As far back as I can remember my Dad loved to write his name and where he came from. George Peter Stone, Roseau, Minnesota. This was firmly implanted in my mind and as paper was, not in any way shape or form, in abundance when i was young. However Dad would write his name anywhere and everywhere. On the white edge of the newspaper or the boards inside a granary. And his handwriting was beautiful.
My Dad was 15 when they moved from Minnesota and now I realize how much he missed the carefree days of his youth.Life was good back in Minnesota when they first came from Sweden and everyone had jobs lumbering. But once the forests were cleared there were more people than work. (See my post “Edgar Book and Andrew Berg” on immigration to Canada).
Of course Dad talked about all the fun he had playing baseball (of course) and all kinds of other activities. My Dad was athletic and encouraged all of us to participate in sports. I never did see my Dad play baseball but I did see him hit balls when my brother Jim was practicing his skills.
We were small farmers and our pick up truck was not only to haul wheat to the elevator but our ONLY mode of transportation when I was young. Then one day my dad came home from Kyle, Saskatchewan with this Ford sedan. Now the car dealer in Kyle had a farm as well and he had driven this car in the fields. With the windows open! Needless to say, the inside of the car was filled with dust, especially the headliner. We vacuumed and vacuumed the inside of that car but we never could get all the dust out. Of course we had gravel roads and if you went over a bump, down came the dust.
One of the few times I got to go with just my Dad was to take a load of grain to the Federal Elevator in Strongfield. After we sold the grain we would go to the cafe for ICE CREAM. Cost of $.10. And a double scoop! Then my Dad would go into the Pool Hall and play a game of snooker. Then we picked up the mail and went the 14 miles to home.
My dad had a twin brother Paul and one time we three went to see their brother Charlie at Secretan, Saskatchewan some 86 miles away. My Dad was a pretty happy guy and loved to sing. You can just imagine how the two of them could harmonize. I remember them starting out with “The Sidewalks of New York”, then “After The Ball is Over”, then “Daisy” and of course my Dad’s favorite “Moonlight Bay”. I’m sure they sang many more songs. I remember Paul asked my Dad if he could recall the Swedish words to “After The Ball is Over” and they sang that in Swedish. That was such a wonderful treat for me to listen to them sing.
I didn’t have that many trips with just Dad but one I remember was a trip to Davidson to the Dentist. While I was in there my Dad went to the Beer Parlor (as they were called in the 1940’s) for a beer or two. My dad picked me up and said, ” Maureen do you want to drive?” I said sure and drove all the way home, about 45 miles. I was probably 12 years old at the time.
Well that’s my story about my Dad. Loved him lots.