Lori Gooch
Northwoods Press
Nevis, Minnesota
February 26, 2009
Dear Daddy letters give vivid picture of days gone by
Now is a time of e-mails, text messages and nearly universal access to telephone and internet use to help families stay connected. The vital link that rural mail delivery played in the past may not be fully evident to children of today’s generation.
But for the four generations of the Linsley family who have worked to preserve letters exchanged through Rural Free Delivery (RFD) between rural Nevis and the Twin Cities in the early 1930s, it is evident the letters provided the only means to keep a young family connected.
These letters have been carefully and painstakingly preserved, and help provide a detailed historical glimpse into the day-to-day life of the family in Hubbard County during the depression era.
James and Martha Linsley bought a Hubbard County farm parcel in the early 1930s to fulfill their dream of raising their children, Ruth and John, as a farm family. The purchase proved to be a mortgage scam, the promised farm house not much more than an abandoned shack, and the move came at the advent of the depression.
Optimistic that they could make this new life work, the family forged ahead. To help make ends meet, James kept his job as a streetcar operator in the cities. Martha and the two elementary-age children moved to the rural Nevis site to begin farm life.
For two years the family exchanged nearly daily letters detailing life on the farm. These letters were saved, and while in her 80s, Martha taught herself to type and began transcribing the letters, keeping the original spellings and grammar intact and tracing drawings so the history contained in the letters could be preserved.
This collection of letters, along with first-hand accounts and memories of the era, are available to read over the internet at the web site www.deardaddy.com.
Chapter 10 tells of a day spent unexpectedly with the Bliss family where a pig was being butchered, the first time the Linsley children had seen such a thing. In the on-line book of memoirs, Ruth Linsley writes:
“Mother decided to drive into town by herself, dropping us off at Jenson’s to walk the remaining half-mile to school. We arrived to find the building stone cold and Miss Eula — still wearing her heavy coat — looking pale and queasy. She stayed long enough to tell all the students she had the flu and was going home. Expecting to warm up inside after their frigid morning walk, most students scurried away quickly to enjoy their unexpected holiday, but John and I were not sure what to do.
“The five Bliss children quickly solved our problem by inviting us to spend the day with them, and we eagerly agreed. So, the seven of us - over half of Miss Eula’s class - merrily headed down the road together. John and I had passed by the Bliss place many times, but never to visit. As we all arrived, the rest of their younger brothers and sisters ran to meet us....
“Everyone was outside where a fire was burning under a huge black water-filled cauldron. They told us it was ordinarily used for making soap, but today they were butchering a pig. Before we had time to feel squeamish, a gunshot rang out from behind the pig-house. We were grateful that the men at least slit its throat and bled it out of our sight. The older girls left to go help, and we soon saw them carrying pails of blood into the kitchen, where Mrs. Bliss had the stove hot and large kettles ready -to make blood soup.... One of the girls told us that some would be used for blood sausage. I tried to imagine what such foods would be like, but didn’t get much past their names...
“Mr. Bliss, jovial and stocky, worked with his helpers to transfer the cauldron water to a barrel, and then used a rope and pulley to lower the pig’s carcass into the boiling liquid.
“From a suitable distance, John and I watched this entire scene unfold in an odd slow-time - with a growing sense of shock and wonder. We, who had rejoiced at the miracle of our failed kitten extermination, were strangely both drawn and repelled. The numerous Bliss children answered our questions - no doubt marveling at our ignorance.
“They next moved the carcass to a heavy table and began scraping hair from the hide - a process that reminded me of plucking a scalded chicken. From the stupefied look on our faces, Mr. Bliss must have realized that we were the new city kids from down the road - putting a twinkle in his eyes as he watched us. Smiling, he turned back to his project, directing his workers in a heavy German accent, as they turned the pig’s bulky slippery body over to scrape the other side.
Next they removed the head - which was sent immediately to the kitchen.
“Using a rope and pulley, Mr. Bliss then hoisted the carcass up in the doorway of a nearby shed. With a few deft strokes, he cut through the underside from tail to neck. As he pulled the incision apart, all the viscera tumbled out into a washtub positioned below. This was too much; we went back to the kitchen....
“Near the kitchen door, we noticed a foreign, slightly sweet smell, and soon learned it was the aroma of boiling blood. Mrs. Bliss was busy scrubbing the pig’s head in a large pan. With her thick Dutch accent, she tried to explain to us how she made her favorite porcine treat - head cheese. Her jolly laugh, as she shouted orders - cradling the pig’s head - made it sound like a festive holiday. John and I sought another change of venue....
“We found the older girls rinsing and cleaning intestines in a big tub of water, for use later as blood sausage casings. The bouquet of gag-inducing odors from every quarter had grown progressively worse, and John and I hastily retreated upwind to a distant part of the yard and stayed there with the younger children.
“By lunchtime, our appetites had miraculously revived. We joined our friends under a stand of poplars, where the midday sun, shining through their yellow leaves, cast a golden shade. Chattering away, eating our sandwiches, we enjoyed the full measure of our respite. John and I planned to arrive home at the usual time, so Mother would not worry about us.
“During the afternoon, we periodically checked on the pig project. The men cut up the carcass, which hung in the doorway of the smokehouse. Great chunks of fat lay on a bench, hardening to the creamy white color of the lard that would later be rendered - another job for the ever-cheerful Mrs. Bliss. All meat that could not be eaten immediately, would be canned, smoked, salted, or sold. By the time we made our final trip to the shed, the pig looked like a side of pork hanging in a butcher shop. The extremities had been cut off, and taken to the kitchen for another family favorite - pickled pigs feet. As they described it to John and me, attempts to conceal our true feelings obviously failed - and Mr. Bliss could not resist teasing us...
“As our day sped by, we lost track of time, until the low slant of the sun told us it was late. Quickly gathering our lunch pails, we started toward home, with some of the Bliss kids in tow part of the way, clinging to the last moments of our remarkable day.”
Ruth’s daughter Lucy has taken on the task of publicity for the web site, and is working to get the word out that they want others to read and enjoy the stories.
Anyone who may remember the family or can add details about the Vokes School and life in the Crow Wing Lake township area where they lived are encouraged to contact Lucy Jeanne by calling 509-276-6220, or write to her at P.O. Box 1866, Deer Park, WA 99006.
