BRANDON, WISCONSIN, RR-2 ZIP-53919
Yesterday was a blessed day in my life. Isn’t each one like
this a real gift in this troubled world? It is the unexpected which
makes life interesting. Yesterday we pulled something a bit
unexpected on our church congregation. Never should things be
allowed to get too deadly drab and always the same.
We have a Junior Choir of about twenty five happy faced
children. They sang yesterday morning. As their leader I had had my
pencil busy working up a three part harmony for them. How surprised
I was at results. Usually I stand on my square stool and direct
them, but not yesterday. We sang, or rather they sang, a prayer in
song, LORD, I WANT TO BE A CHRISTIAN IN MY HEART. The organ played
with them as they sang so there was no disturbance of anyone
getting up to accompany or direct. They stood up and went right
All their usually busy young hands were clasped in front of
them. Their faces were a study in sweet worship. There were clear
young voices in solo parts on the first line. We have some lovely
ones, true as a bell. I unashamedly shed tears at the beauty of it.
Mabye you would like to try it in your church. It was a
Then last evening our young people took over and conducted the
whole service, even the message. How we need to encourage our
youngsters and young people to these good things.
As we grow older we seem to tend to forget what it was like to
be young. How often we should be reminded when we see someone
trying to zoom past our houses, on two wheels rather than four,
that they haven’t quite learned how to control all the energy
they find themselves possessing. In the meantime we try not to ride
with some of them because it is too hard on our aging hearts.
Never will I forget my staid old Dad when I was trying out our
new Nash car back in about 1930. Oh! It was a dandy! One Sunday
afternoon I took my folks out riding in it. In the road on the way
to Waupun were some of those little thrill hills. You went over
them just a little, on the fast side and ‘WHOOPS’ you
thought you were taking off in an airplane for sure. But my Dad
didn’t seem to approve thoroughly.
In fact it had been quite a battle to get to drive at all. There
was the warm summer day when I was supposed to go to the woods and
pick some blackberries for supper somewhat like Peter Rabbit, I
suppose. It was more than a mile down there and I wasn’t in the
mood to walk. Dad was gone threshing.
I did some arguing with my mother on the point up for
discussion. I wanted to take the car. She wasn’t to sure.
‘But Mother,’ I argued, ‘I have driven lots of
boy’s cars and I know all about it.’
So it was that I won out. Oh. how proud I was as I started the
one eighth of a mile down the public road and turned into the
private lane leading to the woods. All went well and I arrived safe
and sound at this haunt for every known mosquito. Putting a net
over my head I started to pick. Would we tell Dad I had driven down
there? What would we do? After an hour or two of picking I was all
set to return home. I slid the pailsfull of berries into the back
seat of the old Overland Touring Car. This was before the days of
the new Nash. I stepped on the starter. Nothing happened. I tried
again, and again, and again. At last I walked home like a beaten
pup. What were we going to do? Dad would be furious.
Mother had no solution. Dad wouldn’t be home for a couple of
hours but time didn’t help either. There was no one to rescue
me from this one. I cried and I fussed to no avail. My mother said,
‘You got yourself into this one. I guess you are the one who is
going to get yourself out of it.’
Hmph! The charm I used on the young men around our part of the
country didn’t work on my mother and I knew it worked even less
on my Dad.
With the sickest feeling in the pit of my stomach I went back to
work. I had to get everything ready for milking the cows. And if it
got too late I had orders to start alone. Oh, how I rushed around.
Everything would really be done up brown. I was half through
milking when Dad got home. He unhitched the horses, watered them
and gave them oats and hay. Then he came into the barn. He looked
tired. He wasn’t young anymore. I felt terrible. He noticed
something was wrong. He asked me what was the trouble. Fighting
back the tears I told him. He sighed a little and said, ‘WELL,
LETS GET THE MILKING DONE.’ He had only spoken a little louder
than usual. That was all. I couldn’t believe my ears. But poor
Dad had a mile walk to get his car home.
A few days passed. Nothing more was said. Then one day some
machinery broke down. Dad was very busy.
‘Mae,’ he said, ‘Do you suppose you. could drive the
car into Waupun and get this part for me?’
III – drive into town? When I could get my voice back I answered
and gave him a big ‘I love you’ smile. It was a better one
than I used on any of the boys I dated, you can bet your life on
‘Sure, Dad, I’ll be glad to,’ I said. And it was not
too long after we got the new Nash that I drove them out to Iowa
and back. So you see, young folks haven’t changed too much. But
maybe I hadn’t better let my two remaining teenagers get ahold
of this column. See ya, at the reunions, come berry picking time.
Somehow I feel Peter Rabbit didn’t have too much on me.