I’d like to welcome Gail Kittleson as my guest blogger for March. I love her story about long ago memories of her grandmother. This generation worked so hard to survive the Great Depression and never took anything for granted.
“Work for the Night is Coming…” by Gail Kittleson
Grandma Cutler lost her mother at age eleven and began “working out” cleaning people’s houses. Children in those days learned one principle at an early age—what they needed came through labor. Eventually Grandma became a small mercantile clerk in a tiny rural Iowa town about half an hour away from her childhood home. We have a nifty photograph of her taken around 1910. In her long dress, she leans on the main middle counter, hair parted in the middle and pinned back, ready for business.
The only other image of her from that time features the horse she rode to work, tied to the post outside the Mercantile. Grandma came of age understanding animals and hard work. She married my farmer grandfather and gave him six healthy babies. Unfortunately, since every farmer wanted male workers, only one of them was a boy. The second-eldest became my dad.
During the Great Depression, Grandma and Grandpa lost their land and tackled the gargantuan task of getting it back. I’m not sure all that involved, but definitely animals and hard work. Grandma walked the corn fields on freezing harvest days, picking corn with a metal pick and throwing the ears into the wagon behind her. At the same time, she maintained her source of “egg money,” a flock of 1,000 chickens, plus doing all of the cooking, housework, and child-care. By the time I knew her in the 1950’s and 60’s, she and Grandpa owned their land and had purchased another plot nearby. They had sent a son to war for four years and somehow still managed all the farm work.
When I was learning to play the piano for church, one common hymn offered a throbbing rhythm: “Work for the Night is Coming.”
“Work till the last beam fadeth, fadeth to shine no more…work for the night
is coming, when man works no more.”
Every verse pulses with this theme. Work, Work, Work! It’s all that matters!
In retirement, Grandma took her Social Security check, $62.00 per month, quite seriously. After Grandpa died, she lived on that amount—of course, she still nurtured a huge garden and the hens. Most of my memories with her take place outdoors, especially in the garden, where nary a lima bean went to waste, no matter how shriveled and dry. “Those are seeds…seeds for next year. Don’t throw them away!”
I don’t recall a whole lot of room for “fun” in this family, but one recollection still makes me smile. When Grandma’s sister, Aunt Iva, came to visit, the two were always partners in the card game “Five Hundred.” By hook or by crook, these wiry ladies knew how to get things done and weren’t above passing cards between their toes under the table to reach their desired end. They weren’t playing for money—just for fun. But the principle of the thing had them playing (or should I say working) their best hands, no matter what.
Any other stories out there about memories of Grandmothers? Grandfather’s? You can write it, I can write it, or we can write it together. Get in touch with me at: beckyvanvleet9@gmail.com As always, feel free to forward to a friend who might enjoy this story. Open in your browser and scroll down to make a comment. I reply to all comments.
Gail’s Bio: A late-bloomer, Gail’s been writing historical fiction for about twenty years. She and her husband moved to the Arizona mountains from the Midwest, and she loves including little-known historical and geographical details in her stories. Facilitating writing workshops sits right at the top of her JOY list.
Check out Gail’s new book, Providence, a novel of the West. Available on Amazon. “Garrit, a solid name–you have found a strong husband, daughter.” Mama’s blessing, spoken after their wedding vows and as clear as the stars above, allowed Meta to release her cares at last. Born of solid German stock, Meta Tolzmann Rausch eyed the starry sphere above. Beside her, Garrit’s steady breathing relayed a message–safe in the hands of Providence. Oh, to embrace that truth! Already seven days to the western border of Iowa and then three more to meet the wagon train at Council Bluffs. And their trek had only begun.
Purchase link: bit.ly/3FeOXjG
Your newsletter is always great!
Thank you, Lisbeth, for stopping by. I appreciate the compliment!
That picture is priceless! I can just imagine her saying to the photographer, “Stop fiddling with that contraption, we have work to do.” I wonder if she had any idea how much her portrait – and her work – would be appreciated over a century later. Thanks for sharing this story!
I loved the picture too, Kevin. As you say, priceless. I’m sure she had no idea a story about her virtues would float around to others a century later.