Franklin County, Nebraska

For Another Day

I'll continue with Katherine Bixby's life story, and I think this will be the best part.

We will trace her life on Big Cottonwood Creek, just across from us in Farmers Township, section 25, the SE ¼ the west 80 Acres.

Please not on the 1905 Atlas map of Farmers Township, this land was owned by w. L. Butler. The black dots distinguish family homes. In the north part of the section is the Andrew Johnson 80 acres. This is where Katherine's mother-in-law lived. Her name was Sara (Bixby) Johnson. Our Donovan land is due east. Duane's great-grandfather, James Sharp owned this land in 1905. This is 1.6 miles west of Bloomington along highway 136.

I have been getting feedback from readers telling me they don't know the places I write about by the legal descriptions. I will try to use maps to clarify my stories. It might be fun for you to pick out your farms on these old maps.

From Katherine's memory she writes:

"We moved down to Nebraska (Bloomington) in 1914, and got there in January. Ora James was born soon after February 5, 1914. He was about average size. He was born early in the morning. I tried to cook breakfast for them, but dad had to finish. Had a doctor: her name was Ella Sumner. Ora could sit up when he was five months old. When he was around three years old, he thought he could milk the cows. Ora would come in and get two big pails up and get a match to light the lantern, like he saw his dad do (at chore time) and get his BB gun to go shoot a hawk when they came up and tried to get the little chickens. There was a creek to get across to go to town. There wasn't any bridge. There's one now, though. I never liked the place. It was low and banks all around to the west and north. All the water ran down around the house. And it was about three miles to go to school, which was much too much for little children. Alva went down and bought it. He wanted to live down there because his mother lived down there. He said he liked it there because he could get a drink out of the spring along the banks.

"There was a mill place east of the creek (marked as a dam on the map, it was the mill pond where they stored the water to let it go down the rill race. This milldam is to the north of our home and its boundaries are still defined.) Alva and Robert (Robert is their oldest son) were baptized in the millpond by Uncle Jim Stubbert and Ed Robertson. The closest Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints was five to six miles east of Bloomington, so we never got to go to church. We never had a car.

"Ira Alva (Joe) was born there on October 16, 1915. He was a normal size baby, but fat as a butterball. Dr. Sumner came, but got there after he was born awhile. She laughed about him being so fat. And he cried and aced real hungry. She asked me if all my babies were like that. She fixed some sugar and water and fed him. My niece, Margaret Brown, came and stayed awhile with us and helped care for us. She later married Ora V. Harlan. Ira (Joe) was fond of dogs. When he went to school, he usually came home with a dog or two following him. Elva May was born November 9, 1916 on our wedding anniversary. She was a normal sized baby and had long dark hair—long enough to braid. My sister, Lillie, came and helped for a while. Dr. Sumner wasn't there when she was born. She was out on another case, so we had Dr. Sparks. He got there after she was born, but he said he couldn't wash and dress her. Alva hitched up a horse to the buggy and sent Robert up to a neighbor, about a quarter of a mile away. An Irish lady, Mrs. Taylor, came and took care of the baby and me. Then she came every day to wash the baby and care for me. She said she'd do anything to keep a neighbor. My sister, Lillie, brought one of our elders over to bless Elva May when she was only a few days old. We hadn't named her yet. He said we had to name her before he could bless her, so had to decide on a name. She was a sober child, never laughed much until she got older. Ira was so ticklish, it was hard to change his clothes or bathe him. He laughed and squirmed around, so it was hard to keep him on my lap. Pearly was good to help care of the younger ones.

"We sold that place and moved on to Holden, Missouri in 1918. Got close to school and church. We bought a house in town, but later sold it, and moved east of town and lived there. I done washing and ironing to help out. Alva worked on a farm southeast of town for Earl Tarrell of 17 years of more. It was during the Depression and jobs were scarce and farmers didn't pay much: 30 dollars a month.

"I raised my brother Ray's girl, Mary Katherine Dickerson, since she was eight-months old. Glen Allen Bixby was born August 21, 1923, so I had two baby's to take care of. He weighed 12 pounds. A neighbor came over to help; she was expecting a baby herself. So we lived where we could go to church and the children were all baptized when they became old enough. They all got through high school, and all got good jobs. We came to up to Lamoni in 1941. Robert lived here then (not sure where this town is)."

One woman, and her life story are printed on eight pages. Katherine Adeline (Dickerson) Bixby gave us a hint of what life was like on Cottonwood Creek in the years of 1914 to 1918.

So many people lived in our county, some just names on maps. There's so many we will know nothing about. Yet, they walked our county and felt the same experiences we do, just in a different time. With Katherine and Alva Bixby's story I was in the right place at the right time. Lyle Johnson called me on the phone and asked if I would be interested in going to this old house across the creek. He said the Robert Bixby (Alva's son) had come for a visit to the old farm. Of course, I said, "Yes." What a grand day. I took a tape recorder along and recorded what he said. I learned so much of his short life on our creek. Then, in the mail a few days later, came the story of Katherine, along with pictures and letters from Robert telling me even more of his remembrances. This was over 10 years ago. I will share some of the letters he wrote from his memory next week.

"We shall walk no more through the sodden plain,
We shall part no more in the wind and rain,
But perhaps I shall meet thee and know thee again,
When the sea gives up her dead." Jean Ingelow.

Rena Donovan, For Another Day.

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