Levi Turner Farm 1924
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While they lived there, I was born in Grandpa and Grandma Goss’ homestead house not far to the south. I have no conscious memory of the Levi Turner place. Helen Mae - two months The above is from the book, “Home Range,” page 172.
Information is taken from that same source in a few places ahead as well. |
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Esther Turner is my mother. She and Dad were the bride and groom and I was the first of the “tots” in the following poem. The prairie in the poem refers to the prairie in eastern Montana. The little shovel traveled with the family from there to Oregon, with stops at other homes along the way. It was even lost for a number of years in western Montana. After Dad died, a former neighbor, Mr. Halverson, found it near his home, all rusted and dirt-caked. Two years ago my mother cleaned it up and refinished it as a gift for another of the “tots” – one of my brothers, David. The décor in his house was planned as a setting for other early day utensils and artifacts, so the little shovel looks right at home hanging by the fireplace there. At the outset, Mama only planned a short verse for the gift card that was to go with the shovel. The verse grew into this story poem. I hope you will like it as much as we did.< /div> |
Ode to a Shovel
Just an old shovel all battered and bruised,
But it’s loved and it’s cherished, and has it been used!
It took out the ashes and put in the coal.
Little tots shoveled snow and tried digging a hole.
Its birthday is March, Nineteen Twenty Four.
That’s a long time ago – fifty years and two more!
“Twas out on the prairie so lonely and wide
Lived a fine young man and his brand new bride.
They had lots of love, but material things few.
A second-hand stove, a skillet or two.
All went so well – ‘til the stove wouldn't draw.
Plugged full of ashes – that we saw!
No shovel had we and spoon was so slow,
Tedious, weary – stove still wouldn't go!
So out the back door went the bridegroom new,
Gone for an hour, or maybe two.
Where he’d gone and what doing, I didn't know,
But return he did, his face all aglow!
From behind his back he presented to me
The prettiest shovel I ever did see!
From where did it come that wonderful day?
For stores were miles and miles away.
From his forge of red coals, sparks shooting bright,
His tongs brought some metal, all hot and white.
Carefully shaping and pounding on his anvil, you see,
He created with love his first gift to me!
The ashes came out. The stove it’s warmth shed.
Our teakettle sang; there was the smell of fresh bread.
You've outlasted three stoves. You've stood every test.
Thanks, little shovel. You've long earned your rest.
- Esther Goss Turner, 1976