For my grandfather, the transition from prairie farm to city living was not difficult—by planting and maintaining a large garden he still "farmed"—in addition to which he had a machine shop to keep his hands busy at other times.

For Grandmother, however, the transition was neither simple nor easy.  You probably have heard of "breaking a horse for saddle."  This essentially was the task that confronted my parents and us kids in helping Grandmother make the transition.  Initially, her manner of dress reflected the prairie farm—dresses always black or dark gray of color, very plain and long; shoes and stockings always black; head cover either a sunbonnet or black braid pillbox; cosmetics, none beyond soap and water and a pinching of the cheeks to "pink" them up.

Her initial habits also were carryovers.  To my knowledge she used a hankie only when indoors.  When outdoors and feeling the need to clear her nose, she would put a thumb to one nostril to close it off, snort to clear the other, and skillfully aim the emission to a pre-selected spot.  She would then repeat the operation for the clearing of the other nostril.

Embarrassing to us kids?  Yes—but at the time I am not sure we understood the "why she did it."  In time she accepted the hankie for all day usage and through our combined encouragement, colors were slowly accepted via prints, flowers, feathers, jewelry and even cosmetics.  Finally, a prairie in full spring bloom could not have been more colorful—a five-foot three beauty!

Someday you may be interested in tracing the Van Dusen lineage beyond that of my memory.  If so, the following may be of assistance: The old family Bible has been entrusted to my oldest son, James Lincoln Common, Jr.  Written records in that Bible record the births and marriages into the seventeen hundred period.  In addition, a pictorial family tree initiated by my grandparents at the time of their marriage and maintained by them through the period of my family (Common) is entrusted to my sister Dorothy (Schoen).
The Common Family—Their House and Home.  (Note: I differentiate between “house” and “home” —the house is simply the physical structure normally made of wood.  The house is not a home until people live in it—accordingly to me, the meaning of home revolves around the life of the people who make the house a home.)

My Parents—I have given the background of my mother in the memories of my grandparents.  Unfortunately, I cannot give equal detail to the background of my dad.  His parents (my paternal grandparents) did not move from where Dad was born and because of the great distance we never traveled to them, or them to us.  I understand there were four sons and two daughters born to the paternal grandparents at Galt, Ontario.  (Note: Galt no longer exists as a town, having been incorporated recently into the city of Cambridge.)  One son remained in Galt; one sister moved to Winnipeg, Manitoba and married a Jackson; three brothers George, John, and Adam (Dad) moved to North Dakota.  George and John took up farming.

Dad was employed as a bookkeeper.  All three lived in and approximate to Inkster
and Cavalier.  Dad fell in love and "sparked" Anna Van Dusen who was teaching school in that vicinity.
They were married on November 4, 1904 and moved to Grand Forks into a house at 507 North 4th Street.  With time, the Lord entrusted five children to their loving care, these in sequence of arrival being:
Mervin Sylvester, June 17, 1906 (died June 17, 1967)
James Lincoln, February 12, 1909  (died  February1981
Annetta Bell, March 21, 1912   (God had a need and took Annetta to His home on February 27, 1916.)
Dorothy Pearl, October 4, 1915  (died August 21, 2000).
Lloyd Harold, July 15, 1918 (died September 1986
What were things like when Dad was a youngster?  I have no details to offer.  However, the answer Dad gave one time when I asked that question was, "Not much different from yours—any real difference would be due to changes that have taken place in the means of transportation—it just took me longer to get some place to do the same things you either do or would like to do."

Yes, I do recall one incident he mentioned more than once.  It was when he was courting Mother—the late evening of the coldest day of the year on his way home by horse I had to "pee"—he finally could no longer withstand the pressure so he stopped the horse, got out and relieved himself—this was a time-consuming job, so much so that the tip of his penis was frostbitten.  The thaw-out was, as he described it, "the most painful ordeal that I have ever experience.

The House-it was the fourth from the nearest corner—the houses were close together with not much more than three feet separating one from the other (guess even then the builders were interested in saving on building costs).  An upright piano was located against a wall in the living room (no one ever learned to play that piano—lessons couldn't be afforded).

The heating stove was situated in the living room—this was big, high, and large around.  Coal was fed in through a hopper at the top; the doors in front had several windows.  Each with its pane of isinglass through which one could watching the dancing colors of the fire.  Overhead through the ceiling was a register through which heat was “fed”' to the bedrooms upstairs.

In the kitchen was the all-important cook stove—a consumer of wood or coal—and its cooking surface was black.  On Saturdays it generally was our job to clean and shine the surface with stove polish.  Outside in back of the house—as far back as possible toward the alley—was the outhouse.  This was a good outhouse—a two-holer—wherein by demand; you sometimes shared the comfort with others of your sex.  The house was fronted by North 4th Street and the passing traffic was horse-drawn vehicles (wheels in summer, runners in winter).  The street was flanked by ditches, which in rainy weather, or after thaws, became our lakes for wading, splashing, falling into, and the sailing of “boats.”  Wooden crosswalks were located at the end of each block, and the action of horses’ hooves, the wheels, runners and weather made the planking of these crossovers a frequent source of slivers into bare feet (paving was installed in my early teens).
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Now, what were things like when I was a youngster living at 507 North 4th Street in Grand Forks, North Dakota?  In picking a starting point one must be logical.  I'm writing this in the latter part of October—Halloween is less than a week away, so what can be more logical than to start with my Halloween and how we honored it.

Halloween Activities—The nature of the activities varied with the age of the participants.  For the young—but old enough to stay out an hour or two there were "tick-tacks" and "growlers”.
To make a "tick-tack" we needed an empty wooden spoon, a large, long nail, long enough to go through the spool and still provide length as a handle, and a piece of string.  With a jackknife, we cut saw-tooth notches into the raised ends of the spool, wound the string around the barrel of the spool, slid the nail through the spool, and held onto the sharpened end as a handle.  To use, we held the spool against a house window and pulled the string.  The spinning action of the spool-teeth against the window glass made a roaring sound that "woke up" those inside.

We made a "growler" from an empty can with one end removed (we preferred the 2½ size cans), a length of string (two to three feet) and resin (what a violinist uses on the bow).  Resin was rubbed into the full length of string.  A small hole was made in the bottom of the can.  A good size knot was tied on one end of the string, the unknotted end threaded through the hole from the inside of the can and pulled until the knot stopped it.  It took two kids to "play" the growler.  Kid #1 held the end of string in one hand and the can in the other, then held end of string against window glass, and pulled on can until string was straight and tight.  Kid #2 pinched string between thumb and forefinger and slid them forward and back on the string.  The "song" it made was not music to those inside—more like the moaning of a lost soul!

As one got older, the pranks became a little more active—such as switching gates of pushing pins into doorbells so they wouldn't stop ringing, and throwing handfuls of pebbles against windows to annoy those inside.  Even these activities were not without risk.  In one instance, my escape route from an irate adult took me through a backyard where someone had thoughtlessly left a clothesline strung out—its height was just right, chin high—and what a flip I took.  But that wasn't all of it—about three weeks prior, I had broken my collarbone, so my arm was in a sling.  The bone was nearly knit but the flip undid it good—so back to the doctor.  This was the third time I had "undid" it so he wasn't in the best of moods.  "One more trip, " he threatened, "and I'll break the other one for you."

As one got older, the activities developed into those which frequently required group participation, like that of tipping the outhouses.  (These always were anticipated targets with intent to tip but not damage.)  This activity required from four to six kids, depending on size.  I heard of one not-to-pleasant incident.  The house owner, apparently a grouch and not in sympathy with Halloween, moved his outhouse forward off the pit, then covered the pit with thin boarding sprinkled with dirt.  In more ways than one, that was dirty pool.

I believe the highlight of our coordinated activities involved essentially every kid from both the North and South ends of town.  Teams of four to five kids were created and each assigned the job of locating either an ice wagon or dray, or any other similar vehicle (all were horse drawn then) and the further responsibility of moving their vehicle to a designated spot, at a designated time, on a designated night—Halloween.  The spot was Third and DeMers, the central point of the business district of the Forks.  The time was ten o'clock.  What a sight!  Wagons of all descriptions converged on that spot from all possible streets.  What a beautiful tangle!  I have no idea how long it took the adults to get all the wagons returned to their rightful owners.

It seems that some individuals considered "old enough to know better" sometimes fell into the spirit of things.  The following reportedly took place at the University by the students there.  They took a cow up to the third floor of "Old Main" .No trick to get her up—but how to get her down! A cow cannot walk down a flight of stairs—or even a few of them.  A cleated ramp had to be built and used for her descent.

At another time, others reportedly took a wagon apart on the ground, carried it piece by piece up to the roof of Old Main where it was re-assembled.  A wondrous sight for the morning after Halloween.  Yes, the goblins roamed afield when I was a youngster!

As I write, I am reminded that fall is here and that winter is soon to follow.  I hear the cold weather chirps of the chickadees, the apples are at pickin' stage, the deciduous trees are getting sleepy, with their multi-colored leaves drifting silently to the ground where they lay as a blanket.  Yes, I too, am getting ready for winter.  I've already pulled up the dead tomato vines from the two-by four garden.  Yesterday I replaced the screen inserts of the outside door with the glass inserts and must do the same for the windows in the Rec Room.  Then I'll take care of the combination windows by pushing up the screen inserts and dropping down the glass counterparts.  What a job—and how different when I was a kid.

The winters in Dakota were cold—real cold—with temperatures frequently falling to 30 and 40 and on occasion, to even 50 below zero. In order to retain heat within the house, we naturally replaced the screens with storm windows for greater insulation.  Dad and we also insulated the base of the house—tarpaper was first tacked to the house—fresh horse manure (we had a load brought in) was then banked up to a goodly depth against the tarpaper.  This added protection was particularly necessary between the houses where the narrow space prevented snow from building up and providing an insulating benefit.  In the spring, this banking was not thrown away—it became the fertilizer of the garden.

The approach of winter also meant the stocking of fuel—coal and wood.  There were three types of coal—anthracite, soft and lignite, the type in use at anyone time depending on finances.  Preference was for the anthracite because it was clean to handle, slow burning with much radiant heat, and a small yield of ash.  By contrast, the lignite was on our low scale of acceptance.  First, it was delivered as large (and I mean large) chunks that had to be broken up with a sledgehammer to reduce it to a size acceptable to the heating stove.  Secondly, in burning, it was "stingy" in released heat.  The only thing that lignite seemed to do effectively was to generate a great quantity of ash and clinkers—clinkers of non-carbon material that had fused to a solid layer atop the grate and acting as a barrier to the draft of air essential for the burning of coal above.  Each day it was essential that we break up and hook these clinkers out from the stove.

Stove wood also was an essential for the kitchen stove—though anthracite was preferred.  The wood was delivered cut to stove length, but never split up.  I assume that Dad and my older brother, Mervin, did the splitting initially—however, in time I too became involved.  I recall when I really learned how to split the wood—and to enjoy it.  I was in the backyard "denting a log" with an ax.  The janitor of the auditorium located behind us came into the yard and watched, then talked.  I learned he had been a lumberjack and for some reason he took the time to teach me the art of wood splitting by the "splitter's twist" technique, whereby the weight of the ax-head and not the speed of swing becomes the splitting force.  In this technique, the overhead swing of the ax is normal—however, at the moment the "bite" of the ax hits the log, a twist is given to the handle—in result, the weight-force of the ax head lays the log open with the bite of the ax entering into the wood no deeper than in inch.  From then on, I even took on the job of splitting Grandma's wood—but that job wasn't for free—my fee was two custard pies per cord with the understanding that she would make and deliver the pies whenever I asked for them.  She always held to the bargain regardless of year that the request for payment was made.

In spite of our combined efforts the level of heat within the house was not always adequate—especially through the real cold nights.  Following such nights, Mervin and I would be asked to “place the candles."  This meant for us to go into the cellar, climb up and "slither" on our back into the crawlspace and position lighted candles below the water pipe to thaw it out.
The winters gave me other experiences too—experiences such as chillblains and bed warmers.  Chilblains, once experienced are never forgotten; they are pain with a capital "P."  I am still not sure of the cause; however, they seemed to occur following an active day of play in the snow.  The pain fortunately was limited in scope to the lower leg area along the shins.  And the pain was deep.  Many an evening Mother would massage my legs, anoint them with camphorated oil, and wrap them well in warm flannel heated in the oven.  You know, the only cure I ever found was to go to bed and cry myself to sleep—in the morning the chillblains were gone.
Regarding the bed warmers—these were instruments designed for the conditioning of winter beds to make them tolerable to getting into.  Materially, the warmers consisted of two or three bricks heated to "hot" in the oven, then wrapped first in newspaper and then in flannel.  By placing this "warmer” in the bed under the covers about fifteen minutes before bedtime, the bed was tolerable.  Once in bed, you pushed the warmer first to the feet area and then in sequence to other areas that needed warming.  Once asleep we didn't care if the room did chill off—we were deep in protective blankets.

Do you have any idea what it's like to be "lost" in a snowstorm-blizzard?  Scared?  Amen!!!  I was carrying papers on an evening route.  My deliveries were to houses in the town proper—however I had one house located all by itself a good two blocks distance on the prairie.  I knew my route like the palm of my hand so I wasn't concerned by the low visibility—I could see from one house to the next.  I started out in the direction of that house, came to a signboard, which I knew was there—stopped to catch my breath and bearings—and again started out in the direction of the lone house.  I hadn't gone very far when I realized I had lost visual contact with anything physical against which I could set my bearings.  I stopped—thought—made a 180-degree about-face and walked until I made contact with that signboard.  From there it was home easy.  No, that lone house didn't get that evening paper.

I learned also that there are living things other than people appreciating the warmth of homes in the winter—for example, there were the bedbugs, the accepted companions in homes at that time.  A few took up housekeeping in the bedsprings but the majority liked the greater warmth of the living room where they located themselves behind moldings, loosened areas in wallpaper, etc.  (One learns early not to "squash" a bedbug—they smell awful.  Our best technique was to stick them with a pin—one after another—threading many on the shaft of a single pin.)  Kerosene treatment also was a daily assignment.  Each spring the bedsprings were "fire torched" and all other suspected hatchery areas thoroughly treated.  I don't remember them in later years, so we must have "done them in" somehow.  I often wondered why the Lord created them—maybe to test our tolerance and patience.
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