MY FLOWER GARDEN by Katherine Carey-Place 1878-1934

 

I have a garden fair to see,

                        Where purple flowers bloom for me,

Royal purple pansies meek,

                        Mignonettes, with fragrance sweet,

And there’re stately roses there,

                        Blooming almost everywhere.

There the jonquil – saucy fellow,

                        Flaunts his style in palest yellow,

While beside the garden wall,

                        There’s a river that grows more tall –

Hollyhocks, I love them too,

                        Sparkling bright, with morning dew.

 

Waxen lilies in a row,

                        Marigolds and golden glow,

Starry asters, flashing white,

                        Zinnias’ of color bright,

                        Nod and bend to touch my gown,

And beyond a hedge of red,

                        Scarlet sage lifts up her head,

While still further on you see,

                        Tall, the stately lilac tree.

But there’s one I have not told,

                        Daises white with hearts of gold.

 

Mother loved them long ago,

                        That is why I prize them so,

And in my garden there’s a place,

                        That thee modest daises grace,

Always old, yet never new,

                        Like a friend that’s tried and true.

They are beautiful you see,

                        All these flowers that bloom for me.

But to me the flowers most bright,

                        Is a field of daisies white,

Makes me think of days of old,

                        Half their beauty can’t be told.

 

A paradise my garden seems,

                        With colors bright and restful greens,

Purple pansies, asters white,

                        Mignonettes and zinnias’ bright,

Waxen lilies in a row,

                        Marigold and golden glow,

Stately roses, fair to see,

                        Scarlet sage and lilac tree,

Hollyhocks beside the wall,

                        Yellow jonquils not so tall,

But the modest daisies bring,

                        Thought of sweetest, dearest thing.

 

Katherine Carey-Place 1878-1934

 

Copyright Roy Richard

Untitled (04) by Gaylia Kenslow – Stogsdill

 

Vast open spaces,

Mountains,

Crowded cities,

Homeless people (by choice or by chance),

Wildlife,

Palatial Homes.

Watching storm clouds gather,

Miles away in Mtn. Large,

Finally building to explode,

In a fury of jagged, long reaching bolts of lightning.

Tall pines,

Deep canyons.

And Joe and Rach.

 

Gaylia Kenslow – Stogsdill

 

Copyright Roy Richard

COMING HOME by Katherine Carey-Place 1878-1934

We’re coming home to see the family,

                        Think they’ll have a welcome true,

Quite a spell we’ve journeyed from them,

                        Done the best that we could do.

 

How we’ve missed the happy circle,

                        Missed each loved one day by day,

Oft our hearts were filled with sadness,

                        While we journeyed far away.

 

Now we’ve turned our faces homeward,

                        Hope you’ll be glad as we,

If you are we’ll have some welcome,

                        ‘Cause it’s glad as one can be.

 

Our “OLD FLINT will be right with us,

                        Heavens he is growing gray,

We will all be mighty happy,

                        If he brings us all the way.

 

Our “OLD FLINT’s” a faithful servant,

                        Though his spark plugs miss sometimes,

His differential’s out of whack,

                        And his fan wheel softly whines.

 

His carbonators we’ll adjust,

                        But his taillights pretty dim,

After all he’s pretty slick,

                        For the kind of shape he’s in.

 

Once we thought we’d trade him over,

                        For a modest little coup,

But the salesman wouldn’t take him,

                        Lest we give him lots to boot.

 

So we’ve greased his innards amply,

                        Bought him brand new shoes,

Juddie thinks he’ll make the journey,

                        If we feed him as we go.

 

Our “OLD FLINT” is some big eater,

                        Has an appetite immense,

Takes a lot of costly fodder,

                        When we drive him, here and hence.

 

We’ll start at four A.M. I think,

                        But maybe not till five,

But is he has his usual pep,

                        He’ll get us there alive.

 

Hang the latch key where it’s handy,

                        For you see we really might,

Have a blowout on the journey,

                        And be driving in at night.

 

Call the family all together,

                        Tell them we are on the way,

Have the babies there to greet us,

                        Make a regular festal day.

 

Everybody put a grin on,

                        Greet us with your broadest smile,

Ask the Jermyn band to meet us,

                        Really, isn’t life worthwhile,

 

Seems my heart is full to bursting,

                        Don’t know how I’m going to wait,

Don’t forget to leave the latch key,

                        Hanging by the entrance gate.

 

Kill the biggest, fattest gobbler,

                        Stuff him till he’ll hold no more,

Fry some sausage nice and crispy,

                        Like you did it once before.

 

Gosh my appetite’s improving,

                        Think I most can eat a whale,

Don’t forget to kill the gobbler,

                        When hear we’ve stuck the trail

 

Katherine Carey-Place 1878-1934

March 22, 1930

 

Copyright Roy Richard

PUNK (My Dad)

 

This is my favorite picture of my Dad. I am guessing it was made in the late 1920’s. Dad was a good man, full of humor; he provided for his family and helped others in need. It wasn’t until after his death that we heard rumors of his “sorted” past. While none of the items mentioned where horrible or devastating, it did reveal a part of him none of us ever knew.

He and his step-father did not get along and so when he was 13, he left home and “ran the roads”. During this time he lived with family and friends and sometimes just slept in someone’s barn. What we didn’t know was that his nickname was “Punk” and that he carried a short barrel 38 revolver. Sis and I would talk and wish we had a way to just check the local law enforcements records back then to see what things he got into. I have checked the Missouri Penitentiary records and know that luckily he never made it there! So maybe it was only mischief he got into? I’d like to believe that.

Some things about Dad that I knew and maybe lend some credit to achieving that nick name include:

• Stories of disassembling a farmer’s wagon and then reassembling them on top the barn.
• My Grandfather Edmonds an old coal miner and quite a drinker would often try to out drink Dad. But Dad never loss, he always was able to drink his father in-law under the table.
• He was an unbelievable pool player. I often saw him run the table giving his opponent no chance.
• He loved to gamble playing cards.
• Once at work a supervisor said something that riled him greatly and he pushed the man backwards towards a waste can. The supervisor sat into the can and then could not get out. For some reason Dad, as far as I know, was never disciplined for this.
• We would often go hunting for my “Uncle Bud” when he stayed out and Dad knew where all the good “Beer Gardens” where.
• He could/would never just outright buy a large item. Each purchase was an adventure into seeing what you could dicker for. Mom got free lamps with her living room set. We got free 8-tracks with our first stereo. I got free underwear and a new tie with a suit.
• He took me along with his drinking buddies one night to drive to Saginaw and get a gigantic roll of insulation. It was January and cold! He was in the passenger seat and I sat in the middle. In the back seat were two of his friends. All the way up there he kept the door cracked, allowing the wind to blow into the back seat. His friends complained of the cold and Dad kept telling them the heater must not be working.
• When I was about five he stayed out all night one Saturday. When he got home Mom forced him to get ready for church. All day he tried his best to get back home to go to bed, but he never made it. We went to morning services, had lunch, went shopping (ALL DAY), then attended evening services. Next morning mom had him up and ready for work. He never stayed out like that again.

When I was seven he was diagnosed with prostate cancer. While he was in the hospital recuperating, he stopped drinking, smoking, cussing and gambling. After coming home he became more active in church

Copyright Roy Richard.

? by Gaylia Kenslow – Stogsdill

 

I do what I feel in my heart must be done –

I say what I feel should be said.

I ponder what’s right and wrong in each case –

Then I act without feelings of dread.

I do not know that I am correct –

In all that I say and do –

I only know it’s the answer I’ve found –

After seriously thinking things through.

 

Gaylia Kenslow – Stogsdill

 

Copyright Roy Richard

LETTERS by Katherine Carey-Place 1878-1934

 

Whenever I write a letter, to friends that are far away,

Or to the home folks I love best, I am careful what I say,

I write of the weather and the birds and the flowers, of sunshine and moonlit night,

But I never mention the worries, to the home folks I write.

 

I write some funny things between and smile myself and see,

Their loving faces as they read and know they think of me,

And they are happy, I am sure, because they see me, too,

And live the joys in fancy as they read the things I do.

 

I tell them we’re feeling fine out here, we’re happy the whole day thru,

I write of the pleasant trips we take, and the many things we do,

I write of the river, the ocean blue, the places I love to roam,

But, I never mention the worries to the folks when I write home.

 

Perhaps the day has weary been and tear drops dim my sight,

And things have bothered me a lot – of these I never write.

For I am sure if, then I’m sad, I sent a letter home,

And told them little troubles, made all my worries known,

That when my letter came to them and would break the seal,

And read of only worries, I know just how they’d fee.

 

So whether I am gay or sad, or days are dark or bright,

I never mention worries to the home folks when I write,

But, I ponder o’er the letters filled with joy or woe.

Journeying on to loved ones, ever they come and go,

And my eyes are dim with unshed tears, for perchance on a day less bright,

I, too, will send a tear dimed page to the loved ones when I write.

 

Katherine Carey-Place 1878-1934

 

Copyright Roy Richard

EARL'S COUSINS

Growing up we visited and heard a lot about Dad’s cousins. I never thought too much about it till recently and then could not make heads or tails of the various people.

Culbertson, Dorris, Lane, Julius, Peck and more! Who are these people. How do they fit in and how are we related?

It became apparent that Earl must have spent a lot of time growing up around his mother’s ‘people’. Pheobe Ann was by birth a Rogers and with the exception of the Julius’ all these cousins follow the line of the Rogers.

Peck

By going back to Earl’s Great Grand Parents Pleasant Rogers (1801-1845) and Pheobe Hickman (1816–1900), we find in addition to Earl’s Grandfather George William Rogers they also had a daughter named Chancy Jane Rogers (1837-1888) who married William A Peck (1830–1890). Their son Pleasant B. Peck (1871-1952) had a son Elva B. Peck (1908-1983) who was Dad’s age and a ‘cousin’. Elva pastored the New Hope church from 1953 to 1956.

Elva’s children (Glenda Earfaye Peck, Evelyn Darlene Peck, Elva Lee Peck, Thelma Bell Peck, Charles Raymond Peck, Levonna Florene Peck, Brenda Berniece Peck) were more part of my memories. They are 3^rd cousins to me.

• Glenda married Richard Robbins and their youngest son Timmy and I played together.
• Elva Lee married into the Rainwaters, another name from the past.
• Thelma married Mack Williams. Their ministry greatly influenced the growing General Baptist Denomination.
• Charles Raymond was a Christian radio personality in the Flint area, in addition to being a great minister for the Lord
• Levonna  attended church with us while I was growing up.

Culbertson, Dorris, and Lane

You do not have to go as far back to tie these into the family, you only have to look as far as Earl’s mother’s siblings.

Culbertson

Pheobe’s sister Mary Ann (1869-?) married John A.B. Culbertson, their son John Henry (?-1963) had a son, Ottie William Culbertson (1941-?).

We always visited Ottie and his wife Maxine when in Missouri. They operated Nursing Homes in the Dexter Missouri area.

Dorris

Pheobe’s sister Cora (1882-1946) married Milton Dorris, their son Herman (1902-?) was Dad’s contemporary. Herman had two daughters Sue (married Robert Sampson) and Debbie (married William Murry).

We attended New Hope Church with Herman and his wife and often had Sunday Dinner at their house. In later years we switched to First General Baptist and attended there with their daughters.

Lane

Pheobe’s sister Amanda (1886-1943) married James D Warren. Their daughter Violetta (1920-?) married Robert Lane. 

Parts of the Lane family also attended New Hope Church.

Julius

To tie in the Julius name you only have to go so far as Earl’s dad. William Oliver’s sister Susan Jane (1875-1941) married Francis Julius, their children were the cousins Earl visited with and talked about.

The Julius clan did not migrate to Missouri and stayed in Illinois.

Roy Julius was a minor celebrity in that he got his picture in the Grit, a national newspaper published back in the day. It seems when he was a boy he caught a snapping turtle and carved his initials in its shell. Years and years later while fishing he caught a monster snapping turtle while fishing. While taking it off the hook he noticed his initials in the turtle’s shell. Same turtle all those years apart!

Copyright Roy Richard