My mother was born to Ralph Harlow and Gertrude Aborn on March 14, 1925. I think she was born in Hartford. She was the youngest of five. Her siblings were Eleanor, Phyllis, Ralph, and Ronald (Ronny to all of the family.) Her first name, Naoma, was strange. Nobody could ever tell her why she was named Naoma rather than the more common Naomi, but she always liked the name. We think it may have had some Native American roots.
My mom's middle name was Gertrude. She always hated it. Of course, her middle name was the same as her mom's name, but she never took a shine to the name for anyone. She always wanted to legally change it to something else, and when anyone asked her what her middle name was, she would make a sour face and say very dishearteningly "Gertrude."
Photo ca. 1986 by June Mita
The Story of Minnehaha ca, 1928
She told me about what happened to her when she was around 3. Her dad raised pigs, amongst other farm stuff like sheep, chickens, horses and vegetables. One spring, baby pigs were born and her dad told her to choose one. It would be her special pig. She named the pig Minnehaha, after an Indian woman in the story "Hiawatha" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
My mom disappeared one day and no matter where her mother looked, she couldn't find 3 year old Naoma anywhere. All the kids went looking in the woods and fields, calling "Naoma." They checked the strawberry field, they checked the open well, and they checked her room. Her dad said to her mom not to worry. She would eventually come back. He was not one to be agitated easily.
So he went out to feed the pigs, and when he got to the pigsty where the baby pigs were, there he saw a little golden head shining in a patch of sun, covered by hay. My mother had fallen asleep, with her arm stretched around Minnehaha, asleep in the pen with her special pet pig. When he brought his sleepy daughter up to the house in his arms, her mother thought she was dead. She wasn't, but she sure was dirty. Right away, she had to have a bath before supper.
The Butcher Knife Incident - ca. 1937/38
Naoma in 1937 - Age 12
My mom was the baby and was quite spoiled. She was one of those angelic looking children with clear blue eyes and blonde, curly hair. She was born with a droopy lip which always made her mouth look a little sideways. However, her fair skin, blue eyes, and blonde hair were show stoppers for anyone that saw her. This allowed her to almost get away with murder.
Her older brother, Ronny, was always causing trouble. He loved making sensations, and he could always tell a great story. Because of his troublemaking ways, he usually got blamed for anything that happened automatically.
My mom was around 12 or 13 and did something but I can't remember what. Rather than owning up to the fact she had done the deed, she let her mother go on blaming Ronny for it. He told his mother it was Naoma, but she didn't believe him. He was very mad at the fact that his baby sister always seemed to sidle out of any kind of punishment. He wanted to make her pay for what she had done. He also wanted to bring her off her high and mighty horse.
I am not certain what he did. Perhaps he twittered her about her mouth or maybe he called her Gertrude in front of a friend. The actual detail is lost. However, he made her so mad one day that she picked up the nearest object to throw it at him. It happened to be a butcher knife. She winged it at him but her aim was thankfully really bad, so she missed him by a mile. It did lodge itself into the wall, however.
She got walloped pretty hard by my grandfather, and Ronny accomplished what he set out to do. That incident may have finally gotten her over being the spoiled princess that she had been.
Strawberry Shortcake ca. 1930
My grandfather always had strawberries growing. When my mom was little, her and her brothers and sisters always loved the month of June because that was strawberry month. They didn't always like having to pick them, though. My mom said as soon as they could walk, they picked berries.
My grandfather always had the sweetest strawberries. Mom told me it was because he put fresh chicken manure on them as soon as the snow melted. It was the chicken manure that made them so sweet. He also used sheep manure when there wasn't enough chicken manure.
In order to give all the Harlow children incentive to pick the strawberries, there was a reward at the end of the day. My grandparents were basically easy going people who didn't always have to prepare a well balanced meal. It was a farm, and farm rules are a little different from suburbia. Basically, chores had to get done, animals had to get fed, but not too much else applied. So my grandmother would set to work making a huge batch of shortcake.
My mom told me that when the strawberries were plentiful, they would eat shortcake for breakfast, for lunch and for dinner. There would be no side dishes unless something else happened to be growing. She said they never got sick of strawberry shortcake. Sugar was not common to snack on, so when the kids had a chance to eat sweet cake, fresh whole cream right from the cow, and strawberries swimming in their own juice with sugar, they would eat it until they popped. One rule applied though. If you didn't pick any strawberries, you didn't get the shortcake dinner, or anything else.
Guess who went without the annual strawberry supper sometimes. You guessed it. Brother Ronny.
Grandma Aborn's Shortcake
serves 8
2 cups flour 2 tblsp. sugar
5 tsps. baking powder 1/4 cup lard
1 tsp salt 2/3 cup milk
Mix and sift flour, baking powder, salt and sugar. Cut in lard with a knife or rub in with the finger tips. Add milk gradually and mix to a soft dough. Roll out on a lightly floured wooden board to 1/2 inch thickness. Cut with a large cookie cutter. Bake in a quick oven (425 F) for 15 minutes. Break apart and put sliced and sweetened fruit or crushed berries between and on top of cakes. Top with fresh, raw cream that has been sweetened with sugar.
Secret In the Basement ca 1940
My grandfather made his own wine. He would make dandelion wine, elderberry wine and grape wine. He might have even made apple wine. I always wondered why he spent so much time in the basement when I visited my Aunt Ellie and Uncle Dick on Day St. in Newington, CT. He lived with them. Us kids were never allowed to go in the basement. We always wondered what the big secret was that we couldn't see. Well, it was because he had loads of wine down there.
My mom told me a story about her mom, my grandmother. Every Thanksgiving and Christmas every one, even the kids, were allowed a little wine. My grandmother was diabetic so she shouldn't have had any, but it was a family tradition. When she drank her wine, she would get all flushed and red in the face and she would start to sweat a little. Then she would get silly and laugh a little too loud. It was about the only time my grandmother ever smiled, when she was drinking my grandfather's wine.
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Things were not always secure when my mother was growing up. She wasn't very forthcoming about life during the depression. They did not always have a farm to raise their food on. Before 1929, the family rented a farm. Things were fine. They sold eggs, strawberries, and meats. Her father knew exactly how to slaughter sheep in the kosher way and was one of the few sheep farmers that could do that. He made quite a business from it. Mom tried to explain the process to me, but wasn't certain all the techniques involved.
When the crash occurred in 1929, it seems things were not good for even renting a farm. She told me that after 1929 the family moved around often. She thought they must have moved about 8 times from 1930-1940. She told me about one place they rented that had a great hill. The kids always tobogganed down it. It was in Newington, not too far from Day Street.
During that time, her father picked up jobs wherever he could. Sometimes it would be just a day or two, sometimes it would be a season on a farm, and it is even possible that they all had to stay with her mother's family, the Aborns, in Ellington, for short periods if money couldn't be earned. I seem to recall mom telling me that her father finally got a job in a factory that made light bulbs.
These were not the light bulbs of today. These light bulbs were huge. They were made of clear glass and had an obvious filament. They measured about 14 inches from top to bottom and were not only extremely bright, but also very hot. They were made mostly for commercial purposes, such as institutions and hospitals, but he used to get them for free. I know for a fact that when I visited my grandfather on Day St., he had these light bulbs still working in the chicken coops even in the 60's and 70's. My Uncle Dick gave me one of those light bulbs in 1985, and I had it in my basement in the laundry room for at least 15 years. It would have kept on working if I hadn't hit it with a light stand that I used for photography.
I can't be sure of the date when the family finally landed on Day St. in Newington CT. My grandfather did buy the place, so there was no more rental fees. That is the farm I remember as a child. It wasn't a big one, but there were a few chicken coops and there was a place for sheep and pigs, and a large field on the side of the house where he raised those wonderful strawberries that I remember so fondly.
Swizzle Sticks and Rubber Bands ca 1935
My mother had an aunt that lived in Cushman, MA. It was her father's sister, Aunt Doris. Every year the family would try to visit at least once. In our modern age of highways and reliable cars, visiting a family member only once a year when the location is so close seems odd. However, back in the 1920's and 1930's, there were no highways. It would take at least half a day to get from Connecticut up to Amherst/Cushman, often times longer.
Cars were slow and when something went wrong, it was usually the dad in the family that fixed it. Hence, the reason why our dads always seemed to collect every little nut, bolt, and part. You never knew when you would need one, and even if it didn't fit, you would make it fit.
Mom told me that their car was far from pristine. She said she could see the road under the floor going by, and the windows didn't roll up or down. They stayed open. One day on one of their trips to Massachusetts, the car door kept opening up every time they hit a bump, and there were lots of them. Finally her father used the girls hair ribbons to tie it closed. She said her father used to keep the car together with swizzle sticks and rubber bands.
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