End Notes:

Note should be made of the little E. Nankin Presb. Church attended by my parents and all the neighborhood. They kept going financially, is about all that can be said. There must have been financial aid from Presbytery, as no minister could live on the weekly pittance which was raised. Even so, it was the social center of the community. Every one came to the Christmas and Childrenıs Day programs, to hear the songs, dialogues etc, and every child performed.

My father had a hedge of tall evergreens on each side of the lawn, and when Christmas season came, two trees were cut, one for church, one for home. Santa Claus entered with much fanfare through the folding doors on the east side of the church, those doors only being used for funerals and Santa Claus.

Above all, this diary recording was precious to me because of the picture it gives of my mother, which stands out like a childish coin rubbing; always frail physically, but day after day doing the herculean tasks of a farm wife in 1901. Always uncomplaining, always loving, good mother, faithful wife, always ready for ³a little music² raising her lovely voice in the old songs, and coaxing music out of the wheezing old church organ.

Also, my father, working night and day, always the innovator. The only evergreen hedge, the only bay window, the first silo (a wooden hexagonal one that never blew down), he raised sugar beets one year & hired a railroad car to take them to the sugar factory. Apparently not a success financially, as it was not repeated.

The trips to market, fifteen miles, were made with a team and wagon in all sorts of weather, rising at 3:00 to be there in time.

A hard, grueling existence, but to him a farmerıs life was the best of all.

My mother was his bright and guiding star. Once, when I was grown, I had placed a tall vase of flowers in the center of the table. Papa moved his head to left, then right, finally said in exasperation ­ ³Take the plagued flowers away! I canıt see your motherıs face!!²

He practically had to kidnap her, as Grandpa Everett was determined that she did not have the physical strength required for marriage and a family, most of all, he wanted her to stay with him and be his beloved companion and right hand.

My father, remembering this, was very good in letting her go ³home² to Lansing for a month out of each year.

I cannot end these remarks without a tribute to ³Aunty², the author of the diary. I remember her as a childish, autocratic sick old woman, but in 1901, as evidenced by these pages, she was a great help to my mother, taking over the mending, much of the sewing, helping with cleaning, hanging out clothes in bitter weather ("I didnıt think Julia ought to hang them out, after doing the whole wash²) she wrote, also largely taking over the care of an active, heavy baby, singing, playing tunes on her melodeon, and rocking her to sleep.

She took a keen interest in the affairs of the farm, also of the nation. Once, when my father came in and reported ³Well, Auntie, the Republicans lost the election², after a stunned silence, she exclaimed ³No, they couldnıt have!²