All the women in this picture (with the exception of my Aunt Pat who just happened to be home visiting that day...) were part of a group of friends who regularly hung out with one another, on an almost daily basis. Growing up in St. Vincent, I saw many of them myself daily, as we all went about our business. Most of the time, they were busy keeping house, looking after their families. But as they went about their days, they would often run into one another at stores or church, in their yards or on the street, or stop by and visit. Years ago, there was no common desire to avoid people and self-isolate as is common today; quite the contrary - most people sought out opportunities to socialize, to catch up.
Names that still conjure up well-remembered faces and voices:
- Mrs. Zahara (a Ukrainian lady whose strong accent made me nod a lot without knowing a thing she was actually saying),
- Matilda Cameron (a well-regarded seamstress whose second husband Wallace Cameron was a famous town constable),
- Esther Cleem (who along with her husband were victims of a home invasion turned deadly),
- Mrs. Gardiner (whose family tragedies rivaled my own Aunt Lena’s),
- Florence Godon, whose husband Bill worked for many years with my Dad at the Noyes depot,
- Toots Ryan (good friend and neighbor-across-the-alley of my grandmother),
- Glenice Friebohle (good friend of my mother’s),
- Ena Scobbie (wife of first pastor I remember of St. Vincent Evangelical Free Church), and
- Cousins Hattie Schwenzfeier, Annie Nordine, Mabel Steien, and Faye Lyberg.
They all loved to gab, to share news and gossip, and to have a good laugh. In other words, they loved to visit! They were never at a loss for words. There were no awkward silences. If anything, people spoke over top of one another at times, interjected at others, and at still other times, the room divided into two or three subgroups like modern-day ‘threads’, multiple simultaneous conversations, and later came back into one again.
The one who was more often than not dropping by Grandma’s place, or she to her’s, was Toots Ryan. Toots lived north of Grandma’s place, just out the back door, through the back yard, and across the alley. As you’d approach Toot’s house, you would notice the steps were higher than most around town. That’s because the house had been put up on a higher foundation, my guess to protect the home’s contents in case of flooding. It was the only house like that in town, but I later thought that was pretty smart thinking. But as a little girl, the time period I knew Toots well, it never crossed my mind - it was just the way it was. Her steps were harder to get up than my Grandma’s, each one a bit taller than normal, so I’d have to lift my little legs especially higher and give an extra hrmph to lift myself up. The top step was a length of railroad tie, then the highest step of all over the lintel into the house proper.
The door led into the kitchen, which as I recalled had one length of counter along the west wall. There was a sink like at home, but instead of a faucet and water turns for hot and cold, there was a hand pump, which brought up water up from a private well under the house. I have a feeling there was probably more of these at one time, but to my knowledge it was the only one left in town by then, the early 1960s. There was still a town hand pump just kitty-corner from the Ryan home, by the town pond and curling rink. Knowing more now historically, I think the town pond and pump may have served multiple reasons - for watering animals, water for people, water for fighting fires. Heck, Grandma would have me go fetch buckets of water for her, to water her garden during the summer, since drinking water for her cost her precious money; at that time, most of us had our water brought in by water trucks, costing x-amount much per 1,000 gallons, stored under the house in cisterns. Anyways, I always thought it was so interesting that Toots still pumped her water. She had a big stove in her house, too, but I never noticed what kind it was.
The only other room in the downstairs was her parlor. The first time I saw the parlor was on a visit to Toots with my Mom; in the parlor were two chairs, and a piano. I hadn’t started playing the piano yet, but we had one that I was always tinkling on at home, showing an interest in learning already. So it wasn’t surprising at all that I headed straight for it the first time I saw hers. It had a fascinating seat, not a bench like ours, but a stool. I found out immediately that it could be adjusting in height, delightfully by spinning it to the right for up, or left for down. The stool’s feet looked like the claws of an animal, and clutched within those claw were small, clear, crystal balls. I opened the lid to the keys to see keys that had faint marbling and yellowing, which I later learned meant they were real ivory keys made from elephant tusks. A few were missing, but most were still there. The really cool part was when I began ‘playing’ the keys, I learned the piano was badly out-of-tune. However, to me, that made is all the more special: It reminded me of the pianos played in the old western movies on TV - in tune enough to make out familiar melodies, but enough out-of-tune to be an authentic saloon piano!
Once I wore out my welcome on the piano, I jumped off to rejoin the women (my Mom and Toots, visiting…) Toots was a shorter-than-average lady, who was almost as round as she was tall. That day, I was probably about four years old. I interjected into their conversation with the observation, “You’re really fat!” There was sudden silence. Then Toots erupted into what I can now only describe as jolly laughter. My Mom directed a mortified, “Patricia Kaye!” Towards me. Toots came to my rescue by saying, “Patricia Kaye, eh? That used to be my favorite chewing gum!” She got a kick out of my outburst. I had no idea I had done anything wrong, stating the obvious. Toots and I always got along famously after that early meeting - I would often run out my Grandma’s back door and run over to her house and into her house up those high stairs.
But when Grandma had friends drop by, there was a lot of visiting…and always over tea and baked goods. The visiting might start off slow and casual, and build up to stories filled with gales of laughter; or they might start out with an excited, “Have you heard…?” Whether it was a neighbor, or a cousin coming from across the county, in those days, people would often just pop in, no call ahead - no one minded, in fact, it was an occasion to be excited about. Out would come the teapots full of Red Rose tea, served up with bars, cookies, and sometimes even cake…but always plenty of tea! If Mrs. Zahara was in attendance when I was there, I would avail her of her talents and beg her for a reading of the tea leaves. I wish I could recall at least one of those readings now…