From The Book of Cheer
Compiled by James Frederick Mason
1911 Christmas Gift

Nine

J.K. liked to walk the perimeter of his farm, especially in the spring. This was not an easy route, though it was not because of his advanced age. Though he began in 1869 with forty acres when he first came to Missouri, he later bought other parcels of land. Now he had one hundred and sixty in an “L.” He once

J.K. Stark lands
top, center
Linn County, MO

owned well more, but sold a section to a neighbor, and gave another one to his son David as a wedding present.

 Nearby were lands held by the Sensintaffers. It hadn’t been that long ago when they bought a parcel from JK, in fact. The biggest problem JK had with selling that particular parcel was some of his family were buried there: his daughter Elizabeth, and his daughter-in-law Hester. But before long, he expected the rest of the family would have their resting spots at the Laclede Cemetery, now that it was well-established.

Resting spot. He had not considered what that truly meant. Sure, he knew there were hymns and sermons and a general impression that all would someday be “resting with the Lord.” But why rest? If it was only the opposite of work—and you should be free of work in the hereafter—then he understood.

JK wasn’t sure how he felt about all souls “going to sleep,” only to be reawakened at the “Second Coming.” He knew entire denominations who focused on these concepts, but JK preferred to think Jesus wished us to focus on loving our neighbor and following the Ten Commandments. The rest seemed to be what theologians could argue about, and he had no time for that.

Dying. He didn’t like to think about it much. He had been fortunate enough to encounter little of death, compared to most other families. But when you were of a certain age, you could find yourself obsessive in thinking of those who were already gone.

JK’s father was about 81 when he passed, but he could not be sure. There were times when he thought his mother made up a birthdate for his father so they could celebrate it. That is, back when she still felt like celebrating anything having to do with his father.

His mother lived to 84, and most of his siblings still lived so far as he knew. All of them were still out in Pennsylvania and he never heard from them himself.

Why was he thinking of all that now? He had spent so many years not giving the family or the place he left much of another thought. There were exceptions, of course. Like his brother Billy who died of illness related to the Civil War. How could one not think of that? But he didn’t dwell on it.

Lithograph,
Jesus, Lover of
My Soul

JK had been walking since just before dawn, and he had grown very weary. Each step grew heavier as his boots took on more and more of the Missouri mud. But he would not have missed hearing the lowing cattle, seeing the seedling crops stick up here and there from underneath loose straw, and watching the sun rise. This was his land for which he worked over thirty years.

His land. Though Sevilla’s name was also on the deed, he always thought of it as his land, but the house as hers. He opened the back door to the kitchen and welcomed the aromas which greeted him most mornings—eggs and biscuits, with either sausage or bacon. The family raised plenty of hogs for slaughtering and they always had corn stored up to feed them. Corn, in fact, was their primary crop.

Back when he first acquired his land, many in the area were still growing cotton and tobacco. He guessed this might have been because most in neighboring counties had migrated decades before from Kentucky and Virginia. But toward the middle of the nineteenth century, Linn County it was the Germans and Irish farmers and they grew things more familiar to them. Of course, though, everyone grew corn. It was the American equivalent of the Irish and German potato in a way. It was what sustained you if everything else failed you.

But then, he thought of how the potato was known to spectacularly fail, too.

Though he knew little of the motivations his father had for leaving Ireland, the Potato Famine was not one. No, his father left a couple of decades before the worst of it in the mid-1800s.

JK guessed it was a simple matter of families getting larger, outgrowing the plots of land they worked. But given his father left when in his early twenties, unencumbered by a family so far as he knew, perhaps he had been more fanciful in his reasons. Perhaps he thought he would quickly become rich without working hard for it. Had his father always thought that?

Sevilla was seated, sipping her tea, her head cocked sideways.

“Ella thinks we should go over ta’ Columbia. See young Jennie graduate.”

“Pa,” Ella chimed in, “never has our family witnessed a college graduation. As you know, most don’t get much past the eighth grade. If we stay an additional week, we could see John get his high school diploma, too. Three for three, those kids of Orval. Almost none of the other grandchildren made it or will make it through high school.”

“Now, Ella,” her mother responded as she set down her cup, “most are not of the age yet. I’m sure more will follow in their cousins’ footsteps.”

Ella shook her head in doubt.

“Well, Ella, we can’t all three be gone from the farm that long, and where would we stay?" Her father was always the practical one. "I’m sure someone will take a photograph of her in her cap and gown for us to see. But… why don’t you go? You have always been the one to most encourage her studies, not that she needed it. They would have room for you at the house, and if Orval shows up, you can give him encouragement or a piece of your mind as is appropriate.”

At five-six and a sturdy build, Ella towered over her father as she stood to clear her dishes. Her father was not finished and her mother still held tight to her teacup which her daughter filled.

“Ha! Well, guess who already has her outfit chosen! Two outfits! Maybe even three, with at least one hat. There are activities planned for three days! Receptions, prayer services, ceremony after ceremony…”

“Din’ know ya to keer ‘bout such dings.”

Grandma Stark’s colloquialisms and low-German, backcountry Maryland dialect stood out when excited. Her Weitzel and Biddinger ancestors had come to America decades before anyone could remember, but the tight communities they settled into in the hills and dales kept things insular.

“Mrs. Stark, haven’t you noticed? Our daughter has been keeping company sometimes with ol’ Mr. Steinhausen. They sit with each other at church more often than they don’t. Such activities require finer apparel.”

“Now Ma, worry not. I won’t be leaving you two without planning. Someone has to look after you. As for

Ella Stark with
Unidentified
Companion

Mr. Steinhausen, I like things just the way they are—being unmarried—and so does he.”

“David looks after the farm pretty well,” responded without reference to his daughter’s romantic inclinations or lack thereof. “And your sister-in-law Temperance often stops by, so we will be just fine.” J.K. winked at his daughter.

Ella considered how often her father winks at others. A fair amount of her siblings and the grandchildren did that, too. She took more after her mother, a serious demeanor with little truck in being charming. But father? He always was so pleasant and so rarely without a smile.

“I know, Father. But no one keeps a better house than me. However, I shall let this household fall apart in my absence as I go rally Jennie’s family around her and make a royal fuss! Because she is my genius princess, and I intend for her to know it.”

Ella excused herself to write her niece which train she would be catching. She was grateful that should the morning train pull in late at Moberly, the early afternoon train to Columbia would wait. She wondered how much longer it would be before mid-Missouri trains would no longer bide their time, and instead follow the example of the transcontinental trains which rarely waited for connecting ones.

“Dearest niece,” she began, “I shall arrive on Thursday evening, June third. I might stay a full ten days so I can see John graduate from high school as well, but I will determine that some time later.”

Ella paused and considered which outfits she would pack. She needed to leave room in her luggage for the gifts she was bringing Miss Jennie.

Lithograph
Jesus, Lover of My Soul