Yes indeed, April has been a trickster for its entire run. Thirty days of extreme spring weather is more than anyone needs or wants to deal with. Mom Nature needs to get on with the business of spring before the lilacs are frozen beyond hope. Even the hardiest spring plants get weary of frosty, twenty-five degree mornings.
Last week in searching through old Marion Press’s for Horseshoe Bar info, Fern Berry’s ‘Along Our Trails’ for April 29, 1951, caught my eye. It began, “The frogs have been silent during the last week of cold days and freezing nights. Old timers say that frogs must freeze and thaw three times before spring is really here.”
This old weather adage always seems to prove true. Unfortunately, the frogs in these parts have had their tails nipped many times during the April of 2023.
Fern continued, “Even grass is slow this year. A few dandelion blossoms dot lawns and roadsides. Snow flurries filled the air in the afternoon of April 22. We remember many years ago when trout season opened on May 1, which fell on a Saturday. We resolved to fish in the creek (Franz Creek) that ran through the barnyard. That morning we had to dig our fishing worms through three inches of fresh, wet snow. Nevertheless, we went fishing.”
Fern was a dedicated fisherwoman. So on the morning of May 1, 1919, a heavily pregnant Fern went off to fish in the Frantz Creek, as she had countless times in her 21 years. Along the way she gathered a good number of fresh morels. She caught several Brookies, which she took home and cleaned. It all was intended for a much anticipated spring supper. However, the plan changed when it became evident that Baby Berry’s arrival was eminent. My dad was born in the late hours of May 1. Joining his 2 year old sister Lola, George, was the first of the three sons of Frank and Fern Berry. Baby and mother slept well.
This story doesn’t quite end here. The next day grandma asked the women attending her to cook the trout and mushrooms. This request was, of course, denied. What could she be thinking! It was unheard of! No woman who had just given birth should eat fish! She was assured that both the morels and fish were poison for a new baby. All was out of the question.
Fern was a very determined woman. She was going to dine on trout no matter what was said to the contrary. In fact, she was driven by a real hankering for fish. Fern told the ladies, in no uncertain terms that, if they did not cook her fish, she would get up and do it herself. And she would then eat all with great relish. They knew she meant every word. No woman got up so soon after childbirth. So, the ladies weighed the options and cooked the fish. My grandmother ate her supper in bed.
There were no ill-effects for mother or son. In fact, dad claimed that this was why he loved fish, both to catch and to eat. Likewise, for the quest and delicious rewards of seeking the mighty morel.
This story was always a favorite in our family. Grandma made sure she reminded my dad every year on May 1, and affirmed his love of fishing.
Fern also mentioned in her column that she had recently tasted some fresh smelt from “a recent fishing trip. They sure were good!” They no doubt came from a smelt dipping excursion made by dad, his brother Jerry and anyone else who wanted to go. Dad’s fishing friends were numerous and in those days, smelt dipping was epic.
On a side note, grandma also liked to tell of little Lola giving dad a piece of fried bacon when he was just a few months old. Grandma said that she couldn’t figure where the odd, smacking sounds were coming from, until she looked in on baby George. He was contentedly sucking on a, fortunately large, slice of bacon. My aunt claimed that she knew he was hungry and that bacon was just what he wanted. Grandma said this was why he loved bacon.
Dad claimed his sister was really trying to get rid of him.Happy Heavenly Birthday, Dad.
This week’s photo is of the Frantz Creek where the Beebe sawmill dam once stood. The rock marks the spot. This was taken in 1995.