Driftless takes place primarily in the 1940s. That was the last decade before medications were being developed to treat the diagnosis that sent our protagonist to the hospital. I wanted to know more about that treatment before medicine, so the 40s was the time frame. Thus, the story begins before my birth.
It is true that my brother and sisters were but small children themselves in the 40s, but still they had a lot to contribute to the writing of the book. Sometimes one or more of them were surprised to hear about something that only one of the older ones recalled. Or to hear about an event that occurred while the other children were not present. Memories are fascinating things, are they not? Sixty or even seventy years later, my six siblings were able to resurrect memories that would have otherwise faded into oblivion.
I loved being able to use snippets of my siblings' memories in the writing of the book. I've often envied the years that the six of them had together--the shared chores, the hush-hush conversations meant only for their ears, the plotting to sneak something past our parents (although how often that was successful remains vague). There were all those stories told at the supper table, the debates about whose turn it was to get the white meat and who got the drumstick. My Grandma Brevig, that lived with us throughout the cold months, always took the neck and my siblings foolishly thought it was because she liked the neck. Hah. Several years later, the children recognized the error of their thinking.
Who would not envy those private conversations whispered in the dark, three little girls lying in an ancient iron bed, cocooned beneath heavy quilts. My brother and sisters were experts at engineering their own entertainment with virtually no store-bought toys. There was an abundance of laughter, teasing, and bickering between them, no doubt. Of course, with six little ones, there was the incessant clamoring to insert oneself into the conversation. Oh, what a busy and energetic household it must have been! And I missed most of it. Arrived too late on the scene as it were to taste the full flavor of seven children under one roof. Sigh.
This post and those that follow will be about my very earliest memories at home on the farm. In order to give my brother and sisters their due, I am dredging up my first memories of each of them, with me on the farm. I am sorry to say that I don't remember my eldest sister, Mavis, living at home with us. At eighteen, she had graduated from high school and gone off to Humboldt Institute in Minneapolis. I had just turned four when she left home.
My first memory of my second sister, BevAnn on the farm, is a favorite of mine. The more I think about it, the more I wonder if it really happened the way I remember. But let's set that aside for the moment. I ask the reader to humor me.
The chicken coop had been sitting unused on one of the other two farms that were part of our Fertile Acres Brown Swiss Farm. My grandma lived in one of those two farmhouses during the warm months, while the third house sat empty. Obviously, the chicken coop had to be moved onto our farmyard to become my playhouse. I don't remember any talk about a plan to bring the chicken coop to our farm. My only memory of the move was seeing it take place. And this is where my sister, BevAnn comes in.
I was barefoot in the barnyard and looking beyond it to the narrow road rising up and over the cow pass. Up over that rise appeared my dad driving the tractor. He was pulling a hay wagon and atop the wagon sat the white chicken coop. My recollection is very clear on this next point. My sister was riding inside the chicken coop as it moved down the road. She stood just inside the door which was open at the top, closed on the bottom. She saw me watching the chicken coop travel down the road and she waved to me. This is what she called out, "How - now - brown - cow-?" That is my entire memory of the arrival of what became my wonderful playhouse.
