chimneys had to be washed regularly and wicks trimmed frequently in order to be able to see where the light was coming from. A big improvement was the introduction of gasoline lamps. These operated with gas under pressure in a container at the bottom of the lamp. The gas entered a generator near the center of the lamp, was vaporized as it entered two mantels suspended from two outlets. This type can still be purchased as sporting equipment. There were problems with these lights too. To begin with, with both kerosene and gas, you had to follow the light in order to benefit from it. If it was needed in the kitchen, that is where you went. The gas lamps required constant pumping to keep up the pressure. As the pressure went down, the brightness also faded until sometimes the light was barely visible. The too, after even limited use, the mantels became less effective, requiring replacement. However, more often replacement was required due to a fly or mosquito flying against the mantel and breaking it. Sometimes a sudden bump would also cause a mantel to break. They were extremely fragile. The most aggravating problem was with the generator becoming clogged. This required a special tool to unseat it and then take apart to clean out the tiny openings through which the gas was forced. In the barn we always used kerosene lanterns. They didnÕt give much light, but were considered safer and where you couldnÕt see, you simply felt your way. Becoming familiar with the lay of the land, where everything was placed, every step down or up was very important, because coming and going was often done with no light at all.

Marv was always the innovator, the inventive type. One day he installed an electric light in the barn. Inside the barn, along side of the hay mow, a ladder extended to a height of about 12-15 feet. He drilled a hole at the top of the ladder, inserted a car light bulb, ran wires from there to the bottom of the ladder where he attached them to a battery. It worked and we really thought we had something, but it never was used much. Here too, possible the battery was more often dead than alive, and maybe the batteries just werenÕt that plentiful or more likely, too expensive. Some years later, around the time of World War II, Marve made another change. By this time we had electricity through O & A Electric. He bought an electric water pump, attached it to the well outside, and pumped water into the house. The place had really gone modern!

Back to earlier days. Under conditions such as we experienced, colds and what-not were commonplace. Home remedies were the common prescriptions. Only in extreme emergency was a doctor called or any other medication used. For a sore throat and chest congestion, there was a particular method of treatment which brings back many memories. A piece of wool cloth was taken and soaked in melted lard. This was applied to the chest as hot as possible and once in place was attached to the underwear with two safety pins....and off to school we went! It didnÕt feel too bad as long as the cloth remained warm and flexible, but once we got outside and walking to school, that rag would stiffen and feel awful, feeling more like refrigeration. Can you imagine sitting in school all day with a rag like that on your chest? Sometimes it would stick to the skin, but when pulled from the skin, felt cold, stiff, and clammy. No one seemed to mind the smell, except the person wearing it - at least no one ever said anything about it. Here again, everyone used pretty much the same cures, so it was nothing new. Our poor teacher! She must have held her breath on many occasions when approaching any one of her pupils. And we think we have to take a bath everyday and use all sorts of deodorants! Life was simpler then!

Before getting off the subject of ailments and illnesses, there was an occasion when Dr. Bloemendaal was called to the house. Whatever brought on the condition warranting a call is not known, but he came , and after examining me reported that I had leakage of the heart - whatever that meant. This stigma followed me through life and was particularly annoying when attempts were made to secure life insurance. It sounded bad enough and the restrictions which Dr. Bloemendaal applied were even worse. This must have occurred at about the age of 11 or 12. The first restriction was that I remain in bed, on my back, for thirty days. Then there followed a two year period of very restricted activity - no running, no jumping, no bike riding, no horse back riding, and no exertion of any kind. That was a long two years, and coming at an age when these types of activity were so much a part of everyday life, it was quite difficult to abide by. A privilege well remembered was the use of the car in going to school. Certainly, it was not used every day, but on special occasions, possibly when we had bad weather. Imagine, at the age of about 12 or 13 taking a car to school. I had no drivers license, but had a lot of experience. Before we were even big enough to look over the steering wheel, we were already driving cars and trucks around the farm and those were all straight sticks and mechanical brakes which required a great deal of effort applied to the brake pedal in order to get the vehicle to stop. How we ever survived surprises me to this day.

Our first experience driving the truck was usually in unloading hay from the wagon into the mow in the barn. This was done with a harpoon fork which was inserted as far as possible into the hay on the wagon. With a series of ropes and pulleys, the end of one rope being attached to a rafter in the barn and the end of another rope attached to the bumper of the truck, by backing up with the truck and pulling on the rope, the harpoon fork along with the hay was lifted high in the mow and then by pulling on a smaller rope the fork was tripped and the load dropped wherever it was wanted. Most farmers used horses for this job, but we got to use the truck. It was one of the fun times in the tedious job of haying.

Another time we got to drive the truck was in bringing milk to a flowing well following our evening milking in the summer time. About a quarter of a mile back in the fields was a flowing well. It had been there for years with a steady stream of real cold water flowing continuously. In our day, the only remaining pipe was a rusted off section far below the surface of a cement walled encasement about five by five feet. This stood about a foot above the ground and was maybe five feet deep. This entire encasement filled with water with the overflow running off the sides making the adjoining area very muddy. This area was fenced in for pasture and this was the water supply for our cows and horses. They came here to drink. But in the summer, it served another purpose. In order to keep the milk from turning sour in hot weather, we brought our milk here in the evening in creamery cans, suspended them by ropes or wire in this cold water. We hauled the milk here by truck. We would leave the truck there at night, and in the morning Dad would walk over there to pick up the milk and bring back the truck. He usually had that job finished before we began to stir in the morning.

At one time Dad had two milk routes. He began by hauling milk by wagon or sleigh in the winter time to a station known as Meadville, located on the corner of 96th and Fillmore. Many years ago the place was torn down and a house now stands on that spot. He was able to expand his milk route when trucks became available. In later years, a second route was added which George handled until after he was married. He gave it up after he got a job at GM. Hired help took the route for a time, but it was eventually sold. Dad continued to pick up milk on a route which took him through Allendale, Pearline (now combined with Allendale) east and north to Bass River, west along the river and then south to his last pick up at Mart Elenbaas on 96th. That farm has since been bought by a Bill Headley with very little resemblance to its former state. Following his last stop, delivery was made to the Mead Johnson plant on east Main in Zeeland. Many trucks came into this plant. The plant still remains, but the facilities have changed considerably. All milk was picked up in creamery cans and deposited on a revolving track outside the building. Today all pickups are in bulk. The plant continued to receive bulk deliveries for a time, but is doubtful that they still do today.

DadÕs milk route became very familiar because on numerous occasions, on Saturdays and during the summer months, it was my privilege to run the route. It was with a feeling of pride that I took to the road with what seemed like a big truck, stop at the various farmers, unload the empty cans, and load up the full ones. Many of the stops were very difficult. A full can of milk was heavy and had to be lifted to the height of the truck rack which on level ground was possibly 48 inches high. The trouble was not all loading areas were on level ground. A couple in particular required lifting the cans out of a water tank, carry them up a grade about thirty feet, and then standing on an upgrade, swinging those cans on the truck. Another place which tested my stamina was on the farm of Gene Ten Brink. Here it was necessary to reload by double decking full cans of milk on racks in the front and rear of the truck body. Besides this chore, Ten Brink always had 10-12 cans of his own. It was always with a sigh of relief to be able to go on from there. My back aches thinking of it. How a 135 lb. skin and bones individual could handle those cans is still hard for me to understand.

One incident well remembered is one day on a country road, approaching a valley with a one way bridge at the lower level, a truck was seen coming from the opposite direction. Trees at the crest of the hill obstructed our views of each other until we both began the descent. The brakes were applied with all my might, but as stated before, the mechanical brakes didnÕt hold very well, especially with a full load of milk. The truck coming from the opposite direction had the same problem. We met at the bottom of the hill, right on the bridge which had no guard rails or protective edge. In attempting to keep to my right side of the road as far as possible and following the jolt from meeting bumper to bumper, the right rear wheels nearest the ditch had dislodged some sod from the bank, and it looked like the truck would topple into the ditch any minute. Dan Bekius, the driver of the other truck, had a chain which he attached to his truck and ours. By slowly backing up with no power applied to the wheels of our truck until after it had moved a short distance, we managed to get out of the predicament. What a relief to be back on the road again. No damage was done to the trucks. We had almost come to a stop by the time we met. But thinking back over what might have happened made me shiver for a long time.

At a younger age, another time we got to drive the truck was for bringing supplies to our annual Sunday School Picnic of the Ottawa Reformed Church. Every year this picnic was held in our woods adjoining the creek. Dad usually brought many of the supplies along home with him that day from town. These supplies included pop, ice cream, ice, candy bars, etc. We couldnÕt wait to bring the stuff to the picnic grounds. There in the woods a counter was constructed between trees on which many of the items were displayed. Seeing the woods now it is hard to imagine it was ever used for a picnic grounds. It is entirely grown up with bushes, shrubs, and cluttered with fallen trees. But then the woods was kept clean of underbrush and all fallen trees and branches were cut up for firewood. We considered it a perfect spot for a picnic. An adjoining hay field served as a ball field and some pretty good battles were waged out there. Another thing we appreciated was picking up empty containers afterward. We always checked the ice cream containers first. Anything left had of course turned to liquid, but that didnÕt matter. We emptied them of their last drop. We also checked the grounds particularly around the canteen for lost coins. Sometimes we found a little, but to my knowledge it never amounted to much. Still, a nickel in those days could buy a pretty good sized candy bar.

Speaking of candy bars reminds me of a treat we used to enjoy. On Saturdays we would occasionally catch frogs in the pond near our house, cut off the hind legs, and fry them. Also, Saturday was the Vollink peddle wagon day for stopping at our house. On those frog hunt days we would manage to scrape up a couple nickels, buy a couple Mr. Goodbars, which were really big, and eat them as somewhat of a dessert. The ÒweÓ usually was made up of John, Jay, Elmer and Jim Driesenga, and myself. Driesengas had a small brooder house behind their home which was not clean even by our standards. Evidences of chicks and chickens were everywhere present as well as the odors. But it had a stove in it and that was important. We simply overlooked the environment. We borrowed utensils from our homes as well as bread, butter, salt, and whatever else was needed. We fired up the stove with corn cobs, put plenty of butter in the frying pan, and tossed in the frog legs. Boy, was that good eating! Then to top it off, we had our Mr. Goodbars! It just couldnÕt be beat!

Jim and Elmer Driesenga lived directly across the road from us. Every spare moment we had, they were either at our house, or we were at theirs. We didnÕt get in their house very often because they pretty much confined their living to a small kitchen which was hardly large enough for them, let alone us too. That cluttered little room is still clear in my mind. Still, we were always attracted to their place. There was always something going on there. They had goats which climbed over everything. No sooner was a car parked, then up on the roof were those goats. They would hop on the running board of the car, climb up the fender, jump to the hood, and then to the top. It was a good thing no one had new cars in those days, but even then not everyone appreciated having goats climbing over their car.

there was always someone either pulling an old car apart, or putting one together in the hopes of getting it to run. A son Harry could usually be found covered with grease, under a car flat on his back. Dick Marlink lived with the Driesengas for quite some time and ended up marrying their daughter, Gertrude. Nice arrangement! We didnÕt think too much of it, because we knew he didnÕt have a penny and at least he was getting something to eat and had a place to sleep.

Behind the Driesenga home was another chicken coop (larger than the frog leg fry house) in which a Mr. Vogel lived. His exact relationship to Mrs. Driesenga escapes me now, but he was related somehow. We always called him Òold man Vogel.Ó The chicken house he lived in was nothing but a shell. Horse manure, a common type of insulation, was piled around the foundation to keep some of the draft out in the winter. Inside, a smell greeted you which is unforgettable. He used liniment freely, chewed tobacco more freely, and didnÕt always hit the container he aimed for with his spitum. There was also the original smell of chickens plus body odors resulting from wearing the same clothes for the whole season and maybe not taking a bath for the same period of time. Somehow, we frequently ended up picking him up for church. He never left his chewing tobacco behind. If riding in the car, no matter what the weather, he had to frequently lower the window and release an accumulation. Especially well remembered were the times we went by sleigh to church. It must have been MomÕs concern and loving care that always put him on the best spot in the sleigh, in the center with plenty of blankets to cover him and keep him warm. Being so tucked away made release of his tobacco juice somewhat of a challenge at times, but he never gave up even though the blankets caught it sometimes and others on the sleigh are known to have gotten sprayed when the wind was in the wrong direction. 

Yes, in the wintertime we frequently took the horses and sleigh. That was the only way we could get out. County snow plows, such as they were, remained on the main roads. Toward spring we could usually count on our road being plowed out. Cars and trucks were often parked a mile or so from home on a better road. Dad would often take a large tree log, hitch the horse to it, and pull it back and forth to the mile corner cutting two tracks through the snow. Now you know it is virtually impossible to keep a straight line with a device like that, and following those tracks with a car or truck was also almost impossible. Anyone attempting this feat looked like a drunken sailor zig zagging all over the road. It helped, but oh, the hard work to accomplish so little. Back to church going by sleigh. It was a tedious, cold procedure. The horses had to be harnessed, hitched to the sleigh, as much as possible of the accumulated snow shoveled off the sleigh first, some fresh straw spread over the floor of the sleigh, some blankets spread over the straw, determine the prevailing winds and select a spot accordingly, set yourself down, and pile the blankets on top. And off we went! It was