The Pioneer Spirit Personified by Ladonna Lord (aka Mabel Lord Imus)

The following story was written by my grandmother Lu's older sister Mabel May Lord Imus. I do not know the date it was written. My great-Aunt Mabel was born May 27, 1887, the second child of Richard Ela Lord and Ida May Butler. I hope it is okay to share this story on our family blog as Mabel did not have any surviving children from whom I could obtain permission to publish here. I think it is a wonderful glimpse into the lives of Richard Ela Lord and Ida May Butler, and I hope you enjoy it. Throughout the story I will interject some tidbits of information to help set the time and place into perspective.

The Pioneer Spirit Personified

These are my recollections when reminiscing on the "Pioneering Spirit" of Richard Ela Lord, born in 1862, at Toolsboro, Iowa, a small town on the banks of the Mississippi River, and Ida May Butler, born in 1864, in Illinois, on the opposite side of the Mississippi.

These two young people had much in common, both being fond of skating, boating, and dancing. They could each row a boat about as speedy as anyone and thought it great sport to join the skating groups from both sides of that wonderful Mississippi. They were also good dancers, and their happiest moments were spent on the dance floor, dancing their then-popular waltz.

It was at a dance that these two young people met and fell in love, and having a short courtship, were married in October 1883. Ela being twenty-one, and Ida, nineteen, making their home for a short time in Toolsboro.  But they were soon prompted to go over into Nebraska, where available work seemed more desirable. By 1887, they found themselves, in Kansas, where I, the author, their second daughter, was born in a "sod" house near Sawyer. When I was two months old, they went back to Iowa, in and around Wapello and Muscatine, neighboring towns of Toolsboro. At times they acquired small farms and grew sweet potatoes, watermelons, and the like, but always having the great desire to "go west," which their relatives all opposed, having fear of the Indians and wild animals. However, in the spring of 1896, they were influenced by their "itching feet," along with the opportunity to take advantage of a proposition whereby they were given a tract of land on a percentage basis, providing they put up their own buildings with the material furnished by the Company, this company influencing people to go west and settle on this unimproved land in South Dakota. 

So along with another family, friends of theirs, they migrated west. Emigrants were going from everywhere, taking advantage of this offer. The tracks of land that Father and this Mr. Fitzsimmons, their friend, accepted were three miles from Edgemont, South Dakota, the men going ahead of the families to get the houses ready and sending for their families later. http://www.edgemont.info/living-here/facts-and-history.html

At that time, there were six children in the Lord family and two children in the Fitzsimmons family. The men took the stock they owned at that time and the household furnishing when they went, the owners having to accompany their livestock to care for them while en route. All of the other trips to the neighboring states had been made by team and wagon. This trip was made by train, a new experience.

Living in this newly settled country was also a new experience and an interesting one. Everybody burned wood for all their heat, which they got by going up into the Black Hills that were near, cutting the trees and hauling them home. This required a permit, only with no other cost.

On each trip made to the mountains after wood, they would take along their rifles and bring home, besides wood, much of their meat as well, sometimes deer, antelope, sagehens, pheasants, quail, rabbits, and the like. Everyone there built an icehouse to keep their wild game in.

Hunting was a wonderful recreation for the men, as there was no other recreation for adults, besides being economical.  Weekends, most families took to the Black Hills with tent and camping equipment, and the men would hunt. I still have that mental picture of those lines of antelope marching single file along a hillside, sometimes a dozen or more in the group.

On one of these trips, we had a most exciting day. After settling camp and looking over the hills some distance away, we saw a long line of antelope marching single file. The men with their rifles and on ponies started out to get one. In just a short while, here came an antelope right down to camp, running on three legs, and dropped exhausted, with Mr. Fitzsimmons at his heels. Dismounting and getting his arms around its neck to stick it and not riddle it with bullets, the antelope lunged right up through his arms and was off on another chase. It dropped completely exhausted in a short distance, and he brought it in on the saddle. That was one of their fondest hunting stories, the families seeing the whole procedure.

Many of the people living there were either sheep or cattle owners in a large way and they were always feuding among themselves over grazing rights, which neither owned, just claimed, sort of squatter's rights, and sometimes trespassing thereby, agitating the situation.

A neighbor of ours, Mr. Clayton, was sitting in his home one evening about dusk with the lamps lighted, being visible from the outside as the binds were not drawn. Suddenly, a bullet came through the window, hitting the man and killing him. It was presumable done by one of the cattlemen with whom he had been feuding, he being a sheep man. That caused a lot of excitement in the neighborhood for some long time.

But things seemed to be going nicely for us until suddenly their received notice that the Company had gone bankrupt. They couldn't find out what to do under the laws of litigation. The property not being theirs, having no deed, they could see no future. Some stayed to be put off if it came to that.  The Lord and Fitzsimmons families, wanting no trouble over the land, packed their belongings and headed West with Father's brother joining the group. There were thirteen people, five adults, and eight children ranging from two to thirteen years, with five covered wagons and two saddle ponies extra, starting May 26th, 1898. There was much excitement with five schooners all in a line going West for a new home, no one knew where.

Crossing the state line into Wyoming was a beautiful sight. Miles and miles of level prairie land, carpeted with cactus and tulips in bloom, and every few feet a prairie dog sitting up, yipping away. There was sagebrush in places, and last, but not least, the wood ticks, making it compulsory to search each human as well as the animals each evening before retiring.

But on and on we went into Montana, much of it being a continuous uninterrupted succession of carpeted prairie land with the tulips and cactus and many herds of horses and cattle, apparently wild. We crossed two Indian reservations, the Crow and the Flathead. The Indians were operating a ferry across the river and took us across safely, giving us pointers as to what not to do while on the Reservation. The greatest restriction was to not touch the graves searching for beads, which some people would try to do. They permitted us to fish for trout in the stream and to stroll or ride anywhere but always watching us very closely. Many times when sleeping in the tent, we would be awakened by the screaming of a cougar, making your book turn cold. But we had two watchdogs, as well as the rifles, so we were well protected.

When reaching East Helena, Montana, they decided to rest for a month as it was extremely hot. The foreman in the smelter there was Mother's brother, whom she had not seen for twenty years. That made the stay there an interesting one as well as a profitable one for Uncle put the men to work in the smelter. Each day, two of we older children had to carry lunch to our men at work. One day on our way home after delivering the lunch, we came to a dilapidated and vacant old shack with a fence around it. There two teenage boys were in the yard digging. Like all children, we were curious and tarried awhile to see what they were doing. They finally dug up a large tin can and when opening it, found that it was full of money, gold pieces of different denominations. Gold was used in those days instead of paper. I told them that they should take it directly to the police. They picked it up, although heavy, and went their way, and we had to get home.

When telling Uncle of what we had seen, he said that an elderly man had occupied that shack for many years and supposedly had scarcely enough to eat. He had passed away, and apparently having no relatives, left no will for none had been found. Upon inquiry, we were told that if no one proved or claimed it by right of relationship, the money would be given to the boys who had turned it in. We were not there long enough to learn the outcome, but it was thought that the boys would get it and there would be enough to put them through college and more. 

At the end of that month, we went on our way, taking to the road again. We went up into Northern Idaho, having heard so much about the beauty of the country, especially around Lake Coeur d'Alene. On reaching Coeur d'Alene, we parked our five covered wagons across the road from the Soldiers Forte. This Forte was later removed. 

While having our lunch, a gentleman drove up in a log wagon, and curious to know everything stopped to talk. When learning our story, he, Mr. Hawkins, insisted that if we followed him seven miles upon Mica Mountain, he could show us some wonderful homestead sites; that the three men could each file on a 160-acre tract; it would be our own in five years time by clearing, improving and making it our home. The land was covered with timber to be cut down, thereby making an income. Mr. Hawkins had been on his land the five years, had the deed and knew the ropes. He took time enough to show them the three best homestead sites available and then took the men to the Land Office in Coeur d'Alene and saw that everything was cared for perfectly. That became our home for better than six years, ending the long trip by covered wagon to the West. Mr. Hawkins was displaying that social, friendly spirit of everyone in that neighborhood, a most delightful, beautiful and healthful place to call home.

Father having the largest family, the three men went to work building our home first to the point of being a shelter. Then it would be time to reciprocate. Everybody moved into our log cabin as soon as possible until the second house could be built. By that time it had snowed and was getting cold, and in a short while we could sleigh ride over the fence posts as though there were none. There was a lot of labor but little money going out and everyone was happy to be settled, making every moment delightful, yes, really thrilling.

It took the wildlife some time to learn that we were there to stay. In the early evening, the deer would come into our yard and the bear were visible many times. The mountain lions would come into our yard, sometimes seen around the edge of the clearing, investigating surroundings, and if having found food, a calf or a carcass, would let out a scream calling its mate, sounding like a woman's scream when in great distress. On day, Father saw a bear circling the edge of the clearing and through perhaps he could get it with the rifle. He and the oldest son took off to try their luck. They got reasonably close so Father took time to put the boy up a tree for fear of attack and shot at the bear. He hit it, he thought, but the bear just turned his head around and looked at Father, then walked away under thick underbrush. They never did find the bear. Many times when out riding, we would meet a bear when waiting to cross the road and we always gave him the right of way by waiting and letting him pass. The bear liked the wild fruit, strawberries and huckleberries, and so did we, and having several berry patches spotted, planning to pick the berries when ready. It depended on which got there first for the bear could strip a patch of its berries in a few minutes. But the wild life finally moved farther back and gave us the right of way so we ceased to fear them.

We remained there about six and a half years until logging grew to be so dangerous for the men, the felling of the big trees, hauling the logs three miles to put them into the lake for the steamers to tow to a lumberyard. Father had an accident once, it being a miracle that he survived after getting his head caught when leaning over one log and another log accidentally breaking loose its anchor, rolled, catching him. My brother and I hearing him scream, reached him in time to release him, saving his life, bu the pressure was great, his teeth cut through his lips. From then on we were most fearful, and that, along with some of the children needing higher schooling facilities than provided there, Father decided to sell the homestead.

From there they went over into the State of Washington, but not for long. From there, into Southern Idaho near Pocatello, purchasing a beautiful ranch in the mountains, remaining there longer than usual, being about nine years before selling. From they, they went to Southern California to the Pacific Ocean at La Jolla and San Diego, remaining about six years, all the while their "feet itching" to get to Oregon, as Father would say. When reaching Oregon, near Salem, they remained, spending their final days living near several of their married children and being happy with the grandchildren near.

This true story is written "commemorating the Pioneering Spirit Personified", which truly seemed to be the life of my father and mother; many times with disappointment but never despair; disillusionment always bringing fresh hope, courage and vision to them.

It has been said that retrospection is to reminiscence what recollection is to remembrance. However, this is a true story, elucidated by the faculty of memory and recollection when reminiscing through retrospection, being a clear, distinct but brief memoir of some of the outstanding experiences between 1862 and 1944 of my parents.

(Pen Name) LaDonna Lord

This article has never been published (at the time of its writing).

Address: Mabel Lord Imus

                1107 Prospect Street

                La Jolla, California

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Commemorating 100 Years of Mom Memories

On Friday, July 16, 1920, Margaret (also known as Peggy or Peg) Lord O'Connor was born at the La Jolla Sanitarium in San Diego, California, to 22-year-old Edward Aloysius O'Connor from Jersey City, New Jersey, and 19-year-old Temperance Lulu Lord from Coeur d' Alene, Idaho. She was the first of three children in this O'Connor family.

 

In a story written by Lu, I learned that Peggy's parents had a tough time getting together the $100 required by the hospital in La Jolla for their first child's birth. I also found out that a retired nurse, named Margaret, lived next door to them and would come over every few days to check on Lu during her pregnancy, which made her feel so protected. I speculated recently in a previous post that perhaps Peggy was named Margaret after her father's deceased little sister, Anna Margaret O'Connor. Could it be that she was really named after the wonderful neighbor, Margaret? Peggy was described by her mother as a dark-haired beauty, all 7 pounds, 8 ounces, of her. According to Lu, Edward could not get enough of holding her in his arms. One nurse at the hospital even said she was the prettiest newborn baby she had ever seen.

Shortly after Peggy's birth, Edward's job at Camp Kearney came to an end and he got another job at the Campo General Store, 50 miles in the mountains east of San Diego. So this small family of three, moved from La Jolla to Campo, to a living room, a kitchen and a one bedroom house set against the hills, a short distance from the store where Edward worked. There Peggy grew like a weed, jabbered her baby talk, smiled her sweet smile. She started crawling, not forward but backward. Sometimes she would go back under a table and then cry because she couldn't get out. Apparently after a few times, she finally decided to try going forward and that worked. From then it progressed to walking and talking.

 

Her first words were not what most would imagine though. Lu wrote of Peggy speaking her first words: "I was ill one morning, couldn't get out of bed and get Edward's breakfast. He boiled his own eggs. I asked him to put the prunes which were in a paper sack in the kitchen, into a kettle and cover them with water. Some way, he spilled them all over the kitchen floor. He put his hands on his hips and said, very forcefully, "Damn those prunes." Peggy rose to her feet, put her tiny hands on her hips, and said, quite clearly, "Damn those prunes." They were her first words she had ever said. Edward was astounded. "Aren't you going to spank her? She swore." "She only said what you did. I can't spank her for that." A few minutes later, she was singing, "Damn those prunes. Damn those prunes." She gave the song a nice tune as she played on the kitchen floor with a kettle and a spoon."

During her teen years, Peggy attended Sweetwater Union High School but graduated from Calexico High School in 1938 after her father was assigned to the El Centro Customs Office. She married George Whertley in 1940, and they had one son together in 1942, Edward Hardy, also known as Skeets.  

 

After her first marriage ended, Peggy met Clarence Milo Stewart from Rochester, Minnesota, while working at Consolidated Aircraft in San Diego during WWII. They married in 1944 and had three children: Patrick Michael (1949), Susan Lynne (1951), and Shirley Inez (1953). Peggy and Clarence eventually divorced in 1967.

 

Lakeside Post Office @1960

Peggy was hired by the Lakeside Post Office in December of 1959 and retired in July of 1982 after nearly 23 years of service. Soon after retirement, she moved to Stayton, Oregon, to be near her mother, Lu, and sister, Connie. After moving into her newly purchased home in Turner, Oregon, Peggy began to settle into her new life. In time, she became active in the Eva Rebekah Lodge #92 in Stayton in the late 1980s. She was even elected Grand Noble for the organization in 1989.  

Ireland @ 2003

Peggy moved back to San Diego County in the mid-1990s to be near her two daughters, Susan and Shirley, and their children. She briefly relocated to Santa Rosa in the summer of 2009 to live near her youngest son, Patrick, and then moved back to Lakeside that same year. Despite relocating so many times, Peggy really enjoyed traveling. Some of her international trips took her as far away as Australia, New Zealand, Denmark, England, Ireland, Greece, and Spain.

Peggy loved volunteer positions to keep her busy even while working full time and certainly in her retirement years. In April of 1972, while still employed with the Post Office, she was among the first group of women to graduate from the San Diego County Sheriff's Reserve, after completing a required 188 hours of instruction at Miramar College. In addition, Peggy served many other local organizations, including the Lakeside and Alpine libraries, The Braille Society as a transcriber, Silver Falls State Park, the Lakeside Historical Society, and Friends of the Santee Library. She also attended many art classes as she took up drawing and painting. Peggy was prolific in needlepoint as well, leaving her family with many examples of her work.

 

Peggy was burdened with diabetes, dementia, and breast cancer in her later years and passed away while under sedation on September 7, 2013, at the age of 93. Her memorial service was held at the Barona Mission in Lakeside, California, on a very warm September day. It was attended by several family members and friends from the various organizations she served. Her ashes were scattered a year later at her favorite place in Oregon, Silver Falls State Park, by her four children, Edward, Patrick, Susan, and Shirley.

 

To complete this story about Mom, I asked my three siblings to contribute their thoughts and memories for a personal look into the woman our mother was.

 

►►►►►►►►►►  From her eldest son, Skeets:

Mom — I met her some 78 years ago come next month, August 2020. Just 9 months following the attack on Pearl Harbor by the Japanese Imperial Navy. Her name was Margaret Lord O'Connor. She and my father, George Washington Whertley, had been previously living in Bremerton, WA, where he was based in the U.S. Navy, but was subsequently reassigned to the East Coast before I was born and gone from our lives. She relocated back to San Diego just before I met her at Mercy Hospital. The day we met is in dispute. Hospital and official county records say August 22, 1942. But a date-stamped, sent and received, Western Union telegram from Lukes to Edward was made on August 21, 1942 announcing our meeting. She made one final attempt to reconcile during my first year by traveling cross country by train to confront my father. It was on this trip to the East Coast that she also attended a graduation ceremony of (her father) Edward from Officer Candidate School in New York.

 

Clearly, Mom was a member and product of our Greatest Generation, as they have been come to be known. Known for their contribution and dedication to the greater good of our country through their national and community service. Giving priority to others. A quality that is in short supply these days.

 

This characteristic of Mom and her generation played out in many ways throughout her life from a voluntary member of the San Diego County Sheriff's Office Auxiliary, Lakeside Historical Society, Silver Creek Falls State Park Bookstore, Odd Fellows and Rebekahs, and many others. I remember this character quality so well from my early days. On one occasion, I made a comment about how I appreciated my Lakeside Little League coach, Javier Smith, for his willingness to spend his time with our team. Her reply was, "Remember that when you grow up and you have the opportunity to serve others," or words to that effect. I suspect that this same character quality has played out over the years and subsequent Lord-O'Connor generations as I see how others in this clan have exhibited it, volunteering here, serving there. We need more of this quality in our society, serving others and putting their needs above selfish wants.

 

Over the decades, there was a quiet riff between Lukes and Mom. It was ever-present and just under the surface. My question to Mom is what was that about, and why did it linger on?

I am sure that if Mom were asked about a list of regrets it would extend beyond my present memory. The one that I have always carried with me has to do with a very nice electric clock that sat on a table between 2 sitting chairs at Jessica Lane (circa 1961-1962). It was all glass, see-through, mounted in a gold round frame. Mom, sitting in one chair and I throwing a tennis ball like I was pitching baseball into the cushion of the other. She asked me to stop before I hit the glass clock. I didn't, and sure enough, the ball glanced off the chair hitting and breaking the glass. She wept. I felt terrible. Over the decades I looked for a replacement. Judy and I found one, and I gave it to Mom, recalling the incident to her and telling her how sorry I was. Her response was that she didn't remember the event. I never knew if it was graceful tact or dementia setting in.

 

On this centennial birthdate, July 16, 2020, of Mom, I give thanks to her, her community spirit, and her contributions to my life and to so many others. Happy Birthday, Mom!     -Skeets

►►►►►►►►►►  From her other son, Patrick:

Sprinklers and Trains in the Night — Mom decided to retire to Oregon, not sure why. Maybe to get away from a lifetime of kids, maybe because Gran and Connie lived there, but probably because it was just part of her nature to be alone. In any event, Oregon was the place.

 

Mom ventured up there on her own before her last day as a letter carrier and bought a house on a small plot of land that sided a small creek in between farmland near Turner. The house was probably the first one she looked at with a realtor. And it just so happened, the realtor owned the property and would sell it for a fair price; heck, he even would carry the paper to make the transaction work. What he didn't mention to Mom, and I doubt she would have asked, was the train track across the road.

 

The land fit Mom's idea of country living; a small place isolated somewhere on a quiet road with a stream gurgling along the edge of the house, adjacent fields that fenced in llamas and cultivated fields, and the smallish town of Stayton a short drive away for life's necessities. The deal was signed and Mom came home to finish the last months of her career as a future homeowner in Oregon.

 

Retirement day was followed by packing for the move. I volunteered to drive her car packed to the roof with stuff she couldn't part with. We left San Diego late one morning and headed north. Somewhere around Sacramento, I suggested we get a hotel for the night and start fresh the next morning. But Mom had her mind firmly set on her new home, so we continued on. Somewhere around Red Bluff my eyes closed while driving and nearly ran off the road as we passed a Rest Area Ahead sign. I told Mom I needed a short nap and pulled off. 

 

It was the middle of summer and, with the windows up to keep out the hungry mosquitos, I was a sweaty mess in no time in the driver's seat. It was no cooler with the windows down and a sheet over me to keep off the mosquitos. In front of us was a concrete picnic table, so I left the car and lay down on the cool concrete covered by the sheet. I offered Mom an adjacent table, but she wanted to stay in the car so no one would steal her car or her stuff. 

 

As I nodded off, I heard the choosh, choosh, choosh of sprinklers starting up and thought they might cool the still air. That thought didn't last when I was rudely awakened as sprinklers around the table started their cycle watering the grass and me.

I got back in the car, turned on the AC, and continued on to Oregon. We arrived at the new house before noon, unloaded the car, and found a place to nap. Later, we cleaned up the house, put away what we brought, and went for dinner. 

 

Around eight, we walked the road in front of the house and I climbed up to the tracks the realtor forgot to mention on a raised bed thirty feet off the road. Mom thought they didn't work because no trains passed while she was there before. "How neat!", I thought. "It will be fun to watch trains go by tomorrow if it's active." 

Mom’s Little Slice of Quiet Country Living

Around nine o'clock, with daylight still glowing, I went to bed to enjoy a long night's sleep without sprinklers or mosquitos. And I did until about ten when the chug, chug, chug of a train and its whistle rose in the distance and became louder as it closed in on the house. The whistle sounded at every road crossing as it pounded its way up the grade to the house. From my window, I watched three engines rumble by pulling eighty plus freight cars behind. 

Yes, indeedy, the track was active. Three or four additional freight trains interrupted my sleep that night and for the next couple of nights. By the last night I was so tired I slept through most of them. So much for quiet country living. Mom did say later she hardly noticed the midnight trains after a month or so.

 

The Separation Shuffle — Mom and Dad separated the first day of my senior year of high school. It was inevitable; the growing distance, the lack of intimacy, had brewed for a long time. The attentions of another man sealed the fate of the marriage. And, even though they divorced, the acrimony and distance continued for many years. 

 

Mom's feelings were comically epitomized at Clayton's and Tanya's wedding during the family portraits. When it came time to photograph the newly combined families of the bride and groom, Mom and Dad were directed to their places. But, Mom kept her social distancing from Dad, so much so that the photographer asked her to move closer to her husband. 

"He is NOT my husband."

"Well, I need you to move in closer anyway."

Mom shuffled her feet like she was obliging, but the

distance between them did not get shorter. 

"A little closer, please."

More shuffling was just for show. The photographer, recognizing his stubborn subject was not going to move, took the photo with Mom still separated by her comfort zone.

 

Clayton & Tanya's wedding, 10/8/94. Mom & Dad on the left.

Postcards to Gran: A Fierce Wallflower December 2016 – San Francisco.

Gran – Your daughter, Margaret Lord Stewart, has passed, but you probably already knew that. Ninety-three years, breast cancer, and a bit of old age dementia pulled her down. She was living with Susan while hospice eased her last months. One day in late August Susan called to say hospice felt a visit sooner rather than later was a good idea. Heeding their advice, I came home to Mom one last time. Miss you. Patrick

For a week Mom and I spent time together doing simple things that reflected our relationship; playing Kings on a Corner, finishing a jigsaw puzzle on my sister Susan’s patio, cooking her meals. There was no talk of death, of fear, or what’s behind the curtain. Looking back, the five days together felt like a microcosm of our relationship; steady, uneventful, constant. My visit was a series of small pleasures in the time and the space between us. After I left on Monday morning, Mom told Susan she enjoyed visiting with her favorite brother; Mom passed that Friday night.

To her children, Mom was a private person, not only socially, but in her personal interactions as well. The only break in this persona was a letter written explaining her actions that lead to our parent’s divorce. But, there was another Mom, an enigma because of what she did when we weren’t around.

Once her kids had married or moved out, Mom bought a camper to see the western US, much like her mother did. She traveled alone to New Zealand, Australia, the Intracoastal Waterway, and Mt. McKinley, as it was known then.

Shortly after her retirement, I moved her to a farmhouse she bought near Turner, OR. It seemed typical of her to choose a home far enough away from people to discourage visitors. It was also typical of her not to ask about the train tracks 100 feet from the front door. The freight trains ran at night and you could hear their whistles miles away as they climbed the long grade towards the house. I assume that’s why the property was so cheap.

Mom exhibited actions that seemed out of character, almost brazen, for the quiet woman we grew up under. She volunteered as a state park host on the Oregon coast, living for weeks in a tent. For many years, Mom volunteered in the park store at Silver Creek Falls State Park. She is still there today. On the one year anniversary of her passing, sons and daughters met at the store and wandered the park with coffee cups filled with Mom’s ashes to spread around the park. To most viewers, we were just a family enjoying a cup of coffee as ashes moved with the water down the creek and over the falls. I like to think her ashes flowed with water to the Pacific Ocean and onward to the beach she had camped on.

We were introduced to the park as kids when Dad brought us there. He was a cook at the Civilian Conservation Corps camp during the Great Depression. Built by the young men of the CCC, Silver Falls is now called the Jewel of the Oregon Park System. Ironic that the park Mom volunteered at so many years after their divorce was one our dad helped build.

Mom remained independent until her early eighties when she became confused by a traffic officer’s prompts. He directed her to appear at the DMV with someone who could drive her home, just in case. That was the last time her foot hit the gas pedal, ending her most prized possession of independence.

But it didn’t end her ability to navigate a car. When I visited, we’d go for backcountry drives or wander up the coast. Sooner or later, I would be directed to a back road she traveled years before, maybe to a destination I’d never been to. She was usually right about the route.

Mom held onto her waning independence by living alone after she was grounded by the DMV. But that began to erode as age related dementia slowly crept into her life. As a compromise, we ordered her a Life Alert necklace to wear in case of an emergency. But her independent streak kept the Alert on the nightstand by her bed instead around her neck. Mom’s last vestige of independence insisted that is where it was most useful.

After she fell in the kitchen and couldn’t get to the night stand, her days of independent living ended. She shared time between my sisters Susan and Shirley. To give them a break, Mom moved to a senior facility in Santa Rosa to be near us. But after several months, she returned to San Diego because there were too many old people where she lived (she was 90 at the time) and she didn’t know the back roads when we went for a drive.

As I write about the last days with Mom, I realize how strong she was. People may have considered her a wallflower, but she was a fierce wallflower. To take on the adventures in her senior years, by herself, requires a courage most don’t have. As the specter of finality approached, her courage stayed true. I hope I’m as courageous.

►►►►►►►►►►  From Susan

Susan with Mom in Alaska @1995

Words to describe my mother — Solitary traveler. Mom never seemed happier than when she was alone exploring, or working, or just being home. Other words that come to mind are: independent, dependable, and very shy, but always ready to volunteer time and services to the Braille Society, Sheriff's Department, Silver Creek Falls, and the Lakeside Historical Society. 

 

Shirley and I got a lot of mileage out of her comments, which we heard quite often during her last years. "Where are we going, or don't you know?" "Did I order that?" (often with a quizzical look on her face). "Are you going to eat all that?" Another expression I use a lot with my grandkids — "What's my name? Puddin'tain. Ask me again and I will tell you the same"

 

I think she embraced the "free-range" philosophy of child-raising. She encouraged me to sew my own clothes at a fairly early age, and my junior high home economics teacher, Mrs. Dial, did not believe me when I said I already knew how to sew. She also footed the bill for my horse after we moved La Reina to our house on Jessica Lane and only mentioned the expense once when I asked about an allowance. She allowed me the freedom to ride where ever I wanted and never said no, even when I rode to the hills on the other side of Santee and was gone all day.

 

When all was said and done, she was not your typical warm and fuzzy mama. But she raised some fine, resourceful, and strong-minded children for which I am very grateful.

►►►►►►►►►►  My final thoughts:

When I told my husband, Beaver, that my next family blog post would commemorate Mom's 100th birthday, we realized that it would be the same for his dad, as Charley and Mom were born just two days apart in 1920. After talking about her for a short while, I mentioned that if Mom were still alive today, I don't think she would be a good citizen with all the current mandates to wear masks, stay home, and no social gatherings...although, she would be just fine with keeping six feet apart from everyone. She'd definitely be one of those people who could not stand to have a mask on her face. My thoughts turned to everything she did live through, so I did a little research. In her lifespan, there were 17 different U.S. Presidents, 5 wars (one in which her brother, Mickey, was killed), 8 new amendments to the Constitution, the Great Depression, Civil Rights, the first man walking on the moon, and so many other great national accomplishments and disasters. They must have affected her life in ways we will never know.

A few years before her passing, as Dementia really started invading her mind, I realized that I had missed my window of opportunity to sit down and interview her. I wasn't into genealogy too much at that point, but I had done an extensive interview with Dad and always thought I needed to get Mom's life on record as well. Sadly, as life got in the way, I did not do that. I imagine she would have probably downplayed what her life was like as she was not one to boast or bring attention to herself.

I often felt that Mom was a different person around us than she was around others. I remember a cousin once saying how fun Aunt Peggy was to have around when she lived in Oregon. My sister, Susan, and I just quizzically looked at each other, silently thinking the same thing, "Is she talking about our mom?" It wasn't that Mom was a Joan Crawford-type parent, I just don't remember her cracking jokes or doing silly things. 

 

Mom definitely inherited the "wanderlust" trait from the Lord side of her family. Her mom (my Grandma O'Connor, aka Lukes) also loved to get out and see the world, and even wrote about how her father, Richard Ela Lord, always had an "itchy foot." Mom loved to go places, any place. When we picked her up to go shopping or for a meal, or just out and about for the day, she would always ask, "Where are we going, or don't you know?" That is still a running joke between Susan and me because we both heard that question from her so many times.

 

Mom always kept busy by reading every book she could carry away from a library or second-hand book store, learning new skills or helping with local organizations. I guess she didn't like idle time. She and Dad even got into square dancing at one point, probably in the early 60s. I still have that silver belt she wore with her vibrant turquoise square dance dress with silver rick-rack sewn around the full skirt, much like the dress pictured to the right.

 

Those two characteristics, love of travel and the desire to learn new things, are instilled in me and I should probably have thanked her for that. After all, she helped make me what I am today.

Margaret Lord O'Connor Stewart
7/16/1920-9/7/2013