Visiting Bessie & Herman

I enjoy traveling as much as most people, in fact perhaps more. But my travel doesn’t take me long journeying time at all. In a moment I can be on my way with little or no preparation and absolutely no luggage.

How can I do that? I take frequent trips down memory lane. It is a wonderful place to travel and the accommodations are fantastic, comfortable and quite inexpensive to say the least. The weather is always perfect. The roads are always good with no dust, storms, mosquitoes, bugs or other unpleasant experiences.

My latest trip took me back to my Minnesota home neighborhood. I visited with old friends, relatives and even made new acquaintances. Some of the characters I met don’t have names but they are real just the same. Sometimes I have to search hard to see their faces or look for identity, but that really doesn’t matter since it is only a mind trip just for myself. This time, however, I will take you with me on my latest excursion.

I would like to introduce you to Herman and Bessie. They have two boys and one girl, Milton, Gene and June (that we affectionately called Tillie). As I recall, Tillie really wasn’t a true member of the family, but was a relative that Bessie provided for and gave instructions in basic household duties. She would never be able to live on her own, but was perfectly content doing as she was told. She had a somewhat blank look that told you she was OK but not all there. As youngsters we just took her for what she was and that was that.

Tillie was a wonderful playmate. She would hunt frogs with us, tramp through the meadows and woods with us, looking for anything that moved and some that didn’t. We played hide and seek with her. She was just about the same mental age as we were and sometimes a little younger. She was a wonderful companion and we loved her.

They lived on a small farm in central Minnesota where Bessie ran a household that would put most of today’s housekeepers to shame. She cleaned, sewed, cooked and washed clothes, doing all without electricity. All this done in what we thought was a modern world in the early to mid 1940s. We just accepted the fact they lived a little differently and there was nothing wrong with that.

Bessie had a wonderfully bubbly personality. She laughed easily in a rolling high lilting laugh that instantly made you want to laugh also. When she laughed her whole body moved in rhythm of the undulating lilt of her beautiful spontaneous outbursts. Her ample stomach moved, swayed, jiggled and bounced as she crescendoed over the vocal scale. We loved it.

Many years ago Herman had a falling out with the provider of electricity for their place. After one especially heated encounter, where insulting words were exchanged, Herman shouted out that they could just turn off all the electricity for his farm. He would get along without it. And he did. Everything on their farm was done without electricity. All milking was done by hand from then on. No electric motors of any kind were used for many years.

On wash day Bessie had an antiquated gas driven washing machine that puffed exhaust out a tube through the window. Often in summers, she would do the washing on the large semi enclosed back porch where the air quality was not an issue for the old machine.

Bessie was not a small person even though she wasn’t very tall and to see her bustling about getting that old washing machine to start was like watching a comedy movie. She had a well programmed way of pulling the starter on the old machine’s motor. After well developed persuasive moves, the sometimes obstreperous motor would burst into life and washing day was off to a roaring start, literally.

The old four legged pea green and metallic washer sometimes rolled around a bit by itself if the wheels were not locked. The locking mechanism on the wheels was there for a reason and once the wheels were locked and the tubs filled, the washing event started. It was time consuming and definitely not work for the faint at heart.

It was sometimes fun to open the lid of the washer to watch the clothes agitate as they swam through the wash cycle. The wringer was the enemy. It would catch shirts, fingers or anything else that ventured near, in anticipation of pressing all the moisture out. Believe me, fingers were not comfortable being squeezed between those heavy rubber rollers.

Her set up of tubs and very out of date wash machine, made wash day an experience not to envy. I suppose she complained to someone, but not that I ever heard. But what would I know, I was only a kid and I played a lot.

Whites were always done separately and the strong soap she used I am sure was home made as was ours. It consisted of lye and fats, but it worked. Just look at how white her wash was. No homemaker would dare to hang out a wash that wasn’t sparkling white. The rest of the wash would take care of itself but not the whites. They had to be as white as you could get them. Bleach and homemade lye soap would clean anything or eat the material trying.

Not only was Bessie’s wash one of the whitest in the county, but from her girth you could tell that her cooking was ample as well. Interesting though, Herman was thin as a rail. In rural Minnesota it seemed to work that way.

There were pies, cakes, cookies besides the ample meat and potatoes staple of the country. There was never a shortage of good things to eat at Bessie and Herman’s place, I ought to know, because I stayed there often growing up.

“Bek-kie I want a bik-kit” was one phrase attributed to my growing up. She always obliged with some bread or roll for me. I lived in oblivion, but I got my biscuit. As I look back through the years, she lived for us kids and perhaps any kid. Her ample bosom provided comfort and security. It was always a privilege to be able to stay with Bessie and Herman.

The adults visited by kerosene lamp light in the evenings. The soft glow emitting from the flickering lamp light made individuals much more likable and less severe. Each took on a mellowing glow and grumpiness seemed far off. The grownups visited in the dinning room around the table after the table was cleared. The mellow oak grain of the square oak table top was softened even more by the rich lamp light.

Tillie allowed me to explore the house inspecting far flung corners of interest. The new vase on the shelf, the filled wood box, the ashes not emptied from the stove and the new row of canned goodies in the pantry or the cream cans setting by for the cream to raise to be skimmed for future use.

There were no closets so clothes were hung on back of doors or in wardrobes of sorts. Of course you only needed one good set of clothes anyway and they didn’t take up much room. The rest hung on a nail on the wall in a small hallway. It was a cozy arrangement that had the smell of hard working farmers. I don’t ever remember anyone talking about deodorant and sweat was an acceptable commodity of every day life on the farm. Some called it, “the daddy smell”.

There was no bathroom in the house, which was typical of the area farmers. At night the men could step around the back corner of the house, but the women had to find alternate methods. Of course there was always the thunder mug for emergencies.

Radios were operated by the use of a battery that sat directly under the device. It was tuned to a Minneapolis station, WCCO, since that was usually all they could get. My first impressions of the radio were little people lived inside the radio and produced what I could hear. How provincial could one be?

The patterned linoleum floor was always swept spotlessly clean even if the pattern was gone in places, worn through by much use. The mop was ever present to pick up any dirt or spot on the floor. Bessie was of Scottish decent and as such, things were tidy and very clean

I don’t remember ever going to visit or having them come to visit us without bringing or taking food, which brings up another interesting fact of farm life in central Minnesota. One never ever visited without being offered food of some sort. Usually there was some sweets, cake, special bread, rolls or pastry, pie or cookies and of course something to drink, usually coffee (not offered to kids anyway). It was a custom that one never visited without expecting this favor as well. At times visiting became quite strained since one had to eat at each home visited. Forget the schedule and the waist line, this was custom etiquette. As a child I loved this part of visiting and always waited patiently while the older folks visited. Us kids were always call in for goodies anyway, but I always worried I would miss something.

I still enjoy the memory visits to my home town area. When I visit in real life things are not the same. The people I know have gone or gotten a lot older. We don’t play any more but just sit and visit. I guess that is OK too since I find it somewhat difficult to get around like I once did.

Going down memory lane is still one of my favorite past times and I am glad I was able to share this time with you and take you with me.