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October 13, 1986
To my Grandchildren:

I was born on January 25, 1918, in a farm house one mile south and two miles east of Kimball, South Dakota. I was the 11th child of thirteen children born to my parents, Thomas Jefferson Smith and Lilly Bell Dark Smith. Only ten of these thirteen grew to adulthood. My father was born on June 13, 1854, in Indiana. He was 25 years older than my mother and their marriage was his second. He and his first wife had five sons, only three, (Otis, Frank, and John) that I ever knew. My mother was born in Benton County, Kansas, on January 23, 1879. I remember her telling stories of her trip, with her family (they went in a covered wagon) when she was a child, to Arkansas. This is where my parents met and were married, October 12, 1899.

My father was the foreman on a railroad "section". Their home was in Batesville. My mother often spoke of Newark and Newport. Their first three children were Eliza Ann, November 2, 1900, Georgia Marie, July 16, 1902 and Penn Coe, July 22, 1904. Eliza Ann died at the age of two and was buried in Arkansas. Sometime in those first years my mother became ill with tuberculosis. In those days the "cure" was rest, sunshine and a high, dry climate. My father gave up his good job and took his little family to South Dakota. Why they chose Kimball, I do not know. South Dakota was a young state and Kimball had been established in 1880. My mother was so weak, she could not walk even a block, but my father had accomplished his purpose and she eventually was cured.

They lived in town for awhile. She often told stories of the little boy who lived across the street. He was the only boy in a family with several sisters. For punishment, when he was bad, he was made to come in the house and take the terrible tasting castor oil!!! This has nothing to do with my heritage and I only mention it as a point of interest since this little boy grew up to be the very famous Dr. Alton Oschner, who founded a big medical clinic in New Orleans, Louisiana. Perhaps the castor oil started his career!!

My mother's illness did not stop them from having children. There were none of the modern birth control methods in those days. Not too long after arriving in Kimball, my parents settled on the farm where they lived for many years. They were sharecroppers which was commonly done-that is they farmed and received a share, in their case, 1/3 of the crop.

The farm was owned by a wealthy man, Lewis Mathews, who lived in Tipton, Iowa. Once or twice a year he would come. I thought, as a child, that he came to visit; but I suppose he came to collect his share of the money. He was handsome, tall, with wavy red hair, and we loved his visits. He always brought treats and at Christmas time we would receive a box of apples and hickory nuts. For some reason, he took a "liking" to me and seriously wanted to adopt me. I thought it would be great to be a rich man's daughter, but I well remember my father's answer. "I wouldn't pay a nickel for another one like her but I wouldn't give her up for a million dollars!"

My sister. Pearl, was next in the family. She was born on August 5, 1906. Next was Opal, born December 2, 1907. The next child was a premature girl, born March 5 1909. She lived only one hour. May Bell was next born, February 25, 1910.

On May 26, 1911, tragedy struck the family. A severe storm, common to South Dakota, occurred. My mother and Georgia ran to chase in a hen and baby chickens so they wouldn't drown in the rain. The chicken house blew over on them. My mother's hip was broken and Georgia was killed. The dress which she had been wearing was hung in the cellar. My two younger sisters and I used to look at it and imagine that we found blood stains. However, we never took it from the hook on which it hung. It remained there until we left the farm when I was about 15.

Thomas Mathew was born January 5, 1912. Fred, August 27, 1913, and Steve, August 18, 1915. I came next. My mother often told me of that day. It was cold and snowing. In late afternoon my father told her that he was going to hitch up the horses and wagon and to to "town" for the doctor. She thought that made no sense, since she had no signs of labor. He insisted that he could tell by her eyes that it wouldn't be long. Perhaps, after so many children her eyes had developed a familiar look, ha! Anyway, in spite of her objections. He drove the three miles in the snow for the doctor. By the time they arrived, she was in labor, and I was born at 6:30 P.M. Dr. Willy was a kindly man and well loved by everybody. He was the only doctor in our little town during my early childhood years. When he retired, Dr. Stewart came to replace him.

Our house on the farm was a two story wood frame one. There were two rooms downstairs; a combination kitchen and dining room, and a combination living room and bedroom. My parents slept down-stairs. There were three bedrooms upstairs, one I shared with my two younger sisters, Delvia, who was born February 12, 1920 and Florence born July 29, 1922. The other two bedrooms were shared by my older brothers and sisters.

Probably my earliest recollection is of standing by the window of the downstairs living room-bedroom with my father's straight razor in my hands. A straight razor was a blade which closed into its own hinged case. While standing where, I heard someone coming, my mother, I presumed. I knew I had something I shouldn't have, so I quickly closed the razor catching my left forefinger in it. I nearly cut the end off! I still have the scar, though it's faint. My mother said I was about 2-1/2 to 3 years old.

My father was a very stern and strict man, and although I do not remember him ever touching me, I was afraid of him. Yet, I
remember his kindness to me. I was a favorite with him, according to my mother, because I was the first, and only blue-eyed girl. His eyes were blue, my mother's a beautiful brown which I always wished I had. I don't remember ever having a dress in any color but blue when I was small because my father said it (the color) matched my eyes. I was very young when I dropped my doll and broke its head. My father hitched up the horses to the wagon and drove to town to get me a new one.

A horse and wagon were our only means of transportation until in later years we bought a model T Ford car. Our house had no electricity or running water. We used kerosene lamps for light. Water for drinking was carried in a pail from a well out in the yard. The pail stood on a stand in the corner of the kitchen. A dipper stood in it. We all drank from this dipper. A wash basin stood on the stand alongside of the pail.

A windmill pumped the water from the 800' deep well to supply water for the animals. When the water tank was full, you simply pulled the brake to stop the windmill. Rainwater from the roof of the house was collected in the eave troughs, down the rain spout and into a cistern. Unlike the well water, which was extremely "hard", this was nice soft water which we used for washing—dishes, clothes, ourselves, etc. In the dry summer months, it was not unusual for the cistern to go dry.

The house was heated by a stove in the living room and a cook stove in the kitchen. Since South Dakota is a prairie state, there was very little wood so coal was our main fuel. In the summertime meals had to be cooked on the kitchen stove. Fuel became a problem then as one didn't like to make a coal fire. It lasted too long and made too much heat. The hot South Dakota sun did enough of that. The corn cobs which we saved from the shelled corn were an excellent source of fuel for summer cooking. They were clean and produced a quick, hot, but not long lasting heat. On some occasions, but rare, I remember having to burn "cow chips". These were the heaps of dried manure which we gathered from the pasture. Using these was a last resort when you'd run out of corn cobs.

Of course, we had no bathroom. Baths were taken in a washtub on the kitchen floor on Saturday night. An outdoor "privy" or "backhouse" served the other necessary bathroom needs. Summertime wasn't so bad for that but in the wintertime, you made sure it was necessary before you ventured out. Ours was a "three holer". One hole was smaller and on a lower level for the children. When the pit became full, you simply dug a new one and moved the backhouse to it. It was a "friendly" place to sit in the summer, look at the Sears and Roebuck catalog or just "visit" with your sisters.

Life was hard but it was fun too. We never lacked for playmates with such a large family. Neighbors were all friendly and visiting was common. It was not unusual to have unexpected company for Sunday dinner either. My mother would have one of my brothers catch a chicken, she'd kill it, cool it in the cold well water and in no time she could produce a delicious meal. She was famous for her pies, baking soda biscuits and "bread dough" doughnuts. "Store" bread or "light" bread was something we rarely had. She baked all of our bread. We had our own eggs and churned our butter. We kept a few cows. The milk was run through a separator to get the cream. This we sold to the local creamery in town.

Summertime was a busy time. Since my mother also worked in the fields, I was introduced to household tasks at an early age. I also had to take my turn at carrying water out to the field so my folks could have a cool drink. Threshing time was a great time. The threshing rigs would go from farm to farm to harvest the grain. The men, neighboring farmers, probably a dozen or more, would work on the machine or hauling the grain to the granaries. The women would do the cooking and would go from house to house as the crews moved. It was an exciting time for the children, and we loved it. Sometimes we were allowed to ride in the grain wagons, as they were hauled in.

Driving the cows to and from the pasture was another job my sisters and I had to do often. One pasture was a mile away, and the walk seemed endless. We had one cow named "Toots" who was our favorite. She was so gentle, we could ride on her back, so the three of us rode many "miles" to and from the pasture. Early in the morning, when they had to be driven in for milking, the wet grass would be so cold on your bare feet. As we'd run from cow to cow to chase them in, it felt so good to stand for a minute on the warm spot where they'd been sleeping.

Lightening storms in South Dakota were fierce, and I grew up with a real fear of them. If one came at night, my mother would wake us all up and we'd have to come downstairs. We'd all sit huddled around as far from the windows and chimney as possible. She had reason to fear lightening as we'd felt its power from time to time. Our barn had burned down after being struck. Three cows were killed at one time. Another time we had two pigs killed. My two next older brothers had been stunned by that one and for several days they could hardly hear.

I had scarlet fever when I was five. My sister, Delvia, also had it. We were quarantined for a month. No one in the family could leave the place, and we could not even write (send) a letter. Our friendly mailman, Mr. Richardson, brought the few necessary items we need«iifrom town. When it was all over, and the doctor said we were well, our house had to be fumigated. We all stayed out in the "incubator" house for a few hours during the fumigating. The incubator house was where we kept the incubator to hatch our baby chicks. We loved that too.

Wintertime, while cold, wasn't without its fun times. On Saturday nights, neighbors would get together for card parties, oyster stews or dances. My mother didn't approve of dancing so consequently, I didn't go to the dances. My oldest brother, Penn, played the accordion after he was grown. He taught himself. It was one of the small "squeeze boxes" but we all loved it.

I started school in September, after my 6th birthday. One had to be six by December 31, so since my birthday was January 25, I had to wait until I was nearly 7. While the rural areas of South Dakota may have been primitive, we were fortunate to be just inside the consolidated school district line. Therefore, I went to school in town. We were picked up by bus. My first school bus had a bench down each side and you sat side by side. A center aisle separated the two benches so you sat facing these across the narrow aisle. School started at 9 and was dismissed at 4. We had a 15 minute recess morning and afternoon and an hour for noontime. I had a separate room and teacher for each grade from the first through the sixth grade. I liked school, and I still remember all my teachers and their names. When I reached 7th grade, I went to the High School building next to the grade school. 7th through 9th grade were on the lower floor and was known as junior high. Senior high was 10th through 12th and on the 2nd floor. It was a modern and a very good school system.

My father became ill when I was about nine. He died two days after my 11th birthday, January 27, 1929. That day holds some very sharp memories for me. By that time, my brother Penn, sisters Opal and Pearl had all left home and were working. Pearl and Opal were "live-in" house workers and Penn worked on a ranch north of town. They had come home because my father was so ill. Pearl had brought some shredded wheat cereal. That was my first introduction to the prepared cereals as we know them today.

It was an extremely cold Sunday morning, and I was eating my first taste of shredded wheat at the kitchen table when Pearl came from the bedroom-bedroom to tell us that our father had died. Later that afternoon, I watched as the undertaker and his helper placed his body in a basket to take him to be embalmed and placed in his coffin. He was returned to our house where he laid until the day of his funeral. Neighbors came to call and pay their respects throughout that time. My brother, Penn, and some friends dug his grave. It took them 2-1/2 days to dig it, as they had to pick it out with a pick axe as the ground was frozen so hard. It was 30 degrees below zero the day he was buried.

The funeral was held in the Methodist Church in Kimball. It was snowing and so cold that we were not allowed out of the car at the cemetery. Only the under-taker, his helper and minister got out. I do not recall my father ever going to church, but we as children were sent to Sunday school. We walked the three miles into town to go. Once in a while, a Sunday school teacher who lived several miles from us would bring us home. We didn't get there too often in the winter unless someone would pick us up.

It was a struggle for my mother after my father died. My brother, Tom, was just 17; but together and with what help Fred and Steve could contribute, they kept us going for a few years. Fortunately South Dakota had a "Widow's Pension" plan and my mother received an allotment for each child under 18 years of age.

Sometime in those years, Mr. Mathews built a small room, which we called an "entry room", on to the kitchen. That was a big help. It gave us a room in which to put our new gasoline motor Maytag washer. What a wonderful thing that was. No more standing pulling the "stick" back and forth to make the paddle run in the old hand washer. It also helped with the housekeeping as now we had a place to take off our muddy boots and wet clothing. Nor did the kitchen door open directly to the outside rain and snow, as it had done for so many years.

Those were good years in spite of my mother’s depression after my father's death. Tom left to work out on a farm a couple of years later when Fred and Steve were able to do more. I worked summers for my sister. Opal, to earn enough to buy my school clothes. I earned $2.00 a week and worked from dawn till dark. No longer did my mother sew all of our school clothes. Those were favorite memories of childhood. In August, my mother would go to town and buy lots of fabric. We'd take the Sears catalog and pick out which dresses we wanted her to copy. Sometimes we'd choose the top like one and the skirt to be made like another. She'd cut out a newspaper pattern—fit it to us and soon we'd have a new dress. I used to love to stand by her and watch her sew as she'd softly hum a favorite hymn. Once when I was very small, she left her machine for a few minutes. I thought I'd take over but my only accomplishment was to run a needle through the end of my finger.

The early 1930's with its drought, dust storms and grasshoppers soon brought an end to the struggle to exist on the farm. I will never forget our last summer there. We had a beautiful garden, beautiful fields of grain and corn when the grasshoppers came. It is hard to imagine the devastation that grasshoppers can bring. They arrived in the afternoon. They fly like a cloud that shuts off the sun. Next morning we walked out to see our crops gone. Grasshoppers were so thick, they were like a writhing sea on the ground. They had completely destroyed our garden. Nothing remained except two nice rows of peanuts. We could never figure out why they didn't like them. There was no way we could hang on. We rented a house for a few months in town and moved in.

Steve, who didn't like school, soon joined the CCC's. Fred continued his education and graduated from high school as May had done. We rented a house in the country the next summer but went back into town when winter came. In the spring of 1936 my mother and brother Fred started working on the same ranch north of town where my sister Opal and her husband had lived and where I had worked summers. Fred was a ranch foreman and my mother cooked for the men.

In January I had met Henry Seaman from Long Island, New York, who was to become my husband. I graduated from high school with honors on May 15, 1936. I went to the ranch but within a day or two, started working as a live-in house worker on a neighboring farm. Henry and I were going steady. He had planted crops in partnership with Gerald Warner with whom he had come from New York to South Dakota. Gerald was a bachelor neighbor. He and our family had been friends for many years. He had eaten many meals of my mother's good cooking but he had never failed to show his appreciation. He would sometimes come with a half of a lamb which he'd butchered, or if not lamb, some beef or pork. Gerald's brother, Milton, was married to Henry's sister, Tilly. During the winter of 1935 Gerald had gone to New York to visit his brothers. When he returned to South Dakota
in January, Henry came with him. One day Henry went to check on his crops. The grasshoppers had started on one side of the field. He knew that was the end and he never returned to the field again.

It didn't take too long for him to convince me that a better living for us could be had in New York. We were married on July 22, 1936. When I arrived on Long Island, it seemed like heaven to me. After years of seeing fields and lawns scorched by the hot winds and crops ravaged by grasshoppers, how I enjoyed seeing beautiful lawns, beautiful crops and trees wherever there wasn't a field.

Janella Smith Seaman Kelder
 

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