your parents' home." She didn't believe any home is big enough for two women. Dad complied. He provided a little acreage in Coffee County, Kansas, where I was born March 28, 1916.

They got word to the doctor that I was coming, but I got there before he did. My Aunt Elma, my father's brother's wife, took over the delivery. She'd had no training, but with several children of her own, she knew more or less what had to be done. She took charge until the doctor arrived. There were no complications. I was just an average size baby. Mother had two children. I was her first child and Merle was 21 months younger. Before he was born, I had red measles. I'm told Dad walked in the door and said, "Bessie's got the measles. I can smell it." Neither Dad nor Mother knew anything about them, but they did know enough to keep me quiet and in the dark. I was only a year old and I don't remember that at all. They don't know where I got them. Nobody else had them but there could have been some in the neighborhood.

Merle was born December 20, and on January 3, Mother had to have surgery. Her ovaries were infected and the surgeon removed half of each one. Dad was told in advance what they intended to do, in which case maybe she would live, but otherwise she wouldn't. Dad told them to take the chance. She lived to be 98.

Even though Mother was very weak from her surgery, after she was on her feet, she took care of Merle. Daddy would put the baby in the middle of the bed, she would drag him to the edge and diaper him, then roll him back. She couldn't nurse him as she had me, and he was raised on Eagle Brand milk. Even though it was not given to him full strength, he survived and was a chubby baby. He and I were not far apart age-wise and grew up together.

Our family moved to Iowa when I was about three. We lived in a rental house just out the door and down one step to a grocery store. One day Mother sent me to the store with a note. Of course, they had to open the door for me. When I got home, I had what she wanted, but I said, "The man gived me a sour." She asked him later what he had given me and he said, "She was admiring the cranberries and I gave her one. I told her not to eat it." But I bit into it and spit it out before I got home. I can faintly remember going to the store, but I don't remember the rest.

Next we went to live by my grandfather's farm, which was 1 1/2 miles from the end of Burlington's city limits. We were a mile out of town on what was called the Wapello Road, now highway 61, and a 1/4-mile back in the field all by ourselves. We lived there until the spring when I was eight, when we moved to Kansas City. Mother felt kind of run-down and the doctors told Dad she had to be off the farm or she would work herself to death. I was in second grade when we moved, and I had just finished sixth grade when we went back to the same farm. We lived there until after I was married. Grandmother died when I was two, and Grandpa lived with his two boys from then on. He spent nine months at our house and three with my uncle who had a houseful of kids. In fact, they had 12, but two of them had died by the time Grandma died, or shortly after. So there was lots of noise at their house. Our house was fairly quiet.

During my early childhood, we had 20 cherry trees! Mother had been raised in Kansas where there was no fruit. She canned and canned — strawberries, cherries, applesauce and anything else that was available, so we could have fruit in the winter-time. My parents would sell a tree to be picked, $5 for all the cherries on one tree, that was in the early 20s, remember. Mother would stem cherries, set a chair for each of us, and give Merle and me each a tin cup. We put the pitted cherries in the cup and the stones in something else. We pitted cherries until we got tired of it, usually half a tin cup full before we quit. That was pretty good for little ones.

One time we were outdoors and must have been arguing as little children do. Mother apparently had enough of it. She went out to the peach tree and got each one of us a switch. She came to where we were and sat on the well curb which was a couple feet high. She gave each one of us a switch and said, "Now, Merle, you hit Bessie and Bessie, you hit Merle." The hardest thing I ever had to do was to hit my little brother — with a switch? I cried. I didn't want to do it and he didn't either. From then we were good children.

Every spring Mother had little chickens and whenever there was a storm, she had to get them and Merle and I stayed in the house alone. We had a big kitchen table with five legs — one in the middle. We firmly believed, if we crawled under there, the thunder wouldn't hurt us. The thunder was a potato wagon and the rumbling was the wagon losing all its potatoes. I made sure, in raising my children, they weren't afraid of storms. Dwight, my oldest son, would begin crying when there was thunder. I wasn't going to have a boy afraid of thunder, so one year we lived in a little five-room house that had a back stoop. Whenever it thundered, I would take him in my arms out on that stoop and we laughed at the thunder. He got over being afraid and when he wasn't afraid, the other children weren't afraid, either.

When I started to school, I walked to the end of the lane where I met up with two "big girls," fifth or sixth grade, and we would all walk to school together from there. When Merle came along, he walked with us. One day, when Merle was first grade, we were coming home from school, and there were some boys there who were in seventh and eighth grade. They were "big boys!" We had to go across a bridge over Flint Creek, and the older boys picked him up, put him on the railing, and said, "We're gonna push Merle over the railing." I went back pretty angry! They weren't going to throw him over! Finally they said they were just teasing; they weren't really going to do that.

We lived in Kansas City twice. The first time, Dad worked for a company making bottoms for wagon boxes. All he did was to put the boards down and nail them together. He could make 100 a day, and was paid by piece work. We lived in a working class neighborhood in a small apartment in the neighborhood of P & G soap. We didn't stay there very long and moved to a five-room house in Kansas City, Kansas. We stayed there until I was ten. I went to a country school the first two years. When we moved back, I was 12. I had my 13th birthday while I was in 8th grade. Dad went to the principal of Sunnyside School, which was the closest city school and asked if I could come in and finish my one semester. He said, "Yes, we will take her for one semester. Of course, you will have to pay the tuition," which was $13 a month. If they hadn't done that I would have been petrified to take the 8th grade exam. They called subjects by other names Physiology was health and I couldn't get the two straight. There were other differences and my folks knew that would bother me.

Merle was two years behind me because when we were in Kansas City he missed a year of school and had to repeat 2nd grade. He went sliding in a ditch in our alley with a group of boys. The alley was divided — part way it was an alley, then there was a ditch where everybody threw everything they wanted to dispose of, and then it went on. The boys were sliding in that ditch. They didn't have sleds but slid on anything that would slide, and Merle cut his knee.

Dad picked him up and drove us to the doctor. When the doctor was working on it, something squirted out. Everything was supposed to be sanitized, but infection got into the knee. They finally had to perform surgery to get out all the proud flesh. The same surgeon Mother had took out all that infection and they put Merle in bed with a 7 pound weight on his leg. He was so small the weight pulled him down to the end of the bed so the nurse would come in and pull him back up. They were afraid his knee would be stiff and he would never be able to bend it. But at the end of the month, the knee bent. His knee was always a little tender but he had use of it. However, all complications put him back a year in school.
Merle was still in country school so he and I would leave home together, he'd go down hill to the country school and I'd go to town. He needed to catch up to do 8th grade work, so again Dad went to the principal and asked if Merle could come in and do 8th grade work. The principal said, "We'll try. If he is as good as Bessie was, nice, quiet, we'll take him." So they paid Merle's tuition, he went into 8th grade, and was back with his friends.

The high school I attended was in the same building, with an addition, that my uncle had gone to. Dad never went to high school. My uncle was nine years older and he did. There had been an interruption when they left Iowa and moved to Kansas. The reason: there was a tavern between downtown Burlington and home. Grandfather couldn't make it past the tavern. My grandmother, Frances — Fannie — got tired of it so she saved up her dimes and chicken money and everything they could spare, until she had enough to move to Kansas, a dry state, and buy a farm. Dad was 16, and would have gone to high school, but he didn't ever go. My grandfather was born in Iowa. So it was a big change to go to Kansas but they lived there several years until Grandma died. Then he sold the farm there and kept the farm in Iowa.

After I graduated from Burlington high school, I worked one winter as a maid. I didn't like it. I didn't have to do any cooking in the first home I went to, but then I went to one where I was supposed to cook. I didn't know anything about cooking. She told me to bake potatoes. Whoever heard of baking potatoes? We didn't have baked potatoes at our house. Mother was usually working with Dad in the field and there wouldn't be time to bake potatoes. We had fried potatoes and boiled potatoes, but not baked potatoes.

The woman explained, "You take a piece of waxed paper and put lard on the outside of the potatoes and put them in the oven." I thought I was to cover them with the paper but she came out one day and told me to take those potatoes out. "I told you to put shortening on them and put them in." I had done that. I didn't know I wasn't to put the paper over them.

I looked for other work. I went around to different factories, and was always asked, "Where do you live?" "Rural Route 4, Burlington." "Oh, you're on a farm. You've got all you can eat. People in town don't have," and they wouldn't give me a job. I finally managed to get a part-time job at S.S. Kresge, working Saturdays. One day the manager asked if I would work full time in the dinnerware counter. So I worked in that section. I had dinnerware on one side, glass­ware on the other side, china novelties on one end and paint on the other end. They were all small items that didn't sell very well, but what sold was pretty good stuff. Then they added oil cloth racks. My department was right under the office, which was built up over where I was, with a passageway between me and the office.

When I was on full-time pay, I worked for $12 a week. I was paying $3 a week to my parents for board and room but I was able to save $100, which I planned to apply to a college education and get a teaching certificate; but my father needed that amount to pay off an old debt and I had to give it to him.

I worked there for a couple years, during which time I met Harold, although I met him at church. I went to West Burlington Methodist Church. My grandfather had helped to build that one. His job was to haul sand for the stucco. He would take the wagon, go to the sand pit and take wagons full to the church.

Harold was born in Dubuque County, but his father moved with his company when Harold was a baby. He was raised in Waukon. When he was 12 they moved to DeWitt, which is 20 miles north of Davenport. When Harold was in his 20s, his folks moved to West Burlington. His father was manager of a lumber company. When Harold was young, he went to the Presbyterian Church, because the area where they lived didn't have a Methodist church. When they went to DeWitt, there was no Presbyterian church, so they attended the Methodist church, and in Burlington the West Burlington Methodist Church was three or four blocks from their house. He was in the young men's Sunday School class and I was in the young lady's class.

Harold was 24 when we were married, June 3rd, 1938, and he was working at Nurry Glass Company. Two months later he was laid off because they were downsizing. What were we to do? He had said, "You go to work and keep you barefoot, pregnant, and broke." I had left Kresge's and gone to Penney's store. The assistant manager came up one day when Harold wasn't working and said, "Bessie, will you come to work today?" I asked, "Harold, should I go to work?" He answered, "Well, I'm not getting any pay and a day's work for you would help a lot." So I went. The manager of the ready-to-wear didn't show up to work. She lived close enough that the manager walked to where she lived to find out why. Her boyfriend was suicidal and he had murdered her. That was the first I'd heard of it. But the store was left with only a saleslady, and the department was busy enough they needed two people. Before I was married I was Number 13 and worked on the lower floor. Then I worked in the boy's department until I was four months pregnant with Dwight. In other words I had worked in several departments of the store so I knew I could do it. I became a saleslady. The one who had been the saleslady took over as manager. I didn't work full time but I helped them out.

There was another time when the owner of a motel just across the street from us asked if I would work for him. It was after the children were in school and worked for him several years. I was the official bathroom cleaner. I got $1 an hour, which in those days helped quite a lot.

Then I became a worker in school foods, first part-time, then full-time. The summary for all my years in school food service was 6 1/2 years as a baker in a Burlington Middle School and 11 years as a kitchen manager for West Burlington Independent School District. Then for about six years I worked as a food server for two hours a day at various schools, sometimes breakfast, sometimes lunch, and sometimes both in one day. I worked for James Madison school for several years when they started sending out satellite foods. We sent those in either hot or cold boxes to the various schools. Ours was the most modern kitchen they had at the time. The last two years I served lunches at an elementary school every day, which totaled more than 25 years. My salary in Burlington was $1, then $1.25 per hour; as manager in West Burlington $3 an hour, as part time worker after retirement $2, at which time Food Service joined a union. I was then paid $5 per hour. When I was 66, I was told by the superintendent I was too old to work, but when I came to Osceola I was still working two hours a day at North Hill School.

Harold got a job for $12 a week helping as furniture mover for a retail furniture company. He worked at that for several years. Then he heard of a job hauling beer for $18 a week and was with them for several years until the beer company's youngest son finished college then he took over. Harold was out of work until he got a job driving trucks and from then on he was a truck driver. We had some help between jobs because that was the time when unemployment insurance began.

In the meantime we had moved to West Burlington. We knew we were not allowed to have a dog in the apartment, but Harold was determined to have a dog, so he got a puppy, and we received a notice to move by the first of the month. In West Burlington there was an empty house, so we rented it for the same amount we were paying for the apartment. I never went back to apartment-living until now. I continued to work part time. I was still on the same bus line. I could catch it a block from the house and ride it all the way downtown for a token each way. I think tokens were two for a quarter. It was cheap transportation.

Harold always had to have the car. Dad had taught me to drive but Harold didn't think I knew how. Dad had said, "I'm going to teach you to drive. I don't want some Johnny Oldfield (a race driver) to teach you." I was 16 and this was when the Iowa drivers' license was first required. Dad took me and we each got a license. There was no driving test, and no written test. It was just declared everybody in Iowa had to have a license. The cost was 25c for three years.

Shortly after Pearl Harbor, the draft was started. My brother Merle was in the first draft. His number was 9. He was in the medical unit for three or four years and sent into the South Pacific. He was in danger, of course, as they all were, but he wasn't in combat. One night they were shooting at him and he couldn't figure out why until he realized he had a silver ring on his finger and they were aiming at that. So he took it off and threw it. They continued to shoot at the ring. The enemy was that close but it was the only close call they had.

Harold joined the Navy in December 1943, but he wasn't called early because he was married. He didn't leave until Dwight was almost three years old. He said he was drafted into the Navy but I knew Harold. If they said they needed men for the Navy, his hand would have gone up. Part of that would have been because his brother was in the Navy. Harold was trained at Athol Lake, a few miles from Farragut, Idaho, then went from there to Bremerton, Washington. They were there a few days before their ship was ready.

Harold was a member of the 3rd Division on the USS Steamer Bay, a baby flat-top, or aircraft carrier. As I remember, these were built by Kaiser Ship Company only for war use. The men called them "Kaiser Coffins." Harold was a Gunners Mate 3rd class most of the time. They were on several islands in the Pacific. One port they were in was Bora Bora. They were also in the China Sea. At some time, they were out on the ocean when their fleet was hit and two ships were sunk. One of them had just completed the maneuver to change places with the Steamer Bay — a close call. Harold's ship went into port where his brother, Ray, was stationed. He could not go to see Ray, but because Ray was an officer, he went to see Harold while the Steamer Bay was in port. Harold was discharged in October 1945. He was gone 23 months.

Dwight was born April 1, 1940. I knew I was pregnant when Hitler went into Poland. So Dwight was called a war baby but he was pre-war planned. I didn't want any more children until after the war in case Harold didn't come back. But when Harold came back, Donna was born in 1946, Eileen in 1948, and Keith in 1952. There were 12 1/2 years between the boys. I never told the family when I was expecting. They had to ask me. Finally, when I was beginning to show in about four months, a sister-in-law said, "Bessie, are you pregnant?" I said, "Yes." "Well," she said, "You haven't quit drinking coffee." With the girls I had to quit drinking coffee because it bothered me. With the boys it didn't affect me.

The children were born in Burlington and went through elementary school and Burlington High School. Dwight didn't go on to college. He had dyslexia and couldn't read. We didn't know what the reason was. We just knew he couldn't read. He quit high school and was married a month short of being 18. He was going to be a big shot without any education. He finally went back and finished high school by attending night school with the help of Eileen. She was a high school senior taking the same courses he needed, with the same teacher, so she would go out one night a week and tutor him It was interesting that what he heard, he learned; but what he read he couldn't understand, so she read the lesson to him. In 1966, all in the same year, Keith went from junior high to high school, Eileen graduated from high school, and Dwight graduated from night school.

In the fall every year, there was open house for parents to talk to the teachers. I went to talk to one of Donna's teachers. She was taking chemistry and couldn't understand it. Because there were only two years between them, Eileen soon had the same teacher . When I went to that open house, the teacher came to me after he dismissed the group, and said, "Mrs. Martin, what are you doing here?" I said, "Eileen Martin is my daughter." "Eileen and Donna?" Eileen was one of his A students, and Donna almost failed. It isn't fair to compare one student against another. Both girls were in the top 10% of their class. My first three children went to the same school I did. They were in the process of building and Keith was a senior the year they moved into the new high school, so he was in the first group to graduate from the new high school.

I was always involved in my children's lives. I was Den Mother with Dwight, and Girl Scout. leader with Donna. Eileen came home one day and said she wanted to be a Girl Scout. I said, "Sure," then Donna said, "I want to be one, too." There wasn't anyone to lead so I started her group in Girl Scouts. For Keith I was a Den Mother again. I was in Scouts and in PTA (Parent Teachers Association) all those years. I was PTA president at Lincoln, elected to be the recording secretary, but the president moved out of the district. They could get someone to be secretary, but no one would agree to be president. It didn't really make any difference to me, so I became their president. When we moved to another district, word got around that I'd been a president so, "Bessie, will you be our president?" I was president of two different PTAs.

I was amused one day when Donna said, "You know, the other girls have trouble finding their mother at PTA meetings when school is out, but we don't. We just look for the only white-haired woman there." My hair was dark brown before it began turning gray when I graduated from high school, and I had different hues of gray hair until I was in my 30s. In my late 30s I started to get white hair. There still may be a dark hair once in awhile.

Harold died July 19, 1985, on Donna's 16th wedding anniversary. In June he had been gone over the weekend, taking Mike and Eileen to Clarinda, where Mike used to show chickens. There was a camping spot so we drove our camper and they went from there to the chicken show. The next weekend, after we were home, Keith and Marilyn came down from Davenport. Harold went into the bathroom, walking fine. He came out high stepping, dizzy, and I took him to the doctor the next day. He was diagnosed as having an inner ear problem, and was under the doctor's care from that time. He didn't drive and slowed his smoking. He was out of the hospital for 25 days before he had a heart attack.

We had been to Dwight and Donna's house for dinner Saturday night and she always served her dessert about 1 1/2 hours later. It was to be apple pie and ice cream, and Harold loved any kind of pie. I told him whenever he felt like going home, I would be willing to leave. He was about halfway through his pie when he said, "Mother, I've got to go home." We went home. I begged him to go to the hospital but he refused. I put him in a recliner in front of the window air conditioner but he had a miserable night. The next morning, he was getting cleaned up when the phone rang. It was Dwight. "Mom, is dad in the hospital?" I said, "No, you can lead a horse to water but you can't make him drink." Harold was supposed to be hard of hearing, but he heard what I said and came out of the bathroom saying, "If that's the way you feel, as soon as I get my shower, I'll go to the hospital." I took him to the emergency entrance of the hospital and as he got out of the car he said, "What'll I tell them?" I said, "Just tell them how you feel."

Before I could get from that entrance to a place I could park, and had walked back, they'd had him x-rayed for his heart. The doctor said, "His heart looks like a football. There has been quite a bit of damage." They admitted him to intensive care. That was Sunday, he was released on Friday to go on Four West, where they moved patients from intensive care. He was in that room from 3:00 in the afternoon until 8:00 that night. We were watching a comedy on TV when suddenly he said, "Oh, my back! My back!" He laid back and was gone. They wanted to do an autopsy and I said, "No." We knew what took him was connected to his heart. They thought it was an aneurism in his back, and I suppose so. I knew the minute he laid down he was gone because there was no life in his eyes. They were wide open but there was no life in them.

Mother was still living. When she was between 75 and 80, Autumn Heights in Burlington was available for senior living. I said, "Mother, why don't you put in your application?" Her reply was, "I'm not old enough to go there!" By the time she was 82, she couldn't wait to put in her application. I assured her she could come to live with me. I thought our central air conditioning might be a persuading factor. When it was real hot, she would come over and stay through the day but she always wanted to go back to her home at night. She was very strict about it and after Harold was gone, once in awhile, if she was in the hospital, I would say, "Mother, don't you want to go home with me for awhile?" She agreed but she didn't ever stay very long.

She was in Autumn Heights 18 years. In the final days, she wasn't feeling well, and I asked if she didn't want to come over and stay. She knew my sister-in-law from Kansas City was coming for a 40th anniversary for one of Harold's brothers, so she said, "You are going to have company. I'll come after they are gone." I took my guest to the train Monday evening and Mother came Tuesday evening, stayed Wednesday, and went to bed feeling OK, but she didn't wake up. It was a marvelous way to go.

Dad died of cancer. He had red hair and a fair complexion, which wasn't good for a farmer, whose work was out in the sun. A cold sore developed on his lip and wouldn't heal. It became a large, awful-looking sore which put him in a hospital in Des Moines. They didn't know it was cancer and thought cutting out a wedge would take care of it. It wasn't very long before the cancer returned. He went to Iowa City, where they put in radium needles. This was in the mid-30s and radium was experimental. They told him he could never have any more radium. He was then in his 40s and lived to be 70 before the cancer came back again.

I stayed in Burlington after Harold died. We had two houses, one where we had lived had two apartments. I sold it to the couple who were living there. We had bought another little house that had four rooms downstairs and one big room upstairs the full length of the house. The chimney went through the room. I made it into two rooms, with a double bed on one side and the other side had excess furniture. I put my coffee table and other things there and with the chimney, it left only a passageway. It was kind of like two rooms. I had twin beds there for Eileen's children, Margo and Blake.

I lived in that house until I came to Osceola. I sold one house on Friday and one on Saturday, so I had to make a change. I came here in 1992, and bought a house in the next week. My telephone number is 2892. Marissa looked at it and said, "Grandma, that's the year you moved here." I looked at it and asked, "What are the other numbers — the 28?" She said, "I don't know." I said, "When is Grandma's birthday?" "March 28th." So everybody knows my birthday and the year I moved here.

It was natural for me to attend the United Methodist Church here and be involved in UMW (United Methodist Women). I had been the evening Circle leader in Burlington before I came here. We had a large group. I think there were two or three afternoon circles and two evening ones. There would be 40 or 50 at our monthly meeting when the whole group gathered. It is almost a joke that I have often been a leader. It seemed that other leaders would either move away or pass away. When it first happened, the woman who had been their leader worked, so I said I would go to the monthly meeting and report what was decided there. She left and because I had been the go-between, it seemed natural for me to become the leader. That went on for however many years until I got tired, and said, "Let somebody else lead us."

A woman took it but before her year was out, the church was having an upheaval and she went with the group that left. So there I was again. In Osceola, I took over the afternoon Circle leadership from Alice Edwards. But like so many others, our Circles have dwindled. Only five or six of us attended and four of us were 90 or older, so it didn't seem wise to continue. We now have combined the two daytime Circles into one, and the other group is the evening Circle. I'll attend now, and take my turn at being hostess, but that will be the extent of it.

In addition to local involvements, I went on many trips with Shirley Woods. I thoroughly enjoyed those. My first trip was when she went to Florida, to Myrtle Beach and north. Then I went with a group to Europe. We were gone 18 days on that trip. We stopped in England but only stayed overnight. We went on to the Netherlands, stopped in Belgium, Germany, Switzerland, Liechtenstein, and France. We were in eight or ten countries altogether. What I noticed particularly was so many of their hills were covered with grape arbors. The Alps were awesome! All mountains seem so to me, no matter where. I had seen some of them in this country when Harold took Keith and me to Yellowstone a couple times. The girls were married and gone from home; Keith was still home, working in Davenport, but living in Burlington.

When I was alone, I didn't stay home. It was good to have a home to go back to but I didn't stay there. Shirley had a trip all planned and ready to go to New Zealand and Australia but she passed away before we were to leave. A lady from New Virginia took it over. I think her name was Arlean McCuddin. She would get us from the airport in the states to the airport where we were going, and then she would let local tour guides take over. New Zealand is wonderful! If I were given that chance, I'd go back tomorrow. Perhaps our timing was wrong for going to Australia. It was the year before the Olympics were to be held there and the people didn't welcome us very heartily. It was my opinion they were the ones who had to do the remodeling and building. We did go out to where the Olympics were to be held and some of the buildings were started.

In 2006, I began to see that apartment-house living had some advantages over the responsibility of keeping up a house. I moved into my own apartment in West Ward Manor in September and had time to sort and decide what to keep and what to throw. I put the house on the market early in October, had an in-house sale — it was the wrong time of year for a garage or yard sale — and the house sold December 30 of that year.

I look back on my life and think I have had a good one. I have a total of four children (Dwight, Donna, Eileen, and Keith); five grandchildren (Donna has two and Eileen three); and four great-grandchildren. Donna lives in Spokane, has two boys, both married, and they both have babies. Andrew, commonly known as Drew has a boy, and Nathaniel, commonly known as Nat, a girl. Of Eileen's children — Margo, Blake, and Marissa — only Margo is married. She has two boys. They live in Iowa and I get to see them fairly often.

It is pretty surprising to me to realize that I am coming close to having lived a century. The changes I have seen during that time are amazing. I mentioned personally benefitting from unemployment insurance, being issued drivers' licenses without being tested for qualification, the beginnings of treatment for cancer. There is nothing new about war but my husband and only brother were directly involved, which of course involved me. There has been a complete change in the role of women, which has affected even such details as women's involvement in the church societies I know about. There are so many other changes that nothing is as it was when I was born — at home. Will there be that many changes in this century? I can't imagine.

Return to main page for Recipes for Living 2009 by Fern Underwood

Last Revised December 1, 2014