Poor . . . but Rich

“‘We didn’t have much, but we never suffered really, because we had everything we needed.’ Work wasn’t about building wealth; work was a regular part of daily life. It’s just what you did.” – Smoky Mountain Magazine

Bob, Janet, Dad, Mom, Dick & Jeanne

Mom was raised on a 90 acre farm. Their large family did not have much. In fact, they were poor, but she never felt poor. After the ’29 stock market crash and depression she remembers men coming to the door looking for work or a bit of food. One Christmas only the three youngest children, Mom, Florine and Bernice, received a gift. Mom remembered the look of disappointment in her brother’s eyes, but there were no complaints.

Recently I heard some neighbors talking about mountain folk who depend on wood for heat. That was the way I grew up in Minnesota. Many of my memories are of “making wood”, meaning cutting and splitting many cords (a cord is 4 feet by 4 feet by 8 feet). We had to handle wood many times, including throwing it down into the basement and stacking a good supply of dry available wood. I also think of “tending fire” meaning stoking and banking it with ashes to last through a bitterly cold night. A banked fire could be shaken down the next morning, the burning coals loaded with fresh tinder and fuel to get a roaring hot fire. We used some coal for the coldest of nights. You get to know and understand wood: the smell of red oak, the smooth grain and easy splitting of ash, the tough fibers of elm. Hardwoods, my friends, not soft pine!

Dad and Mom both had some tough furnace experiences. Mom used newspaper to start a fire. It was smoldering, and when she opened the door to the firebox it burst into flame and blew  back, singeing her eyebrows and the hair around her face. Dad several times had the stovepipe blow loose. He had to go to the basement with a wet handkerchief protecting his nose and mouth from the billowing smoke to reattach the pipes. Another time he was shaking down the coals and a hot ember flipped into his slipper, badly burning the side of his foot. When I hear about people talk of saving money with a wood stove I think of the hard work and dangers, although I miss the smells of cut wood and its wonderful heat.

There is a poem by Robert Frost, “Out, Out”. It is about wood cutting with a large open saw blade. Our neighbor, Bob Steinbauer, had a tractor with a large saw mounted on the front. Such a saw was very dangerous. The saw was used especially for very large, awkward, difficult pieces of wood to cut. These had to be lifted carefully and positioned despite the difficulty in handling them. Dad never let me close to that blade. I don’t think Dad ever read the poem, but he knew the danger.

Our old farm house was one that had several additions. The original dated to the 1800’s with windows that were hand hewn. Dad added the basement by excavating it with a grader blade pulled by a team of horses. He and Mom later added an addition, as well as indoor plumbing and water. They began farming in 1934. Life’s work was difficult and demanding then.

Were we poor? Yes, certainly we were as I reflect. Like Mom, though, I never thought of us that way. Our neighbors weren’t much different, for one thing. We were always well fed. Mom made some of best bread – individual little loaves, row after row in bread pans. She knew how to adjust for the conditions, humidity and temperature, just by the feel of the bread. Even in a blizzard we were warm and could survive for days without electricity. Most importantly, we had love and one another.

I believe need fosters appreciation. There are many today who do not lack materially, but seem desperately poor spiritually.