Restoring the Wild Turkey Population

19-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today: 

Monday, October 5, 1914:  <<no entry>>

Source: Milton Evening Standard (September 21, 1914)

Source: Milton Evening Standard (September 21, 1914)

Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:

Since Grandma’s diary is not helping me come up with a topic for today’s post, I’m going to go off on another tangent–

Yesterday, I shared an article from 1914 which indicated (much to my surprise) that women could get hunting licenses a hundred years ago. Today, I’m sharing another 1914 article from the Milton (PA) Evening Standard that also touched on hunting—and the effects of over-hunting in the late 1800s and early 1900s.

It’s good to know that the wild turkey population was increasing, and that the state of Pennsylvania had passed laws which supported wildlife restoration—but it’s somewhat alarming that turkeys apparently were endangered in Pennsylvania and other states in the early 1900s. According to the Tennessee Wildlife Resource Agency:

1840—Wild turkey “virtually eliminated” from New York

1881— Wild turkey gone from Wisconsin

1900— Wild turkey gone from Iowa

1900—Wild turkey “nearly silenced “ in Georgia

1900— Wild turkey gone from North Carolina

1910— Wild turkey gone from 2/3s of Virginia

1920 —18 of 39 state had lost their wild turkey population

An aside—I saw several turkeys on my way into work on Friday. Thank goodness the people who lived a hundred years ago worked to restore the wild turkey population so that we can enjoy them now.

Turkey

A Day at the Milton Fair

19-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today: 

Thursday, October 1, 1914:

The days of fall and summer’s last farewell,

When the flowers must droop and slowly fade away.

Time changes. October now is here again,

And sweet summer can no longer with us stay.

Spent the day at the Milton Fair. We had seats on the grand stand. That was the first time I was on one. Don’t get so tired and see a great deal more. Was late getting home, as the trains behind time.

Milton Fairgrounds Grandstand (Photo was taken in the early 1920s) Source: Milton History.org

Milton Fairgrounds Grandstand (Photo was taken in the early 1920s) Source: Milton History.org

Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:

Grandma-

What fun! Who were you with in the grand stand? . . . your sister Ruth? . . . friends?

It sounds like the perfect day (even if the trains were running late).

For those of you who are familiar with the area, the Milton Fairgrounds were located along the road between Milton and Watsontown near the current site of the Wynding Brook Golf Club.

Grandma began each month with a poem. For more about the poems, see this previous post:

Monthly Poem in Diary

Airplanes at Fairs

19-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today: 

Tuesday, September 29 –Wednesday, September 30, 1914: Guess I’ll have to commence writing about the weather. Well the weather should come in for its share of notice. You see this is fair week. I mean one with a capital F.

Picture Source: Ladies Home Journal (June, 1914)

Picture Source: Ladies Home Journal (June, 1914)

Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:

Grandma dated this diary entry for two days—September 29 and 30. Fairs a hundred years ago were very exciting. For example, in 1912, Grandma saw an airplane at the Milton Fair:

 . . .Saw a flying machine whirling aloft in the air for at least 10 minutes. I think twas quite a sight to see.

October 3, 1912

Airplanes apparently were the fad de jour at fairs in the 1910s. Here’s part of a story in the June, 1914 issue of Ladies Home Journal:

Whether Pigs Have Wings: What Anne Found Out When Mrs. Stevens Flew to the County Fair

On the morning of the County Fair, Mrs. Stevens shortened the Scripture reading, and; and she put the Bible aside, she murmured: “Had I the wings then I would fly.”

“Well, Mother,” said her husband, “keep your eye peeled an’ you’ll likely see an airyplane goin’ over to the Fair. It seems too bad not to take you.”

“Well the buckboard only holds two, you to drive an’ Jed to lead Daisy. She’s got to go if she’s to the get prize as best milker, an’ I can’t hold onto her rope all the way. “

Mrs. Stevens gave the horse a lump of sugar and watched the buckboard slowly precede Dairy, the “prize milker” down the drive to the hedge gate. After Peter’s departure, she hied herself to the back porch to watch whatever might fly by. “Always there are birds and clouds, and today p’haps an airship,” she thought with a thrill and the enthusiasm that made her seventy years young.

Mrs. Stevens, shelling peas on the back porch, screened by hollyhocks, suddenly became all ears. The air was filled with a gigantic whirring.

“Bees swarming,” was her first thought, “or a new sort of auto; it must be coming over the roof then.”

It was and it did. A huge shadow fell, and Mrs. Stevens, placing her pan of peas on the settle, stepped out beyond the hollyhocks as an airship sailed over the garden trees and over the orchard, before she gasped at the wonder of it. Hovering over the meadow it half circled, lowering.

Gently it came to stillness on the green meadow grass. Mrs. Stevens hastened back to the porch and snatched her blue sunbonnet, hurried to the woodshed and took a tin can; then down the sloping path under the apple trees she sped as fast as her prunella shoes could patter.

When she came out of the orchard she could see a man leaning over the body of the aeroplane. As she drew nearer the man stood and shaded his eyes with his hand; in his other hand she would see a can like that she carried. Taking off his cap he said: “Pray give us some of your oil, Wise Virgin.”

“I am a married woman,” said Mrs. Stevens calmly.

“And all the wiser for that, Madam,” he replied, bowing. “But how do you happen to come with the one thing I wished for?”

Pauline Stevens had come closer to the wonder and laid a timid hand upon a wing. “It’s the first one I’ve seen,” she exclaimed, “and it’s just like the pictures.”

“It was the best landing field within reach while my oil lasted. How I ever forget to fill my cup I don’t know; but thanks to you I’m fixed now. What is your name, please, that I may return the oil tomorrow?”

“I’m Mrs. Stevens, but don’t return the oil. It’s some Horace Russell left two years ago when he kept his car in our barn, and my husband doesn’t want it.”

“If you don’t know about air machines, Mrs. Stevens, what inspired you to bring the can?”

“Oh, I read that one of ‘em ‘alighted to renew his oil supply.”

You were evidently born with that rare gift, gumption, Madam. How can I thank you?” He smiled whimsically. “Will you fly with me?”

“Is it an offer?” She demanded quickly.

“An offer? Surely! But—I think you mentioned a Mr. Stevens.”

“Now you’re a foolin’. But if you didn’t mean me to fly with you I wouldn’t be mean enough to take you up.’

“But I’ll take you up with pleasure if you would really like to try it.”

She nipped her seersucker skirt, exposing plump prunella-clad ankles. “It’s my chance to do what I’ve always wanted to do. Can I get right in?”

You’re a sport,” exclaimed Rodney warmly. “Here’s an extra coat; it’s cooler up there.” . . .

Planning Ahead for My Next Blog

19-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today: 

Saturday, September 26, 1914: <<no entry>>

sheryl lazarus com

Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:

Many of you have asked what I plan to do when I post Grandma’s last diary entry on December 29. Since she didn’t write anything a hundred years ago today, I’ll share what I’m thinking, even though it’s still all a little random and unfocused.

I think that I’ve discovered my next project–and a way to continue blogging. When cleaning out my father’s attic, I found a cookbook and other artifacts of a great-aunt on the other side of my family. My Great-Aunt Marion lived on a farm in central Pennsylvania, and cared for her parents until they died. She then joined the Women’s Army Corps (WACs) during World War II at the age of 45.

I need your help. Aunt Marion’s memorabilia are very different from the diary—so I will need to create a blog that is very different from this blog. But how?

I want to keep the focus of A Hundred Years Ago on Grandma’s diary, and I need a place where people can easily find links to all of my blogs, so I’ve created an author website, Sheryl Lazarus.com. On this site I plan to explore some of my ideas for the new blog. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that you’ll visit my author website and  join me in a conversation as I work to develop and design this new blog.

Attractive Ways to Curtain Door Windows

19-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today: 

Friday, September 25, 1914: <<no entry>>

1914-10-104 aGlass doors are now very popular for the inside of the house. A good curtain treatment for these doors when they go from the dining room into the living room is shown here. A thin silk or net is often stretched from rods top and bottom to break the view while the dining table is being set. This treatment adds a charm and an interest to the doors.

Ladies Home Journal (October, 1914)

Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:

Since Grandma didn’t write anything a hundred-years-ago today, I thought that you might enjoy seeing some examples from 1914 of how to attractively curtain windows on doors.

1914-10-104 b

A simple and pleasing treatment for the inside of a Colonial doorway is shown. Either scrim, net, or thin muslin may be used. Both the door curtains and the side-window curtains are stretched from brass rods at the top and bottom. This arrangement keeps the curtains in place. The fanlight above the door is also treated in an attractive way. The best method of arranging this is to have a heavy wire frame made to fit the semi-circular window. The material can then be easily attached to it and the wire frame adjusted to the window.

Ladies Home Journal (October, 1914)

Should I Tell Readers in Advance the Length of Gaps in the Diary?

19-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today: 

Thursday, September 24, 1914:  <<no entry>>

Maybe Grandma was hanging out with friends in McEwensville and was too busy to write. (Or maybe she was busy harvesting crops and was too tired to write.)

Maybe Grandma was hanging out with friends in McEwensville and was too busy to write. (Or maybe she was helping harvest crops and was too tired to write.)

Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:

Every time Grandma didn’t write anything in the diary for several days I face a conundrum. Should I tell readers at the start of the missing days how many days are missing? . . . or should I just proceed one day at a time and let people discover over time whether the gap is very short or relatively long.

I’ve handled this situation both ways over the course of the diary—and neither feels quite right.

The current gap in diary entries began on September 19. Several readers have commented about how long it is. For example, KerryCan commented:

Helena is making you work very hard these days, since she isn’t writing herself! We’re lucky that you keep coming up with such interesting angles!

(True, I have to work harder—though I try to see it as an opportunity to write about topics that aren’t addressed by the diary entries.)

Other readers commented that they hoped that Grandma was having fun. For example, Dianna at These Days of Mine wrote:

Hopefully Grandma was busy having fun all these days when there have been no entries, and she’ll share big news in days to come!

(I’m also keeping my fingers crossed that she was having fun. She had such a special summer, and hopefully it is continuing into the fall.)

Oh, I guess I should tell you long the gap is. Grandma didn’t write anything in the diary for 9 days. This is the sixth of those days—so you can expect me to go off on various tangents for the next three days. :)

Drought in Central Pennsylvania in 1914

19-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today: 

Wednesday, September 23, 1914: <<no entry>>

Milton Evening Standard 9 21 14

Source: Milton Evening Standard (September 21, 1914)

Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:

Since Grandma didn’t write anything a hundred years ago today, I’m going to share an article from Grandma’s local paper, the Milton Evening Standard.

Apparently there was a drought in central Pennsylvania during September, 1914—and the nearby town of Milton was concerned about a potential water shortage. I wonder how the well on the Muffly farm was holding up during the dry weather.

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