Museum of Memories

Shaw farm in the early 1900's

Shaw farm house 2018

  

 I’ve spent some time in the last couple of weeks down in Mandan at my family’s farm. My Dad passed away at Easter, and my Mom has now moved into an apartment in town, as the farm is just too much work for her to take care of at 87 years old.

   My siblings had been working for days by the time I got there.  They had spent hours donned with dust masks emptying out the old rock basement of all it’s hidden treasures, some left by my grandparents, and a few by the homesteaders in the late 1880’s.  Years of setting things aside, for the next generation to find, and have to decide what has to be done with it. Sadly most of the treasures in the basement had to be tossed as moisture, and mold had taken hold and disintegration had begun.

   There were other closets that held treasures too many to tell of.  Things hidden for years, and not discovered until now.  We even found our great Grandfather’s law books in the attic from the late 1880’s.  He was one of the first lawyers and a judge  in the Dakota Territory, and was there helping North Dakota became a state.  

    My daughter showed up late on the 4th of July and spent a couple of days helping sort through things, having a few days off from her summer job in Medora.  That evening, I spent telling her stories of my childhood in this old farm house.  Showing her many treasures that triggered my memory of stories long forgotten even to me.  The treasures were wonderful to find, but sad at the same time, as it means there will be no more memories in the old house, or adventures out across the pastures and field.  Someone else will soon enjoy the beauty of this old farm, overlooking the Missouri River.  It saddens my heart that soon I won’t be heading up Highway 1806 to visit one of my favorite places on this earth.

    The last few weeks, truly have been a Museum of Memories.  That’s all we really have left of our past, memories.  I’m not dwelling there, but it was nice to visit to remember from whence I have come.  It’s wonderful to remember that I grew up in a house full of love and music, in a family that worked hard on the land as well knowing how to have times of fun.  I learned hard work will pay off if you don’t quit. I know what it’s like to get up at five a.m. and haul hay before the heat of the day makes it unbearable.  I know what a bale hook is, and how to use it in a little round bale.  My Dad being one of the last in North Dakota to use a small round baler. He finally was forced to quit when parts were no longer available.  

     I learned it’s always important to stop and enjoy life along the way.  I have memories of many Sunday afternoon times at the sandbar.  Running through hot sand and jumping into a pothole to cool off.  

    Memories become like a museum.  We see the past and what it held but we don’t live there anymore, we don’t do things the way we did as a child.  Life has changed and we grow up and move on.  There are things to remember, in our museum of memories and there are things to forget. But never forget the love, it’s the best item on display in our museum of memories, and that never gets old or out of style.

The Empty Cupboard

My Dad build these cupboards many years ago, just like all the other cupboards in this old farm house.

The Empty Cupboard

July 2018

As I closed the cupboard door, the emptiness of it echoed through the kitchen.

No more dishes, or can goods lined its shelves.

I remember the excitement as a child when my Dad built the cupboard.

First thinking how wonderfully talented my Dad was to be able to build something like this.

Next how cool it would be to have more cupboards in our old farmhouse kitchen.

As years went by, they become so common place, like they’d always been there.

When the kitchen got remodeled several years ago, these cupboards stood, while the rest were replaced.

I offered to repaint them for Mom and Dad, so they would match the new ‘purchased’ cupboards.

 

Now they stand empty, the house cleared out, the residents within have moved on.

Dad onto his eternal home, Mom into an apartment in town, where the work and upkeep won’t have to be her worry.

So empty cupboard attached to my childhood home, I just want to say.

Thanks for the memories and all the love you held.

Old Roanie and Dad

Dad putting up hay in 2015.

Back in 2015, I was visiting with my Dad (Donald Shaw) and he told me this story.  I thought it was so good, and didn't want to forget it so I wrote it down.  Dad always had a general dislike for horses, and I always thought it was cause they ate so much (thus he called all horses 'hay burners'), but this story gave more insight into his dislike.  When we lived there at the farm with Mom and Dad for a time, and had a couple of our horses there too, Dad almost seemed to enjoy them.  I guess as long as he didn't have to hook them to a plow, a horse could be okay. 

Old Roanie

   That old work horse was more trouble than it was worth.  It was constantly causing trouble for Don as a kid.  As a young teenage boy he had Old Roanie hooked to the two bottom plow and was plowing up and down that old hill across the road from the house.  Roanie had a mind of his own and just decided he didn't want to work any more, and when Don turned the team towards the east which would face the house, Old Roanie took off with the plow and headed home, there was no stopping him.  He had decided it was quitting time.

  This wasn't the first time Old Roanie had caused more than problem for the Shaw farm.  Back then in the late 30's it was open range.  Roanie went and grazed where he pleased, which was often in the neighbors grain bins.  He could actually open the gate all by himself, and even would move it to the side after he had lifted the latch to make his escape from the corral.  Open range meant going where ever he pleased.  One neighbor got pretty tired of Roanie getting into their grain and took a shot at him with a shot gun to scare him off.  Don found Roanie down in the Bottoms with a shoulder full of shot and just standing there shaking, it really didn't slow him down too much though, once he healed up he was right back at it.

   Don also had another old work horse called Dick. Dick was about four feet wide, or at least seemed that way to the young Don.  He said he had to do the splits to sit on his back.  They never owned a saddle, so it was always bareback riding for him.  He got dumped a few times off Dicks back, as it was hard to hold on to such a large tub of a horse.

  This added to Don's general dislike of horses.  It was hard work plowing and planting with ornery old horses when you were such a little kid.  He was so happy to finally get a tractor in 1948 so he could quit farming with horses. That old 16 horse power tractor wasn't much but it sure beat a horse who had a mind of it's own.

"The Box"

"THE BOX"

  I finally did it today.  

   I’ve put it off for over four years; Going through “The Box.”  

   Ever since we left South Dakota in 2008, there has been this box labeled, “Todd’s Junk.”  Full of old notebooks from College (and found one from High School!) and cattle records, sermon notes, calendars, awards, etc.  After he died, I tried a couple times to go through it, and just couldn’t.  I had dug around it in before the funeral because I thought for sure the track he had written back in 1992 was in there, and we wanted everyone to have a copy at the funeral, but I just couldn’t seem to ever get myself to sort through all those memories.

   I’m not sure what made me go through it today, I just happened to step into the guest bedroom, and saw it sitting there on the floor, and said, “Today’s the day.”  

   Some time ago, I had placed an empty plastic tub beside it, for the day that would come when I was strong enough to go through it.   I placed in it today, those things that are ‘keepers’ in the memory of Todd.  His notes from Bible College were kept, along with all his sermon notes, but the High School notebook went in the throw pile.  His large collection of maps went in the throw pile too, along with old cattle records of cows that have long ago become someones burger.

   One of the most precious items, wasn’t something that Todd had written, but I had written, but he had kept.  “The Ode to Mr. Odd”, for those that know the name, yes, this was a Keeley Rooer character skit I have done for years.  Yup, Keeley Rooer has been around for a long time (actually several years before this record).  It was written for a Valentine’s Banquet in 1990
we had here in Kenmare while we pastored Grace Christian Fellowship.  It told of the many ways I loved him, in a fashion that only Keeley can tell.  I sat crying and laughing as I read through it, and then went and read it to Kristi, proving to her how long I’ve been doing this character Keeley Rooer.  And also I closed with, “See, Kristi, I loved your Dad, very much,” to which she said, “I know.”  

   Another precious jewel, was a small record of us meeting different people, while we lived in Steele ND.  Todd had just met Terry Smokov, and they had invited us out to their house for dinner.  I love how he put it, “We just met this couple, but somehow I feel our hearts are knit together.”  Terry and Donna, I still believe this.  Getting to see you last fall, is living proof there was (and is) a friendship there. 😃  Love you guys!

    The throw away pile is too heavy for me to carry down the stairs alone, so I’ll have to wait till Kristi is home from work to get rid of the unnecessary items.  I don’t think I will be needing those old Semen catalogs, and since they’re greatly outdated, they will do no one else any good either.  But the pages of sermon notes he preached, I look forward to reading through someday.  Although, Todd’s notes were pretty sketchy. A few main thoughts and a few scriptures, but I can still hear his heart.

    Sometimes, it's really hard when all you have left is, some old notebooks, and calendars, and of course some pictures of the one you loved the most on this planet.  But I’m thankful to have loved greatly, and he loved back.  

   You were the best pard ever Todd! Miss you!

Page one of the Ode to Mr Odd

Page two