a kid from Gifford, and at sixteen was a hired second baseman. Charlie played for free with the Lapwai. or Spalding teams on Four of July and stock shows and such celebrations would come through the warm weather, and my husband,Guy Wicks,would be hired to come down and^'given twenty dollars on the Fourth of July to beef up the excellence of the hitting staff, (chuckles) Charlie's background is illustrative of the scarcity of white women who came West. Men were more adventuresome and they came first, and then there were no women around, save Indian women. Well, Charlie's mother was a maiden of great worth because she not only had two children by this early day settler- who later married in full legality the daughter of a lovely white family that came West, and had another family that was housed and still lives'in Lewiston. They are-16- a distinguished family and I shall not identify any further. But this Indian woman was put asid^ when her husband fell in love and could marry this lirtjpp white girl. This silly story was told and I don't believe it for a minute; but it does carry a certain punch— that when the Indian woman didn't get proper care, or had a disagreement, she just mosied down the river with her tepee and pitched"in the yard of the white woman, and things came her way, but quickly. Now, I think that's just a good story, but it is a funny one.(laughter) The imagry is very good, isn't it? Well, Charlie was one of two of her children. Later she married an army man. who was a very early settler, and had another child by him. And I don't think it hurts to tell his name because his father was Tom Beall. There's a creek named for him down between Lapwai and Spalding and his wife was this same Indian woman.

Now, I've found Indians in their adjustment to our culture in my own way n working with PTA "There was an Indian woman who was the president of the Lapwai unit of PTA when I was district president and going around and yisimi^ all the units,, and-she was a high class Indian woman. But she simply couldn't get to meetings on time—forty ..minutes late was par. She had her problems. Her little daughter whose picture is still a lovely thing on -ee postcards and is emblematic of beautiful Nez Perce maidenhood, broke her mother's heart by running away during high school days and going up to Coeur d'Alene with her boyfriend and distres sing her family no end. Her son came to the Uniersity and pledge^Tau Kappa Epsilon- and was a star basketball player for some time, but he didn't get a degree. He married well, however— he married the daughter of a fine white fam ily from up the road always * who nearly died at the match. But in due time this young Indian man was in a bar and someone provoked his anger and he took a swing at them. Well, the fellow didn't like being swung at, and he swung back and hit this chap square on the tip of his chin. The fellow fell backward, dead. He'd been hit by a trick punch, which is known to boxers 4Pf the man who finds this punch fatal is called a man with a glass jaw. 4Hi ahr friend's son was dead. There was a grandchild, and at the funeral of this young man, the white in-laws came ,and that was the first time that the Indians and whites had mixed. Now this is within the last ten . fifteen years. So the amalgamations and the melting of races and the assumptions of cultures is still a very living struggle. Now, let's see.what other Indians have I known that are colorful? I told you about Rueben and Connor and Peopeotalktp $egp I think those are the main ones. There are other stories regarding the scarcity of women. Another man who was a big-time cattle man, and who has descendants living, so I shan't name him kad a mistress named Brocky Jack. He took her out of a house, and she had had smallpox at sometime and her face was greatly pocked, so they said she was brockied, which I guess means deeply freckled or speckled. Jack was very conscious of her lack of status. We had some friends named Vernon who were very proud people, and Mrs. Vernon could sew-* So Brocky Jack, the story goes, would bring a pattern, material, thread, etc. and put it on the post of thexgate and ride away. Mrs. Vernon would then come out of her house, go down and get the dress makings, and take them inside and in due time produce a gar ment. I suppose there was a note accompanying rey=*/~d'Tq measurements, or maybe the pattern sufficed, I don't know; but then the garment was placed on the gate post and Brocky Jack drove back or rode back and picked up the dressr So there ' never was any personal contact. This, I imagine, was a matter of pride with Brocky Jack quite as much as Mrs. Vernon. She was not about to be snubbed. And t don't think, knowing Mrs. Vernon, that she would Now there's another Indian story that I wish to tell because it hurt me to see this happen. Jane Silcott was the daughter of Chief Timothy, and she was married to Silco+t, Captain Joseph Silctt, who was Snake River boat captain. She died and he buried her where her grave could look up the Snake River at the con fluence of the Snake and the Clearwater RiverS For many years that tall, white shaft was there. Mil Ve all thought of the fact that here was a white man who had loved his wife enough to mark her grave in such a knowing way. But in due time vandals came and ripped down the monument and descrated the grave, and now there is nothing but harvest over the place where this touching monument used to be.

I have another story about Jane Silcett and her husband. A friend of mine was a seventeen year old boy and working around the Raymond House, an early day hotel in Lewiston, and from the train one day. came a distinguished lady from the East who said she had come to visit her brother; Joseph SilcerH:. Well, word was sent to Joseph Silcoft, and he came in all dressed up and took his sister to dinner, he took her for rideS, he entertained her as royally as Lewiston afforded for several days. And th^A put her on the train and sent her home, never having taken her back to his house or having introduced her to his wife. Whether she ever knew that he was married to an Indian woman is quite doubtful/ because she was made happy as could be, and perhaps there was never a question in her mind. Now, let's see what other stories I have here.

Oh, when I was a little girl during World War i, and we were busy growing food for those big brothers overseas, I trapped squirrels. Igot anicking a tail and a dime for a weasel, and lots of times I got snakes, I never got a rattler though. m I learned that I could take a little scout size axe and dispatch the squirrels, protesting and fighting for their little lives, caught in those traps, mm. I pull 'em by their poor little caught legs from where they'd frantically try to stay down the hole; that I could pull them forth and dispatch them, because after all, I had to preserve the fcocj for our boys, was a terrible lesson for a little girl to have to learn, but learn it I did. I took the money from those squirrels' tails and sent to Sears Roebuck and got myself a ukelele. I learned four chords, and Oh, my! if I couldn't sing up a storm with that instrument, (chuckles) -$d we also had an old fashioned phonograph that my parents had bought at Beal-i's store in Gene 5ee. This store had formerly been owned by had such delightful records, as Uncle Josh and the Chinese Laundry',1 and the Harrigan^'and later I found at my grandparents "The Whistler and His Dog" , and"In the Good Old Summertime". J—1B1 having learned to play this instrument, I went over to the Rueben ranch and somebody had left there another phonograph, and on it was "The Whole Dam Family"?-I-be-dam.'' and "you* be -dam„. and the whole iaPan?- Family. Jfcftri When it came time for me to go to town and be sent to Sunday School, and eventually to school, my mother told me very carefully not to sing "Old Dan Tucker was a Good Old Man, washed his face in a frying pan, combed his hair with a wagon wheel, and died with a toothache in his heel." Because I said Old Dan Hailey did this, and Dan Hailey was a very respectable and well liked neighbor^ feet ihe hired man had taught me the wrong words, (chuckles) And so of course, on the I Be Damned song, I didn't dare sing that for Sunday School and it was very hard not too, because they wanted verses, and they wanted songs, and those were the only ones I knew, (laughter) Can you imagine how my mother must have suffered wondering what I'd do? About this time we got the telephone. Now, I hadn't gone to school yet when we got the telephone, and the wire came from a rackedcp pole and the pole was just an chored so carefully with great boulders at the corner of our field, and then that heavy wire swung clear^ across that vast canyon over to the other side to another well-anchored pole. There were nineteen people on our J\'.re, and our ring was two longs and two shorts, and it din't ring at n^^rtf., or it didn't ring for long distance unless there was death or disaster. However, one time, it did: It rang at night and my father got up, and I can see him yet in his long underweajfand all of us children dashing out of bed, down stairs to find outrwhat terrible thing had happened. Well, it was long distance from Spokane, ane a young man who was the son of Reverend Stephen Rueben*, litis name was Louis. And he said,"Walter?", "Yes." "This is Louis Rueben." "Yes." "I am incarcerated in the Spokane county jail." "You are? What'd you get in trouble about?" "Well, they have me here— now, Walter, you know I'm the original aborigine." "Yeah, I know that. Well, they have me incarcerated for intr ing liquor on the Nez Perce Reservation, and I need twenty dollars, Walter. I need it soon." (chuckles) Well, of course, any landlord is, from time to time, to have a little good will, and public relations demand a little cash from time to time, but twenty dollars was enormous. That was'equivalent of a steer, il don't rem ember how my father solved this, but I do remember that my brother, who also rented from Indians^ several years later had an amusing incident happen to him along these very lines.

fen years older than I He was renting this Indian land, and in the sixth grade he'd gone to school down at this country school down the canyon road with some girls "I thinkthet name was Andrews or Alexander or something, a white name anyway, and there were two of 'em, and they were all in the same grade with Ben. here'came, years later, as grown people they were the landladies and he was a prospective renter and ije wanted to do business with them, to rent some of their land, up the Clearwater out of Lenore. WHS. 'the girls couldn't speak English, they had to have an interpreter. Well, of, course, what it was, they were givmj some of their boyfriends a little government money by interpreting. Why, it was just normal, they'd learned white mens ways^-they weren't dumb — and so they had the interpreter there. Well, all the business went on through the interpreter. But from time to time the girls would see Ben in Lewiston or lapwaior Spalding, or some place, and they'd hit him up for a little money. WBM he'd give 'em a few dollarsjand good will remained at a high point. rtlftS- Sunday the family was having dinner when rattle-ty-bang into the dooryard came this old Ford with one of the girls and two quite high Indian bucks, and they were all having a very fine time, indeed. Ben left his dinner table and went down to visit with 'em a minute, 0t this Indianfsaid, "Pen" (don't make a B sound, it's kind of a P sound) "Pen, Emily would like to have a little money." Ben said, "Well, gee, she^shit me up in Lewiston twice this week, (Slat ought to be enough for now. I guess, maybe not today." "Oh, she would like it very much." "Well, I'll tell you, it's getting a little heavy." looked across this very jovial driver and looked merrily at Ben ami said, "Ah, Pen, give me a couple of bucks and scram t hell out of here." (chuckles) After that, it just didn't hold to have an interpreter! (Laughter) Ben served at a completely pagan funeral while he lived on that place. He said that his neighbor died, and he was not a Christian Indian. They hired Ben to bring his team and the running gears of his wagon downjand they just laid a couple of boards across the* two sets of wheels, you see, the running gears. And the old Indian was rolled in his blanket, his good hat, his quirt, his bridle, his saddle, his saddle blanket, were all with him, And up the hill they went to where a grave was dug and he was laid in the ground. The Indians are very faith ful to one of their dead. Arad "the house was full of friends and relatives. The women absolutely, just as in the old days. sister-in-law didn't go, feefr the widow of the dead man gave away everything in that house, and when she didn't have enough possessions to give away, she had some gifts at hand, like dress length of new material or something. A dress length of cotton mater ial was sent to my sister-in-la^ 4mWBen for what he had done to help with the funeral5 was given a beautiful pair of buckskin gloves, made by the widow. *Bl When the day was over, she not only did not have her husband amymore, she had no possessions. Now- that was a completely pagan funeral, and the only one t U*' I ve known of one of the family having a part^f. Most of the Nez Perces were converted by Reverend Spalding and his followers. -4flG ithis has an amusing after math which I'll not tell today because I'm not going to get all this material I had quite interesting experiences with hired men and bunkhouses. Being the daughter of the family and just a little kid, I was allowed free access every where. And I didn't go up into the bunkhouse too much because in the first place it didn't smell good, those unwashed socks didn't leave exactly a pleasant aroma And Dad would store his seed corn up there, and the mice'd get in in the wint er and they have a distinctive odor. However, up there I learned to braid three strand and four strand and six strand, and there were certain seasons when it was empty; then, of course, it would be full, and I was not encouraged to go near it. i^ it was right in connection with our house. The bunkhouse was connected to the house by a breezeway, which Dad eventually built a shed over, and under the bunkhouse was a very fine cellar fh5Cf~ he built with walls, oh, eighteen inches to two feet thick, J$mt this kept the cream nice and the milk and butter in hot test weather, it was always in quite nice shape—properly provided for in the cellar. The doors were double and triple a«d with their padding, and so the heat was kept out, and the roof v the bunk house. The men^feading in the bunkhouse was of a variety that my mother didn't condone. Now it wasn't that it was dirty or four letter words used/ because these men were not dirty mouthed people at all; but it was a cheap variety of magazine, like the Blue Book and the Topnotch, and mostly Western stories, not especially'written, *e*gh there was a lot of Zane Grey mingled in with it. which Mother didn't recommend to me, but which she didn't forbid me. However, she forbade me to have anything to do with Horatio Alger, that was too cheap. Now, Gene Stratton Porter, I read with great pleasure. The Girl_of the Limberlqst and the Harvester, were very mild little love stories with lots of nature lore that Mother said I could have. JMff I had a delightful time the last summer we were there -no not the last summer, but one of the later summers -because we had a hotbloaded thorobred. called Ruby, and she was such a high spirited animal that I couldn't ride her any place but within the field, or within the dooryard. They wouldn't" let me out on the road with her, 'cause she could take Kbit and go. 4m %o I rode her to keep the cows out of some grain. Dad had a strip of spring wheat that he kept the cows in good shape with, and there wen fifteen cows and one bull, and I herded them twice a day all summer on Ruby. And my dear delight was to get a Topnotch to read while I did-23- my little chore.

And if, by any chance I could have found a nicklja, and could have bought a Centennial chocolate it was one chocolate in a box, all by itself, and it had the most .delicious cream inside, often with black walnuts, sprinkled in the delicious thingTand I would manage to make that last almost an hour until it melted in my hands, and then read Topnotch, and still be away and by my self like that, and doing my work, why, that was a combination beyond compare. fp Of course, stock interesting. Father did not encourage us to name animals, because pretty soon theyd...to be butchered or sold, or something, and they were part of the business, it wasn't welL thsTchildren got their heart-strings too attached many times named the cows for the wife of the man wo'd sold it to us. Now this made for amusing situations Oh, Rosie got in the fence this morning* Ch[, old Minnie had her calf last n|4kt, or something like that. And it was a source of amusement to us, a little cruel, but all right. This1/summer, I named most of the cows;movie stars. There was Mary Pickford, and Norma Talmadge, Coleen More and Pearl White and just the whole gamut of people'I had had a nick to go to the Saturday show and get acquainted m We didn't know whether to name the bull Francis X.Bushman or Brigham Young, but both names we knew who we were talking ahsut when we named them. (laughter) And that's mainly my story about cows. We've got lovely stories about horses, however. Prince was the first horse that I remember. He was a bald-faced roan, and the sweetest old dumper of a riding horse you ever saw. He practically raised my two older brothers and older sister. When the little fellows would get to fighting on his back, and one would get pushed off, the remaining rider couldn't get Prince to budge 'tilf he had two fellows on his back. Hwi that saved many a worry for Mother. Because she knew that the children wouldn't get ir.. trouble because Prince would bring 'em home. There was another horse that we loved, everybody loved; she was Madge and she was a white Apa-loosa. We had bought her from a homesteader who Kftd been snowed in on his claim and had kept her alive through a winter by baking white bread. She could eat it she couldn't eat flour, but she could eat white bread, and the^l kept her alive through the winter. So she was a dear, pink-nosed, light-eyed pet. And of all the people who adored her, Ben was the main one. As a matter of ,fact, Ben gave me her bridle not five years ago and I have it here'to give to the muse um when we get a barn section, laying to me, "Here's something old, Gracie. I never found another animal that was good enough to wear it."

He, as a sweet, tenderhearted little boy, aged about ten, fell in love with Madge. Aar %he was his horse, "fefd He tended her, he curried her, he babied her with special food, and he loved her. Well, one day we went to town for Decoration Day (and 11 speak of Decoration Days nexty. mien we got home, there was a little colt, a beautiful Apjaloosa, but Madge was dead. She'J had her colt and she hadn't survived. HRQ. Ben told me when when he gave*ne. he./; bridle how terrible it had been for him to see Madge with a rope put around her neck and dragged out and down into the canyon, which was the burial she got. He said, gust like so much garbagerflow his little heart had bled. Now Prince was buried, he was buried under a thorn bush}and I can find it to this day. He was properly buried, but Madge was just dragged'over the edge of the canyon. I suppose Dad was very bus^ or he certainly would never have done this that way. MmH ^e never knew quite where Madge was, but Prince's place is still marked. There were other horses but few of them that took the places of these two. I also have a story of a mad dog—a mad coyote—it was. People lived on the Rueben ranch ^md this was before I can remember much about it} who were white, named Treutman, fi0t Mr. Troutman went out after the cow one morn ing and took his little boy with him. As they went out past 6. straw stack, out past the end of barn= which my father owned, to get the cow, a coyote in most unusual fashion, loped right up to th^ little boy and bit him an the cheek. Before the father could prevent it, or anything, that child was bit^fri the cheek. Well, of course he,-dispatched the coyote, and it s mouth was frothing and it ob--25- vi.ously was infected by rabies. Well, they took the little boy, who became violently ill, to the Toomey Hospital in Genesee, mmh he lived for some time. stead ^he wound healed to ascab the size of agrain of wheat, anurse later told me, and then he went mad and had a horrible death. Our dogs, at that time were Stub and Jack,and i the only times I've ever known that they were kept in at night-and this was in the granary-was in that trying interlude, 4MB Wnen they were out, they were muzzled for fear they would infect another animal or bite one of us children. Because if rabies were rampant, then, of course, every living creature was vulnerable. This was a very trying time, as I rem ember it. It was only later that I talked to the nurse who was aneighbor of ours and learned about how close the little boy had co«ie to healing in the course of the terrible disease. %^mm^^^mme t that time there was no Pasteur or tta^udlup«b serum or anything— rabies were just fata^ *'you got it in a rat population or a squirrel population, or a coyote population, you just had to live with it until you could dispatch all^the infected animals. Time does march on, and the world does get better in many ways. I remember when electricity came to our home. Of course, we just had the center cord come down with a light on it, but Mother did insist on some pretty shades. *. She 4Bi use/high powered globes, which many of our friends did not. «t We were all readers in our family and we had to have light, she felt. ** ve read a great deal of the classics, so that the fine print of the classic books had to be seen to be read. ** so she had the electric lights in that fashion. It was, Ithink,^ 1916 when we got electric l4ght^ ^ the man who wired our ho^se was named Walter; he was very handsome and he got acrush on my older sister, but it didn't last long. State was agreat boon to us, amPSZther wanted an electric washer: But how to get an electric washer? Well, she had another horse I should tell you about. His name was Follow Me. He had been trained by adear friend-26- named Jim Vernon to follow Mr. Vernon every place that Mr. Vernon went as long as he carried a whip. And Follow Me was a large Clydesdale, in part, so that it gave him large bones and he was about fifteen hands high. Mother didn't have a fancy buggy. She had a utility, four-wheeled vehicle that she could take the he * cream can and the egg crate and the raspberry crate or the cherry @¥*fee and a couple of children and go to town, MtSi. . Mother was always dainty and pretty, and she would get her face made up mt her false switch on mmm her hat set just right and her makeup wound up with Cream d' Camelia , and oh she smelled so good and she looked so pretty, -*wd then she'd put on a duster to keep her costume nicely free of dust for when she got to town fro die her trading. As a little girl I also had a duster that I wore, and oh. I remember getting all tricked out ready to go to town, amd then that dust along that dirt road would just %Ht on my pretty little shoes and jpa* on my duster.-0k When we'd get to town, we'd just have to be brushed and shaken thoroughly, and then we'd leave the dusters in the rig while we went down town with our dresses as nicely starched and ironed as they could be after six miles or five miles, whatever it was, of going through the heat to town. The only thing was. that I was a delicate child, and no matter what I ate at my grandmother's at noon, if I had the slightest treat like a little icecream cone from the confectionery named Smoltt, all the way home from *MK cemetery on ^usually Iaw88*d have to vomit,assi I would have a headache, awd it was nothing but nerves from the terrific excitement of getting to go to town. this day I love the fact that we have closed, warm cars for transportation. . the weather can't keep us home and disappoint the very living daylights of us, like it did when I was a child, (chuckles)

Well, Mother was a charming person}and she would entertain us with obser vations and human interest stories as we'd ride along. MS Since she was such a lonely person she used as companions the ears of her children. And we got allc the lore from her former home in Michigan,and when letters came we kept up with the births and deaths and marriages and engagements and everythihg else of her friends back there. 40fi pn these rides, when there'd be the time just to put in while Follow Me took us to town and brought us home, ^Sy she would just regale us with one delight after another. Follow Me had a certain area where he was king. And that was coming up a portion of the road which still is there, but has just a little flat place as you climb rather a steep hill. In this flat place, where Mother could easily put her foot on the brake and hold the buggy, Follow Me knew that .... he'd get a little when he would approach this flat placer" really, swish, swish, swish, would go his tail back and forth, remind,ree4: lady driver behind him that it was time, "4mfr~w* she'd put her foot on the brake and laugh and give him a rest. Many times as he switched to go forward he would break wind mightily, and we would have to protect ourselves from anything that was liquid thereof, but up the hill he would go, (laughter) not expecting another rest tiU he got to our upper gate. Jdl- then whatever child was there -not a little girl like me, but my brother four years older ."was the one to open the gate, and then down the road past the locust and the walnuts we would gofask then we'd see the light of home and the smoke coming out the chimney, and was that A. nice welcome, I'll tell you that was home and love and comfort. And-yet, I can remember many times when we came home, and all of us were along, and so we came into a cold house. We had to light the lighlS, wa-4i«""tre go out and gather kindling and chips, come in and build a fire, heat water and Mother;make biscuits, iatft it took quite a little while to get the comfort going. How simple it is these days, and how different from then.

My father was so sweet about his yard,aiways. He planted lilacs; he planted yellow roses; he planted a climber rose; he planted trees for shade; and he tended them carefully. Out in the back, near where my play box of sand was, and my little playhouse was, was a row of locusts and in front of them— oh, yes, many syringas—were a row of beehives, and we had our own honey. Mother didn't do outside work, and she didn't have her daughters out in the field or the corral or the garden, either. It gave a girl a big^s^feefe- to do heavy work and she wasn't about to have her daughters in that realm of activity at all, and we never were hired girls to the neighbors. The neighbors came to house, but never did we work for anyone else. This was her little pride.

So when, from time to time, Mother would get all bundled up with a wide brimmed hat and a veil and one of Dad's coats and long, long skirts and gloves, a«d ties at the bottoms of her sleeves, and ties around her neck, we'd know she was going to hive a swarm of bees. This she often, and this she did well, imek ^he never was stung. This was fortunate, because we learned much later that she was allergic to bee sting, venom. This came about whenvshe went back to the farm to help harvest the honey, and was just staying all night in Dad's bachelor diggings,""^8d hey were working with the honey, and she had a five gallon kerosene oil tin which Dad had cut out the head of and had pounded down so that it was a lovely big, clean container. 4gg§: they put the honeycomb in the comb would stay on top and the honey would drain down into the bottom. it was simply delicious with her biscuits made of sour cream or sweet cream and served with homemade butter and that good honey, I'll tell you-ambrosia. Well, this particular time, Mother was washing a five gallon container, and a dead bee .ntSt clung to the edge of the container from the year before's use, she swished her cloth and the sud.s of the water around to wash the container, her ring finger on her right hand came in contact with the stinger of that dead bee and it gp*ffg her; ohe got the venom from the dead stinger- and Site was so vio lently ill that Dad had to cut her corset strings and bring her to town immediately she nearly died. Now the rest of us.we had been stung a pillionc times, but Mother should have never been stung. She just wasn't very well suited to the life she lived.

Oh, yes, I did too, hire out to the neighbors. It was after we lived in town. And what I did, was make a layette for the lady next door, and she paid me for embroidering all the pretties on the baby's little nighties and sacks and hug-me-tights, and all the little robes and things. I loved to embroider. I've got a hankie here that I crochetad on when I was four years old. I have a pillow top that I worked on whilA I was younger than that, though I don't know how much younger. As wien the big ladies would be doing their needlework, wh , of course I wanted to to^ and I learned to knit and crochet r.aand do all the things that I still enjoy doing, if I only had the eyes to do it all, just like they did. "Hi I prettied that layette, and then I got so I dusted and vacuumed for heranctshe paid me ten cents an hour for all this. I was in high school. But that's not the lowest wage I ever got. In the early twenties I was night operator.— well, let's see, this was the summer of 1925— I was night operator of the telephone company. It was a local company, and my father was a director and was able to pull strings to get his daughter a job. I worked for thirty dollars a month. And I went on Saturday night to take up my duties at nine o'clock, and I didn't leave the place until seven o'clock Monday morning. The way the hours worked out I made nine cents an hour. I was terrified in some aspects of this job. because in a thunderstorm every key there came down on that switchboard. An-if a woman was expecting—a-baby*rand of course everybody knew everybodyr I'd get calls saying, "Gracie, what time is it? Is it time to take my bread outj The clock stopped." Or they would say, "Will you look up in the Sears Roebuck catalogue and tell me what's on page eleven?' The page is missing." Or some such thing. Well, I remember one violent thunderstorm when the keys were just playing a dance on that keyboard—switchboard— one of the older girls in-30- high school was having a baby, and they called for the doctor, and I had to plug in on that lively switchboard,, and I was terrified. The electricity was off and I had to hand grind the ring, but I got her the doctor all right. My bed was pulled up right under the protruding counter of the switchboard and I slept right there, and in the daytime I made the bed and %pushed it over next to the wall. The sanitary facilities were out back,' and it was an unfinished attic that went clear up two stories, and bats inhabited that place. SM at night, if I felt the call of nature I was terrified going out there to that constantly running little- old toilet. And**?, I would suffer until daylight came, if possible. Otherwise, there were many fringe benefits in the job. I had a beau who was across the street in the bank.

(End of Side C)

0:00 - Place of birth and growing up a pioneer

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Segment Synopsis: Her place of birth was incorrectly recorded as Latah, not Nez Perce County. Growing up with a pioneer heritage*

3:00 - Stories from living on the farm

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Segment Synopsis: Watching an Indian get fruit from the Reuben place. Reuben family. She asks Eddie Conner an embarrassing question. A dispute over the farm's boundary is settled by a grove of trees.

8:00 - Fruit, produce and animals

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Segment Synopsis: Her father's knife is lost in a tree. Kinds of fruits from the family orchard. "The William Nixon Bare Spot" in the raspberry patch. Her father wins a bet with a neighbor about the size of his strawberries. He loved to give neighbors garden produce, and to keep Gersey cows in town.

15:00 - Dogs and animals

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Segment Synopsis: Dogs. Gack, their first, a stray from a covered wagon, was shot by neighbors when roaming. Stubb, the cattle dog, and Missy, who knew how to get petted. Grace kills her puppy by mistake.

21:00 - Dealing with rattlesnakes

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Segment Synopsis: Snakes. How children took care of rattlesnakes. The mate returned to the spot where his partner was killed. Where rattlesnakes were found.

24:00 - Birds on the farm

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Segment Synopsis: Birds. The pigeon problem on the farm. Swallows, hawks, and other welcome birds. Destructiveness of English sparrows and sparrow hawks.

27:00 - Pigs on the farm

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Segment Synopsis: Their pigs were great snake killers. Missouri razorbacks ate chickens. Her mother fights off two enraged sows who were attacking a piglet caught in the fence.

30:00 - Women's work and survival

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Segment Synopsis: Her mother's frailty. She used to tell Grace that while men worked six days, women worked seven, and that women conceived when they were physically weakest. (An unwanted child became a leading citizen; nature took care of the human family before family planning.) Her mother's isolation was lightened by joining the Golly Gokers, an international club of people who wished to correspond: gifts and letters came from everywhere, and the children learned of geography. Her mother enjoyed giving a meal to travellers and talking with them; they housed the school teacher and hired hands. Winter breakfast.

42:00 - Native Americans in the area

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Segment Synopsis: Indians. Peo-peo-ptalkt, and hollyhock in Indian yards. Charlie White's mother, an Indian, was put aside for a white woman after the country was settled; the story was told that she camped in the new wife's yard when she was angry. Grace's Indian friend had tragedy in her family when her son was killed in a fight.

50:00 - Stories of women in the area

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Segment Synopsis: Brocky Gack, mistress of a rancher, had pride in dealing with a dressmaker. Gane Silcott, an Indian, was buried by her husband Goseph at the confluence of the Snake and Clearwater. Goseph never took his sister home to meet her.

54:00 - Trapping animals for bounty during war; coming of the telephone

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Segment Synopsis: She trapped squirrels and weasels for bounty while the boys wjuri at war, and bought a ukelele with the proceeds. She learned songs from early records, some of which her mother worried she'd sing in town. The telephone came; a night call of distress from the Spokane county jail.

60:00 - Stories of Nez Perce

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Segment Synopsis: Her brother Ben was often asked for a little money by the Indian he rented from. He witnessed a Nez Perce funeral, which ended with the widow giving away all the family possessions.

65:00 - Bunkhouse and reading books

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Segment Synopsis: The bunkhouse covered the storage cellar. Mother discouraged her from reading westerns, forbade Horatio Alger, but permitted mild love stories. Reading Topnotch while herding cows. They named cows after the wife of the man who sold them, or after movie stars.

71:00 - Horses and dogs

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Segment Synopsis: Horses. Prince always stopped when one child tumbled off his back. Madge lived on white bread through a winter; Ben mourned when she died and was dragged away. A small boy was bitten by a rabid coyote, and the family dogs were muzzled.

77:00 - Electricity and going to town

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Segment Synopsis: Electricity came to the farm. Dressing to go to town to trade, and wearing dusters. Mother told stories on the way to town; Follow-Me's rest stop. The pleasure to come back home.

83:00 - Trees, shrubs and bees on the farm; first job; working as telephone operator

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Segment Synopsis: Trees and shrubs on the farm. Mother hived bees for honey, and once nearly died from a dead stinger. The family children didn't hire out, which was her mother's pride. Her first job was embroidery for ten cents an hour. Working weekends as the Genesee telephone operator for nine cents an hour; she was afraid of the switch board in thunderstorms, and handled all kinds of requests.

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