November 1929

I've just been reading Hannah's book again. It's been a while. In November 1929 she wrote three entries, which I think is a monthly record in what I've read so far. At the last one she wrote, "I am going to try to dot down a little in this book every day," and then wrote no more that month. It's always nice to see that good intentions with less-than-perfect follow through are not a new phenomenon for people who start a family history blog and intend to post regularly and then miss a couple of months.

The thing that struck me the most out of these entries, though, was the family reunion she talked about. There were 85 people there. They raffled off a quilt and used the proceeds to find family names to do temple work for. I wonder what they needed the money for; it's hard to imagine how it would be done before it was all on the internet. I guess they had to go to Salt Lake and look through records the church kept? Either way, they accumulated 176 names from Sweden and did temple work for 126 of them! In the Logan temple, right here in my neighborhood. That's so impressive.

I would love to have a big Stricklan side (or any side of course, but Hannah is my Stricklan side) reunion with 85 of us present, but it seems like such an impossible task. How did they do it so often? They didn't all live in the same area, but closer together than we live now. And who organized such a thing? And convinced everyone to come? I applaud their efforts, whoever it was.

**And sorry for no photo. Something is wrong with my usual computer which houses my family photo file. I wanted one of an old-timey reunion (can you imagine it instead?).**

Home Remedies

Dave and Ada

Grandma Stricklan had a few quirks, it is true; I remember a few from my childhood, although I'm sure didn't notice all I would notice if I knew her now. I know she liked vinegar. She made low-sugar cookies with Jell-o. She didn't like doctors. She even went so far as to refuse to go to the hospital when she was sick in her older years for fear of not coming out again. It seems as though her lack of regular check-ups made her circulation problems (affecting her mobility) worse, although I can't say for sure.

To tell you the truth, I actually completely understand. (Yikes.) I am hoping I won't get to the point where I refuse treatment for something I need, but as it is I really hate going to the doctor. Uh, really hate it. When I had mastitis twice after Norah was born, the second time was even more insulting than the first not only because it was frighteningly painful, but because I knew I'd have to go to the doctor AGAIN. It's not that I'm afraid--I just don't like the inconvenience. Ha! What a terrible excuse. But true.

As a result, I do all I can to avoid needing medical care. Good food, lots of exercise, fresh air, and a dose of vinegar every day. Don't worry, grandma's remedy is alive and well! Don't laugh, but I don't even remember why I started drinking the vinegar daily, but it's become a routine and I haven't been sick all winter. I know I'm basically just lucky and young, so I am going to try hard not to be crazy when I'm older and need attention (who will help me?).

In Hannah's book, she mentions that her health is improving in April 1929 because of a yeast drink she makes. Listen:

"I'll tell you how I make it. Boiled potatoes water, [something I can't read], add a little pinch of hops and a yeast cake or a start of yeast, no salt in it. Drink a cup after every meal. Have it good and strong so it will work a batch of bread & it will help you if you ever get stomach trouble."

It cracks me up. What is she even talking about, really? Yeast? In all of the gut-health reading I've done, yeast is one of the main things we want out of our system, not in. A cup after every meal? And what about baking bread with it? And yet, Hannah plainly said her health has improved. Who can argue with an 86-year-old journal entry?

gas prices

When we drove to New Mexico at the end of December, we flipped when we found gas for $1.99 a gallon outside of Albuquerque. Nate took a picture. We bought celebratory M&Ms. It has now gone aaaaall the way down to $1.93 here in Utah, which is actually so low it's frightening--but we are not talking about politics or oil policies or Monopoly on this blog, so let's move on to gas prices from the 1920s. Apparently gas was around twenty cents a gallon back then, which was absurdly expensive for them, rather like the regular $3.50 prices we've gotten used to.

This picture is of George Stricklan, my dad's grandpa and his gas station. Look, his name is on the sign and everything! His gasoline is packed with extra miles, too, so those '20s drivers would have really appreciated a little more bang for their buck.

Happy Halloween

Happy Halloween from the old times! I've got some costume ideas for the kids. Crazy scary masks? Guns? Yes!

hard times

On February 26, 1922, Hannah wrote in her book, "Oh yes I must not forget Ostlin came in early Friday morning to tell us a boy come to their house. All getting along fine. That is our 13th grand child good luck to him." Sadly, all were not fine after all, and the mother, Mary Marinda Johnson Hanson, died on March 4th, just a week later from complications (probably blood poisoning, guessed Hannah).

Hannah said, "We are all broke up," and took into her house Ostlin and the three girls: Ada, my grandma, age 5; Connie, age 4; Leona, age 2. The baby boy went to live with the maternal grandparents. Hannah doesn't even mention his name, come to think of it, but she says that the girls went to visit him often on Sundays. (His name is Kenneth, by the way.) About a month later, Leona came home from Grandma Johnson's with this cut-out baby head and said it was baby brother. Hannah thought it was sweet and pasted it in her book. I am home from church with a sick baby today who looks an awful lot like that, too.

Throughout her entries in 1921 and '22, Hannah lists the prices of potatoes, hay, butter and eggs. Eggs go from $.40/dozen down to $.16 the day of the baby head picture, and then back up to $.30 later that year, and by selling that and butter they get along, but just barely, since I think potatoes were their main crop, but there were too many potatoes and no one to buy them. She says they have enough to eat and "ware," but no money. "Taxes & interest are killing us," she scribbles in the margin at the end of an entry. " Her sons are off working elsewhere, too. "We will all have to leave the farm to work for wages, for anything is better then farming but I don't think it can stay that way for people will have to eat," she foresees, being both pessimistic and optimistic as I guess you had to be as a farmer.

It is easy for me to romanticize the past; it is what I do, it is why there is even this blog. Of course, though, I know it was not an easy life. I know our 2 bedroom, 1 bathroom, air conditioned house would seem like a luxurious vacation to Hannah. But here I am, and I wonder why we can't seem to acquire funds for a house with a better layout, where the table doesn't have to be in the living room and with a dishwasher that doesn't roll. I wonder why Nate's parents could buy their first home for $40,000 and sell it for twice that just a few years later, when our house would probably not sell for a dollar more than we paid for it four years ago. I think our times have got to be just about the worst. Insurance prices are ridiculous and it doesn't even cover doctor visits anymore; after four years we have barely made a dent in our principal balance for our mortgage because of interest; our kids will wake each other up all night long because of sharing a room. And of course, in the most cliche way, reading the old journal brings some good old-fashioned perspective right back to me.

However, I must honestly tell you that even with this refreshed perspective, I am not 100% convinced that it is better to live in this absurdly comfortable era. I have half an idea that if I could, I would jump into the pages of Hannah's book, roll up my sleeves, and help her put up 500 quarts of berries.

The Park - two families

Yet another post inspired by Hannah's book: in 1921 the Anderson family went to "The Park." I realized after I read a couple of paragraphs that Hannah meant Yellowstone National Park, which was of course the first National Park in the US. The Park I personally love and visit the most is Zion in Southern Utah, which itself opened in the spring of 1920. When we go, I look at the old photos there and I get a really heavy chest pain-slash-good feeling; I just want to have been there back then so badly! And here my family was in the other Park, right around that time.

Photo (and two images below) by noted Yellowstone photographer F. Jay Haynes. More can be seen here.

The park had fairly recently allowed cars to begin driving through, so the Andersons packed up a car (I wish I knew what kind) and drove from Shelley to Rexburg to pick up "Melvin" and his family. (Melvin is one of Hannah's sons.) Hannah said they had been talking about making the trip for a long time, but they never seemed to have the time or money. Sounds familiar? So they just decided to go anyway in July of 1921.

Their car needed repair in Rexburg, and in 1921 I don't suppose there were many car mechanics to choose from, but they got one and left the next morning. They drove the 58 miles to Mack's Inn in Island Park where they stopped and rested and ate lunch, loving the beautiful scenery of Island Park (which is initially the Park I thought Hannah was referring to anyway). Melvin brought a camera and stopped to take some "snaps shots" at the stop and throughout the park, but I don't have those photos.

The family camped and fished and had a wonderful time. They saw the Paint Pots, the geysers, bears and buffalo herds. Hannah raves about the Old Faithful Inn and sadly mentions some out-of-business hotels that were suddenly unnecessary when cars began driving through the park. I was struck how even then, nearly a hundred years ago and at the peak time of my nostalgia, they had nostalgia for the simpler, un-automoblied past.

On their way home they came through Harriman State Park in Island Park (Idaho), which is a place we stayed as a (Stricklan) family a couple of years ago. I loved it there. Here is one of the 2012 Harriman Sunsets.

TEN YEARS AFTER the Andersons, the Clarks went to Yellowstone.

Nate's grandpa Ralph Clark would have been 5 or 6 when his family went to Yellowstone in 1931. Whereas we don't have my family's photos, we don't have stories from Grampsie. He may remember the trip (he is 88 now, I think), but it isn't likely that he can recall the details. He might, however remember that BEAR! (Since his stroke five years ago, he has had a hard time recounting the stories he does wish to tell anyway, which is really unfortunate for us. I will write more of his stories in the future, of course, with Nate's help.)

Nate and I haven't yet been to "The Park" with our kids. This makes me want to go now!