One time, while helping thresh at one of our neighbors, one of the men told how chewing tobacco was good for most anyone doing any type of threshing operation. He had a package of Beechnut which he said was sweet and wouldn't make you sick. A couple of us "green horns" took a chew, but after having it our mouths for only a short time we really got sick. We could hardly manage to keep working and passed up our dinner. The guy who gave it to us sure had a lot of laughs though.

Milking time was not one of our favorite activities, especially in the summertime, when the pressure to be done in time so we could get out and play ball was always on our mind. Bill always liked to start chores early too, so he could leave for the neighbors on time. This helped us, but didn't set too well with Dad, especially during the busy times of haying, etc. We would often hurry through the chores, quick catch a bite, and off we would go for practice or ball games with area competition. When milking was more leisurely, we often engaged in milk squirting skirmishes. We (John, Jay, and myself) would try to arrange our positions so that we milked adjoining cows. The poor sucker who ended up first in line got to be the target for the next in line and the second in line the target for the third. The normal milking position was to extend the right leg under the cow while holding the pail between the legs. This became a perfect target for the person milking the next cow. By shifting positions a bit to the side, a stream of milk could be directed right into the shoe of the other person. It generally took a few squirts before it suddenly dawned on you that your foot was feeling warm and then came the realization that you were the victim of foul play. Another effective method was squirting the milk over the cow behind you and letting fall on the head of her person milking that cow. We always had a number of cats, and they also played a part in our games. They would sit a short distance behind the cows and we would squirt milk at them while they, with their mouths open, tried to catch it. 

A high point in our lives occurred in 1938, when Dad sold the one milk route. As kids, we naturally delighted in a nice car. Our dream was to have a new one, but this was beyond expectation. Then one day Dad said if the milk route sold, we would get a new car. Even prior to the sale we were already shopping around and had one picked out at Madder Chevrolet in Zeeland. It simply had to be a Chevrolet. As far as our family was concerned, that was the best car on the road. The day for the purchase finally arrived. It was to be finalized that morning and after Dad had finished his milk route, we were to meet him at the Chevy garage. We were there and then came Dad. He had bad news. He said the sale did not go through. That meant no new car. Boy, were we disappointed! We must have really looked downhearted because Dutch Madder said to Dad that he couldn't really disappoint us, and to go ahead and take the car, and settle for it whenever the milk route sold. This Dad agreed to do, and we became the owners of a brand new Chevrolet. In those days there just weren't many new cars around. We felt like we were sitting on top of the world. 

While speaking of cars, something comes to mind which characterized many young drivers in those days, and that is the decorations and accessories we used to add to the cars. We would add distinctive hood ornaments, we added fender lights, which clamped to the front fenders and stood up about 12 inches high with a little light on top. We would attach mud flaps on the rear fenders with red lights in the center. These all lit up when the lights were turned on. Sometimes little lights would be inserted on the grill or fog lights attached to the front bumper. A spot light was a real luxury. Sometimes red lights were attached to the rear bumper which were activated by the brake. Our cars looked like a lighted Christmas tree going down the road at night. Dad didn't appreciate all those extras and of course, they were hard on the battery.

Just a fleeting remark now on a number of trivia. The night music in the spring and summer was source of peace and contentment. The frogs croaking in the swamp, and the crickets chirping away often sang me to sleep at night. Walks down our lonely one way road with brush and weeds grown high on both sides and lightening bugs flitting about all around also gave a sense of peacefulness and certainly and awareness that God was in control. Newly plowed fields which turned up an abundant supply of angle worms was always a delight. Just the smell of the ground was enough to stimulate praise to a God who made it all. There was the salt block, about 12 - 15 inches square in the pasture back of the barn intended for the cows to lick, which served as a delicious appetizer as we chipped off a piece and licked the clean sides. There was the time we housed a Shetland pony for a farmer on Dad's milk routes. He (the pony) was an ornery little thing, always squeezing us against the stall when we came to get him, nipping us in the arm and refusing to run when going in any direction away from home. When headed back toward home, he would really take off, turning into our yard at a speed which sometimes nearly threw us. On day while John was riding him, the pony balked and kicked and threw John to the ground resulting in a broken arm. There were visits to Joe Meengs. Their place was always so neat and clean. Their car stood in a nice garage with a cement floor, always covered with a sheet when not in use. Their barn was always so orderly and clean. Also remembered is the building of their new house, having participated in the lathing bee at the age of maybe 6 or 7. Joe was always kind to me. He would let me turn the handle of their corn sheller while he pushed in the ears of corn. There was the Sunday apportionment of peppermints. Each Saturday, when the Vollink peddle wagon came, a bag of peppermints was purchased. Before church, these were counted out in piles for each member of the family and each took his or her own share. There was the milk house where, after the milk had cooled and set awhile, that we went to and skimmed off the cream and drank it. There was the gas pump with underground tank along side the milk house where the trucks were filled up, but also served as a supply for the cars when needed. There was the lack of toys which we never missed; bicycles that barely hung together - no fender, bolts for pedals, handlebars which never seemed to want to stay in place and generally no seat; Christmases which came and went with no gifts exchanged - the only things received at Christmas were a box of hard candy from the Sunday School and an orange at the school program; there were the polliwogs in the pond by the hundreds which turn to frogs and the explanation of Mom that God planned it that way; there was the wash house near the house added in later years - miserably cold in the winter; there was ice skating in the winter on flooded areas on the farm, and ice hockey played with selected tree branches as sticks and a tin can as a puck - oh the hurts that resulted from being hit with a stick or getting that beat up tin can in your face; there was Margaret Sytsma, our teacher at Ovens School, who so patiently and lovingly taught all eight grades and dealt with pugilists like John Zimmick and Henry Ver Lee; there were visits to the dentist only after the tooth ached so much you couldn't stand it any longer and it usually ended up being pulled. There were the occasional visits by relations - Uncle Hank and Aunt Katie, Uncle Pete and Aunt Bertha De Jonge, and sometimes others. We didn't go visiting much. We never needed a baby sitter We weren't involved in a lot of outside activities - there just weren't any. Our longest trip was to Tunnel Park once a year or possibly two to the zoo at Getz Farm. Our home was the center of activity. There are many other trivia, but as a climax to it all, and not to be regarded as trivia, was a caring father and a loving mother who although they had very little of this world's goods, gave their all, their love, themselves. What more could anyone ask? If in my life I may have given but a portion of what they gave to me; if my children could but think half as highly of me as I of my parents and my children had but reason to do so, life would be considered worthwhile.

Following is a sketch, a brief account of each member of our family. Some of the reflections will be those tempered by time. Our family was large, six boys and three girls, but bound by love then, even as we who remain continue to be bound by that same love.

Dad will always be remembered as a very hard worker, kind, and with a generous spirit which could not be matched. The circumstances surrounding his decision to leave Zeeland and set out on a hard way of life are immaterial to me. To reason that things might have been different is no consolation or basis for argument. He applied himself with every energy in an effort to keep the family together, and he did. He had trials and these often weighed heavy on him. He became discouraged, but he is remembered more for his optimism. He worked many long hard hours every day. He began each day with milking chores, followed by his milk route that lasted until about noon, and then the farm work and chores at night. His familiar figure sitting in his usual chair, fast asleep, with his pipe almost falling out of his mouth is still fresh in my memory. He is remembered as battling the snow drifts with his truck, putting chains on the dual wheels of the truck flat on his back in the snow in sub-zero weather. He is remembered for many kindnesses; the buying of an ice cream cone every time I rode with him on the milk route; for the use of the car whenever I wanted it; and for just simply caring. His generosity will never be forgotten. During dating years he always gave me money even though he really had none to spare. There was never a charge for anything. The car was filled with gas at the pump. He never expected or wanted any of the money we were able to make on the side. After our marriage, we used one of his cars while living in Holland, and every time we came home, he sent us back with a full tank of gas, eggs, produce, meat, and whatever he had that we might need. The amount he paid for my tuition at Hope he refused repayment. On furlough one time, he decided I should have a new electric razor, so he took me to a jewelry store and paid a big price for the best for something I really didn't need, but didn't have the heart to refuse. The family struggles, the problems with brother Bill, and frustrations associated with Mom had their effect. He remained single for a number of years following Mom's death and then remarried under circumstances which for a time drove a wedge into our relationships. I thank God that in the last couple years of his life, communication was reestablished and some of his former self returned.

Writing about her is going to be difficult. Before even going into the details of what she meant to me, tears already come to my eyes as I reflect upon her life. Hers was a life not easily understood. As has been said many times, if there had only been mental facilities for the treatment of her condition in those days as we have today, how different her life might have been. Nothing was too much for her. She was always busy with large family; washing, ironing, making meals, sewing, darning socks, canning fruits, vegetables, meats, and all the other chores about the house. She was deeply religious and always wanted the best instruction for her children. In the days when catechism was taught for a couple months in the summer at Ottawa, she insisted we also take catechism through the fall and winter months at the Borculo CRC. We didn't always appreciate it, but we did it. She also enjoyed attending the Dutch afternoon services in Borculo. It was my job to take her there. This too was not always greatly appreciated, but I did it. She had good days when she could smile and appeared happy. But unfortunately, the times I remember best are those when she was discouraged and depressed. This depression was not a mild emotional state which disappeared in a day or so. She was confused. We never quite understood the problem,. but the reason was known. She was convinced that salvation was not for her, and no matter how long and how hard anyone tried to reason with her, she held to that position. Her brother, Rev. Peter De Jonge, came frequently to try to help. Ministers who served as classical appointments tried to assist, but no one could help. Well remembered are occasions in church when communion was being served that she would sit constantly wringing her hands until finally as the elements were passed and she did not partake, that she would begin crying uncontrollably. However, as stated before, there were times when she seemed to be able to rise above those feelings of depression and she seemingly took on a new nature. With the passing of time, her periods of depression became more severe and lasted longer. At such times she took on an entirely different nature. She would simply nibble at food, lost an awareness of everyone and anyone, did not and I am sure could not communicate, lived in a world all by herself. I recall putting my arms around her once and telling her I loved her. She didn't look, said nothing, only held my had like she didn't want to let go. Times when she would disappear became more frequent. Dad would go out looking for her when he found that she was not in the house. Sometimes she was found in the corn field and when approached she wasn't even aware that Dad was there. She seemed in a trance. She wanted to stay, but Dad would take her by the arm and lead her back. Once she was found on the bank of the drain ditch again oblivious to everything and anyone else. Then one day, while I was working at the Borculo pickle station Mr. Koop came over to me and said, "You had better go home, your Dad needs you." There was no doubt in my mind what had happened. Driving home with the accelerator to the floor all the way, the only thing in question was how it happened. When arriving at home, it was learned that Mom was dead, she had taken her life by hanging. An account of the details will end here. Gone was her depression, her confusion, and uncertainty. She had entered the New Life, Eternal Life where sorrow, tears, pain, disappointment are no more, and was there greeted by her Savior, who ushered her into the home prepared for her with the assurance that she was one of His for all eternity and that His death had satisfied for all her sins. An incident occurred in my life in relationship to Mom which seems impossible for me right now to write about, but possible in sharing some of the pain will be diminished. In my earlier days, while seated at the kitchen table and Mom was ironing, a request must have been made and denied. She began telling me why the request was denied, to which I replied "Don't preach to me." She immediately reached over and slapped me across the mouth, but said nothing. I ran out of the house determined to run away, thinking I was the one who had been hurt. It didn't take long for me to return, but it was some time before I realized she was the one who was hurt. Following her death, a song plagued me for a long time. It goes something like this: "When I was but a little child, how well I recollect, how I would grieve my mother with my folly and neglect. But now that she has gone to Heaven I miss her tender care. Oh Savior tell my mother I'll be there." This song was long forgotten until one day in the Hudsonville Christian Nursing Home, while standing outside the door of Nell's room, a little old lady with no legs came along in a wheelchair, humming that song. How it cut once more! Yes, Mom, I'll be there and some day the joys we never really experienced together will be fully realized in an eternity of happiness and praise.

It was necessary for Mom to go to the doctor, what seemed quite frequently. Our family doctor was Dr. Masselink. In fact, he may have been the only doctor in Zeeland for years. He was always busy, and very slow in turning out patients. He made no appointments - first come, first served. He worked endless hours, but not always untiringly. He reportedly would fall asleep between patients with a waiting room full of people. He was also known for conversing with his patients to extreme in spite of the many waiting. Mom on may occasions would spend the entire day in his waiting room. If you weren't sick before you came, you certainly were by the time your got to see him, or you possibly considered the consequences of your illness as less severe than wasting time and left before being helped. It is also known that she visited a Dr. Ten Have, who set up practice in Zeeland for a short time, for the treatment of blood poisoning in her arm. She can still be seen soaking that arm in water as hot as she could stand, resulting in blisters over her whole arm.