This week’s Tidbits are taking from Stories My Grandmother Told Me written by Mrs. Hazel Brattain. Her memory is remarkable and gives one a good view of what pioneer life was like.

“I can still feel the magic of these Christmases around 1910-15 when we would visit my grandparents in the little East Texas village of Shelbyville. The trip of 10 miles was made by wagon. Our old dog Tige would walk sedately under the wagon so that he would keep out of trouble with other dogs along the way. Mama and Papa sat in the ‘spring seat.’ The children, I with Lucile, Vincent, David, and Ebbie, sat among warm quilts in the back. Our excitement mounted as the tired horses, Topsy and Belle, Pulled our wagon up steep Bell Creek Hill. When we actually got there the town would be full of children – most of them our kin.

In grandma’s dining room, the oak buffet would be crowded with cakes of chocolate, hickory nut, coconut, and there were pies of every description. Tucked away somewhere would be the ‘makins’ of grandpa’s eggnog. In the kitchen safe were the ham, fresh pork sausage, hens to be baked and oh, so many other things to tempt us. But nothing – just nothing – could keep us from the store about two blocks away. Mysterious looking packages were already being carried from both stores – the one owned by grandpa and Mr. Crawford’s store across the street from the old church. The church was sp pretty with its old stained glass windows. The church would be full of women trimming the tree there. From the window of grandpa’s store we could see a ‘Christmas card scene.’ It was not usually a white Christmas, but rather a kind of silvery gray, green and red on.

Looking out of the window we could see where the highway dipped sharply to cross a long wooden bridge that spanned the Tenaha Creek and its bottoms. Trees of many varieties grew thickly in the rich soil. Their bare branches were interspersed with evergreen trees – magnolia, pin and holly, with bright red berries.  This made a striking picture against a wintry sky.  Our tree at the church always came from the Tenaha bottoms.  Perhaps grandpa’s store wasn’t as large nor as wonderful as it seems in retrospect.  Things usually aren’t.  But he sold literally everything a family used in those days.  The big wood burning stove in the middle of the store was a favorite gathering place for the men of the town.  Interesting things were always happening around the store and you saw everyone you knew.  There would be many things suitable for gifts, including china dolls ( and also the fancier wax ones), french harps, little red wagons, vases, cartons of Prince Albert and Granger Rough cut tobacco, gay fascinators  for the mamas – and so on.  Gifts and other articles purchased at the store were as varied as the individuals who bought them.  I remember the timid lady who asked if we sold crepe do chine.  She pronounced it ‘cree pee dee china.’ The older boys always smiled bashfully as they bought gifts for their girl friends.  There were large families being remembered by Santa.  These parents shopped carefully so that each little one could have a gift at Christmas time.  The persnickety shoppers wouldn’t buy anything until they went across the street to see what Crawford’s  store  offered.  Dear fat Gussie bounced into the store consumed by curiosity.  She wanted to find out what her white friends had bought for her gift.  She would say to grandma, ‘Now Miss Date, don’t you let nobody come in here and buy me a  lil’ old handkerchief or something like that.’  Then there was the spry old man who often bought Lydia Pinkham Woman’s Tonic (for himself) and the cute little black girl spending nickels she had earned by buying snuff for ladies who wanted to keep their habit a secret.  The little girl would merely smile and roll her eyes mysterlingly when some would try to learn who the snuff was really for.  Jokes told in the store were rough, but usually without malice.  Sooner or later everyone got on the receiving end of one of those jokes.  One young fellow thought he was getting away with snitching crackers out of a barrel.  Someone switched the barrels and I’m sure he will never forget the callous laughter when his hand came up full of lard.  There were many dashing young salesmen from Houston, Dallas, and Shreveport whom we called ‘drummers.’  They add spice to our little town whenever they passed through.  No one worried too much about their up with the Joneses.  All our fortunes depended upon the price of Cotton – and that was often at there whim of the boll weevil.  Even with those problems, life seemed simpler.  A laundry and a ‘help yourself’ grocery store is located in the space once occupied by grandpa’s store.  Just across the street on the crest of the hill is the old cemetery where six generations of our family are buried.  Over the years our ancestors have been joined by grandma, papa, Vincent, David, (Ebbie lies far away), and so many others dear to me.  They become more dear as time goes on.  I ever remember their faults with affection – and with a thankful heart – that all of them were a part of my life. (signed)  Mrs. Brittain.  Mrs. Brittain’s story is one that we of the older generation have lived, and as she has said, life seemed simpler.  There must be other stories out there that could be told in our newsletters….send them, and they will be in future newsletters.  I promise!!  Hope to see y7ou at the September 27th meeting and at open house at homecoming!!