Oh the Joy of the Fourth of July!

From "Just Thought of A Plain Country Woman" Published July, 4, 1946.

"For days before the Fourth of July, I pondered what Independence Day meant this year for the meanings surrounding special days vary from time to time; last year, the War in Europe was over, The Boy had survived but was headed for the final struggle in Japan, and, altho, we were grateful for the present relief, we felt that going to the Asiatic area was almost more than we could face  We recalled past Fourths in our childhood and older years and somehow this one, our first Victory Fourth seemed to bear the meaning of "The Year of Beginning Again."  The Boy is home; the Girl will join our family group soon, judging by the constant flow of pink scented letters that come in the mail; our twenty-eighth wedding anniversary that comes so close to the Fourth of July, seemed to join in the spirit of the Day and pointed to a new start for us all."

        Can you imagine how glorious the first Fourth of July must have been, having just
         returned home from winning the WWII?  What celebrations there must have been! 
         Let's celebrate those members of the "Greatest Generation" once again remembering
         the gift of freedom they have given us. 

Kids say the darndest things - maybe it's all in their perspective.

      Excerpt From: "Just Thoughts of a Plain Country Woman"                                 September 30, 1948, The Collinsville News.

"A little girl was visiting her grandmother in the country.  Walking in the garden she saw a peacock, a bird she had never seen before.  After gazing in quiet admiration, she quickly ran to the house and cried out:  "Oh, Grandmother, come and see! One of your chickens is in bloom!" 

What fun it it is to watch the world through a child's eyes.  How they can take such complex issues and instances and break them down into the essence. . .  the essential.. . .  treasuring and focusing on just the most important elements.

I hope your "chicken" "blooms" today! 

"No Man Left Behind" concept is challanged

Last Posting for Memorial Day, 2013.
(Explanation:) During the time Mrs. Morrow wrote, it was considered inappropriate to "splash"
names around in the press/public. So, with my grandfather and my father's permission she duly
noted them in the column as "The Husband" for Joe Fagan Morrow and "The Boy" for Joe
Ellingwood Morrow. By the 1950's, is was considered acceptable to use proper/given
names and so in later columns my brother and I are actually named. )

Can you imagine in these days of "no man left behind" having the following discussion with your son or daughter as they left for the war front? Read on. . . .

"While The Boy was still overseas in the thick of the Battle for Europe, The Husband and I agreed that, should he fall, we would not ask for the return of his body; he, himself, had requested that he not be moved if he fell, and since he is home, he still says he would let the war dead lie where they are.

Many, many, however, have requested that their dead be brought home while others are still in doubt. For these families an article appears in the May (1947) Readers Digest,“Let Them Rest In Peace.”

The writer and his wife, who had lost a son, went to Holland to see the cemetery where he lay,and after seeing the “thousands of small white crosses in perfect symmetry upon the hilltop, with the Stars-of-David blooming among them ” they decided to leave him” Rest in Peace.”

“Row upon row, our sons lie as they marched, side-by-side. They sleep in death as they had slept in camp.”

The two parents went at all times of the day and in all kinds of weather to make doubly sure they wanted to leave their son buried where he fell, and came to the following conclusion:

“if I could speak to homes, those stricken as mine, I would like to say two things: First, the cemeteries in Europe are beautiful and as nearly perfect as we could wish. Second, the people in the midst of whom our sons lie buried are kindly, thoughtful, appreciative, and conscious that it is an honor to pay tribute to the young warrior dead. Nothing will restore what once has been. Those many thousands look so quiet—let them rest in that quietness.”

Some have made memorial parks such as the one in Tulsa at Boulder on the Park, where crosses have been erected as a shrines to their dead and that, too, is a beautiful and fitting, and comfortable place where one may go with bowed head to sit awhile with thoughts of a loved one, for the one is as near in spirit there as they are in France or Holland or New Guinea. “

On this Memorial Day, 66 years later, may they rest in peace. Happy Memorial Day! Go celebrate the freedoms these young warriors have provided for us.

Locating our Honored Dead following WWII

By Memorial Day, 1947, the country was struggling with how to handle the war dead. Read on to see the amazing -- and coordinated effort -- that followed on to return the soldiers to families who made the request. An interesting bit of history as you pay your respects on this Memorial Day -- 66 years later.

"When the WWII was over, all possible means was used to identify all casualties and locate all missing and the war department is quite emphatic that” all identifications are absolutely positive,” easing the fear that some families are likely to receive a body other than that of their own son or daughter. All identified are unknown are also named.

Our honored dead lie in 201 temporary cemeteries in 57 countries scattered from” Greenland’s icy mountains to India’s coral strand” and from the jungles of Borneo to Holland and Italy. WWI dead were practically all concentrated in France which is readily accessible and, in 1920, appeared to be a peaceful Europe; then only 60% of our people wanted their dead return, but now 80% of the next of kin want their WWII heroes brought the home. Congress has appropriated funds that the fill the desires of every deceased service person’s family. Regrettable delay and several postponements and the return of our war dead have been caused by strikes; steel, and consequent shortage of steel caskets, but the government now hopes to complete their removal within 30 months.

Our honored dead will be returned in a progressive operation depending on climate, shipping and other factors; there will be no priorities or distinctions in either time, ship or casket; those lying in Hawaii and Belgium are scheduled to come first. All funeral ships will debark their caskets at New York or San Francisco, from which point 118 funeral cars will forward the flag draped caskets to 15 distribution centers nearest their final destination. Each service person will be accompanied by an honor guard of the same or higher from his own service. The next of kin and will be advised of the progress and the exact time of arrival sufficiently in advance so that there will be ample time to make final preparations. There are four optional burial plans as set forth in the American Legion magazine and for May, 1947. "

From "Just Thoughts of a Plain Country Woman", The Collinsville News, May 29, 1947. www.morrowhomeplace.com

Memorial Day - Part 1

By Memorial Day, 1947, the country was struggling with how to handle the war dead. Read on to see the amazing -- and coordinated effort -- that followed on to return the soldiers to families who made the request. An interesting bit of history as you pay your respects on this Memorial Day -- 66 years later.

"When the WWII was over, all possible means was used to identify all casualties and locate all missing and the war department is quite emphatic that” all identifications are absolutely positive,” easing the fear that some families are likely to receive a body other than that of their own son or daughter. All identified are unknown are also named.

Our honored dead lie in 201 temporary cemeteries in 57 countries scattered from” Greenland’s icy mountains to India’s coral strand” and from the jungles of Borneo to Holland and Italy. WWI dead were practically all concentrated in France which is readily accessible and, in 1920, appeared to be a peaceful Europe; then only 60% of our people wanted their dead return, but now 80% of the next of kin want their WWII heroes brought the home. Congress has appropriated funds that the fill the desires of every deceased service person’s family. Regrettable delay and several postponements and the return of our war dead have been caused by strikes; steel, and consequent shortage of steel caskets, but the government now hopes to complete their removal within 30 months.

Our honored dead will be returned in a progressive operation depending on climate, shipping and other factors; there will be no priorities or distinctions in either time, ship or casket; those lying in Hawaii and Belgium are scheduled to come first. All funeral ships will debark their caskets at New York or San Francisco, from which point 118 funeral cars will forward the flag draped caskets to 15 distribution centers nearest their final destination. Each service person will be accompanied by an honor guard of the same or higher from his own service. The next of kin and will be advised of the progress and the exact time of arrival sufficiently in advance so that there will be ample time to make final preparations. There are four optional burial plans as set forth in the American Legion magazine and for May, 1947. "

From "Just Thoughts of a Plain Country Woman", The Collinsville News, May 29, 1947. www.morrowhomeplace.com

"Up Eggs" and "Down Eggs" - Do you do you part?

January 1, 1953 - "Just Thoughts of a Plain Country Woman" column publised in The Collinsville News.

You can imagine my surprise when I read the following column written by my grandmother in 1953 (over 60 years ago) when I was about 2 ½ years old - what an attitude!

“Kathleen, my small granddaughter, says she gets to pick the“up” eggs. When she saw I was puzzled by“up and down” eggs she explained that, since she could not reach the high nests, she would gather the ones in the lower nests, while we picked the others.

How wise and happy she is without even realizing it! How few of us are willing to do the “down” work--willingly? How resentful are we of those who have the “up” nests as though the higher nests or eggs were any better than those lower down.

And thereby is today’s thought.

What is the only difference between “high” and “low”? Physical stature in Kathleen’s case; mental and spiritual capacity and all our cases. It is up to us whether we think “high”or “low” and whether we are willing to do our part. . . . . .

. . . .First, let us be self reliant enough to reach up, to look up, and yet at the same time, feel responsibility where we are at our own place, with our own talents and our own growth at our present level. Kathleen is – even at her level. She is thrifty, too, holding all the eggs she gathers securely in both hands and placing them carefully in the bucket so as not to break any. She has the courage to try, the individual eagerness to beg to go along and help; and the supreme faith that while she is doing a perfect job now, someday she will be a “big girl”who can reach into the very “top” nests, do her part, and receive even greater responsibility and reward.

When we finish, she insists on helping to carry the heavy bucket of eggs to the house—she insists carrying her part of the load.

And, so I ask you today: "Are you willing to carry your part of the load?"

 

The Fruits of a Garden Harvest

A Busy Day on the Morrow Home Place - Harvesting the Garden

August 16, 1945 -

Well, we finally picked the last of the green beans; big beans, little beans, some ready to be shelled, others barely set on vines; we knew there was still another picking, and since we like to feel that we have tended to all unfinished business, early one morning while the dew was like a young rain, we gathered our last half a bushel.

I did not take them to the canning center, for, while there were not many of them, I knew they would take double time for preparation as they were wormy, bug-chewed and would need to be sorted for canning. Maybe I’m too fussy but I don’t like to put into a jar what wouldn’t look good on a guest’s plate and a bean pod with a big, or even small wormy hole in it, isn’t appetizing.

After all our late planting and too much rain, our garden hasn’t been this disappointing as it was an early spring when time came and passed to plant potatoes and beans. For a time we discussed eating the half-bushel of seed potatoes we had bought, but the ground finally became mealy enough that we could plant, so we put them in without consulting the Moon, although it’s the latest we’ve ever known of anyone planting spring potatoes.

Now we have harvested eight bushels of as nice a crop we’ve ever had except the time we had twenty-five bushels from a half bushel of seed potatoes. This will make us enough for all winter if they keep and the boys are not here to eat them. We got ours dug just about that time other people were planting their little potatoes for the fall garden, but we shall we replant our ground to late roasting ears and turnips.

Now that we near the end of our efforts we’ll wonder if “The Boy” and “Willyum” will be here this winter to help eat out eighty-six quarts of green beans. We know that “Willyum”is already somewhere in the Pacific, and grieves our hearts beyond measure to think that the boys who survived the European conflict must now enter the the Asiatic struggle.

Our job was not an easy one, but neither is that of the boys so far from home amid the noise and din of battle or striving to bring order out of the dirt and chaos that Europe. As we work, wet to the waist, or with sweat streaming into our eyes, or our backs nearly broken, chigger-bitten and bee-stung, we can appreciate in a very small way the terrible heat and constant strife with bugs and reptiles, the impenetrable jungle of the Pacific and when we come to the house with full baskets we can give thanks but we still have a cool, clean house where we can spend the rest of the day canning, cooking, eating, reading and resting, were no bombs have fallen and no destruction has disrupted the regularity of our lives.

So if you should pass and see me sitting out under the silver maple tree in the rustic bench drinking a bottle of pop, don’t think that is our usual way of living—maybe I just finished a big ironing or canning and cooling myself before putting away the clothes or the jars. Or if you see “The Husband” sitting in the rocker, on the porch, enjoying a nice drink, don’t misjudge him, for maybe he’s just finished digging the potatoes are barning a load of hay; then, of an evening after our supper, rejoice with us as you pass and see me in the hammock, “The Husband” nearby and his rocker, Spot sprawled comfortably out on the grass, -- it is the climax of a busy day.

Hope Springs Eternal - Ahhhh, Sweet Spring

A short time ago, in January, the earth seemed dead, the land was in the steel grip of winter. We saw dry leaves, lifeless brown grass, bare wild stalks, leavless skeleton of trees, a few robins and meadow larks but once again the mirable of Srping has come and the exepnctant earth prolaims the Glory of God. We knew that seeming reign of death was only temporty, that nature was not defeated; that underneath the deal grass were jonquils and tulips and spring beatuies, that there was hidden life, libe dormant, waiting, hopeful.
The locust and pear trees only withdrew life from exposed parts and wrapped them thorooughtly to protect them from bitter cold, soon to unfold into sweet scented blossoms. Each hidden bit of life remained waiting in millions fo seeds, buds, bulbs, roots and stems, chrysalis and cacook, n egg ofinsets, and animals sleeping in their dens. Each waiting bit of life was supplied with food carefullys tored in or around it ready to sustain it till leaf and roots could give fresh food. We little realize what a mysterious process is that which we call growth. Only living things grow. Life everywhere has a power of its own, a purose that guides it and will not be defiled; as human being, we are far above all othr living things, not only in perfection of the human body, but because we are being, not behaving with blind instinct, but with free intelligence.
Life on eaqrth reaches its climas in personality; which,at its highest, rises above the physical. Even as the warm rays of the sun reach down, touch the leaves and buds and animales, lift of the dead elements of the earty, so the power of the God of life and love reaches down and, touching the human soul, lifts it up to the highest spiritual life if we only permit ourselves to be lifted up.

The actual column was published in The Collinsville News, Collinsville, Ok April 10, 1947.

Boy Scout Troop 93 completed Morrow Smokehouse rennovations

Boy Scout Cannon Vogel and troop members complete the Morrow Home Place Smokehouse rennovation project

Cannon Vogel and other members of the Scout troop based in Owasso, finished phase one of the smokehouse rennovation project.

Cannon is working on his Eagle designation and chose the Morrow Home Place smokehouse as a project. He and the Troop 93, based in Owasso, OK, have emptied and cleaned out the old smokehouse and found many antique items. There were careful to log and preserve those items for future cataloging and display.

They cut a section of the original wooden shingled roof and set it aside to be preserved and used it as an example of how wooden shingles were originally attached to the roof structure. Vogel located a source of wooden shingles and he and his team re-created the original wood shingle roof on the old structure.

The Scouts took care to preserve the original structure and only replace materials with "like" materials in order to follow the historic preservation direction to "preserve and protect" the orginal structure.

Original Smokehouse roof

Cannon is the son of Mitzi and Rick Vogal and is Kip Robinson, is the Troop 93 Troopmaster. .

Morrow Home Place placed on the National Register of Historic Places

The Morrow Home Place was placed on the National Register of Historic Places in April, 2011.

Kathleen's grandparents Joe Fagan and Lucille Ellingwood Morrow with lived in the farmhouse from 1905. The home and land have been in the Morrow family over 100 years.

Lucile Ellingwood Morrow taught in Collinsville schools, and wrote a weekly newspaper column. Those columns titled "Just Thought of A Plain Country Woman" chronicled life on the farm and appeared in "The Collinsville News"(1937-1970) and "Tulsa World" (1942-1965).

The planned museum/farm will be near Collinsville's Herald Elementary and an Owasso elementary projected to be build by 2008 to be named for Mrs. Morrow.

The museum will focus on educational events and activities for children and will be a "living history" museum where the children will be encouraged to experience a "typical" day's activities of a farm child during the decades of the 30's, 40's, 50's or 60's depending on the studies of the particular grade level.

While Kathleen has the wealth of information left by her grandmother's columns and some diaries for her own family's experiences, she is hoping to expand on that to gather information and also honor other pioneer families in this area.

Dr. Morrow resides in Texas now and is commuting to Collinsville monthly to get the project formalized. She has a local steering committee to help get an organization in place to carry forth the endeavor.

For more information or to volunteer please contact kathleen@ebby.com.

Flag Day - From the June 14, 1951 "Just Thoughts of a Plain Country Woman" column: 

Flag Day is always June 14th.  We have three significant “flag days” in Spring and Summer:  Memorial Day, Flag Day and Independence Day.  All these days mark occasions when Americans might well re-dedicate themselves to the principles of honesty and decency in human affairs. 

Such principles, having brought us a long way, should do us no lesser service as we build hopefully for the future.

Easter brings images of Easter bunnies and little girls in frilly dresses to mind. But, in April, 1945, just before the end of WWII, Lucile Ellingwood Morrow, author of the column "Just Thoughts of a Plain County Woman" had a somewhat different perspective. Not much different then the time of national conflict in which we currently live. She looked at the sacrifice Christ made for us and the sacrifices the many men and women of WWII battles were making and posed the question, "Am I worth dying for?"

Read what she had to say in Early April, 1945, just before the end of the great war:

I'm glad to see the fringe of green along the garden fence, to see the tiny blades of grass grow so fast, because they are signs that God did not forget to send Spring when all the world is intent upon grim destruction of humankind and man-made ways of living. Again, we see the flash of the redbird in the woodland edge and hear the fluting of the meadowlarks from the white cloud of pear blossoms and the eager bleating of the woolly lambs as they frisk and jump in the pastures. Now we all turn farmers; there's work aplenty, but with it, there's joy that comes to those who are willing to share a partnership with God in fulfilling spring's miracle, with Christ, the Gardner, who broke Eternal Winter, stirring the soil, sowing the seed, nurturing the tiny plant that reaches up "to a soul in grass and flowers," bringing it into full fruition to bless mankind.

And so it is with Easter which Christmas brought to maturity -- babe in a manger, man on the cross --a fulfillment, a completion. Easter is not the time of death, for, even as trees and flowers spring from the cold, brown bud and bulb,so came Christ out of the grave -- resurrected.

Spring should not be the time for war either, with its widespread destruction, but letters from Europe tell us to, that there, too, the liberated people have begun to plow and plant again the land so lately bombed and blasted, working in Easter faith that once more "grass which is the forgiveness of nature-- her constant benediction" will invade the devastated land, climb slopes and patiently restore the beauty of the landscape, heal the scars of war and bring to flower seeds buried for centuries, never before seen by man.

We here at home, too, must work in faith that "joy cometh in the morning," that "storms cannot last forever, that night yields to day and winter ends in Spring"; such a fragile, beautiful thought as Easter and resurrection is apt to be lost in this age of machines, guns, greed, hate, cruelty, and trivialities; only the power of our faith and of our thought can prevail over the materialism of age.

Just as all Christian people believe that Christ died to have all mankind, so we must have faith that our boys are being sacrificed for the same reason, else all war becomes hopeless carnage. It is so hard to see the "Why?" of it all unless we believe in the brotherhood of man. Even so, we question the price when we hear of such appalling losses as those at Iwo Jima and ask ourselves point blank, "Am I worth dying for?"

The further we go into the war, the more complicated it becomes; new orders, new shortages, new duties and demands arise until we feel we shall never see our way out of the maze, but let's remember that the pilot of the B-29 learns the 55,000 numbered parts of his plane with its unbelievable calculations for shooting a single bullet from his fast-moving plane at another coming from the opposite direction at terrific speed; it involves such intricate calculations as the speed, wind, gravity, temperature, and air densities, high and low altitudes, and yet he shoots 800 bullets a minute! The same is true of the Army and Navy where men follow, without question, their officers; we civilians will do well, also, to live our ration book- tire -gasoline - O. P. A. regulated lives in faith and obedience that is necessary and will lead us all successfully to victory.

We say we have no faith and yet we step on a bus, or a train, or a plane and trust our lives to the driver; we think sometimes we've lost faith in mankind and yet we touch the switch and the dark room is lighted; we turn the faucet and the water runs, we touch the gas fixtures and feel sure that we will have a fire; we drive on our side of the highway, at full speed, trusting that the car approaching, rapidly, will stay on that side of the road; we leave home thread our way through heavy traffic and trust that we shall arrive, promptly, at our destination. Thus, although we do not realize it, our daily life is lived by faith, the same as the lives of the prophet Elijah and widow Sirepta and her son were lived, from day-to-day, on the promise that the "barrel of meal shall not waste, neither shall the cruse of oil fail until the day of the Lord sendth rain upon the earth."
Every day we wonder how we shall be able to do our work with no help, without canvas gloves, new overalls, or sugar and washing machines, yet every day those stones are removed for us just as the stone was removed for the early comers to the sepulcher on Easter morning. We lean more heavily on the promises "All things work together for the good of those who love the Lord; Fear not, for, lo, I am with the always; and even unto the ends of the earth; Ask and it shall be given to you; Seek and ye shall find; Knock and it shall be opened to you."

So, at Easter, the time for new beginnings, renewed hope, putting old mistakes, grudges, hatchets, and regrets behind us, let us too, permit ourselves a rebirth. We too need to leave our old ruts, being assured that, even though we suffer the supreme loss, our boys died for something, and shall live forever, "The Risen Soldier" even as Christ died for for us, "Our Risen Soldier."