March 1 was a day of great activity in rural communities in the early 1900s. Contracts between landowners and renters were renewed, as that was the start of the growing season.
Moving to a new farm was never postponed, regardless of inclement weather or mud roads. Friends, relatives and neighbors were always there willing to help move with horses, wagons, hay racks and food — eager to help out come rain, blizzard or ice.
There was usually more mud and snow inside the house than out. Stoves and beds were put together first.
Sometimes you were moving in, as the others were moving out.
Cook stoves and heating stoves were dirty and sooty, meaning the whole house must be scrubbed papered and painted and to lay new kitchen “congoleum.”
Thoughts of Mom and Dad papering sent chills up my spine. Thank goodness school took up most of the day because at 4:30 the verbal abuse was still going strong. It was just getting that first strip of ceiling paper on straight, balancing on the wooden planks, and fighting the thin cheap paper and lumpy wallpaper paste that was such an ordeal.
About halfway across the ceiling the inevitable always happened. fingers poked holes in the wet paper, paste dripped on their heads, profanity filtered the air, and the wallpaper brush was misplaced.
After the ceiling was eventually conquered, it was time to spruce up the walls. Sometimes sheets were torn in pieces and pasted to patch the cracked walls and fill holes where plaster had given way. Painted walls and dry wall were unheard of in those bleak days.
After papering the whole house, came Mom’s duty of slapping on another coat of white paint on table, chairs, cupboards and woodwork. It was not her favorite pastime, as the paint was always thin and runny, took days to dry, smelled bad, was hard to clean off and was — without a doubt — probably loaded with lead. The table legs and chair legs always had long streams of thin paint running down them. Mom didn’t much care though as she would have preferred milking a cow.
A few days later, after the paint had finally dried, sunbonnet baby or little baby animal decals were placed on the corners of the cupboards. Weeks later, new curtains, tablecloth, dishtowels and aprons were sewn from 50-pound cloth chicken feed sacks, adding the final finishing touch.
The very last thing, now for the kitchen was picking out a 9 by 12 piece of “congoleum” at the local furniture or hardware store. It was never delivered, you were the delivery person. The new rug was rolled, tied with twine, balanced on the front and back fenders and then tied to open windows on the passenger side of the care.
On arrival at home, it was placed in the warmest room of the house so it would be easier to cut and lay. Sometimes it could be laid right on top of the old flooring, but more than likely the old flooring had to be removed by shovel or pitchfork or any other handy tool of that era. The big day finally arrived and regardless of how careful it was measured, it always cracked or bulged trying to fit around cupboards, doors and corners.
Our duty was stomping on the bulges for several days so it would lie down and look professional. There were no do-overs for do-it-your-selfers and nobody told Dad anything, especially Mom.
Nomads we are until the next move. It is our new home, new house, a new year and new experience in the early spring of 1935.