on the place, white lilacs, and the white lilacs have a
very interesting history. Over near the fish hatch-
ery, on the hill, the Lakeland family had their first
log cabin. They later built their house down on the
crossroads. But up on the hill there is one white lilac
bush. Still doing well. The white lilac I have was
transferred from that in 1874. The Lacy family
came in territorial days, before 1848. The lilac is
still blooming. And other cuttings have been placed
around. At the front of the house there is a hedge
of lilacs. Probably the first bush was planted because
the pioneer wife wanted some flowers."
    In the memories of their beloved elder relatives,
the women find the values of an earlier generation.
Bess Bartlett told us about her husband's mother
who devoted her whole life to hard work: "When
she and grandpa got old they moved into town. But
she wasn't ever very happy. There just wasn't
enough for her to do. It got to working on her
mind, I guess, and she just had to get back out on
the land, so she and grandpa came back to the farm
and lived with us. Grandma worked hard till the day
she died. She was happy that way."
    The women hark back to personal landmark
events that set the course of their future: "I was a
fifteen-year-old farmgirl when I had my first date.
I had met this young man for the first time at a
dance at the crossroads dance hall, and he said, 'Can
I come to see you Saturday evening?' And I said
yes. And when he came he drove up to the house
with a beautiful open carriage and a snow-white and
a coal-black pony. It was the most beautiful team!
I was just flabbergasted. I thought he'd come with
an old farmhorse. And here he come with that beau-
tiful team . . . and I'm married to that man now.
Fifty-four years !"
    The men remember the more boisterous social
 events that had a kind of splendid energy and good
 humor. Roger Green, retired farmer from Grant
 County, said: "Usually the night of the wedding, if
 the young couple stayed home, or if they didn't and
 went on a little wedding trip, they'd wait until the
 bride and groom got home and then as many as want-
 ed to go they'd take washtubs, or plow discs, or any-
 thing they could pound on to make a noise, or shot-
 guns. They'd just surround this house, and beat all
 that stuff and keep it up hollering and hooting until
 that couple came out. And when they came out it
 usually meant a half-barrel of beer, or the money to
 buy one. Sometimes if the poor guy couldn't supply
 the beer the gang would demand the bride! They
 called this nonsense a shivaree."
    And Bert Jones, Columbia County, recalled an-
 other typical prank: "We had a right splendid out-


Hoard instilled a sense of pride in having better cattle. To Hoard
the dairy cow was queen.
house in our neighborhood. One of our farmers built
it for his wife. It was a real ornate affair, six-sided,
and it was plastered inside. One Halloween night
the local boys tipped that over and that was a cryin'
shame. It just collapsed. It would have been a show-
piece and should have been sent to Washington or
someplace. We tipped over an outhouse one night
and there was a feller in there. Later on a few years
after, I was telling how we had pushed it over and
how the guy inside hollered and all, and a feller who
was listening says, 'So you're the guy that done that
to me, are you?' And he took out after me and we
run near a mile, but I outfooted him. I never saw
him again, and I never wanted to."
     Carl Munz offered some humor from threshing
days: "Years ago, before every farmer got a thresh-
ing rig, there were certain people who owned the
rigs and they would go around threshing for every-
body else. They'd leave home on a Monday and
they'd not get home again maybe for a week. The
person who owned this threshing rig was my broth-
er-in-law's dad. There was one certain place that
was in their round. This place wasn't known to be
too clean and one thing and another, and there was
a saying they used when the threshers went there:
'If you wanted to go out to the backhouse, go out
there during mealtime, because then the flies were
all in on the table.' "
     Or, more seriously, Don McDowell, Future Farm-


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