Leon Reporter, Leon, Iowa
Thursday, March 9, l922

From l864 to l922. We have survived another birthday, J.D.'s 80th and my 78th, also our 58th wedding anniversary. Isn't that awful to have lived so long together? He thinks he got the worst end of the bargain. I think I did, I guess I was born when the sign was in the goat, as I am always butting into things and quite often get worsted. My last letter wound up on dogs, so will begin this one on hounds.

Perhaps J.B. DOBSON and VIRGE PENNIWELL may remember some, especially Old Drive, one of two registered ones he bought in Illinois. I never did find out what he gave for them. However, they were no good, too old to scent a thing, only a piece of meat or a hen's nest full of eggs. The dog that succeeded the dog named Grant, a bench legged one, body three feet long, legs about four inches high, well he got in the house and ate up a churning of butter. I sure butted him out never to return.

When J.D. visited in California, I requested him to bring me a natural ostrich plume. He brought home two dogs instead. But enough said about dogs, although ten or fifteen more have a history. Now comes the cat, a pet. One Saturday he went to Decatur and bought me a buff calico dress. Gave a $5.00 bill for ten yards. When he gave it to me, I spread it out on the bed to admire, as it was the first thing he had bought me. The next morning I went to get my goods to cut out the dress. O, horrors, the cat had made a bed of my buff calico $5.00 dress, had mutilated it beyond repair. It had gone up in fire, smoke and water. I went away from home. When I came back, the cat was missing. I did not say anything. Silence is golden, the devil underneath.

A negro boy who lived on the BLEDSOE place came to our house every day to help STRONG do the chores. He stayed away for a week before he came back. I said to him, "George, why did you kill my cat?" He says, "For Laud sake, Missus, massa told me if I told you I killed your cat, he would kill me." The cat never came back or the boy.

This is another story. When my worthy husband tried to make me say please. I had a very dear friend, SELINA HAZLET. She and her parents had come from Belfast, Ireland, just before the Civil War. Her mother's two brothers had left Ireland during the Irish Rebellion and settled near Grand River, and they are buried near there. SELINA and her parents went back to Belfast at the close of the Civil War. In those days it would take three months for a letter to cross the Atlantic and an answer back, also a 25 cent stamp to mail it. One day during the early summer of '64, JOHNNIE went to Decatur City to get the mail. I worked quite a bit that day, baked self rising bread, had the best luck with it, baked a pie and had some of the chores done when he came home, also had supper ready. He put up his horse, and came in. I will never forget how he was dressed. Had on his best suit also a pair of square toed boots which cost $l2.50, some class in that day. I says to him, "Did you get any letters." He says, "Yes, one from SELINA HAZLET." "Oh give it to me." I reached for it, and he says to me, "Say please and you can have it." I hesitated in a white heat. I'll never do it. He stuck it back in his pocket. Now, that was on Saturday night. Sunday morning he said the same thing. I did not answer at all. I looked everywhere that I could think of where it could be hidden. It wasn't in any of his pockets or trunk. Monday I was still looking for it, still hopeful of finding it. Monday night I happened to think where the letter was so cleverly concealed. I jumped out of bed. He tried to grab me, but I was too quick for him. I got his boots before he did, and got my letter out of one of his old smelly boots. I said "Goody, goody, I got my letter and did not have to say please either." I did wish for a light so I could have seen his face. It took me a long time to read the letter as it was written in criss cross so as to get your money's worth. He never knew what was in that letter he carried in his pocket through the day and hid in his boot at night.

After this everything went on smoothly for a while. He was plowing corn down near the UPFIELD place. In the afternoon I concluded to take him a drink of fresh buttermilk. When I got to the field, he was at the other end. I saw his coat lying on the grass so I sat down on it. Pretty soon I felt something move under me. I have sat down on a toad and jumped up, but I was afraid to look. When he came, I told him a toad was under his coat. He picked it up and there coiled up, ready to strike, was a rattlesnake. He took the singletree off his plow and killed it. I hadn't even mashed the buttons off.

Another time in Virginia, I started to pick huckleberries and there was a big rattler under the bush. Then in BEN REDMAN's pasture, I was gathering wild crab apples and nearly put my hand on a rattlesnake too cold to jump, but I did the jumping that time. But wasn't I lucky. But was not so lucky next time. He was still plowing corn in the same field and in the afternoon I took him a drink of water, but he did not need it that time as a heavy rain was coming up. He was plowing with a single horse plow and hurriedly unhitched him and told me to get on behind him and we could make it home before it rained. By that time the lightning was playing all around me and the thunder was deafening. I told him I was afraid, but to wait until I took off my hoops of steel wires and my steel stayed corset, but he wouldn't wait, went on home. I took off my dangerous apparel and hung them on a fence stake and walked home, a half mile, in torrents of blinding rain, wet as a drowned rat, my hair hanging down my back in strings, a comical looking sight and as mad as a wet hen. Next day I asked him to bring my things up with him but he wouldn't. I had to go after them, but I got even with him.

His father gave him a cow that could just about jump over the moon. He made a yoke for her with a wooden pole stuck under the neck. One day while he was gone, she in some manner broke it. I had an old stub of a broom which I stuck in the yoke. It did look ridiculous. The Assessor, WILLIAM WEST, came pretty soon after. Of course the first thing he saw was the old cow yoked with a broom stick. J.D. was sure mad at me, as MR. WEST told his father what he saw at JOHN's. He hired a wagon of MR. UPFIELD who came after it while J.D. was gone and I let him take it. When J.D. came home and found the wagon gone, I think he started to swear, but couldn't say a word, just began to stutter and stammer. I began to laugh as I never knew before that he stuttered so badly, and the more I laughed, the madder he got. Wouldn't it be nice if all would stutter when they get mad.

Will close this letter now. My next will be about Decatur City folks when JAMES OWNBY said "Hearts Are Trumps."

--MRS. KATE STRONG,
Geary, Oklahoma.

Copied by Nancee(McMurtrey)Seifert
"With permission from the Leon Journal Reporter"
June 20, 2002