Franklin County, Nebraska

For Another Day

I received this letter from Robert Bixby almost ten years ago. He was the oldest son of Alva and Katherine Bixby. This is what he has to day of his life on our Cottonwood Creek from 1914 to 1918.

"Dear Rena,

You must remember I was the oldest of six kids and I was only 11-years-old when we left there for Missouri, so what I say will be limited.

We bought and moved there in 1913 (? Mom said 1914). The folks had a 640 acres homestead in Rock County, NE. When it was legally his, they sold it and bought that 80 acres there (Cottonwood Creek). Dad's mother was Mrs. Andrew Johnson, who lived north of us. Also Mrs. John Kohmel was Dad's half-sister. They had, I think, nine children and lived between our place and Bloomington.

The Cochran family was west of us. Mr. Cochran had passed away and she married Mr. Taylor. She had a son who went to school with us. We went to Luke School, as marked on the enclosed map. We (my younger sister and I) walked most of the time, near three miles, winter and all.

At that time, Luke School was a two-room wooden building, one room for school and one for storage (desks, etc). There was one teacher for eight grades. I listened to all grades recite and learned more than I did when we got to a single class school. I understand Luke burned down and a brick school was built, and it was later closed.

My great uncle was a traveling missionary for the R. L. D. S. Church. He got permission to preach at Luke school. When it was over, my cousin, Emma Brown, and myself were baptized. They dammed up the Mill Race and we were baptized in it.

The Olson farm we called Tobe Olson. He and Mrs. Charles Johnson were brother and sister. We went by their house on the way to school. They raised a lot of turkeys. The Olson's deeded 160 acres and was pasture. The Fish place was in wheat, the McFarland farm was right by the schoolhouse.

South of us was the Mick Grace place. It was kind of on stilts in a low area. There was a big family of them. I think Mick worked for the railroad. Since Robert told me about this place, I have looked for it many times. This would have been south of the Cottonwood Creek bridge today. I can't find nary a piece of board of a nail or anything to tell me where this house was. I called Mick's sister, Mary Florence, in Kansas. She told me she thought it washed away in a flood of the creek and said it was just a shack.

One time we had a flood that cut the bank of the dam in the night. The water got to near the house. Dad went to the Grace family, got them up and back up the hill to safety.

Dad used his horses and slip to repair the break in the dam. As his payment he took several sacks of white flour. World War I broke our and we were not supposed to eat white flour. The folks worried about that until it was gone.

We had a telephoe (sic), such as it was—the wire nailed to the fence of our house. It was up a tree we could climb. We used to go up in it and h old onto the wire to get a shock when somebody rang. When there was an emergency, or a sale, or alarm, we gave four loud long rings.

No Electricity, no car, no radio, no TV, no newspaper, except the Bloomington Advocate.

We had a little cream, few eggs, and sometimes few chickens to trade for groceries. I think the grocery store was run by Mr. Dunn (he was the sheriff of Franklin County and auctioneer we talked about a few weeks ago). There was also a blacksmith shop. Dad went there a lot."

The wind blows and the sky looks of snow this 19th day of February 1999. Eighty-five years ago, on this date, across the creek at 5:00 p.m., it would have been approaching chore time. This little house was protected from the wind. It would have been difficult for the Bixbys to see the storm coming…so putting ourselves in their places, let us remember to get the buckets and the lantern in case it gets dark before we get done with chores. Oh yes, and don't forget, there's milking and chores to be done for a sick family across the creek on the Sharp farm (story for another day")

Next week, I will continue with Robert Bixby's letter to me about life as it was on Cottonwood Creek.

Once upon a time…
"The windows glisten, the old folks listen to hear the sleigh bells pass;
The fields grow whiter, the stars are brighter, the road as smooth as glass.
Our muffled faces burn, the clear north wind blows cold." Edmund Stedman

Rena Donovan, For Another Day.

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