Archive for the ‘Childhood Memories’ Category

Day 7 – 365 Days of Memories – Was My Face Red!

Question for Today:  What was Your Most Embarrassing Teen-Age Moment?

I decided before I began this journey down Memory Lane that  I didn’t want to write in a linear fashion that began with birth and continued through my life.  When a memory popped into my mind I wanted to grab it right then and commit it to paper.

So here goes…  My most embarrassing teen-age moment.

I think I was fifteen.  Maybe sixteen.

It involved a brand-new pair of jeans, summer, a softball game, and a slide into second base.

There were no discount stores in our tiny town then, just a store named “Hazel Harper’s”.

Hazel’s didn’t carry cheap clothes, and so for most of my teen-age life, after I began caring about how what I wore looked like, I wore zip-up, button top Lee Jeans from Hazel Harper’s.  In blue jeans color and in what was called “wheat jeans” in a lightish, whitish, wheat-colored, tan.

And tight.

There was no stretch in the jeans in those days, so you had to lay down on the bed to get them zipped and buttoned when they came out of the dryer.

But this brand-new pair of jeans weren’t my favorite “Lee” brand.   I had been watching the ads in the teen magazines, and so I decided to go for a different brand of jeans. Went to a store in Wichita, and came home with a brand that I’d never worn.

Because I have no desire to get on the wrong side of a lawsuit, that widely popular brand of jeans shall remain nameless here.

So I bought these new jeans, threw them in the washer and the dryer, laid down on the bed to get them zipped up and then snapped the top shut.

And this is where it matters.

I snapped the top shut.

And went off to play softball against a rival team.

The jeans fit fine. Snug, they moved with my every move, and towards the end of the game, I led off of first and headed to steal second.

The girl covering second had to tag me, not the base, for me to be out, and when I saw the ball land in her mitt, we both raced for second, and I slid down to the dirt, and slid in, feet first.

Safe.

Or thought I was.

Then I stood up.

My jeans – didn’t.

The top snap had snapped, and popped open.

The zipper slid down

My jeans just didn’t quite get all the way up when I did.

I grabbed denim as fast as I could. Yanked the jeans up with me by the belt loops.

Maybe the only one who saw my ‘tighty-whitey’ underwear, and my embarrassment, was the second base ump.

My best friend’s brother….

But he got a glimpse.

Maybe everyone did.

I was mortified.

No one said a word, not even the ump.

I don’t remember whether we won the game that day, or lost it.

But I do remember that I never wore those jeans again without a belt to keep them up where they belonged….

And I went back to my favorite brand of Lee jeans when I bought the next pair.

Day 6 – 365 Days of Memories – My Earliest Childhood Memory

Today’s Question is;  What is Your Earliest Childhood Memory?

It was my intent to post a new question to write about every day for 2018.

Now, I’m writing the Memory for Day 6, and today is already January 13th.  I’m 7 days short already! So Sorry!  Maybe I should have tried for 52 weeks of memories!

One of my earliest memories was one between my oldest brother and I.  We were in the pasture, in the back of the old Chevy grain truck that Mom would later nickname “Wobble Knees.” It was cold.  We both had our heavy coats on, and we could see our breath, and the breath of the cattle that we were (well, he) was feeding, as he pitched ensilage over the side of the truck to our dairy cattle.

For some reason, he must have agreed to let me tag along. (Or maybe Mom begged him to take me.)  I had to be somewhere between two and three years old, so it was really nice that he let me go.

Dad usually fed the cattle. But that evening, my brother was the one pitching the silage down to them.  Maybe Dad was ill, but my brother was always good to help Dad, especially after Dad’s heart attack.

The reason that this sticks in my mind is because the question that I kept asking my brother was one that he didn’t answer, and couldn’t answer, to my toddler satisfaction.

I must have just been to Sunday School, and we must have studied how God made the world and everything in it, because the question that I continued to ask him was: “Who made God?”

His reply was that God was, and always had been, and always would be, and that no one made God.

My next question, and the next many questions, was: “But. Who. Made. God?”

I know that I asked him that question many times, and I remember that he was patient, if a little exasperated, by the time the cattle were fed.

I don’t remember how he got me sidetracked, nor if he ever convinced me that God was, and always had been, and always would be, and was the Creator, not the created.

In fact, it’s just that that little scene that has replayed in my memory throughout my life, and I’ve wondered if that exchange has played a part in my faith today.  And I’ve also wondered if my question might have helped trigger my brother’s desire to become a minister.

That last is a question that I can no longer ask him, as he went home to be with the Lord in December of 2012.

Day Four – Memory Four – Wading in a Buffalo Wallow

The challenge:

What is one of your favorite childhood memories involving water.  Preferably not in a swimming pool?  What was fun about it? What was special about it? Why do you remember it? Where were you?

I’m going to try to write up 365 memories this year.

So far I’ve been 2 hours late and a day behind.

It will probably get worse before January is over!

So lately I’ve been thinking about buffalo wallows.

The backyard I played in while growing up was a cow pasture.

Before it was a cow pasture, it was prairie. There were coyotes, antelope, prairie chickens, pheasant, quail – and buffalo.,

Our pasture had quite a few large depressions on a hillside between two creeks. Water gathered in the wallows and it would stay there for several days after a rain.

We loved to splash and wade in those buffalo wallows, squishing grass and mud between our toes with the water almost up to our knees. (we were pretty short then…)

Every spring, those buffalo wallows were full of little pollywogs or tadpoles.

We’d gather them up in canning jars, and cart them back to the house, where over several days’ time, we’d watch them turn into little baby frogs.

Once they turned into frogs we’d take them outside where they were thoroughly admired, their jumping skills assessed, and turn them loose.

And when the next spring rain came along, we’d start all over again with more pollywogs.

Caution:  I don’t know if any children will read this, or parents who might try to find pollywogs for their kids to watch grow, but when I googled Pollywogs to try to learn exactly how long it would take on average for a pollywog to turn into a frog, I found that frogs and tadpoles can transmit diseases to humans.

Two scary diseases, such as salmonella and tuberculosis.  (Check out the article here: http://frogsource.com/article/from-frogs-humans-disease-transmission

The article indicates that the salmonella can be a lot riskier for younger children, so I feel pretty lucky that we didn’t end up with any bad side effects from all the fun we had with pollywogs!

This is Day one – Memory 1 – of what I hope will be 365 Days of Memories!

If you decide to follow along, but you don’t have time to write up the “What’s In a Name?” memory for yourself, then do what I’m going to do with some of the memories that I don’t have time to write up right now.

I can’t take credit for this idea, but I’ve heard of others who do it.  They write up the question on a piece of paper and stick in a jar, Mason or Kerr, any kind with a lid, put the lid back on and pull a memory out when they do have time and write about it.  And frankly, if you’re not in the mood to write about the memory you pull out later, put it back, and pull out one that you are in the mood to write about!

So here goes…

What’s in a Name?

Questions to ask yourself:

Did your mother ever tell you the story of your name?
How they came to choose your name?
Why they named you that?
Were you named for someone else, a friend or a family member?
If so, why did they name you after this person?

What’s in a Name?

My mother must have told me the story of my name when I was pretty young or I heard her telling someone else this story, many, many times.

My parents named me Sherry Lynn.

If my mom every told me why they did, that hasn’t stuck with me, but what I do remember, is that it really annoyed her mother!

My mom’s mother, Carrie, was very opposed to the consumption of alcohol, and I shared my name with an alcoholic drink.

This fact upset my Grandma Carrie.

So much so that I heard my mom telling people, a lot of people, how upset my grandmother was many times before I began 1^st grade, so when our teacher stood in front of the classroom, and told us the story of Carrie Nation, and how she carried an axe into saloons to break bottles and chop up bars I actually thought maybe, just maybe, that Carrie was my very own Grandma.

Because at the age of six, I really didn’t know what my grandmother’s last name was, so I thought anyone who hated my name, might be the very same Carrie who hated liquor enough to take an axe to it..

I don’t remember if I asked my parents if my Grandma Carrie was “the” Carrie, or if I just waited and found out later that she wasn’t.

But it’s interesting to know that my grandmother, who I’m sure loved me, actually hated my name.

I hope you all have a Very Merry Christmas!

Thanks to Footnote Maven of  http://www.footnotemaven.com/, Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/footnoteMaven?fref=photo for her Christmas Carol blogging challenge!  I have many, many favorite Christmas carols, and listening to all of them is a favorite part of Christmas for me.  Most all of the time, I love the old favorites by the original artists, but I add new favorites as they come along.

Two years ago, I added “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” by Kansas girl Martina McBride and Dean Martin to a favorite’s list on my iPod!  (And just so you know, my hubby got to meet her when she was still singing with her parents in different gigs around Kansas!)

He had truck trouble, and Martina’s folks were on their way to a gig and they picked him up and took him into town!  She was a beautiful young lady (still is), and he came home with stars in his eyes!

Here are photos and their version of this Christmas classic

And last year, I added a new couple, Missy and Jase Robertson, singing “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” to my iPod’s favorites’ list.  Missy has a lovely voice, and together they do such a cute job of singing this Christmas favorite.

And as for WHY is it one of my Christmas favorites.  Here my “why.”

My Mom and Dad got up at five a.m. every morning, EVERY morning, cold, rain, snow, sleet,  ice, didn’t matter, to milk the dairy cows.  After they finished milking, Dad  went out in the pasture to feed the cows, and Mom came in the house to start breakfast. (And wake me up if I wasn’t already.)

I have this wonderful memory of my dad coming in from a cold, snowy, early winter morning after feeding the cattle, all bundled up in overalls and a heavy flannel-lined coat, his face red from the cold, and that twinkle in his eye that was always there when he looked at my Mom, and he would sing “Baby, it’s Cold Outside” as he snuggled up to her, nuzzled her neck and gave her a chilly hug and kiss.  And there was always laughter between them when he did that, and usually a few more kisses.

My dad died when I was not quite 13, and I am thankful for such a special memory, and the love that my parents had for each other and for me, and  that still brings a smile to my face.

And as I sit here, playing these two songs, my mom, age nearly 103, has a big smile on her face, and she is singing along!

Thank God for the memories!

My first thought when I read the  Carnival of Genealogy Challenge for August was “we didn’t have a family business, we had a farm…”

And then I re-thought, realizing that a farm always was (and still is, no matter the size) a business also, though some might say that  farming is more of a calling than a career, and for those of us who grew up on a farm, it’s more a part of our hearts than most brick or mortar businesses could ever be.

One of the sayings that I grew up hearing was “You can take the boy off the farm but you can’t take the farm out of the boy.” (Same goes for many of us farm girls, too!)

When my oldest brother was just a toddler, our folks bought the farm where dad grew up with his seven (living) brothers and sisters, and dad’s parent’s, Elmer and Maud (McGinnis) Stocking.  My grandparents moved to the nearby town of Mayfield, Kansas with their youngest children and my grandfather Elmer continued his work as a mail carrier until his untimely early death from a heart attack.

Mom, Dad, and my brother Fred moved back to the Mayfield area from Arkansas City (“Ark City”) after they purchased the farm.  All of this happened before I was born, or as my brother Harold, Jr. “Fred” would say “before you were even a twinkle in Dad’s eye.”

Farmers then, and farmers now, wear many hats.  They must be amateur weathermen/women, watching the weather with an eye to scheduling their work.  Their planning, planting, fertilizing, field work, harvesting, and even praying for rain circles around what the farm land needs and when it needs it.

Farmers also need to be bookkeepers, grain marketers, have the ability to supervise their family as workers, as well hired hands if they have some, and during the summer, they often have to put in 60 to 80 hour weeks as well.  It wasn’t just sun up till sun down at our farm, it was before the sun came up till the job got done, especially during harvest.

I have always felt that I was one of the luckiest kids in the world, growing up on my folk’s wheat and dairy farm, with 160 acres running room for a back yard!  I grew up collecting tadpoles from the buffalo wallows in the pasture (yes, I said buffalo wallows!), chasing crawdads along the creek, roping calves I wasn’t supposed to, and dodging cow pies in the pasture while playing cowboys and Indians, or Yankees and Confederate soldiers with my nephews, who were not much younger than I was.

I also learned to drive a tractor, an old blue Chevy farm truck with a stick shift that my mom nicknamed “WobbleKnees,” and milk a cow by hand as well as with a milking machine.

I was responsible for watering the chickens, gathering the eggs, spoiling our purebred collie puppies and making sure the cats and dogs had food and water.

I loved helping feed the baby calves, and always, always fell in love with one or two each year, wishing they could be my very own pet.  I learned to back up straight (after I learned to drive a stick) by backing several hundred feet along a lane, and dumping a half-full milk can of water (about 70 pounds if they were full!) into the calves’ water tank to make sure they had enough water.

I helped hoe the garden, and helped preserve its bounty, enjoying the fresh tasting frozen sweet corn and the better than store-bought canned green beans all winter.

And, lucky me, with my work-at-home folks, I usually either had both my parents home with me, or I was in the field where they were working!

I loved growing up on the farm!

by Sherry Stocking Kline
February 2, 2012

Many thanks to Lorine McGinnis Schultz for her “Sharing Memories” 52 Week Challenge!

Yes, I know that this is the Week 1 Challenge and yes, I know that makes me four (4) weeks behind!  Situation Normal for me!

I have four memories that have to be age 2 1/2 or prior.  While I’m not sure which one is the earliest, I think it is this one, as it ‘feels’ earlier than the other three. It’s certainly a  funny memory, though I was kind of scared at the time!

Memory #1.

I’m standing outside, just about 10 feet south of our farm home, barefoot, with my toes curling in the soft grass. I’m about 15 feet north of the outdoor water hydrant, and about forty feet north of the sand pile!

And honestly, I’m just a bit scared.  I’m watching my two (much) older teen age brothers who are chasing each other around and around the yard. (They are 14 1/2 and 16 1/2 years older than I, you see.)

In one hand, they hold water guns, each one shooting a steady and deadly stream of water! In the other hand they carry gallon cans (maybe coffee cans) of water for fast refills.   They are shouting and laughing and calling threats to one another as they shoot, dodge and refill their weapons of water annihilation.  They are loud, they are rambunctious, and they running around the yard and around me as they jump around to try to miss the other shooter’s stream of water.

I remember being terrified that they might ‘shoot’ me, too,  and yet I remember wishing that I had a water gun so that I could join in the fun.  I don’t remember any more than that tiny little vignette.  Our mom is not in my mind picture at all, so I don’t know if she was in the house or watching nearby, and I don’t remember how it began, or when it ended, or what any of us did next.  I wish I did.

2.  Another early memory I have is my mother and I stopping at my great-uncle’s home near Wellington and visiting with my great-grandfather, Roderick Remine Stocking, who passed away shortly before I turned three.  He was the only grandfather still alive when I was born.

Great-Grandpa Roderick was very tall, white haired, and very distinguished looking.  I think it was this combination that put this memory into my mind and also the reason it ‘stuck’ there.  I recall that we visited him twice, and then I remember going to his funeral, or perhaps the funeral home shortly before I turned three and seeing him there in the casket.  My parent’s had great respect for him and my mother was very fond of him and perhaps that is another reason that his memory has remained with me to this day.

My Gr-grandfather, Roderick R. Stocking

3. One of my favorite early memories is going to the hospital to see my brand-new little nephew, Daryl,  my oldest brother’s son!  He was born in February, when I was 2 1/2 years old and he soon became my best bud and partner in crime!  His little brother came along two years later, and by that time they had decided that children of our age were a danger for contagious illnesses and we were no longer allowed to visit hospitals and so we were not allowed to go see his little brother Brad, or his little brother Marlon, nor either of his little sisters, Tammy & Kris.

4.  Looking back over these memories, I remember one more that had to be when I was in the two-year-old range when Gary, the youngest of my two brothers had surgery on his hip in a Wichita hospital and Mama took me along to visit him in the hospital with her.  To bribe me, and to convince me to sit still, be quiet, and be good and patient, (not qualities I was long on as a two-year-old toddler) she bought tiny little toys for him to give me to play with while we were there.

Even so, I remember being bored quickly with the ‘be quiet’ and ‘sit still’ required in hospitals and I remember asking Mama “Can we go now?”

by Sherry Stocking Kline
October 12, 2011

My Mama was a really, really good cook. So when I asked myself what favorite food should I write about, it was a challenge to pick between her home-made ice cream, cinnamon twists, snow white divinity, or many other yummy foods.

But sitting here on a Sunday afternoon, I remembered that Sunday was my favorite meal of the week because we always, always had roast beef for Sunday dinners, usually along with home-made pies or cakes.  And I loved our own raised-on-the-farm, cooked till it was juicy and tender roast beef.

We almost always went to Sunday School and church at the Mayfield Federated Church (Methodist & Presbyterian combined) in the nearby little town of Mayfield and we weren’t home in the morning to cook Sunday dinners, so Mom used her trusty electric skillet, set on low, to make the best, lightly browned, tastiest roast beef dinners cooked with potatoes and carrots.

She started out with our own farm-raised beef and added in potatoes and carrots (sometimes from the garden, though by the time I came along, the potatoes and carrots were almost always store-bought ones) and then all we had to do was come home and cook some fresh corn on the cob or home-canned green beans, slice up a few tomatoes (all usually from our garden), stir up some gravy, pop in some brown and serve rolls (or home-made rolls) for a fast, tasty Sunday dinner that was my hands-down favorite meal of the week!

Mom always had room at her table for more, and food enough for an army if one showed up.   If company came home with us we weren’t expecting, we just added more veggies, an extra quart of green beans, a few more ears of corn, and a few extra tomatoes to make enough.  And if Mom was expecting company, there was room in the skillet for an extra roast and more potatoes and carrots.

It may sound like a simple meal now, no duck a l’orange for us, but my mom had a special touch with everything she made, and it was just one more thing that made Sundays special for me.

My mother is still alive, (Praise the Lord) but with just three months to go before she turns 100, it’s me in the kitchen doing the cooking now, and I have to confess that I don’t have my mother’s love of cooking, nor her magic touch, but we do still enjoy lots of garden fresh veggies, though usually not from our own garden!

by Sherry Stocking Kline
18 May 2011

My cousin Maxine and her son Larry loaned me a HUGE box of photographs.  It’s so heavy that I can’t lift it!  I’ve spent the past 2 – 3 weeks scanning off and on, and some time this week to re-organize and locate the ones that I have questions about. 

But just one of the treasures that they’ve loaned me is here below, a photograph of my great-grandfather, (and my cousin Larry’s as well) Roderick Remine Stocking. 

I was between 2 and 3 when Great-Grandpa died, and I remember him as a very tall, white-haired gentleman.  My mother, his granddaughter-in-law, dearly loved and respected him. 

He and his wife, Frances Hitchcock Stocking homesteaded in Sumner County, Kansas, just west of Mayfield and the Chisholm Trail. 

 Their first home was 10 X 12 and they had to put the table out at night to put their bed down, and their oldest child, my Grandfather Elmer Leverett Stocking was born while they still lived in that home.

 I think he is a very handsome and distinguished looking gentleman.  And I sure wish I had had the opportunity to get to know him better.

And to ask him all the questions that I now have about family history!

Related Posts:

Where Were My Ancestors during the 1930 Census!

Carnival of Genealogy – the J. H. Stocking Bible

Carnival of Genealogy – Scrapbooking My Family History – One Page at a Time

How Many Descendants Does Roderick R. Stocking Have? 

Roderick & Frances Stocking’s Tombstone – Osborne Cemetery, Mayfield, Sumner County, Kansas

by Sherry Stocking Kline
April 1, 2011

Week #13 – Sweets Week 13: Sweets. What was your favorite childhood candy or dessert?   
Have your tastes changed since then? What satisfies your sweet tooth today? This challenge runs from Saturday, March 26, 2011 through Friday, April 1, 2011

Deciding what my favorite Sweet Stuff was when I was growing up wasn’t easy!   Several things vie for first, but the most special sweet that I enjoyed eating at Christmas when Mom made pounds and pounds of it,was divinity! 

White, airy, sweet, melt-in-your-mouth divinity!

Mom knew just when to stop cooking the corn-syrup-rich mixture, when to pour it over the whipped egg whites, and just how long to beat it.  Mess up, and it will become a sticky caramel-like substance that tastes good, but you need a spoon to eat it.

Get it right, and it’s the food of angels.

Mom usually got it right.

A favorite with many, it was a ‘best-seller’ at the Mayfield Federated Church Lord’s Acre sale, often bringing high dollar bids.  It was also a huge favorite of my nephew’s as well.  For many years while he served in the Navy, Mom sent him a large box of divinity at Christmas time.  Once he confessed to opening the box, hiding it from everyone, and eating the entire three pound box all by himself! 

Can’t blame him for that!