MAURENE RUTH TANKERSLEY BISHOP's
LIFE ON THE HOMESTEAD
(Editor's note; this is Sammy Barnett
Tankersley and Marshall Rush Tankersley's third daughter,
born in 1897 while on the Oklahoma homestead. Ruth, as she was
called, tells us the story of her life growing up in Oklahoma and of
the hardships her parents faced in civilizing an untamed land. Ruth
is the aunt of Sharon Worth Goodnight, who, also, was so kind to
provide me with the manuscript containing the story her grandmother
Sammy, Ruth's mother, wrote and with many other bits of information and
picture. I will scan and post the picture later, hopefully after
identifying the people in the picture. This transcript started 10
July, 2001.)
Part 1 - A Child is born:
I know how an amateur actor feels when he follows a star. S. (editor's note; Sammy) Lee and Marshall Rush were stars as a team and in their separate roles. My story will be very dull and insipid following hers. I
must move along, as "I have promises to keep and many miles
before I sleep." (Robert Frost)
Marshall Rush Tankersley was
born October 22, 1861, Danville, Indiana. Parents: Charles
Tankersley and Mary Cummings Herrington Tankersley. He
passed away January 4, 1935.
Sammy Lee Barnett was born
August 1, 1865, Salem, Illinois. Parents: Samuel Barnett and
Martha Adams Barnett. She passed away November 6, 1949,
Auburn, Nebraska. Both my parents are buried in Sheridan Cemetery,
Auburn.
My father was a depot agent and
telegraph operator for the Missouri Pacific Railroad, Auburn, before
and after marriage and prior to homesteading in Indian Territory.
Guthrie was the capitol of the Cherokee Nation. It is about forty
miles from the homestead.
The acreage selected by Dad was a
beautiful piece of land. He must have had the eyes of an artist.
There were two high hills with giant rocks scattered over them, some
rolling hill land, a creek of clear water crossing the entire
acreage, west to east. For the most part the creek had a table rock
bed, but there were places where there were pebbles and sand washed
white from the running water. These places made good crossings for
the livestock and for roadways. There were many deep holes and some
quick sand and the creek had a large and beautiful waterfall. (editor's note; OH!
That this land were still in the family.) There was an abundance
of timber, black walnut, hickory, pine, red, white and bur oaks.
There was one, only on, tall stately black jack. You could see it
above the other trees.
No more that sixty acres was suitable
for farm land. All the land had to be grubbed of undergrowth. The
soil was rich and if you could clear and plant it to anything, it
would grow. All of the farm was bottom land.
The first log house was built in
1893. The second in the fall of 1895. Lois Lee was born in
number 1 on June 8, 1895, Dr. Quincy Newell officiating. He
was a very young doctor; he had brought his mother and sister Olga
who lived with him. Many years later the doctor served as Warden of
Oklahoma State Penitentiary. Number 1 log house became the barn,
number 2 was larger (one room) and in a better location where the new
frame house could adjoin or be built as a separate unit. Lois loved
to shock friends, acquaintances, and strangers by telling them she
was born in the barn.
A new frame house, two rooms, was
built in the winter of 1896/97. I was born there on July 31, 1897,
neighbor Hanna Ganz was midwife.
My first recollection of my
surroundings and events was during the winter of 1901. We had a
heating stove in the parlor-bedroom. I had a rocking chair and I
rocked too hard; the chair tipped forward and throwing me against the
stove. I caught myself by placing both palms against the stove. I
have nice scars from the burns. Mom was a good practical doctor,
unexcitable and fearless of applying home-prepared remedies.
While my hands were being treated,
Uncle Charley, Aunt Jennie, their daughter Grace and
her future husband, Marion Mathis, drove their team and wagon
into the yard. The has come from Auburn.
Dad had erected a shed-like structure
to the house, closed off from the house with a homemade comforter.
The room had no window, no light. Vesta, Lois, and I
slept in that room. I was terrified of the dark and balked at going
to bed.
Another homesteader brought a saw
mill with him to the territory. For some unknown reason it was set
up for operation on our land in the midst of good timber. Dad felled
the trees, sawed and planed the lumber for the house.
The first church I remember was in
our house. Dad sawed big logs into about two foot lengths, set them
upright, placed planks on them for the neighbors to sit on. Each
Sunday afternoon, neighbors from nearby (there were not many who
lived near enough to come) came in lumber wagons, spring wagons, and
buggies to attend religious services. Most of them knew how to pray
and would kneel in prayer. Mom led the singing of old familiar
hymns.
In the fall of 1902, the Frisco
Railroaders set up camp near the creek crossing, about ½ mile
from our house. They had a corral of large work horses, a lot of
machinery and equipment, a number of regular workmen and a St.
Bernard dog as tall as I, very gentle, and he would follow me home
when I would run and go to the camp.
On January 17, 1903, Dad awakened us
very early in the morning, long before daylight. He told us to dress
hurriedly. We didn't see Mom. Without breakfast, we went by lumber
wagon to a neighbor's, Bob and Nanny Reece, about a
mile from home. Grandma Reece lived with them. They had no
children. It was cold, a trace of snow had fallen, there was ice on
the road, the wagon wheels creaked and squawked every turn they made.
The Reece house was larger than ours and much nicer. They
had rag rugs on every floor. They had an upstairs, the first any of
us had ever seen. Vesta was a lady and didn't seem to notice the
unusual, Lois sat in awe, and I was fascinated and said so.
Grandma Reece smoked a corn
cob pipe. I was only five so Bob showed me a lot of attention
and love. He held me on his lap, let me smoke his pipe, told us
whopper stories and laughed with real gusto. Lois and Vesta
tattled on me for smoking Bob's pipe.
Nanny took the three of us
upstairs to show us many pretty things they brought from St. Louis,
such as fancy dresses she had worn to the opera and other exciting
places. She described the operas, the Mississippi River, the ferry
for crossing the river, and other things. I liked the operas best;
St. Louis must have been an exciting city.
Nanny had pieced and finished
several quilts made of silk and satin pieces from her dresses. One
quilt had a piece of blue satin, brilliant and shiny. It was the
prettiest thing I had ever seen. Ever after that when Lo and I
played make-believe, I wore my blue satin dress, just like the piece
in Aunt Nanny's quilt.
Incidentally, we had breakfast,
dinner, and supper with them. Dad came for us after dark. It was
much colder than when we left home in the morning. Lo and I
stood in the back of the wagon, jumping up and down trying to keep
warm. We had experienced the best day of our lives.
When we arrived home we found a bed
from the bedroom had been moved into the parlor. Mom was in the bed,
all smiles. Aunt Ganz, who called me her little papoose, was
getting supper by lamp light. After we knelt in prayer and were
seated at the table, Mom called me to come and see her for a minute.
I climbed up on the side of the bed. She turned the covers back and
there was a little baby, a real live baby doll. Mom told me not to
tell anyone. I went back to the table, climbed on a rung of Vesta's
chair and whispered what I had promised not to tell. So ended a
happy day.
End of part 1
Next part 2 tragically, death knocks at our door.
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