Family Musings

This is a picture of my father, his two brothers, and his sister taken about 1920. The tallest boy is my uncle Thurston, the boy in knickers is my father. The little girl is Ernestine and the baby is Buddy. Ernestine is the only one still living, a retired Army nurse now living in Wichita Falls.
My grandmother and grandfather Brandon called each other Mr. and Mrs. Brandon. “Mr. Brandon, will you bring in some wood for the stove?” “Yes ma’am, Mrs. Brandon.” I barely remember my grandmother, and my grandfather died the year I was born, in 1952. But I remember all of the stories.
I remember visiting the farm in the summers. I remember the creaking windmill and the cistern by the back door. I remember the many cats. I remember the hand-pump at the kitchen sink, a modern convenience. They had electricity in the 1950s, because there were electric lights and an ice box with a motor on top. It contained Dr. Pepper, 10, 2, and 4, a special treat for me.
The facilities were out back, past the chicken coop, and the chickens and rooster had the run of the yard. That meant to visit the facilities I had to go out the kitchen door and cross the yard. For some reason, the rooster hated me, or at least I thought he did. If I attempted to visit the facilities by myself, the rooster would attach himself to my back and peck me on the head. I still do not like chickens, except to eat. After the first couple of times, I convinced the adults I had to be escorted to the facilities.
My father was born in 1913, and he was 6 when the 19th Amendment passed. In November of 1920, my grandfather took the family wagon into the town of Quanah, Texas to go vote for the Democratic candidate. He left my grandmother standing in the yard. My grandmother walked to town and she voted and then she walked the four miles back to the farm. My father says they ate cold beans for the next week, but no one ever said a word about the incident. They were not the type to have cross words.
My grandmother considered playing cards sinful. When my father in the late 1950’s bought his mother her first television, she turned it toward the wall and refused to watch it. However, I remember on our next visit several months later, she had repositioned the devise. Although it was never turned on during our visit, I got the impression she had relented.
Family memories and family history need to be written and saved. There are so many things now that I wish I had asked before it was too late.