Monday, June 12, 2023
Friday, September 4, 2020
Thursday, June 11, 2020
The Tunnel Under The School
We use to play in the tunnel that ran under the girl's bathroom to the boy's bathroom floors in the one-room schoolhouse, built-in 1919, that stood in the middle of nowhere. My brother's and I just had to walk a short distance through someone's pasture to get there, but there was more than one family that had to drive some distance to get their children there on time. The school looked like a new friend with windows for eyes on either side of the hollow stucco stairs that looked like a grin under the white wooden door placed perfectly like the nose on your face. I couldn't wait for school to start, I'm a closet geek I guess you could say. I loved the smell of a fresh box of crayons, opening a new book for the very first time and the crisp, clean clothes that I got to wear on the first day instead of my older brother, John's hand-me-downs.
I loved the fact that I didn't have to wear shoes to school unless it was muddy or wintertime. It was during these subzero winter days were allowed to play in the tunnel that ran under the school. The teacher told us the tunnel had originally been built to hide from outlaws and Indians before Montana had become a state. My Dad told us a different story entirely. One that I can not repeat here. You entered the tunnel from the restrooms at the back of the classroom. Each trap door was in front of the door that hid the toilet from sight on the other side of the wall, on the left side of the door you entered from was a handwashing sink and a mirror.
The soap dispenser was a plastic bubble that always reminded me of a bee-hive, that had a silver plunger you pushed up inside to dispense this God-awful smelling yellow, liquid detergent. The faucets sat to the left and right from the middle of the rim of the sink; with a hot water handle on the left, and the cold on the right, you could not mix the water as it came out of the two separate faucets unless you put the white, rubber stopper attached in the middle of the porcelain sink with a small, silver chain, in the drain of the sink.
As you stepped out into the classroom there was a very large, green slate chalkboard that took up the entire front wall. From the ceiling, you could pull down large canvas maps or a movie screen. The teacher's large, blond wooden desk sat below that. Off to the left-hand side of the desk, a small room where some things were stored and the furnace. By the time my brothers and I were attending the Ledger School, Dad told us when he was a kid that room was used to store more desks and the potbelly stove, and that was where the boys would have to split wood for those cold winter mornings before school started, or if they had gotten into trouble over the course of the day recess was forfeited and wood splitting, or mucking out the stable was the break they got.
The wall next to the furnace room door was filled with large white cupboards where school supplies, glue, scissors, construction, and ruled paper, as well as other necessary things the students needed to complete their daily assigned tasks. Next was a doorway that leads to the small library for the school. Wooden shelving held books, most first edition, lined one entire wall to left as you walked in, the partial wall that held the door frame and another partial wall in front of you, where a window and a large cabinet under the window and three-quarters of the length of the wall, held the paper cutter and other school supplies underneath.
I would break into the school over the summer months, just to read all the books in the library. Our family would also spend time at the Ledger Community Hall. It was a large Quonset looking building. Once through the wooden double doors you could hang your coat and go straight into the gymnasium, or turn to the left and go downstairs to the basement which held a huge kitchen and dining area, two bathrooms, what we called the furnace room, and stairs out the back to the trap shooting range.
The population at that time was 12 people residing inside the "city-limits" of Ledger, Montana, the surrounding farmers and ranchers were included as population only when it came to the little, antique post-office that served the community. This post-office was housed in the small general store, that also was the home of our oldest living resident, Freda Hall.
The general store was one wall, and a partial wall, that held the door frame for the post-office, was built in shelves that held can goods, condiments, bread, cereals, toilet paper, and things like that, but no produce was sold. You could ask Mrs. Hall for a variety of soda pop, or milk and she would slowly waddle back and forth to her private area where there was a second refrigerator where she stocked the milk and sodas. There was a large, rounded all-glass display case that stood at least four feet high off the ground, where she displayed all the candy she had on hand. Back then you could still get a small, brown bag that fits nicely in the palm of your hand and maybe five inches high filled to the brim with penny candy for about twenty-five cents.
On the wall above this counter and to the right, if you were the customer, was another glass case, framed in wood as well, that held cigarettes and some cigars, back then we could take a handwritten note from our parents and buy cigarettes for them at fifty cents a package.
I loved the fact that I didn't have to wear shoes to school unless it was muddy or wintertime. It was during these subzero winter days were allowed to play in the tunnel that ran under the school. The teacher told us the tunnel had originally been built to hide from outlaws and Indians before Montana had become a state. My Dad told us a different story entirely. One that I can not repeat here. You entered the tunnel from the restrooms at the back of the classroom. Each trap door was in front of the door that hid the toilet from sight on the other side of the wall, on the left side of the door you entered from was a handwashing sink and a mirror.
The soap dispenser was a plastic bubble that always reminded me of a bee-hive, that had a silver plunger you pushed up inside to dispense this God-awful smelling yellow, liquid detergent. The faucets sat to the left and right from the middle of the rim of the sink; with a hot water handle on the left, and the cold on the right, you could not mix the water as it came out of the two separate faucets unless you put the white, rubber stopper attached in the middle of the porcelain sink with a small, silver chain, in the drain of the sink.
As you stepped out into the classroom there was a very large, green slate chalkboard that took up the entire front wall. From the ceiling, you could pull down large canvas maps or a movie screen. The teacher's large, blond wooden desk sat below that. Off to the left-hand side of the desk, a small room where some things were stored and the furnace. By the time my brothers and I were attending the Ledger School, Dad told us when he was a kid that room was used to store more desks and the potbelly stove, and that was where the boys would have to split wood for those cold winter mornings before school started, or if they had gotten into trouble over the course of the day recess was forfeited and wood splitting, or mucking out the stable was the break they got.
The wall next to the furnace room door was filled with large white cupboards where school supplies, glue, scissors, construction, and ruled paper, as well as other necessary things the students needed to complete their daily assigned tasks. Next was a doorway that leads to the small library for the school. Wooden shelving held books, most first edition, lined one entire wall to left as you walked in, the partial wall that held the door frame and another partial wall in front of you, where a window and a large cabinet under the window and three-quarters of the length of the wall, held the paper cutter and other school supplies underneath.
I would break into the school over the summer months, just to read all the books in the library. Our family would also spend time at the Ledger Community Hall. It was a large Quonset looking building. Once through the wooden double doors you could hang your coat and go straight into the gymnasium, or turn to the left and go downstairs to the basement which held a huge kitchen and dining area, two bathrooms, what we called the furnace room, and stairs out the back to the trap shooting range.
The population at that time was 12 people residing inside the "city-limits" of Ledger, Montana, the surrounding farmers and ranchers were included as population only when it came to the little, antique post-office that served the community. This post-office was housed in the small general store, that also was the home of our oldest living resident, Freda Hall.
The general store was one wall, and a partial wall, that held the door frame for the post-office, was built in shelves that held can goods, condiments, bread, cereals, toilet paper, and things like that, but no produce was sold. You could ask Mrs. Hall for a variety of soda pop, or milk and she would slowly waddle back and forth to her private area where there was a second refrigerator where she stocked the milk and sodas. There was a large, rounded all-glass display case that stood at least four feet high off the ground, where she displayed all the candy she had on hand. Back then you could still get a small, brown bag that fits nicely in the palm of your hand and maybe five inches high filled to the brim with penny candy for about twenty-five cents.
On the wall above this counter and to the right, if you were the customer, was another glass case, framed in wood as well, that held cigarettes and some cigars, back then we could take a handwritten note from our parents and buy cigarettes for them at fifty cents a package.
“Come on Johnny,
you promised you and the others would go on this tour with me.” She
stomped her feet, “I am holding you to it Johnny Bollar, I am
holding you to your word once and for all! I’m not going to let you
just brush me off like this anymore.” Sarah garbed her keys and
ran out the front door. "The rest of us are going, and you can do what you like." The screen door slammed behind her.
Johnny shook his head, deep down inside he knew there was nothing but trouble waiting for them in that ghost town. He could not talk his other brothers and sister out of going back to Ledger. He still remembered the strange tales his Grandfather and others recanted at the Smorgasbord gatherings the community held at least twice a year.
The town of Ledger held two-grain elevators, the community store/post office, a community center, the old one-room schoolhouse and two of the four houses and the Great Northern Railroad Depot. The sleepy little farm town had a strange and mysterious past ever since its conception in 1913, on the Dry Fork River in Montana.
Wednesday, December 25, 2019
It's Just Not Christmas, like the Christmas I use to know
The house was once filled with the warm smells of homemade cookies, turkey, ham, pies and stuffing roasting in the oven or cooling on the counter tops. Grandma's kitchen was filled with all the Aunts, and cousins that were in high school scurrying about preparing the Christmas Eve dinner that soon would fill the chrome and gray Formica table that sat in the middle of her kitchen. At Grandpa's back was the table that I sat, the kids table. This was usually a card table or two set up for every one under the age of sixteen, at sixteen you got to join the adult table; a right of passage.
All of Mom's three brother's and their families would be there as well as the six of us and Grandma and Grandpa. We would drive the six long miles to Grandma's house every Christmas Eve, some times my sister's and I would sing Christmas Carols on the way. When we got there,we all piled out of the car, and headed into the house, hanging up our coats, and kicking our boots off at the second landing of the basement stairs. We girls were sent upstairs to play with our cousins.
My youngest Aunt, a year older than my second oldest sister, always forced us to play school and we would have to memorize the spelling and meaning of a word that she had chosen, by the time we left the house for the night. We would play hide-and-go-seek, hiding in the crawlspace closets that were spread through out the upstairs, twister, scrabble, and sometime times kicked outside to play in the snow.
After supper, the kids had to do the humongous pile of dishes from cooking and eating the holiday meal, this would usually take us about an hour or more depending on how much horse play took place. The folks would be playing pitch, or hearts in the living room while we worked. Laughter and teasing at times in loud volumes would drift out to the kitchen. It was a happy time, full of joy and fun.
Once the dishes were washed, dried and put away we would all gather in the kitchen again around the live Christmas tree that was decorated with strung popcorn and cranberries, large, colored, tear drop shaped lights, glass ornaments that were gold, blue, green, red, white and purple. Some were round, some oblong with spindles from the tops and bottoms. When you dropped these ornaments you could hear the pop of the glass shattering on the floor in the next room.
Under the tree would be at least one present for each Grandchild until they reached the age of 16, then Grandma and Grandpa stopped buying you a gift. Each family brought one gift for each kid, and for the adults sometimes there would be a gift for each, or the couple or perhaps no gift at all. We always had a gift though.
It would be about 10 or 11 pm when we would put our coats and boots back on and pile back into the car for the six mile drive home. I loved to sit by a window, so I could look at all the houses and their decorations. By the time we got home my sisters would be half a sleep, whining to open the rest of the present under the tree. Mom and Dad would tell us no, and send us off to bed, I was usually dead to the world by the time we turned off the frontage road, so they would just get me dressed for bed and tuck me in. In the morning, Santa had come, and we would be full of giggles and laughter trying to get the folks up and out of bed so we could unwrap our gifts.
But sad to say, things are not the same any more. No more family gatherings, everyone is off to Disney World, or skiing, or some other way of enjoying the holiday. So, these walls have never known the joy of laughter from children playing hide-and-seek, adults playing pitch, or the warm smells of a stuffed turkey being cooked from dawn to almost dusk, scenting the house with love.
Now, all are in to big of a hurry to cram in another long weekend, or another vacation, or just avoiding the holidays all together thinking only of our wants, our selves, and not what we can bring to our family just by sharing a holiday meal, decorating a tree together, or stopping by for a hot cup of coco can do for those of us who remember what good cheer is. . . . , or rather was.
Both porcelain sinks were filled with pots and pans, silverware from cooking and prepping the salads and relish dishes that sat on the counter for snacking on while we all waited for that golden brown, stuffed turkey to come out of the oven. Grandma always made the turkey gravy in the roaster that the turkey was cooked in. Small bits of stuffing would be stuck to the bottom and the sides, making the gravy so rich and delicious my mouth would water just thinking of it.
All of Mom's three brother's and their families would be there as well as the six of us and Grandma and Grandpa. We would drive the six long miles to Grandma's house every Christmas Eve, some times my sister's and I would sing Christmas Carols on the way. When we got there,we all piled out of the car, and headed into the house, hanging up our coats, and kicking our boots off at the second landing of the basement stairs. We girls were sent upstairs to play with our cousins.
My youngest Aunt, a year older than my second oldest sister, always forced us to play school and we would have to memorize the spelling and meaning of a word that she had chosen, by the time we left the house for the night. We would play hide-and-go-seek, hiding in the crawlspace closets that were spread through out the upstairs, twister, scrabble, and sometime times kicked outside to play in the snow.
After supper, the kids had to do the humongous pile of dishes from cooking and eating the holiday meal, this would usually take us about an hour or more depending on how much horse play took place. The folks would be playing pitch, or hearts in the living room while we worked. Laughter and teasing at times in loud volumes would drift out to the kitchen. It was a happy time, full of joy and fun.
Once the dishes were washed, dried and put away we would all gather in the kitchen again around the live Christmas tree that was decorated with strung popcorn and cranberries, large, colored, tear drop shaped lights, glass ornaments that were gold, blue, green, red, white and purple. Some were round, some oblong with spindles from the tops and bottoms. When you dropped these ornaments you could hear the pop of the glass shattering on the floor in the next room.
Under the tree would be at least one present for each Grandchild until they reached the age of 16, then Grandma and Grandpa stopped buying you a gift. Each family brought one gift for each kid, and for the adults sometimes there would be a gift for each, or the couple or perhaps no gift at all. We always had a gift though.
It would be about 10 or 11 pm when we would put our coats and boots back on and pile back into the car for the six mile drive home. I loved to sit by a window, so I could look at all the houses and their decorations. By the time we got home my sisters would be half a sleep, whining to open the rest of the present under the tree. Mom and Dad would tell us no, and send us off to bed, I was usually dead to the world by the time we turned off the frontage road, so they would just get me dressed for bed and tuck me in. In the morning, Santa had come, and we would be full of giggles and laughter trying to get the folks up and out of bed so we could unwrap our gifts.
But sad to say, things are not the same any more. No more family gatherings, everyone is off to Disney World, or skiing, or some other way of enjoying the holiday. So, these walls have never known the joy of laughter from children playing hide-and-seek, adults playing pitch, or the warm smells of a stuffed turkey being cooked from dawn to almost dusk, scenting the house with love.
Now, all are in to big of a hurry to cram in another long weekend, or another vacation, or just avoiding the holidays all together thinking only of our wants, our selves, and not what we can bring to our family just by sharing a holiday meal, decorating a tree together, or stopping by for a hot cup of coco can do for those of us who remember what good cheer is. . . . , or rather was.
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