My grandfather, ca. 1976
Photo by June Sundgren Mita
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
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
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