There are two days of the week about which I never worry. . . .

Taken from "Just Thoughts of a Plain Country Woman"  December 29, 1946. 

 

"There are two days of the week about which I never worry.

 One of these is yesterday; with all its pains and aches, all its faults

and blunders, it has passed forever beyond my recall. .1 cannot
undo an act I wrought; I cannot unsay a word that I said on
yesterday. All that it holds of my life, of the wrongs, regrets and
sorrow, is in the hands of the Mighty Love that can bring honey
out of the rock and sweet waters out of the bitterest desert. Save
for the beautiful memories, sweet and tender, that linger like the
perfume of roses in the heart,  the day is gone, I have nothing to do with yesterday.
 
It was mine; It is God's.
 
And the other day I do not worry about is tomorrow with all its possibilities, its burdens, its perils, its large promise and poor performances, failures and mistakes.  It is as far beyond the reach of my mastery as its dear sister, yesterday.
 
Tomorrow --  it is God's day. It will be mine.
 
There is left for myself, then, but one day of the week  -  today.
Any man can fight the battles of today. Any woman can carry
the burdens of just one day.
 
It is the remorse for something that happened yesterday, the dread of what is tomorrow will disclose that drives men mad. These are God's days.  Leave them with Him."

Moving Ahead or Falling Back - You can't stand still.

From "Just Thoughts Of A Plain Country Woman"   December 29, 1946

"Another year comes.  Another year goes.  The day of the one that passed will seem exactly like the days of the one that is to come except that it is our man-made way of giving ourselves a new start, another chance.

And it is well, for all life and nature run in cycles-a beginning, a maturity, and a close; the mistakes and failures of yesterday are off-set by the opportunities of today and the hopes of tomorrow.

Again it is well, for there is no middle ground except today: you go ahead or you fall back."

Don't fret about yesterday and don't worry about tomorrow.  Just do your very best with today - the day you were given.  It is a gift, don't waste it. 

 

 

 

 

A Little Discipline Is Good For Us

Taken from "Just Thoughts of a Plain Country Woman"   
 April 14, 1949
 
"Maybe I am a little old-fashioned. . . but we weren't permitted to gad about on school nights unless there was something super-super to do. . . . all our privileges and "treats" depended on whether we had behaved ourselves and had our school work ready. 
If we didn't we couldn't take part in anything.
Maybe I'm wrong, but we brought up "The Boy" the same way and were gratified to hear him say when he was home on furlough once during the war, "I didn't mind the discipline as many did.  I've been disciplined all my life.  What I missed was home." 

Make your home a place of love and discipline.  Your children will grow to love you for both. 

Success Comes from "Cans"

Taken from "Just Thoughts of a Plain Country Woman"  May 30, 1946 

Writing about graduation times, Lucile Ellingwood Morrow reflects on the values of "schooling":

"Whether viewed through the happy tears of parents, the congratulations of friends, or the eager eyes of the young men and woman, commencement is the climax of years of toil and sacrifice for all.  These children have formed a binding link in binding habit of success.   

When I taught school, I often wrote mottoes on the blackboard and the one that was most often commented on was this:

              'Success comes in "cans"; failures in "can'ts. "  

These graduates have formed a working philosophy for life;  they have fought a good fight;  they have finished the course; they have kept the faith and now await a life more abundant." 

  

As we begin a new school year, be encouraged and encourage others to reach out for the "cans" so we and they can look forward to a life full of riches, success and self-fulfillment.

The Little Town That Became Lubbock. . .

Excepts from "Just Thoughts of a Plain Country Woman" by Lucile Ellingwood Morrow, Published in The Collinsville News, January 9, 1958.

(Background)  With a child that suffered terribly from asthma, the Ellingwood family left their home in Rocky Ford, CO, and moved - as the doctor ordered -  to a dry climate with a lower elevation.  Grandfather Ellingwood settled the family in Fort Worth and traveled west to locate good grass land for cattle.  He ended up with a ranch out of Midland and pastureland in Yoakum, Terry and Gaines counties in far West Texas. 

"The cowboys stayed in West Texas and Grandfather came back and forth to Fort Worth to see the family and make arrangements to move, buy and sell the cattle. 
She writes, "When we first had a ranch about 100 miles from Midland, we had to walk our cattle to town to market. " (The cowboys used the various established trails, the Goodnight, the Chisholm, etc. to get the cattle to Fort Worth and on the Kansas City to sell. These trail rides were hard on the cattle and harder on the cowboys.) "Cattlemen around the vicinity of what is now Lubbock finally persuaded railroad men to set up a stockyards there (in the Lubbock area) during shipping season. 
They would send out a crew that laid a track, set up pens, load the cattle as long as there were cattle to load, then tear down the pens, take down the track and go back to Midland 'til next shipping season. 
Gradually the little town of Lubbock sprang up and, of course, the shipping pens and tracks became permanent. With the coming of oil, Lubbock became an oil town as well as a cow town."

Taken from:  http://www.forttumbleweed.net/cattledrives.html

"The Chisholm Trail, which went through Oklahoma, had become so crowed that cattle had great difficulty in finding forage along the way. To avoid this, ranchers scouted and laid out a new trail, the Western Trail, which has also been referred to in the past as the Longhorn Chisholm Trail, the Trail to Kansas and the Fort Griffin and Dodge City Trail.

During the peak of the season many herds where on the trail at the same time, sometimes only a few miles apart. A herd of 2500 to 3000 was considered the most favorable size for long drives. Smaller herd required about the same crew and overhead expense; larger herds faced problems of watering facilities, grass along the trail and general unwieldiness in handling. Daily travel distances were gauged by grass and water, the object being to fatten cattle en route.  A cattle drive typically covered about 10 to 15 miles a day with a drive to western Kansas taking between 25 and a 100 days.

Trail drivers were cowboys who moved cattle from a home range to a distant market or another range. A typical trail driving outfit consisted of a boss, who might or might not be the owner; 10 to 15 hands, each of whom had a string of from 5 to 10 horses; a horse wrangler (remudero), who drove and herded the cow horses and a cook, who drove the chuck wagon. A "hoodlum" wagon carried the bedrolls. During the day, the men drove and grazed the cattle and at night herded them by relays. Ten or 12 miles was considered a good day's drive. Typical meals consisted of bread, meat, beans with bacon and coffee. The wage was around $40.00 a month.

"The peak year on the Chisholm Trail was 1871. After interstate railroads came to Texas in the mid-1870s, trailing cattle to the Midwest became unnecessary. The Chisholm Trail was virtually shut down by the 1884 season. . . .

Why Women Are Like Newspapers?

From “Just Thoughts of a Plain Country Woman”  June 29, 1950

“Why are women like newspapers?  They are healthier and stronger than they used to be.  They have many type faces. They are worth looking over. Back numbers (editions) aren’t in demand. They aren’t afraid to speak their mind. They can make or break a man. They have influence.  They carry news wherever they go. If they know anything they tell it.  Every guy should have one and leave his neighbor’s alone. 

And, now, that we have kidded the gals, let’s read it again and see how valuable they are. “ 

Summer Fruit Cobblers - So Good!

From "Just Thoughts of a Plain Country Woman"  June 26, 1958

"With the very few first days of summer, we have blackberries, both tame and wild, to make into cobblers.  . . . I was reminded of a cobbler recipe that I used. . .  It is so easy because it does not need to be rolled out like biscuit dough and is so good it would make rabbit fight a dog -- you can use cherries instead of berries if you want to.

Heat one pint of fruit, one cup water, three fourths cup of sugar to boiling point.  Sift together one cup flour, one cup sugar, one teaspoon baking power and one half teaspoon salt.

Cut into this mixture two tablespoons shortening.  Add one half cup milk stirring as little as possible.

Pour batter into pan.  Pour boiling fruit mixture over it; bake in oven that is hot to start with, then decrease the heat.

The dough rises through the fruit till it is a crusty, golden fruity dessert."

 

Additional notes:  Shortening was used because it made products very "crisp" or "short" but nowadays, most people would not use Crisco but rather use butter.  Will produce the same product but just a little less "crisp".  

You will notice there are no directions for baking nor are there oven temperatures provided.  That is because this was a cobbler that was cooked over a wood stove, or placed in a hot oven when the rest of the meal came out.  The cobbler was then placed in the hot oven and continued to bake until it was time to serve -- nice and warm.  If you want to try it, heat your over to about 400 degrees, put the cobbler in and bake for about 10 minutes.  Turn the oven off and let it cool down as the cobbler continues to bake. 

Or you can bake it in a more modern fashion - Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees, place cobbler in oven and bake for about 20 minutes or until dough is brown and crispy. 

 

Either way it is best when served with a big dollop of homemade vanilla ice cream and a nice cold glass of milk. 

Oh the Joy of the Fourth of July!

From "Just Thought of A Plain Country Woman" Published July, 4, 1946.

"For days before the Fourth of July, I pondered what Independence Day meant this year for the meanings surrounding special days vary from time to time; last year, the War in Europe was over, The Boy had survived but was headed for the final struggle in Japan, and, altho, we were grateful for the present relief, we felt that going to the Asiatic area was almost more than we could face  We recalled past Fourths in our childhood and older years and somehow this one, our first Victory Fourth seemed to bear the meaning of "The Year of Beginning Again."  The Boy is home; the Girl will join our family group soon, judging by the constant flow of pink scented letters that come in the mail; our twenty-eighth wedding anniversary that comes so close to the Fourth of July, seemed to join in the spirit of the Day and pointed to a new start for us all."

        Can you imagine how glorious the first Fourth of July must have been, having just
         returned home from winning the WWII?  What celebrations there must have been! 
         Let's celebrate those members of the "Greatest Generation" once again remembering
         the gift of freedom they have given us. 

Kids say the darndest things - maybe it's all in their perspective.

      Excerpt From: "Just Thoughts of a Plain Country Woman"                                 September 30, 1948, The Collinsville News.

"A little girl was visiting her grandmother in the country.  Walking in the garden she saw a peacock, a bird she had never seen before.  After gazing in quiet admiration, she quickly ran to the house and cried out:  "Oh, Grandmother, come and see! One of your chickens is in bloom!" 

What fun it it is to watch the world through a child's eyes.  How they can take such complex issues and instances and break them down into the essence. . .  the essential.. . .  treasuring and focusing on just the most important elements.

I hope your "chicken" "blooms" today! 

Last Posting for Memorial Day, 2013.
  (Explanation:) During the time Mrs. Morrow wrote, it was considered inappropriate to "splash"  
   names around in the press/public.  So, with my grandfather and my father's permission she duly
   noted them in the column as "The Husband" for Joe Fagan Morrow and "The Boy" for Joe
   Ellingwood Morrow.  By the 1950's, is was considered acceptable to use proper/given
   names and so in later columns my brother and I are actually named.  )

Can you imagine in these days of "no man left behind" having the following discussion with your son or daughter as they left for the war front?    Read on. . . .

"While The Boy was still overseas in the thick of the Battle for Europe, The Husband and I agreed that, should he fall, we would not ask for the return of his body; he, himself, had requested that he not be moved if he fell, and since he is home, he still says he would let the war dead lie where they are.

Many, many, however, have requested that their dead be brought home while others are still in doubt.  For these families an article appears in the May (1947) Readers Digest, “Let Them Rest In Peace.”

The writer and his wife, who had lost a son, went to Holland to see the cemetery where he lay,and after seeing the “thousands of small white crosses in perfect symmetry upon the hilltop, with the Stars-of-David blooming among them ” they decided to leave him” Rest in Peace.”

“Row upon row, our sons lie as they marched, side-by-side.  They sleep in death as they had slept in camp.”

The two parents went at all times of the day and in all kinds of weather to make doubly sure they wanted to leave their son buried where he fell,  and came to the following conclusion:

“if I could speak to homes, those stricken as mine, I would like to say two things: First, the cemeteries in Europe are beautiful and as nearly perfect as we could wish.  Second, the people in the midst of whom our sons lie buried are kindly, thoughtful, appreciative, and conscious that it is an honor to pay tribute to the young warrior dead.  Nothing will restore what once has been.  Those many thousands look so quiet—let them rest in that quietness.”

Some have made memorial parks such as the one in Tulsa at Boulder on the Park, where crosses have been erected as a shrines to their dead and that, too, is a beautiful and fitting, and comfortable place where one may go with bowed  head to sit awhile with thoughts of a loved one, for the one is as near in spirit there as they are in France or Holland or New Guinea. “

On this Memorial Day, 66 years later, may they rest in peace.  Happy Memorial Day!  Go celebrate the freedoms these young warriors have provided for us. 

By Memorial Day, 1947, the country was struggling with how to handle the war dead.  Read on to see the amazing -- and coordinated effort -- that followed on to return the soldiers to families who made the request.  An interesting bit of history as you pay your respects on this Memorial Day -- 66 years later. 

"When the WWII was over, all possible means was used to identify all casualties and locate all missing and the war department is quite emphatic that” all identifications are absolutely positive,” easing the fear that some families are likely to receive a body other than that of their own son or daughter.  All identified are unknown are also named.

Our honored dead lie in 201 temporary cemeteries in 57 countries scattered from” Greenland’s icy mountains to India’s coral strand”  and from the jungles of Borneo to Holland and Italy.  WWI dead  were practically all concentrated in France which is readily accessible and, in 1920, appeared to be a peaceful Europe; then only 60% of our people wanted their dead return, but now 80% of the next of kin want their WWII heroes brought the home.  Congress has appropriated funds that the fill the desires of every deceased service person’s family.  Regrettable delay and several postponements and the return of our war dead have been caused by strikes; steel, and consequent shortage of steel caskets, but the government now hopes to complete their removal within 30 months.

Our honored dead will be returned in a progressive operation depending on climate, shipping and other factors; there will be no priorities or distinctions in either time, ship or casket; those lying in Hawaii and Belgium are scheduled to come first.  All funeral ships will debark their caskets at New York or San Francisco, from which point 118 funeral cars will forward the flag draped caskets to 15 distribution centers nearest their final destination.  Each service person will  be accompanied by an honor guard of the same or higher from his own service.  The next of kin and will be advised of the progress and the exact time of arrival sufficiently in advance so that there will be ample time to make final preparations.  There are four optional burial plans as set forth in the American Legion magazine and for May, 1947. "

From "Just Thoughts of a Plain Country Woman", The Collinsville News, May 29, 1947.   www.morrowhomeplace.com

 

 

As Memorial Day approaches. . .  and we see and hear the story of soldier who founded the "Carry the Load" walk, it is interesting to see the emphasis that we placed -- as a county -- on returning the dead to their rightful place. 

The following except is from my grandmother's column, May 25, 1947, Collinsville News, as she talks about the effort to locate all missing warriors from World War II. 

Did you know about this effort?

"More than 200,000 of our honored dead of WWII are being returned for final burial.  In the fall of 1947, a somber gray funeral ship will steam in the San Francisco Bay.  The first of America’s valiant dead will be home at last, two years after the end of hostilities.  At the same time, the first contingent from the battlefields of Europe will arrive in New York.

Behind the vast program of returning the war dead to their native soil is an inspiring story of one of the greatest organized searches in all history.  The Graves Registration Service of the Quartermaster Corps has quietly conducted a gigantic, worldwide search for the body of every fallen American, no matter how slight the clue or inaccessible to the grave.

In Europe alone, 10,000 trained personnel combed over a million and a half square miles seeking to recover an estimated 25,000 missing Americans.  Other thousands of patient searchers struggled on foot through the steaming jungles of Burma and New Guinea, explored of remote valleys of the Himalayas, and scoured the steppingstone the islands of the Pacific.  They used helicopters, ox carts, motor cars, dog sleds, spotting planes and amphibious equipment.  In some remote regions, it was necessary to call up supporting troops and planes to fight off the savage bandits.

From the first landings in the north of Africa to the final smashing of the Reichwehr, the fallen were removed to the rear,  as the battle swept forward, and appropriate burials in temporary cemeteries were held.

In all previous wars, the fallen were buried on or close to the battlefield or lost forever in the depths of the sea.  And the last war, thousands plummeted to death over every sort of lonely spot, as a result of the aerial operations from the Azores to Murmansk, from the misty Aleutians to the dreaded “Hump.”  Thousands of others made the supreme sacrifice on the myriad atolls of the South Seas, and hundreds of intelligence officers vanished in the Balkans, and near and Far East without a whisper ever coming back of their fate or their final resting places.  "

There is more. . . . I will continue next week. . . . stay tuned!

 

"Up" and "Down" Eggs - January 1, 1953

January 1, 1953 - "Just Thoughts of a Plain Country Woman" column publised in The Collinsville News. 

You can imagine my surprise when I read the following column written by my grandmother in 1953 (over 60 years ago) when I was about 2 ½ years old - what an attitude!    

“Kathleen, my small granddaughter, says she gets to pick the “up” eggs.  When she saw I was puzzled by “up and down” eggs she explained that, since she could not reach the high nests, she would gather the ones in the lower nests,  while we picked the others.

How wise and happy she is without even realizing it!  How few of us are willing to do the “down” work-- willingly?  How resentful are we of those who have the “up” nests as though the higher nests or eggs were any better than those lower down. 

And thereby is today’s thought.

 What is the only difference between “high” and “low”?  Physical stature in Kathleen’s case;  mental and spiritual capacity and all our cases.  It is up to us whether we think “high” or “low” and whether we are willing to do our part. . . . . .

. . . .First, let us be self reliant enough to reach up, to look up, and yet at the same time, feel responsibility where we are at our own place, with our own talents and our own growth at our present level.  Kathleen is – even at her level.  She is thrifty, too, holding all the eggs she gathers securely in both hands and placing them carefully in the bucket so as not to break any.  She has the courage to try, the individual eagerness to beg to go along and help; and the supreme faith that while she is doing a perfect job now,  someday she will be a “big girl” who can reach into the very “top” nests, do her part, and receive even greater responsibility and reward.

When we finish,  she insists on helping to carry the heavy bucket of eggs to the house—she insists carrying her part of the load.

And, so I ask you today:  "Are you willing to carry your part of the load?" 

A Busy Day on the Morrow Home Place - Harvesting the Garden

August 16, 1945 -

Well, we finally picked the last of the green beans;  big beans, little beans, some ready to be shelled, others barely set on vines; we knew there was still another picking, and since we like to feel that we have tended to all unfinished business, early one morning while the dew was like a young rain, we gathered our last half a bushel. 

I did not take them to the canning center, for, while there were not many of them, I knew they would take double time for preparation as they were wormy, bug-chewed and would need to be sorted for canning.  Maybe I’m too fussy but I don’t like to put into a jar what wouldn’t look good on a guest’s plate and a bean pod with a big, or even small wormy hole in it, isn’t appetizing.

After all our late planting and too much rain, our garden hasn’t been this disappointing as it was an early spring when time came and passed to plant potatoes and beans.  For a time we discussed eating the half-bushel of seed potatoes we had bought, but the ground finally became mealy enough that we could plant, so we put them in without consulting the Moon, although it’s the latest we’ve ever known of anyone planting spring potatoes.

Now we have harvested eight bushels of as nice a crop we’ve ever had except the time we had twenty-five bushels from a half bushel of seed potatoes.  This will make us enough for all winter if they keep and the boys are not here to eat them.  We got ours dug just about that time other people were planting their little potatoes for the fall garden, but we shall we replant our ground to late roasting ears and turnips.

Now that we near the end of our efforts we’ll wonder if “The Boy” and “Willyum” will be here this winter to help eat out eighty-six quarts of green beans.    We know that “Willyum” is already somewhere in the Pacific, and grieves our hearts beyond measure to think that the boys who survived the European conflict must now enter the the Asiatic struggle. 

Our job was not an easy one, but neither is that of the boys so far from home amid the noise and din of battle or striving to bring order out of the dirt and chaos that Europe.  As we work, wet to the waist, or with sweat streaming into our eyes, or our backs nearly broken, chigger-bitten and bee-stung, we can appreciate in a very small way the terrible heat and constant strife with bugs and reptiles, the impenetrable jungle of the Pacific and when we come to the house with full baskets we can give thanks but we still have a cool, clean house where we can spend the rest of the day canning, cooking, eating, reading and resting, were no bombs have fallen and no destruction has disrupted the regularity of our lives. 

So if you should pass and see me sitting out under the silver maple tree in the rustic bench drinking a bottle of pop, don’t think that is our usual way of living—maybe I just finished a big ironing or canning and cooling myself before putting away the clothes or the jars.  Or if you see “The Husband” sitting in the rocker, on the porch, enjoying a nice drink, don’t misjudge him, for maybe he’s just finished digging the potatoes are barning a load of hay; then, of an evening after our supper, rejoice with us as you pass and see me in the hammock, “The Husband” nearby and his rocker, Spot sprawled comfortably out on the grass, -- it is the climax of a busy day. 

Hope Springs Eternal - April 10, 1947

A short time ago, in January, the earth seemed dead, the land was in the steel grip of winter.  We saw dry leaves, lifeless brown grass, bare wild stalks, leavless skeleton of trees, a few robins and meadow larks but once again the mirable of Srping has come and the exepnctant earth prolaims the Glory of God.  We knew that seeming reign of death was only temporty, that nature was not defeated; that underneath the deal grass were jonquils and tulips and spring beatuies, that there was hidden life,  libe dormant, waiting, hopeful.

The locust and pear trees only withdrew life from exposed parts and wrapped them thorooughtly to protect them from bitter cold, soon to unfold into sweet scented blossoms.  Each hidden bit of life remained waiting in millions fo seeds, buds, bulbs, roots and stems, chrysalis and cacook, n egg ofinsets, and animals sleeping in their dens.  Each waiting bit of life was supplied with food carefullys tored in or around it ready to sustain it till leaf and roots could give fresh food.  We little realize what a mysterious process is that which we call growth.  Only living things grow.  Life everywhere has a power of its own, a purose that guides it and will not be defiled; as human being, we are far above all othr living things, not only in perfection of the human body, but because we are being, not behaving with blind instinct, but with free intelligence. 
Life on eaqrth reaches its climas in personality; which,at its highest, rises above the physical.  Even as the warm rays of the sun reach down, touch the leaves and buds and animales, lift of the dead elements of the earty, so the power of the God of life and love reaches down and, touching the human soul, lifts it up to the highest spiritual life if we only permit ourselves to be lifted up. 

The actual column was published in The Collinsville News, Collinsville, Ok  April 10, 1947.

Boy Scout Cannon Vogel and troop members complete the Morrow Home Place Smokehouse rennovation project

Cannon Vogel and other members of the Scout troop based in Owasso, finished phase one of the smokehouse rennovation project. 

Cannon is working on his Eagle designation and chose the Morrow Home Place smokehouse as a project.  He and the Troop 93, based in Owasso, OK,  have emptied and cleaned out the old smokehouse and found many antique items.  There were careful to log and preserve those items for future cataloging and display. 

They cut a section of the original wooden shingled roof and set it aside to be preserved and used it as an example of how wooden shingles were originally attached to the roof structure.  Vogel located a source of wooden shingles and he and his team re-created the original wood shingle roof on the old structure.

The Scouts took care to preserve the original structure and only replace materials with "like" materials in order to follow the historic preservation direction to "preserve and protect" the orginal structure. 

       Original Smokehouse roof              

Cannon is the son of Mitzi and Rick Vogal and is Kip Robinson, is the Troop 93 Troopmaster. .