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

Memories of Grandma and Grandpa

Mother’s Day Speech, May 1994, First United Methodist Church, Trenton

By Doris Boyer Wilson (1921-2009)

As I collected my thoughts for my talk today on this day when we honor mothers, I thought that of all the roles today’s mothers must fill, that of nurturer is most important. Good mothers are always nurturers, but not all nurturers are birth mothers. We could mention many but I am first reminded of Abraham Lincoln’s famous words about his mother — the mother who cared for and encouraged him — “All that I am or hope to be I owe to my angel mother.” And she was not his birth mother. So today I would like to honor all those who fill the role of nurturer.

The influence of a good mother can be very far reaching as expressed in this excerpt from the book Days of Grace by Arthur Ashe. He says and I quote, “I know that I haven’t always lived without sin or error but I know that I have tried at all times to be good and honest. I have never sinned or erred without knowing that I was being watched. Who was watching me? Among others my mother, Mattie Cordell Cunningham Ashe, watches me. She died when I was not quite seven and I remember little about her except for two images. My last sight of her alive. I was finishing breakfast and she was standing at the doorway looking lovingly at me. She was dressed in her blue corduroy dressing gown. And I remember the last time I saw her in a coffin at home. She was wearing her best dress made of pink satin. Every day since then I have thought of her. She is with me every day, watching every thing that I do. Whenever I talk to young people about the morality of decisions they make in life I usually tell them — Don’t do anything you couldn’t tell your mother about.” Now I must add that in his book he also credits his father and speaks of his influence and expectations for good behavior.

An interviewer once asked Arthur, “How is it that I never hear anything bad about you? Why are you such a goody-goody?” He just laughed and told her what I have just told you.

In the closing chapter of his book, he addresses a letter to his daughter in which he says, “Camera, have faith in God. Do not be tempted by pleasures or material possessions into thinking that religion is obsolete or that worship is beneath you. Spiritual nourishment is as important as physical or intellectual nourishment.”

This is the legacy of one of the finest men of our time and he passes it on to his daughter, to us, and to this nation of ours so troubled by its rising crime rate, for surely we are finding that we can’t legislate morality and that by adding more police officers or building more jails we are not solving our problems. It will take time but we are becoming increasingly aware that we need strengthening of the family and a return to the old-fashioned values and morality if we are to have a better society . . .

As I think of my own upbringing I find that I cannot speak of my mother without acknowledging my father who dearly loved her and stood firmly behind her in all matters pertaining to our upbringing. In this regard I am reminded of a line from the play, How Green Was My Valley. The young son says, “If my father was the head of the family, my mother was its heart.” Ours was indeed such a family. It was an old-fashioned family, though I feel quite sure typical of those times. My father was the breadwinner. He tended the fires (no small chore in those days of coal-fed fires). He planted and tended our large vegetable garden and did the things that were considered men’s work. He was a strict disciplinarian and we never dared to disobey him. We learned at an early age that if we wanted permission to do anything it paid to ask Mother. For it seemed to us our father felt that if we had to ask permission the proper answer was “no.” But we also knew that in any emergency he could be counted on to come to our rescue, like the time I dropped my school book in a rain puddle and was afraid to go to school the next day and he dried it until it was good as new.

Mother was the tender nurturer. Since we were a large family there were always little ones to care for. We were a one-car family so she was always at home. It was a standing joke in the family that when any one of us returned from school the first question was, “Where’s Mother?” My father said we would stumble over him to find her. However when he got home from work or doing errands his first question was, “Where’s Mother?”

Since I was the oldest of seven children I could see as each of my brothers and sisters arrived how tenderly she cared for each new baby, bathing, feeding, rocking and singing to them. Years later I had an experience that showed me just how important this kind of care is. I had a boy in my first-grade class who had some emotional problems. He was an adopted child and was under the care of a professional counselor. This man came to see me before school started to clue me into the situation. He said the boy Ricky had been abandoned by his parents as an infant and placed in an institution where he was physically well cared for. He was bathed, diapered, fed and sheltered and given what the counselor called “crib care.” That means that although his physical needs were met, he was never held or cuddled, rocked or talked to. The counselor told me that it is very difficult for a child with this kind of background ever to become an emotionally mature person. The family that adopted him knew of his problems and were willing to spare no effort to help him but the prognosis was not good.

To get back to my own family, it was my mother who was responsible for our spiritual development. She grew up in a small church called simply the Christian church. Her faith was simple and firm and we lived by her principles.

In our home we honored God and God’s name — no swearing. We showed respect for our parents and all adults, were taught to be kind to each other and to our friends. We knew that lying and stealing were sins and at night we knelt by our beds to say our prayers which our mother always heard. My father was an agnostic, not an atheist. He didn’t deny that there was a god but he simply found too many things in church teaching that he questioned or didn’t understand. He never opposed my mother, in fact upheld her belief and for many years cooked Sunday dinner so she could come home from church to a cooked meal. Mother sang alto in the church choir and, following her example, or rather with her encouragement, all of us excepting one brother eventually joined the choir. She also played the piano so there was much music in our home. She and I often harmonized on hymns or anthems as we worked around the kitchen. In those days there were many kitchen chores and doing them together gave us lots of time for companionship.

It was of great concern to her that my father was not baptized and it was of great comfort that eventually he was baptized and did become and active member of the church.

Although Mother was deeply religious she was not pious or austere. She had a great sense of humor and could laugh at herself on occasion — a healthy and endearing quality.

We all remember how she enjoyed surprising us with special treats. Money was scarce in those depression years but she made molasses taffy or fudge and during snowstorms would scoop up some fresh clean snow to make snow ice cream. She had a way of making simple things seem special — a nice glass of water, some good fresh bread, or a nice warm bath.

We lived in a small town which I suspect was the size of Plains, Georgia, today. We had a neighborhood school, a church, gas station, country store plus post office.

My parents came from widely different backgrounds. My mother grew up in the city of Harrisburg. My father grew up in a mountain home. As children we benefited greatly from our exposure to these widely different cultures and we enjoyed both — riding the trolley cars in the city and picking berries in the mountains. I have often felt these differences both in their background and their religious views gave us a broad view of life, making us less likely to become narrow-minded or bigoted.

Because both my parents came from big families — each came from a family of eight children — I have many relatives. I have always greatly valued my extended family. And like most of you I’m sure I have in that extended family dear friends who are closer than some blood relatives.

When I passed the age of childhood I found that both of my parents included me into the adult world. My mother and I became good companions and did many things together. As the oldest child I did have a special place in the family. Now when I asked my father for permission or for help in making decisions I found him fair and reasonable and a day came when he said I trust in your good judgment to make the right decision.

In closing let me say that I feel I was fortunate in having loving, caring parents and am happy to have had this opportunity to remember and honor them.
* * * * *

A new book about Great-Grandpa Peter from Allen Boyer

Allen Boyer has written a new book about Great-grandpa Peter's life and experience in the Civil War. He weaves in descriptions of the war, the hard times, and Peter Boyer's experiences in the Union Cavalry using Peter's own letters. It is a very nice read and very informative.

Allen is willing to share the manuscript with anybody who would like to read it. He or I can email it to you -- just ask. We thought it best not to post the whole manuscript to a public place, but here's a taste just to get you hooked. The title is "What Peter Saw".

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Peter Boyer was a teenager. He lived in the mountains of South Central Pennsylvania near a small town called Brickerville. As a boy, he enjoyed playing in the woods with his brothers and spying on any animals that passed by. While most children grew up with toys to occupy their time, Peter occupied his time with nature.
One of four brothers, Peter grew up in a family that worked hard. Peter’s father owned a shoe shop where he repaired shoes for other people in the community. Peter’s home was surrounded by unspoiled land where he and his family were able to plant and grow beans, potatoes and other vegetables that could be canned for the winter. His parents expected Peter and his brothers to help around the house. One of the jobs Peter and his brothers did involved walking around the woods and to gather twigs. The small branches would be used by their mother to start and maintain a fire in their home for preparing meals. Water was also located outside their home. Every morning Peter or one of his brothers was expected to carry buckets of water in from a near by creek or spring, even during the winter.

In addition to doing chores around the house, Peter and his brothers also helped with raising crops. Potatoes, corn and beans were some of the things they would help to plant and harvest. While living off the land was hard work, it was a peaceful existence. It was a life of give and take between the Boyers and nature. For every ear of corn or every potato the land would produce, Peter and his family would care for the land so it was ready for the following season’s harvest.

The Boyer family had developed a quiet harmony with nature. A harmony of working and caring for the land and taking what the land gave them in return. However, the harmony of Peter’s life would soon be interrupted. It would interrupted by events far from Peter’s home.

...

Rather than be drafted, Peter thought it would be a good idea to enlist in the Union army. When he signed up he learned he was making a three year commitment to serve. He also learned he would be paid ten dollars a month. From those ten dollars, Peter would usually send some home to his family. Eventually Peter was placed with the 17^th Pennsylvania Cavalry. It was one of the three Cavalry regiments being formed at the request of President Lincoln.

Peter traveled to Camp Simmons, a military camp located near Harrisburg, the state capital of Pennsylvania. Growing up, Peter was comfortable on a horse and took great pride in writing home about his success in basic training for the cavalry.

I passed my examination bully and when I rode my horse I went over the rail the first jump like nothing. I like soldiering first rate and am glad I enlisted.

It would be one of many letters that Peter would write home. Most soldiers weren’t as fortunate as Peter. There were many challenges for a soldier to write home. One problem for a soldier was finding a spare piece of paper to write on. Loose paper was not a common thing to find on the battlefield, which made writing home difficult to do. Another challenge to writing home was postage stamps. Being able to find stamps was one thing, paying three cents a stamp was sometimes a bit costly for a soldier earning ten dollars a month. In one letter home Peter wrote:

If you write again send me some postage stamps. I am out of stamps and out of money too.

While a lack of stamps and paper could keep a soldier from writing home, the biggest obstacle for a soldier to communicate with family was lack of an education.

A lot of the young men involved in the war were not well educated. In those days, school was only held five or six months out of the calendar year. A good many young men came from rural settings where an education was less important than helping the family with daily tasks. If a soldier was from a farming background, an education was less valued than helping to bring in crops, feed animals, or help the family work the land. As a result, a good number of soldiers were not educated enough to write. They would often have to seek out fellow soldiers who were better educated and could write letters for them.

Peter Boyer was able to write most of his own letters. As a young boy Peter had educated himself by using his brothers’ books from school. He also developed an interest in other countries and in other time periods. Because of his education, Peter may have even written some letters for other soldiers in his cavalry unit. He may have also read letters for soldiers who couldn’t read.

During his time at Camp Simmons, Peter experienced a fairly straight forward process for being trained as a cavalry soldier. When they arrived for cavalry training, a typical Union soldier came with little experience riding horses. Some Union soldiers grew up on farms and came with some riding skills, but most did not. Some recruits were lumberman, some were mechanics, some came from backgrounds that didn’t require the use of horses. Because of this lack of experience, cavalry training would begin with the basics. Soldiers were given instructions on how to groom and care for their horses in the field. How to ride a horse was also part of their training. Once basic riding skills were mastered, soldiers were then taught how to fight while riding a horse.

Most cavalry soldiers were provided with a sword or bayonet to use. Combat training was very limited. Sometimes during training, soldiers were asked to ride towards a target and practice chopping at it with their sword. They were also drilled in how to handle a sword when not riding a horse.

Peter enjoyed his time training as a soldier. However, not all of the men at Camp Simmons were as happy. While at camp, Peter saw the arrival of a group of young men who were drafted into service. Watching them arrive in camp, Peter could tell that the men weren’t happy to be there.

There came 360 drafted men on our camp last night. They were pretty near all down hearted and mad. They even talked of running or breaking through the guard.