Mystery Monday – Loyal Americans?

This “Loyal Americans” pin was found among some old items I was given.  I don’t know who it belonged to, the geographic region it came from, nor a timeframe.  I could not find information on similar pins on the internet.  
I thought perhaps this might be a pin for the AOLA - Ancient Order of Loyal Americans, but their symbols seem to be different.
Ideas, anyone?

Treasure Chest Thursday – A Baby’s Hairbrush

These items, nestled together with the note, in a small box, belonged to Myrtle Lair.  The note reads, “The little baby’s hair brush belonged to Myrtle Lair age 1 in 1889.  The photo pin is her at the age of 10 or 12.”
Myrtle was the youngest daughter of Lawson F. and Margaret (Nickeson) Lair.  Her sister, Nettie, was my great great-grandmother.  After the death of her mother, with most of the rest of the surviving children married and/or gone from the area, Myrtle stayed on and cared for her father in his old age.  She never married.   She died in 1941 in Princeville, Illinois, where she had spent her entire life.

Treasure Chest Thursday – Collars from Long Ago

This note, written by my great-grandmother, Elvirta Knutz Graves, explains the significance of these collars she had tucked away.  The lace collar belonged to her mother, Nettie Lair Graves (1861 – 1935), and the fabric collar belong to Nettie’s grandmother, Margaret Coble Nickeson (ca 1803 – 1854).
Margaret Coble Nickeson, owner of the fabric collar, married her husband, Joseph Nickeson, in Franklin county, Ohio in 1819, and in the 1840s they relocated to Peoria county, Illinois with their children.  She died in 1854 at the age of 56 in Princeville.  Her daughter Margaret Nickeson married Lawson Lair in 1858.  They spent the rest of their lives in Princeville, Margaret passing away in 1900 at the age of 59.  Their second child was Nettie Lair, owner of the lace collar.  Nettie married Tom Graves in 1883 in Princeville, and they remained in that area until 1906, when they moved to Esmond, South Dakota.  Their daughter Elivrta married Will Knutz in 1910, in Huron, South Dakota.  The collars were eventually given to Virta’s daughter Mabel, who passed away last year.  I would like to thank my cousins for sending me these, and other, remarkable treasures that their mother had so carefully saved.  I am truly blessed and honored to have them.

The Strawberry Blanket

Sharing a Slice of Life
There are no finer memories than spending the night at Grandma’s house.  She had things we didn’t at home… like trundle beds!  And when she pulled out the bottom bed, she always pulled the Strawberry Blanket out of the back of the closet as well.
I loved that Strawberry Blanket for as long as I remember.  There was nothing particularly special about it, at that time, except that it had strawberries on it and I loved strawberries.  Now, of course, it also has all the memories associated with it, particularly being tucked in so warm and safe by the most wonderful Grandma that God ever created.

When my mom cleaned out Grandma and Grandpa’s house after their passing, she gifted me with the Strawberry Blanket – which by then had become the Strawberry Blankets.  For some unknown reason, Grandma had cut it into two, and whatever backing the blanket used to have was gone.  So I bought some fabric and put backs on each of them.  They spend most of their time in the back of MY closet now, but it’s surprising how comforting these blankets still are, like a hug from far, far away.  I think it’s time to move them to the front of the closet, and get them ready for the next generation of kids who need a warm, snuggly hug.

Sentimental Sunday – Grandpa Tom’s Rocking Chair

I don't know how I was lucky enough to have ended up with Grandpa Tom's rocking chair - perhaps it was just a matter of having a baby at the right time.  I didn't even realize exactly what I was getting when they loaded this heavy, built-to-last chair into the back of the van and drove it 300 miles to my house.  All I knew is that my cheap, "some assembly required" rocking chair had broken, and I had a young child who missed it desperately.

I had seen the chair at my grandmother's house for as long as I could remember, in fact, I remember her re-upholstering the seat in the late 1960's.  I never thought a thing about its origins, until I was browsing through some old pictures of my great-grandparents' home, and there it was!  I assumed that after my great-grandmother, Virta,  passed away, my grandparents inherited it.  I asked my great aunt, Mabel, who was Virta's daughter, if she knew anything of it's origins, and she confirmed that it was Virta's father, Thomas L. Graves, who made this chair.

Tom made two rocking chairs, my mother said, and what became of the other one, we do not know.   Actually, Tom was a carpenter and a farmer by trade, among other ventures, and he not only constructed these two chairs, but numerous pieces of furniture, and with his son Delbert built a number of homes, barns, and even a two-story double-wide store in Esmond, South Dakota.  In his spare time, he liked to whittle, using soft stone.  Truly a creative man.


I don't know when he built this rocking chair - he died in 1933, at the age of 71, and I'm not sure when he retired from his life of woodworking, or if death was what ended his avocation.
But what I do know is that many generations of his young descendants were comforted in that chair, and his daughters, granddaughters, great-granddaughters, and great-great-granddaughters have tenderly held their sleeping infants in it. Most recently, my own granddaughter, Alyssa, who represents Generation Number Seven, joins the fold, and hopefully the tradition won't end there.

An Unlikely Sentimental Treasure

    It's hard to imagine how a green electric frying pan could be among *anyone's* sentimental things.  Especially this one.  It's not much to look at, with it's late 1960s olive green finish, blotched with permanent stains, like battle scars, from years of use.  The bolt holding the leg on doesn't do much for its looks either.
    But I still remember the day I got it, in the very late 1970s.  My parents were freshly divorced, and oddly enough, no one fought for custody of the olive green electric frying pan.  It was not one of the things my mother took when she left, and my father never used it. I stopped over one day and he was going through things in the cabinets.  He pulled out a step stool, climbed onto the stove and opened the cabinet just under the ceiling.  From the back, he pulled out this frying pan, and asked if I wanted it, or if he should throw it out.  Of course I wanted it!!  It was like new, and it was larger than the typical square electric frying pans.  The finish was the old Silverstone, which wore like battle armor.  I didn't have much money at the time, and could never have afforded such a nice frying pan, so I was elated.  I used it regularly.
    As I married and my family grew, the frying pan was a staple in the kitchen.  I was heartbroken when I accidentally broke one of its legs, but my Grandpa Bill Knutz, an old "do it yourself" farmer, fixed it.  And fixed it, and fixed it.  Eventually it got to be a heated competition between Grandpa and that frying pan leg.  Over and over, he glued that leg on, each time vowing it wouldn't come off again.  The last time I took it to him to fix, he carted it down to his basement workshop, and brought it up with a bolt holding the leg on.  He said that leg would outlast the frying pan.  He was right.
    A couple of months ago, I was preparing to fix chicken and dumplings in my frying pan, when it was accidentally knocked off the kitchen counter.  All of the legs were shattered.  Well, not all of them.  One held tight.  My husband looked at the numerous broken pieces and declared it dead.  I'll be shopping for its replacement today, not that anything could truly replace it.  It and I have been friends for 30 years.  Every time I saw that bolt in the leg I think of my dear, dear Grandpa Bill.  Call me silly, but I put the pan in the back of the cupboard, where it would be out of the way, with the shattered leg pieces, and the one solid leg.  I can't throw that pan away.  Some day, when my sons sort through what's left of my earthly belongings, they'll find that pan, and sentimentally say, "Mom was crazy."  :)