I misnamed one of my aunts in my entry re: Family Reunions and I want to correct it now. The aunt who lost her life in a car accident after a family reunion way back in 1932 or so was not Hattie, but Pearl. My brother alerted me to my mistake and I am glad to get it corrected. I did have an aunt Hattie, she was married to my mother's brother Joe. They were a large family as families used to be.
Yesterday in S.S. at prayer request time, one gentleman spoke up and said he had a "joy" and it was the upcoming birth of his 13th grandchild. He was elated and commented on how it should make him feel older but instead it made him feel younger. Our grandchildren have a way of making us feel that way, even if we are tired after spending a day with them. Incidentally, their parents are tired also after a day with them!
Thinking of aunts, I recall that when I was around 6 and my brother around 4, we were on a visit to see our aunt Clara and Uncle Matt at their farm in Indiana. I do not recall any other siblings being on that trip. It may be that we two, as the youngest of our eight, could not be left at home with the older ones for any length of time, so were included in the visit.
This story is about the tolerance of older folks for the youngest ones. My uncle Matt had a field of timothy which had been cut and put into the loft of his barn. My brother and I had no doubt set out to explore the farm. We also lived on a small farm of sorts, which had a barn, chickens, cows and a garden, so we felt comfortable being in that setting. Seeing the "hay" in the loft we immediately climbed up the ladder to the loft and proceeded to jump about with abandon in the sweet smelling new cut hay. We were having a glorious time when someone decided to check on the little ones as it had become too quiet. Finding us jumping and squealing with delight no one had the heart to punish us, rather my uncle Matt simply got his pitch fork and began to lift the hay and resettle it as it had been before. This aunt and uncle had no children of their own and I feel they were more forgiving due to that fact. After that incident we were under a more watchful eye.
Another thing I remember about that trip was in the evening all of the grownups were sitting around in a large room and talking, just as families do when they gather. It was a happy comfortable time and I recall falling asleep on my mothers lap as the talking went on into the night. To this day I can fall asleep listening to voices in the background.
Another of my mother's sisters, Amelia, was a talented seamstress. That is how she earned her living for herself and her only son after the death of her husband. In a picture of my mother around the time that she married in the early 1900's, she is wearing an elaborately stitched, long sleeved blouse and dark skirt. No doubt that blouse was made by aunt Mel. Another photo of that time, shows my father in a straw hat and suit. I suspect these were their wedding pictures and for some reason they were photographed separately. This aunt Amelia has a namesake in her sister's great granddaughters. We called our aunt "Mel" and we have a picture of her and her husband with their only son. This son never married and looked after his mother until her death later in his life.
Thinking of corrections, it seems life is full of them at almost every turn. My daughter makes beautiful quilts and when she makes a mistake and needs to correct it, she says she is doing reverse sewing. I seem to do a lot of backing up myself no matter what it is. It must be an acknowledged fact of life, as in reading the directions for the basket I am making, at one point it is directed that you may need to "back" up, take some weaving out and resume with a new length of weaver. So, no need to be discouraged if any project has to be "corrected", better to correct at the point of recognition than to go forward knowing you will lose more ground later by not correcting.
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