The Bullitt County News   December 24, 1909

Continued from last week. The Children’s Corner-

The Watermelon Patch 

In the summer another delicacy was in order- Our watermelon patch was kept safe from coyotes and deer by a fence that seemed to a young boy to be as tall as a barn. Let me say without hesitation that there are few things that taste better than a cold sweet watermelon on a hot day, especially after haying or threshing in the field. We would sometimes chill a nice ripe melon in the creek or the spring by placing it in a shallow location early in the morning before starting in on our labors. Once I was sent to fetch the cold melon after a day of haying. The melon of choice was more than my ten year old arms could manage, and as I approached the haystack I dropped it and it burst open. I was embarrassed as Uncle and Papa laughed but they told me not to fret as it saved them cutting it open with their hatchets or pocket knives. That was the most delicious watermelon I ever tasted, and it was the sweeter for eating it with my family. We would sit with legs crossed and spit the seeds as far as we could while holding onto the rind with both hands. If the juice dribbled on our feet, no matter, that was just an excuse to take a plunge in the pond, as we would not be any wetter than we already were from the summer sweat that drenched us. We had a special patch that was grown from seeds that were given Papa by one of the preachers who frequently came to stay at our house. He called them his Vardiman melons. Papa saved those seed from year to year as they were some of the choicest melons we ever grew. I recall the pride with which papa gave those melons to neighbors. We learned to tiptoe about the vines so as not to step on them and how to tell the ripest one by thumping them. We never had to cut a plug to find the choicest melon. We would then take out our pocket knife and cut it oblong in half while our mouths watered for the ripe red center that was warmed by the sun. As we bit into the melon, its sweet juice would trickle down our chins and make trails in the dust on our legs. When we tired of the spitting competition we would deposit the seeds between our crossed legs as I recall we believed papa when he joked that a watermelon would sprout in our bellies, if we swallowed the seeds. We also made watermelon syrup and pickled rinds. We usually made some watermelon juice the night before syrup making day. Mama poured the juice into a trough and brought it to a rolling boil we children scraped the watermelon flesh and ground it in a sausage grinder. The rind we put aside for pickling, and we separated out the seeds for drying for next year’s crop. Then we put the watermelon pulp into a gunny sack and pressed it with a stone until all the juice was extracted,. This juice was added to the juice in the trough. The fire had to be kept well regulated, for if it got too hot, the juice boiled over. The froth had to be constantly skimmed as well. It generally takes about seven quarts of juice to make a quart of good thick syrup. All day long, we scraped and chunked, pulped and juiced and cooked the syrup, adding more juice as the syrup condensed, skimming the foam off the top, and constantly stirring it up. During the last few hours of the long hot process, no more juice was added, so the syrup would be nice and thickened. The syrup can also be reduced to a cake that is as sweet as maple sugar when eaten! When pouring the syrup into bottles, we were sure to leave the sediment that settled out into the bottom of the pot. Oh how I remember the taste of watermelon syrup eaten with biscuit or with applesauce cake! It is a wonder we had any teeth left in our heads it was so sweet! I must close now due to the dictates of space but will write to the children next of my memories of my early schooling and my early days of teaching in the county. CWR December 24, 1909  

NOTE: This seems to have been the last in the series of writings for the children. There are many other entries related to the Old Folks Meetings written by CWR.

 

The Bullitt County News  December 17, 1909 The Children’s Corner

The Apple Hole and the Watermelon Patch CWR 

An apple is as sweet as candy to a boy in the summer months, and the taste for it does not diminish during the winter months. In fact the memory of the juicy fruit on a hot day of stacking haycocks may make them all the more to be missed for that sensation is forever linked in memory with warm and bright days. An apple is full of sunshine. The sound of the dropping of apples from the apple boughs made for a willing worker when it came to string up a winter stock of the fruit. We had an old root cellar in which we stored apples in the autumn months, and an apple-hole in the back yard later as the first hints of winter approached with jack frost in attendance. The apple harvest time demanded as much time as sugar making. In mid October days we would fill bushel baskets and gunny sacks and stack them on the wagon, our orchard never lacked for produce, and in the late days of the harvest some apples were put in the apple hole for storage. We picked them direct from the boughs and never let them hit the ground, for an unbruised fruit will keep better. I learned early that a boy will bruise as readily as an apple if he falls from the apple tree while picking apples. Our apple hole was used year after year and was cleaned out in the spring like a bob-olink cleans its nest. There is a art to making an apple- hole. First the pit must be dug, a shallow hole about a foot to a cubit in depth and perhaps six feet in diameter. The hole was dug on the north side of the barn as the north side got colder and made for better storage in the winters months. Our apple hole was between the barn and the sapbush, not far from the orchard. Then the pit was lined with the last straw of the season to a depth of about six inches to serve as insulation and bedding for the apples. Then we would dump in as many apples as we could make a mound of and not see them roll off the pile. Winesaps and Pippens and Sheep‘s Nose and Democrats and Russetts and Crow’s egg apples all found a place in the apple-hole at one time or another. Covering them about with more straw and dried grass, we made a nice thick covering which we then covered over with the dirt we had first excavated to form the shallow. At last, an overcoat of dried manure was added to await the final covering of winter snows. This makes an efficient protection from the frosts under which the fruit can sleep and mellow during the silent darkness of the winter months. As the cellars were emptied during the winter months, the apple hole would yield up its bounty! The longer you stored the apples, the more flavorful and juicy they became. I do declare, when the snow is still on the ground in a cold February evening, there is nothing that tastes so good as a cold crisp apple from the apple- hole. It was quite a treat to go out and dig four or five apples which Mama would use to make an apple pie. Continued next week 

Children and Their Ways, continued

I am running out of pictures of GGGrandpa Charlie, but here is a photo of some of his offspring...taken around 1931-32, the year my Dad was born. On the left is my Grandma Alma - Grandpa Charlie's son Grandpa J. O. Ridgway is holding her oldest, my Aunt Bertha. the short lady is GGrandma Mattie.

 August 2, 1908- BN Continued from last week 

One time when James Simmons and Ernest were little boys, Kirby Simmons came home one evening and Ernest was standing around the yard looking sneaking, Kirby said “what is the matter?” and at the same time said “where is James?” Ernest said, “He is upstairs lying down, he don’t feel good.” Kirby said, “What is the matter with him?” Ernest said, “We were playing on the hillside rolling one another in a barrel and the barrel got away from me and rolled down the hill with him in it and he has not been feeling good since.” Kirby laughed a little out of the corner of his mouth and said, “Well you make haste and do up the evening work.” It seems a little funny that that should ever have happened, for they are both men now and James is married and Ernest wants to marry. I will tell that where the girls will hear it. But that was the last time they rolled each other in a barrel; that broke up the barrel business. A mother wanted to appear good and asked the preacher to return thanks at the table, a little boy, standing at the back of her chair, looking on in surprise said,” Mamma, please get him to say that again.” Children will sometimes betray their parents. Manners plays a big part in child life as the following little incident will show. On one occasion during the Bullitt County Fair, two ladies had driven some distance over a dusty road, and on arriving at Shepherdsville walked in one of the modern stores and asked for the mirror and a dust brush, and having bought a box of whitening proceeded to prepare for the Fair, when a lad came to their relief and applied the dust brush and helped them in various ways, and when everything was in order, he said admiringly, “Now you ladies look nice enough to get married today” and walking away, left them, when one of the ladies said, “Isn’t he nice?” the other said, “Yes he is as cute as he can be.” But about this time another boy came along and stared at the ladies who were getting ready to start, when one of the ladies said to the other, “do I need a little more starch on my face?” The impudent boy said: “you have enough on your face now to make a biscuit,” and grinned in their face and ran away. One of the ladies said “Isn’t he hateful?” and the other said, “yes he is a despicable little boy.” Why was one a despicable little boy and the other just as nice and cute as he could be? Boys you might think about that a little; there is a lesson in it. There are but few things that pay a better dividend on the investment than manners. Children should be polite to all, especially to old people. They should Mr. and Mrs. Those older than themselves. It is nice to hear children say, good morning, Mr. Jones, or good morning Mr. Joe, and not how are you , John? Or how are you Joe? and finish up with it. Every child should try and be an honor to his parents,, and every good parent should be an honor to his children. C. W. R.  

The Children's Corner

always click on image for larger view- This is Mary Jane Ridgway ca 1860

July 19, 1908 BN The Bullitt County News   Children’s Corner

Children and Their Ways. 

It would seem impossible to do justice to this subject in a little article like this for there have been children in the world ever since the first children were born unto Adam and Eve, and it would require several large volumes to tell all about children and their ways. In all times children have played a big part in the home life, and in every nation children have their peculiarities that belong to that nation; hence the difference in children in different nations and countries. Children receive their first impressions at home, and are, to some extent, what their parents make them. This little article is not a wise dissertation on child life, but a rehearsal of a few of the circumstances that have come under my observation or that I have heard from others, and is more for the amusement of children than for the instruction of the old. Children are the purest and best part of society, and are generally good until they learn too many ways of older people. The sweetest theme in life is childhood and youth,, and children should be permitted to enjoy their innocent life as long as possible. There is nothing more pleasing than a sweet amicable child where reason first begins to dawn upon it. If all older children understood training children right there are but few children who might not be trained to be useful. Children are fortunate who have parents who will train them in the way they should go. Once in my travels when I was spending the night with an hospitable family I was favorably impressed by the deportment of a little girl about five years old. When it came time for her to retire for the night she went and leaned lovingly on the mother who undressed her and put her night clothes on her after which the little girl stood hesitatingly and looked first at her mother and then at me. In fact, she looked inquiringly at me as if considering something of importance. She then went to her mother and dropped down on her knees by her mother’s side who placed her hand on her little head while she, in sweet childish accents, said her little evening prayer. She arose perfectly composed. When she kissed mamma and told papa good-night and ran away to her little bed- a sweet specimen of parental training. But there are some parents who neglect their children altogether and some ever set them a bad example, and it is distressing to see how early some children take to bad habits. Shortly after the occurance just mentioned above I was approaching an humble dwelling when my attention was attracted by two small boys in a potato patch near the road side. They were apparently about 5 and 7 years old and they were distressed with each other from some cause and they were using curse -continued- July 26, 1908 BN Continued from last week words at rapid and fearful rate. I thought, poor little boys, where did you learn all that. And it occurred to me that the parents were to blame; possibly had set the example. It has been my fortune to spend a great portion of my life among children and I have frequently enjoyed their sweet, trite, funny little ways. On one occasion when I had offered a prize to the scholar who would make two capital letters exactly alike a little girl who thought she had the succeeded in winning the prize came to me with a great deal of confidence and showed her specimen, but when I began to point out the difference in the letters, she said, innocently, “Now Misser Widgway, don’t tell me a tory.” I said, “N, I don’t tell you a tory; look here (pointing to the letters)you see this letter is larger than that and wider across the top.” She nodded assent and went back to her seat to try again, never dreaming that she had said anything out of order. In fact, I did not even let her know that she had, for where there is no harm intended there is not much harm done. One pleasant day in winter I had occasion to go to the barn to catch a horse, about half way from the house I saw one of my little grand children sitting on a stone under a large persimmon tree that was full of persimmons. He was sitting there as contentedly as a bird on a limb with his elbows on his knees and his chin resting in his hands, the very picture of contentment. I said “Ernest, what are you sitting there for?” He said, “I am waiting for a persimmon to fall.” I caught the lesson at once. We are all more or less waiting for persimmons to fall, from the man who courts the presidency of the United States down to the man who lingers around the country bar room and some wait for persimmons that never fall. I was riding with a little girl one morning and they had a sick cow at their house, and I said to her, “How is your sick cow this morning?” She said in a subdued voice: “Uncle Charley, she is bad off, she died last night.” Of course it was a little trite, but it would have been a sin to laugh. Another little girl was looking thoughtfully at her mama one day when she said, “ Mama, you did not have many beaux when you were young, did you?” Mamma said, “Well, no, not so many, why?” “Well I thought you did not or you would never have taken papa.” A little girl six years old who seemed to understand personal rights said to me, “Uncle John gave me a nickel, now that nickel was all mine, wasn’t it?” I said “yes it looked that way.” Well she said, “I sent that nickel by papa and got candy, now that candy was all mine wasn’t it?” I said, “Yes, it looks that way.” Thoughtfully, she said “Well papa took a part of it and gave it to brother, now do you think papa treated me right?” I said, “ Well you wanted brother to have some didn’t you?” She said, “Yes, but I thought I ought to be the one to divide it.” That is the principle that underlies the whole government of the United States. Little did she know the magnitude of her question. To be continued- 

The Bullitt County News  February 28, 1908 BN Children’s Corner 

My Childhood Home 

I appreciate the frequent calls for C. W. R. and should have written sooner, but the paper has been so full of good interesting matter that I thought our space might be more profitably occupied. But if my little article may be a pleasure to any one I shall be pleased to write. I hope the people will remember that I write for the children. The very nature of home awakens many sweet and tender recollections. The one I shall try to describe to you may not be as dear to you as it is to me, but doubtless there is a spot somewhere that is equally as dear to you. Most people have had a home and the mention of that home awakens many sweet recollections; the mention of it causes the breast to heave and the eye to moisten. All that is dear to memory clings around our early home. When I was a small boy my father sold the place where we lived and bought what was known as the Bridwell place, situated on Floyd’s Fork four miles northwest of Mt. Washington and it was there that I spent the most of my childhood days. It was quite a large farm of 175 acres, but strange to say, that every building on it was made of logs, from the mill house to the parlor. The rooms of the dwelling house were large and comfortable. The parlor, as we called it was a large two story hewed log building with large old fashioned chimney at the north end with two fire places to it, one below, and one up stairs in the boys' room. The kitchen was a large old round building with a pass way between it and the parlor. Of course there were out buildings which, as I have said, were also made of logs; you must not suppose that they were not comfortable, for indeed they were quite so. If you could have seen those spacious, old fire places on a cold winter night well filled with dry beech or hickory wood, and mama with her knitting, papa with his paper and we children popping corn and cracking walnuts you would have thought it was a place superlatively comfortable. In fact, what we lacked in finery we made up for in good things to eat- for my papa was a good provider and my mama was a good cook. The best people in the county visited our house and the preachers made it their stopping place; so you can see it was a delightful old place. The yard was filled with locust trees and evergreen trees and some cherry trees. The sweetest shrubbery about the place was two large clusters of wild rose bushes, one on each side of the front door. There were large stone steps with the rose bushes on each side almost obstructing the doorway. The yard was long and rolling and reached down to neighborhood road that passed in front, so that you may imagine that in the springtime, when the trees and shrubbery were in full leaf and bloom, with the birds singing in their branches and the bees humming in the flowers it was a delightful place notwithstanding its modest pretensions. I must not forget the clear, cool spring that gushed out from under a cliff of rocks and sent its cooling waters through the milk house among clean jars and well filled milk cans and then went on to fill the big watering trough for the stock. But one of the sweetest places to my childhood remembrances was a summer bathing place in Floyd’s Fork near our house. There the creek widened and deepened until it became quite large pool, large enough to swim horses in. In the last summer days we would repair to that pool and enjoy it to our hearts delight. My papa would go with us and teach us to swim. He taught us how to ride the horses and let them swim. I remember the thrill of pleasure mingled with fear when first undertaking that feat. I must tell you how we used the fish in that pool. The little shiny fish would collect there the enjoy the deep water; we would work good all the week for the privilege of going fishing on Saturday evening, we would get a little eight foot pole and a line about the same length and we did not have to wait long for a bite, and when we would see our cork go under we would give a tremendous jerk and sometimes sent the little fish sixteen feet in the air, and when it struck the ground if it did not kill it, it would usually flop off the hook. The next thing was to catch it before it got back into the water and as the bank was steep it was a little uncertain which would get into the water first, us or the fish. But we seldom failed to catch a nice string of little fish. Mother would cook them nice and brown for us and we would enjoy eating them while we talked over that wonderful experience we had while watching them. Another interesting circumstance connected with my child life was our potato patch. My papa gave us boys a peck of Irish potatoes and told us that we might have all we could raise to sell for ourselves. That potato patch was well tended, and it was interesting to hear how many wonderful purchases we laid off to make when we sold our potatoes almost every thing that summer we laid off to buy when we sold our potatoes. The sugar making was also and interesting time when it came time to make sugar and tree molasses we would dig a large furnace, set the big kettles, prepare a sled and barrel; making the spiles was night work. When everything was ready we tapped the trees, usually putting two spiles in each tree, the water was collected and boiled in those large kettles until it was thick syrup, then it was taken to the house and strained through a coarse cloth; it was then put into large ovens and boiled to sugar, or molasses. There are few things better than good, thick, maple molasses, especially when served with good hot shortened biscuit. You are ready to say he is greedy, is that all not enough to make any one greedy? I would love to tell you about the watermelon patch and the apple hole, each in its own season, but I have said enough for this time. C W R (Charles W. Ridgway)   

The Bullitt County News May 10, 1907 Children’s Corner 

Danger Line 

I was a little troubled at first whether to call it dangerous or safety line; for on one side of the line is safety and on the other side is danger. So it is a matter of some importance as to which side of the line we are on. When we used to play marbles we had what we called a “dead” line; if we fell beyond that line we were all right, but if we fell behind the line we were dead for that game. Now society has a moral line that people are expected to live up to if they wish to be respected; and all the good deeds and good qualities of life are on one side of the line and all the bad deeds and bad qualities are on the other side. So that we can easily see which is the respectable side of the line and also which is the safe side. And yet it is not always easy to keep on the safe side as some may think; surrounded as we are with the evils and temptations of life. It requires a great deal of moral courage to keep to the right. And yet the love of God, the hope of happiness, and the desire to be respected all require that we do so. Now there comes a period in almost every life when we are more subject to temptation than we are at other times. There is a transition period when we pass from youth to manhood. When one has the size and assumes the importance of grown up people and yet lack the experience that is necessary to succeed in life. I might illustrate by a little comparison. One bright spring morning two pretty pigeons with their bright plumage of gold and silvery hue alighted in our yard. They were shy at first, but as we did not molest them they soon became tame (they had come to stay), and began to gather sticks and feathers and to carry them t a corner under the eaves of the house where they laid eggs and set and hatched two young pigeons. They were squabby looking things and they remained in the nest in perfect safety under the care and protection of the parent birds. But there came a time when the old birds thought them old enough to be set out. So they undertook to learn them to fly. Then is when the danger came; for with their first effort to fly they found themselves almost helpless upon the ground and it was all we could do to keep the old cat from getting them. I learned a lesson from all this and thought how often children are exposed to danger when first entering into society. The evil one is ever watching for such opportunities and many a one owes his ruin to some fatal time when he had not the wisdom and prudence to resist the first temptation. There are many things that people are expected to practice if they wish to be respected and useful. And people cannot be very useful unless they are respected. One of the first things children should learn is to be obedient to parents. They should also be truthful and honest so people may believe everything they say. But if they practice evil habits a tree is soon known by its fruits. Intemperance is another evil that is blighting so many youths of our land that I would love to give timely warning to avoid that. No youth ever begins to drink expecting to be a drunkard. And yet it is a habit that steals on its victim so stealthily that he sometimes finds that he has formed an evil habit even against his own will. Hence the importance of resisting the first temptation. The youth who never drinks can never be a drunkard. It would be impossible to mention all the good fruits one is expected to practice or all the evil ones we are expected to avoid. We have the Scriptures and also a conscience that will guide us aright if we will heed their timely warning. Let us be careful how we pass the danger line, it is sometimes very hard to get back. And yet I would not say anything to discourage those who have already erred, for many have repented and reformed and lead happy and useful lives. I would hold out the banner of hope to all. It is so sweet and safe to live with God’s blessing resting upon us that children should early learn to love, serve, and honor god who has done so much for us. C. W. R.  

The Bullitt County News May 24, 1907 Children’s Corner 

How to Write a Composition 

There are but few things more trying on a child than writing his first composition. It usually takes him about a week to select his subject or rather to make choices among a dozen subjects already selected. The next thing after selecting his subject is to find something to write. He will dip his pen in the ink and sit and think while big thoughts pass through his mind, none of which seems to suit him, while he again and again dips in the ink. I seldom see a fellow fishing in the ink stand for ideas but I think of the city man who came out to the country to fish; he came as usual, well equipped with fine fishing tackle; he drove up to a nice pond and with a great deal of dignity arranged himself on the bank for fishing, he unrolled his line, sent his hook to the middle of the pond and waited for a bite. When the wind stirred the waves he would lift his line suddenly to see if he actually had a bite. A farmer passed that way and asked what he was doing. Fishing, sir, was the answer. When the farmer laughed outright, and said no use fishing there, there never was a fish in that pond. So there is no use in fishing in the inkstand for ideas, there never was an idea in the ink stand. I know that from experience. I have dipped in there many a time. The better plan is to write the first thoughts that present themselves, then others will come which he may continue to write, and the faster he writes, the faster the thoughts will come until he will not be able to write fast enough. The reason we do not write is not because we can’t think but because we want better ideas than we can think. The better way is to write the thoughts as they come and then go through and pencil such sentences as we do not want, leaving the better ones. When, after a little revision we will be surprised how well we have done. It is well after defining the subject to separate it into its different herds or branches and deal with each sub topic separately. For instance: he takes animals for his subject, he will see that it can readily be divided into two parts, domestic, or tame animals, and wild animals, naming each in turn and dwelling at length upon each species until he could almost spin his composition indefinitely. Almost any subject is capable of being divided into parts which will aid the writer very much in treating it. As for the Children’s Corner, you will pardon me if I name a few subjects that might be written up by way of practice. I would analyze several of them myself, but we are taking up too much of Mr. Barrall’s valuable space. Parents would do well to help the children a little along this line. These are easy subjects for beginners when divided into parts: Education, friendship, visiting, farming, teaching, city and country life, flowers, flowers, school life, pets, trees, etc. The children join me in thanking Mr. Barrall for the courtesy he has shown us. C. W. R.  

The Bullitt County News July 19, 1907 Children’s Corner 

Usefulness 

There are almost as many ways of being useful as there are people to be useful; and almost every one may be useful in some way if he desires to be. People are not always useful according to their ability. Some people who possess every means of being useful are perfect drones, and spend a life of idleness and dissipation that makes them a burden rather than a blessing to society, while others who seem to be cut off from every means of usefulness are a perfect blessing to every one they meet. It has been well said that the rich know nothing of the pleasures of the poor and I am proud to say myself that happiness is more equally divided than prosperity. And there is no pleasure like that of doing one’s duty under trying circumstances. I have known people who have cheerfully gone down into the very dregs of poverty and hardships that they might be useful to the dear ones who were dependent upon them for support and comfort. There is a virtue in necessity, and the person who apparently sacrifices his own happiness and pleasure that he might be useful to his loved ones increases his own pleasure ten fold. Many a mother has washed all day and with the greatest of pleasure has carried home her scant earnings to her expectant little ones with a pleasure that the rich have never known. Many a mother has trimmed the midnight lamp while bending over the sewing machine with her little ones sweetly sleeping around her, possibly dreaming of the good things papa used to bring. Don’t tell me there is no pleasure in performing the most ardent tasks if prompted by the pure spirit of love. Nothing is difficult beneath the skies Act well your part, there all virtue lies. Many a father has gone to the hardships of life with that pure, noble, and manly feeling that makes even drudgery a pleasure, looking beyond the hardships to where his sweet wife and happy children are deeming nothing too hard that be useful to his dear dependent ones; such a man is the noblest work of God. He can tread the earth with a buoyance that the sluggard never knows. Even little children can be useful in increasing the happiness of those around them. Many little children are perfect little sunbeams scattering light and pleasure everywhere they go. “Agnes came into the room smiling, her mother said, where have you been, dear? At the Brown’s; and oh, mother, Walter was cross, but I happied him up so that he got all over it, and the baby cried and I had to happy her up too!” I tell you, I love little children who can happy people up. Johnny said to his mother one day, “ I do not want to wear my good clothes today, Tommy Blake is coming over to play with me and he has no good clothes, and he will be happier if I dress common. Johnny wore his common clothes, and when Tommy came they had such a nice time playing together. That was good, sweet charity on Johnny’s part, and made a happy evening for both; for we generally increase our own happiness when we try to add to the happiness of others. Sometimes an apple that is hardly enough for one, when divided becomes plenty for three. Some children are called upon so early in life to be the staff and support of the family. I know a young man only fourteen years old whose father died and left a widow and three girls almost entirely dependent on him for support. When the neighbors came together to consider what might be done, some thought the mother could take in washing and that the little girls might find homes among the neighbors. The young man, with tears in his eyes while his lips quivered, said: “While this willing arm can find anything to do, that shall never be.” He kept his word, and the people were good enough to employ him, and boy as he was they gave him mans wages, and the family is all together yet. There are times when even slavery itself is a pleasure. I will not trouble you to mention all the useful callings in life, for every person who follows an honest calling is useful in his time and generation. See how the world is pressing to the front, each one desiring to be useful in his own particular calling. We should be thankful that we live in this enterprising age. Not only the public spirited and high pressure people are useful, but many of the humble and retired people are quite as useful. Many of the good old mothers who save garden seed for the whole neighborhood and gathers her simple remedies for the sick, who can cook meals and make nice, sweet butter, and who don’t talk about her neighbors, who dresses modestly when she goes to church, who has good advice for the boys and girls; such women as that are more useful than the high-flying kind who keep the whole neighborhood in a stew by their wonderful news packing propensities. C. W. R.  

The Bullitt County News April 19, 1907 Children’s Corner 

A Little Trip. 

A few days ago I had occasion to go to Mt. Washington, so early one morning I hitched up old Prince to the buggy and started. I will first tell you where I live so you may have some idea of my route. I live on the South side of Salt river, six miles east of Shepherdsville. The river was deep and the ford difficult, so that I had to go by the bridge at Shepherdsville. If you will go with me I will write in the plural and say we, as I do not like too many I’s, especially big I’s. After passing over a little rough road near our house we came out onto the county road leading from Shepherdsville to Greenwell’s ford. One of the first places we passed was Pate Swearingen’s. He owns and occupies his father’s old place. Following the decline in the road we came to James Ash’s; he is a blacksmith and runs a shop. Going on down the creek we crossed at a place commonly called Hecker’s ford. Up the hill a short distance we came to Ed Weller’s cottage home. Looking across the valley to the east we saw George Kulmer’s pretty home. Farther on we saw W. C. Parris’, an aged and respectable citizen who has raised a large family of boys. Going down the hill from there we came to the south branch of Cedar Creek, which we followed half a mile, where we came to Lick Skillett where Port Thompson keeps a dry goods and grocery store. Mr. Asa Davis also lives at the Skillett and his wife keeps the telephone exchange at that place. We do not think that place should be called “Lick Skillett,” for the people there are a thrifty people and do not lick the skillet, especially when it is hot. We next came to John Bolton’s saw mill where there were great piles of lumber; then we came to J. E. McGruder’s nice home with his clean country store in one corner of the yard. Farther down the pike is W. M. Combs’, he keeps a fruit nursery and raises fine stock. In a beech grove near the road is Glenn Ellis, where they also have church and Sunday School. Then we come to the Lee mansion where Mrs. Hamilton lives. Looking northward from where we saw Mr. Pope’s fertile fields and his splendid home in the distance. The hazy distance rendered it doubly beautiful. Next we came to Wm. Simmons’ fine stock farm where a number of young horses and mules were playing in the pastures. We then came to Buffalo run, a small creek which took its name in the early times from the numbers of buffalo and other wild animals that roamed over its rich valleys. Next was George Maraman’s new and beautiful home; who also occupies his father’s old homestead. We next came to Salt River Station, a thrifty, growing village on the South side of Salt river. From the station we followed a nice piece of rock and gravel road to the new bridge. On going out of the bridge on the north end a splendid view greets us in the shape of Main street, which forms a pretty avenue with its shade trees and fine buildings on each side. We followed Main street to the public square where we turned to the east and going through a rock walled culvert we found ourselves out on the open road to Mt. Washington. A short distance to the right was Paraquet Springs, but we had not time to stop there. Two miles on the road became rough, and going down a rocky place we came to Floyd’s Fork bridge, a nice new iron bridge painted red. The next two miles brought us to Tom Bridwell’s. He owns and occupies my old homestead. The house I planned and had built myself, and Messrs Quincy Bolton and John W. Whitledge done the carpenter work. We next came to Mr. Hardin James fish farm with its clear, deep ponds, where he raises German carp fish. We once went with Mr. James to see him feed his fish; he fed them on crumbled up biscuit bread; the pretty bright fish scrambled over their food like a gang of little pigs. A short distance brought us to Pleasant Grove school house, and near it is Pleasant Grove Baptist church, both new. Next was J. B. Proctor’s store. He is doing a thriving business. We stopped at John Lloyd’s for dinner and also at “aunt” Mag Stallings’ to deliver some carpet to be woven. One mile from there we came to a place known as the brick house, where Washington Simmons lives. Mr. Simmons is quite old, yet he has a vivid remembrance of early days, which he loves to talk over. Another half mile brought us to Bethel church (Methodist) a large handsome church capable of seating several hundred people. We must speak of Dr. Moore, an aged and respectable physician so well known in this and other counties. On arriving at Mt. Washington Mr. Ed Showalter’s children came out to talk with us; we are always glad to see them. We traded some at the store then went to W. A. King’s and stayed all night. Next day Paul Jones came home with us. We returned by the same route and got home about two o’clock in the evening. 

C. W. R.