FIELD, John

FIELD, FARQUHAR, MONEY, HEASTON, HAWKINS, DILSAVER, HIGBEE

Posted By: Sharon R Becker (email)
Date: 1/28/2014 at 07:24:40

Leon Journal-Record
Leon, Decatur County, Iowa
Thursday, July 14, 1938

“The Story of My Life”
John Field, Formerly of This County Writes

John Field, old time resident of Decatur county, and now 85 years old, some time ago wrote the story of his life. A copy of that true narrative was sent by Mr. Field to his niece, the late Mrs. Alice Farquhar of Leon. Her son, E. W. Farquhar has permitted the Journal Reporter to reproduce this story of Mr. Field and old Decatur county, and our readers we are sure will read the following with great interest:

The first big event of my life occurred on the eighth day of March, in 1853, when I was born in a log house on the Scioto river, at the mouth of Fulton Creek, nine miles north of the town of Delaware, in the state of Ohio. There is a family of ten children (four boys and six girls).

I spent my early childhood there, around my father’s watermill, which he had built long before I was born. My first recollection of that old mill was seeing my father tend the grinding of the neighbors’ grain while my eldest brother, Marshall, tended the big saw which made their lumber from logs. The saw was of the old style, called “sash saw.” It had a long blade eight feet long, which ran with an up and down motion, and could not saw half as much lumber in a day as those used now.

Following the burning of our home, father decided to go west, so he sold all his property and was ready in the spring for the western trip. He had two large covered wagons, a large covered spring wagon with three seats, and six good horses with harness. The two big wagons were loaded with such things that mother thought were necessary. Some of these things were of the kind that no one would think of using today, such as a flax wheel, a big spinning wheel, candle moulds for making twelve candles at a time, a tin lantern pierced with many small holes to let the light of the candle shine through, a box of candles, and several great feather beds made of feathers plucked from geese which she had raised about the mill pond.

During the day the family rode in the spring wagon with the side curtains rolled up. At night the three seats were removed, and we sat them on the ground around the camp fire. A bed was placed in the wagon, with curtains drawn. Others slept in a tent.

It was now May. My oldest brother had been married a month. His wife joined the family in place of my oldest sister, Hannah, who was not going with us. She had married earlier, and had a home of her own. After the last farewell was said to the group of friends standing by, we crossed the creek with the old wooden bridge, below the mill on to a dusty road. We were headed toward the west. Our last view of the old mill pond of our childhood days soon vanished.

Traveling was rather hard over new roads and through heavily wooded territory. All bridges were wood and some streams had no bridges, and we had to ford them. Wood for camp fires was plentiful until we reached the prairie lands of Illinois. The best roads were called turnpikes, and were pretty good, but we had to pay toll to travel on them, and also paid to cross the largest bridges.

We crossed the Mississippi on a steam boat and then we were in Iowa. Father’s oldest sister lived in Davis county, and we stopped there with Aunt Lucy and Uncle William Money. They had a nice house and a big barn. They had only one child and they insisted that one of our girls stay with them. Mother finally consented to have sister Ellen stay.

A few days later we renewed the journey, intending to go to Kansas, but soon we began to hear of a terrible drought there. The further we went the more evidence we saw that this was true.

Father gave up this idea and bought a farm in Decatur county, Iowa, which borders on Missouri. It was not the last week of June, 1860, and the crop was already planted and growing.

The next year the Civil War was declared, to free the slaves. I was eight years old at the time with twenty-six more to mention, so I cannot give detailed information, as we hasten to old age.

There was much confusion at this time. People were reckless and restless. Horse stealing and other crimes were being committed, and when a criminal was finally captured, the case was soon ended with a gun or rope, without legal proceedings.

Companies were formed, drilled and sent to war. We lived on the line dividing the two factions, with many sympathizers of each side among us.

Buffalo and Indians were on the plains west of us, and it was not safe to venture too far in that direction without protection. Still many people wanted to go, and so a few enterprising men gave public notice that a great wagon train with ox teams would leave Omaha for Oregon on May 1_, 1862. Several people joined this train and when the party started there were in all about three hundred wagons.

Many in my neighborhood went, including my sister, Mariah, who had married a neighbor boy, John Heaston. They went with his family. In the train were many Mormons who left the train at Salt Lake City, refusing to go any further. This left the train too weak to be safe from Indians, and all of the train stayed there.

My oldest brothers were in the war. Sister, Hanah, who had stayed in Ohio, came home with her husband, James Hawkins, to live in Iowa. Sister, Ellen, who had been left with Aunt Lucy, came home with her true love, was married at home and went back to Ohio to live on his farm with him. One brother, Miller, and brother-in-law, Hawkins, died in the war. The other brother, Marshall, came home after the war, and went with his wife, to live in Ohio.

In 1869 father died. My friends who had gone to Salt Lake City worked in gold mines in the summer and lived in the city in the winter, but when the railroad came through within thirty miles of them they came back to Iowa in 1868.

In 1870 mother, my youngest brother, who was then twelve years old, and myself, 17, were the only members of the family left on the farm.

The nearest railroad was 85 miles distant. All goods were delivered to stores by wagons. The mail was carried on the old fashioned state coach with four horses, and we got two mails a week each way.

A family by the name of Dilsaver lived near us. They had been neighbors of ours in Ohio and had come to Iowa before we did. Their son, Albert, had gone to school with my sister in Ohio, and they soon renewed acquaintances, were soon lovers, and married the next year.

Albert enlisted. When the war was over he returned to teach and keep store. While serving as Sheriff of Decatur county, he was riding horse back during a thunderstorm, when he and his horse were instantly killed by lightning. Albert had a deep puncture in his head and the soles of his shoes were torn off. His feet were still in the stirrups when he was found a few minutes later. Such was the result of one stroke of lightning.

In our days, people rode horse back and the side-saddle was the style for the women, with one stirrup. Females were supposed to keep both feet on one side of the horse. Girls didn’t have legs then, just feet, and their big hoops spread their skirts so wide, and came so low, that the feet were seldom seen. Their bonnets were built out so far in front of their face that you had to get a directly front view of the wearer if you wanted to see her face.

All that soon changed to sailor hats and other headwear, so that we could see the girl’s face just as easily as we can see their legs now, and the big hoops and wide skirts were discarded. Many old ladies wore lace caps and smoked clay pipes, but never saw a young woman or girl smoke until about 1920. Since that the habit has spread like a prairie fire. But do not get me wrong, I am not finding fault, only showing the difference in custom between 1867 and 1937.

I became acquainted with Martha Higbee. She was the last girl I went with, for she seemed to like my foolish ways, and after two years of courting (to which I still look back with pleasure) we were married on Jan. 23, 1878.

On April 19, 1937, Martha passed out of my life, after living with me, a good wife and mother, for fifty-nine years.

But now come back with me to the old town were we began our career as man and wife. The first two years we lived on a rented farm where our first child was born. We named him Ralph Higbee Field. Later a second child was born. I went to Hayes City, Kansas, bought a claim and later moved my family to that place. After several years in Kansas, at which time two more children were born, we gave up trying to make money, so we decided to leave the state of Kansas with all of its memories. We started out for Vermont where my wife’s uncle and aunty lived. They told us they would help us get started. On June 9, 1895, our fifth child was born. We now have five children, born in four states, one Hawkeye, one Buckeye, two Sunflowers and one Green Mountain boy.

The rest of life was spent in traveling. He lost a boy in the World War. Later he moved with his wife to Rochester. Since his wife passed away he has remained in Rochester where his two daughters, Helen and Lois, are living with him.

Transcription by Sharon R. Becker, January of 2014