My family began in a dugout in farm country
I was the eighth of thirteen to become a Widney.
Fleda, my nearest sister, did not survive 1918,
For the flu struck in a way we had never seen.
I recall a fondness for my teacher who lived near
A horse took me to help with baby Anna, deary.
Only fourteen or so, my nursing skill
Fell far short and we lost her to dread “dipthery”.
Graduation from high school came in 1929 with a class of nine,
My college plans to become a teacher pleased all,
although there would be trying times that first fall,
Fording a swollen river or traversing the miles by foot.
One summer while attending classes, a tall young man
Entered my life by throwing firecrackers at my feet.
It was the Fourth of July and though this was unkind,
I soon discovered that he had a very good mind.
His teaching experiences mirrored my own,
And over time, our lives became eternally intertwined.
A Christmas wedding at the home of my folks, his dad entoned,
A brief trip for we slept in the Ford roadster that time.
The chivaree at Stecker was fun, they said;
I, in a wheelbarrow, and cracker crumbs in our bed.
My teaching high school English and music there
Led to a job for my new husband, twas only fair.
In 1938 our home was a couple of rooms in the home of another,
Using a wind charger, my husband provided us with electricity.
It was a first for this small, rural town, though the wind blew it down.
Young and energetic, our lives were full and sometimes frenetic.
In summer, 1940, we moved to Washington DC to do the census.
He was to record while I learned to type on my first Royal.
A music job in Maryland was only seven and one half miles away;
However, at thirty mph with twenty-five signal lights, it became toil.
There were cultural adjustments, the dialect was one.
We took a moonlight cruise on the Potomac and “Carmen,”
the opera, was an experience in French; strawberries were
a dime a quart, free books from public and school libraries.
The highlight of our stay was the inauguration of FDR,
A grand affair with multitudes from near and far.
Leon set me on his shoulder so I could take photos,
Of the hour-long parade of FDR and the Ford motor car.
In 1941 the census job ended and Leon was hired by the BIA;
Off to North Dakota we bounded to a modern boarding school.
Little else was there; the Missouri River was one mile, but a town?
Minot, the birthplace of our firstborn, Jerry, was fifty miles, we found.
My son’s arrival was joyous, though dad was pheasant hunting.
I was on bed rest for at least a fortnight and made bunting
Wondering at world news of war and death abounding and if
We were wise to bring a son into such a time as this . . .
Gas and food were rationed so we supplemented by fishing,
Gardening, canning, and praying for the Good Lord’s provision.
July, 1944 found us at Camp Barkley where Leon was training
For foreign service on a Marine hospital ship named the Raven,
And I took our son and headed north to Fay, a familiar haven.
Our daughter Joan was born there; Leon was discharged
And we began our most memorable time as a family.
I traveled to Kansas to teach while the children were at
Newkirk, and Leon led Chilocco School in northern Oklahoma.
Oklahoma is known for its wild weather; in 1962
Golf-ball sized hail fell on Memorial Day when we were
Gone fishing! And missing the 200 school windows broken
Our garden destroyed, except for ten pints of beets, small token!
Our final assignment took us south: Indian City, USA.
After 32 years of teaching, I began a different phase.
With research becoming a long-time craze and volunteering
To supplement and to cheer the retirement years.
~ Beulah Wall
