MEMORIES OF MY MOTHER

I was looking for something else in my computer records and stumbled upon a piece I wrote in memory of my mother, Dena Margaret Thaden Plucker. Because I was in Africa at the time, I wasn't able to attend her funeral in 2002, so I wrote a short piece about my memories.

Dena Thaden Plucker will be 100 years old on October 29, 2002 -- the Lord willing.  Since her death seems rather imminent, I have been thinking about her and decided to put into words some of my thoughts. 
               Since my brother and sister were 10 and 12 years older than me, I was raised almost like an only child.  Both my mother and my father were very important in my life, but my mother did most of the teaching -- of life's lessons.  My earliest memories are of Mom playing the piano in the old church in at Germantown.  I would sit with my Dad and watch her play.  She was the driving force behind my piano lessons.  When the "new" church was built and an organ purchased, she played that, too -- and when I was old enough, I even played that organ a few times, although I was never as accomplished as she!

               I have many early memories -- Mom would read to me a lot.  I wonder now, how she found time and energy for that since she had the house and the farm yard to take care of.  We didn't have many books, but we did have “Hurlbut's Story of the Bible” and she brought to life (with her reading) all the Bible stories from Genesis to Revelation -- including "Noah and the Prophets."  We read many episodes of the Israelites warring with the Philistines.  She wasn't one to talk much about her faith, but in all she did and said, it was there.  She was a good example for her children.

               There were other books, too.  Most notably, "Little Brown Koko."  I loved hearing about the adventures of this little African American boy and his family -- so far removed from our Midwest farm.  I was fascinated by another book about Africa where "Little Black Sambo" played with lions and ate pancakes. Little did I know that I would one day go to Africa.

               Since I was alone at home most of the time, I watched as Mom planted and weeded her garden and learned when it was OK to pick peas and beans.  I also learned the sweet, tender taste of new potatoes, new onions and other fresh vegetables all cooked together.  When the time was right, we would go out in the ditches and hunt for new asparagus.

               Mom taught me so many things that in later life became useful again when we moved to Africa for a year -- like washing clothes and hanging them on a line, and how to roll a pie crust or how to cut a chicken into frying-sized pieces.

               In the Spring, -- very early Spring -- baby chicks would be ordered and when we got a call on our party line that they were ready, we'd go into town to pick them up.  Oh, the peeping!  We usually got between 500 - 800 chicks and Mom would watch over them like their "mother hen."  They would be housed in the "brooder house" and kept warm under a hood.  If we were lucky, the chicks learned to eat and drink and grow.  If not, they would crowd each other or start picking each other and we would lose some.  Mom would worry and fuss over them until they finally got bigger.

               As the chickens got older, Mom would start talking about eating them and soon a day would come when we would have our first Spring chicken for dinner.  I was all eyes when it came to killing, skinning, cleaning and cutting up chickens.  I even got pretty good at doing it myself.

               In Africa, I used what I learned back home on the farm quite often.  For instance, the lost art of baking bread from scratch, by hand!  It was never one of my favorite activities, but in Africa, I remembered the lessons Mom taught me and we had fresh bread to eat on a regular basis since in that climate, store bought breads tended to mold quite easily.

               One of the memories I have of Mom is one that I haven't duplicated since I was a very young housewife:  mopping the floor on my hands and knees.  Mom used to say that you can't really get a floor clean unless you get down on your knees to do it.  It was a weekly chore for her.  I am now quite satisfied to clean floors the easiest way possible.

               Most farm wives even today, work harder than their city counterparts.  And when I was young, I watched my Mom get dressed up in the "chore clothes," go out in all kinds of weather and do just about anything except drive the tractor, although I'm sure she did that, too.  Early on, she would go out to pick corn by hand, with the horses and wagon and she always helped to shock the oats.  She helped milk the cows, tend the sheep and of course, the chickens were really her responsibility.  Every morning she religiously washed the cream separator.  It was her least favorite job she used to tell me -- often.  I didn't like it either, because the disks that did the separating were difficult to manipulate and could cut you if you weren't careful.

               In the winter, Mom would love going out on a cold day to scoop the snow.  She loved the fresh air.  And in the winter there was more time for her "fancy work" -- when the north wind was lifting the linoleum on the floor.  She was a member and sometimes president of the "Willing Workers," the women's group at her church.  I would go along to be with her when there were meetings, when there were quilting parties at someone's house and when we held sales on the sewing, craft projects and homemade foods to raise money for Missions.

               She taught me how to sew with a sewing machine, how to embroider beautiful patterns on towels and pillow cases.  There always seemed to be time to cut out a dress on the dining room table.  But, she would always save the zippers for my sister to put in saying that she did it so much better.  (I thought Mom just didn't want to tackle the hard part!)

               On Saturday afternoons, she would wash her hair and when I was a teen-ager, she would have me "put it up" in pin curls.  We would have some good talks while I was doing that.  And while we were doing the dishes together, she helped me memorize the Books of the Bible and my memory verses for Sunday School -- not to mention to "times tables" for school!

               Mom had a lot of experiences in her life and I've mentioned only a few that occur to me.  She was the steadying influence in my life as a child and remained close throughout -- seeing me through my teens, my marriage, my babies and even visited me in Alaska a few times!

         
               Like everyone, my mother had her faults, but she had my love and respect for her part in my life.

 

Jean E. Plucker Straatmeyer

2002