Excerpts From Bertie McDaniel's
Mostly chronological, these exerpts are
also organized by subject. See the information bar on the right.
The full account was written by her off
and on through the 1970s and 80s.
Here spelling has been standardized,
and most punctuation is her own.
Farm in Hammond
for the rest of her life, Herberta was born on October 15, 1902 in Muniz Canyon, outside of Lumberton, in what was then the Territory of New Mexico. In 1904, Bertie’s family moved to the Bloomfield
area, where they bought a small farm from Charles and Viola Holley for $1,500 after borrowing $500 from Aztec’s Citizens
Bertie told a little
about the area at the time:
There was a country
store at Blanco and at Largo.
We did trade there some I believe. At one time Ira and Manka Townsend
ran a country store on the south side if the river about 5 miles west of us. We
traded there, also we traded at the Bloomfield country store. But my folks traded in Aztec when possible; the stores were bigger and better. And the closest bank was at Aztec, also the closest doctor. For years Dr. Taylor was the only doctor in Aztec.
The farm was situated
near Hammond, bordered on the north and east by the San Juan River, and sported two alfalfa fields, a large corn field and
an orchard of apple, peach, pear, cherry, plums, crabapples, and apricots. On
the east river bank was a row of large cottonwoods and wild currant bushes which were gathered for jelly each year.
the house that Bruce Sullivan and his wife built when they homesteaded the farm:
They built the
old log cabin from cottonwood logs which were plentiful along the rivers. The
cracks were chinked with mud. For a roof, they laid up several big logs, to hold
the smaller poles that were put on next. What went next, I can only imagine,
but my guess is that they put bark over the small poles and then maybe [illegible] next and then about six or eight inches
of soil. In the summer when it rained we could look up at the roof and there
were some kind of weeds growing…that had yellow flowers; …thick like an alfalfa field. I used to think, "My, what a pretty yellow roof we have!"
If I remember right there were four rooms and an open porch that had a roof.
Two rooms, at least had board floors, and at least three rooms had fireplaces.
We only used three rooms, and if Dad had a hired man who batched, he used the other room. The windows were small and scarce. … In the kitchen
was a fire place and a cook stove – we used wood for fuel. There was a
dish cupboard, a table, a few chairs and a bench behind the table. …The cabin was warm in the winter and cool in the
She remembers her
mother singing lullabies to her baby sister, like
in the tree top
when the wind
blows, the bough will bend
and down will
gone a hunting
to get a rabbit
to wrap the
(Perhaps these are
regional variations, or Bertie misremembered.)
San Juan River
The river brought the cottonwoods and grass, the animals and the water necessary for farming. As much as the early farmers tried to tame it, digging channels and ditches, building siphons, it was still
naturally wild. It was this wildness that Bertie admired, at first, about the
river. She said,
As I grew older, I both loved and feared
the San Juan River. May, Lucie and I used to
stand on the bank when it was flooding and watch the high sand waves roll. What
really fascinated us was when a big wave would break and the water would boil and go back upstream. You’d just have
to watch it to appreciate what I am trying to say.
One of the things
farmers tried to do to maintain the river can still be seen today. Some arroyos,
or washes, have been given concrete walls to stop the water from eroding the banks.
Before concrete became easily accessible, farmers would pile rocks and logs against the riverbanks for the same purpose. Bertie described it like this:
The bank [near our home] was high and
the water kept undermining [it]. The bank would cave into the river. My father tried to keep it rip-wrapped with trees and rocks. Every
now and then a flood would was out some rip-wrap.
It would be rare to see the San Juan looking like that today.
The Navajo Dam has ended the river’s rampaging days by letting a predetermined flow out of the floodgates. Source __ empties into the Colorado at _ (Lee’s
Ferry in Arizona?) outside of _. Water brings life, but the San Juan, like
many other rivers, also caused considerable property damage and even death.
Jack Hippler, Bertie’s
father, ran a trading post in Hammond, and so had to make
frequent trips to Aztec to get supplies and visit the bank. One day when Jack
had gone to Aztec, Bertie remembers seeing her mother standing at the fence and staring across the river, which was in flood
stage. Bertie said, "what really fascinated me was the way the wind was blowing
her thin waist sleeves back and forth, billowing it up and down." When Jack came
home hours later, he had lost his roan horse Pinto, who had drowned in the river while crossing. The horse had probably been packing Jack’s supplies.
it being just a few days after Pinto drowned that the river almost killed the entire Hippler family. Jack had borrowed a horse from Mrs. McClure, a neighbor, and driven the family to Aztec. The river could rise as much as a foot during the day. In
the morning it would be "down," as they said, and by evening it would be "up." A
few miles above the Hippler farm was a wide place in the river called Potter Crossing.
Bertie’s family went to this crossing, her mother and father talking about how high the river was, and decided
to try it. Bertie said, "the big sand waves were rolling high, then breaking
and rushing upstream. The water was angry, boiling, muddy. I thought it was fun to watch, which goes to show that I did not realize the danger we were in." The horses, tired from their trip, got halfway into the river and stopped.
Jack didn’t urge them on, realizing know he’d made a mistake. While
the family sat in the wagon, battered by the water, Bertie’s mother pointed out two men on the riverbank. They were Kay and Sy Mangum, who got on one horses and waded out to the stranded family. Kay, the taller one, got into the water and helped Jack Hippler hold down the wagon so it wouldn’t
turn over. Sy lifted Bertie’s mom and the baby onto his horse and rode
across the river. He returned to ferry all the children across while Jack unhitched
the team from the wagon. Finally, as Bertie, her mother and sisters watched from
the bank, Sy pulled up Jack and Kay and rode to safety.
Whether the horses were terrified or
not I can’t say, but as I look back on the hole ordeal, I can say some horses are afraid of water and some do not seem
to be. …The team and wagon were swept downstream by that gigantic pressure
of angry water so suddenly that in no time they were caught in a terribly deep, swift current that carried them under a high
bank. Had the bank been low they may have gotten out, as it was Mrs. McClure’s
mare reared up and came down on [the Hippler’s horse] and both went under. A
sad sight! I do not know whether Dad ever found the wagon where it may have washed
up on a sand bar or not.
So within a few days the San Juan had taken both Hippler
horses and the wagon and the borrowed horse of Mrs. McClure. Bertie told how
the story ended: "The next thing I can recall we were in Mrs. McClure’s house and Dad was telling her about our accident. Annie McClure was crying because she was so attached to their horse that drowned. She was a girl in her teens. I have no
idea how or when we arrived home."
Sam Walton’s Ferry
Near the present site of Highway __’s bridge over the San Juan,
a man named Sam Walton operated a ferry. He was also a blacksmith, and held mail
for people in the area. Bertie said it was fun to use the ferry. But even the ferry wasn’t always safe from the river.
One day when Mr. Walton was taking
some teams, wagons and people across a big wave swept up on the boat and a man by the name of Al Young was swept overboard
and drowned in the flooding San Juan River. …I
remember hearing my Dad tell about this incident. The way I remember it, people
searched for Mr. Young’s body for a month before they found it almost completely buried in the sand. It was indeed a gruesome task to dig the body out.
The Flood of 1911
On our way home from school one day we [the three older girls] met our parents in a wagon, which was loaded high with
household supplies. They explained that they had been warned to evacuate because
a big flood was coming down the San Juan River. But
after we got on the wagon Dad changed his mind and we returned to the house. We
ate the evening meal and then Dad sent us all to bed and said he’d keep watch on the river. About midnight it reached our place. Dad said it was really
some sight, the flood waters were riding four or five feet high… The roar
of the flood waters was deafening. Dad got us out of bed. Everyone moved in double-quick time. He sent Lucie out to
the cow corral to turn the cows and calves out and put them out in the lane. Well,
the corral was close to the river. …we got the cows out in the lane and
they went up into the hills.
We had a number of big hogs and some small ones shut up in the pens. Dad
and May tore the pens down and let the hogs go free. The team was still harnessed,
I believe. We were soon on our way. But
of all things, the water was getting deeper and deeper by the minute, and Dad knew we couldn’t go up the lane to the
hills because of this low swampy land where the river water would back up when in flood.
The only other road was along the north bank of the river leading east to the brush on the bank of the channel, then
turning to the south and following along the bank of the channel, which by this time was like a river in flood. The flood waters were pouring over into the road and came a ways up on the wagon bed or box. We could no longer follow the road, so Dad turned and drove across an alfalfa field, cut the south fence
and then we were soon on higher ground and had left the flood behind, but the roar of the angry waters followed us. This must have reminded our poor mother of the last flood we were in, because we crowded around her, I
put my hand on her knees and they were trembling. But she never said a word. No screaming or crying from any of us.
The Hippler family drove to the school house at the foot of the hills, where other people had also gathered. By morning, the flood had receded, so Jack and his wife returned to the farm, while the three older girls
got breakfast from a neighbor and stayed for the school day. The animals were
brought home from the hills, and the family began shoveling out the 18 inches of mud that was left on the floor of the family’s
log cabin and frame house. The cellar was full of water, the adobe chicken coop
was destroyed, and half the hay was ruined.
The Hippler family celebrated holidays in many of the same ways we do today.
and Christmas we had royal feasts. Turkey
and dressing, home-made mincemeat made into pies, fruit cake and plum pudding with sauce, cranberries, and probably a lot
of other good things that I have forgotten. Talk about delicious food! I know my parents were the best cooks in the whole wide world. And
no one appreciates their cooking more than I.
At Christmas we always had a Christmas tree. We hung our stockings up
by the fireplace. Oh the excitement, the mystery, the thrills, the magic of Christmas,
when you still believe in Santa. Dad claimed he heard him, and saw his sleigh
and reindeer tracks and one time he saw where Santa had come in an airplane and anchored his plane to a post while he was
in the house! …
Well anyway we know he had been to our house, because Dad always saw to it that we set Santa a place at the table and
put turkey and lots of good food on for Santa to eat, and we always looked to see if he ate anything. And he always did! Who else would eat Santa’s food! And who but Santa would fill our stockings with candy, nuts and oranges! And leave
presents! Not many, but maybe each of us a doll.
When company came to the Hippler house, Jack would tell stories of his earlier days of punching cattle in the Texas
Panhandle and near Chama, New Mexico. One that Bertie remembered went like this:
One time when my Dad was out riding
on the prairie, his horse stepped in a hole and fell on my Dad, breaking a leg. My
Dad had no choice only to remain there or start crawling for camp. I do not know
how far he crawled before his companions who were searching for him, found him. While
he lay in the hospital with his broken leg, they taugh him to crochet to pass the time away.
Jack Hippler had a two-room frame house on the farm, where he ran a small store.
He also had a trading post in Blanco Canyon. Bertie recalled spending the night there once wrapped in Navajo blankets. She described the Indians who visited the trading post:
The men wore some kind of buckskins
and moccasins. They had yards and yards of white string wound around and around
the big bun or coil of hair on the back of their heads. The women wore floor-length
full, full skirts. I bet there was ten yards of cloth in each skirt! With Navajo blankets over their shoulders and sometimes over their heads.
And jewelry! Some were loaded down with necklaces, bracelets, rings, money
buttons on their clothes.
Bertie wrote that
the school house was at the foot of the hills. She described it as a one room
adobe building, continuing:
We walked a mile
to school. When the snow was deep we made trails through it and at noon and recess
we made a diamond or maybe a circle with a home base and played fox and geese and more fun.
When I first started
and for several years after, we only had five months of school [a year]. We had
the "Brooks Reader." Each year we only had one book for the five months of school. We learned the whole book by heart each year.
[One thing] that stands out in my mind about these readers…. There
was this pretty picture of roses in one book. I would take tissue paper and trace
this picture over and over. And I honestly thought that some day I would be a
famous artist because I could do this! ….
When we first started
to school there may have been between thirty and forty pupils in our school; but as time passed and the irrigation ditch failed,
people kept moving away. By the time I was seventeen years old there were only
about twelve or so pupils in the school.
After I had been
in school several years, [we] finally got seven months of school each year. I
believe this was after my father became a school director. Also they finally
got the teacher wages up to $50.00 a month. …My favorite subjects in school
were arithmetic, history and geography. I didn’t mind English and physiology. I hated civics and spelling. I was a
poor reader and still am.
The poor teacher
had all eight grades to teach. How they ever lived on their wages, I’ll
never know. I believe they were paid $30.00 a month and had to pay for room and
board out of that.
My first teacher
was Katherine McMasters. She was nice, pretty and good to me. I loved her. My second year, my teacher was Nina White, the
rest were Mrs. T.C. Kirk, Lucy Jones, Amy L. Connelly, Mary McMichael, Ida Estes [for] two years, Mary Brett, Edith Shultz,
Marguerite Sullivan and Martha Fickel.
I loved my sixth
grade teacher, Ida Estes. I cried when school was out and she went back to Farmington. But as luck would have it, she taught again the next year.
[My parents] taught
us the necessity and dignity of work. All of the girls in the family [there were
three Hippler girls and one boy] could milk cows, feed livestock and clean barns, saddle and curry and care for out saddle
horse. Of course all of us loved horses and could ride horseback. We could harness a team, hitch them to a wagon, buggy or farm equipment (horse-drawn, of course, in those
days there was no other kind). Then we could drive the wagon or whatever they
were hitched to…[including] a big "hay rack." …At that time all the
machinery was horse-drawn. The mowing machines [for alfalfa], the hay rakes,
and the big, long hay sleds without runners, that were dragged on the ground. This
made loading with a pitchfork by hand easier. In those days people did not bale
their hay in the field, but stacked it in a big, wide long hay stack with many tons of hay in each stack.
We went out in the hills with our father, helped him load up these very big loads of cedar and piņon wood for fuel.
Then we found where a swarm of bees had built their home in a cottonwood tree of other place. We helped cut into the tree and gather some honey.
We fished, of necessity as well as pleasure, for fish to help supplement our diet.
We only fished in the spring and early autumn and this in the San Juan River.
We went with our father to hunt rabbits, he shot them with a shotgun. We
went duck hunting with him. Two of us girls would drive the wagon or buggy out
in the river, below where he would shoot the ducks, then the one was not driving the team caught the ducks as they floated
down the river. It was fun.
We helped butcher hogs also. After Dad shot them and bled them he put
them in a barrel of boiling water by means of a block and tackle (ropes and pulleys).
Then we had to hurry and scrape or pull the hairs off while it was hot. I
did not like this job, but I really did like sausage and mincemeat that our parents made after we butchered.
We helped with the farming and garden; we pulled weeds and hoed weeds.
We pruned fruit trees, we helped spray the orchard by pumping the spray out of the sprayer (a barrel with a hand pump)
by hand. You better believe it. That
was hard work for little girls!
We picked fruit, packed fruit and helped load it onto the wagon. Then
father hauled most of it out to the Indian Reservation to the Indian stores at Kaibeto, Carsons,
Pueblo Bonita, Gallegos, Crown Point, Pueblo Alto and Ojo
Alamo and maybe others.
In the summer and fall we helped our parents can and dry fruit and vegetable.
Some of the things we dried were corn, peaches, pears, plums, apricots, cherries, [and made] jellies and jams, melon
and fruit preserves, catsup, chili sauce, etc.
We had several milk cows and made butter and cheese.
During World War I we had a hand grinder and ground our own flour from corn or wheat.
We sifted the ground grains, used the finest flour for making breads, corn bread or pancakes. Then we made cooked cereal from the coarse flour or ground grain.
In the wintertime we chopped and sawed our wood for two heating stoves and a big cook stove. We fed and watered the cows and horses, milked the cows, did the barnyard cleaning.
One summer Mae, Lucie and I cut cottonwood posts and poles and made a barn for our saddle horses. And if you think the Hippler sisters couldn’t make fences, you should have watched us dig post holes
and set posts and stretch wire!
We had a horse-drawn sled to haul the water from the river to the house. It
wasn’t very far but it surely saved a lot of time.
Bertie married Elmer McDaniel on March 8, 1920, and the newlywed couple stayed in the Hammond area. Elmer’s older brother Dave
ran a goat herd in the Blanco Canyon
and the nearby mesa. Bertie related what it was like:
In the summer,
when there was no school, Dave’s wife Lillie and the children went up to the goat camp and stayed with Dave. When we [Bertie and Elmer] were married, they had five children, named Florence,
Pearl, Carl, Mollie and Lena.
So between hayings, my husband and I would take a big lumber wagon with supplies…and go up to help with the goat
herd. I never became very fond of goats.
I thought they smelled terrible! I liked cattle and horses because I had
been raised around them, but goats--well…
It took us two days traveling to get upon Canyon Blanco where the herd was. We
had to camp one night by a camp fire, do our cooking in a frying pan and dutch oven on hot coals from the camp fire. Oh yes, it was fun. My husband had been
a cow-puncher or cowboy at one time. He was used to it and I have always been
an outdoor person. I had been with my father and sisters camping by a campfire
and unrolling our "bed," which consisted of a few quilts and pillows, down on the ground in the sagebrush or prairie grass. The work horses were tied to a tree after being watered at a lake, and fed hay which
we had with us.
We enjoyed being around Lillie. She was so sweet, so jolly, so friendly. I soon became very attached to her. Dave
was also very friendly; he loved to talk and to read. They made us welcome. In the summer most of the time they lived in two tents and camped by Crow Lakes, a natural small lake fed by rain
In the fall, Dave would move his family down to Hammond or Bloomfield, where they would rent a house so the children
could go to school.
Bertie and Elmer’s first child came in 1921 while the couple was staying with Elmer’s parents. Elmer was working on a cabin on the land he owned in a box canyon called Pine Springs. The baby was expected by the end of October, but as Bertie wrote, things turned out
differently than expected.
I waited until the last week of November. No baby! Then on November 9th our baby arrived. I had been
sick at night, but in the daytime I felt good. …Edna Slade and Susie Adair came to help [Elmer’s mother] with
me. They all got worried and sent for Mary A. Whitlock, a midwife. When she came she told them to send for a doctor, but Dr. Taylor, whom we had engaged was out of town,
so they sent for Dr. Booth. The baby had arrived before he got there. After all, someone had to meet him on the north side of the river after he came that far in a car, and
bring him the rest of the way in a buggy.
Our baby was a nice seven pound boy. . …He was a few days old before
his father came home. . …At that time, women were kept in bed for nine
days after the birth of a baby.
In the spring of 1930, Elmer McDaniel was employed by the Bloomfield Irrigation District as a "ditch rider" on the
Citizen’s Ditch. Bertie told what the job entailed:
His job in the spring was to be a foreman of a group of men who took teams and scrapers and cleaned the ditch that
way. (Remember, this is in 1930…[and] machinery had not replaced man then.) After the ditch was cleaned, his job was to "ride" the ditch. Yes, he saddled a horse, mounted it and rode along the ditch bank, checking for cracks, gopher holes or
breaks in the bank. Elmer enjoyed working with (and in) water. He put in long hours at this job.
Bertie’s only brother, Teddy, volunteered in 1941 and was sent to the Pacific.
Bertie wrote, "These are ominous days. Just what is in store for us in
the future? Well, time will answer for that one.
Will Ted come home alive?" Time did tell: on May 7, 1944, Teddy was taken
prisoner by the Japanese. Bertie:
He was reported
missing on action in the fall of 1944. Oh the anguish we suffered! Dared we hope that he was alright?
word came about him. He was a gold star!
He was killed in action, September 7, 1944, when the prison ship he was on was bombed by our own men, because it was
not marked "Prisoners!" Needless to say, we were crushed with grief. …
It would seem
to me that no one, who has not had a loved one in a war, can possibly fully realize the sorrow, the anguish, the heartache,
the tension we experience. When I think of my dear grandmother Hippler, who had
four children when her husband Andrew (Andreas) Hippler left her...alone to go fight in the Civil War, my heart aches for
them. How did she make a living? Did
he leave them comfortable and supplied? Even so, think of the anguish she suffered
and what of my grandfather? I am sure it was a sad time for him also.
Then I think
of my grandmother Burchard, who had her 19 year old son go to fight in the Civil War.
I can identify with her. Life can be sad.
Below is a copy of
the letter Bertie’s sister received from the War Department about the status of Teddy.
Adjutant General’s Office
In Reply Refer to:
Hippler, Theodore J. 6961534
PCN SWP 299144_16 (16)
Mrs. Fannie Livermore
Route #5, Box 374
Dear Mrs. Livermore:
The War Department was recently notified of the destruction at sea of a Japanese freighter that was transporting American
prisoners of war from the Philippine Islands.
A number of survivors were later returned to the military control of our forces.
There were also a large number who did not survive or who were recaptured by the Japanese and about whose present status
we no positive information is available. It is with deep regret that I must inform
you that your brother, Corporal Theodore J. Hippler, 6961534, was in this latter group.
Because of the War Department’s lack of definite information concerning Corporal Hippler, no change in his prisoner
of war classification is being made at this time.
Please be assured that as soon as additional information becomes available you will be immediately notified.
J. R. Ulio
The Adjutant General’s Officer
Elmer Jr. was Bertie and Elmer’s "precious oldest child," who volunteered for the US Army in May 1942 when he
was 20 years old. Bertie wrote of her feelings: "I am so proud of him for being
so patriotic. But I am also broken hearted that he has to go off to war. War is so cruel, so stupid. If people
would love each other, there would not need to be wars! Will Elmer live to come
home?" She continued, describing the situation at home:
Elmer had been
driving a tractor ever since the first one [his father] bought. [He] has been
so much help to his father on the farm. Roland [the next son] was only nine years
old when Elmer left. Now my husband taught him how to drive a tractor and put
him to work in the fields, driving a tractor. A very dangerous thing to do.
Elmer was good
to write home. I lived for his letters.
All of us, even the younger children who could write, wrote letters to him.
In addition to writing frequently, Elmer
also sent money home and visited on furlough a few times. In 1944 he was sent
to Europe to fight. Bertie related:
Naturally I grieved, as all mothers did. There was this tree outside my
bedroom window. In the fall when the leaves were falling from it, I’d watch
them. All the leaves fell but one. (You’ll
think I am crazy!) You have heard of a drowning man clinging to a straw, haven’t
you? Well maybe that is what I was doing.
Naturally, I wondered, "would Elmer be killed in the war, or would he be spared like the one leaf that did not fall?"
Then I would remember John Greenleaf poem that contained this: "And if I should live to be the last leaf upon the tree,
then let them smile, as I do now, at the old forsaken bough where I cling." And
like the drowning man, I got comfort from the last leaf. Elmer would not "fall"
And he didn’t fall; he came home from the battles he was in without a scratch.
We lived in much
tension while Elmer was in Germany and
elsewhere. When he came home from Germany
in the summer of 1945 on furlough, he met Naomi Beebe, and married her August 6, 1945.
Then he went back to active duty, expecting to go to Japan. But when Japan
surrendered, he was discharged.
You have no idea
how good it was to have him home. But so much had happened from the time he left
until he returned. He left a light-hearted, happy boy; he came home a serious
man! We helped him and his new wife Naomi get established in a one room house
close by us.
Bertie and Elmer Sr. had bought a farm in Bloomfield
in 1930 and raised their children by farming. Even by the 1940s, the work was
much the same as it had been for Bertie when she was a girl on the farm in Hammond. She listed the work her family did to keep money coming in.
By this time we were quite well established on the farm. We had thriving
orchards; we sold fruit [and] raised pinto beans for sale. We sold hay. We also raised a few hogs, cows and steers for sale.
We had several hundred laying hens, of course we sold eggs, but sometimes the prices was very low. You may not believe this, but sometimes we sold for 12 cents a dozen.
For some years we had a cream separator and sold cream. The extra milk
we fed to the hogs. Some years we raised turkeys to sell. Also, we've tried raising tomatoes for sale. We always raised
a big garden to use fresh, to can, and to store for winter.
And all this time my husband Elmer Sr. was ditch supervisor. It took lots
of money to take care of a family of eleven, to buy a car or pick-up, and farm equipment, such as a tractor and the machinery
to go with it.
As for me, I was kept busy! In the spring, summer and fall, I helped outdoors
with the farm work, garden and chores. [I also helped with] raising hogs, taking
care of milk cows, turkeys, chickens, garden, canning, drying fruit and [sweet] corn.
Everyone who was big [enough] to work, did work.
In the winter time I spent hours, sometimes until twelve or one o'clock at night sewing for the family. I made coats, shirts, dresses, undershirts and panties.
We had no washing machine until some years later, so I also had to wash in a tub with a wash board. I suppose a person would have to go to a museum to see one now. We
also made our own comforters and quilts.
in the Forties
I think I am safe in saying our children were happy. In warm weather they
spent many happy hours playing in the big irrigation ditch. It may have been
about this time [Elmer Sr.] started taking the children to a movie now and then. He
also took several to Blanco, where he was riding ditch to stay with him for a few days at a time.
We were, and are, a family of "book worms." My parents, my sisters and
brother, my husband and my children have all been delighted with books. I have
loved books as far back as I can remember. [The first were] the nice little books
with pictures and rhymes in them that my parents bought for us. We bought books
and magazines and newspapers. Of course, we also had a radio all these years
Also, we had a super good time celebrating the Fourth of July, Thanksgiving and Christmas and a good time on birthdays
and other special occasions.
Our children also loved picnics, especially on the Fourth of July, when their father bought more ice cream than they
could possibly eat.