When we came to Mitchell County in the early '50s the country was sparsely settled. We were located on the State Road. Ten miles east was Pettibone's, a small hostelry. To the west of us was a very small town of Osage, where food and shelter might be had. There was a German settlement on the way in, but this was far from the Road, and their houses were so small that they seemed bursting with their own large families and there was no room for strangers.
Located between Osage and Riceville
When the roads were bad with deep snow in winter, and bad sloughs in April, the 20 long miles from Osage to Pettibone's was more than a day's journey, not able to give them stop over and so many travelers asked for food and shelter from us -- which we were not able to give them -- Father concluded to prepare a place where all could be accommodated. At that time none but the most pretentious hostelries were called Hotels, so our place was to be called, not a hotel, but "Holbrook's Tavern."
We already had a double log house, but that was none too large for our own family. This was not a common log cabin, with bark hanging from the logs. It was made from popular logs that had been peeled, and that were as smooth and white as ivory. It seemed almost to be a fairy castle, and stood white and lovely with the flowers growing everywhere in the green grass.
Father thought it best to put a lean-to on the south side, and one on the east, so he got lumber and made one-story additions. The one on the south was left undivided, and was used for a combination dining room and kitchen, with the cook stove at one end.
The well-named "Iron Stone China"
The furnishings of the dining room were most crude. Three planks with the ends resting on sawhorses formed the dining table. The seats were fashioned in like manner, with wooden chairs at each end of the table. The table was covered with a length of white muslin, as mother thought that looked neater than the red-and-white checked cloths that were used at that time. The table was lighted by candles in our brass candlesticks. If more light was needed, candles were pinned by forks to the window casings.
The dishes were of that brand known as "Iron Stone China". It was rightly named, as nothing but iron or stone could be so heavy. A child could hardly carry a plate. The cups were very large and had no handles and were so thick a lip could hardly be strained over the edge. The knives and forks were of steel with wooden handles. The forks were slender and with but two tines, so that it took an expert to being food to the mouth from the plate, and so almost everyone ate with a knife.
The Shift from Knives to Forks
But at about that time we saw forks advertised in the Country Gentleman and they appealed to our fancy, so father sent for three sets of them.
We thought our food good, although it consisted largely of cornmeal in different forms. There was a greater variety of meats than at the present day. We could get prairie chicken near home. They were easy to prepare, as only the leg and breast were skinned and used. It was easy to get venison near home, and hunters from Minnesota brought loads of meat through the country -- buffalo and bear, and sometimes elk and moose meat. Bear meat tasted like pork, only it was more oily, and buffalo meat like coarse beef. It all had a wild flavor, but we soon got used to that.
There were wild fruits which one could get, but we knew nothing of canning, and these fruits must either be preserved with sugar or dried. It was hard to keep vegetables through the winter, as our dug-out cellars would freeze in spite of covering things with old carpet and quilts. Everything tasted good because we had so much butter and cream for them. Fried mush was almost constantly used. It took the place of the ever-present potatoof today.
The "Department Store"
The lean-to on the east side of our house was divided into bedrooms for our family. Only the front one, 10 by 12 feet in size, was a store, as all sorts of things were sold there. A 20 gallon soap kettle held the hardware -- knives, forks, cowbells, hammer and nails, teakettles, knitting needles, and other articles too numerous to mention.
There were shelves around the walls, on which were placed the dry goods -- woolen shirts and drawers, denims, overalls and jumpers. There were many home knit socks and striped mittens which the German men and women had knitted and brought to exchange for some commodity in our store. They had a row, too, of bolts of ticking, muslin and of really fine dress material which was too fine for the new country. All these fine goods were finally made into dresses for mother and the girls. There was a "Sontag", knitted of fine wool. It was a sort of sleeveless jacket to wear under a coat. A "Rigilette" was a triangular piece of crocheted wool with ball fringe all around. This was for the head and was worn with one point in the front. It was a coquettish affair.
The back of the store was for groceries -- barrels of sugar, flour and small cheeses, and a pyramidal block of loaf sugar which became hard so must be broken with a chisel when wanted for use.
The loft over the log part of the house was used as a sleeping room for guests. It was reached by a ladder from the living room. The ladder was curtained off, for climbing a ladder is not a feat to which one cares to have witnessed. That loft was all in one room and was supposed to be heated by a drum on the pipe stove in the living room. In very cold weather the quilts would freeze and remain stiff from the breath of the last sleeper, and the little drifts of snow on the bed and floor would be so dry they could be swept up with a broom. The snow had seeped through the too-well-ventilated shake roof.
"The Bridal Chamber"
There were six beds in the room. One in the corner which was curtained off we facetiously called "the bridal chamber" because of its greater elegance. The walls were lined with white muslin held in place with laths. There was a white spread on the bed, of the kind now used -- a white ground tufted with candle wick. Our spread had weeping willows for a border, with impossible flowers in the center. The pillow slips were trimmed with lace.
There was an honest-to-goodness wash stand with a hole cut in the top for the wash bowl. Fine fringed towels had been made out of the good pair of linen sheets which had been part of mother's "setting out", and there was a strip of carpet in front of the bed. One had to sit on the bed to dress, as there was no room for a chair. The other bedsteads were low, and had a row of peg around the ends and sides. A bed cord went around these pegs from head to foot, and from side to side, making a fine spring.
The mattress was of white muslin filled with straw. There was a feather bed for winter. Our pillows were good and new, and we had the feathers from the Germans on the Wapsie. There were top sheets of wool, many of which mother had woven. I remember one of those blankets which had for the warp bits of twine, from packages tied together. How proud we were of this, and of mother! One could scarcely turn over under the weight of the covers necessary to keep warm. The beds were a riot of color for the brightest patchwork quilts were kept to be put on top, the patterns being much like those used today. There were hot stones and bricks by the fireplace to be carried to the loft as bed-fellows if one wished.
Preparing for Winter
The first thing to be done at the beginning of winter was to stretch a rope from the back door to the stables, for in other winters men had left the back door of the house to go to the barn and they had never come back. A person who had never seen one of these prairie blizzards has no idea what they are like. The wind seemed to come from all directions at once with the pellets of frozen snow which pricked like needles. The traveler would turn to keep it from his face, and in turning lose his bearings, wander off in the wrong direction and be lost on the prairie, or if he fell in the deep snow and could rise, he did not know which way to go, and so was not found until spring. With the thermometer 40 below or more, it would be a quick and painless death.
Beautiful, the Morning After
To speak a good word for the new country, it was so lovely in the morning after one of these blizzards as to almost make one cry. All fences and out buildings had been covered with snow. The house and long stretches of prairie were bright with it, and shown like a fairy palace, and sparkled like jewels. The deep yellow of the sun, and sun dogs, gave the bit of color necessary to finish the picture. Sometimes there would be a mirage in the air, and we could see the steeples and spires of a town 20 miles away.
The number of our guests was increasing. The stage coach came our way twice a week, and the driver and the passengers lodged with us, and a relay of horses was kept in our stable. This was too much work for one man, so father posted a notice for a hired man. Not long after a pedestrian came. He opened the door and scanned the faces of those inside, and held it against his breast as he talked with father. He had a frank, boyish face which impressed all favorably. He said his name was John Stevens, and he had been staying in St. Paul. He had seen father's notice and had come to apply for the place. We were all surprised at this, for we had expected a different kind of man. Father told him that he was afraid he was not strong enough to fill the place, as there were many horses to care for, and much wood to be chopped for the fires.
Tragedy of the Storm
All tried to persuade the men not to start out, but they both thought it a fine day, and were in a hurry to finish the journey that day. They left with merry good-byes for all and a few jeers for those who dared not to venture out. Poor boys! They had laid all plans as to what they would do if caught in a storm, and they carried out those plans as far as possible. When the storm began to rage they drove into a little grove, unhitched the horses, took off the wagon box, which was to give them shelter, and tried to light a fire which they had prepared by the placing of wood, kindling and paper, which they had brought, against a clump of bushes. There were many matches scattered all around, but their poor numb fingers could not guide them to the kindling. The horses found a farm house not more than a quarter of a mile away, and thus gave the alarm. A party of men made up the rescue party. They found the men frozen stiff. They had tried to crawl under the wagon box but were unable to do so. They were sleepy and did not care. It was rumored that whole stagecoach of people perished that night, but it was difficult to verify statements in such a thinly settled country.
Among our other guests there came a colporteur. There seemed to be many of them in the new country. They called themselves "missionaries," because they sold Bibles, but the older folks thought their only mission seemed to be to get all they possibly could, and give nothing in return. They felt themselves to be on a higher plane than the common folks, and took many privileges; and it must be that we also thought so, or we would not have granted those privileges to them. They would select the most comfortable home in the neighborhood, and without price, stay on until they had canvassed all the surrounding territory, and then move on.
The summer before a Scotsman, "with the bagpipes under his arm," had stayed with us and taught us the Highland Fling, which came in handy at this time. A new dance had just come into vogue, and I could call this off also; "Form two lines as straight as a string; Dance in and out with three in a ring; Dive under like a duck and say, 'pop goes the weasel.'"
No Close Dancing
There were also round dances -- the polka, the Mazurka, the schottische, and waltzes. It was not considered nice at that time for partners to embrace so closely as at the present time. They held each other gingerly by the elbows and danced facing each other, unless it might be a German, who placed one arm firmly around Gretchen's waist, and with the other raised her arm with his at an angle of 45 degrees skyward, and so danced methodically until the music stopped. The Germans kept good time but their strides were so long that it was hard for an American to keep up with them.
Ten years after we had sold the old tavern I visited the place, I was almost guided to it by the fragrance of the white blossoms on the locusts which father had planted so many years before. A cyclone had twisted the old house from its foundation. The upper floor had fallen, but an old spinning wheel hung precariously from a beam. Through a keyhole in the lean-to a swarm of bees had entered and filled the space between the studding with honey. In a sheltered corner of the old house was a box of old papers. There was a Country Gentleman, The Saturday Evening Post, and I believe, Harper's Weekly. A folded time-worn paper caught my eye. It was a warranty deed of the 80 acres on which the old house stood. This had been kept for me all these years. I carried it home and placed it among my souvenirs.
Many years passed before I visited the spot again. Nearly all the locust trees had disappeared. The logs of the old house had been hauled away to be used for firewood, and we could only locate the site of the house by its direction from the well. Many clusters of lilies grew where the old dooryard had been. I took a clump of them with me and placed them in my backyard, where they are thriving and seem perfectly at home.
All of these happenings were many years ago. I am now 91 years of age, but I don't believe it.
From page 468 - (Book unknown)
Transcribed by Joe Hanlon, November 9, 2003
jhanlon2@tampabay.rr.com
joe.hanlon@verizon.net
Transcriber's Notes:
This is a true story of an early Mitchell County hostelry, written by Mrs. Annie Sweney not long before death. She was born April 1, 1842 and died April 22nd, 1934 on a Sunday afternoon. She was the daughter of the tavern keeper, and wrote the story for a DAR program.
Holbrook Tavern became known as Holbrook's corner and is referred to as such to this day. It is located on the very northwest corner of section 15 in Douglas Township. The grove of locust trees, the well and two graves remain.
Aunt Annie was familiar to my mother and aunt who grew up in Osage. Phyllis and Jean Hill were the twin daughters of Faith Sweney Hill, and Faith was the daughter of James I. Sweney, brother of Charles Sweney, Annie's husband.
To read another essay by Annie Sweney,
click here: http://iagenweb.org/mitchell/localdat/memocivi.htm.The map below shows Holbrook's Corner in lower right corner.
For a larger version of the map,
click here: http://iagenweb.org/mitchell/maps/earlyrds.htm.
Webization by Kermit Kittleson, NOV 14, 2003.
UPDATED July 10, 2008