I’m getting information together to continue the Rhythm of Life stories. I’ll probably post the next one on Sunday. I have been catching up with myself since I got home from Wyoming and sometimes that takes a while.

Today, I made wreathes and decorated a little for the 4th of July…I know I’m early, but I’ll be ready for Labor Day, too. I’m not miss creativity. The thing I’m best at making is a mess…

The cactus in our front yard is starting to bloom and it’s really pretty. All we have in the way of plants is cacti.

We also took our Lilie Dale to the vet again this morning. She was just there a couple of days ago. She hasn’t been very active and her right leg is obviously hurting her. After bloodwork and x-rays, the diagnosis was arthritis… I also found out I have a torn meniscus. The vet didn’t tell me that. The doctor called and gave me the results of the MRI I had on my knee before my trip to Wyoming. So it’s off to the ortho I will go.

Getting old is so much fun. I recommend it to everyone.

I know it could be so much worse. I’ll tell you in this nonsense verse.

If I was a tree…of all things, I’d be trying to hide all my rings

If I was a spirited mare you’d gage, my teeth and know my advanced age.

Think about that new car you bought. It was worth the most when on the lot.

To you this may be a bit irrelevent, but if you want longevity, be an African Elephant.

Jellyfish live a long time too, but they don’t have that much to do.

I think I’ll stay the same old me. Even with an old bum knee.

My dog and I are quite a pair. We race to get the easy chair.

I just got home from a wonderful two weeks in Wyoming. The weather was beautiful and I got to spend some real quality time with my very special Wyoming family. They took great care of me…

I missed writing a tribute on Memorial Day to those who lost there lives while serving this beautiful country, but since June 14th is Flag Day, I decided to say what has been on my heart.

Would you?

Would you give your life so I could live free? Would you die for my freedom and ask nothing of me?

Would you fill your days with real fox hole prayers, if you knew you weren’t on the list of my cares?

There were many before you and there’s certain to be brave souls in the future who would do this for me.

Would you continue to fight so our flag can fly high, if I didn’t take notice when I passed by?

Because you are willing to be one of the few who protect and defend us… I’ll honor you.

I know I will never be put to the test, but I will never forget you… who gave me your best.

You’ve probably figured out that I haven’t been blogging while visiting my kids in Wyoming. They don’t give Grandma Mary much down time, but that’s okay…

From home sweet home to dormitory, you now begin your grown-up story with the seeds already sewn from the great life that you have known.

Congratulations Mason…All the best for a wonderful future…

We all love you bunches!! Grandma Mary

E.W. and Lois McNinch had three sons. Their first born, Elba, or Mack, was my husband, Kip’s father. People ask Kip what his real name is and they’re usually surprised to learn that Kip is not his nickname. He was named after a buddy of Mack’s who died of spinal meningitis shortly before Kip was born. Kip’s full name is Kip Rost McNinch.

Mack graduated from high school in Big Piney, Wyoming and Naomi, Kip’s mother, graduated in Laramie. The two met during their first year of college at the University of Wyoming in Laramie.

When Mack and Naomi were freshmen in college, there was a formal event called the Harvest Moon Ball. Naomi wore a pretty blue formal and Hell’s Half Acre Gym was decorated with huge pumpkins and scarecrows. Mack and one if his friends, Graham, decided to steal a pumpkin. The gym was on the second floor and Graham was going to throw the pumpkin out the window and Mack was supposed to catch it.

Mack and Naomi were outside waiting below the window when a policeman came up to them and asked them if they had a bottle. (Drinking was not allowed on campus.) About that time a huge pumpkin came sailing through the air, hit the ground, and burst. The policeman said, “So that’s it, huh?” Naomi’s mom made several pies from that pumpkin.

The couple was married on July 4th, 1940. Their daughter, Karen, was born, on July the 4th, two years later.

Kip was born August 12, 1944 and Mack was drafted into the army in January of 1945. He was sent to the Phillipines and then Italy. He was part of the occupational forces. Mack was killed in an accident in Italy on August 27, 1947. His body wasn’t brought back until October of 1947. He was 27 years old when he died.

Mack and my Dad were two months apart in age, both were in the army, and both were in the Corp of Engineers. Dad was stationed in Guam and I think my brother said he was also in the Philippines.

There is much more to tell about each of these families as they lived through trying as well as joyous times. The threads are woven and the bonds of love continue. Sometimes, history has a way of catching up with us…

**short blog today…headed for Wyoming for my grandson’s graduation.

Parnell Marvin Swinson, who went by the name Pete, was born on a farm 15 miles southwest of Presho, SD on December 3rd, 1916. His parents were Peter M. and Mary Christensen Swinson. He was the only son and youngest child of Peter and Mary. He was admittedly spoiled by his 2 older half brothers and four older sisters. Pete didn’t grow up on the homesteads of both of his parents as they moved to Presho before he was 2 years old. They bought a small tract of land in the northeast part of Presho along the Medicine Creek and started a dairy farm so he still had a farm lifestyle with all of the advantages of a small town.

Pete started school when he was five and only tolerated it. His sisters said they had a hard time keeping him warmly dressed in cold weather. He was as apt to start out without a coat or jacket as not. They gave him some credit for bringing home what he wore to school which was in contrast to his good friend Joe Mullen whose trail could be traced by the clothes he left behind. Pete and Joe were good friends and the two of them spent many hours together fishing and swimming.

Pete had a bad habit in those early years of being oblivious to the passage of time. One warm summer afternoon, he had gone fishing and the sky began to darken with the makings of a severe storm but Pete didn’t notice it until things began to happen…high wind, rain, and marble-sized hail. He started for home but didn’t reach it until it was almost over. He was drenched to the skin and covered with big welts where the hailstones had pelted him. He was surprised his family had been concerned about him, but he didn’t recall that this experience helped him to head for home earlier when the weather looked bad or when it began to get dark.

During the summer Pete’s mother often worked outside. Consequently, when he was small his older sisters did the housework and also took over the job of policing him. On several occasions when he disliked what he considered bossiness, he threatened to run away. Thelma, one of his sisters, was fed up with his threats and one day when he made known his intentions, she packed his clothes into a big suitcase, handed it to him, and told him goodbye. There he stood…a small boy of seven or eight with an oversized suitcase in his hand and he didn’t know where to go with it.

**When I was reading this part of Pete’s notes about his childhood, I had to laugh. I remember my dad (Bill) telling me about a time when he was probably 7 or 8 and his baby brother, Chuck, was bothering his mother. She made the comment that she would sell that baby for a nickel. Little Billy went to his room, got into his piggy bank, pulled out a nickel, and brought it to his mother. He said he wanted to buy baby Chuck. His mother did what Pete’s sister did. She packed up all of little Chuck’s things and took them to little Billy’s room. She took his nickel, and said baby Chuck was all his. Then she left to continue with her housework. It wasn’t very long at all until Billy came with Chuck’s things and Chuck himself. He asked his mother if he could please have his nickel back. It must have been a typical child-rearing method used back in those days to teach children to be careful what they wished for.

As Pete grew up, as was said, he wasn’t crazy about school. He would rather have been hunting, fishing, swimming, skiing, or tinkering with cars than sit in school. He got hold of a Model T chassis and by searching junk yards and abandoned cars, put together a whole car. He said it wasn’t too much to look at, but it ran. He spent many hours of his time rebuilding the car, but he felt it gave him some really valuable experience

On the dairy farm they had very contented cows after he piped-in music to the barns. The music helped him, too, but he promised himself that when he grew up, he would never milk a cow again and he kept that promise.

After his dad broke his ankle and really wasn’t able to do much, Pete took over the milk route. He had very fond memories of those days. He got to know other families, and their dogs and cats. He also learned some of the family secrets when he walked into their houses unannounced to put milk into their ice boxes. He always liked music. I guess that’s probably why he piped music into the cow barn. One time he made a bargain with his sister, Pearle. He said he would teach her to drive a car if she would teach him to play the piano. One session in the car and one at the piano was as far as they got. She never did learn to drive a car and he never mastered the piano.

In high school, Pete played some basketball and 4 years of football. At one football game he was injured but was soon back in the game. He finished the game, looked around a bit, and then went home and chopped a pile of wood. That was really hearsay for it was about that time he came to. He couldn’t remember anything that happened after the injury. One member of his family insulted him by saying she knew something was wrong when he chopped the wood without being told.

Peter graduated from high school in 1935…

**It must be quite an experience to be the youngest of 7 children with 4 older sisters.

I know my friend, Sherri, adored her dad, as did her two sisters. I know Sherri has a fondness for fishing. Times have changed, though. Unlike Pearle, Sherri can also drive.

We’ll get to the later years of Pete Swinson’s life, but I will close this portion by saying that from everything I have heard and read about him, Mr. Swinson was quite a remarkable man…

When I was just a little girl, the stories I most loved to hear, were found inside my grandma’s trunk, filled with things from yesteryear.

I saw her in a picture. Not one hair was out of place. She wore a prim and proper dress made of satin adorned in lace.

“Why aren’t you smiling, Grandma?” I asked her once again.

“My photograph was seldom taken. They were like portraits way back then. People struck a serious pose, stood tall, and calmly waited. A startling ‘poof’ and blinding flash confirmed their likeness was created.”

(Mary standing in front of her father in the buggy and her mother standing behind the wheel. Taken at the Tyrrell Farm.)

She reached inside the trunk and found an album bound in leather. Oh, the stories Grandma told when we looked at it together.

Time was captured in that book. Long ago came back to life, as Grandma told the story of becoming Grandpa’s wife.

“How did you and Grandpa meet?” Grandma knew I’d never tire, of the story beginning in the church, where she was singing in the choir.

Grandpa came with a lady friend, but Grandma caught his eye. He did some work on her father’s farm and came to know her by and by.

They were married May eighteenth. Nineteen eleven was the year. They moved from Iowa to South Dakota. No other family would be near.

Two daughters and two sons were born… a new home they began to seek. They bought land and a log cabin in a pretty place called Horse Creek.

They worked hard to make a living two more daughters soon arrived. Grandma said without their children’s help, they wouldn’t have survived.

Inside that big old trunk that had followed Grandma’s life, was a treasure trove of stories of happy times and times of strife.

When we finally closed the trunk, Grandma’s eyes began to shine. She said, “I could not be prouder of those six kids of mine.’

I heard a little cough. I turned around in time to see… Grandpa smile and wink at Grandma who was as pleased as she could be.

I think this is a good time to write about Horse Creek where my mother’s family lived until she was eleven. I’ve written about it several times in the past, but this will include a description written by my mother’s older sister, Helen. My cousin, Bobby, who is Helen’s son, shared it with me.

My mother, Loretta, often talked about her horseback riding adventures, working outside with the boys in the family while the girls helped Grandma inside, and going to school with the thirteen Osborn kids.

Helen Sanderson Haverberg wrote the following…

Dad was excited about our first Model T. Ford but it was a worry for Mother for fear it wouldn’t last and we would have to go without so many other things. We had a Model A touring car later, which made the seven mile trip to Murdo much more pleasant. Two miles were on dirt and the other five were graveled.

My two younger sisters (Loretta and Elna) were born after moving there. The rural school was three and a half miles over hills and valleys. The school had a barn for horses, two outhouses, and a cistern for rain water. We always rode our horses although we were unhappy they went without food all day. There were twelve of us in the eight grades. Most of those were from the Osborn family which had thirteen children. As each of us started school, our big challenge was to remember the names of all the Osborn children. The older girls were motherly to the beginners.

The struggle by the Osborn family will explain the courage and determination needed at that time to survive. They lived in a three room frame house, heated by a wood-burning stove, but several of the boys had to sleep in the attic of an out-building. Several also stood at the table to eat. Mrs. Osborn made delicious bread and they each carried a sandwich to school made with “cocoa junk” between the slices. They mixed cocoa, sugar and whole milk together which soaked into the bread. We felt fortunate that we could have sardine sandwiches, our favorite for years and they were four cents per can. The larger came in mustard or tomato sauce and were also good.

I was never unhappy because our family pulled together and Dad was a strict disciplinarian. When things got too rough for Mother to handle, she would lower her voice and say, “I’ll have to tell Dad.”

I would like to go on record as saying I’m pretty sure I would prefer cocoa junk over sardines…