“Frequent moves” is a theme of Pearl’s early life. Now, early January, 1911, they move to Jackson County, in western Oklahoma, which earned statehood only 4 years before. The most prominent feature in these next three chapters is Grandma Thornton’s family. “Grandma” is Lasiphene Ware Thornton. Her father, Merritt R. Ware, born in 1814, has moved from Missouri to north Texas to farm and ranch. His oldest son, Jasper, called Uncle Jap, also came west, homesteading 160 acres in western Oklahoma Territory in 1905, now Greer County, just west of Jackson County. Jesse Ware also obtained a homestead in the same area. But, due to illness, he was forced to sell it, and move to Texas. Denford Ware, two years younger brother to Lasiphene, and the youngest son of Merritt has moved to Texas with his father. You will meet Denford’s three children, Will, Laura and Gus. Will and Laura are pretty central to this section of Pearl’s next two to three years. Note that Maggie Ware is Will’s wife, but Aunt Mag Powell, whom we encounter at the outset, is a Thornton, Lasiphene’s daughter and Peter’s younger sister living in Frederick, married with a child. Aunt Bee, mentioned at the end, is Grandma’s daughter in Texas. Take a careful look at the insert below to see the relationships in the Ware family we will meet.
This map shows Devol, Oklahoma in the southeast corner, which is a few miles west of Randlett, where Peter’s brothers live. Far west, about 40 miles, find Hess in Jackson County near where they make their home, close to the North Fork River, a tributary of the Red River. Enjoy! RAN
Pearl’s narrative begins:
With ginning season over in Burkburnett, Papa began looking around for other work and another place to move. We went to the home of Will and Maggie Ware in Jackson County, Oklahoma, three miles south of the small town of Hess. Maggie and Will’s sister, Laura who also lived in the home, took Brother in hand, giving him small bits of soft food that he could swallow and digest. With their patient care of him, his condition showed improvement soon. I’m sure Grandma helped with Brother, but Maggie and Laura were not willing to hand him back to Papa and Grandma for awhile as his condition had become so delicate.
While Papa was scouting the area around Hess for work and a place to live, and the good practical nurses were doing so well with Brother, Papa left me at Aunt Mag Powell’s home in Frederick, Oklahoma, just across the North Fork River from the Ware place, some ten miles away. This family consisted of Aunt Mag, Uncle Carthel Powell and their son, Ralph, who was some six weeks younger than Brother. Uncle Carthel worked for the Peoples Ice Company, delivering ice from the “ice wagon”, a light one horse vehicle, to the households in Frederick. He was a nice looking man with dark eyes and hair, nearly always in a jovial mood, as I remember him. Aunt Mag was a dressmaker. When Grandma Thornton finished housekeeping, she gave Aunt Mag her sewing machine. Some years later as my Aunt continued to make dresses for the public, Uncle Carthel jokingly threatened to take the machine out and chop it to pieces if she didn’t stop dressmaking. Aunt Mag countered this threat by laughingly saying, “No you won’t, it belongs to Mama!”
Aunt Mag kept a neat, beautiful house. The items that took my attention and pleased me most were the teacups with cherries as they hung in her kitchen cabinet. I hoped to have some cups and saucers just like them sometime! I was so lonely at this particular time, I’m sure I remained very quiet and seemingly, unhappy, but Aunt Mag became my “favorite” Aunt in the years to come.
Will Ware was Uncle Denford Ware’s oldest son. The Denford Wares were at home in the Vernon, Texas area on a farm and ranch. Will, visiting Uncle Jap Ware in Greer County, found his future bride in Maggie Gillis in that community. After they were married Uncle Jap offered them a home with him. At some point in time, Uncle Jap and Will and Maggie made an agreement for the exchange of the farm to the young couple for the care of Uncle Jap who was in his declining years.
Laura Pearce and son, George, had cared for her grandfather, Merritt R. Ware, near Vernon, Texas, as long as he lived. Upon his death, they moved to the home of her brother, Will and wife, Maggie, across the Red River from Vernon.
Papa found a small house in Jackson County, a couple of miles west of Holcomb’s Crossing, about two miles from Will Ware’s home. After Papa had gotten the household goods, together with Grandma and me, all located, he went back to Frederick for supplies. Brother was still with the Wares. Our house furnishing consisted of a bachelor stove, also known as a “monkey stove”, to be used for cooking and warming the house. This type of stove, fueled by wood or coal did not have a built in oven, but had a light weight drum type oven that fitted in between two lengths of stove pipe, which allowed the heat to circulate around the oven to bake the bread inside. This little round oven had a tight fitting round door that could accommodate small pans of bread to bake.
Grandma had a “pie safe” which served as a cabinet to store dishes plus staple groceries such as sugar, flour, coffee, and beans. A water shelf for wash pan and water bucket, built onto the wall by the north door, and a dining table with a few chairs completed the kitchen furniture. In the other room there were two beds and Grandma’s, Papa’s and Mother’s trunks, which held our clothes and other items. In this room also, was Grandma’s stand table with glass marble claw feet. This was our lamp table as we used kerosene for lighting.
It was a cold, cloudy, windy day when we moved to the small house, and there was no fuel to build a fire. Papa would be back from Frederick as soon as he could in a wagon, but Grandma and I couldn’t wait. Away from the house there were some tall dry stalks of weeds which we gathered to kindle a fire in the stove. The place had been occupied for the year before, perhaps, and Grandma and I found the place where the occupants had emptied their ashes and cinders from their fires. Grandma took a small box and we picked up handful after handful of those cinders until we had enough to make a small fire. Grandma broke the dry stalks into small pieces, lighted them with a match, then put the cinders on top. The dry stalks soon caught fire, then the cinders caught on and soon we had a small fire to warm our hands and our toes.
Papa returned from town with potatoes, salt pork, coffee, and oatmeal or other cereal. We could obtain milk and eggs from the Wares who had both milk cows and chickens. Papa also brought a sack of coal to add to the small fire in our stove. Papa brought something else which was a delight to all children growing up in my era, in our culture: a new table cover of oil cloth! Generally, grandmas and mamas would buy white oilcloth for the table, but Papa bought one with a bright floral design and when Grandma sat us down to salt pork, fried potatoes, gravy and biscuits, no meal ever tasted so good as that one did off the fragrant, new tablecloth!
There was a vacant house close by the Ware’s to which we soon removed. It was a one room structure some 16 feet by 18 feet, providing room enough for our household furnishings. Uncle Jim Thornton moved next door to our little house in a larger house. He was living at the time, some 30 miles away in the Big Pasture area near Grandfield, Oklahoma. He drove over, on a cold day, to inspect the house, clean up the place a bit and do some repair. He brought his son, Vernon, with him, who was one year my senior. Papa was helping Uncle Jim around the house while Vernon carried away old buckets, cans and bottles to a dump ground down near the river.
I was over meeting my Uncle Jim and my cousin for the first time, but I became engaged immediately in helping carry the trash away. After all was cleared away, Vernon, who had a very creative mind for a seven year old, quickly eyed the old bottles. There were several of them, some were green, others brown, some clear glass. These bottles held small amounts of colored substances, obviously not poisonous. Vernon, talking all the while as he explained his ideas of creating different other colors by mixing certain proportions, using water we had carried to the dumping ground in the lee of the sandy bluff. Remember, we were six and seven year olds about that time in January, 1911, and not very experienced. But from that first acquaintance of Vernon Thornton, at that young age, I have always admired the many qualities of his analytical mind; his ability to take thoughts stored in his “memory bank” and to put them in proper perspective, making tremendous uses of this knowledge. I learned many facts from Vernon through the years, actually, many of which I had learned and forgotten! I received inspiration from his overview of history, both general history and family history. And so, in some containers on this cold, wintry day in the lee of this sandy bluff on Red River, we mixed colors in bottles, named chemicals and concoctions, some never heard of before nor since, and knew within our childish minds we had had a profitable day; and then, our Papas called us!
On another cold day that same winter, while living in the one room house, Laura was with Brother and me (I can’t explain where Grandma was, maybe at Aunt Mag’s for some dressmaking) and another child, maybe Lavina Gillis, Maggie’s, young sister. It was a snowy day, but Papa had gone to town for supplies, maybe some coal. Laura and we kids were playing games – she was exhausting her supply of ideas, I’m sure, when she called our attention to the north window and said, “Here comes my oldest brother!” She repeated this phrase over and over as we watched the man, wrapped from head to toe, protected from the cold wind and snow. We kids waited quietly with mounting apprehension, just wondering whether he would knock at our door! And he did! Laura was chuckling all the while in her own inimitable way, (she shook all over as she chuckled), as she opened the door. To believe the man was her brother, was farthest from our thoughts! There he stood, unrecognizable to us. Laura, laughingly invited him in, and as he shook the snow off and began to unwrap, we recognized his face! Gus Ware, Laura’s brother, not the very oldest brother but the oldest half-brother, son of Laura’s father who lived across the river in Texas. That thrill was a pleasant break in our otherwise dreary day!
Uncle Jim, Aunt Lou Ella and children soon moved into their new home. The children were Elmer Vernon, Agnes Golden, Lonell and May. The girls and I soon became better acquainted and loved to play together, when summertime arrived, Golden, Lovell and I had fun playing in their backyard. Grandma was away visiting her daughters and other sons. She took advantage of being alone, in a sense, having been a widow for a year now. She took Brother with her that summer as Papa took them to Aunt Mag’s in Frederick. When her visit was over there, she rode the train to Burkburnett, Texas, where she was met by some of Aunt Dove’s family or maybe Uncle Bob or Uncle Charley. I believe Uncle Bert and Aunt Dora had moved with their children George, 16, and Martha Ellen, 13, back to Bokchito, Oklahoma by the year 1911. After a pleasant visit among the children and families who lived there, she boarded the train again for Ector, Texas, to visit Aunt Bee and her family. Uncle Jesse, Grandma’s ailing brother was at home there also.
I was alone while Papa was at work, so I spent much time with Aunt Lula’s (as we called her) children. Golden, Lovell, and I made roads in the clean sand, making houses of the damp sand following a shower. These houses were made by digging a shallow hole in the sand, putting one foot in the hole, covering it over with the sand, then slipping our foot out carefully, letting the roof remain intact. There was an art to that type construction and we all became quite adept at it! For people to occupy these homes, we found finger length sticks for the grown-up people, shorter sticks for the children. To distinguish the men and the women, the boys and the girls apart, we learned to wrap pieces of cloth around the women and the girls; scraps of percale and gingham left from sewing our dresses by Aunt Lula and Laura.
At Uncle Jim’s place many tall jimson weeds grew around the back where we played. They provided shade for us and sometimes we gathered the blossoms. The jimson weed is classified poisonous, but we were not aware of this until Lovell came up with nightmares and dilated pupils after playing with the plants. So we were cautioned never to touch them again.
(Jimson weed, also known as devil’s snare or devil’s trumpet, is native to Mexico and has been naturalized in many other regions. The scientific name for this plant is Datura stramonium. It is found in the United States from New England to Florida, and as far west as Texas. D. stramonium is part of a genus of toxic Datura plants that belong to the nightshade family. Jimson weed grows in cultivated fields, grazing lands, and empty lots. The plant is between 2 and 5 feet (0.6-1.5 meters) tall with spreading branches and large serrated leaves. The white flowers are 2-4 inches (5-10 centimeters) long and tube shaped. The seeds are contained in prickly burr-like capsules. Toxic tropane alkaloids are found in all parts of the plants and can cause fatal anticholinergic poisoning if ingested in high enough doses. D. stramonium is known for a mass poisoning that took place in colonial Jamestown in 1679, accounting for one of its many common names, Jamestown weed. RAN,ed.)
Not far from Aunt Lula’s house was a plum thicket. She began to talk to us about “going to the plum thicket one day” when the plums were ripe. It sounded like good fun until that day arrived! She had warned us the night before that we would go early to the plum patch while it was cool, before the sun was high. Early meant sunrise, or a few minutes later, so we all went to the plum patch rubbing our eyes, at least I did! Each of us was given a one gallon bucket and told to begin gathering the ripe fruit. Everyone got busy except me. I gathered a few plums and sat down, leaning back against a large tree. I may have dropped to sleep. Then I heard Aunt Lula’s voice, “Pearl, get busy and gather plums.” “I’m sleepy”, I answered, getting to my feet. I’m sure everyone’s bucket was filled before mine. Aunt Lula never did let me forget that incident. She possessed quite a sense of humor!
Another day we were sent down in the concrete cellar to clean it up. We carried brooms, buckets and whatever else we needed for equipment, and when we had it thoroughly clean, we decided to make a “play house” down there. Vernon was assigned another job outside, like cutting weeds, but he was alone at his task, so decided to check on us girls to see what we were doing. He was down the cellar with us, using his expertise to help arrange our “play house” when all the fun suddenly came to an end. We looked up the cellar steps and saw Aunt Lula coming down with a switch in her hand, calling Vernon’s name. She was coming down to punish him for leaving his job unfinished. Aunt Lula laughed many times at the way in which I responded to her. She said my eyes were as big as saucers, and I made a beeline for the cellar door and flew up those steps as fast as I could. I suppose the other children kept still while the corporal punishment was being administered!
At Will’s and Maggie’s house some of us children had a new experience some time that year. Just who was there with me is vague in my memory, but Maggie became ill one afternoon and “Doc” came in his buggy and carrying his black bag. They put us children out back and I can still feel the apprehension and the tension that gripped us as we played – mostly marking time, it seemed – under the hackberry tree and among the moon flower bushes. After a period which seemed hours to us, they called us in to see a new baby boy! He was Maggie’s and Will’s second child; Lela was three that year. He acquired the nickname “Dobbin” which stayed with him all of his life.
That summer I remember being in Laura’s and George’s room quite a few times. They had an old Victor “talking machine” with a horn which was detached from the machine, upside down on the table. The machine was not in good repair – maybe just a new needle would have fixed it – at any rate, we didn’t hear much music from it. I loved Laura much as she was easy to talk with and would let me look at some interesting keepsakes she prized quite highly. For a Christmas present Papa had gotten her a paper weight, a glass dome some four inches in diameter with a winter scene inside. By turning the object upside down, then setting it upright again, a violent snowstorm ensued! A very interesting paperweight! Will’s and Maggie’s little daughter, Lela, would come into Laura’s room and help herself to Laura’s belonging.
Laura kept her bedroom door closed so Lela could not get in and prowl among her keepsakes, but sometimes, when I was in the room, Lela would come in. She was fascinated by the phonograph horn, and I still retain her image as she tiptoed and barely reached the horn sitting upside down by the machines. Her little fingernails screeched upon the metal surface causing chills to run up and down my spine! I would yell at her to stop, but she would keep up the screeching, watching me closely until I quietly led her out of the room.
Around the Ware’s homestead were various trees and bushes. There was a lone hackberry tree from which we ate berries – more seed than berry, but very tasteful. Then there was the beautiful night flower we called “moon flower”, large trumpet-like white blooms with large soft velvety leaves; a rapid growth plant, fragile to the touch. Beyond the hackberry tree and moon flower bushes, began the wild plum thicket, which provided fruit for the Ware household. The Ware family had the habit of leaving the fruit canning jars unwashed until canning time the next season. Needless to say, the cleaning task at canning time became a bit tedious. I do not recall helping gather the plums as I did at Aunt Lula’s house, but Maggie and Laura enlisted me in washing the jars preparatory for canning the plums, as my six year old hand became quite useful in washing the inside of the small mouthed containers. But to me it was fun. I don’t recall the task as continuing over an extended period.
There were lilac bushes in front of the house where we young people would play hide-and-go-seek when others were visiting. Will’s and Laura’s father and stepmother, Uncle Denford and Aunt Violet, and their younger children, Elmer, Annie and Earl would come to spend the night and after supper would play in the front yard among the lilacs. I recall that Will and Laura always addressed their stepmother as “ma’am”, which is an unusual title. I suppose they began it when their father remarried, and continued it as long as they all lived.
(We are in the Springtime of 1911, Pearl does not mention turning six on January 27. She is reveling in new cousins with whom to play. We are getting a sense of living in a southwestern Oklahoma rural setting during the first generation of white settlers. Chapter Nine will bring new adventures for Pearl, where she reviews many “firsts” in her young life in 1911.) RAN
Dad, I really love this, thank you! Peoples’ names are so wonderful!, and the details of their games with the bottles and sand houses, the plants, moon flower, and the hallucinogenic Jimson weed. I love how she even remembers falling asleep under the fruit trees, and that the Wares didn’t wash the canning jars until they were needed again.
Thank you Melanie for these thoughtful observations. She invites the reader into her childhood experiences. I am close enough to the land to really feel a part of the sand burrs and jimson weed.
Yes, moving was not too sad as she seemed to enjoy meeting new family and making new friends.š
Oh how I love to read these stories! I am struck by so many interesting names of the time and Pearl’s detailed descriptions. I could almost taste the salt pork, fried potatoes, and biscuits and gravy. It’s also interesting how despite moving around often, Pearl took delight in the new places and faces she encountered. So much of these stories remind me of Little House on the Prairie books I read as a child. Thank you again for bringing these stories to life Ray, with your thoughtful editorials and photos.
You are welcome. I always appreciate your observations and responses to Mama’s descriptive capturing of those moments, common, yet emotive to our memories. It is a prairie tale with hardships and joys. Thanks for your gracious compliments. Ray
Z. Pearl was such a good writer. Always enjoy her narrative.
Your visit and encouraging comments are appreciated.