69 Years Ago – “Orange and Black Forever!”

The Cotton Bowl in 1945

   My father, Edmund Gates, Jr., spent his first New Year’s Day back in the United States at the historic Cotton Bowl Stadium in Dallas, Texas. Dad had returned from serving eighteen months in England earning the Distinguished Flying Cross after flying 25 combat missions as the flight engineer and upper turret gunner with his B-17 Flying Fortress crew over German occupied territory. He departed the United States in Oct. 1942 and arrived back in April 1944.
   His oldest sister, Ella lived in Oklahoma City with her husband and their little son, Ronnie. Ella’s husband, Harry used Oklahoma A & M’s first appearance in the Cotton Bowl as an opportunity to show his appreciation to Edmund for his sacrificial service in Europe. Oklahoma A & M had been named Missouri Valley Conference Champions in 1944, suffering only one defeat that season.
   With Ella’s blessing, Harry treated Dad to a memorable New Year’s Day. According to Dad, Harry was an avid Oklahoma A & M fan, a true Aggie.  He treated Edmund to this bowl game since Oklahoma A & M was playing Texas Christian University in the Cotton Bowl at Dallas.  Harry drove from his home in Oklahoma City stopping to pick up Edmund at Ardmore, Oklahoma, on the way to Dallas.  Dad was stationed at Ardmore upon returning from his tour of duty. Harry thoroughly enjoyed the trouncing of TCU by the Oklahoma A & M Aggies, whooping and hollaring, jumping up and down, and cheering the entire game.  Dad and Harry saw Bob Fenimore who would later in his collegiate career at Oklahoma A & M be named an All-American. Mack Creager who became a legendary television sportscaster in Tulsa at KOTV also played on that team. The final score was 34 to 0 obviously in favor of Oklahoma A & M.
   One can't help but draw the stark contrast between 1945 and 2014. Perhaps, if Uncle Harry and Dad were going to Jerry's World (as my cousin Ron refers to the site of the 2014 Cotton Bowl), they would be tweeting, posting selfies, purchasing a program, and commemorative t-shirt. I wonder if they would have been distracted by all those things, which sometimes can take away from visiting, people watching, and enjoying the moment. However, not one photo was taken or program saved or any other shred of evidence that they attended the 1945 Cotton Bowl - only the vivid memory that they both treasured and enjoyed recalling together until Uncle Harry's death. Memories remembered and shared are priceless! 

Below are links to vintage footage in two parts of the 1945 Cotton Bowl:

http://youtu.be/DqV6M0IpzhY

http://youtu.be/bxy_kGPrpSE



Uncle Harry and Aunt Ella Gates Bledsoe with
Ron, an Ole Miss grad and avid Sooner fan, and
Mary Beth, born in 1947, an OSU grad and
Orange and Black Forever. We miss Beth greatly 
since her death in 2007.



Go Pokes! My sister and I both earned
our degrees from Oklahoma State University. Dad was
always ready to take in a home football game like this
one with Angie, my sister, on November 9, 1991. 



The Christmas Tree - The Wish Never Granted

It Is More Blessed to Give Than to Receive

   Wishing, wishing, wishing, with all her heart but to no avail. That phrase described my mother’s yearly experience at the annual Christmas Tree at Belford School.

   My mother, Bernyce Smith Gates, attended first through eighth grade at Belford School. Belford, located on the east side of the Big Bend, was always considered the smaller school since Woodland in the west part of the Bend had a three-room building and a larger student population. How hard to believe that little two-room Belford School in the Great Depression had over seventy students!

   In rural schools like Belford, the Christmas Tree was an annual event in the first half of the twentieth century. The performance of the Christmas program by the students from first through eighth grades kicked off the evening. The Christmas tree was beautifully decorated with presents the parents had brought for their children, and the children could hardly wait for their individual names to be called so they could receive their present from the "tree."

    As a little girl, Bernyce wished and hoped to hear her name called and see a hand taking one of the beautiful dolls from the tree and handing it to her. This wish was never granted first of all because Mother never told her parents of her secret wish. Secondly, her mother, Gladys Rainey Smith, was far too practical and cautious for my mother to receive a doll from the Christmas Tree. My grandmother feared little Bernyce’s gift would be stolen or lost. In the 1930s, all things (including food and clothing) were precious and hard to come by--not to mention something so extraordinary as a doll for Christmas. She and Grandpa Calvin just couldn’t take that chance of having an extravagant gift stolen or lost since they knew it would spoil their little girl’s Christmas, and they could not afford to replace it.

    My grandparents had gotten her a doll when she was four or five. It had real brown hair and its eyes would open and then close when she laid it down to sleep. Mother’s excitement peaked when she realized this 18-inch doll could walk when she held its hands. She treasured this doll for many years. Children of the Great Depression learned quickly to vigilantly care for anything they called their own.
   Even as she got older this doll held a special place in her heart and in her small collection of keepsakes; her doll was a precious possession until one day she looked north from their home on the Jefferson lease and was horrified to see the home of the Peters family (incidently located on what is now my parents’ home place) engulfed in flames. Her heart ached with empathy for the little girl in the family named Bethelea. Little Bethelea was younger than my mother. Almost immediately my mother knew what she wanted to do. She pulled her treasured doll from her small collection of keepsakes and at the first opportunity, gave her doll to the little girl who had lost everything.   

Bernyce Smith Gates (top) and
 Bethelea Peters Myers (bottom)
taken from the 1934 Belford
School Group Photograph

   Isn’t that what Christmas is about? God gave to us His very best because of our dire need for a Savior. Mother saw how desperately a little girl needed a doll to help provide security and comfort since her family had lost everything. Mother never got her wish to receive a doll from the Belford School Christmas tree, but her compassion and generosity prompted her to give freely to little Bethelea who must have so wanted a doll to cuddle. Mother didn’t receive a doll the way she wished, but did receive a life-long memory of the blessing of giving. After all, Jesus said, “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” At Christmas, many of us give to others less fortunate or with needs out of our abundance or give what we have no attachment to and are wanting to discard and never experience sacrificial giving. When I think of the phrase "give until it hurts" I am reminded of this story and the generosity and sacrifice of a little girl--my mother.

The Christmas Tree and the Stolen Watch

The Christmas Tree  - an Event at Woodland

As a child, I would hear my parents and grandparents talk about the Christmas Tree – not as an object but as an event. In the 1930s, both schools (Belford and Woodland) in the Big Bend community held an evening extravaganza each December for the students and their families at each particular school.

My father, Edmund Gates, Jr., recalls the enormous decorated tree in the Woodland (not to be confused with the district consolidated in 1990, also named Woodland) schoolhouse located where Lester Anson’s home is currently. The students would perform in the school Christmas program. Then the highlight of the evening was the children receiving gifts that decorated the tree. 

The parents would purchase gifts for their children and then take the gifts to a designated lady from the community who would tie the gifts to the school tree. The children could hardly wait to have their names called and receive a gift from the Christmas tree.  As children living in the Great Depression, you can imagine their anticipation. 

The most memorable Christmas tree for Edmund Jr. was in 1931 when his younger brother Jess at age eight received a rifle off the tree. To his delight, Edmund Jr. who was 12 years old received a watch when his name was called. It was a magical night filled with beautiful music, delicious (and scarce) sweet treats, and laughter as the children shared with pride what the Christmas tree had given them.  In the excitement of the evening, Edmund laid his newly acquired watch on a school desk. Unfortunately, he only briefly enjoyed the first expensive gift he’d ever been given, before it was stolen.

Edmund Gates, Jr.in the 1930s

As I visited with Dad about the stolen Christmas watch, my heart ached for a young boy who experienced such joy and elation over a precious gift only to have those feelings dashed into a million pieces a few minutes later. He described how he spent the rest of the evening in a futile search for his Christmas watch. But as I reaccount the story of that night, a heartwarming realization dawned on me. That same little boy now celebrating his 94th Christmas frequently thanks God in his nightly prayer saying, "Thank you for the Lord Jesus." He so clearly understands that Jesus is the gift that once received can never be stolen or lost. What an amazing thought to ponder and internalize at this hectic time of year!



He (Jesus) came to His own, and His own did not receive Him. But as many as received Him, He gave the right to become children of God, to those who believe on His Name. Taken from the Gospel of John, chapter one, verses eleven and twelve.

                                                        

A Memory of Last Christmas

Christmas Cats

Over the Thanksgiving weekend, one of my friends had her precious dog accidentally ran over by a car. It brought to the forefront of my memory the loss of some of our beloved farm cats this past summer and the dear memories of time spent with them.

Snow and Patches Helping Hang the Wreath - Christmas 2012


Looking at this photo of Patches and Snow from last year reminds me of this moment in time with these two loving felines. I had taken the wreath from its box and was preparing to hang it on the front porch. I was called inside so I set the wreath in the stacked chairs. Upon returning, I looked out the front door to see Snow and Patches posing for what became their Christmas photograph. I grabbed my camera and snapped this treasured photo of the two. It was as though they were saying, “Come on, Bernadean, we’ve been patiently waiting for you to get this wreath hung. We are here to lend a helping paw.”

This attitude of being involved in all "their human" was doing typified these two cats. Snow was one to come anytime he heard me. Even when he was quite ill, he would try to follow me. He liked to be with his humans. Patches was a docile, affectionate cat with gorgeous eyes accented with, as Angie my sister referred to, “permanent eyeliner.” Patches  would have adored being an indoor "lap" cat.

Snow died in the early summer. Patches disappeared not long after his death.

My mother believes strongly that little children can be taught respect as they come to understand animals and how best to treat them. I am so thankful that God created animals that we could daily enjoy and love, because sometimes it seems they give so much more to us than we give to them.

Early Days of Edmund Gates, Sr.

The Two Languages of Edmund Gates, Sr.

Edmund Gates, Sr., my grandfather, was born to Elizabeth Studebaker Gates and John Fredrick Gates on June 16, 1877, in Girard, Kansas. Since both of his parents were deaf, little Edmund grew up in a home where his first language was sign language although he was not hearing impaired. Perhaps John, his father, was more concerned with little Edmund being able to fit into the hearing world by learning to speak. Maybe his father recalled his own childhood years, up to age fourteen, filled with meaningful words and vibrant, beautiful sounds--a time before scarlet and typhoid fever savagely destroyed his hearing leaving him suddenly in a silent world. For whatever reason, John made the decision that little Edmund needed to be in a home where he was exposed to verbal speech. He decided this should take place when their firstborn son was around four years old. Evidently, it was not a mutually agreed upon decision, since Grandpa recalled being torn from his mother’s arms as she cried “hysterically.” One wonders how a little boy coped with being wrenched from his adoring mother’s arms.  In the Gates farmhouse surely Great-grandmother Elizabeth could have frequently been heard sobbing inconsolably as she grieved over her little boy who was going several states away. Although Great-grandfather John must have suffered his own heartbreak over Little Edmund's departure, he was willing to endure the pain of separation because he knew Little Edmund would never learn to talk in their home.

Little Edmund went to Woodbine, Illinois, to live with his uncle’s family. John Fredrick had chosen his brother,  Robert Bell Gates and his wife, Elizabeth, a hearing couple, with whom his son would spend a couple of years. Edmund would meet his cousins - Ira age 10, Edith age 8, and Lois age 6. During his stay with his uncle’s family, Edmund learned to master the English language using his voice. After the two-year stay, he faced a second difficult transition when he had to leave a family he had bonded with to return to his own family in Kansas.

The farmhouse home of John and Elizabeth Gates in Kansas - photographed
by Mamie Marie Gates Judkins Tice in 1991.The right portion of the house
 was built onto the original home after the Gates family sold it.

I Haven't Thought Deeply About This for Fifty Years

  The Day Tears Fell at School

This past month I have heard this question frequently asked, “Where were you on November 22, 1963?" As with most other Americans my age or older, I can distinctly recall where I was on that fateful day. That year I was a second grader in Mrs. Larene Akers’ combined classroom of second and third graders. As a seven-year-old, I thoroughly enjoyed how Mrs. Akers infused music into our morning. She always started our day with melody and movement. In my little mind, I couldn’t imagine a better way to start each day. However, a piercing voice on the school public address system marred that magical year with the jolting news that the only president that I had known was dead. I quietly wept during our Friday afternoon recess. This was the first time I remember crying over the death of a person.

Our school, as well as our nation, “shut down” the following Monday as the young president was mourned and buried.  I recall going to Aunt Emma’s home to watch the funeral on her black and white television. I sat in silence with my family soberly observing  the horse-drawn cassion transporting the coffin of the slain leader of our country followed by the riderless horse. The protocol seemed like an important and necessary way to honor the only president I’d ever known. As a little second-grader, I knew very little about politics, the cold war, or the arms race but was painfully aware that a little girl named Caroline about my age was now without her father. My worry-free life of innocence and naivety jolted by that Friday, November 22, 1963, would never return to that carefree state again. However, that weekend I learned the importance of empathy, a compassionate, caring characteristic necessary for living a life of purpose and worth.


This wrinkled Sunday issue of The Ponca City News had been

folded tightly and was preserved in plastic by my mother.



A well-worn book that I had ordered from the monthly

book club.



If you would like to record how your personal history intersected with this national tragedy fifty years ago, use the comment section below.

A 2013 Veterans Day Story

Pretty Good Gift for the 94-Year-Old Veteran

Veterans Day has changed so much for Dad. Prior to his stroke, he was always gearing up for a parade, a Woodland School Veterans Day observance, or even on occasion, a classroom presentation about his tour of duty in the European Theater in World War II. Now that day is punctuated primarily with me saying throughout the day, “Happy Veterans Day, Dad!”  and my sister Angie sharing heartfelt responses of gratitude from friends and relatives to her Facebook posting of a Veterans Day tribute  to him.

Dad with Raymond Renfro as Raymond drives
them in the Fairfax Veterans Day parade in 2011

Dad served his country in World War II flying combat missions over German-occupied territory as an upper turret gunner and flight engineer on a B-17 Flying Fortress bomber, earning the Distinguished Flying Cross. Upon returning from his military stint, his father gave him some cows and Dad resumed raising cattle. He always had cattle even when he was working eight-hour days constructing custom-built homes for neighbors and friends. So I was not surprised when just a few years ago I asked what he enjoyed doing most and he replied, "I like raising cattle best."

My Dad, Edmund Gates, Jr., and me
 following the Fairfax
Veterans Day parade in 2010

Veterans Day 2013 turned out a little more exciting and rewarding than we could have ever planned or engineered it to be. Late in the afternoon, I headed down to feed pellets to the cows. I had been on baby calf watch with Belle.  What joy when lo and behold, there came Belle and a tiny white bull calf!  By the time I arrived at the house after feeding, I had decided to name Belle’s baby, Veteran, and could hardly wait to tell Dad what a wonderful blessing God had given him on this special day. My sister has dubbed him “Little Vet" which seems to have stuck.

Belle and Little Vet on Veterans Day of 2013

Of course, Dad didn’t attend the parades or observances. No classroom presentations were made, but I truly believe God gave this courageous veteran who risked his life for his country one of the best gifts a cattleman by choice could want –  an indication of God’s blessing on the future of his herd – a new little calf. Maybe Little Vet is an unusual Veterans Day gift, but I think he is a pretty good gift for my dad , the decorated World War II veteran and still an Oklahoma cowman at heart.

A Perfect Addendum to Veterans Day 2013

Dad with his certificate from Woodland School

A large envelope addressed to Dad arrived in the mail on Friday. It had a note of gratitude from our district’s elementary principal, Claudette Mashburn, accompanied by a personalized certificate of appreciation and honor presented at the Veterans Day School Observance on Monday. It made his day!

Just a Couple of Farm Felines

Lending a Steady Paw

I Thessalonians 5:14 …Support the weak…

One morning I gazed out my parents’ farmhouse dining room window to observe Yoda, a half-grown farm cat, sitting on top of the wooden feed box that serves as a secure storage place for cat food. The four young cats vie for that sitting place. Playing “Cat” of the Mountain on that spot is a favorite activity in the early morning or late afternoon.

 I was astounded to see Little White Kitty – so called because we were planning to give the kitten to a neighbor letting him provide the name – stretching his chubby, little frame as far up the side of the wooden feed box as he could. Bravely, the white kitten began his attempt to scale that side of the box as Yoda stared intently down on him. The determined little feline extended his furry right front paw hanging his claws on the lid of the wooden box. In a surprising gesture, Yoda reached out his left front paw placing it on top of the fluffy, little paw of the tiny, white kitten. This amazing action by Yoda steadied Little White Kitty enough for him to climb onto the lid of the wooden feed box. Those two friendly cats were a perfect vision of comradery.

 How often do those of us who follow Christ act as Yoda did to assist the kitten in arriving at the very same place he was? Do we do as Paul instructed the Thessalonian Christians to do? Do we  “support the weak”? May Yoda’s example encourage us to reach down to steady and uplift those weaker believers assisting them to grow to the highest level of obedience and service in the kingdom of God.

 Lord, help me to seek for ways to uplift and support those You bring into my life. May my life be a “steady” example of encouragement that spurs those younger in the Lord to honor and glorify You in their lives.

Yoda Just Waking Up on the Feed Box

Little White Kitty Posing on the Feed Box



The Marriage of John Fredrick and Elizabeth Studebaker Gates

Elizabeth Studebaker had been born deaf but was educated far beyond most women of the Post-Civil War Era in the United States becoming fluent in sign language. She was formally educated at the Kansas School for the Deaf until she was sixteen years old.

In an article written for Kansas School for the Deaf, her daughter, Ella Gates-Meyer relates how her parents met. Elizabeth had left the Kansas School for the Deaf in 1867. Nine years later in September of 1876, Elizabeth received a letter from Girard, Kansas, written by a former classmate. The letter told of a thirty-five-year-old farmer living in that same locale who was deaf, too. John Fredrick Gates had normal hearing until at age 14 he contracted scarlet and typhoid fever. Often these diseases were fatal; however, John recovered, but was left profoundly hearing impaired.

Elizabeth at age 25 traveled to Girard to “visit him” as Great-aunt Ella Gates-Meyer stated and within a week she became Mrs. John Fredrick Gates.

It is said that John could drive a team using sounds. Sign language was the primary language in their home.

 A Portrait of Elizabeth Studebaker Gates and John Fredrick Gates married on

September 21, 1876. They were married forty-one years until his death

following a stroke.

Education of Elizabeth Studebaker Gates

An Amazing Phone Call about an Even More Amazing Lady

I received one of the most amazing phone calls on the morning of July 13, 2000, from the Kansas School for the Deaf. The person calling on behalf of the school was trying to locate descendants of prominent alums. She had found Dad’s name with his contact information on the internet.  This school official knew my grandfather’s name was Edmund Gates. So acting on a hunch that the two were related, she had called at my father's home. She was planning the 140^th anniversary of the founding of the school. I knew my great-grandmother was born deaf but was astonished to learn she was the first student of the school.

Elizabeth Studebaker was born to Daniel and Elizabeth Jacobs Studebaker on May 16, 1851, in South Bend, Indiana. She was the first daughter born following the birth of three sons. She would have two sisters born later. Little Elizabeth was born deaf. At the age of six, she and her family moved west to Kansas in a covered wagon.


First Building to House the Kansas School for the Deaf

Elizabeth Studebaker Gates 

Above is a photo of the original building at Baldwin, Kansas, that housed the Kansas School for the Deaf. Records show Elizabeth Studebaker, whose portrait is above, studied there for six years following her enrollment as the first student on December 9, 1861. Her father would have taken her the approximate thirty miles between their closest town of Clinton to Baldwin, the only place Elizabeth could learn sign language. American Sign Language was a relatively new language at that time having been taught for less than fifty years. The school’s photograph, as well as the information below, is available on the school’s present website in its history section.

 Elizabeth Studebaker from Clinton arrived with her father, along with some ham, butter and eggs. These items, along with the following week's arrival of a wagon load of corn, served as the barter for the school costs of roughly $2.50 per week.

I am greatly indebted to Great-aunt Ella Gates-Meyer for information she wrote for the school about her mother, Elizabeth Studebaker. Her article about her mother indicated that Elizabeth did housework for one dollar per week to pay for her room and board. Great-aunt Ella stated that the only way her mother could attend the Kansas School for the Deaf was the school’s willingness to accept produce from Daniel Studebaker’s farm near Fort Scott, Kansas, in lieu of tuition fees. The forward-thinking Dunkard* minister, Daniel Studebaker purposefully and sacrificially sought out education for his deaf daughter in a time when many felt girls needed no education and one with a disability was considered “inferior.”

Tombstone of Daniel Studebaker, father of
Elizabeth Studebaker Gates. He is buried in
Colyer Cemetery in Douglas County in Kansas.
He was born on September 11, 1820 in Ohio.
He died on May 8, 1894 in Kansas.

*The Dunkards were a branch off the Church of the Brethren, a group that began in Germany in the early 1700s. The present day Dunkards strictly adhere to the New Testament. They practice “triple” immersion baptism once in the name of the Father, once in the name of the Son, and once in the name of the Holy Spirit. This ceremony was performed after an individual professed faith in Jesus as his/her Savior and Lord. Some categorize their doctrine as “Baptistic.” Incidently, Daniel Studebaker’s other six brothers were also Dunkard ministers according to Aunt Ella Gates-Meyer. A Dunkard congregation still exists in Kansas.

William Marion Rainey

Father of Daisy Rainey Rice, Lewis Rainey, Gladys Rainey Smith, Della Rainey, Alice Rainey, Emma Rainey Buckley, and Eugene Rainey

William “Bill” Marion Rainey, a fun-loving man who could dance a rousing Irish jig according to his youngest daughter, Emma, was the patriarch of the Rainey family who eventually settled in the Big Bend area west of Ralston, Oklahoma. He was the only child born to Thomas and Mary Rainey. Bill was born in Missouri, on July 15, 1868. In the 1910 Census, Bill listed his father’s birthplace as Kentucky with Tennessee as his mother’s birthplace.

Rosa, his wife, first recalled seeing him riding a horse before even meeting him. Given her meager upbringing, it seemed Rosa had encountered her knight on his charger.

My mother recalls him as a fun-loving, jovial man. This probably attracted Rosa to him since Mother remembers her beloved grandmother as serious, one who could laugh and enjoy herself but never the “prankster” that Bill was. How frequently do opposites attract!

One of the more memorable pranks that my mother recalls from her parents involved a night when they were spending the night with her grandparents. Her Aunt Alice and Uncle Gene were also living there. Thinking it would be grand fun, Grandpa and Gene planned and staged an elaborate ruse. The two of them sneaked outside and began throwing stove wood from the woodpile at each other, raising their voices, and using “colorful” language. They came into the house, with their battle scars, and told their wide-eyed guests that they had been attack outside of the house. Their guests, as well as Grandma and Alice, were terrified and sat up all night talking about what had happened—not daring to close their eyes for a wink of sleep lest the intruders that terrified Grandpa and Gene would return to break into the house and harm all of them. However, Grandpa and Gene slipped off to bed stifling their giggles. The next morning, their laughter could no longer be contained, and they spilled the beans to their weary family that they had faked the whole thing. Unfortunately, no one appreciated the antics they staged and the lengths to which they had gone to entertain themselves: in fact, let's just say, the women folk in particular were downright ticked off!

William Marion and Rosa Jarrell Rainey with their granddaughter Bernyce Smith  - taken in the late 1920s.*

*This is the only photograph my mother has of her grandfather. She says there was a wonderful portrait of him that Aunt Emma Buckley took to a professional photographer to have enlarged. Aunt Emma was dissatisfied with the results and refused to pay for the enlargement. That prompted the photographer to refuse to return the original photograph of her father. However, I am indebted to Aunt Emma Buckley for taking the above photograph.

In Honor of Bernyce Smith Gates

My mother will celebrate her eighty-ninth birthday this week. She was the inspiration for the first devotional article I had published. In honor of her, I am posting it as it appeared in Mature Living in the September 2007 issue.

My Mother’s Prayer

Each Sunday our pastor presents a brief children’s message and then leads the congregation in a time of silent prayer.

Mother mentions that she prays for the children who go the front of the sanctuary and gather around the pastor. She said, “I pray for each of them to come to salvation and to walk faithfully with Him all their lives.” How surprising that an arthritic, 81-year-old lady with no grandchildren of her own would have that prayer utmost on her heart.

Many Christians allow their own maladies and difficulties to monopolize their prayers, leaving little intercession time for others. Ironically, often as we make supplication for others, God quietly meets our own deepest needs.

James reminds us, “Pray for one another” (James 5:16).

Mother’s steadfast commitment to study God’s Word and live it out in her daily life has impacted not only our family immeasurably but others who have benefited from her teaching and consistent example.  

Mother as a child in the Great Depression

Mother Today



Mother in 1951

The Marriage of Robert and Nettie Black

Rufus Tripp, father of Mamie Tripp Gates, was a cowman, as the musical Oklahoma would describe him. Bob Black was a hired hand working for him. Shortly after Mamie’s father’s death at the age of only 42 of kidney failure, her mother, Nettie Ann Venator Tripp, married Bob Black on Dec. 13, 1900. 

Some questioned Nettie’s short period of grieving and quick marriage to Robert T. Black. She was living at the turn of the twentieth century when few careers were open to women, especially if the woman had children. After only eight years of marriage, Nettie found herself a widow at age 28  with little girls to raise. Her husband had died at the end of October. She faced caring for the livestock with the upcoming winter looming. She already knew Bob Black as a trustworthy worker, and he knew her late husband’s livestock operation. The primary characteristic that many pioneer women sought in men was an unwavering dependability to provide for a family through a stellar work ethic.

Therefore, the only maternal grandfather Mamie’s children knew was really a step grandfather, Robert “Bob” T. Black.  The “sweetest man who grew beautiful tiger lilies” was the description given by one of his step granddaughters, who as a teen deeply grieved for him when he died suddenly. He was a kind, giving man who lovingly cared for Nettie who suffered with diabetes in their latter years to the point of breaking his own health, some have said.
 



Robert and Nettie (Venator Tripp) Black taken at their last home in Fairfax. 

A Tiger Lily Like Grandpa

Black Grew in His Yard.

photographed by Bernadean J. Gates

 



Early in Katherine Heigl’s acting career, she gave a compelling performance as a young widow in the movie, Love Comes Softly. In the first few minutes of the film, her poignant portrayal of a grieving widow reminds me of the level of grief that Great-grandmother Nettie Tripp must have felt in the autumn of 1900. The 2004 movie was directed by Michael Landon, Jr. and based on the first book by Canadian author, Janette Oke. Incidentally, Oke’s book sold over a million copies.

 

The Matriarch of the Rainey Family

THE EARLY YEARS OF ROSA JARRELL RAINEY

Mother of Daisy Rainey Rice, Lewis Rainey, Gladys Rainey Smith, Della Rainey, Alice Rainey, Emma Rainey Buckley, and Eugene Rainey

Rosa Jarrell Rainey* is the matriarchal ancestor of over one hundred descendants. She was born March 7, 1868, in Stoddard County, Missouri. Rosa frequently mentioned the city of Cape Girardeau, Missouri, situated on the banks of the Mississippi River as her hometown. Her parents were Andrew and Ann Jarrell. Andrew was born in Kentucky, in 1830, according to the United States Census of 1870. The same census gave the birthplace of Rosa's mother as Missouri in 1833.

Two years later her father, Andy Jarrell died of pneumonia at the age of 42. By the age of 12, Rosa had a stepfather Archibald Gibson with a household composed of a blended family of twelve according to the United States Census of 1880. Rosa complained about at least one stepbrother that she did not like. It seems family situations with “yours, mine, and ours” have always presented challenges.

She considered her family “poor” and frequently made the statement, as she aged, “I just don’t want to go to the poorhouse.” In the 1800s, a “poorhouse” was a place for people to live that could not afford to provide for themselves. One can only imagine the terrible conditions surrounding those places of squalor and despair that fueled her fear of ever ending up there.

She battled malaria throughout her growing up years due to living so close to a swamp that produced infected mosquitoes. How ironic that same swamp has now been designated Mingo National Wildlife Refuge that encompasses 21,676 acres!

*Her tombstone lists her given name as Rosa.

The 1870 U.S. Census shows her name as Mary.
In the 1880 U.S. Census both names were given – Mary Rose.
In the 1910 U.S. Census she is listed as Mary R.
In the 1920 U.S. Census she is listed as Rosey.
In the 1930 U.S. Census she is listed as Mary.
In the 1940 U.S. Census she is listed as Rose.
Bernyce Smith Gates, my mother, says that her grandmother always called herself Rosa.

The earliest photo that my family has of

my mother's maternal grandmother Rosa

                                                 Jarrell Rainey.

As a teacher, each year I read from Laura Ingalls Wilder’s series on pioneer life to the third graders in my classroom. Wilder vividly described the symptoms and severity of malaria in her second book Little House on the Prairie.  I never read the chapter entitled Fever ‘n Ague without thinking of Great-grandma Rainey and how she was plagued by this horrible, recurring diease just because of where her family lived.

Sometimes the New Family Stories Are Good, Too

Some of the Best Family Stories Are New Ones

Last year we only baled 16 large bales off the meadow due to the severe drought so I managed the winter feeding with incredibly slim margins and a great deal of prayer. We thanked the Lord profusely as the rains began coming every month in 2013 totaling over 30 inches through August.

What joy and thankfulness filled our hearts when Tim Gates agreed to bale the meadow for a second time in late August! This was so meaningful to us since he was downsizing and attempting to get out of the custom hay baling. When Tim pulled in with his equipment and began cutting the rain-strengthened meadow, Dad remarked, “He’s a good man.”

The next morning when Tim resumed his work in the meadow here on the farm, Dad commented, “He’ll do it right.”

As I have reflected, this recent farm story wrapped in family love and commitment tied together by faith, surely does have a powerful connection with our ancestry.

I recall being told that Aunt Mamie commented about her father, Edmund, Sr., “Papa was a man of principles.” How better can Tim carry on the principles of his grandfather than with his dependability undergirded by a strong work ethic. I am grateful that Tim is the one to be entrusted with the soon-to-be “centennial” Gates family farm.

In turn, I hope the rest of us who descend from Mamie Irene Tripp Gates and Edmund Gates, Sr. will live out daily the principles of hard work, honesty, reliability, and many other qualities that they valued but seem to be in short supply in the 21^st century.

Here are photos taken after Tim baled and stored a record baling of 39 bales in the last cutting to bring the total number of bales to 67! What a blessing!

    

Twin Fawns

In midsummer while searching feverishly for Dad’s small cattle herd, I stopped to lop off limbs that were beginning to block the trail that I drive frequently in Dad’s old pickup. Perspiring and anxious, I looked up to see two wide-eyed fawns staring back at me as though mesmerized. Intricate patterns of spots marked their tense backs. These two young whitetail deer stood motionless for what seemed an incredibly long time. I regretted for a moment not having my camera in the battered pickup, but my worry and concern over cattle that had probably roamed over to our neighbor’s unoccupied pasture overarched all else. I chose to disregard our neighbor’s admonishment echoing in my mind, “I don’t want you over there worrying about your cattle. I’m checking them.” He had told me this more than once. Nevertheless, I insisted on resuming my effort to locate the cattle failing to see that God had led me to an exquisite phenomenon of nature tucked away in a quiet, remote area of the pasture. Driven by my anxiety, I missed soaking in this extraordinary experience with the twin fawns. I am sad to say that I jumped back into Dad’s treasured, vintage vehicle, revved it up, and charged ahead right into the path of those curious fawns. Obviously and instinctively, the young deer sped into the timber.

How often do I fail to see God’s gracious hand bringing to me exquisite, intangible gifts?

Lord, slow me down, give me the calmness and strength to trust You, and recognize each of the wonderful gifts You daily send to me.





 This is exactly the photo shot (taken from informedfarmers.com)  I could have gotten if I had been moving at the pace God intended instead of at my own frenzied speed. Wouldn’t that have been a priceless photo to have in one’s own photography collection?

FYI - Did you know that whitetail does are more likely to have twin fawns than a single birth?