Sepia Saturday 153 Lady of Beardstown

Today I share an unknown,  to us, woman in a photo from the collection of Jerry's late Aunt Marie.  There were no names nor year noted and no one seems to know who she is/was. 

It was a professional studio photo taken by "Berniece of The New Shoemaker Studio in Beardstown" so noted on the cardboard folder. 
She is attractive posed  in somewhat formal attire, long skirt with one foot upon the bottom of the  post, her  necklace looks as though it might be carved from some stone, onyx or?  What was the occasion for the photo?  The sleeves of her blouse echo the folded fabric on the posts.  My guess is this might have been in the 1940's.  What was happeing then in Beardstown?

I googled the Shoemaker Studio  and learned that it was founded by M R Shoemaker and thrived for over 50 yearsuntil his 1939 sudden death. I googled  Beardstown which is in  west central Illinois and learned some of its interesting history thinking that might give me a clue, it did not.  I have never before heard of the town but post what I learned here.
 Beardstown, located on the Illinois River was founded by Thomas Beard, from Granville, New York, when he started a ferry service crossing the river in 1826. By 1834 it was a growing port that shipped grain, hogs, and provisions to the interior of the state and downriver to markets. Beardstown became known as "Porkopolis" because of its stockyards and slaughterhouses, where more than 50,000 hogs were processed annually.  Beard's license authorized him to charge $.75 for a wagon and four horses (or oxen), $.37 1/2 for a cart and horse, $.05 per head of cattle, and $.06 1/4 for a pedestrian, among other tolls. The ferry ran until 1888, when a private wooden toll bridge was built. In 1898 the city built a steel toll bridge that afforded the town revenue until 1955, when the state built a bridge a mile south. In the mid-nineteenth century steamboats were built at Beardstown. A plank road was built between Beardstown and Bluff Springs to the east, to cover a swampy area that impeded wagon trade over the otherwise clay surface of the area.

The railroad came to Beardstown in 1869 with the laying of the Rockford, Rock Island, and St. Louis Railroad track. Beardstown was an important division point where engines and crews changed on the Galesburg to East St. Louis run and where the branch, or "jack," line to Centralia merged.
At the turn of the century, the Beardstown Fish Company frequently reported catches of between 50,000 and 100,000 pounds of fish. Black bass, carp, buffalo, crappie, eel, catfish, frogs, and turtles were caught, sold, and shipped from Beardstown. Fishing declined as the river became polluted and levees were built, draining lakes.

Another short-lived industry was mussel and freshwater pearl fishing. Button factories opened along the Illinois and Mississippi Rivers in the 1890s. Hundreds in the Beardstown area were given employment shelling mussels and selling their shells and pearls to commercial buyers. Prices as high as $1,500 for a large pearl were not unusual. Irregularly shaped pearls, called "slugs," sold for as much as a hundred dollars. By 1909 local shell beds had been played out. They were rejuvenated by the 1970s, when prices per ton were high enough for a few shellers to work the beds again. The shells are sold to Japan, to be ground up into "seeds" for oyster pearls.  I have heard of this industry  near here along the Mississippi River in Iowa. 

A third industry, ice cutting, was prosperous until 1909, when the first plant making artificial ice was installed. Ice was packed in sawdust and stored in large icehouses to be sold locally in the summer months, and it was also shipped out by the train-carload.

Today it is the site of two grain terminals where farm products are transferred to barges for transport. A large Cargill meat processing plant is a major employer and has attracted a substantial immigrant population to Beardstown in recent years. By the 2010 US census it had a population of slightly over 6000.

So who was she and what was she doing in Beardstown, all dressed for a gala?

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Happy Thanksgiving 2012

Pilgrim children and pumpkins
on an end table in living room

I just have my orange decor on display and after tomorrow, Thanksgiving day, it will be time to put it away for another year.  Already the next holiday harbinger of red and green is showing around town as it has been in the stores before Halloween.  Thanksgiving has been an orange holiday for us hearkening back to  our lives in Newcastle, CA where we had a mandarin orange orchard and which meant the beginning of  orange harvest. 

The Sunday local newspaper featured Thanksgiving for empty nesters like us and showed how easy this holiday centering on  food can be.  Unlike so many years in CA when we hosted large gatherings and I cooked for a week after getting home from a long day at work in the bureaucracy, today it is just us two. When I am nostalgic for those gathering times, quickly Jerry reminds me how much work it was because none of the inlaws who descended lifted a hand or finger to help out.  It was all on me and some years I really resented all that work but still I would persist, and everyone enjoyed themselves.Once in awhile the sister in laws might load the dishwasher.  But setting the table, rearranging furniture to accommodate the crowd, and more including a housefull of overnight  and week long guests was on us.  I looked but  found no photographs of those times, long before digital cameras and we were both too busy to think of taking photos as well as we were not thinking ahead to when those days would be no more except in our memories, like the song, "those were the days my friend, we thought they'd never end,....." 

 I am content without all the work for the fuss and nowhere as exhausted at days end after feast preparation, yet today we have more room to gather a crowd and the time to do so, but  we are all over the country and like Steve many are gone from this earth.  We have tried  eating out  on this day and neither of us like that, the crowds are great and despite reservations restaurants cannot control how long diners will linger, so there is always a wait.  No, besides we enjoy left overs the next day and turkey sandwiches and well, the aromas of that good stuff baking in the ovens.  This year I have downsized no turkey with carcass instead a simpler turkey breast for us two accompanied by all the trimmings,mashed potatoes and gravy, broccoli casserole,  stuffing for me (Jerry does not eat it), cranberry for me (another delicacy of which he will sample a spoonful and then pass), pecan pie following dinner for him (a bite or two is all I want of that) and a relaxing day with time for a predinner walk to prepare for the consumption of calories. 

Tom turkey and pumpkin Patty

So now I photograph so many things, like the autumn decor in the house, my orange.  To the left is Tom, a turkey fellow  Aunt Jinx bought and dressed for Uncle Carl along with a wooden pumpkin that I painted and sent to him.  He  referred to these as in the caption and when I found them at his home, I had to keep them.  Tom has traveled in the motor home sometimes too when we were not sure how long we'd be gone.   After their spouses were gone they both dined on Thanksgiving dinner at her home and Uncle Carl would drive "out to the country" to get a fresh turkey from Pounds turkey farm.  When we first moved  we went back to PA to have Thanksgiving dinner with them.  Somewhere I do have those photos. 

I  close with something I found in an old Ideals magazine while looking for an appropriate Thanksgiving ode.  This is  Ben Franklin and his satire.  When humor and satire are gone, then so is the fun of life. We cannot take  everything so seriously or we are done for.  You may have to click on the copies to enlarge and read them.  And to all a joyous feast wherever life winds you, this  Thanksgiving.  May you celebrate with gratitude.     
  

    

Sepia Saturday 152 Males gathering

Although the week's prompt shows boys reading at the library and I am a voracious reader and a library lover I had no library type photos to share.  After pondering  while on one of my morning walks, I decided I could find something with males gathering.  Uncle Carl's archives of photographs offered up these from 1986-88, not really Sepia but some years back, from his man cavers  episodes.  He was fond of these hunting and fishing camps that he and several of his friends built as their retreats spending men only weekends, card playing, imbibing their favored spirits, passing time, clowning around and maybe some hunting but lots of camaraderie.  No women or children were ever included.  Well, the camps were rough, outdoorsy as you will see and I know my aunt Marge, his wife,  would have opted out even if the wives had been invited.   This was a time and a group of men who liked to get away from it all, be outdoors and spend time together. 

This camp is/was in Wharton, Pennsylvania, Potter county which is  in  the north central mountains of the state, about 170 miles from their homes in the southwestern region.  According to the 2000 US census this township had a total area of 61.8 square miles (160.1 km), all of it land and there were 91 people, 41 households, and 28 families residing there.  The population density was 1.5 people per square mile (0.6/km).  So it remains today a rural area where there is natural gas exploration as well as hunting for fowl, deer and other game.   I wonder if this old camp is still there and if men still gather for man cave weekends.     

Pennsylvania Map, Potter County in red,

Wharton is  in the southwestern tip

The men's gathering 1986 Wharton Camp

I do not know the full story  of the photos other than Carl delighted in being there and taking photos, above the men are gathering for their time sometimes a week sometimes  several days. Another photo not as clear, faded now shows maybe twice this number of men.   I think that is Carl sitting on the porch, he was the official trail boss and  bookkeeper for the group and made sure that all necessary supplies were stocked and accounted for and that each man paid his share. I imagine he would have addressed that at the beginning of any event.   The back of the photo merely says, "we are just gathering for the week."    Sometimes they had a day or two work detail and from the following photos that looks like what happened this time  but wait there is a mysterious ceremony of sorts occurring as well.  There are checkered shirts too as in the library prompt.  

 

Is that a monk in a brown habit, sack cloth,  anointing one of the men wearing the yellow garb?  Well he does have some sort of book in his hand and a big cross round his neck.  And pay attention to the bald man to the left of the one being blessed or baptized?   

The next thing we know the men are "taking measurements for the back porch" according to  Carl's note on the back of this photo. 

Here the father has gone into the ditch to help his son, Carl wrote their names and identified them as such and he says that "progress."  Strange how there are few workers among that crowd we saw gathering.   Where did they all go?   Evidence of the old adage, 20% of any group does 80% of the work.  

Progress continues, notice that small building in the background.
 One man in the ditch and  3 overseers now.
I told you these camps were primitive, men only.  
The man in the denim jacket with cowboy hat appears to 
have a mug of some  type of liquid refreshment. 

Good grief the monk returns, with the bald man in a robe of sorts.
The porch appears completed.  Are they blessing it?
The woodpile has been covered.

Uncle Carl loved a good laugh so I can only imagine how he enjoyed this escapade.  I do recall overhearing him say that they always had a ceremony of some sort at camps. 

 I have one last photo for this post dated 1988, two years later and it looks like they have had another ceremony.  The man on the far right in the spotted jacket  is Stan Debick (I met him when he came to Carl's funeral in 2011; he's the last of the elders of this group).  Why is  his  boot off and on the floor beside him?   The jug on the porch is Seagrams whiskey and it looks like the party is  underway...  

This is my Sepia post of men gathering, a stretch from the library, but I did have a book, checkered shirts and lots of boys grown to men.  

To enjoy others posts, click  on this link and as Alan says, sit back and spend some time

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Autumnal Inspiration

I love the brilliant colors displayed  this time of year like nature's last hurrah of brightness anticipating the  drab  browns  of winter that will soon be covered with a renewal coat of white.  I have borrowed both of these photos  from Old Moss Woman on Facebook.  Both show a brilliance of autumn and  reflections in the water.  All the brilliant leaves are gone now from the trees in town and on our property (yes  raking and leaf blowing is done at last.  

On my morning walks which sometimes become early afternoon depending on the temperature, I see barren brown branches  but here and there some pods of sorts add a glimmer of left over red or burnt umber.  The photos remind me of a poem I'd memorized in childhood by Robert Louis Stevenson, about burning leaves in fall.  That was  back when we did such things as memorize poems, considered inappropriate today the age of Cyber computers and supposedly  a different, some would say superior style of education.   I still believe we  gained mental skills by memorizing and the poetry has stayed with me my entire life.    

We sang or shouted this and other verses to jump rope and to count out time so others could hide when we played hide and seek.  We entertained ourselves and would never have imagined today's world where children exercise only their thumbs on electronics, not their imaginations....   Here's the poem although I do not recall its title I remember the words and the last line which was my favorite...yes we had bonfires....

                      In the other gardens and all up the vale,  
                      From the autumn bonfires see the smoke trail.

                      Pleasant summer over and all the summer flowers, 
                      The red fire blazes  the grey smoke towers.
                       Sing a song of seasons! 
                      Something bright in all!  
                      Flowers in the summer, fires in the fall!

 Someone unseen along that bank has tossed a pebble into the shimmery mirror of water or maybe there is a frog near or a bird has just dipped in.  What do you think.... 

Sepia Saturday 151 Phones and party lines

I have so many thoughts and memories about phones  that I had to stop pondering and post...such have been the changes over the past 50 years.   

I still recall 748R, our home telephone number back when we had party lines, a number I memorized at about age 4.  That was a time when the phone exchanges were growing.  Party lines were predominant in our town for some time.  Mom knew  the folks on our line and sometimes they would just talk, to each other,  if a conversation was in process whoever picked up felt free to chime in or to ask for the line to make a call.  This photo from 1975 is of the last party line telephone operator in  Minnesota.  Wow, I thought they were long gone by then but this was in Cotton, a rural northern part of MN,  beyond Duluth near the Iron Mountain Range.  

1975 January  Miss Gellerstedt  

"Hello Cotton"  answers Miss Sigrid Gellerstedt, chief operator of the Cotton telephone exchange, the last hand-crank system in the state.  The late evening sun poured in the windows of her cozy little white house in Cotton, about halfway between the Iron Range and Duluth on Highway 53 where the system was set up.  Miss Gellerstedt sat at the massive old oaken switchboard, a headset crowning her curly hair. On top of the board and the closet full of circuits behind it were a picture of her parents, a plaque with the opening lines of the 23rd Psalm on it and two small American flags. 

The old switchboard in her home, looked very much like an upright piano and she “played” it with the skill and artistry of a true virtuoso.   But it’s all part of history now. She was the Cotton operator for more than 30 years, starting her career in the communications industry on May 4, 1944. At first she had it all alone and worked about 15 hours a day, seven days a week, although her mother helped out.  After many years she had two assistants, local women to fill in and take over. 

When Cotton’s hand-cranked telephones were disconnected the 200 subscribers joined the outside world’s dial system in the form of Arrowhead Communications Corp.  The party lines with up to 17 households on them became historical lore, with installation of automatic dial phones.  Sig and her  assistants, were replaced by a small windowless building filled with automatic dial equipment on County Road 52 about three miles east of Cotton.”  “It’s the end of an era,” said the independent company relations supervisor for Northwestern Bell. He had mixed feelings about the progress that comes with the discontinuance of the crank telephone.  “These people don’t know what they’re going to miss,” he predicted.  The operators, particularly Miss Gellerstedt, recognized many callers by voice. That’s personalized service you probably won’t find in other places.  And if you were lonely or bored, they were glad to discuss local events, give evaluations of the weather or chat about anything you cared to mention and had the time to talk about.  They were a social service and a news medium all rolled into one."  

This is courtesy of a site, attic voices at this link  where you can look for more about the last party line story. http://attic.areavoices.com/2011/10/26/minnesotas-last-party-line-phone-system/

That reminds me me of a passage in Garrison Keillor’s Lake Wobegon Days, ( a Minnesotta writer) in which he writes about a former switchboard operator for whom it seems Sigrid Gellerstedt could have been a model. Here are a few lines:  "The pantry off her kitchen holds the old switchboard, still in good condition, and also the steel cabinet with the switching equipment that took over from it when they went to dial telephones in 1960. … If someone doesn’t answer their phone by the fifth ring, she does, and usually she knows where they went and when they’re expected. … If you do reach her instead of your party – say, your mother – she may clue you in on things your mom would never tell you, about your mom’s bad back, a little fall on the steps the week before, or the approach of Mother’s Day, or the fact that when you were born you were shown off like you were the Prince of Wales"

This 2011 photo is of the vintage, old and  very heavy immobile dial phone that my late uncle Carl kept on his desk in his home; he had a special arrangement with the phone company to accept and translate  the dial sounds. I tried to convince him to convert to a new push button phone but he was not having it. I bought a new phone with big push buttons for him, he made me return it.  This black dinosaur  had worked well over the years and he saw no need to change.   We sold it in the estate sale when he passed.  It limited him all the times when one was asked to push a number for different choices, but he would patiently just sit tight until a live person  finally came on line. If no one came on the line, he would hang up and be done with whatever he had called about.  This frustrated me and I asked him once, "well how will you finish that...."  he grinned and replied, "not a problem, it's their turn to call me..."  I suspect this black behemoth dated back to about 1952 when they built the house, it was used until 2010 when he went into assisted living.

I close with "Party Line" written by Coleman Lee Williams,   late father of our friend, Tom who graciously shared many of Coleman's works. Can you see the women talking....

Hello! What are you doing today?
Well, I just called up to say ---
What's that? She DID? How'd you hear?
No! Wait, this line's not very clear.

Did you say she ---? That's what I thought.    
Well, that's the first she ever bought!
What time was that? I mustn't forget;
Hold it 'til I get a cigarette.

Why, they were here until after eight.
Well, gossip's one thing I simply hate,
But I told her more than a thing or two.
O - Oh! Someone on the line, or was it you?

Of course! I know just how you feel,
(Quit clickin' this phone, you lousy heel!)
No, not you, but the way some act,
It's a pity they don't use a little tact!

I'd like to see it. How's it made?
But where did you put the rick-rack braid?
Bet it's cute. I'd like to see her in it;
Oh! Before I forget, have you tried Pinit?

No, I didn't. Never said a word.
Well, that's not the first, so I've heard.
That's what I say --- like an open page,
It's a wonder she wouldn't act her age!

Well, just thought I'd give you a buzz;
Wish I knew who that guy was,
Didn't you hear him try the line?
Yeah, been doin' it since almost nine!

Where were we? Oh, now I remember,
Didn't you hear? Nine, next November!
I thought so last week on the street.
Yeah, everybody thought her so stinkin' sweet.

You don't mean -- ? That awful clown!
Well, I did hear he left town.
You know that other, -- yeah, skinny legs,
Looked like a dog caught suckin' eggs.

Did you see --- Oh! That makes me mad!
If that guy needs the phone so bad
Looks like he'd get another line,
I pay this bill so this one's mine!

I guess that'll hold HIM, -- now, where was I?
Oh, if you're gonna be home, I'll drop by;
If there's any one thing that'll make me balk
It's some guy cuttin' in when I wanta talk!

Bye, see you in a few minutes!                Written by: Coleman Lee Williams  4/28/1900 - 5/5/1988

Short on photos long on words, today.  Click here to  the Sepia host site where others
share responses to the prompt...

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Sepia Saturday 150 Carl and the Art Institute

To match the Sepia prompt of hurling men, this week, I scanned the photo of artists in the graduating class of February 25, 1950 from the Art Institute of Pittsburgh where my late Uncle Carl attended using his World War II GI benefits. I have shared many previous photos and stories about Carl here and on my blog.   I found his diploma with the group photo below, none of the folks are identified but I spotted him, standing in the back row, which sort of weaves, he is the 5th man from the left, between the man in overcoat with hat and black man with overcoat.  This is quite a large class for this specialty type of study, a nice mixture of women and men, though fewer women for 1950.  The sidewalk in front of them is crackling and the building behind is the multi level facility of the institute. Click on the photo to enlarge it.


1950 February 25  Graduates of the Art Institute of Pittsburgh

AIP  July 2008

The Art Institute founded in 1921, still exists with modern state of the art curriculum. Known as AIP it is the oldest of all The Art Institutes in North America. It occupies nine floors and maintains academic oversight of The Art Institute of Pittsburgh Online. It has had a history of producing all types of art and artists (such as watercolorist Frank Webb and the late science fiction illustrator Frank Kelly Freas), but specializing primarily in design disciplines, including graphic design, industrial design, advertising and game art and design. The Art Institute of Pittsburgh is the flagship school of the Art Institute System, and was the original model upon which the others were based. The Art Institutes comprise the largest collegiate art and design education system in the world."  

Carl  would have relished the graphic design capabilities of today with all the  computers facilitating the process.  While he never achieved his dream of full time artistic or illustration work, up until his late 80's he continued to engage in commercial artwork producing precisely lettered signs for politicians or businesses in his area, he was particularly interested in advertising and illustration and drafting, having a very sharp hand and eye for extreme detail. Some of the signs he painted are still in use today in the area.


This is one of his early sketches, her
slippered feet did not scan in this
but I show it here as evidence of
 the precise  attention he paid to detail,

 AIP,  known as the College for Creative Minds, has as its symbol the T-Rex dinosaur, which seems odd to me but perhaps it links antiquity of the ages to art..  "The main campus of the Art Institute of Pittsburgh, located in downtown Pittsburgh has grown and relocated six times, expanding each time into larger facilities with a broader curriculum, resulting in one of the largest arts colleges in the United States. In 2000 the school's moved again from its previous facilities on Penn Avenue to the historic landmark building at 420 Boulevard of the Allies, the former Equitable Gas Company building. I find this interesting because Uncle Carl retired from Equitable Gas Company.  The school has some of the most extensive arts-oriented technology facilities of any school in the United States, including over one thousand computers equipping numerous general and specialized computer teaching laboratories. Among the specialized shops and laboratories are a 3D rapid prototyping laboratory, sound, video and digital film editing studios, theatrical makeup, wood, metal and ceramic shops, culinary kitchens, and television studios.  
 I kept many of his sketches, some are from his student days, some were too large to scan completely, most all are pen and ink or charcoal..They are so good that they look like photographs, but they are original works.  I am  still sorting to determine which to frame.  .

Chair by Carl

Dining in Style  by Carl
The man at the table has no face, so this was likely not complete



Lady in Plaid by Carl
Dated 1947 on  the back

This sketch of a family enjoying  the TV is iconic,  the miniature size of the old black and whites when TV's first became an important part of home entertainment.  Today we have massive flat screens. 

This is one of my favorites, a postcard size sketch
Everyone who sees it thinks it is a photograph

TV Watching by Carl

This is my contribution to this week's Sepia,  click on the link to the Sepia Saturday site and enjoy postings from others in the world wide community 
http://sepiasaturday.blogspot.com/2012/10/sepia-saturday-150-3-november-2012.html

Patriotic witch and spook and bulbs

Witch and spook at front

Besides the approach of Halloween, trick or treat, and decorating outside for the goblin greetings,  this is the time of year when I think about planting bulbs.  We are ready for the parade of kids tomorrow evening as are Witch and Spook who have been languishing in the closet for a few years while we traveled.  Jerry has so securely attached the patriotic stars to the front railing that he opted not to remove them but secure Witch and Spook alongside giving a patriotic theme to Halloween here.    If you look closely at that photo you can see a reflection in the front door of a pine tree from across the street.  I have my witch hat ready for tomorrow when I answer the door.

When we lived in CA, I started a tradition of planting bulbs daffodils, Dutch  iris, narcissus, muscari, anemones, hyacinths and more every year for my birthday.  Some years I might  plant 100 bulbs some years  less, but always enough so that I spent four  hours or more digging and burying.  I gave up planting  tulips because I  never  got the joy of tulips flowering in the spring, they provided excellent meals for the voles, moles and gophers rampant over our acreage in Newcastle.  They even chewed through  wire mesh which I had  planted in the ground to protect the  tulip bulbs.  Helen Kiker, our elderly friend from whom we bought the homestead warned me to not  plant tulips, that I would be feeding gophers, but I did try, without success. 

Whenever the bulb catalogues arrived, I would carefully browse and select the additions for the coming  fall;  I'd send off the order,  forget about it  and  always be surprised when it arrived in the fall for planting at just the right time.

Bulbs from Sam's

After we moved to MN I learned that I could not wait until November to plant bulbs on my birthday, the ground would either be too frozen, too wet or the weather just too darn wintry to be out digging around.  Some years we were traveling so planting bulbs did not work.  One year, I did bury a stash of daffodils, a fail safe bulb which has always rewarded me the following spring, except these did not.  Of the 30 or so that I buried there was not so much of a floral flicker that following spring, not even from those I'd  carefully laid into a dish, they  rotted over winter.  It must have been one very lousy bag of bulbs to not produce anything.    So over the last  few years, I had given up my tradition, but each  year I think about it.  Here we have landscaping set and I really don't have barren  areas to dig up, besides, the other half of this household protests and forbids my disturbing his master lawn sweep.  So each spring I merely enjoy what is already here and each spring I think, "ahhh wish I could have planted some bulbs last fall."   I could not resist picking up a sack of 50 mixed bulbs in Sam's Club Sunday, Princess Irene tulips, Professor Einstein daffodils and Jetfire narcissus, splashes of brilliant orange will be welcome in spring.  .  Then the challenge was, where to put them, hmm I pondered.   I could creep down the back hillside, but then I would not be able to enjoy their show from inside if the weather is snarly when they are blooming.  Aha,  there is room around the smaller Alberta Spruce in the front yard. That will be lovely from the street as well as our big front window.

So, yesterday, I planted the bulbs not as easy as it used to be,  taking me several hours to dig all out the grass and then dig down, scatter bone meal and lay the bulbs, recover with  dirt and then top off with fresh topsoil all around the dwarf Alberta Spruce, a circumference of only 8 feet or so.  This is when I realize things are not as easy as they used to be and although I am still mobile and agile, it is a sign of aging.  My arthritic knuckles protested on my right hand too.  But now we can wait and anticipate spring and the glorious glow of new  bulbs.  Mission accomplished a little ahead of schedule but as the weather permitted.

And another thing, remember those tight budded mums from earlier this month?  Well they have finally popped into a brilliant yellow display, just what I wanted.  Must have been the frosty nights that prompted the showy bloom.  Or maybe they just like the rest of things follow a natural course, all in good time.

Sepia Saturday 149: Sisters at the waters

Back after a long absence, yet this week's prompt perplexed me.  I could not locate the photo I intended to post of an unidentified  ancestress walking near the water gazing with great trepidation.  I like to share photos from our massive collections, which are still under organization and scanning for genealogy. Instead of the unknown ancestress,  I offer these of sisters at the river. 

Aunt Jinx  

The first one is my aunt Virginia (aka Jinx) and the second is my Mom, Helen.  I believe these were taken the same day in  about 1940 and somewhere near where the family lived on 2nd Avenue in New Kensington, PA along the Allegheny river.  This  might have been near to a boat dock or perhaps that thing out there,  is a dry wharf where swimmers congregated in better weather.  You will notice that it is nearly submerged in the photo of Mom following which could mean these were not taken on  the same day.  Maybe it was a time when they were watching the river rise and wondering what next?  The contour of the hill across the river is the same as is their "perch."  I wish I could ask them all sorts of questions about this now, but it is left to my imagination. 

Mom

Maybe their brother, Carl,  who loved taking photos had a new camera to test.  I found these photos separately, one at my aunt's home and one at Mom's after they passed.  I thought it curious when I was assembling some photos that  they would each have the same shot.  Neither sister ever learned to swim and they shared a fear of water all their lives.  Actually the entire family always had a healthy respect for the rivers and was happy to move farther uphill away from the threat of the river running over it's banks and washing devastation over all in its path.  Any risk of flooding was dreaded.  It was lower cost housing there along 2nd avenue back in the  late 1930's and early 40's and where many of the miners and factory workers like my ancestors lived. 

Mom 1940

I found this one of Mom, marked "1940, high school days" also near that river, windy.  I like the pose, very pre Bus Stop ala Marilyn Monroe, Check out her saddle oxford shoes.  This was obviously back in the day when they wore dresses with shoes and socks, come to think of it we did too as girls in school.

We have a funeral tomorrow and so it may take me a few days to get to see all the posts.  Meantime, if you want to see how others are taking the prompt to the waters, or men looking on, or?, click this link to the Sepia Host site http://sepiasaturday.blogspot.com/2012/10/sepia-saturday-149-27-october-2012.html