Naoma Harlow Sundgren - Of Farms, Dances and Marriage

                                                     The Aborn's of Ellington  

                                                              Meadowbrook Rd., ca. 1944

  One of my mother's favorite trips was to Meadowbrook Rd. in Ellington, CT.  That was where her Uncle Robert had his dairy farm.  My grandmother was an Aborn, and Robert was her brother.  Mom loved visiting all her cousins there like Sherwood, Emerson and Shirley Aborn.  Emerson was her favorite cousin.
     When you threw all the kids together there were around 11 or 12, enough for a baseball team.  She never told me they played baseball somewhere on the 55 acres,  but it is only natural to assume they did.  There were plenty of cow plops to create bases and a pitcher's mound.
     The farm always had lots of barn cats.  Many a family member would leave with a kitten or two hidden under their shirts when they went home.  When the mom's and dad's woke up the next morning, they would find new kittens looking for milk or food.  Nobody would claim they brought a kitten home, so there was never a way to find out who did it.  They didn't get turned out, either.  The cats were just given a new home in a different barn or garage.
     Mom told me about her cousin, Grace Aborn.  Grace never married.  She always wore pants and boots and smoked cigars.  Mom always thought Grace was a little off, as did many folks in Ellington farm country.  She was full of heart, though.  She helped everyone and hardly ever lost her temper.
     The farm is still located on Meadowbrook Rd.  It is still owned by an Aborn and it is still a dairy farm.  Emerson took over the farm when his father died, then his son Skipper took it over when Emerson died.  Now Skipper's kids are running the operation.
     I do remember many visits to Emerson and family when I was growing up, because both our families lived in Ellington.  He loved to joke around and give us a hard time when we said something backward, or could be interpreted in another way.
     There was an old gray horse at the farm.  Mom said the horse was there even when she was younger.  When I was 8, Emerson told me that horse was around 30 years old.  I don't remember when the horse died, but it was around for a number of my growing up years.  We used to have rides on it when we were really little and mom remembered riding the horse as well before we were born.  Mom called the horse a swayback.  That is why we couldn't ride the horse when we got bigger, because not only was it old, but it had a weak back.
     We used to always play the game of Life at Emerson's with our cousins Audrey, Richard and Skipper.  They were always ready for board games, including some lengthy games with Monopoly, and fun battles with the game Battleship.
     Audrey had her own record player.  She had dozens of the small 45 rpm records. We spent hours listening to Creedence Clearwater Revival in the late 60's and early 70's.
     They had a stuffed owl on top of an old stand up piano.  They must have used it in days long past as a scare tactic to keep birds out of the gardens.
     Our favorite thing to do was ride in the back of a trailer hauled by the old Farmall tractor. 

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Aunt Ellie, ca. 1943

     Mom told me her sister Eleanor, my Aunt Ellie, was born a blue baby.  When you're born a blue baby it means the umbilical cord gets wrapped around your throat or waist, cutting off breathing.  It turns your skin blue because it is like holding your breath.  It was a very good doctor because he/she was able to clear Ellie of her obstruction so she could breathe.  She changed color from blue to pink.  Because of it though my mom said Ellie was never 100% right in the head.  She also had a very crooked knee that made her leg go outwards.
     Even so, she went to school to about 8th grade, got married, adopted a son (my cousin Lee), held a job and ran the farm with my Uncle Dick.  Whatever she lacked mentally she made up for with her warm and caring heart and abundant amounts of love.
     My mom's mother died in 1948 from diabetes.  My mom was on a ski trip in Vermont when it happened.  They told her to finish her trip, then they would have the wake and funeral.  So she did.

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                                         Lady of The Dance

    My mom, ca. 1950                                                                                                 Jean Harlow
     My mom was beautiful.  They used to call her Jean Harlow because of her blonde hair that she kept styled like Jean Harlow.  She could have been a pin up girl and even had several photos taken in the pin up girl fashion.
     My mom loved dancing.  She was raised on musicals, the Big Band Era, and the Follies.  She remembered dances that were held at Colt Park in Hartford every Saturday night during the summer.  She was a very good social dancer and always had plenty of partners.  She always had dreams of becoming a Ginger Rogers with a partner like Fred Astaire.  Of course no partner was anything like Fred Astaire.  During WWII she used to go to the USO gatherings, and got a number of marriage proposals. She was having too much fun and always said no.  Then she met my dad.
     I can't be sure how she even met my dad.  It may have been at a dance hall.  My mom was very independent and had her own car.  If there was a dance hall near by she would drive to it.  My dad was living in Crystal Lake, a village of Ellington, CT.  There was also a lake there called, of course, Crystal Lake.
     On the west shore of the lake was a restaurant and dance hall called Pagani's.  It had a beautiful location and there was a gorgeous sandy beach along the lake.  It was a hopping place in the 40's and 50's.  My mom used to go there often.  My dad was a great dancer, too.  That was the common ground between them.  Both seemed perfect dance partners.  I wouldn't doubt they met at Pagani's and finally at 29 mom said yes to a marriage proposal from my dad.  They were married on April 2, 1955.  My mom was 30, and my dad was 29.

                                                   Mom and Dad's wedding photo, ca. 1955

 

                          L. to R.   Ronald Harlow, Eleanor Harlow, Richard Sundgren, Naoma Harlow, Ralph Harlow, Phyllis Harlow, Ralph Harlow.


                               The Business Of Beauty In The 50's

Naoma Harlow, ca. 1953

     My mom told me that she used to ski at Wickham Park in Manchester, CT.  For those familiar with the park, there is a very steep hill that faces Hartford.  I don't know where, but there used to be a ski tow rope on that side so you could get back to the hill top.  It was a close run for my mom to go to in order to keep her ski legs.  The tow operated around 1965 to about 1970.  I don't remember the ski tow myself, but she says she did ski there.  I remember the skis were always leaning up against the back of her closet.  I used to put them on my feet when I was small and into dress up.  She was not happy that I scraped the skis across the floor and sometimes outside on the grass. 
     Her favorite kind of skiing was spring skiing.  She would go out to New Hartford or up to the Berkshires on warm sunny days in March.  The temperature would reach the 50's and 60's and there would still be plenty  of snow to ski on. 
     In order to keep her slim figure, mom used to exercise every morning to Jack LaLanne.  My brother and I would exercise to the t.v. right beside our mom.  We would hop and jump and clap our hands in the air.  I never did get a figure like my mother.

Mom, ca. 1988 When she had a hankering for some ice.

     She also liked to ice skate.  The pair of skates she had were from the 40's I think.  They weren't even figure skates.  They were actually hockey skates.  She told me the reason why she had so much trouble skating backwards and in figure 8's was because she had weak ankles.  Maybe it was because the skates were not meant to do figure skating.  Craig and I skated frequently with her.  I had tiny figure skates and Craig had a pair of black ones.  Mom always made sure we always had ice skates as we grew.  She always wanted to be able to bring us with her when she got the hankering to take on some ice. 
     I remember my mom getting a rubber suit to wear while she did chores.  It was supposed to make you sweat so you could lose  weight.  They call them sauna suits now but back in the late 50's and early 60's the suit was made of plastic or rubber.  I remember trying it a few times in my teens.  It didn't work, probably because I wouldn't give up my Frito bandito habit.  It did make me sweat, that much I remember. 

     Mom also had a vibrating belt machine.  You would place the belt around your waist and turn on the machine.  It would shake and jiggle your fat away in theory.  I am not sure it really worked either, but mom would try anything that said it was an easy way to lose weight or maintain your small waist.  Her waist was probably around 23 before she had my brother Craig.  I don't think she ever saw below 26 inches after 1956. 
     She never went out publicly without her lipstick.  Mom didn't always wear lots of eye make up, but if she planned on even just going out to the local corner store in Crystal Lake, her lips would always be red before she left the house.  Powder was usually a requirement as well, and she would always make sure she had on a clean blouse and pants.  Casual clothes such as jeans were not something she would be seen in outside of our own four walls at home.
     Another thing she had lots of were hats.  Mom always had hats to wear for church or special occasions.  In the early 50's she was a secretary at Travelers Insurance and I don't think the ladies of the office ever went bare headed while they were going to work.  I loved playing with all her hats and using them for dress up.  She was the perfect person for dress up.  Between gowns, heels, makeup, jewelry, scarves, and hats, I never wanted for materials to pretend I was a queen or Cinderella at a ball.
     The shop that mom bought all her fine clothes was called the Blue Bird Shop.  I think it used to be on Pratt Street in Hartford, CT.  When I started working in Hartford in 1977, the shop was still operating.  It was primarily a wedding shop by then, but in the 50's it was a women's version of Stackpole, Moore and Tryon, the men's shop on Trumbull St. 
     Overall, I should have learned to be much more vain and refined with my appearance.  Well, perhaps I just got exposed too much to it as a child, but it never took.

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     Mom tried to be the perfect housekeeper during the 50's and 60's.  I am not sure that even with her farming exposure throughout her formative years, domestic mastery really rubbed off.  She used to stuff all our drawers with any clutter that showed up on tables and in chairs, so as the years went by it became harder and harder to open drawers.  The linen closet was always in a rumpled state, and grunge built up in the corners of the bathroom regularly.  Her closet was always very organized, though.  Her shoes were always straight, her clothes were always pressed, and her bureau was always tidy. 
      She had some strange food tastes.  During her single days at Travelers, she told me she would bring onion sandwiches with her for lunch.  Frankly, to think of someone in a closed office sitting at a desk after eating an onion sandwich for lunch must have been very "fragrant" for her co-workers.
     She also liked cucumber and peanut butter sandwiches.  Well, I used to eat Purina dog chow, so I guess eating a peanut butter and cucumber sandwich isn't so strange.  As a child, when the cucumbers started coming, Craig, Mel and I ate a lot of peanut butter and cucumber sandwiches.  They were actually pretty good.
     Another favorite of hers was hot coffee poured on shredded wheat biscuits, with a little milk and sugar.  I never tried that one.  I thought it was weird as a kid and I still do.
     She wasn't much of a cook, really.  Mom could make a decent farm pie crust, though, out of lard.  The original recipe came from Women's Home Companion Cookbook, published in the 1950's.  Here is a recipe I found on Food.com.  I have tasted the crust of my friend, Lynn, who said her mother always used vinegar.  The crust is EXCELLENT.  Here is the recipe. 

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• 2 cups flour
• 1 cup lard, cold
• 1 teaspoon vinegar
• 1/3 cup milk
• 1 pinch salt

Directions:

1. 1
   Cut lard into the flour.
2. 2
   Add the last three ingredients, mix and form into ball.
3. 3
   Divide into thirds.
4. 4
   Chill.
5. 5
   This will be sticky until you chill it.
6. 6
   Keep unused portion in refrigerator until needed.
7. 7
   Roll each out into a 9" piecrust.
8. 8
   If you are baking single crust bake at 400 degrees for 11-13 minutes or until lightly browned.
9. 9
   If you are making a double crust pie follow directions from the can of fruit.
10. 10
    As you bake your pie, you may want to add foil around the edges so they don't brown to quickly.
    
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        Mom also baked a lot of homemade bread.  When it came to feeding us, though, I don't know where she got the idea but she used to cut hot dogs into small pieces, then mix them in with canned Franco American Macaroni and cheese and she would add little bits of chopped celery.  I tried doing this once for my husband Michael.  He nearly vomited, and threw it away in the garbage disposal, then went out for pizza.
         We all survived, though.  From Tree Tavern Pizza to Swanson T.V. dinners, to Cott soda, we lived through bad food and good, and can reminisce about those days with many laughs and good humor.  
                         
                          Mom's Macaroni, Franks and Onion Skillet 
    
    
     1/2 cup sliced celery                                2 tblsp chopped onion
    1/4 cup chopped green peppers                3 frankfurters cut in 1 inch pieces
    2 tblsp butter or margarine                       1 can Franco American Mac and cheese
    
    In skillet cook celery, onions, and peppers in butter until tender.  Add franks and brown.  Mix in macaroni and cheese.  Heat, stirring now and then.  Makes 2 or 3 servings.  
    
    
    
    
     
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    

             
                                                                                        







 

28 Ludwig Rd. - Chickens, Snakes and A New Sister

   My grandfather, ca. 1976
  Photo by June Sundgren Mita

     Yes, we had chickens.  My grandfather, Ralph Harlow, raised show birds and got my dad and my brother involved.  Within a few years, we had about 70 birds and showed them all over the northeast.  We had very good birds.  We could sell them for quite a bit of money.  My brother Craig won many championships with our bantams and cochins.
     My dad invested a great deal of money in those chickens and they needed protecting.
     At some point while we were building up our chicken population, my sister Melanie was born.  She came into the world on Oct. 25, 1965.  I can't remember my mother going into the hospital to have her, but I remember after she came home I wanted to be a little mommy, at least in the beginning.  I was 8 at the time, and I remember changing her on an old metal bassinet that we got from one of my aunts.  Melanie immediately won my father's heart.  She was like having a living doll.  Dad couldn't help but be proud that there was another child to add to our mix.  Of course, Craig escaped the crying by hiding in the chicken coops, or riding his bike to a friends house.  He wasn't around to really take care of Melanie, though I do remember he gave her a bath a few times and did change her.
                                                                                                                    Us kids in 1966

              Dad's Chicken Cure

     We got a dachshund in 1968 from a lady who lived in   Crystal Lake.  His name was Fritzi.  My sister loved him.  She was maybe 3 when Fritzi came to live with us.
     There was a problem, though.  Fritzi had  a taste for live chickens and he sucked our prize eggs that were supposed to become grown prize winning birds.  Dad said he had to get rid of Fritzi, but Melanie went into hysterics when she thought Fritzi, her best friend, was going away.  Dad could never say no to Melanie, so he decided to try a different approach to train Fritzi to not like chickens so much.
     We had several very large, old barred Plymouth Rocks that were generally left to free range during the summer months.  They roosted in trees at night and kept the yard clean of bugs and worms.  One particular rock was the master of the yard.  He was so big, you would mistake him for a turkey, at least in size.  He also was one of the roughest and meanest birds we had.  Generally rocks are docile, but this one was always fighting with some of the other free birds.  He used to peck many of our white cochins, but he did breed and well and produced many other rocks.
     Dad decided that he would do an experiment with Fritzi and this giant of a barred rock.  As dusk fell one night, dad took Fritzi outside.  He went to a large cage he had put in the backyard.  Inside that cage was our disagreeable barred rock, made more so by not being allowed to roam free.  Dad put Fritzi in the cage with that chicken, shut the door and left the two.
     Fritzi could be heard whimpering and crying all night.  The barred rock thoroughly scolded and pecked Fritzi all night.  Dad had even put a few eggs in the cage and Fritzi couldn't get near them with that chicken in the cage with him.
     By morning, Fritzi had numerous pecks and bloody spots all over him but the chicken had trained the dog to discontinue his unacceptable taste from chickens and eggs.  Whenever Fritzi forgot, dad let him spend a nigh with whatever ill-tempered bird we had at the moment, and Fritzi would be good for another long while.

                                            York, Pennsylvania  ca. 1973

     The 70's were a time where nobody knew what they were doing or why, just that they did it.  Our government didn't know what it was doing either.  I actually saw my first and only demonstration in 1973.  There was a parade of people holding signs, marching on the sidewalk in York, PA.  I don't remember what they were protesting, but we were there for a big chicken show, one of the biggest on the east coast.  I took photos of the protest and had no idea why they were there.  We had a reason to be there and knew exactly what we were doing.
     I was wide eyed seeing these hippie folks in their long skirts and peasant blouses walking and blocking the way.  It was a memorable trip, and the only one I took to such a big chicken show.
     We had an aqua colored Chrysler Newport that had a vent which never closed  We used to take it to Sanborn's Garage in Crystal Lake to fix it but no matter how much money we gave them, we always were freezing in the winter because the vent kept cold air pumping into the car.
     So my mom drove the car all over York.  We had griddle cakes one morning at a corner cafe, literally.  The door was built into a corner.  I had never had griddle cakes the size of a 10 inch plate before.  It was dripping with real, sweet, premium grade maple syrup.
     Of course I was always a photo buff so when we were over to Bird In Hand to see the Amish people, I had a Kodak instamatic on the ready.   My dad got mad at me as we drove.  He said they did not want their pictures taken and to stop.  He said they believed if a photo was taken of them, it would take their soul and they would be condemned.  I could take photos of them from the back in their carriages, just not any that showed their eyes.
     We went into a general store and they had gorgeous quilts completely handmade, for sale.  What really drew my mother's attention, though, was a dish pattern.  She fell in love with one that was displayed.  It was called Friendly Village by Johnson Bros. Mom saw the price and turned her back
on it, but you could see she wanted it badly.  We left without it. 
     Mom was a very bad driver.  We had that huge Newport and many cars in 1973 were getting very small because gas prices had risen dramatically and there was also a gas shortage, causing long lines.  The Newport needed to be filled every couple of days, it guzzled gas so much.  It was a tank, compared to tiny Mavericks and Pintos.
     After our trip out to Amish country, we came back to the hotel.  It was a left in and we had to cross over two lanes of traffic to get in.  The Newport did not maneuver well.  The car in the closest left lane opened up to let us take our left.  As mom tried to go into the drive, a small car came down the lane nearest the driveway and crashed right into my mom.  The Newport didn't even move from the impact, but that little car looked like it had gone off a tall building and landed on its front end.  It crumpled nearly all the way to the driver seat.  None of us got hurt, but the state of Pennsylvania sent us a piece of mail a few months later telling us mom would be arrested and jailed if she ever drove in Pennsylvania again.
     One good thing came out of it, though (besides a bundle of prize money for our chickens.)  Dad actually heard mom yearning for the Friendly Village set.  That Christmas, she opened a giant box filled with an 8 piece set of the pattern.  I have never seen my mother ever as ecstatic as she was when she opened the box.  She cried as she began pulling out the pieces, one at a time.  My sister Melanie got the set and added to it over time, and it has become our traditional Thanksgiving and Christmas dinnerware ever since.

                          The Unfortunate Blackberry Incident ca. 1964

     Speaking of poor driving, I always seemed to be the child that was lucky enough to be in nearly every accident or car mishap my mother had.  We had a big old woody station wagon after we had to get rid of the Bel Air.  One time, mom stopped on Rt. 140 in Crystal Lake because she spotted a huge patch of black raspberries.  Craig and I had our coffee cans to pick the berries near the road while mom went further in to get the berries that were way back.
     When mom decided we had enough berries, she failed to inform me.  So since I was concentrating on picking berries or perhaps I had dropped them and was trying to pick them up, I did not hear her open the door or even start the car.  The car began to move without me in it.  I grabbed the door handle trying to open it.  I was hanging off the door handle screaming for her to stop.  Just then a car came by beeping its horn.  Mom rolled down the window and the woman hollered, "Do you know you have a little girl hanging off the door handle and being dragged?"  Mom couldn't believe she had left me behind.  Those cars were so big that a child could get lost for days and not be found.  That may be what scraped off my warts on my knees.  

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     Another time, around 1968, mom was driving in East Hartford.  I think at the time we had a dark red sedan.  We always needed a car, and dad could only afford the cheapest used cars.  Not only that, but he always got loans for them from a company called Beneficial Finance.  The average interest on car loans was probably around 20%.  We always had collection agencies calling us because dad didn't believe in paying more than what he borrowed, leaving all the interest unpaid.  
     So mom was driving, and I was in the front passenger seat.  Craig and Melanie were sitting in the back.  I don't know if my mom ran a red light or the light had just changed, but as we were going through the intersection, a car came darting from the street we were crossing.  I saw the car coming because it was on my side.  I was so afraid of breaking glass that I tried diving under the dashboard, which seemed big enough to fit my 90 pounds.  When the car hit us, I was thrown against the underpart of the dash and I had a very bad traumatic brain injury from it.  I was checked at the hospital for a concussion and the huge gash in my head had been dressed and covered.  They even did a brain scan on me. 
     By 1971 , I had my first seizure.  I was a freshman in high school.  Though it was never proven, dad was convinced my epilepsy had been brought on by that accident in East Hartford.  I continued having seizures until I was 28.  Then I got pregnant with my daughter, I gave up the dilantin because of possible side affects for her, and I haven't had a seizure since.  
      There were many other mishaps, like slipping in the winter and the Bel Aire landing in a ditch on Webster Rd.  Once a car that size begins to slide, there is no stopping it.  We also had to push our cars on numerous occasions down the hill on Ludwig Rd. to get them started.  We never had good luck with any cars when I was growing up.  

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                Of Honey, Anniversary Cake and Cherries ca. 1964-1967  

     I sometimes wonder if it was all karma.  I was curious about everything and I was a hard child to keep out of trouble.  I would sleep walk at night and end up waking in the morning in strange places, like under the table, or behind the bookcase or in the hallway. or maybe in my brother's bed or my parents bed.  I used to see things too, like shadows peering at me from my bedroom door.  I had to have a night light because of all my fears and nightmares.  I was horribly sleep deprived because I would lie awake at night waiting for shadows or lights in my room.  I knew if I fell asleep I would have nightmares.  Perhaps that is why I was always in to everything.
     Some things I did was hide in the broom closet and eat Purina dog chow.  Sounds weird, but it was actually kind of sweet and really crunchy.  I loved anything crunchy.  I also liked to climb on the counter in the basement because on the top shelf was a gallon container of creamed honey.  If you have never had creamed honey, it tastes so good it must be from heaven.  I would take off the metal cap, because it was stored in a silver paint can.  I would dip my entire hand in and suck up the sweet gooeyness of the honey.  If I got caught, I got spanked really hard, but it was worth the risk. 
     I did a major faux pas, though, regarding that honey.  Dad had changed
its location.  It had been on the top shelf over the sink.  Well, I scanned the shelves, searching for the glint of the can and spotted it way back on the top shelf near the stove.
     Dad had just baked and decorated a 25th anniversary tiered cake for my Aunt Ellie and Uncle Dick.  It had sweet peas, roses, shell borders and a large silver 25 on top.  All I saw was the honey.  Once again , I climbed up on the counter to get at the honey, and I heard dad yell from somewhere in the house, "Junie, your not on that counter are you?  I will skin you alive if you wreck that cake."  Well, guess what.  I rapidly got off the counter, and as I was scrambling to the floor, I put my elbow into that cake.  I put a huge dent in the frosting and even bent the angel food cake.  I did not get skinned alive, but I did get the spanking of my life.  Dad did his best to repair the cake, but it wasn't the same for sure.
      Another time, around 1967, it was my Aunt Phyl's and Uncle Walter's 25th wedding anniversary.  Of course, dad had made the cake for that one as well, without any mishaps thankfully.  The party was held at a restaurant with a large bar at one end of the room.  This time the mischief was made by Melanie.  She was only around 2, or just shy of 2.  
    The celebration included all the cousins and                                 Melanie and family, ca. 1967
even little babies like Melanie.                                                                                          Photo by Naoma Harlow Sundgren

    Behind the bar was a huge barrel of maraschino cherries.  They were used for martinis and other mixed drinks.  There was an entry into the back of the bar.  It was just the right height for someone Melanie's size.  She decided to go under the plank that lifted up for the barkeep when he wanted to leave the counter.  She was most likely quite bored without having any toys to play with, despite the fact that everyone was fighting over her to hold her and play patty cakes with.  
     As she ducked under the plank, she spotted that barrel of cherries.  Well, the barkeep was so taken by her cuteness, that he let her sit on a little stool, and she kept dipping her hand in the barrel and pulled out cherries, dripping with juice.  I don't know how many cherries she ate that day, but she was a pink and sticky mess by the time the party was over.  She of course fell asleep next to the barrel, with a cherry in her hand.   

                                                Snake Summer ca. 1968 

     Up on the hill where we lived, water was hard to find.  Back then, a drilled well was unusual to have.  Most all of us had what we call surface wells.  The well was in our front yard, and was made of huge round cement walls.  We never had a top, or maybe we did have one once, but it got cracked, so my father tried to keep anyone from falling in by placing a large square of sheet metal over the well.  We also had a back up well down in the back where some wet ground was.  
     A back up well is an old New England tradition since many summers are so dry that the main well dries up, so a back up well is built over a stream or natural spring.  The water is usually poor quality, with lots of minerals, but sometimes you have to use it.  
     This particular summer was unusually dry and droughty.  We all would be on the phone with the neighbors every morning asking the same question.  "You got any water today?"  Whoever had water, shared with the rest of the neighbors.  Rarely could we share, because even the back up well was dry.  Usually we did have enough water, at least first thing in the morning, and mom would fill pans and milk containers until the water stopped coming out of the faucet.
     I remember the Darlings lived  way up on Newell Hill Road on an old farm.  They had a well from the 1800's that had a hand pump.  I remember going up there to pump out some water, though most of the time nothing came out.  Mr. Darling told us a tall tale that summer.  He said it was so dry that when they turned on the faucet, a huge black snake came out and began squiggling around the floor.  For the rest of the summer, I was petrified to turn on our faucet in case a snake came out.  It was a good excuse not to draw any water from the tub, so I probably didn't get a bath for most of it.  
     One morning, though, it was my turn to go check the well to see if we had any water to share with the neighbors.  I  went boldly over to the sheet metal cover, and pushed it off.  Well, I screamed so loud and ran as fast as I could away from the well.  Mom came out, thinking I had fallen down the well.  What she saw instead, was about 5 black snakes curled up all around the cement of the well.  Dad came out and began laughing as my mother started squealing as well.  The snakes were so dry and hot that they had curled up under the sheet metal, to get cool.  They must have spent the night circling the walls of the well.  Mom wanted to know if any had fallen in.  Dad looked down, and said probably not.  From that point on, I really never wanted to turn on the faucet again 

     

28 Ludwig Rd., Ellington, CT. - My Childhood Years

                                                                                           Upstairs at 28 Ludwig Rd. ca. 1973
                                                                                               Photo by June Sundgren Mita

 

    We moved from a rental in Crystal Lake up to a hill called Ludwig Rd. off of  Route 140 on the way to Ellington Center.  My parents built an oversize ranch on a very hilly piece of land that had a lot of swampland and water.  We were able to find a decent dry spot to put the house, but it always flooded when it rained.  We lived in the basement for about 3 years before the upper story was built.  
     We were one of the first people to move in on Ludwig Rd.  The upper part of the road, called Newell Hill Rd., had several families, but we were pretty much alone where we built for nearly 5 years.  We had wild turkeys roaming the area, and every night we would hear whippoorwills.  There were also numerous snapping turtles in the area.  
                 
                         The Turtle Of The Swamp - ca. 1959

     I was told a story by my mom from when we were building the house on Ludwig Rd. in 1959.  I was a precocious toddler.  When I could actually walk there was no controlling me.  I would just go to anything that attracted me.
     It was probably around April or May.  Everything was being cleared.  Our house was located near a brook.  My mom told me that there were really big snapping turtles that lived where we were building.  She said that I had no fear as a 20 month old.  I was probably playing with sand and toy buckets when I saw one of those big snapping turtles.  I went towards where it was sunning, and I crawled on top of the big shell which was the size of a saddle.  Mom happened to look up and saw me on top of this snapping turtle and she thought it would snap off my leg.  Well, I might have bounced up and down the shell a couple times before she came over with a large stick to put into the snappers mouth.  Nothing happened to me.
                                      
                                     Of Wave Pools and Oceans

     ca. 1960 - I always took risks.  She told me another story about Crystal Lake. I was perhaps 2 or 3, and she took Craig and I to the lake.  As she tried spreading the blanket on the beach, I took off like a dart and ran right in the water.  In the few seconds it took my mom to adjust the blanket, I was up to my neck in the water, and I kept on going.  She saw me just as I went under, and she was able to dash to pull me out sputtering and crying as she pulled me by my arm.
 
     ca. 1991 - I did the same for my daughter, Kathleen when she was around 4.  We were up to Mt. Tom.  They had a wave pool and an alpine slide.  Michael, my husband and her dad, was near the front of the pool, not really watching Kathleen.  I was further back, and as I saw the waves rolling towards the two of them, my heart went into my throat.  I saw her drowning in my mind while her father played in the waves.  Before she went under, and she did, I ran right up behind her and grabbed her just as she was going under.  She did not cry.  She thought it was all part of the fun because as I grabbed her, I picked her up and spun her around in parental fun and joy.  Kathleen never knew how close she came to a watery grave, or at least a bad water experience.

     ca. 1975 - Melanie, my sister, told me once that she became scared of the ocean one day.  She was at Misquamicuit Beach in Rhode Island with mom.  She must have been 9 or 10.  The beaches of Rhode Island are known for their body surfing.  We all looked forward to trips to Misquamicuit because of it.
     The waves were very rough that day and there was a terrific undertow.  Melanie was surfing in on a wave, and when she tried to get up, another wave and then another hit.  She could not get out of the surging water.  She was kept under by the constant waves.  Her breath began to lose out.  She was struggling but couldn't get out.  I am not certain how she finally got out.  Perhaps someone nearby saw it and finally pulled her out, or maybe our mom did or I did.  She never body surfed again after that. 

                                        Criminal At 3 Years Old - ca. 1961

     My first memory was when I killed a kitten.  We had a gray cat named Smoky.  She was never fixed and always had kittens.  She had them in my parents closet in the basement.  We lived in the basement.  Their room always smelled like fuel oil because we had a leak in the foundation and it always let in the smell of the oil tank that was buried outside against that cement wall.
     This closet was an archaic walk-in .  It had no doors.  Moms clothes were on the left side, and dads were on the right.  It walked through to the bathroom but the door to the bathroom couldn't be opened, though it was originally meant to have a door that did open.  My dad just never got around to it.  
     The closet had an open pipe that lead into the ground.  It was a big pipe.  I was perhaps 3 1/2 and I was so thrilled to have new kittens that I wanted to play with them.  The kittens were only a few weeks old, if that.  So I grabbed one of the kittens and began tossing it up and down like a ball.  I was right over the open pipe.  I missed catching the kitten, and it went right into the pipe, mewing all the way as it fell into where ever the pipe went.  Smoky never had another litter of kittens at our house after that.  She took her chances out in the woods instead, figuring fighting bobcats and wild dogs was better than taking a chance with a human child named June, who always took risks.

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     My knees had warts on them.  I remember crawling across the carpet and it was so rough that it rubbed my warts, causing them to bleed.  My brother always called me frog knees.  He told me that I had warts because I always picked up toads and when they peed on me I would wipe it on my knee to get it off my hands.  I don't know when they finally disappeared. 
      I hated those warts because when we went to elementary school, girls had to wear dresses, white anklets and black patent leather shoes.  I was not a girly girl so to have to wear dresses was a real hardship, especially since the boys always would stay at the bottom of the slide and when a girl slid down, the boys would put their faces even with the metal of the slide to look up their skirts. I wanted to run and climb trees with the boys.  Instead, girls had to jump rope, swing on swings or slide on slides.    

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                                   End Of Innocence In America - ca. 1963 

     I began school in 1963.  I remember my first day.  We got picked up on a big yellow bus.  I was very excited.  Up the street a new girl had moved in.  Her name was Holly.  She was terribly scared and cried all the way in while all the big girls sat in the back of the bus and sang "Hello Muddah, hello faddah."  When we got to school, I was very happy and comfortable because I had met my first grade teacher, Mrs. Backofener, over the summer.  So I took Holly by the hand, rubbed her back and told her it would be all right because Mrs. Backofener was such a nice teacher.  I got Holly to stop crying and we sat next to each other for a few days.

     1963 was a memorable year for a child who had their first school experience.  Historically, we were under constant "red" fear.  I never knew about the communist problem.  I lived up in the hills way far from town centers.  The most I would hear were sounds of crickets, whippoorwills at night, or an occasional plane flying over the house.  I was unprepared for civil drills.  We were taught within the first week what to do if we heard the alarm go off, letting us know we were under threat of attack.  As soon as the air raid alarms sounded, we immediately had to climb under our desks and the teacher would quickly rush to shut off the classroom lights.  I had never heard an air raid up in my safe, secure hillside home.  

     I probably cried the first few times the air raid alarm sounded, not knowing if it were real or just a drill.  We were taught fear very early in our public education days.  After awhile, it became nothing to have to climb under our desks and wait for the all clear signal from the principal.  The lights went back on and we were back to reading, penmanship or math.  

     One incident, however, does stand out in my mind.  As an American, we all know what happened on November 22, 1963.

     The day was like any other to start our Friday.  We were taking weekly tests but in the afternoon we were going to get a special treat.  Our class was going to have a T.V. in it to watch our president, John F. Kennedy, drive in his motorcade into Dallas.  As we watched, something happened to him.  We were not fully understanding what had happened, but the teacher flicked off the t.v. and told us to all put our heads down on our desks and not to move.  She left the room and stood outside the closed door.  I could hear lots of voices and some were crying.  When the buses came, we still did not realize what had happened.   

     My mom and dad were glued to the news when I got home.  Even at six, I knew what dead meant.  It was possibly the most sad and solemn weekend in American history, topped only by the attacks of the World Trade Centers on Sept. 11, 2001, and the bombing of Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941.   

                                        Accidents and Broken Bones - ca. 1962-1966

     In second grade I was playing kick ball on the tarmack of our schoolyard during physical eduation, in my slippery patent leathers and a beautiful black velvet dress.  As I ran into home I slipped and fell.  My teacher, Mrs. Young, did not believe I was hurt.  I could not step on my left ankle.  She told me to get back up and play, but I screamed murderously as I tried to walk.  She looked at the ankle then, and it looked funny to her.  She sent for the principal, Mr. Tobin, whom I was in love with.  Gallantly, he picked me up and took me to the nurse.  

     My mother was called and she somehow had the car  that day which was unusual.  She rarely had the car, a huge 1956 Chevy Bel Aire.  She took me to the hospital.  My ankle was fractured.  I had a cast on it for it seemed weeks, but even though I was on crutches, Mrs. Young still made me stand in the corner because I always took risks and was found frequently whispering to my neighbors while we were supposed to be reading or doing our numbers.  

    It wasn't the first time I had been in the hospital.  In 1962 I woke up in the bathroom.  My mother was running water.  We had a pink counter in there.  I didn't know why she had me in the bathroom.  I looked at the counter and saw bright red spots all over it.  They looked like jelly.

     She put a washcloth under my chin and I suddenly felt a stinging in my chin.  I realized then that the bright red spots were blood and they were coming from my chin.  I screamed and cried.  I had fallen out of bed, which was an old iron frame painted white.  When my mom came in to check she saw a huge gash in my chin.  I needed stitches so I went to Dr. Dambeck the next day.  I needed about 12 stitches.  I still have the scar, and it always has hairs growing out of it.

     This was after I had gone through an operation for a lazy eye.  I was told once surgery was done, I would no longer have a lazy, crazy left eye.  It was done in Rockville Hospital.  I remember my Aunt Ellie and Uncle Dick coming to see me.  I had my eye all bandaged, so I could only see them with one eye.  They brought me a turquoise stuffed seal.  Craig, my brother, had gotten a stuffed monkey from them so he wouldn't feel left out.  He still has the monkey.  It was a light tan and had very skinny arms and legs, kind of like Curious George.

     When the wrappings came off, my eye was still a little bloodshot, but for the first time in my life I could see with both eyes at the same time.  It happened in the winter of 1962 and around that time of year we would all go to my Uncle Ralph's in Central Valley, N.Y.  The men and boys would go to Bear Mountain to hunt deer.  My eye was freshly unwrapped and we were all sitting around my Uncle Ralph's huge farmhouse dining room table.  We were eating venison and mashed potatoes.  My brother was sitting beside me.  Somehow, he lost control of his fork and it landed in my left eye; the one that had just been operated on.  It blinded me for almost a week.  When I could see again, I had my lazy, crazy eye back.  I never got it fixed after that.  
     I remember when Craig broke his left arm.  I must have been 6 or 7.  Back then there was no fear of being picked up or attacked by strangers.  We walked alone or in groups all up and down Ludwig and Newell Hill Rd.  About a mile up the road, the Holmes's had a field that we were supposed to stay out of.  We thought it was because they were cranks, but actually there were copperheads in the field.  
     The Holmes's would harvest the field and leave huge, tall haystacks.  All of us kids, the Marushauns, Craig and me, the Bordello's and the Darling's decided to take a risk and climb the haystack.  I stayed on the ground because I wasn't a very good climber and because none of the boys would help any of the girls up.  
     Craig must have stepped in a hollow place on the haystack because he was very near the edge, and suddenly he fell off.  He landed on a rock I think.  His arm was crooked and he was screaming in pain.  I ran all the way home to get our mother.  She came up in the car, and fetched him to Dr. Dambeck.  He set his arm, but for some reason he didn't do it right so the bone set wrong.  Craig has always had a crooked left arm since.  Dr. Dambeck was not a real good doctor I guess.   

                                               The Lost Pond ca. 1962

     Before girls my age started moving to my street, I was stuck playing with the boys.  My brother, Craig ran with Jimmy and John John Marushaun.  I would tag along so I wouldn;t be alone, but the boys never wanted me following them.  They did everything they could to lose me.
     Once, they enticed me to willingly go with them.  It was in the winter and they told me they found the lost pond.  During the summer, we would try to find the lost pond but never could.  It was colored a very pale green and was very pretty.  My mother had found it with Craig and me the previous spring and it was filled with frogs eggs dangling on sticks and in piles of leaves.  Craig and I could not find it on our own so we called it the lost pond. 
     I followed the three boys into the woods, hoping I could see the pond again.  We finally came across it, with its pretty green ice surrounded by white snow.  I decided to pretend skate on it.
     I was so engrossed in slipping across the ice that I didn't keep track of the boys.  When I finally turned to talk to them, they were all gone.  I was completely alone in the middle of the green ice.  I began screaming, but I only heard echoes. Not only was the pond lost but so was I.  
     I threatened Craig, saying I would tell if he didn't come back.  I figured they were hiding somewhere.  Finally I realized I had to find my way home.  Just as I left the edge of the pond, Craig came back without Jimmy or John John.  He felt really bad about the joke he had been part of, but it didn't stop him from doing other things anyway.  

                                                 Hobo Sheds  ca. 1964   

     For some reason, before 1970, the landscape was dotted with abandoned sheds.  Perhaps they had been buildings that farmers had built for tractors or grain, but many folks I talk to now remember those sheds somewhere in a wooded area in their neighborhoods.
     I always called them hobo sheds because if you dared go inside one, and what curious 7 or 8 year old wouldn't, the floor was always covered with all sorts of colorful broken glass.  Sometimes there would be a label that indicated most of the bottles contained alcohol before they were broken.
     We would have an occasional unwashed vagabond walk up the street in baggy and dusty clothes. We assumed that if we saw one of the hobos we would stay out of the abandoned sheds and barns.  
     One time my brother and the Marushaun boys coaxed me in to one of the sheds.  He told me there was a set of kittens inside.  I walked in, carefully watching my feet in the slant of light from the door to avoid the biggest pieces of glass.  Then the boys slammed the door, leaving me in a completely dark place because there were no windows.  They held it shut while I tried to push it open.  I was petrified of the dark, and I screamed, as usual, and begged them to let me out.  They just laughed.
     Finally I heard nothing, so I tried the door.  It opened and they were gone.  I raced home, told my mom, and Craig had to stay in his room for the rest of the day.   

                                                     The Gentle Baron ca, 1965       
                                                                                                                     My dad with dogs, ca. 1955
                                                                    
      Mr. Small lived at the end of a dirt road which is now called Wheelock Rd., where Ludwig and Newell Hill joined.  He was terribly mean.  He trained dogs which is why he lived in such a secluded area.  He never wanted people to see how he trained dogs.  The dogs he mainly trained were Doberman Pinschers.  
     One dog he tried to train was named Baron.  Mr. Small did everything he could, including starving Baron and scrunching him in to too small a cage in order to make that dog mean.  Well, Baron was not biting.  He was the kindest, gentlest Doberman that was ever born.  
     Baron was an escape artist.  He somehow would manage to get out of his cage, and he would end up at our house.  Dad trained dogs, too, but he never wanted to make the dogs mean.  He loved dogs and dogs loved him.  Baron stayed with us many nights until he was hauled back to his cage by Mr. Small.   
     Mr. Small never broke Baron's gentleness.  Baron finally died when we was trying to run away from Mr. Small.  Baron got hit by a car.  I saw him get hit.  I cried so hard.  Dad said it was the only way Baron could be.  He hated his master, but his master wanted him to be a mean guard dog.  He never could be mean, so it was a release from his terrible life.   

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     Mr. Small moved, and the DeGray's moved in.  They had lots of kids.  I can only remember 4 but I think by the time the last one was born they had six.  Mr. DeGray fixed motorcycles.  Every one of the boys had a dirt motorcycle by the time they were 11.  They used to ride the motorcylces in a field next to the house.  I could hear the motorcycles all the way to my house.  
     The boys took it upon themselves to cut trails into the miles of woods behind the house.  Nobody claimed the woods.  There were some trails already because the area at one time had been logged and the old roads were still there.  So when the boys expanded the trails, we could all walk on them or ride our bicycles.  Funny they should have been so foresightful.  Now in most towns, land is set aside for open space recreation in almost every new development.  
     We could hear the motors in the woods behind our chicken coops, and before the leaves were on the trees we could sometimes see them.  My dad never complained.  He felt it was all good fun and was not bothered by the DeGray's noisy pursuits.  

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