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Mother was in a bind one summer in the early 1940s before I started school. Her teaching job for the Fall was contingent on her completing two courses required for her teaching degree. Hence, Daddy signed up to drive gasoline and transport trucks during the summer months to pay for her apartment and summer college expenses. This meant I received the bonus of spending the summer with my father’s parents on a farm near Wardville, Oklahoma.

I loved being on the farm with my grandparents, C.H. and Arvelia Smith. They lived in a small frame house on a hill overlooking much of their farm with Ring, their large collie dog who became my roaming-free companion. My grandparents made me feel grown up and part of the team by giving me jobs such as helping feed the chickens, gathering eggs, and over the summer there were lots of other tasks such as helping with the cows, helping churn cream into butter, and helping in the garden.

Grandmother had several feather mattresses she had made out of feathers collected from geese and perhaps some chicken feathers. She stored several on each bed and would pull one or more of the mattress onto the floor whenever she needed a spare bed for anyone visiting for there were no motels. I remember how she put her four grandchildren on one mattress when we were small and the house was full of company. Two of us would be at one end of the feather bed while the other two were at the other end with some expected kicking hidden in the middle. One of my fondest memories from that summer is sleeping on the feather bed encircled by sheets dried in the sun. I loved that clean outdoor smell surrounding me when I climbed in bed. It permeating my dreams as the feather bed gently caressed me and carried me off to pleasant dreams. 

There were two big things I had to adjust to while living on the farm instead of in town. First, my grandparents didn’t have electricity or indoor plumbing. Having no electricity was pretty simple since it was summer and we mostly lived by sunlight. Rarely did they have to light the gas lantern to see in the dark. However, the plumbing was a different story. All their water was hand-drawn from a deep well outside the back door. It provided wonderful cold water for drinking—but Saturday-night-bath time was a family project, unlike anything I was accustomed to.

The lack of indoor plumbing meant Grandpa would place a big metal tub on the floor in the kitchen near their wood-burning, cast-iron cook stove where they would heat some water. Every drop of water was carried by hand from the well outside and was cold, so you definitely wanted some heated water added to your bath. Once the bath water was warm enough, we took turns getting into the tub for our bath. The youngest was first, and Grandpa was always last. Yes, we all took turns using the same water because it had been such a big job just getting water for the bath—one bucket at a time—and getting it warm enough to get in—not to mention manually emptying the water afterward. Even at Christmas, when eleven people sometimes stayed overnight, we all still used the same bath water if we wanted a bath.

Many vivid memories flood my mind regarding my second big adjustment for the summer: their two-hole outhouse or privy located many yards away from the house on the other side of the chicken yard. It was furnished with corncobs and Sears Roebuck catalogs to use for wiping yourself. I longed for the soft toilet paper we had at home. Mother brought me some when she and Daddy visited mid-summer because she understood.

If I needed to use the bathroom, there were two things I had to watch for as I went through the chicken yard. One was a mean old rooster that would chase and try to peck me, while the other thing was chicken poop. Since I rarely wore shoes in the summer, I didn’t like having to watch where I stepped when I ran through the chicken yard—dodging the rooster—to use the bathroom. I detested stepping in fresh chicken poop with my bare feet. Yukkk! Grandma kept a bucket of water by the back door for cleaning feet after going to the toilet.

In the afternoons Grandpa and I would walk to the bottom of the hill to check for mail, and sometimes, we would walk further to the General Store which was the only building I remember in town besides a couple of churches. I liked going to the store with him because there was a little bit of everything anyone could want in that place. Looking at all the different stuff felt like an adventure to me. Grandpa would give me a penny to spend any way I wanted because there were several little wooden barrels of penny candy. Sometimes the owner would wink at Grandpa and give me several pieces for my penny. During the time it took me to decide how to spend my penny, Grandpa caught up on the neighborhood news from the people socializing in the back. Before leaving, we would check to see if there was a message from my parents because the only phone in town was on the wall of the General Store. If anyone received an emergency call, the General Store would send someone to your house to notify you. Otherwise, your message was put in a special place for when you visited the store. (NOTE: If you think a penny makes Grandpa seem stingy, remember that a candy bar or ice cream cone was a nickel, besides you could mail a post card for a penny. Inflation has changed our concept of the value of money.)

Since there was no air conditioning, we were often outside on the porch where we could get a breeze, especially during the hot afternoons. Grandmother Smith had a wooden lattice on her front porch from floor to ceiling that was covered with vines and flowers to give us a leafy shade when we sat there in the afternoons shelling peas, snapping green beans, stripping ears of corn, or the multitude of other things that kept people busy putting up their garden produce in glass canning jars for the winter. Sometimes, friends or relatives stopped by to visit and we ate fresh watermelon or made homemade ice cream. Ice cream was really special and we all took turns cranking the handle until it set up. 

That summer was successful in many ways. Mother completed her college degree so she had a job, Daddy was able to pay for everything, and I learned a great deal while spending a fantastic summer with my grandparents. What did I learn? For starters, being chased and pecked by a mean rooster was not the end of the world. I enjoyed soaking in the slower-paced, face-to-face interactions with actual people of various ages and in different settings. I particularly enjoyed being treated as a contributing member of the family. Years later, with the advent of personal cell phones, televisions, and air conditioning, I recognized that summer taught me I could survive without such isolating technologies—although I do enjoy using them.

As I think about it today, there’s a very significant aspect of my early childhood in the 40s that I don’t see as much now: life seemed much more God-and-people-centered. Despite the challenges and hard work, individuals appeared to function as part of a community or family rather than living in isolation. For example, since there was no air conditioning in the small Oklahoma towns of my early childhood, in the late afternoon after eating, people would gather on porches or under shade trees to visit while their houses cooled off. We kids would play kick-the-can down the street since there was no traffic—everyone was home. Sometimes, we would sing if someone had a guitar. Family bonds were strong, and patriotism was deeply felt—partly due to World War II. Most people I knew in Oklahoma expressed gratitude to God for their blessings. 

Today, some might dismiss the individuals I’m describing as mere uneducated country folk, for they held firm to Jesus' promise that those who believe in Him would have eternal life for Jesus said He would raise them up on the last day. They were encouraged by the empty tomb celebrated at Easter, knowing that the same Jesus who overcame death would also raise them someday. They understood what was truly important in life and placed their hope in Jesus Christ and His Word. During my many decades of education and life experiences, I’ve come to realize that dissatisfaction with life often arises from placing hope in the wrong things. Yes, the people from my early childhood truly had it right, Christ’s empty tomb is the basis of our hope.

Jesus said, “And this is the will of Him who sent Me, that everyone who sees the Son and believes in Him may have everlasting life; and I will raise him up at the last day.” John 6:40 (NKJV)