From Genevieve: Dating Days

(Excerpt of a letter from Genevieve to Skip and Sylvia, Sept 2010, describing the photo above.) “This picture was taken at Coleman Park the summer of 1946 before any of us were married. I guess you know (back row) Pete and Ruth, Paul and me, and in the front row Clayton and a friend, Mary Lou, Betty and Ethel. Paul and I got married that year Dec. 14^th, it will be 64 years this year. You Sylvia were about nine months old. You said the word ‘pretty’ at the wedding and everyone was so surprised when it came out of your mouth. Ethel and John were married the following year, May 30, 1947, and Pete and Ruth also got married in August 1947. Long time to argue and make up!”

Note from Sylvia: Clayton and Betty are children of Grandpa’s brother Clayton and his wife Rica, and Mary Lou is the daughter of Grandpa’s brother Sam and wife Edie. So all of them are first cousins to Pete, Paul, Ethel and siblings.

From Allen: Peter Boyer and Abraham Lincoln

(Note: With this post we take a step back in time to the Civil War, when Grandpa's father, Peter D. Boyer, was just a young man.)

Peter D. Boyer is a great-grandfather or great-great-grandfather to most of us. At the start of the Civil War, President Abraham Lincoln requested that Pennsylvania form three cavalry units. Peter Boyer, just a teenager, enlisted in the 17^th Pennsylvania Cavalry, which was one of the units Lincoln requested.

One night during the war, Peter stood guard at a tent in the battlefield. He described seeing President Lincoln pass in and out of the tent, “wearing his stovepipe hat, a shawl, and a sad worried look on his face.”

Peter Boyer and his unit were encamped in Washington D.C. at the end of the war with other Union soldiers. He was in Washington when John Wilkes Booth shot and killed President Lincoln.

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From Sylvia: Reunions at Walnut Springs

When I was a girl, the Sunday in August when we would go to the Boyer Family Reunion ranked right up there with Christmas and the last day of school. Officially, it was the gathering of our Grandpa Boyer’s five brothers and sister Millie and all their offspring, numbering at that time close to 100.

First, of course, church for everybody. Then after church got out, a leisurely ride into the Pennsylvania hills on a two-lane highway where Daddy watched for the turnoff, an unmarked dirt road into the woods. As we made the turn, our eyes adjusted from the glare of the open road to the dim, green and yellow light under a winding tunnel of trees. Through our open side windows came the smell of the sun-warmed woods and green things thriving in dark soil, somehow both familiar and exotic. From both sides, we could hear the woods breathing — the sizzle of summer insects at work.

Daddy drove our two-tone Ford slowly because the lane was narrow and filled with mudholes. My sister Betsy and I loved this lumpy-bumpy ride that made us rock and lurch as we perched on the back seat. We held onto the front seat for balance, smiling and making big eyes at each other. Grass grew up in the middle of the lane and we could hear the shush-shush as it slid along the bottom of the car. It felt like it was tickling our feet. Trees and bushes grew close on either side; friendlier ones leaned in to shake hands through the open windows, then with a flap! were gone.

I would peer ahead, hoping that around the next turn I would see the clearing where the family was gathered. But no. Then I would begin to worry that we might meet another car coming out of the lane. If we did, I had figured out that someone would have to back up and I didn’t want it to be us.

Finally, around another curve and there! Through the trees we picked out bright spots of painted metal — the fenders and trunks of other Boyer cars, pulled up in a friendly row in the meadow grass near the old log cabin at the back of the clearing. We hung over the front seat and craned around Mother and Daddy for a better view. Aunts and uncles and cousins of all ages and sizes were walking about the sunny clearing. To the left in the shade of tall trees were picnic tables already loaded with plates of sliced ham, big bowls of potato and fruit salad, jars of red beet eggs, trays of deviled eggs and metal pans of baked beans. Aunts with familiar faces and others who looked sort of familiar were shaking out colorful tablecloths, chasing children from the cookies and chocolate cakes, and calling to my mother.

White smoke rose from a brick barbecue pit where chicken and hamburgers and hot dogs were being tended by grandpas and uncles. Younger men in white tee-shirts had set up the stakes for quoits and the clang of occasional leaners and ringers rang through the trees, amid shouts and joshing and hearty greetings to newcomers.

We itched to get out of the car, but first, a scramble in the back seat to get out of our church dresses and into the shorts and tops that Mother handed back to us. Off with shiny shoes and white nylon socks and Ah! What a feeling when our bare feet hit the warm meadow grass, flattened and tenderized by earlier arriving cars and people.

I’m sure we spent a few minutes at the old wooden tables, eating the fried chicken and potato salad my mother had prepared, but I was eager to be going, to see my cousins, to roam around the place. So different from home or school or church, yet familiar because we came here each year, the place was dear to the elders because Walnut Springs was close to the old family homestead further up the lane into the woods.

I loved to go and see the spring on the other side of the lane. It was tucked under the root of a big tree. We would squat down to look into a pool about the size of an old bathtub but rounder on the sides. The water was still and ice cold — we’d always stick our fingers in to test it. Sitting in the pool toward the shallow end, and looking out of place, would be a bottle of milk and a big watermelon, getting cold for later. The white milk with the red letters of Wengert’s Dairy across the bottle looked extra bright in the quiet spring.

I’m sure the first times I went to the spring it was with an adult, who pointed out to me the handful of places in the floor of the spring where — “See there?” — sparkling grains of sand moved almost imperceptibly as tiny rivulets of water pushed up out of the ground. We would lean closer. “I see it!” It seemed that if you looked away for a second, the sparkle might disappear. Magic was happening there silently, steadily while we were up here in our big, clumsy noisy world.

People were quiet when they came to the spring. Adults wouldn’t let us play or set foot into the pool. “No, you’ll rile up the water!” They set things in it slowly and carefully. Some explained that we kept the water clear because it was especially good to drink. Nearby was a water dipper so you could fill a water jug or just drink your fill.

There were games for kids in the clearing, races and peanut scrambles, and Aunt Genivieve would play the accordion for a cakewalk. All these were fun, but what I loved most was to walk down into the woods.

Across the lane, you took a footpath that sloped gradually downward, following the small creek fed by the spring. As you walked, the air changed, became cooler. The old trees made a canopy that filtered the bright sunlight; the air seemed to glow green and gold all around. The chatter from the picnic grove gradually faded. Up ahead, the occasional shouts and calls of others in the woods rang and echoed under the trees.

My first ventures down this path were with Daddy or another adult. But eventually I was old enough to take off on my own. I would go in bare feet, feeling exhilarated and free — who knows what you would find in the woods? But it also seemed familiar and safe, a big playground for us kids. You would usually meet some family members coming or going, maybe a great uncle with a straw hat and a walking stick, moving slowly and pointing out things remembered from years ago.

I loved the creek — its splashy traveling music called to me. I squatted and watched, drawn into the playful way the water coursed through the rocks. It seemed like a game— “Catch me if you can!” Leaves and bits of bark riding on the water looked as if they were having a wonderful time, twirling and shooting down little cascades, then whisked out of sight.

The rocks alongside the creekbed were covered with a dark green sheen. Here and there among them grew tiny wildflowers, white or maybe red, set like jewels against the dark banks.

Up on the path, the way led through successively larger rocks — pinkish-gray sandstone, crusty to the touch. I marveled at the lichen, intricate faded blue-green doilies, pasted on their surfaces. I thought they must be ancient drawings or a picture code of Indians who once lived in these parts. What stories did they tell?

The path led down more steeply but the rocks became boulders rising to twice my height and the size of small rooms. I couldn’t imagine their weight. Trees had to adjust their roots and trunks around them. They were old, immovable beings, answering to no one. I crept quietly between them, holding my breath and listening.

The path ran out and going forward meant rock climbing. I exulted in the grip of my bare toes on the cool surfaces and the way my arm, leg and hip muscles got me where I wanted to go.

Eventually, if you climbed up whenever you had the chance, you came out on top of flat-topped boulders big enough to pitch a tent on. From that vantage, there seemed no way to go further unless you had ropes. The drop in front of the boulders was twenty feet or more. You looked down into a vast dimness as the woods trailed away down the hillside. It was like being on top of an ancient world.

The way back to the clearing and civilization could take as long as you liked. For me, it had something to do with hunger. Most families brought enough food to have lunch and dinner, so when I wandered back to the picnic tables there was plenty to eat and always an aunt to say, “Want a cookie, honey?” As the day waned, some families took an early leave. But I liked it if we stayed long enough for marshmallows toasted on the fires and older people singing and reminiscing on the wide cabin porch.

Mother came with sweaters. The sweat and dust of the day had long since dried on our bodies, leaving us a mottled shade darker and our hair stiffened into wild, ropy-looking sculptures. We piled into the back seat of our car, tired to the bone and happy in the way you are when the day has gone just as you wanted. Try as I might, I don’t remember a single thing about the ride home.

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Pete and Alma's first grandchildren

Can you name them? Hint: Three of these cuties have names starting with "J." (If you click on the image, it will come up larger on your screen.)

Bonus points: Can anyone name whose house the second picture was taken at?

And for homework: Now we need pictures of those very cute younger cousins. Can anybody help with those? Thanks!

From Betsy: Grandpa's last year

As I entered adulthood (my 20s) and began moving around a bit, my visits to Quentin were less frequent. However, after Grandma died I went to live with Grandpa for what ended up being the last year of his life. It was during a turning point in my own journey in life, transitioning from a search to “find meaning in life” to discovering a relationship with God — one that actually led me to life with Grandpa.

When I moved in, he announced, “I’ve been cooking for many years. Now you can do the cooking!” I informed him that I didn’t really know much about cooking, to which he replied, “Then I’ll teach you!” And that he did — from beef vegetable soup to boiled chicken potpie to fried chicken and homemade French fries to corn meal mush (first hot for breakfast, the next day sliced and fried, sometimes made with scrapple) to potato bread to doughnuts and raisin rings and peanut butter candy. We didn’t use written-down recipes. I learned how to trust my taste.

Grandpa told me that everyone loved his bread and candy but no one had learned how to make them. Of course I said I’d love to learn, as did Uncle Pete and Uncle Paul. I have yet to venture making the candy by myself, but someday I will surprise everyone.

Grandpa had a variety of cars over the years. I doubt that any of them were new. He’d buy them used and keep them running, usually by his own repairs. The two that I remember were a gold Hudson and a DKW. The Hudson he had when we were children. I remember because it was so big and I was so little. I loved the smooth, curving look of it. When I climbed into the back seat and the door what shut, I felt as though I had sunk into a big pillow. I couldn’t see out of the window or the door, and the back of the seat went up very high. When Grandpa started driving, it felt like riding on a cloud — no bumps. To this day, if I were ever to have a classic car, I’d have a gold Hudson.

The DKW I remember as Grandpa’s last car. I had heard comments from some of his children that he probably shouldn’t be driving anymore, but — how to tell him?! He asked me if I’d like to drive it, and did I think I’d be able to handle five forward gears — on the floor. I said I’d try, and with much relief I took to it. He was impressed with my efforts and from then on I always got to drive when I was there. Whew!

I loved to go to town (Lebanon, that is) with Grandpa. He had certain stores for certain items. Kugler’s Fish market for oysters; A&P for Bokar or 8 O’Clock coffee; Weiss Markets for general goods; and Fry’s Market on Colebrook Road for Martin’s Meats.

For my 26^th birthday, Uncle Jim and Aunt Gerry wanted to throw a surprise birthday party for me at their house in Lebanon. They asked Grandpa to go along with a story that they were going to take us out for a Chinese dinner. I think it was a hard thing for Grandpa to do, being the very honest man he was. But here’s how it went: He didn’t look enthusiastic. He asked me if he had to wear a suit. Then: “I guess I’ll have to shave.” Then: “I don’t like Chinese food.” With all his foot-dragging, I was convinced he was just coming along to this Chinese affair to humor his family. He was so proud of himself when the surprise came off without a hitch and he hadn’t spilled the beans.

One day Grandpa said his children wanted him to continue his biographical efforts to include his life up into married life and children. He asked if I would write it down as he told the story. So — he would sit in the big old brown stuffed rocking chair in the kitchen (I believe it was first put there for Grandma) and I would sit at the kitchen table and write as fast as I could.

During that year, I was transported back in time. He would tell me about life in the early 1900s and sometimes we’d take a drive and explore places he’d not been to in a long time. There was a man in Cornwall whose name I can’t remember, a self-professed expert on area history. Grandpa would consult with him on places like Penryn Park (The train would take you there; it’s in the woods in the same area where the Boyer reunions are held now.) to see if they still existed.

Uncle Sam (Grandpa’s only living sibling at that time) would come down from Catasauqua and stay overnight in Quentin. Then Grandpa and I would drive him to his A-frame cabin in the woods, just down the dirt road a bit from “the old homestead” where they grew up. He’d stay there by himself for a few days, and then we’d reverse the process. One time the three of us went to the stone foundation remains of No. 62, the home where they grew up. They came upon two huge rocks at the edge of the road and argued over which one they had chipped away at as boys. The times that Uncle Sam stayed with us were precious — late evenings of two 80-plus-year-old brothers remembering. If only I had had a tape recorder going.

One time they were discussing (or was it arguing) about Great-Grandpa Boyer’s Civil War saber. Every year at the reunion the saber would be passed from one sibling to another for the year. I had a feeling that Grandpa had had it for more than a year. A day or so after Grandpa died, Uncle Sam came to the house. The first words out of his mouth were, “Where’s the saber?” After it was securely in his possession, he warmly greeted and visited with us all.

Every evening Grandpa and I would sit in the living room, he in the chair in front of the window by the sofa and me across from him at the other end of the sofa. I would read to him the “funnies” — Dagwood and Beatle Bailey; the sports article related to the Phillies; the obituaries, and the headlines from the front page of the Lebanon Daily News. If the Phillies were playing, he’d listen to the game on the radio, getting up to go to the kitchen for a handful of peanuts, later pulling from his shirt pocket a couple of Rolaids. If there wasn’t a game, he’d listen to a talk-radio program and at midnight a Christian program called Nightsongs which was mostly quiet music. Once a week there was a German (or maybe Pennsylvania Dutch) preacher he liked.

One evening he had made several trips back and forth between the living room and kitchen, putting a pill under his tongue and checking the big-dial clock on top of the piano. I asked what was wrong. He said he was having some chest pain. I was going to call the doctor, but he said not to. When I asked him again, he was adamant that I shouldn’t call. He sat down in his chair. His head went back and his breathing changed. I called 911 but by the time the ambulance crew arrived, he was standing on the shore with Grandma, they were both healthy and just as he had pictured their reunion so many times that year.

He never talked to me about faith or God, but after Grandma died, he had a number of visits with Reverend Baseshore of the Cornwall Methodist Church. I think he wanted there to be no doubt about his getting to where Grandma had gone.

Grandma and Grandpa were a major source of love and security in my life. No matter what had happened or how long I had been away, I was always welcomed with a big bear hug — sometimes with Grandpa’s strong body odor (because deodorant was not for men), and usually with sharp whiskers rubbing my cheek because he was happy to have the freedom not to shave after he retired. They never criticized me or showed disapproval of any sort, even when I was trying to be a hippie and couldn’t seem to find my way. There were no lectures, just love and acceptance. They knew who I was at the core and always believed that I would make it to where I was supposed to be. Well, here I am and there you have my memories from age 61. I’m about to become a grandparent myself. May I provide what I’ve received and make a safe place for this new generation.

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Bringing up Baby: The Hex and Catnip Tea

In 1969, nearly fifty years after Grandpa first became a father, he was the proud patriarch of a family of seven children, their spouses and 20-some grandchildren. In that year I wrote to tell him I was pregnant (with my first-born Lee, now 40 and a father himself). The letter below was Grandpa's response. It is in my personal collection of all-time favorite letters. I am delighted to share it with you all and hereby dedicate this wonderful essay to all expectant and new parents in the Boyer family.

June 25^th (1969)

Dear Sylvia,

As usual I am slow in answering your letter. Not only your letter but any letters, it seems to become a habit as I get older. But then your letter give me something of a jolt, after going through the ordeal or shall we say ordeals of twenty grand-children. Now this — a great-grandfather. Oh, I’m sure I can take it, I am very glad you told me so soon it gives me time to condition myself for my new status of great-grandfather.

As for giving you advice: They (the babies) should come with instructions like an electric mixer or a lawn mower, but unfortunately they dont. Oh you can get lots of advice especitly frome people that never had children, you can get books on how to raise children, what to do and what not to do. But mostly they havent got the answers. The little Tykes are unpredictable, demanding and clever. They have you figured out long before you give them credit for figuring. They seem to know frome the start they can get food by kicking and howling. It does not take them long to learn they can get attention the same way. The older they get the more attention they demand. They have been keeping Mothers busy and worried for ages. Mothers have tried many things.

There was the era of the witches. When baby started cutting capers Mamma would remember a neighbor had borrowed a cup of sugar or maybe it was a measure of cornmeal. She (the neighbor) had taken reather a long look at the baby, had made some remark about it being such a pretty child. Baby was asleep in the cradle. That must have been the witch that took baby’s rest. A witch must first borrow something frome you before she can cast spells around your house (remember that).

So Mamma takes Junior or Fanny as the case may be down the road to the old lady who can powwow for a lot of things. She can make a thief bring back a stolen article and if a sweetheart shows signs of loosing intrest, she has a love powder if dropped in his wine or coffee it will rekindle the dieing flame. She can do a lot of other things. The Mother tells her about lending the woman the cornmeal and the woman going in the roome and looking at the baby while she was getting the cornmeal. So she does not know if she tutched the baby or not. But since that time the baby hasent had any rest.

The old lady looks at the baby, nods her head, lays the baby on the kitchen table, makes some motions with her hands and mumbles some words which of course the Mother does not understand. She gives the Mother a little bag tied shut with a red string. What ever is in the bag smells awful. Keep it close to the baby, it will keep the evil spirits away. Go now when you get home the spell will be broken. Dont let her in the house or lent her anything. If you have the doore open lay the broome across the doore sill. The Hex will not step across it.

The Mother is very kind to the little one when she gets home. She puts the broome across the doore sill, tucks the little bag under the blanket, sets on the rocking chair, cuddles the little one close to her, starts rocking and singing a baby song. This is just what the little Tyke wanted. He goes to sleep, the Hexes spell is broken, the Mother is happy.

The Hexes faded out somewhere around the 1900s. You heard about a woman now and then that was supposed to have Hexing Powers. But no one paid much attention. So they just seem to fade away.

I grew up in what may be called the catnip era. Junior starts yowling at night. You stand it as long as you can, then: Aint you going to do something? Aw, you pick him up I am awful sleepy. You take him in your arms and start the parade around the bedroome. This is not what Junior wanted. Your chest felt like layin against a board, your arms felt hard and uncomfortable. You carried him like you would an arm full of wood. You jarred him as you parated around the roome. So instead of getting quiet he turnes on more power. Mamma gets up, give him to me. She lays him against her sholder and starts patting him on the backside. He lets up some. She says Has the little Man got a belly ake? Get some catnip tea. You say Oh no. We have to do something for the poore child. By her look and tone of her voice you know you’d better get the tea. So you walk around the yard in your nightshirt with a lantern hunting catnip. When you find a stalk you pull off a handful, take it to the house. Junior has stopped crying he sobs now and then. You brew the tea put some sugar in it. Mamma tests it to see that it is the right tempreture. You pore it in the bottle and Junior goes to work on it. He drinks the tea. Mamma lays him against her sholder and pats him. He burps a couple of times then goes to sleep. Mamma tucks him in the crib. You go back to bed you are just in a good sleep when the alarm goes off.

Of course there were variations. Junior didn’t always get belly ake at night. Catnip was widely used especilty among people in the country. Mabe it was a Pennsylvania Dutch remendy. But I am sure it cured many a belly ake.

Now the psychologist has taken over. I am afraid our little friend is not doing so well. He is fed by the clock you dont pick him up when he cries that is exercice for him. And you must never never rock him. If you pick him up and cuddle him you will spoil him. They may be right but give me the catnip methot. There is nothing dearer or more loveable than that little bit of humanity laying on its back kicking up its legs batting his arms and giving you that precious baby smile when you talk to him.

Sylvia, Grandma and I are very happy for you. I think you are so wise in having your family now instead of being a professional woman first. You could not enjoy your family as you will now. We enjoyed your visit very much. You know the latchstring is always out for you.

Tomorrow I will take Mother in to Aunt Ethel then I will visit my Sister Millie at the home. Mother and I are about the same as when you was here. It is now almost 3 AM. I will close and go to bed, so wishing you a very pleasant good night,

Love frome Grandma and Grandpa

Young Peter Boyer in love

Peter and Alma Boyer on their wedding day, April 26, 1920

I found the letter transcribed below among my mother's things in a small packet of letters she had labeled "Important." It was written by our Grandpa (Peter) to his brother Sam in 1921 on the day before Peter first became a father. When he writes, it is 10 months since he and Alma had been married and they are living in Harrisburg not far from Alma's mother. It is Alma's time and the decision was made for her to have the baby in a hospital. Peter, now alone at home and full of anxiety about the childbirth and the trauma his new wife is undergoing, does not have the luxury of calling his family. So he pours out his feelings in this letter to his younger brother. The next day he finishes the letter with news of the new baby.

We are so used to thinking of Grandpa as a wise and seasoned father and grandfather. This letter reminds us that he too was once a young man anxiously contemplating what it would mean to be a parent and hoping to live up to his new responsibilities. It is also a moving account of his and Grandma's first reactions to their new little one.

I don't know how this letter ended up with my mother, but I can imagine that at some time Sam came across it in his saved correspondence, and thought that either Grandpa or Mother would appreciate having it. Either way, I am grateful. Sylvia

Harrisburg, Pa Feb 10-21

Sam Old Boy,

I have wrote many letters to you under almost all kinds of circumstances. But never like this. I took Alma to the Hospitle at three-thirty this morning (The Doctor took her in the car). In a few hours She will be a mother. But oh, Sam the agony the uncertainty of those hours. Sam can you imagine what I feel like here by myself in the early morning hours. With the little girl that means more than life to me there among strangers suffering the worst pain a human being can suffer. And facing — God Sam I cannot write it. I never knew what that little Girl means to me. It would be a thousand times easier to be with her and go through it all with her than be here by myself. Why did I send her to the Hospitle. Well for many reasons. It is almost impossible to get a nurse. And roomes are a very poor place for a case like that, you haven’t got the roome. And last but not least. They can give her better care there then she could have had at home. And no matter how serious the case, they can handle it there, which they can’t always in a home.

How lonesome and dismal it is. It is raining. It is a quarter to six and there is no sign of Dawn. I could not go to bed after I come back frome the Hospitle. Am writing just to have my mind on something. I wrote home and now I am trying to get a letter together for you. This may seem funny to you Sam but you cannot imagine what it is like til you yourself go through it. So much depents on the next few hours. Why can’t a fellow look on the bright side and expect the best. But somehow all kinds of things come into my mind I can’t help it and they drive me nearly crazy. Yet there is nothing to do but wait and trust in him that rules all things.

How weak we are Sam when we have health and everything. We never think of him who is responsible for it all. But in time of sickness or trouble He is the first one we turn too and the onley one who can give us consilation. And he never fails. Well I will finish this letter later, and tell you the good news.

Feb. 11, 8 p.m.

Well Sam a new Page of this life was opened for me today. It is a Girl born at eleven oclock and weigh 5 – 8-1/4 Pounds. Alma wanted a girl so bad and I am glad she has her wish. Why Alma is good. The little girl has dark hair and large dark eyes like its mother. Yes Sam a little life that I am responsible for. And I hoap that God give me strength and understanding that I may teach it the right Path in its youth. Give it teaching that will impress it through life. May God give me strength and wisdom to bring it up and teach it like our dear Father taught us and I will be satisfied.

Yes Sam I have enjoyed a happiness you have not. I cannot describe the feeling when first I looked upon my child. There was a strange feeling, a pain around my heart. I couldn’t talk. I don’t know if I was supposed to make a fuss over it or not. If I was, the nurse must have been disappointed. I don’t remember now what I said. Sam it was a feeling I cannot describe and you cannot understand until you yourself have experienced it which I hoap you may someday.

When I seen Alma I bauled like a kid Sam. When I come to the bed she looked up at me and smiled and asked if I had seen it. Her face was white as a corp’s there was lines in her face. Telling of the awful agonies and pain she had suffered, was even then suffering. But the brave little girl was satisfied. The child lived and she had her wish it was a girl.

I had decited to go in with a smile on my face and say cheering words. But as I bend over her and kissed her lips, her little arm stole around my neck. I couldn’t hold back the tears to save my life. She didn’t say anything, her arm crept a little closer around my neck for she understood.

There are five episodes in my life. But the last one is greater then the other four put together. First was when I discovered that I loved her. I was happy then at times but the uncertainty of it often caused more pain than happiness. When she promised to be my wife my happiness new no bound and on our wedding day I knew I could not be happier or thought I couldn’t. But that night Sam when I held her in my arms and realized that she was on the borderland of womanhood about to step out of girlhood never to enter it again. There for the first time I felt that pain at my heart.

Sam you have held your little wife in your arms that you thought you couldn’t hold her tight enough, that you was afraid to let her go for fear something would happen. But today as I gazed on that little girl who had just come back from the gates of Death, there was a feeling come into my heart I never felt there before. A feeling you cannot realize until you realize what it means to bring a child into this world. Bill told me about it I thought I knew what he ment but I did not.

The nurse brought the child over to the bed. It was crying a little. She laid it on Alma’s arm and the child was quiet. Alma said do you know your Mother already. How strange yet how good it sounded. And there looking at my wife and child I felt a happiness I never felt before and somehow my whole life is changed. There is new joy in life. I can heardly wait till they come home.

Alma will have to stay down there about two weeks. And believe me it is some lonesome around here. I am going to keep bachlors hall. Well I suppose you are getting tired of my raving. But I am full and just have to let some of it out and there is nobody here to talk too.

I don’t know if this is a surprise to you and Edythe or not it is supposed to be. It was the reason we did not make that visit this summer. We was saving the cash and believe me we need it now and more too. I am still out of work. I earned a little over three dollars yesterday helping to paint a fellows roofe. That is the first money I earned since the last of Dec. But now that Alma and the Baby (Does that sound funny) are safe I am not worring. We will get along somehow and work will brighten up sometime. Then look what I will have to work for. Extra expenses too you say. Yes but it is worth it a hundred times.

I may be able to come home {note: to their mother’s home} when you do I will try at least. I sure would like to see you and Edythe both.

I will close now and write Alice a letter and by that time it will be time to hit the hay. With best regards to Edythe I remain your loving Brother Pete

P.S. Why we haven’t named it yet, will let you know later

Letter is addressed to: Mr. S.P. Boyer, 126 Hawerton Ave., Catasauqua Pa

Return address: 621 Muench St, Hbg Pa

Postmark: Harrisburg, Feb 12, 3 p.m. 1921

U.S. postage: 2 cents

* * * * *

The Children of Peter and Alma

Seven Siblings and their spouses: These two pictures, taken at a gathering at Jim and Gerry's house in 1984, are the only ones I know that include all seven of Peter and Alma's children and their spouses. As I look at these pictures, I think what good role models we had for marriage and family. All seven children married and had children. Although all had their hard times, challenges and tribulations, none divorced. All maintained loving relationships with the larger family. We grandchildren were fortunate to be born into that loving circle. I think of this blog as one way to keep the circle unbroken.

Top picture, l to r: From youngest to oldest, Jim, Allen, Paul, Pete, Ethel, Alice (Ditty) and Doris.

Bottom picture, l to r: Gerry and Jim, Joan and Al, Genivieve and Paul, Ruth and Pete, Ethel and John, Alice and Tom, and Arthur and Doris.

The PA Dutch in us all

While most of us today don’t speak Pennsylvania Dutch, I wonder if at your house there might be a few “Dutchy” words or expressions still in circulation. There are two words my Mother used that I never found in the English Dictionary. She would say, “Don’t ruch around so much.” Or: “She was a really ruchy baby; she just wouldn’t sit still on your lap.” So I understood "ruchy" to mean some form of squirmy or restless. I’m not even sure how to spell it, because I never saw this word written down.

Another word used at our house was “shustle.” You would talk about a person shustling through things, meaning going through fast and sloppy, likely leaving a mess behind. Or you might say someone has “shustlich,” meaning that fast and sloppy was their style. Or: "Don't shustle so." The word didn't quite have the power of "a bull in a china shop," but on that order.

Then there was a word I heard at school. The teacher would say, “Now this afternoon we’re all going to red out our desks.” That meant to clean out your desk. Do any of these words sound familiar to you?

Or do you use other words from the PA Dutch? I’d love to hear about them. Oh, and also my father would often greet his brother-in-laws and cousins with a hearty “Ve gates?”— How’s it going? I'm guessing that's still common in Lebanon County.

From Aunt Ethel: Childhood Days

Memories of Home

(Written for Doris’s 80^th birthday, 2001)

How well I remember the carefree days of childhood, when we lived in the big house by the Cornwall Pike. Three little sisters, how we loved to play in the big yard. We had tea parties. We played hide and seek and tag. We walked to Miss Mollie’s Inn for penny candy.

Our house had a living room, dining room, kitchen and a big spare room that was our playroom. The second floor had bedrooms and a third-floor attic.

We felt loved and secure. We had our mother and daddy to watch over us. And also for a while our grandma, whom we called Mam, lived with us. She loved us and rocked us and gave us candy from a special drawer in her room.

When Doris went to school and learned to read, she read to us. Some of my favorites were Aesop’s Fables and Pinnochio.

We made dollhouses out of cardboard cartons. We cut out doors and windows and pasted paper for curtains. And we made up adventures with our little dolls. Sometimes we made tents by putting down chairs and spreading blankets over them, then crawling around underneath. Sometimes we put on plays for mother and daddy. I guess, at times, we got pretty rambunctious. Then Dad would holler “Pipe down!” and that made us giggle.

Our neighbors were the Keith family. We played with Doris and Winifred. Frankie was just a little toddler. He grew up to be a great basketball player and later a coach.

* * * * *

Christmas was always a magical time. We woke early on Christmas morn and rushed downstairs to see if Santa had arrived. We were never disappointed — there was always a large beautifully decorated tree and presents.

We loved our Harrisburg relatives. Grandma Blough, our mother’s mother, was sweet, stylish and full of fun. She usually brought along graham crackers, peanut butter and marshmallows. What a treat! Mother’s sister, Aunt Ethel, and her husband Uncle Charl brought our sent us a bag of gifts.

Uncle Charl sort of looked down his nose at our noisy gang. He tolerated us except for Doris. They loved Doris dearly and would have adopted her as their own. But of course, Mother and Dad would have none of that. But they felt sorry for Aunt Ethel and did share Doris with them in the summers. So she was lucky. But I guess there were times when she would rather have been in the bosom of her family.

The day came when we had a little brother Peter and eventually another brother Paul. We loved the little guys and love to hold and play with them.

When the Depression came, Dad moved us to Quentin. He bought us a home and we lived there until we were grown and on our own. What dear memories I have of that little home. We explored our new neighborhood and soon settled in. The school was just up the lane, so we came home for lunch.

Harry and Katie Sechrist were our neighbors. They had a little son, Harry. They were good neighbors and Dad and Harry become life-long friends.

We liked the Quentin school and had some good teachers. On holidays the school put on little plays. We were so proud to have Mother attend the performances.

Dad became a huckster to feed and support the family during the Depression. He drove to Philadelphia in our Dodge car and bought fruit and vegetables and some meat and beans, then sold it in our neighborhood. Also we had fresh vegetables from Dad’s garden. We also had a grape arbor and a patch of rhubarb.

I remember eating puffed rice and shredded wheat for breakfast. Also, Daddy made delicious mush. We loved it warm with milk and sugar or fried and covered with molasses.

A little brother, Allen, was born a handsome babe with a great big grin. It seemed Mother always had a baby in her arms. The years kept going by. We girls loved to roller skate at the school grounds on the sidewalk. And once in a while at the Mount Gretna Roller Rink. What a treat!

Doris was the oldest and always broke new ground for the rest of us. She was the first one to date — over Dad’s strong objections. But Mother intervened and eventually Doris dated and the world didn’t come to an end. So by the time Alice and I wanted to date, it was alright as long as we brought our friends home for Mother and Dad to meet.

Another little brother, James, was born and completed our family. He was cute and curly-haired and, at a young age, quite a singer.

* * * * *

The Cornwall Methodist Church played a big part in our lives. We went to Sunday school and church. When older, we sang in the junior choir and later in the senior choir. Mother sang in the choir. She had a beautiful alto voice. We girls were active in the church league and, when Reverend Johnston was minister, they always had a hymn sing for us at parsonage after church. Several romances blossomed there. Doris met Harold Light, the organist. It was a love affair that let to marriage and three wonderful children — Sylvia, Betsy and Barbara.

These are over 70 years of memories. I was always glad I was part of a big family. I never knew life any other way. From my first memories, I had sisters to play with and then brothers. The give-and-take of family life was the only way of life I knew. Mother and Dad tried to be fair. They loved us all.

When Doris went to college, I missed her greatly. We looked forward to her letters and when she came home for holidays. The same with Alice. She was away for long periods at school in Virginia. I had the opportunity to visit with her there.

Mother played the piano so we always had music in our home. She loved to get us children around the piano and have a hymn sing.

Other memories are of good home-baked bread — warm, fresh from the oven. Sticky buns and doughnuts! Dad made his special candy for Christmas and sometimes Easter. Mother made good taffy and we children learned to make fudge — still a favorite to this day.

* * * * *

We loved our aunts and uncles and cousins. We had great reunions at Walnut Springs.

We children went away to school — then started to marry and have children of our own. But the little house in Quentin remained a sweet gathering place. It was there that I met my dear husband John. Brother Pete had brought him to our home. The family grew larger with in-laws, nieces and nephews. All were welcome and loved at our little Quentin home.

We were very happy for Doris, in later years after being a widow, that she met and married Arthur Wilson — another fine musician. We all love and enjoy him. He has been a great addition to the family.

“Happy Birthday, Dear Sister”

From Uncle Paul: A reminiscence in verse

Memories of Home

(Written for sister Doris’s 80^th birthday in 2001)

Sometimes it’s nice to reminisce

About what used to be

And think of all the things we shared

As one great family

So Doris, on this special day

I’d like to share with you

Some things I think of from our home

A memory or two

Our home was filled with lots of love

And though life at times was hard

Much of the food that sustained us then

Was grown in our back yard

The special goodies that came from our kitchen

Were always a special treat

Though times were hard and money was scarce

We always had plenty to eat

Sticky buns, doughnuts and shoofly pie

Were some of the treats we would share

And don’t forget Dad’s homemade bread

Our cupboards were never bare

Our house was such a busy place

There were always people everywhere

With seven siblings running around

We soon learned how to share

So we shared our toys and we shared our space

Our bedroom held four boys

And it wasn’t unusual for someone to holler

“Boys, you’re making too much noise!”

I will always remember those cold winter nights

When the wind was howling away

Mother would finish the dishes and turn down the lamp

Then go to the piano and play

She would play Hearts and Flowers, then some peppy tune

And before the night was through

With a little prodding, Dad would respond

By reciting a poem or two

I remember the Wreck of the Hesperus

And The Touch of the Master’s Hand

That Old Sweetheart of Mine was next

Told in Dad’s fashion, so grand

Then we would coax, “Dad, don’t stop now

Oh please, won’t you do just one more”

Then of course he’d oblige with our favorite poem

The Face on the Bar Room Floor

Then Dad would say, “Let’s all gather round

And do a little singing”

And before you know it the old Boyer house

With harmony was ringing

And remember the swing on the old back porch

Where Mother loved to go

The family would gather to share the day

As the sun was sinking low

And as twilight fell you could hear the call

Of the bobwhites and whippoorwills

And the old freight train as it chugged and chugged

Trying to make the hill

Then over the top and on its way

The chugging would slowly fade

But we knew tomorrow the train would be back

Once again to challenge the grade

Now I think of Dad’s life and the old freight train

How each day they both tackled the grade

They both chugged along til they conquered the hill

Knowing full well the progress they made

Was only accomplished one day at a time

Each day was a challenge anew

So with ne’er a complaint and with little restraint

He would do what he had to do

I stand in awe of the things Dad accomplished

No mountain was too high to climb

Dad always told me, when you come to a mountain

You climb it one step at a time

And I think of Mother who rarely complained

And the talents that she possessed

She gave us her love, her hugs healed our hearts

As a family we were truly blessed

Now the years have flown by and the old home’s long gone

But the memories forever endure

And the bond that we feel as we walk through this life

Shall forever remain secure

To a very special sister on her birthday

With lots of love, Paul

From Betsy: Childhood memories of Grandma and Grandpa

One of my earliest childhood memories is of sitting on the drainboard by the kitchen sink at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Grandma was giving me a bath. Her gentle hands lathered me all over with a washcloth that was so full of Ivory soap suds that I could have slipped right through her hands — but I didn’t. Grandma was humming as she washed me and she smelled so good — later I recognized that scent as April Showers talcum powder.

As I grew up, visits to Quentin were a regular part of life. Like Tom, Larry and Sue, Sylvia and I stayed with Grandpa on choir practice evenings. Our father Harold was the organist at the Cornwall Methodist Church and Mother and Grandma sang in the choir. Our other grandmother (Elizabeth Light) and Grandma Boyer sat together in the alto section. They were two very respected women in the church and quite the picture of refinement. But they could get the giggles. Grandma Light told me many times the story of a Sunday when something in the service struck the two of them as funny. Sitting there in front of the church, they smiled and caught each other’s eye, then quickly looked away and valiantly tried to keep their composure. Beneath their choir gowns, their bellies were jiggling in silent laughter as they fought the impulse to laugh out loud. They would just get themselves under control, and then one would feel the bench shaking again as the other one dissolved into soundless giggles. “Oh, how we laughed about that later,” Grandma Light would say.

Music was a lovely thread in Grandma Boyer’s life. She could read music, sing and play the piano. I can picture her at the piano in the living room playing hymns, and the room full of Boyers singing in four-part harmony. I never had to learn how to harmonize — it came from hearing those harmonies, even in the womb. Besides hymns, Grandma played pieces she had learned as a young woman in Harrisburg when she had a job accompanying the silent movies. “Humoresque” is the one I remember. But she knew many more, a variety of tunes to go with battles, heroes, villans and romantic interludes.

I also remember a taffy pull Grandma set up in the kitchen. I was too little to do the pulling, but I did enjoy the creamy feel and taste of the warm taffy in my mouth.

Grandma had big brown eyes and long, dark hair that was so beautiful. When I was little, she generally wore her hair swept up in the style of the 40s. Mother told me she would bring in rainwater to wash her hair, from the barrel where it was collected at a rainspout at the back of the house. She said that rainwater left your hair soft and shiny.

For most of my life the summer kitchen was a storage room, and I don’t really know its functioning in its prime. But I do have in my memory what would be a wonderful painting of Grandma, standing in the summer kitchen doing the laundry at the Maytag wringer washer. She fed the soapy wash between two smooth rollers to wring out the suds before they went into the rinse tub, then sent the clothes through the rollers a second time to wring out the rinse water before she hung the wash on the line. With her big family, Grandma spent a lot of time on laundry. One time she got her arm caught in the wringer and had a nasty injury to the skin on that arm. Years later I helped Grandma Light with her wringer washer and was always careful to keep my hands away from those rollers.

Also in the summer kitchen was a huge cardboard box that Grandma had filled with dress-up clothes. I remember playing a make-believe game about a queen. The queen got to wear the patent leather pumps, sat on the bed and ordered everyone else around. The cast would change depending on which of us grandchildren were there. The bottom step of the staircase that went upstairs doubled as a secret toy box. The step was a hinged lid that opened up and there were toys inside.

The upstairs originally consisted of three bedrooms off of an open space at the top of the steps. It was a storage place and there was a treadle sewing machine set up. There was no indoor bathroom like we had at home. You went to an outhouse at the end of the long sidewalk in the back yard. In summer, the outhouse could be warm and sunny with bugs flying or crawling around the top, but cold and dark on a fall or winter evening. Take a flashlight! For night-time use, there was a white enamel chamber pot at the top of the stairs. It was carried down to the outhouse and emptied in the morning. One day when we went to visit, Grandpa and a couple of his sons were making a lot of noise and commotion upstairs. As we found out, they were turning the space at the top of the stairs into a bathroom. What a major event!

The upstairs was unheated. The stairway door was kept closed to keep the heat in the downstairs. Mother often told of how she and her two sisters slept in the attic when the brothers came along. They would get into their nightgowns downstairs behind the warm stove in the kitchen. Then they would run up two flights of stairs and quick jump into bed under thick comforters. The three of them would keep each other warm until morning when, again, they would grab their clothes and run back down to the warm kitchen to dress for the day.

When we stayed overnight, I especially remember sleeping in the front bedroom toward the alley. As a child, and even as a young adult, there was something special about staying overnight at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Snuggled deep under the heavy old comforters in winter, you could hear the voices of adults downstairs and the big Bendix clock ticking away in Grandma and Grandpa’s bedroom. You might smell chocolate, because Grandpa often stored the boxes of candy he was making for gifts in the bureau drawers in that room. In the morning my wake-up call was not from people, but from the mourning doves that nested right outside the window. “Oo-ka doo-doo-doo.” We’d go downstairs where Grandma was busy at the sink or stove. She’d fix us cereal. Later a grumpy Grandpa would tromp down the steps. “Good morning, Grandpa,” we’d say. “What’s good about it?” he’d growl. Then he’d have his coffee and gradually his world would begin to brighten up. I now know that process myself. Don’t ask me any questions until I’ve had my morning coffee. Grandpa would often call it his “cup of joe.”

Sometimes when I’d come to visit, Grandpa would take me over to the kitchen cupboard and get me a big gumdrop from a little white bag. I would only get one, because he bought them for Grandma.

I remember when the coal truck would pull up in the alley beside the house. The driver would get out and position a metal chute from the truck to the cellar window to deliver coal for the furnace. That was quite an event for us children to see the coal come shooting down the slide with a deafening rattle and a big cloud of dust.

Also along the side alley near the front of the house there were grapes growing. I would stand and pick and eat them one at a time, squeezing the slippery inside into my mouth first. The inside was tart but the skin was sweet.

Beside the front porch in front of the living room windows were beautiful hydrangea bushes with bluish-purple blooms the size of cauliflowers. I remember hearing that they were “Grandma’s hydrangeas.” I was not sure what that meant, but I was impressed to the point where today I’d like to have “my own” hydrangea bushes.

Just beyond the back porch to the left was a water pump. I remember when I was very young trying to get the water to come by pumping the handle up and down. There was also a pump in the front yard of a neighbor across the street. Mother said that it was a community pump in the years before people had their own water supply.

My father said that “Mother Boyer” could make the simplest offering of food or drink irresistible: “Would you like a nice cold glass of water?”

Harry Sechrist was a long-time friend of Grandpa’s. I guess they worked together in the ore mines at Cornwall. When they lost their jobs during the Depression, they drove down to Baltimore once a week and bought as much produce as they could, brought it back and peddled it out of a car around town the rest of the week. When I was a child, Harry still peddled fruits and vegetables from what I would call a bakery truck. You could walk up a few steps into an open space with wooden trays on either side, displaying his wares. I don’t remember much about the fruits and vegetables or what Grandpa bought. I always had my eye on the candy he kept in a container at the top of the steps. I would wait for him to ask me if I’d like a piece, and of course, “yes.” The other memorable part of Harry’s stops at Grandpa’s was that the two men would chat for a long while in Pennsylvania Dutch. Grandpa grew up in a home where Pa. Dutch was the first language. When he married Grandma, she didn’t speak or understand it, so it was not the common language in their home. In fact, when Grandpa did speak Dutch to someone, like his mother “Mam” who lived with them for some years, Grandma felt excluded. So Grandpa needed to be careful on that count. But he did often speak to his sister and brothers on the phone in Dutch. None of the children or grandchildren learned to speak Pa. Dutch, as was the case in many families at that time.

For me, going to Grandma and Grandpa’s house was always a wonderful experience. Whether it was just me or many grandchildren at a time, we would always be enveloped by love and acceptance. We learned to appreciate and respect the family members of older generations. My parents never spoke ill of my grandparents in our hearing and vice versa.

In the evening, I especially loved lying on the sofa in the living room with the lights out and the curtain drawn between the living room and kitchen. The adults would be in the kitchen talking. Maybe Mother encouraged us to go and lie down if it was late on a school night, I don’t remember. I never listened to what the adults were saying, but their voices were like a lullaby as I drifted off to sleep. For many years of my life, the image of sleeping on that sofa, lights out, voices in the kitchen, was a comfort place in my mind. I would automatically go there when I felt uneasy or insecure in my own world.

If it was a big family gathering, there was also a predictable pleading from the cousins when it was time to leave, begging for a sleepover at one house or another. Sometimes we got our wish!

* * * * *

How tragic when we learned that life as it had always been could be so drastically changed by a mental illness that neither Grandma nor Grandpa caused or could remedy. As Grandma’s illness developed, Grandpa’s thoughts of the two of them doing some traveling once he retired were quietly put away. This was in the 1950s, when our family had moved to New Jersey. I was about 8. Trips back to Pennsylvania began to include visits with Grandma at Wernersville State Hospital and later, Philhaven in Mount Gretna. The doctors tried to find a way to balance Grandma’s mood swings between manic activity and depression. As Tom mentioned in his memories, the medication that finally gave her some relief also caused continual jerking movements of her head and arm. It became difficult for her to eat or write, and was so embarrassing for her. She could no longer hold the babies and give them warm, soapy baths in the sink or rock them, singing in that soft buzzing voice that she used only for the babies.

Grandpa’s role became one of caretaker. I do remember seeing pictures of a trip he made to Maine with Joan and Al. Is that correct? But he was loathe to leave his true love, his “Almo.” As his eyesight worsened, Grandma would come to be his vision, and he would do most of the shopping and cooking. Toward the end of their lives, they had a sweet rhythm. Grandma would get up early and come down and start the coffee brewing. Grandpa would sleep late, come downstairs grumpy until he had some coffee. They would spend the day together, and often there would be a visit from one or more of Paul’s family, Aunt Ethel or others. Grandma would go to bed early in the evening, and Grandpa would stay up late, often listening to a favorite program on the radio, maybe a Phillies baseball game. As his children asked him to tell the story of his life, he would use those late hours to write, and later, as his eyesight grew poor, dictate into a tape recorder. What a treasure those stories, poems and songs are for us.

What's for Dinner? Favorite meals in the early years of the Pete and Alma Boyer household

From time to time over the years, I would ask my mother Doris if she would write about what it was like when she was a girl. She would usually say no, it was too overwhelming a project, she wouldn’t know where to start. So one time I suggested she write about just one part of her growing up, like for instance the food. Not too long afterwards this is what I received in the mail. Sylvia

You’ve asked me about the foods we ate when I was a child. Hence the following:

First of all I need to explain that my mother did not know how to cook when she and my father were married. My Grandmother Boyer — Mam, as she was known to us — lived with us and it was from her that my mother learned to cook, so our foods are basically Pennsylvania Dutch.

We had no refrigerator. A butcher came twice a week with meat that he sold from his truck. The milkman came every day and the baker every other day. The grocery man, like the butcher, came twice a week. Always Mother gave him an order for the next trip and each time he came he made a delivery.

In season we used fresh vegetables from the garden. What we couldn’t use was canned and kept on shelves in the cellar. Potatoes and apples, which were bought by the bushel, were also kept in the cellar, which had a dirt floor and was dark and cool. Milk and butter were also kept there.

Breakfast

I suppose we ate cereals for breakfast but I don’t remember them because my favorite breakfasts were:

1. Molasses bread dipped in coffee. (The bread was buttered first.)
2. Fried mush also with molasses. The cornmeal was cooked as directed on the package, poured into loaf pans to congeal, then sliced about ¼ inch and fried. I think the Spanish have something similar called polenta.
3. Soft-boiled or “dippy” eggs. The latter were made sunny-side up and both kinds were eaten with butter bread. We had no toaster.
4. French toast
5. Cocoa and butter bread

Lunch

I don’t remember lunch as a sit-down meal with the family, but do remember such things as peanut butter sandwiches made with butter and peanut butter (no jelly), Lebanon bologna sandwiches, toasted cheese sandwiches (Note: Despite the name, these were grilled in the frying pan.), and often just bread and butter with radishes, onions, tomatoes or lettuce directly from the garden. Green peppers also were good with butter bread or with cheese. Mother sometimes ground cheese and green peppers in the food grinder to make a sandwich spread.

Dinner

Dinner was definitely a meal that the family shared. I need to remind you that since we had no refrigerator we could not count much on perishable foods. We did have fresh meat on the days that the butcher came, but a staple in our home was bacon bought in a slab and either fried or used in numerous boiled meals. It was smoke-cured and did not have to be refrigerated. We had our own chickens, so chicken and eggs were always available.

These were our most frequent meals:

1. Green beans boiled with potatoes and thick pieces of bacon. These were boiled a long time until the beans were limp. Sometimes Mother thickened the broth with flour.
2. Cabbage cut into wedges and boiled with potatoes and thick pieces of bacon. These were also boiled long until the cabbage had turned pink.
3. Sauerkraut cooked long and slow with pork spareribs, eaten with mashed potatoes. Shoofly pie made a nice dessert with this meal.
4. A big pot of dried lima beans often seasoned only with butter and eaten with butter bread. So good!
5. Pork potpie served with pepper cabbage or pickled red beets. This was a favorite meal and often a company meal.
6. Salt water potatoes with either dandelion greens or lettuce with a warm dressing. These potatoes were peeled and quartered and boiled and served that way. It was common practice to roll a piece of potato in the bacon drippings that were put on the table in a shallow dish or on a deep platter with the fried bacon. The sweet-sour of the greens offset the heaviness of the meat and drippings.
7. Stewed potatoes. These potatoes were thinly sliced and added to a pot in which a layer of bacon had already been browned. They were especially good if eaten with some diced raw onion added at the table.
8. Potato soup — diced potatoes, chopped celery, crisp bacon bits, milk and hard-boiled eggs.
9. Corn fritters — eggs, corn, cracker crumbs.
10. Salmon cakes — canned salmon, eggs, cracker crumbs.
11. Pot roast, mashed potatoes and gravy.
12. Pig stomach stuffed with diced potatoes and smoked sausage and baked. Served with a sweet-sour relish.
13. Stewed chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy.
14. Big pans of thinly sliced raw potatoes, fried in a skillet, a family favorite.
15. Vegetable soup using vegetables from the garden and a meaty soup bone.

Side dishes and desserts

1. Many relishes were made with the basic sweet-sour dressing — equal parts of water and sugar with either one-half or one-third as much vinegar, depending on your taste. Use with:

a) Thinly sliced cucumbers and onions

b) Large pieces of onions, peppers and tomatoes

c) Pepper cabbage

d) Pickled beets — use red beet juice in lieu of water

2. Stewed tomatoes seasoned with bacon and thickened with flour
3. Baked apples
4. Shoofly, raisin and apple pies, the latter eaten hot with milk, often as supper
5. Home made bread and doughnuts
6. Big fat sugar or molasses cookies — good dipped in coffee or milk
7. Chocolate and vanilla puddings made from cornstarch (This was one of the first things I learned to cook.)
8. Big platters of corn on the cob in season
9. Strawberry shortcake made with a biscuit dough and also sometimes eaten as supper
10. Schnitz and nepp — wedges of sweet apples unpeeled and dried, stewed with bacon or smoked sausage and topped with dumplings
11. Mother’s own crab apple jelly and grape butter made from our own fruit. Apple butter from the farmer’s market

Some common practices

Spring onions, radishes and celery were all dipped in salt as they were eaten. In fact, formal place settings included small individual containers for salt.

Lard was the common shortening used for frying and baking.

We had coffee morning, noon and night and often in between. Every guest was offered a cup of coffee.

When Grandma Blough visited we looked forward to a big pan of her delicious baked lima beans (limas, molasses, brown sugar, mustard and bacon). We also liked her special liver and onions and the big kettle of iced tea that she made with mint growing in our garden.

By Doris Boyer Wilson

Grandma and Grandpa Boyer, c 1950

Delightful letters from Grandpa and Grandma

Sylvia shared these wonderful precious letters to Aunt Doris from Grandma and Grandpa.

From the description of my parents, Jim and Gerry, looking for a new place to live, we can date these letters to 1961 or 1962 and almost certainly 1961. Tom

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I am pleased to share a letter that Grandpa Boyer wrote to my mother Doris sometime in the 1960s. After reading it, I could see why she saved this letter. It evokes Grandpa’s voice so strongly. I did add a few periods here and there, but otherwise this transcription is true to Grandpa’s unique style and spelling. I now feel affection for his use of “frome” for “from” and “hoap” for “hope,” etc., preferences that never changed over his life. Folded into his letter was also one from Grandma, included below. From the references to family events, someone may be able to figure out the actual year these letters were written. Sylvia

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June 21 (1961)

Dear Doris,

This is one of those nice rainey days, just an ideal day to write letters. But I can’t get the letter writing spirit. I just finished a letter to Tom an answer to a letter frome him some days agoe. It took me most of the afternoon to write two pages. I don’t know what to write about and don’t know how to say what little there is to write. I told Mother I am going to stop writing letters and make a phone call about once a month. But Mother thought a nine dollar phone call to Japan plus a call to Hightstown was more than we could afford. I told her she would have to do the writing. But she said she could only write when I did. I said I would make believe I was writing while she wrote the letter. But she said no soap. So what do I do now. You say Write. That is easy for you to say. I get paper and pen, sit down at the kitchen table. Now I am all set. I decite I want a cup of coffee. I tell Mother. She says No I am going to make supper we will have coffee then. I say I want it now. Mother says no. I get back to the letter again which I haven’t started yet. I look out the window it is still raining. I look around the kitchen for inspiration but there is nothing there. Mother is mixing biscuit dough for a strawberry short cake. I have given up the idea of a cup of coffee til suppertime.

It does not bother me any more. Correction Mother just surprised me and sat a steaming cup of coffee in front of me. Now to writing. But the problem still is what to write about. I could tell you about the lousey T.V. late show I didn’t watch last evening. But I don’t think you care one way or the other. I like to talk about my akes and pains and all my other troubles but I don’t think you would care to hear about them. Of course there are the things that happen around here that you can use to fill in space. Like for example I got up shortly after nine oclock yesterday morning, had breakfast. Then got to work on the screen door and one window sill tore the old screen off painted the doore and window screen. While it was drying I had lunch mowed the lawn by that time the paint was dry. With Mother’s help I put new screen on both doore and window screen and put new moulding on the doore it made a big emprovement. Before we was finished Uncle Clate come. It was the first time we had seen him for quite awhile. He gets around good he still uses the cane but says he could get along without it. I finished the doore and Mother made a lunch then Paul called and asked if he could use the car. His car was at the place he works he had come home in the truck for some reason I don’t know he invited us along. Mother did not feel like going. But Uncle Clate and I went along. Roots Market is not very far frome Lancaster. So after we got done shopping we took Uncle Clate home. All I got at the Market was two boxes of strawberries. So strawberry short cake for supper.

We spent fathers day at home except my going to church in the morning. Gerry and Jim come here after church. Mother kept Tommy for them they stayed and had dinner with us. Pete and his family stopped off for a little while. Geneviave was in the hospitle on mothers day. So she brought a big two layer cake topped with icing and strawberries for Mother and I. Pete give a cigarett lighter. Jim and Gerry give me two of those heavy mittens you use around cooking. Also a pair of big tongs to use to turn stakes and other meat on the grill. We spent last Tuesday afternoon and evening with Ethel. We had a nice time it was the first time we visited with Ethel for some time. I suppose Mrs. Light told you we have a new minister at Cornwall. Frome what I have seen of him I think I shall like him. Uncle Clate is going to Rev. Wilkensons church in Lancaster. It is late now I listened to the news on T.V. then we watched T.V. for awhile then I had a long chat with Uncle Gere. Then Paul and Geneveave come they brought the mail among it was a swell box of candy. I have made a big hole in it already. It is very good candy. Mother has gone to bed some time agoe. I will close now thanks so much for the candy. I wish for you and the girls a very happy and restful summer vacation. And that goes for you too Harold when your vacation comes up. Give Barbara a hug for Grandpa. Mrs. Light talked so much about her. She made me homesick for her. Give my Love to all, Dad

P.S. I hoap you understand my writing Problim now.

Note: Grandma kept her promise to write a letter if Grandpa did. See below.

Thursday morning, June 22

Dear Doris,

I will add a little to Daddy’s letter. I enjoyed your nice long letter to me. It was also good to hear your voice on the telephone. There is something about your enthusiasm for life and things you are doing, that gives a person a lift.

I think I used to have some of it too But I’ve lost it somehow.

Last week Ethel had her vacation and Daddy and I spent a very nice day with her.

One week we entertained half of the family to a barbecued chicken feast. We had 20 legs and 20 thighs and franks. I made baked potatoes in the oven also a big bowl of salad and cup cakes with marshm. icing for dessert cold lemonade and watermelon to finish with.

The next week we did the same thing for the other half of the family. Of course we set the table out in the yard. The one day was beautiful and cool. The other day we had to come in and finish because of rain.

Jim and Gerry are home hunting either to rent or buy. They would rather rent for a year or two but the rents are from $80 to $100 a month for anything desirable. So they really have a problem. Things are really hard for young people these days to get any kind of a start. Did we tell you that Allen has his Masters now and accepted a new job at Jeffsville for about $1,000 more a year. That should help them a lot.

I wrote a big letter to Aunt Ethel yesterday. I haven’t seen her for quite a while. She writes pretty often.

Peter and Allen and Jim are all working at the gap this summer. Allen has an office job I believe, and Jim and Peter are managers of the P.X. I guess Allen is in a different part of the place and probably won’t see the other boys at work.

We had a nice letter from Alice with 4 very good pictures of Timmy. Alice is feeling better now as she is over that morning sickness. I guess you do know there is a baby on the way again. It will be hard on Timmie as he will be so little too. But it will also be nice for him to have a little playmate. I hope Alice doesn’t have any complications. I think it is hard on her system to go thru so much in such a short time.

We are looking forward to seeing you when you come up this summer. I will close this so we can get it mailed soon.

Much Love, Mother