Treks To and From School
We were never fortunate enough to ride a school bus, but had to walk to and from school. Our trek to public school was only a quarter of a mile, but all those years we went to Saturday (church) School, we walked 4 miles, -one way. Although these walks got plenty tiresome, we turned many of them into "fun" walks.
On our long walks in winter, in all kinds of weather, we were bundled up with scarves tied over our faces. When we reached a certain house, only one mile from home, an old grandma named Mrs. Hollinger would call us into her house to warm up. She would untie our scarves, so the frost that had formed on them would melt, and give us some hot chocolate to drink. We got so we really looked forward to this treatment, and wanted to go to school no matter how cold the weather was! If we were lucky and got there on time, we would get a ride at the two-mile mark. Mr. H. Natzke always took his kids and anyone else who needed a ride if they were there on time. This helped us in the morning, as then we would have only 2 miles to walk. In the evening we all walked home.
One morning early in spring, when the roads were all full of ruts, I stumbled and fell on the still frozen ruts and hurt my knee. A car was coming and I could hardly drag myself out of the way, it hurt so hard. We had just gone about one and one-half miles, and because of this we missed our ride at the two-mile mark. So for the rest of the way, two and one-half miles, I hobbled along as best I could, my knee really hurting.
We finally got to school, late of course, and I stopped at the parsonage to have the minister's wife fix my knee. She bandaged it for me, but first put some cotton on the wound. When I got home that night and Mother saw that my knee was bandaged, she didn't bother looking at it, thinking it was taken care of. Day after day this bandage stayed on, and when the time came to finally remove it, the cotton had grown right into the wound as it healed. I believe it was bath night, and I had to soak and soak it to finally get the cotton out. For many years I had a scar on my knee, as proof of my experience.
On our long walk home, we had to go through a hollow we always called "Wedepohl's hollow". It was near the end of our walk home, so it was usually getting dark when we got there. This was always a scary place to walk as nobody lived in the area. One afternoon as we approached the "hollow", we saw in the dusk from a distance what we thought was a car parked on the side of the road. Since we were always warned never to ride with strangers, we were afraid to approach this car. It was winter, and the snow was deep, so we could not cut across the field. Our only recourse was to approach this "parked car" head on. I was the oldest of the group at that time, so I felt responsible for the younger ones. As we plodded toward the "hollow", I decided that if these were kidnappers, I would recite to them a Bible verse I had learned in Saturday School. It can be found in l John 3:15. It states, "Whoso hateth his brother is a murderer, and ye know that no murderer hath eternal life abiding in him". I wonder how many kidnappers would have listened to that! As we neared the "parked car", it turned to be a tipped over pile of wood! Why it was there I never found out, but I was certainly relieved that it was not a kidnapper's parked car!
Our shorter walks to public school, were never so scary. But even though it was only a fourth mile, we got into all kinds of deviltry. This is where we crawled through the fence into the pasture, and walked on all the ice in the hollows in spring, breaking through and getting wet feet day after day. One time as I tried to climb over the fence, I got hung up on the barbed wire fence by my new flour sack underpants! Hanging there between the earth and the sky, I was helpless, and my friend Sylva, had to come to my rescue. There was only one way to get me down, and that was to tear my underpants. I knew what that meant when I got home!
Another diversion along the way was to climb up on one of the three big, thick fenceposts that were part of the fence. These posts seemed really high to little kids. We would race to them and the first three there would climb up, wave our arms, and crow like roosters. Sure sounds like a silly thing to do now, but kids do silly things!
We did some worthwhile things too. One time our Saturday School was selling mottoes to raise funds for the school. On
some of these walks home from school, we would stop at some of the houses and try to sell them. Since there weren't many
people to contact, our parents were our best customers. We had three of these mottoes in our home. One hung in our dining
room on the farm. It said:
"Do nothing you would not like to be doing -when Jesus comes,
Say nothing you would not like to be saying when Jesus comes,
Go no place you would not like to be found when Jesus comes."
This made a very big impression on me, as I read it often. I believe our world would be a better world if everyone had a motto like this hanging in their home, and would adhere to it. My sister Mildred still has this motto. She said it hangs in the garage by their cottage up North. I guess you could call her a "thing saver"!
Another motto has the child's prayer on it, "Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep". I had this by my grandkid's beds when they were little. In fact, I still have it and it is still hanging by Christopher's bed. I guess you could call me a "thing saver" too!
The third motto moved to Wausau with us and hung in our bathroom on Pleasant Street for years. It said:
"It isn't the look of the garden
Nor is it the size of the house.
We may be as rich as a monarch,
Or poor as a tiny church mouse.
Our roof may be humble with thatching,
Or noble with turret and dome.
But only the loving hearts in it
Can turn a HOUSE into a HOME."
We lived in the Pleasant Street house from 1939 until 1975, so we had that motto a long time. However, that motto is gone. No "thing saver" saved it!
These long walks to and from school took a lot of our time, and caused our mother a lot of worry, I'm sure. But we all survived them, hopefully learned something from our experiences, and now only the memories are left.