MY AUTUMN

I wrote this several years ago when we were tending Autumn, one of our grandchildren. Of course we knew we were tending her but in her mind she was having a sleep-over at Grandma and Grandpa's.

                                                 MY AUTUMN
She walked into my room as if to let me know she was still around.
My Autumn, my youngest grandchild, born to my oldest daughter.
She ventured into this quagmire of clutter I called my office
Where I spend so much time in my old age.
Where faded pictures of her mother,
Adorn the walls in torn and dilapidated frames.
Left there to remind me of my younger days.
Of family vacations, school, work and just people.
I looked into her smiling face as she called me Grandpa
In that very small voice that I could hardly hear.
I almost cried when I thought of one so young
Who wanted to spend time with an old Grandpa who was almost spent.
We talked for a few moments then she turned and run from the room
To return to the toys and entertainment in the room next door.
I thanked my Heavenly Father that I had this privilege
To associate with a child so full of innocence and vigor.
As she left the room I turned back to my pictures, my clutter
And the many things of time gone by.
And all at once I realized how quickly I had grown old.

Thoughts by W.R. Baldwin
26 Aug 1999

Tanksgiving in a small town

Thanksgiving In A Small Town

   When I try to remember Thanksgiving growing up in a small town many things come to mind and of course almost all of them are different than they are today.

   The first thing, and maybe the most important is the family and real friends. I lived in a small town and I had close cousins who lived there also. Probably just as important as cousins and perhaps more so was that in our small town, USA many years ago people developed friendships that were very close and in many cases lasted for a lifetime.

   My hometown was in the mountains over 7000 feet in elevation so by the time Thanksgiving rolled around there was usually snow someplace to sled on, or ice on one of the ponds nearby.

  

   One thing I distinctly remember is that every winter I wanted a Flexible Flyer sleigh. It seemed like every kid on town wanted one but there were not too many of us that got one.

   Of course as we got older we used to slide down the hills around town either on a scoop shovel or the hood of an old car we had “scrounged” up and I think maybe that was more fun than a sleigh.

   While the Mom’s and Dad’s were putting together the big Thanksgiving feast, we, the kids were usually off sledding, skating or as we got older we would go rabbit hunting in the morning making sure we were back in time for the feast.

   The town I grew up in had people from many different countries and my Mom was a very good cook so our Thanksgiving dinner was usually different than the plain old fare.

   The turkey was pretty much the same as any Thanksgiving turkey. The one difference I remember was we put pine nuts in the dressing which gave it a distinct taste different than most dressings today, (which many times just come out of a box from the store.) The other thing that was usually cooked different from year to year was the sweet potatoes or yams.

   The real big difference was the deserts. Because of all the different nationalities and the fact that my Mom was a great cook we always had an abundance of different deserts.

   We had Greek Honey Cookies, Belgium Waffle Cookies, Patisa, Butter Squares, divinity, fudge and several other types of candy. We also had Fruit Cake wrapped in wine cloths and the ever popular Sugar Cookies.

   When the family was finished eating everyone would help clean up and card tables were put up and some headed for a favorite spot on the floor as we got out the game boards and cards to settle in for the rest of the evening. The adults usually played cards and the kids usually game board games. It seems like Monopoly sometimes went on for days?

   When we had all had enough games and eaten enough “goodies” we would call it a day and all head for our various homes.

   Of course we all knew there would be plenty of left over’s the next day—and of course the next day we could start looking forward to Christmas and New Years

I just wondered as I sit here reminiscing how many others out there remember the Holiday’s  or the 1940, 1950 era and if they were as enjoyable to you as they were to me?

         Wally

27 Nov 2013

Hiawatha Breakfast guys

(Thumbnail by Archie McCarrie)
The Hiawatha Breakfast Group is a group of men who were raised in Hiawatha, Utah and meet for breakfast the first and third Mondays of each month to reminisce and share stories of what it was like growing up in a small town like Hiawatha. Most of the individuals now live in the Salt Lake Valley. My purpose is to capture some of these memories for whoever might enjoy them.
Comments from one meeting 4 Nov 2002
HALLOWEEN
Halloween was a fun time for the Hiawathaians. I remember the dummy being hung on the underpass going to East Hiawatha. Fun times   John Barnett
A group of kids were up East Hiawatha tipping over out-houses. My brother Clyde slipped in the hole and got ("STUFF- you know what ) all over his foot. He was afraid to go home. He tried to clean it up as well as he could, but he still smelled when he got home
Don Reaveley
Ray Kramer had me deputized to make sure the kids didn't do damage to things. I caught Jerry Orton and had him arrested. His dad got really upset with me. Darrell Bearnson
DEER HUNTING
I once went hunting with Tom and Whitey. Whitey shot 82 times and had to go back to town for more ammo. Whitey did not get his deer that year John Barnett

I shot my first deer from the hip while hunting up North Fork. I didn't have time to aim. I shot it with the rifle on my hip. It was a four point buck. No one would believe me when I tried to explain how I shot it from the hip without taking aim  Darrell Bearnson   

THIS IS JUST A SAMPLE OF THE TALL STORIES THAT HAVE BEEN GOING ON NOW FOR ABOUT 20 YEARS------- Yes we do have fun!!!! and yes we do tell tall  stories.

The Perfect Thankgiving

This was an article in the Murray Journal a couple of days ago and was written by Peri Kinder. It was so much OUR FAMILY I just had to pass it on. I called the Journal and got permission to reprint so I don't think I am in trouble? ENJOY--I did. Wally

Peri Kinder

At what point does the preparation of Thanksgiving dinner get handed over to the next generation? Is there a statute explaining the process of turning the oven mitts over to the daughters/sons so they can begin their own traditions?

I grew up thinking it was a law for grandmothers to make the Thanksgiving feast, with all the favorite dishes like perfectly-roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, fluffy biscuits and pumpkin pie with real whipped cream; and the not-so-favorite bowls of sweet potato casserole and giblet stuffing. I never thought T-Day would ever change, that we’d go on eating at grandma’s house until the end of time.

But then my Grandma Stewart passed away. And then my Grandma Brickey passed away. And although I knew my mom was a good cook, I worried that Thanksgiving just wouldn’t be the same. She didn’t have the aluminum drinking cups that gave grandma’s 7-Up and Kool-Aid concoction that metallic tang. And she didn’t have access to boysenberry bushes to create my favorite holiday pie And my cousins wouldn’t be around to torment.

Thanksgiving rolled around, and (surprise!) the meal magically appeared on the table—with all the appropriate fixins. My mom had done it! She pulled it off! I was impressed, and showed her my gratitude by eating two dozen of her dinner rolls, doused in homemade strawberry jam.

I decided I could put off worrying about traditions being changed for many, many years.

Or so I thought.

One day, my mom announced she was moving to the far-off state of North Carolina with her new husband, blatantly ignoring the fact that her daughters were Thanksgiving-disabled. Oh sure, we brought the mandatory side dish to each holiday meal; but we’d never cooked an entire T-Day banquet. It seemed our choices were either a) move to North Carolina, b) order KFC take-out, or c) eat only pie (which I was totally okay with).

My sisters and I called an emergency meeting. We tentatively agreed to cook a turkey, but had no idea how big that turkey should be, or how many potatoes needed to be peeled, and we were clueless about making gravy. We knew mom’s first ingredient was always butter; we figured we couldn’t go wrong from there.

Luckily, we had mom on speed-dial, and she talked us through that first Thanksgiving without her. We survived with only mild cases of food poisoning, and a broccoli stuffing that was quietly served into the garbage disposal.

But after mom passed away, we couldn’t even call her for tips.

That’s when I realized that I had become the grandmother, that legally it was my role to feed my family Thanksgiving dinner. I still can’t time a turkey; it’s either finished cooking way too early, or still roasting while we eat pie. And I refuse to make sweet potatoes. But we’ve established our traditions, and hopefully my grandkids associate the holiday with my desserts and homemade rolls. And not the overcooked stuffing or too-salty gravy.

I often wonder which of my daughters will take over the role of Thanksgiving chef when I’m too old and feeble to cook (any day now). And I wonder what favorite foods will become traditions at their meals. As our families become more diverse, T-Day might include tamales, shrimp curry or sushi. I’m cool with that.

As long as there are homemade rolls and jam, and any kind of pie, my Thanksgiving is complete.

Donnie-My loving Wife

In a few weeks it will be one year since Donnie left us. In some ways I cannot believe it has been that long, then other times I think about it and it seems it has been much longer. I wrote this little tribute just after her funeral and I have been thinking about it a lot as it gets closer and closer to 1 December.

The rains came down today as if the heavens were crying with happiness and joy as they were receiving one of their own back from her sojourn here on earth.

Our Mother, our confident and the person who brought joy into my life was returning home to her Heavenly Father after a life of service, and of bringing joy and happiness to all the people she knew during her journey here on earth.

Of course it is selfish of me but one of my first thoughts was of my plight--- “What will I do without her?” “Who will cheer me up when I get in my doldrums state of mind? What will happen when I just want to hold her hand and talk? Of course the past several years it has always been my wife Donnie that I turn to. She was always there as my wife, my shoulder to lean on, my confidant—My Eternal companion. Again I ask, “Who will it be in the long days and nights of the future?”

Her last years were years of pain and suffering, but most people would never know that because if they asked her how she was doing the answer was always.”I am Fine.” Of course those of us who really knew her knew she was not fine and she was almost petrified at the thought of dying. Of course everyone knew she was confined to a wheelchair, but few really knew how bad she was suffering and how afraid she was of dying. She wanted so much, to stay here on her earthly journey to play with, cuddle and spoil her new great grand children.

She was a precious jewel in our life. She was our wife, mother, grandmother and great grandmother and she was such an inspiration to all of us. She especially loved the young ones in the family and she loved to have them come and play a game of cards or Sorry or whatever they wanted to. She did not care what. She only wanted to be with them.

Her one goal in life, if she had “one goal” was to keep her family close to her and she did her very best to accomplish that.

I am sure she is one of the Angels in Heaven now. I am not sure exactly how the Heavenly Plan works but I picture her there, as a beautiful, caring lady, just as she was here on earth and planning and doing good, along with her son Steve, Bailey Grace, My Mom and Dad and any others who want help in any way.

I am sure she is bringing a little joy, happiness and peace of mind to those on the other side of the veil just as she did while she was here on earth with us.

My question still seems to be---“What am I going to do without her?” I sense her in our room at night, I go to her gravesite and talk to her, and I know she hears me, but I long for her voice. To hold her hand or just to jump in the car and go get a hamburger and talk and reminisce about all of our good times. People say she is not suffering, and I should be thankful she is not longer suffering the torments she put up with the last several years. But I do miss her—I am happy she is not suffering--- But I long to touch her and I am lonely.

HER FIRST NIGHT IN A TENT

   When we were first married we did not have a lot of money, but we both loved the great outdoors of Utah and the neighboring states. A lot of our vacations were spent in the beautiful green mountains and the red deserts of Utah.
   All of them were fun and we created a lot of memories. After we got home from one in particular, I
(with tongue in cheek) put down on paper this very interesting deer hunting vacation. A little of it is enhanced but for the most part it pretty much the way I spent that night? Ha-ha.

                              HER FIRST NIGHT IN A TENT

It was to be a pleasant week of deer hunting, but as it turned out. It was a serious case of first time tent fever.

My wife Donnie and I had decided to pack up and go deer hunting for our first time out after we were married. I knew she had spent a lot of time in the mountains, but I had not thought about the fact that she had never actually spent time in a tent.

She had roughed it in the mountains in an old cabin—quite old but still serviceable. She had even slept, on one camping trip in a 1961 Nash that had seats that would fold down to make a bed. Little did I realize as we got ready to go, that she had no tenting experience.

Even for the most experienced tenter, you need to have a very large tent with some of the comforts of home to keep from getting the infamous tent fever.

Before we left home in the city, I made sure we packed my pride and joy, a 10 foot by 12 foot wall tent that I had owned since I was 17 years old. I also put in the tent stove that I had made in High School, which I bragged would run most normal people out of the tent if you really got it fired up. We also packed an assortment of other comfort makers. Coolers, clothes racks, lanterns, lantern hangers, a large tarp for the floor and an old bed springs and two brand new five pound Dacron sleeping bags.

We pushed and stuffed all of these things into the trunk and back seat of our old 1954 Mercury, with a few overflow items on the front seat between us. With no more room in the old Mercury, we took off for the mountains of Joe’s Valley for a pleasant week of deer hunting.

When I was seventeen I had bought all of my camping equipment at the Company Store in Hiawatha, where I worked and I was really proud of it. I had a large wall tent, Coleman lantern, Coleman stove, Coleman cooler and a .270 Winchester rifle. The sleeping bags were new or had only been used a couple of times.

I imagined what the week was going to be like as we traveled from the city toward our destination in Joe’s Valley. I could picture Donnie and me roaming the beautiful Joe’s Valley mountains and looking down on our little tent camp, on the edge of a meadow, at the bottom of the mountain.

There was however numerous things I forgot to take into consideration –Donnie had never spent a night in a tent, let alone a week. It also could be bad weather and bad weather in Joe’s Valley was really bad news.

As one might suspect, we arrived in late afternoon and set up our tent in an idyllic setting. We were in the edge of some quakies that bordered on a high mountain meadow. We could set on a log in front of the tent and see clear across the meadow to the mountains on the other side.

We sat and watched the clouds scudding across the sky and tried to imagine the shapes of animals as they changed from one thing to another, moving swiftly across the sky.

As dusk creeped in and total darkness followed, we put out the Coleman lantern, stoked up the wood burning stove in the tent and prepared to settle in for the night. We hoped to get a good night’s sleep so we could arise early in the morning for the hunt.

I had not realized that mild hallucination was one of the early symptoms of tent fever. If I had known I would have gotten a clue about Donnie early in the night. As soon as we got settled down in our sleeping bags Donnie started to exhibit some neurotic behavior.

I was one breath away from being sound asleep when I felt a hand grip my arm and tighten until I thought it was going to shut off the blood to my arm. “Did you hear that,” she whispered. “I didn’t hear anything,” I told her.

I settled back down and again as I was about to pass into the never land of dreams and big Bucks, the grip on the arm again, and she said, ”listen to that THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, there is something right outside of the door to the tent.”

At that point my ears perked up and I listened and sure enough I heard a faint, chop, chop, chop of someone down the valley was cutting firewood. Of course unless you have been in the mountains at night, you can not realize how sound travels a long distance in the thin mountain air.

I could not convince her it was someone cutting wood. She thought for sure it was a bear, moose or perhaps even Sasquatch.

“Did you tie the tent flaps.” She said. As if that would do any good, if it was one of her imagined threats. So I grumbled a little and got out of bed, catering to her psychological need, untied the tent flaps and took a quick look outside, retied the tent flap and said to her, “No one there dear, all is well.” By this time I secretly hoped we could now settle down for a good night’s sleep.

Sometime within the next hour, again just as my eyelids had closed and I could see a big six point buck standing on a ridge looking at me. I heard a panic stricken whisper, “The tent is on fire.”

I jumped out of bed and started putting on my pants. I had one leg in the wrong pant leg and was almost awake when I realized there was nothing amiss in the tent. I hissed as calmly as I could, “WHAT makes you think the tent is ON FIRE.”

“Look at the tent behind the stove; I think it might be burning.” I looked and the air holes in the stove were reflecting a gentle orange glow onto the tent wall. Indeed a nice reflection but no fire.

I blurted out, “Don’t EVER do that to me again,” as I crawled back into bed.

About midnight I felt an elbow in my ribs and was given the enlightened information, from my now psychotic wife, that the wind had started to blow and, “Do you think the tent might blow down?”

“Let it blow,” I yelled. “The fire is stoked, the tent is tied down and I have slept in this tent through everything but a hurricane, so now let’s get some sleep.

About an hour later I heard this small voice say, “Honey what is that plop, plop, plop noise I can hear?” I propped up on one elbow and listened and as I layed back down I said, “It is just a little rain let’s try and go back to sleep.” After about fifteen minutes, that to her seemed like two hours, the plop, plop, plop quit and she gently shook me and said, “I think it has stopped honey, now we can get some sleep.”

I thought to myself as I settled back down, “Was she shivering from the cold, or trembling from her imagined fears or did she just have a touch of tent fever?”

Within hours the temperature was dropping like the mercury in a thermometer in a snow cave. I know how that feels because I had spent some time in a snow cave as a boy scout in my younger years. I got up and stoked the stove a couple of times and finally it was 6:00 AM and time to get up, get breakfast and go off and stalk the mighty bucks.

I got up, stoked the fire, got dressed and untied the tent flap and looked out and let out what my wife thought was a primeval scream, “OH NO.” When the plop, plop, plop on the roof had quit during the night it was because it had quit raining, but what we did not realize was that it had turned to SNOW.

There were two or three inches of, what in any other circumstances would be beautiful white snow. But at this point it was a bone chilling addition to Donnie’s tent fever. It was still snowing hard, and the flakes looked as big as half-dollars, as they were fluttering gently down to the ground.

I started thinking of all the stories I had heard about people being snowed in for the winter, or having to walk out and leave their car, and those that had to have a CAT come in and pull them out. And then I thought of spending another night in the tent with Donnie.

I yelled at her, “get up, get dressed as fast as you can, we are out of here.” She pouted and said, “Don’t yell at me dear.” I screamed back, “I am not yelling I am just excited.” And I to perhaps, had a touch of tent fever.

I dropped the tent almost before she got out of it. I stuffed it, and anything else that was loose, in the back seat of the Mercury. As calmly as possible I told her. “We NEED to get out of here as soon as we can.”

Donnie said, “Why are you shouting and sweating dear, when it is snowing.” I could not tell her it was because of worrying about spending the winter in Joe’s Valley in a tent. We did not even have a Scrabble game or Monopoly game to play if it came to that. I tried to casually say. “I guess I am just trying to pack to fast and it causes me to sweat and be a little up tight.”

Because of our haphazard loading, we could not get everything back in the Mercury. It seems when you just throw things in they take up more room than if they are packed in nice and neat. We ended up throwing snow on the stove to cool it off. We tied the tent poles to the front and back bumpers and tied the stove on top of the trunk lid.

We jumped in the Mercury and I gunned the motor and we shot down the road, sliding from one rut to another. As we were sliding down the road my wife said, “Honey do you hear a funny noise in the engine?”

There has never been anything quite like our first night in a tent. I still kid her about tent fever and she still talks about “snow phobia” that I seemed to have caught that morning.

   (This is a somewhat true story with some embellishments—written by W.R. Baldwin in November of 1993)

MY GUARDIAN ANGEL

   As I was sitting here thinking how fortunate Donnie and I were to have such special friends. Especially the ones she called "Her Guardian Angels." When she got so she could not leave the house very easy because she was in her "JAZZY" two groups of friends stepped in and came to our home to spend time with her. One was a book club and one was a craft club. They came every week and when she was in a Care Center they went there and spent a lot of time with her. As I said she called them her Guardian Angels-- and of course I had to give them a name also and the name I chose was "The Old ladies". If course they all knew that was not a derogatory name but just one of my eccentricities.
   I can never thank them enough for the care and service they provided us. I think now they may have taken me for a service project and as I was thinking of them this little "ditty" that I wrote way back in 1997 came to mind.
Thanks to you Guardian Angels that actually live here among us and go about doing GOOD.

4 July 1997                                                
W.R. Baldwin

MY GUARDIAN ANGEL

Is there someone up there watching me?

Is there a Guardian Angel assigned to me?

Could there be someone special, who watched me grow?

Perhaps helped me decide which way I should go.

Does that special Angel watch me for life?

Through times of happiness and times of strife.

Or do they change places as the years go by?

Could my Angel be my Mom or Dad when they die?

I hope it is someone, who is patient and kind,

Who can put up with my faults, no matter what kind?

Who will guide me and help me as I go along,

Like the Angels we find in many a song.

Do we each have our own Angel up there?

Or do several of us have only one to share?

Perhaps some of us might need three or four

To keep us on the path, to life evermore.

Do they watch us play and do things we shouldn’t

Are they there to help us do things we couldn’t?

I suppose if we believe this, and I truly do,

We might be more careful of most things we do.

When in the beauty of the mountains, do you a presence feel

Just as you do as you pray by your bed and, kneel?

A Guardian Angel, I know I have one!

I hope they overlook some things I have done.

Again as I wonder, who this person might be.

Have they lived on the Earth like my family and me?

Do they know of our happiness, our troubles and fears?

I am sure that they do. They are probably our peers.

Is it Mom or my Dad or perhaps a good friend?

Who has passed through the Vail after this life did end?

Whoever it is, really does not matter too much

If they are there to help me, is that asking too much?

Is my life an open book they keep for me to see?

Will I “Endure to the end”, and then eternity?

I hope that my Angel is really “down to Earth,”

“Or does that sound like an attempt at some mirth?”

Whoever they are, and where ever they be,

I hope I have one to watch over me.

To watch after me from somewhere afar,

And to give a good report at the judgment bar.

WHAT IS IT?

Do any of you more mature guys and gals out there know what this tool is? Actually I did not see one until I was about 25 years old. Also I NEVER saw one that was as pretty looking as this one. The ones I saw was usually very rusty from being used a lot and then tossed in the corner of a "tack shed" or in the corner of a field. One clue about it is that I was told it could replace a horse or two or three strong boys.

 

9:10/11/12/13

Well at 9:10/11/12/13 I was sitting here doing genealogy. I would bet if you ask your friends what they were doing then most of them would not know. Well we will not have another chance at it for a LONG time. Just saying---

Wally

Veteran's Day

Monday, November 11, 2013

A VET and a GRANDPA

 

   What caused this Blog to pop into my head was because I got a call today from my 7 year old grandson. Today was Veteran's Day and they talked about Veteran's at his school.
   The important question he wanted answered was---- did any of the planes I ever flew in ever get shot at or have bullet holes in them.
   Well the short answer is NO. I was fortunate that even though I enlisted during the time of the Korean War, I did not have to do any combat time.
   I enlisted in the US Air Force, at the same time many of my friends did. I was in the United States for the first six months getting training in Texas and Colorado ---then three years in Germany-- then the last six months before my discharge I was in Kansas.
   I am not sure my grandson Caleb got the answer he wanted to his question? I think the kids now days play to many War Video games so they cannot even comprehend what real war is like. I am not sure that I even understand what it is like. I have some friends that could tell them and it is not fun and games and it is not pretty and glorified like it is on the video games.
   Then to answer Caleb's question:
Yes I am a Vet.
Yes I am proud of it.
Yes I enjoyed my time in the Air Force (but remember I was not in a combat zone.)
Yes four years was long enough for me.
No there were no bullets hit any of the planes I was flying in.
No there were no bullets shot at any plane I was in.
Yes I would do it again if I was 19 years old again.
   One real plus I got while in Germany was I was on the ground crew if a precision flying team called the "Skyblazers". They were in our squadron and they went all over Europe putting on air shows and we got to go with them most of the time.
   So if you want to know more I guess you will have to come and stay with Grandpa a day or two.

A MISSIONARY FAREWELL

I Sustain Thomas S. Monson

If we do our duty and trust fully in the Lord, we will fill His temples, not only doing our own ordinance work, but also having the privilege of doing work for others. In the temple, the precious plan of God is taught. It is in the temple that eternal covenants are made. All that occurs within the walls of the temple is uplifting and ennobling. To members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the temple is the most sacred place on earth. It is the house of the Lord, and just as the inscription on the exterior of the temple states, the temple is "holiness to the Lord."

 

I attended a meeting today, that is called a Missionary Farewell in my Church. A lot of other things take place in this meeting when a missionary is not participating in his "going away" meeting. It then is called a Sacrament Meeting (but this is a subject for another blog at another time.)

While I was watching and listening to this young 18 year old man several things came to mind and it touched my heart and gave me a warm feeling. He is going to serve a mission for two years to try and find and teach the people in Mexico the truths of the Gospel of Jesus Christ so they can indeed fill the Temple pictured above, with dedicated saints.

 

He will be away from his home and family for two years, however he will have the love and protection of Jesus Christ with him for those two years. He also will have the prayers of his family, friends and Ward members to give him the strength both spiritually and physically , that he will need.

 

He is going to the Ciudad Juarez Mexico Mission. which is not the most placid place in the world, but it is obviously the place the Lord wants him to be.

 

In his talk this young man indicated that the mission boundaries encompass about 1.5 million people and it is the missionaries calling to glean out the faithful who are looking for the truth and prepare them to become members.

 

A Sister member played and sang a song in the meeting entitled "God Be With You Till We Meet Again." I am sure God will do just that.

 

As I said in the beginning I had a "warm feeling" all through the meeting and I am sure all the people who came to support him did also. There were quite a few what I call "weak tear ducts" through the meeting

 

I purposely have not used the young man's name here but if he or his parents want to they can add it to the comments section below.   GOD BLESS YOU ELDER  K.M.

 

 

 



 

 

 

 

A COAL MINERS SON

                                        

                          Bill Baldwin –abt 1949/50

I am sure you have heard of the Coal Miner’s Daughter

But have you heard of the coal miner’s son?

I am sure there are thousands somewhere in the world

And I know for sure that I am just one.

The story I tell is neither good nor bad

But a story of life, so it seems.

It is a story of William who was my dad

And some of our life and our dreams.

He toiled in a coal camp most of his life.

He and his kids and a devoted wife.

He once was teacher, a good one they say,

But could not stay with it because of the pay.

He lived in a coal camp, Mohrland, the town

Until the company would shut it down.

They moved a few miles to another coal town

Hiawatha the name and coal wore a crown.

“King Coal” was the sign on the tipple there

To Hiawatha no other town could compare.

There was a store, a Doctor, a school and a hall

Where entertainment took place both spring and fall.

William, the teacher, served the union while here

He was Secretary/Treasure for many a year.

He helped many a miner who could not read

As they came for advise in time of need.

“Bill” did not dig down deep in the mine

But worked on the tipple most of the time.

After a shift at the tipple he would trudge thru the snow

With black coal dust left behind each step he would go.

The children were born in Mohrland you see.

Just the two of us, My Sister and Me.

With “Bill” and his wife we did move one day

To Hiawatha, which was just a mountain away.

Like most miners who did toil in the coal camps they say

That “Black Lung” did come and it came to stay.

The miners retired and most moved away

But the “Black Lung” was there till their dying day.

“Bills” friends and his neighbors slowly moved away

And he and his wife saw no need to stay

In Hiawatha, the Home Town they had come to love

Surrounded by mountains with blue sky above.

They moved to the city where their kids did reside

But still talked of Hiawatha, with a lot of pride.

Each year they did gather with friends and relation

To talk of the old days with much explanation.

A reunion “Bill” called it, but much more than that

It was to get together, to eat and to chat.

They talked coal, snow and of course the town

And how it was now—extremely run down.

Black Lung was forgotten, at least for a time

As they talked of “King Coal” ,their friends and the mine.

Most of the miners are now “over the hill”

But I will always remember my Father, “Bill.”

Wallace R. Baldwin

Written 6 May 2002

What is a Blog?

   Several people who have read my new blog have contacted me to ask me what a Blog was?  I guess after mulling it over for about 30 seconds my answer would be, "how the heck would I know?" Just a few years ago there was no such word as Blog. And I was already OLD back then.
   So my simplified answer would be based on my own limited experience. In my case a Blog has been a growing project and a period of learning for some time now. However my new blog "Wally's Musings" has been activated for a week now and has had about 700 people look at it.
   Some people use a blog as a diary or journal but that is not my intent. One reason is that I put a lot of personal things in my journal that I would never think of putting on a public blog.
   Your blog is YOUR BLOG and you can put in it what you want. There are very fancy one and ones made on a simple template (like mine). I guess first you just have to decide what you want it to be, then do it.
   There have been a few of you who I imagine are in my age bracket (somewhere between 60 & 100) ha ha, that have e-mailed me saying they would like to comment on my blog but cannot seem to get the comment section to work. I tried a couple and they seemed to work if I followed the instructions. I am a long way away from being a computer geek so my advise is to try it and if it does not work, or you have a problem the solution could be---- make a batch of cookies, invite one of your grandkids over and have him show you how?
   Good Luck & I hope to see some comments from some of you.

ICONIC CAR / ICONIC TOWN

 

   There are a lot of people who collect Iconic cars for a lot of different reasons. They collect Muscle cars, just OLD CARS, rebuilt "oldie moldies", and each person usually does it because they connect to a certain car.

   Well the car above is one of a kind as it was remodeled several times and I am sure the parts used were not OEM. The Model "A" was owned by a couple of my friends in a small town , a long time ago.

   There were a lot of kids that learned to drive in that old Model "A". I was one of them and if my recollection is working today, I was quite a bit short of being of age to  have a drivers license?

   I worked in the Service Station, in my small hometown for a while and I recall we kept the old car running with used motor oil (that was drained out of peoples cars when they brought them in for an oil change.) We also kept it in "runnable" tires by scavenging the old junked tires behind the garage.

   My buddies used the Model "A" mostly to run around town, go to the grocery store, post office or garage. Between the guys and their Dad they kept it running.

   We also took it up North Fork to cut Christmas Trees, usually with a foot of snow on the road. We also used it to go rabbit hunting, and they hauled a lot of stuff around in it after they took the rumble seat out and put a home made truck bed on it.

   After the guys went in the Armed Forces in the late 1940's and early 1950's the girls took over the car. At one time I think they even painted it "GREEN." I am not sure who named it ":The Hot Rod" but that is what it was called by those who knew it well, Ha Ha.

   The girls in the car above are my sister and the sister of the guys that owned the car.

   When I mentioned collectable Iconic cars, I guess this one just collected memories for a lot of people a long time ago in a small town. ----Touche.

THE SCRAPBOOKING QUEEN

                                                   THE SCRAPBOOKING QUEEN
She sat at her table in her rollaway chair,
Just sticking in pictures with nary a care.

The scissors in one hand were snipping away.
I thought to myself, "is this work or just play?"

She had a pencil behind one ear, a pen on the other,
And pictures all around of mom, sister and brother.

The stickers were sticking, but WHY on the floor?
She said, "I will pick them up later","I told you before!"

The books were piled high on bench, chair and table
The TV was blaring a JAZZ game over the cable.

These albums must be finished I heard her explain
But with this old stiff finger it sure is a pain.

There were sheet protectors, glue sticks and paper galore.
A "Hopper Cropper" of stuff stood outside the door.

The "Cropper" runneth over with paper, ALL KINDS.
I thought to myself "has the woman lost her mind?"

Just when I thought I would escape for a while
She turned and gave me that big 'come here' smile.

See what I've done she said with a grin
See all the pictures and stickers that I have put in.

She has been sitting at that table for many weeks now,
For every spare minute, that time would allow.

The pictures that were hidden in drawers and in trunks
Before placed in the books, may have been just so much junk.

Were now precious collections to save and keep fast.
To remind her of her children and things of the past.

We should go to bed now, he told her once more.
And she said, "go ahead" I just need one hour more?

He laughed as he left her sitting at the table
She would follow him to bed, if to stand she was able?

That's a day in the life of the "Scrap Booking Queen"
As Family History, she keeps trying to glean.

Written in April 2004 by W.R. Baldwin as he watched his wife Donnie at her craft table.

GROWING OLD

After we mature, or as we sometime say, "reach a ripe old age", which is usually 70 to 80 we begin the day with a "Breakfast of Champions".  SEE BELOW

BALDWIN GENEALOGY

BALDWIN-----GENEALOGY
   I have been an amateur genealogist now for 50 or 60 years. Some periods of time I was very dedicated and some just a short spurt now and then.
   I suppose for the last 15 or 20 years it could be said that I am an addicted genealogist. (How long do you stay at it before you are not considered an amateur Ha Ha?)
   It is somewhat strange how and when this all started and I did not think much about it at the time.
   In our Church as we get older or start to mature we usually get a Blessing at the hands of a Patriarch. When I received my Blessing in 1957 one paragraph just slipped by me and I almost paid no attention to it. It was, "There is a work for thee to do in gathering the genealogy of thy family. It is necessary for this work to be done, and much of this responsibility will rest upon your shoulders."
   As I said before I did not think much about it at the time. In fact I probably could not spell genealogy.
   After 50 or 60 years working at it I have linked well over 118,000 "Baldwin and Related" family names.
   If any of you, out there in cyberspace have a Baldwin Surname somewhere in your Family Tree please feel free to join this blog, or e-mail me as I would love to see if our lines link up.  WALLY

FAMILIES

This was taken from an article on one of the periodicals published by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints I do not remember who the speaker was but he was quoting Brother Henry B. Eyring.

Sept & Oct

A THOUGHT FROM GRANDPA’S  FILE CABINET

Families Can be Together Forever

The message that I want to share today is that families can be together forever. Henry B. Eyring teaches us, “We must have the goal not just in our minds but in our hearts. What we want is eternal life in families. We don’t just want it if that is what works out, nor do we want something approaching eternal life. We want eternal life, whatever its cost in effort, pain, and sacrifices.” I have a testimony that this is true. I know that the only way I can receive exaltation is “through sacred ordinances and covenants available in holy temples that make it possible for individuals to return to the presence of God and for families to be united eternally”. I love my family and I can't imagine life without them. I am so grateful for the knowledge that I have knowing that I will be with them even after this life. Families can be together forever through Heavenly Father’s plan.

Me & Max

  Probably like most kids in small towns I had my share or puppies that turned into dogs. Most of them were “mutt dogs” but I enjoyed all of them.

  I did not get my favorite dog until I was “much older” and maybe that is why we bonded so well together. We both grew older together. He was not supposed to be a house dog. After all he weighed about 100 lbs. stood about two feet tall. However he did turn into a house dog, even over the objections of my darling wife. In fact after we had him for a while I noticed she did not mind him laying on her feet in the winter to keep them warm. He did the same with me so I guess we could not call him a lap-dog but with a little stretch of the imagination we could call him a “foot dog.”

  One day as he and I were out in the yard early in the morning I penned this little memory of him.

                       ME and MAX

We sat on the lawn under a bright blue sky

That early Fall morning, just Max and I.

It was calm and serene, the trees perfectly still.

Not a leaf did flutter in the yard, or on hill.

The neighbors still asleep in their beds calm and quiet.

But Max twitched his nose, as if to say, “I don’t buy it.”

That big old Dalmatian on his leash nice and quiet

So he would not run off scared from some imagined fright.

He spied the children next door picking flowers I see

And gave out a “bark”, saying please leave them be.

They knew him by name, and called “Max, it’s OK

We were just picking a few, just to brighten our day.

The sun topped the mountain, Olympus its name

And the rays started coming to warm us again.

I sat in my chair and “Max” lay on the grass

And I am sure he was thinking, this heat would soon pass.

No traffic did travel the streets, this time of day.

There were but few children, in the yards out to play.

No horns were out honking, no sirens did scream.

Max and I were alone, or at least it did seem.

Then like all good things, they must come to an end.

Two cars traveled past, our contentment to end.

One blasting out noise over the radio waves

To ruin our serenity, they should be banished to caves.

Max just lay in the grass, with the cool on his belly,

Then all at once some neighbor turned on his “Telly”.

The noise broke the sound barrier, or at least so or seemed

And Max jumped up thinking, ”could this have been dreamed?”

Then two dogs ran the street and Max leash pulled up tight

And when they looked and saw Max it gave them a fright.

They ran that much faster, clear on down the street.

But Max just said “wroof” with his nose by his feet.

Things are now moving about, and our peacefulness gone,

So I pick up my chair and set it off of the lawn,

Take Max to the back yard, unsnap his leash and he goes,

Into his familiar house, just sniffing his nose.

Thoughts on an early Sunday morning

12 September 1999

By W.R. Baldwin (& Max)