Preparation for winter also meant the gathering and storing away of food for the cold months ahead.  I could start off by telling you what was stored—however, that would be presenting things in reverse, because the making available of food actually started in the springtime with the preparation and planting of the garden.
It seems as though we always had a garden, usually in the back where available space set limits to its size.  However, the garden that predominates in memory, and thus must have been the best, was the Victory Garden of about 1919.  (Yes, we had Victory Gardens even then and I believe they were the first.)  These were made available by the city administration, which set aside land out by the fair grounds, had it plowed and harrowed, staked out one-eighth acre boundaries and assigned numbers to each plot.  There were regulations, one being that any planted plot that fell into neglect could be considered abandoned and available for "adoption" by qualified individuals at their discretion.  To our fortune, the garden next to ours fell into neglect and assigned to us in "adoption."  Boy, a quarter acre spread!  These gardens were a good mile and a half from home but with such a prize, what were a few steps, more or less?  And how things grew out in the full sun—the yield exceeded by far our immediate needs, so I "peddled" vegetables near daily to homes up and down our street.  One vegetable in abundance was wax beans—so much so that in the fall I harvested a goodly quantity of ripe dried beans.  They had been such wonderful beans that these were to be my seed stock for my next year's garden.  Then—I came home one day from school and guess what—Mother had prepared baked beans for dinner—and yes, from my seed stock.  I guess she either didn't know or forgot.  Oh well—
In those days, a youth's menu was never complete without jam, jelly—or both.  For the needed raw materials we took to the outdoors as a family after Sunday church.  In spite of the work effort on everyone's part, I can recall only pleasantries.  What did we search for while enjoying the outdoors?  Well, there were the wild plums—one kind yellow, another red when ripe.  They just popped with sweet juiciness—and what jams and jellies Mother made from them! There were wild grapes too, with vines frequently growing high up into the trees.  This was where the best grapes were—way up—and I was the best tree climber, so it was my assignment to shinny up, pick the grapes and drop them down to those below.  Never try to eat them raw.  They'll shrink pucker your mouth—but what jelly!

And the chokecherries—these trees were smaller and generally we could pick from ground level.  However, there were times we had to climb to reach the better fruit.  Do you know where the term "chokecherry" came from?  I was told it was based on a superstition that you would choke to death if you drank milk right after eating the cherries.  I don't know how many times I tested out that superstition and you know, I found no truth in it.

Mustn't forget the gooseberries.  We generally found these growing in the woods approximate to a clearing, the bushes growing a clump here and a clump there.  One wisely wore gloves and lowered the sleeves to give protection against the thorns.  My mouth still waters when I think of the jams and preserves Mother made from them.  (I no longer can find gooseberries, not even in the stores; seems such things have fallen below man's dignity—or price—to pick.)

Also, the hazelnuts—these small trees normally grew on the edges of clearings and pastureland.  In order to get these nuts, we had to beat the squirrels.  Consequently, we picked the clusters of burrs before they opened, because once open, the squirrels were the takers.  We'd bring home gunnysacks full of the burrs to be stored in the shed.  The burrs opened in time, releasing the nuts, which we saved for "winter eating".  Boy, were they good—I know of no other nut that comes close to them in flavor.

Daggone, nearly forgot the crabapples that were always available for picking in the fall.  No supply of jelly would be complete without that from crabapples—so sweet, so tart, so puckery, so everything!
The perishable vegetables were preserved for winter usage by canning—peas, wax beans (both plain and pickled), corn (both off and on the cob), tomatoes, beets (as is and pickled) and carrots (as is and pickled).  The work of preparing some vegetables for canning was an all-family affair—especially for the peas and wax beans.  For a pea-shucking' or bean-snappin' party, we would sit ourselves on the porch usually around a container, the large roasting pan generally.  Nearby would be "bushels" of peas or beans to be worked on.  We established a working supply alongside then went to work.  For peas this consisted of popping the shell open thumbing the peas out into the container and discarding the empty shells.  For beans it was cutting off the tip and stem ends and then snapping (or cutting) the bean into two or three parts.  We kids all became expert and fast shockers and snappers because we realized the faster we got done, the sooner we would be released to more enjoyable activities such as play.

When Mother was canning, we knew something was going on.  The kitchen was hot, steamy, and both canned and in-process vegetables in evidence.  Mother canned by the cold pack method.  She first filled the jars with prepared vegetables, added a little salt poured in and filled the jar with water forced on the rubber ring then put on the screw top lid screwing it down but not tight.  The filled jars were then placed in the wash boiler already on the stove and partially filled with hot water.  After one layer of jars had been positioned, she placed a wooden shelf atop the jars and then placed in another layer of jars (this shelf was a slat-like affair shaped to that of the boiler).  Additional hot water was then added to a level covering the top jars, brought to boiling and the boiling treatment continued in excess of an hour—this was to assure that all fermentive and harmful bacteria were heat-killed.  Following this boiling treatment, the jars were removed and the lids screwed down to full tight.  The filled jars were then taken to the cellar and placed on shelves.  (One spring, when I was eleven or twelve, both Mervin and I experienced an outbreak of ugly sores on the backs of our hands.  No one knew the cause at that time, however, nutritionists now know it was caused by the deficiency of vitamins.  In our instance, the long boiling treatment caused the destruction of and consequently, the deficiency of vitamins.)
Corn, in addition to canning, was also preserved by parching, the time-honored method used by the American Indians and possibly others before.  For parching, the corn had to be fresh-picked and at the "milk" stage.  In process, the fresh-picked corn was shucked, the cob placed in boiling water for ten minutes to "set" the milk.  The kernels were then cut from the cob into a granite-coated shallow pan.  The pan and corn were then placed in a warm, not hot, oven and the corn stirred frequently until the kernels were "bone dry".  This parched corn was either bagged or jarred for storage.  This was prepared for eating by first soaking (freshening) it in cold water followed by heating it up.

Fall was when we "filled" the cellar with fresh vegetables for winter.  There were bushels of potatoes (20), carrots (3,4), beets (2-3), rutabagas (2-3), parsnips (1-2), Hubbard squash and onions.  Each was in assigned bins.  The carrots, beets, rutabagas, and parsnips were layered, that is, the vegetables placed in layers separated by layers of " dirt.  And this wasn't all—we even stored eggs for winter.  Here eggs were carefully placed into a 10-15 gallon crock and the crock then filled with "water glass” solution.  (Note: This is a solution of Sodium Silicate.) We didn't mind getting eggs "up" in the initial months—however, toward spring, it was an experience.  With time, the "water glass” gelled so that in searching for the last eggs, we had to stick our arm full length into the cold, gelled mass and.  finger-search.
* * * * * *
What did we wear? I guess the answer is "clothes"—I can think of nothing that would cause people to look if a kid today were to wear what we did.

What did we do in our free time?  Well that depended on whether it was winter or summer whether we were alone or not.  Regardless we could always find something to do.

Ever chew tar?  Tastes good and chews pretty good but it sure smeared and blackened the teeth.  We got our tar from Third Street, which for a stretch was paved with wooden blocks set in tar.  on hot summer days some of the tar would "boil" to the surface between the blocks.  Yes, horses were driven up and down that street—but the shiny bubbles of tar looked so clean and as I say tasted and chewed good.

Do you like a good burp after drinking soda (or pop)?  Well we learned how to really get a burp-and from a no-cost soda at that.  We made it at home from a mixture of baking soda, sugar, water, and vinegar.  We first mixed together the soda, water and sugar-then immediately after adding the vinegar, we drank it all down.  Boy what a burp followed—and it actually tasted good!

Never take up a dare or challenge to put your tongue tip onto a train rail—or any metal—when the temperature is in the minus 20-30-degree range.  This was a typical “dare you” and generally resulted in a sore tongue with a peeled tip.

Winter Activities—There was "Fox and Geese" after each new snowfall.  The spoke-and-wheel runway for a group Fox-and-Geese chase was soon tramped onto each empty lot.  This game could keep a bunch of us going for hours.  Then there was Nestor's Hill for sliding on anything that was slideable.  And the snowmen, the snow-built forts, the snowballs, the snowball wars, the igloos carved out of huge snowdrifts, hitching our sleds to the horse-drawn sleds.  Then, of course, there was the skiing.  I and several of my friends had but one ski—I can't remember ever having a pair.  Because of our single-ski status, we kept together, made our own downhill runs, and with time improved skill and balance so we even included jumps.  Not big ones, but we did make jumps as long as eighteen feet from lip of jump to heel of ski.  We all developed excellent balance.
The coming of spring and summer brought on different and greater variety of activities.  We played "cars" in the streets in the evening.  To be a car, we needed two cans each containing a lighted candle; these were our headlights and with these in either hand, we would chug-chug-chug down the street.  Traffic was such that we were in no danger.

We played marbles with the “peewees” (target pieces) and shooters.  The shooters varied in quality—some were “steelies” (large ball bearings), glassies with colors and patterns embodied in their glass, and "aggies.  The latter were of polished agate and were the premium shooters in both cost and want.  "Marbles in the Ring" was the usual game, however, as we grew older we played “Lag” or “Plunk.”  Both were group activities.  For “Lag,” players would toss or "lag" peewees to a line with the player nearest to the line taking all.  For “plunking,” one player would place a shooter to be “plunked” for.  Players would aim-toss peewees and he who hit the shooter took it, with the previous owner taking the peewees.

Clankers—Just the other day I saw a neighbor boy make these, so they haven't been lost.  For our clankers, we usually used condensed milk cans.  By stamping on them (with shoes on) the can bent, the ends clamping onto the sides of the shoes.  What a clank-clank sound they made when we ran with them affixed to our feet.
Hot-Air Balloons—We made these from a large unfolded square piece of paper.  The four corners were brought together and pinned together.  Holding the paper balloon at head height, we then lit the paper where the pin was.  The heat generated by the flame took the burning balloon up—up.  Wonder how many grass fires we started with balloons that came down before being burned out?.

Many a pig was a martyr to our cause and need—we used their bladders as kick-balls.  They were tough and light, but I never learned how to tie them off well enough not to lose the air.

“Shinny on your own side”—this was a yell heard when two groups of us got into a shinny game.  I guess you could call it summer hockey.  The puck could be anything—a shoe heel or a flattened can.  Many of us grew our shinny sticks in the nearby woods by the river—selected young saplings were bent to the desired "foot" position, tied with strong cord to hold it in that shape and then left for another year or two to grow to good weight.  It was then "harvested", peeled and dried.  Some of ours were real “shin busters.”

Sling Shots—here's another instance where we “took to the woods” to grow our needs-the slingshot handle.  We grew these by selecting a sapling having a good, evenly balanced “V” branching, forcing a good-sized stone into the “V” forcing the two branches into an upright position and tie them to hold them so.  After a couple of years, we could harvest the best-balanced and shaped handles that one could hope for.  Blown inner tubes gave us the needed bands.  Many of us were pretty good shots.  Stones were the usual ammunition.  Green plums weren't bad, but the best were ball bearings that we picked up from the foundry dump.  In one instance, our use of the sling was influenced by the war (WWI).  Two gangs of us kids faced each other down by the railroad station.  Slingshots were the weapons.  The “War” came to an end when I got a stone “right in the eye.”  I saw it coming, but couldn't duck in time.

Throw-Arrows—These flew high and far.  The arrows were cut from wooden shingles.  The thin feather end was about 2½-3 inches wide, the shaft cut to a half inch.  A notch (front cut vertical, rear cut slant) was cut into the arrow shaft at the balance point of the arrow as determined by its balance on a knife-edge.  A throwing stick about 16-18 inches long was fashioned from a flexible stick or branch.  A 12-14 inch length of stout cord was tied to the end of the throw stick—a good knot was formed at the other end of the cord—this knot is necessary to “lock” the throw-stick, cord into the arrow notch.  To use, we held the feather-end of the arrow in the left hand and the throwing stick in the other.  After placing the knotted cord securely into the notch, the cord was pulled taut.  The arms were swung in unison, then with a flinging motion of the right arm, the throwing stick and cord sent the arrow on its way.  Our arrows frequently "flew" for more than a block distance.

Swimming—You know, it was a wonder that anyone in North Dakota learned to swim.  There just wasn't any water to swim in.  Of course, there was the Red River near by, but we had been warned, and none dared to swim in it—too many whirlpools and undercurrents.  Initially, the only place we could “swim” was a dammed-up mud hole in Central Park—and it was a mud hole.  The memorable part of it was the "beaver slides”—slides that our butts had grooved into its mud banks.  Boy, were those slides slippery when watered down!  Subsequently, about 1917, a poured concrete pool—a real luxury by mud hole standards, replaced the mud hole.

You know, the persistent memory is not of that pool itself, but rather of a swimsuit, the first good swimsuit I ever had, and it was brown in color.  I remember it because…but first I must backtrack…
That was the World War I period.  All dyes used by us and by other countries had originally come from Germany.  The war activities cut Germany off as a supplier so that we and other countries had to learn from scratch how to make our own dyes.  The dyes that Germany had made were known as "fast" dyes, that is, they wouldn't "run" from the materials when wetted or washed.  Our people didn't know how to make fast dyes and consequently, the first dyes made here "ran."  That was the kind of dye used in my brown bathing suit.  Because that brown dye ran, every time I got out of the pool, the water dripping from the suit was light brownish-yellow in color—just the color of "pee" .Embarrassing—and how!  I sure didn't stand around dripping very long.  People must have thought I loved being in the water.  Actually, I was Just trying to avoid being accused of "peeing" in my bathing suit.

We were taught by returning soldiers how to make rings from silver dollars and half dollars.  We learned how to place the coin on edge on an anvil, to tap, tap lightly on the edge with a hammer, and to turn the coin a little after each tap.  Slowly the edge would become wider.  When the diameter was reduced to the right finger size, the inside metal was drilled, cut and filed away and ending up with a nice silver ring with the wording of the original coin appearing on the inside of the ring.  Well, I didn't have any dollars—or even halves—so I used the best substitute available to me—washers.  I made some beautiful rings—good looking, and shiny like silver.  Only one drawback.  When my rings got wet, they would later rust, lose their shininess and discolor my finger to brownish-black.  You know, even to this day, I haven't had a silver dollar I could spare to make a ring.
Stick and Wheel—It seems we started to make and use this as soon as we could run.  The essentials were a wheel and a stick (or pusher).  For a wheel, I preferred a rubber-tired, wire-spoked wheel from a baby carriage.  The stick consisted of a lath (or similar narrow and thin piece of wood) about 36 inches long with a short (12 inch) piece of lath nailed to one end in a “T” position {for the crosspiece I preferred a piece of curved ribbing from a wooden peck or bushel basket).  To use, we held the slat in slant position with the pusher on the ground, let the wheel roll down the slanted slat, then kept the wheel going by running after and pushing it with the “T” push-bar.  We became skilled in controlling the directional path of the wheel.  In time, we even had competitive games where the object was to have your wheel knock over the opponent's wheel—likewise to protect your wheel from a ”kill” by the opponent.

Rope Skipping—I guess we started skipping as soon as we could get our feet off the ground and continued well into our teens.  Seems as though we boys always carried our ropes in our pockets—much like the boys of today carry around their baseball gloves.  Alone, we skipped because we enjoyed it.  If there were two or more, we challenged—single rope, double rope, salt and pepper, fire water, one leg, running, hopping—you name it.  (The other day I read that physiotherapists now say that fifteen minutes of rope skipping is more physically beneficial than one hour of jogging.)

Roller Skates—This was the rapid transportation system for all us kids.  We naturally preferred to use two skates—this was the fastest means of travel.  However, sometimes we were reduced to one skate for reasons such as broken and worn wheels, broken ball bearings, etc.  Here we would become a single foot skater, the other foot being the pushing force.  A good single skate was never discarded.  They also became the wheels for scooters—the essentials for which were a skate, a three-foot length of two-by-four, an apple box, and a length of slat.

To make, the skate was separated into its front and rear parts, one part being nailed to either end of the two-by-four.  The apple box was nailed to the top of the two-by-four.  The piece of slat was nailed across the top of the apple box to provide a steering handle.  These were good scooters—transportation nearly as fast as one-foot skating.

The Rain Barrel—Everyone seemed to have a rain barrel.  It was a near necessity.  Only with rainwater could one wash the hair to where it was squeaky-clean.  Too, essential to good bean soup and pea soup.  And to us kids it was a miniature lake for the sailing of whittled boats and as an on-site laboratory where we learned the biology of the mosquito via its water-born larva—our appearance would send them skittering to the depths of the barrel, then by peeking we could watch them skitter up to the surface.  Part of our schooling.
We smoked cigarettes and pipes to emulate our adults.  The accepted substitutes for tobacco were dried corn silk, the dried inner bark of willow, as well as ground coffee.  We carried these substitutes in discarded Bull Durham bags—the tag had to still be attached to the drawstring so we could hang it out from our shirt pocket the way the elders did.  Cigarettes were rolled from any paper found stickable with spit.  Pipes were handmade—the bowls cut out from portions of dried corncob, the stem from new grown willow with pith removed by wire reaming.