This week it is circa 1904-1906. Lena McCoy, daughter of Andrew and Victoria (Wickerham) McCoy relates some of her early childhood memories. If you remember Victoria, Lena’s mother was raised on “The Ridge.” Her life was spared when she boarded the Handy river boat instead of the Phaeton. The Phaeton’s boiler blew up and only a few people survived. Now we find Victoria is married to Andrew McCoy and they have two children, Lena and Ellis. Lena continues her story telling.

The first-year father and mother (Andrew and Victoria (Wickerham) McCoy) were married they had suffered financial losses that not only took their small savings but left them $500 in debt, a considerable debt in those days.

No one but father, I have often thought, would have tried to build for the future on this little rundown, mined out ancestral farm of mother’s, but mother’s duty lay here and father considered that his decision.

Within my earliest memory, the south field bore the only evidence of the condition the whole farm had been in when father first took it over. This field had remains of an old orchard which father planned to restore as soon as he could. Several apple trees were at the north end of this field and just back of the house. Then away down near the lower end of the field grew a gnarled old peach tree, only survivor of a once hardy peach orchard. The peaches were little and scrawny, but sweet. I will never forget that field where Ellis and I beat a path through those wiry, poor land grasses and burrs that were crawling with dewberry briars.

We had to be careful of our bare feet, and not only because of the briars and burrs but also because of the snakes that might be lying hidden in the tall grass. One day as we were hurrying down the path, we heard a swish and a peculiar sound. We could readily identify the swish for long black snakes and the blue racers were plentiful.

Just a fleeting glimpse of the big snake was enough to know it was not blue or black. Our parents were convinced by our description that it was a rattler, though this dangerous snake was rarely seen in our vicinity.

As long as the south field remained in this condition, we visited the peach tree when its fruit was ripe and we also cautiously picked the luscious dewberries (ground berries, closely related to blackberries). In after years, I have often pictured this field. Father took land that been farmed out and began its restoration. Today I read stories of achievement in soil building by many less handicapped.

Father was not only handicapped by poor land, debt, and makeshift tools during the first years; the worst of that struggle was hardly passed when mother became ill.

It was soon after our bout with pneumonia that it was feared she was going into consumption (TB). A very bad hemorrhage that came apparently from her lungs was the start of her physical decline from which she did not fully recover for several years.

Her doctor’s advice was to stay out of doors as much as possible. (Several years later the physicians changed their diagnosis and decided her lungs were never affected.)

Mother kept busy outdoors for I am sure it would have killed her not to be working. Through those years our house was unattractive and untidy, for all of mother’s strength was used up raising garden and chickens for only what had to be done inside was taken care of. Aunt Lou never seemed able to help much about the house except for occasional short periods of time.

In spite, of Aunt Lou’s lack of strength, she always had some house plants that produced a cheerful note. Outdoors her rows and beds of garden flowers, added to the profusion of flowering shrubs, vines and fruit trees about the yard, helped make the outdoors like a fairyland. She had to be pretty sick, too, if the doubtful fragrance of her salt rising bread was missing from the kitchen. So, we got along happily.

I recall nothing of the other fields until red clover was getting a hold. I can only remember the weeds that persisted in the clover after the poverty grass, broom sedge and burrs had given up. The most persistent was a species of plantain that clung to its moorings as we were sure no other weed was capable of doing.

For good reasons I remember those weeds. Ellis and I systematically marched back and forth across those clover fields with father, pulling every weed until there were no cleaner clover seed on the market.

Ellis and I were duly proud of having the cleanest field in the neighborhood. To help us forget about aching muscles, we played that the weeds were Philistines and we were Israelites possessing the land. When the work was hard like this and other things such as pulling beans and cutting weeds out of the corn with hoes, father paid us wages. He didn’t have money for this purpose but he had us keep account of what he owed us until the job was finished. Then he had us write down notes for the amount bearing; the rate of interest he paid to private money lenders.

In that day I never saw a blank note. Usually, these notes collected until we settled for a calf or pig. When these were sold, we had gained considerably. It was impressed upon us that we were a part of the firm and our free services in helping with daily chores were sufficient for the feed for whatever pigs or calves of ours were being fed out for market. This was a more valuable business education than we realized at the time.

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