My mom died when I was thirteen, or maybe fourteen, but my memories of her are mostly in the house, where she did the things that most women did in the 1950s and 1960s. She was vigilant about me not bringing animals in the house, and, as far as I am aware, I was her only son who insisted on doing that, sneaking cats in through the upstairs window. She kept what was referred to as a garden on a half acre of land on one side of the house. Dad would plow it in the early spring but she did everything else, from the planting, the weeding, and other maintenance tasks, although we (me and my brothers) were often asked to bring in whatever was ready for harvesting at the time, although she would do that, as well. I can remember when she replaced her gas-powered washing machine (with attached wringer) with an electric one, but it was still kept outdoors. She would hang the clothes on the line after wringing them dry.
One spring day, when I was maybe eleven or so, possibly a year younger or older, she asked if I wanted to go for a walk. I assumed she meant along the road, and was surprised when she cut off the road and into the woods. For much of the rest of that day, she showed me that she knew her way around the woods, along the river, and into various clearing and such, and that she knew which flowers were going to be blooming at that time of the year, and where they could be found.
I was surprised. Astonished. Before that, other than walking to church, which was just up the hill, or to one of her sister's houses sometimes, as she didn't drive, I had rarely seen her away from the house or yard, and had no idea that she knew her way around. She didn't grow up in Wallace, but near Cedar River, a few miles away, closer to Lake Michigan, so she must have learned her way around as a young woman, probably while my Dad was in the Pacific during World War II, or maybe before.
