Ellensburg - My Sixth Grade Adventure

Ellensburg - My Sixth Grade Adventure

This also is from My Life Journal, a work in progress:

When I was in the sixth grade, my parents decided to go to Ellensburg, Washington to get jobs. I was not privy to what precipitated that decision but believe the financial situation had to be dire to make such a momentous decision. We three older children were uprooted from school and community and dragged off in the middle of the school year. (Clark wasn’t born yet.)

We left before Christmas, probably November, and I think we children were convinced we were going to spend the holidays with Auntie Eleanor’s family, not the entire winter. I know I didn’t anticipate attending school there. But Mom and Dad got jobs, enrolled us in school, and we settled in.

My Auntie Eleanor and Uncle Richard lived in Ellensburg in a very large old house. Although they had a lot of children to fill up that home, they graciously offered us a roof. In the lower level, the house had apartment facilities so the families could live separately.

Well, in theory the families lived separately. In practice, it was another story altogether. We kids shared bedrooms with our cousins and both sets of kids pretty much ran through the house at will. Their Grandpa Hudson also lived there. He usually made breakfast for the whole crew of kids. It was my first experience with corn meal mush - and did I ever make up for my late introduction to that delicacy! I think he made it every morning. I don’t know how many kids we were - people came and went - but when that many tuck up to the table, everyone grabs quickly and eats whether or not you like corn meal mush! Besides, we all knew Grandpa would not coddle; you ate it or went hungry.

Suppers we generally ate with our own families, but I recall some spillover from one kitchen to the other. I suppose it depended on what was being served and whether we thought we’d get caught.

Washington was quite an experience for a timid farm girl like me and the scene of a lot of firsts for me.

Several black children attended the school. It seemed like a lot of them, but I was awed as I’d never had contact with black children before, so there may not have been as many as I thought. One of the girls became my buddy. I don’t know, but I suspect she was assigned to show the country bumpkin the ropes. I remember little about her except she must have had a tough home life.

I was so impressed that she was allowed a provisional driver’s license. Remember, we were only sixth graders. She was living with her grandmother who apparently was ill. Since Grandma couldn’t drive and there was no one else to help out, my buddy needed a license. If Grandma needed to go to the hospital, the police would arrange transport, but it was the needs of daily living like groceries and clinic appointments that required a driver in the house. At the time, I didn’t realize how tough her life must have been; I only envied her the opportunity to drive legally.

In Ellensburg, I also first experienced truancy. For some forgotten reason, Jan, my cousin, and I decided to skip school one day. After getting ready for school, we simply went out to a shed in the back yard. Our parents suspected nothing. We had reading material and were content to just sit and read the day away. But who knew a day was so long?

About the time we were getting bored, my mother came out to hang laundry on the clothes lines that were actually attached to the shed on one side! Suddenly our day became much more interesting. My mom was just outside, just beyond the wall. We got the giggles; we kept shushing one another as we had to be very quiet. Turns out stifling giggles makes for an interesting afternoon. At the proper time, we appeared in the house and no one was the wiser. My mom didn’t find out until I told her after I had children of my own. I don’t know if Auntie Eleanor ever did find out.

Another first that happened in Ellensburg, I’m ashamed to admit and shouldn’t even mention it, but it had a great impact on me. I learned an important lesson, and I think there is a lesson in it for other kids, too.

We had gone to a store, what we called a dime store back then. (How times have changed! Those are now dollar stores!) Well, I was enthralled by some stupid colorful pennants with “Ellensburg” printed on them. I think they were constructed of felt. I wanted one so badly but it was foolishness, certainly not a necessity and my mom would tell me so. I had no money of my own. An idea struck. Never before in my life had I considered such a thing. After looking around and noting that I was not being observed, I just took the pennant and concealed it in my pocket.

My heart was pounding and breathing was suddenly difficult. You’d think that would have been enough, and I’d have replaced the thing where I had found it, but no. I took that thing home. But then, what was I going to do with it? I couldn’t hang it on the wall to enjoy it as Mom knew I didn’t have money to buy it and would ask where and how I had acquired it. Well, maybe I could put it in with my keepsakes - ah, no - Mom would find it and the same questions would arise. By this time my conscience was bothering me, too; I felt so guilty and like such a bad, bad person. I finally just concealed it in the garbage so no one would see it and it would get taken away.

I’ve never stolen anything since. I learned my lesson. Do you think I learned it from never having a chance to enjoy my booty? Well, probably that was part of it, but I hated the feeling of being scared of getting caught, and even more I hated the feeling of guilt that stayed with me for years. I was a criminal! I did wrong, and I did it deliberately. And I could not go to my mom to tell her and ask for absolution. No, she would have been so ashamed of me. Even now as I write this I wonder if she is looking down from heaven and reading over my shoulder. If so, I’m sorry Mom, really sorry.

Living in Ellensburg was fun. I liked the big houseful of people. Always there was someone to visit with. Often in the evenings, Jude (another cousin) would come to play pinochle with my parents and the other adults. I loved to watch. I knew how to play pinochle, of course. I learned that before I started school. But they played with a double deck and at least six people! So that was interesting. But also Jude was a source of never-ending interest. She was older than me and I looked at her as a role model. I loved watching her and listening to her, especially when she laughed. I loved her and wanted to be as sophisticated as she.

Other evenings, we entertained ourselves on Dead Man’s Hill. Yep, that’s what they called it, though I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the official name. It was not far, we could walk to it carrying our sleds. The story was that someone had been killed sliding down that hill. Don’t know if there was any truth to the story, but it was an exciting hill - it was steep, it was slippery, and we moved down it awfully fast. I don’t know if I remember correctly, but in my mind we were racing between big rocks. Could be wrong. But I know one thing for sure. The story, the name Dead Man’s Hill, lent extra excitement - the thrill of fear.

We stayed in Ellensburg only that one winter. When spring was due, we went home to the farm - to plant and start the farming struggle, oops, I mean cycle, all over again.

For us young ‘uns, it meant back to our school mates. Attending a different school was an eye-opener for me. I thought all kids were taught the same things and on the same schedule. Not true, school in Washington was just a repeat of things I had already learned. For example, in Minnesota just before we left in late fall, we were just starting to learn about fractions. In Washington we didn’t start fractions until my family was ready to go back home in the spring.

So I missed the basics of fractions altogether. And I had trouble with fractions all through school. Oh, I could work with them, but I always felt unsure.

I missed the foundation of fractions, but during our stay in Washington I learned a lot of things - about children of other races, about playing hooky (our name for truancy), about stealing, and about family.

I also learned that leaving people you love is difficult, but coming home feels good.