This is from a letter I wrote in early December 1991. It was to a penfriend who is a retired school teacher who is now almost 81 years old in 2008. Writing to him has induced me to write more eloquently, or better than just scribbling out a few thoughts. But, practice makes perfect, hopefully.
Thanksgiving Day came and went and I'm stuffed. I had two turkey dinners in one day. I ate a bit frugally at the first meal at my brother's house, then in the evening I went to visit my cousins in Lancaster and Lebanon counties for the weekend. My cousin Kathryn and her husband, who own a pretzel bakery, drove a Mennonite family to Florida to pck up a flight from Miami to Paraguay so they weren't home yet on Thanksgiving Day for the big feed. So their kids made the supper. Well, they weren't kids. The oldest is 26 years old and the youngest is 19; three boys and three girls. But that doesn't stop them from being kids once in awhile, especially the boys--young me, I should say.
Yes, we had the traditional turkey, with filling, corn, mashed potatoes, and an assortment of other delectables. And a couple of the fellows just had smother their plateful of vittles with ketchup.
I often stay with my cousin Warren at his home in a small rural community of Heidelberg, PA, and I visit Martin's Pretzel Bakery in Akron, Lancaster County quite often, owned and operated by Clarence and Kathryn Martin. Kathryn is Warren's sister. There is also a Martin's Pretzel Bakery in upstate New York owned by Lloyd and Maryann Martin. Kathryn and Maryann are sisters. Clarence and Lloyd are brothers.
Warren and I sometimes make plans to travel over the holidays and we were tossing around the idea of visiting his sister and family in Memphis, Missouri, a brother in Woodstock, Illinois, or another sister near Watertown, New York on this Thanksgiving weekend. But those plans didn't work out.
Last year we did make the trip over Thanksgiving. Neither of us can afford to take off on vacations. I need to pinch my pennies and Warren runs an asphalt paving business which keeps him busy, even into the Fall. The reason we travel so well together is because I love to drive and he and I like to visit his folks. They're my double cousins; their father and my father were brothers, their mother and my mother were sisters. Their mother died in 1951.
The Midwest is a great place to travel. The interstates take you pretty quickly to any location, except that we get off the interstate to travel about 200 miles into Keokuk, Iowa; then a couple miles to the Missouri border, and another 50 miles or so to Memphis. We've made the trip several times.
We travel through Pennsylvania, West Virginia, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa and Missouri; and last year we went to Wisconsin, all in five days.
I like to visit with them. They are Mennonite people who exist as a practical society.
I enjoyed watching the children at the Thanksgiving dinner we had at cousin Florence's in Missouri. She has 24 grandchildren, and many of them were at the get-together. Afterwards, the women cleaned up the kitchen and the men retired to the sitting room where we spent all evening conversing with each other. No radio, no TV. It is the kind of rapport I like to have with people, without distractions.
The only minor distractions were the children who were playing nearby. But it was tolerated, for children must be children while they're children. Siblings and their cousins were playing together in harmony, most of the time. One of the boys, five-year-old Calvin, one of the oldest children there, was particularly rambunctious and running around with his playmates. He is hyperactive and once in awhile his father would hold him still just to quiet him down. One time he ran by me, patted me on the knee and muttered something I didn't catch, but Warren burst into laughter. "What's so funny?" I asked. Calvin had said I was a "nice old man." I may seem old to him but the gesture gave me a sense of camaraderie with these kids.
We spent only one day in Missouri and then we headed for Wisconsin, traveling all night. I like to travel at night. Where the clear sky is darkest the whole universe is awash with stars. I even spotted a couple of meteorites along the way.
By early morning we arrived at Colby, Wisconsin to visit another one of Florence's sons and his family. He has three children who were a little timid with us, until Warren spoke to them in Pennsylvania Dutch. Then they were more open to us.
About 8 years previously, Warren and I had visited another family, the Aaron Hoovers, who also live in Colby, Wisconsin. I called up Aaron to let him know we were in the area again. He insisted we come on over, so Warren and I had a pleasant afternoon visit which turned into an overnight stayover.
Aaron's family had multiplied from two children to six. The baby boy we saw eight years ago was an energetic eight-year-old who could do the work of a boy almost twice his age. They too speak Pennsylvania Dutch. My own parents speak the language but they never taught us so I'm not fluent in the language.
At milking time the children helped their father with the chores, 11-year-old Mabel, eight-year-old Martin, six-year-old Harvey, four-year-old Aaron. Even two-year-old Martha tagged along. They were busy gathering around Warren as they talked to him in mostly Dutch and I felt a little left out...until little Aaron came over to me and said, "Wid du de pony tsagooka? (Do you want to look at the pony?). I understood that, and he led me over to the horse stall where a horse stood. He made some other comments which I didn't understand. The other children came over and started talking to me. When they realized I didn't understand much of what they said, they all switched to English and, spotting my camera, insisted I take pictures--of a bale of hay, a colt, the horse, the heifers, and they themselves hammed it up in front of the camera. Martin was keeping count of the pictures I was taking, since he learned that I would send the pictures to them after they were developed. Earlier, they had shown me a photo album where I spotted pictures I took there eight years before.
They were a delight to entertain. They were easily amused. They don't have a radio or TV to play havoc on their fertile minds. They may be in a relatively closed society, but they weren't missing anything important. Their education is limited to an eighth grade education but that doesn't often stop them from learning a trade which is advanced beyond that. They learn from their parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins.
In addition to the farmwork, Aaron Sr. makes maple syrup in the Spring from the many maple trees on his farm, which he cooks down to 2% thicker than standard maple syrup, he said. On our first visit (where I had met him for the first time), and Warren the second time--Warren had his two sons, Steve and Greg, along at that time) he had given Warren and me each a pint of maple syrup "because we enjoyed your visit so much." They refused any monetary compensation for our visit. "We're just glad to have you stop in," they said.
Some more has come to mind about that memorable first trip eight years before:
It was my first trip to Illinois. We visited my cousin John (Warren's brother). We then intended to head southwest to Missouri to visit his sister Florence. It was August and the weather was balmy. I dressed in summer clothes and we were off on a nice long trip. Steve and Greg were also along. (In case you were wondering, Warren raised his two sons alone since they were three or four years old.)
Before I left, our Aunt Lydia (my Dad's sister) asked if we would look up Sim (Simon) Landis, her brother-in-law, while we were in Illinois. They live in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. Woodstock, Illinois is only a few miles from Wisconsin.
So, while in Woodstock, we were ready to retire for the night, Warren and I made plans for the next leg of the trip for the next day: to Missouri or to Wisconsin? We found that Eau Claire was not just over the border, but almost 200 miles away. It was either Missouri or Wisconsin; not both places.
The decision was made when Warren mentioned that he knew a family somewhere halfway to Eau Claire. They are Wenger Mennonites, originally from Lancaster County, PA. They are very hospitable and would take us in overnight if we needed a place to stay. If they couldn't accommodate us, another member of the community could.
So we left for Wisconsin the next day. It took a number of hours to drive to Colby, Wisconsin, and I studied the countryside as we traveled along, noting how straight the roads ran. When we came into town, Warren called up Aaron Hoover. Although Aaron had met him for the first time the year before, he knew Warren's voice right away. He told us how to find his farm.
Aaron and Edna had two children, Mabel and Martin. He showed us the maple syrup cookers. We visited his brothers and sisters, and parents, riding in our car, since they drive only horse and buggy. Steve and Greg, ages 10 and 12, had a great time. In the evening of the second day, they wanted a chance to ride in a horse-pulled wagon. We got our chance when a neighboring farmer needed help unloading a couple wagon loads of hay bales. He had heard about all the potential help visiting at the Hoover place.
Aaron hooked up the horse and wagon and we were off. He told me to sit up beside him. As we traveled, he demonstrated his "cruise control". As the horse trotted along, he gave a barely perceptible click with his tongue and the horse trotted faster; another click and the horse went faster yet. Another one, and faster yet. Then a slight tug on the reins and the horse slowed down again.
Because the horse often travels that way, Aaron didn't need to pull on the reins to turn right, and left into the lane, "automatic drive". If he had wanted to go straight he would tug gently on the opposite side rein to keep the horse from turning. The horse was cheaper to run than a car, he said. He eats what the cows eat and the cost of shoes is about $25 a year. I was convinced of the practical nature of their lifestyle.
The neighbor had a number of young children who were too young to carry bales of hay, but with the four of us, plus the neighbor himself, we had the couple of wagonloads done in short order. The evening being so clear, nice and cool, the Mrs. brought out the potato salad, pretzels, potato chips, and ice cream, and thereby made new friends. We all enjoyed it immensely.
We stayed the night again, and the next morning there was frost on the ground. It was 30 degrees, which was awful early in the season. I had my camera along and I just needed to get a picture of the sunrise. I didn't have any sweater, but just a summer shirt so I chanced to take a tride down the road a piece to snap a few pictures as the sun rose.
The upper limb of the sun was at ground level when I composed the shot. A silo was standing off in the distance and I lined it up to partially eclipse the sun. Strangely, I had to keep moving sideways to keep it in line. I then realized that the sun does not come up straight out of the horizon, but at an angle, which was more acute than farther south, for I never noticed it before.
Anyway, we had plans for the day and after breakfast we headed for Eau Claire. We had never met Simon Landis before, not that we remembered. I had his address and phone number but that was the only lead, which was enough anyway.
As soon as we came to the outskirts of Eau Claire I called his number. No answer. We'd have to go to his address.
The address turned out to be an apartment complex. Now what? We were still a couple blocks away and we saw a man standing behind a car with the trunk open. Warren exclaimed, "That's Sim Landis." Yeah, right, I thought; he had never met him either. We pulled into the parking lot, wondering what to do next. I casually walked over to the man, who was apparently taking inventory of some items in the trunk of his car. To make conversation, I said, "So you're the Fuller brush man."
"No", he replied, "I'm just taking inventory of these brooms and things. I'm trying to get rid of them." I studied him for a minute and for a fleeting instant compared him to my uncle Paul Landis, Lydia's husband. No real resemblance. I asked him how much he wanted for, say, that pushbroom there. "Oh, I sell that for $14 but you can have it for $11."
Warren then walked up and he said, "I have an asphalt business, I could use all those brooms." The man's face brightened. But then we realized that the brooms just would not fit in our Volkwagen, which was loaded to the gills with all we had acquired on the trip.
Not to lose a sale, the man said, "Well, I could send them to you. Who do you know around here?"
Warren spoke up, "Well, we came to look up a man by the name of Sim Landis."
The man's eyes widened. "Sim Landis," he exclaimed, "why, that's me! I'm Sim Landis." He was absolutely ecstatic. And in short order he threw his carefully laid out inventory unceremoniously back into the trunk and slammed the lid. "Come along, I'll show you around town."
We found he was 83 years old. He was very spry for a man his age, still the salesman he was for years. He enquired after our families, many of whom he knew. We told him his sister-in-law suggested we visit.
He was so enthused about our visit he had to tell all his friends we visited and how we met. Our itinerary took us to his favorite restaurant in town where he ate breakfast every morning, Howard Johnsons. He took us to the church he attended, and to the nursing home where his wife stayed as an invalid, whom he visited every day. And he showed us his apartment in the complex where he had first arrived. And then we ate at McDonald's as he treated us to loaves and fishes--fish sandwiches, french fries, and cokes.
The fame of our visit preceded us home. He just had to tell Aunt Lydia how we met and a number of other relatives heard about it from there.
Meanwhile, on our way home, as soon as we crossed the Pennsylvania line, I came down with the worst cold which a frost-bitten morning in Wisconsin could dish out to a guy who wanted to chance the weather in his shirt sleeves. It took over two weeks to recover.
So, last year's visit was a get-reacquainted visit. Sim Landis died in September 1990 at the age of 92. His wife preceded him by a couple of years.
This year there was just too much work to go for a long haul in little time. There'll be other occasions. Florence called on Thankgiving Day while we were fressing on turkey and filling. She invited us to come out anytime. Probably not this year anymore.
People often wonder what to call the breaded mixture that is usually served with the turkey. I found out that it is called dressing when it is passed around the first time, filling the second time around, and stuffing, the third.
You mentioned (as a teacher) about parents wanting their own way. I received a letter from another teacher penfriend who wrote:
"Have you ever received a letter from a walking, talking medical treatment before? Last week a certified medical doctor declared me to be a healing treatment for a certain 5th grade girl. She was one of nine students who was transferred from my homeroom to the new 5th grade teacher's class. The new teacher was added to relieve overcrowding. Like most of the other students involved, she didn't want to go. Her mother took her to a doctor who wrote a prescription which said the girl would be better off emotionally if she were transferred back to my room. The parents of the student who transferred out of my room did most complaining and protesting. Many come from divorced homes and the mothers wanted their kids to have a male image."
Anyway, I'm glad for your letters. They give me the impetus to try to write eloquently. Reading helps. Right now I'm reading The Power Game by Hedrick Smith. I also read much of his book, The Russians and he has written another called The New Russians. Perhaps you know, he worked as a correspondent for The New York Times. His writing is a bit heavy for me, but it is quite interesting, especially when he writes a human interest anecdote.
