I was six years old when the photograph was made.  See the old ice box on the porch.  We actually went to Searcy to the ice house to bring back large blocks of ice to keep food from spoiling.

The Goblet

One summer when I was about ten, we spent three weeks in Romance, Arkansas.  My parents had bought 300 acres there in 1952 when I was barely two years old.  The place had a square wooden house with four same-sized rooms and no plumbing.

At first we didn't turn on the electricity, which was already wired in, because it didn't make sense to pay an electric bill when my Dad only had a week vacation from being a fire fighter for the Fort Worth Fire Department.  At first we used a Coleman stove to cook on, but later we had a stove hooked up to a propane tank and used kerosene lamps for light. And, of course, we went outside to an outhouse when we needed the toilet...  

Water was hauled up from a well.  Some years we strained it through a cloth to rid it of the sediment, but mostly it was cold and sweet.  We kept a bucket of it in the kitchen with a dipper (communal) near by for thirsty drinkers.  We also had a wooden bucket that hung on the porch and dripped until the wood absorbed enough water to swell and become water tight.  It hung on a strange looking hook that reminded us girls of the microphones used on TV in the fifties.  When the bucket wasn't hanging there, we pretended to be announcers on radio shows or variety show hosts like Ed Sullivan.

My cousin, Linda, handed down this sailor dress to me.  I adored it!  Here I am wearing it on our summer trip into the state of Arkansas where our farm (the REAL Arkansas) was located.

As a young girl I was really disappointed the year Dad could stay two weeks and so my parents decided to have the electricity turned on.  Turning on lights wasn't nearly as much fun as using kerosene lamps, but it turned out they were much easier to read by.  We had a lot of old books and magazines I might never have read if nights hadn't been without a TV.

By the time I was almost ten Dad started having three weeks of vacation.  My older sisters were almost fourteen and sixteen and beautiful.  The boys at the church we attended had already started noticing them in previous summers.  A couple of them started coming over to our place in the summer evenings.  

We wore dresses all the time.  They were cool in summer.  When we headed down to the swimming hole, we found old blue jeans that had belonged to our older brother. (Marquita, Lee, and me)

At this time it was mostly gravel roads and the homes were still somewhat primitive for the inhabitants of the area, but few were as primitive as ours.

This is Marquita, Ramona, Mick, and Mom by the well.

In previous years, we'd been comfortable with an old outhouse with NO door.  I never wanted to go there anyway without an older sister; it was too scary and dark.  No door added light and, dare I say it, a dimunition of odors... With nightly callers, we had to add a curtain for privacy.

The inside of the house was crowded with beds.  Mom and Dad had a bedroom with a baby bed for the youngest child.  The two other rooms had to be shared by three of us older girls, our brother, his girlfriend who often made the trip with us, and sometimes my oldest sister and her husband.  One room was kitchen and dining room only.

Mick and Jan are standing by the Ford on the left.  The local boys are in the middle and Melany and Marquita are by the Mercury on the right.  Note the car top carrier to handle all our luggage.  

This particular summer my sisters decided we needed to make the house more conducive to company.  We had an old western Naugahyde divan which had been our older brother's bed. By this time he was married and seldom came with us.  So we shoved all the ragtag beds into one room and left the divan in what became the living room.  We foraged for decoration.  The room became more beautiful as we pinned up maps of the state and area (sort of early poster decorating) and rearranged what furniture and chairs we had into conversation areas.

Mom had seen an old abandoned building nearby, and we all went foraging among the remains.  We found empty snuff bottles that made nice little glasses and a flower vase with a very small crack.  I was thrilled to find a box with old paper dolls made from Montgomery Ward catalogs of the early 1900's and a vintage coloring book. One of the prettiest things we found was a cut glass goblet.  There was only one, but after we washed it and the snuff jars, they shone beautifully.

Another day, Dad came in after finding little over a handful of wild grapes.  Mother cooked them into jelly and poured the final product into the beautiful goblet. There was only enough to fill the small goblet.  At supper we all stared entranced at the translucent rose hue of the jelly and each received one teaspoonful to eat. It was the most delicious thing we'd ever eaten!

What a lovely summer.  I look back to remember how good things are when there isn't a lot.  As I am working to make John Bob's and my little property in a different part of Arkansas into a home, I wish I could talk over this summer with Mom and hear how she viewed it. JB and I go to WalMart and buy lots to make everything comfortable.  Mom couldn't afford to.

Mom with a big bunch of flowers.

Mom is gone one year now, and so I can't share with her the fun we're having working with what we've got. The buildings are taking a lot of work to renovate, but I so enjoyed standing under a shower before heading out to church this morning. There is no need to share what a pleasure it is to have indoor plumbing.

However, I have not lost the memory of that summer nor forgotten the joy of making beauty out of the things one finds nearby.  Those memories are a priceless gift Mom and Dad gave me.

Dad helping our littlest sister go down to the water hole.

The Goblet
One summer when I was about ten, we spent three weeks in Romance, Arkansas.  My parents had bought 300 acres there in 1952 when I was barely two years old.  The place had a square wooden house with four same-sized rooms and no plumbing.

At first we didn't turn on the electricity, which was already wired in, because it didn't make sense to pay an electric bill when my Dad only had a week vacation from being a fire fighter for the Fort Worth Fire Department.  We had a stove hooked up to a propane tank to cook on and used kerosene lamps for light. And, of course, we went out to an outhouse when we needed the restroom...  

Water was hauled up from a well.  Some years we strained it through a cloth to rid it of the sediment, but mostly it was cold and sweet.  We kept a bucket of it in the kitchen with a dipper near by for thirsty drinkers.  We also had a wooden bucket that hung on the porch and dripped until the wood absorbed enough water to swell and become water tight.  It hung on a strange looking hook that reminded us girls of the microphones used on TV in the fifties.  When the bucket wasn't hanging there, we pretended to be announcers on radio shows or variety show hosts like Ed Sullivan.

As a young girl I was really disappointed the year Dad could stay two weeks and so my parents decided to have the electricity turned on.  Turning on lights wasn't nearly as much fun as using kerosene lamps, but it turned out they were much easier to read by.  We had a lot of old books and magazines I might never have read if nights hadn't been without a TV.

By the time I was almost ten Dad started having three weeks of vacation.  My older sisters were almost fourteen and sixteen and beautiful.  The boys at the church we attended had already started noticing them in previous summers.  A couple of them started coming over to our place in the summer evenings.  
At this time it was mostly gravel roads and the homes were still somewhat primitive for the inhabitants of the area, but few were as primitive as ours.

In previous years, we'd been comfortable with an old outhouse with NO door.  I never wanted to go there anyway without an older sister; it was too scary and dark.  No door added light and, dare I say it, a dimunition of odors... With nightly callers, we had to add a curtain for privacy.

The inside of the house was crowded with beds.  Mom and Dad had a bedroom with a baby bed for the youngest child.  The two other rooms had to be shared by three of us older girls, our brother, his girlfriend who often made the trip with us, and possibly my oldest sister and her husband.  One room was kitchen and dining room only.

This particular summer my sisters decided we needed to make the house more conducive to company.  We had an old western Naugahyde divan which had been our older brother's bed. By this time he was married and seldom came with us.  So we shoved all the ragtag beds into one room and left the divan in what became the living room.  We foraged for decoration.  The room became more beautiful as we pinned up maps of the state and area (sort of early poster decorating) and rearranged what furniture and chairs we had into conversation areas.

Mom had seen an old abandoned building nearby, and we all went foraging among the remains.  We found empty snuff bottles that made nice little glasses and a flower vase with a very small crack.  I was thrilled to find a box with old paper dolls made from Montgomery Ward catalogs of the early 1900's and a vintage coloring book. One of the prettiest things we found was a cut glass goblet.  There was only one, but after we washed it and the snuff jars, they shone beautifully.

Another day, Dad came in after finding little over a handful of wild grapes.  Mother cooked them into jelly and poured the final product into the beautiful goblet. There was only enough to fill it.  At supper we all stared entranced at the translucent rose hue of the jelly and each received on teaspoonful to eat. It was the most delicious thing we'd ever eaten.

What a lovely summer!  I look back to remember how good things are when there isn't a lot.  As I am working to make John Bob's and my little property in a different part of Arkansas into a home, I wish I could talk over this summer with Mom and hear how she viewed it. JB and I go to WalMart and buy lots to make everything comfortable.  Mom couldn't afford to.

Mom is gone one year now, and so I can't share with her the fun we're having working with what we've got. The buildings are taking a lot of work to renovate, but I so enjoyed standing under a shower before heading out to church this morning. There is no need to share what a pleasure it is to have indoor plumbing.

However, I have not lost the memory of that summer nor forgotten the joy of making beauty out of the things one finds nearby.  Those memories are a priceless gift Mom and Dad gave me.