Milton A Hundred Years Ago

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

Tuesday, May 2, 1911: Ruth and I went to Milton this morning. Her highness got a dress and a pair of pumps. Don’t know when I will get mine, perhaps next winter.

Postcard showing Marsh Shoe Store in Milton a hundred years ago (postally used December, 1910).
Advertisement in Milton Evening Standard, May 4, 1911

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

We’re five months into the diary–and even though Milton is probably only about 5 miles from the Muffly farm–this is the first time that it is mentioned in the diary. The only towns previously mentioned were McEwensville, Watsontown, and Turbotville. Whew, by today’s standards, Grandma never got very far from her home.

A trip to Milton probably felt like a trip to the big city.

A hundred years ago Milton had a humming downtown with lots of wonderful stores. Back then there were trolley tracks that ran between Watsontown and Milton, so Grandma and her sister Ruth probably walked to Watsontown and then took the trolley to Milton.

Milton Postcard, circa 1911 (Source: Milton Historical Society)

The trolley system was dismantled a few years after the diary was written:

 With the automobile came on the scene in the early years of the twentieth century, the trolley business began to slack. After a sharp decline in business, the L.M. & W. trolley company changed to gasoline buses in 1922. Even the buses couldn’t complete with the automobile and service ended in the early 1930s.

George Venios in Chronicles and Legends of Milton (2002)

An aside: I had a wonderful visit with George Venios, Deb Owens, and Joan Nunn at the Milton Historical Society yesterday. I enjoyed learning more about Milton, and they shared many wonderful artifacts with me including the early postcard in today’s posting. Additional Milton pictures from the historical society will illustrate future posts. Thank you!

I’d also like to thank the Milton Public Library and the Montgomery House Library for their awesome assistance with finding and navigating my way through old issues of the Milton Evening Standard and the Watsontown Record and Star. I’ll be periodically sharing materials from those newspapers.

The Treadle Sewing Machine

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

Monday, May 1, 1911: 

The month of May has come today

With many a happy pleasure.

With it, she brings the flowers of spring,

In full many a boundless measure.

Started to make a dress today. Want to get it finished this week, if I can. There was an awful heavy shower here this evening. It hailed some too but it soon cleared off and everything looked so fresh and beautiful.

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

I loved to explore Grandma’s attic when I was a child, and remember that she had an old treadle sewing machine in her attic. Instead of using electricity, the machine was operated by moving your feet up and down.

I wonder if the sewing machine in the attic was the same one that she used to make the dress in 1911.

I can remember begging to be allowed to explore the attic. Off to the side of Grandma’s kitchen at the spot where the kitchen merged with the hall, there was a door that led to the attic stairs.

Grandma would open the door, and lead my cousins and me up the hardwood stairs. The stairs led to a huge sun lit room. (My memory is that it was always sunny whenever I was in the attic.)

At each end of the room were large casement windows. The ceiling sloped nearly to the floor along the sides. Grandma’s bungalow was really a 1 ½ story house, and I think that the attic was designed so that it potentially could be converted into bedrooms, so it had beautiful hardwood floors.

There were rows of wooden shelves in the attic filled with boxes, dishes, knickknacks, and other miscellaneous treasures. Amongst all the stored items sat the sewing machine. My memory is that Grandma actually used the treadle sewing machine, and that torn pairs of my grandfather’s overalls lay by the machine waiting to be patched. But my memory is very foggy on this—and maybe there really were no torn overalls–and the treadle sewing machine was no longer used and merely stored in the attic.

Old-time Recipe for Stirred Custard

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

Sunday, April 30, 1911:  Pa and Ma and Jimmie went away today. Ruth had invited Helen Wesner and Blanche Bryson to come and do justice to her very excellent cooking. I rode home from Sunday school with them. I choked at the dinner table which displayed my most excellent manners.

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

It sounds like Grandma’s sister Ruth had fun cooking a meal for friends—and that Grandma displayed her sense of humor by pretending to choke on the food. A few days ago (see the April 25 and April 27 postings) two of my cousins shared memories about how much Grandma enjoyed practical jokes when she was an older woman. I can now see that this was a trait that she had throughout her life.

Menu page in April, 1911 issue of Good Housekeeping Magazine.

I wonder what her sister Ruth cooked. A hundred years ago Good Housekeeping magazine included sample menus each month. One of the April, 1911 Sunday dinner menus is below:

Sunday Dinner

Tomato bouillon

Roast veal, brown sauce

Mashed potatoes

String beans

Boiled custard*

Sponge cake

Coffee

An asterisk meant that the magazine contained the recipe.  For  the Sunday dinner menu, the only included recipe was for Boiled Custard:

Boiled Custard

Scald one pint of milk in a double boiler. Unless for some special reason milk should always be scaled, not boiled.

Beat the yolks of two eggs, or one whole egg, very light with two tablespoonfuls of sugar; and when the milk has scalded, pour it slowly on to the eggs and sugar, stirring all the while. The milk is added to the eggs and sugar instead of these being added to it, for two reasons. The slow addition of a small amount of hot liquid cools the egg, already divided by the beating in of the sugar, without coagulating it until it is so hard that it separates and permits the custard to separate. Also, in this way all of the egg and sugar is mixed with the milk. When an attempt is made to add adds to milk it is difficult, especially with a small amount, to clean out the dish properly. A little lost with small proportions may spoil or deduce the deliciousness of the dish.

Return the milk, eggs and sugar to the double boiler and cook for three minutes, stirring slowly, but steadily and carefully. A minute’s carelessness here may spoil the custard. If not sufficiently cooked the custard will have a raw “eggy” taste, and a minute too long cooks the egg too hard and the custard seemingly curdles. As soon as the custard coats the spoon, or as soon as it begins to feel thicker as one stirs, add the salt. [Note: I used ½ teaspoon salt.] Strain into a cool dish and flavor with a teaspoonful of vanilla. Properly made, the custard will be smooth and the consistency of rich cream.

I made this recipe using a sauce pan since I don’t own a double boiler, and it turned out fine.

The stirred custard  had a nice flavor—but the recipe directions are definitely right when it says that the custard has the consistency of rich cream.  As I look back at the menu in the old magazine, I see that it also lists sponge cake. After seeing the consistency of the Stirred Custard, I now think that it may have been used as a sauce on the cake.

Tips from 1911 on Raising Chickens

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

Saturday, April 29, 1911:  Ma kept me busy a chasing the chickens out of the garden this afternoon. I get so mad at them. Carrie Stout came over this evening. Wanted me to go along with her up to McEwensville. She is afraid of the dark. Of course I went, although I looked like a witch.

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

I wonder what Grandma and her friend Carrie were doing in McEwensville on a Saturday night. Today, I think that Saturday nights in McEwensville are generally pretty quiet—maybe it was hopping a hundred years ago.

Chickens 

The chickens probably enjoyed eating the small emerging plants in the garden. It sounds like the family needed a fence to keep them out.

In the old days women often were able to earn a little “pin money” by raising chickens and selling their eggs. A hundred years ago women’s magazines—as well as farm magazines—had lots of poultry advice.

Paul Orr in the June 1911 issue of National Food Magazine  in an article titled “Are Old Methods Best? Two Thousand Years Have Seen Little Progress in Poultry Raising”  argued that the old ways of raising chickens were best—and that incubators and other “fancy” equipment were not needed. Poultry tips in that issue of the magazine included:

  •  Beginners in poultry raising often owe their failure to the deluge of new-fangled suggestions by men who make things to sell. There are a hundred trinkets and devices on the market that are useless, and the beginner is the legitimate prey not only of egg sellers but of breeders and makers of all ilks of useless contrivances. The fact is that the old methods of poultry raising are often the best.

    Advertisement in April, 1911 issue of Farm Journal
  •  Two hundred heads are sufficient for employing the whole care and time of one person, provided that either a diligent old woman or a boy be appointed to keep watch over them, so they will not stray away or fall a prey to marauders. (Comment by Sheryl: Or I guess—at least in the case of the Muffly family—a diligent teen-aged daughter might be asked to chase after the chickens.)
  •  They must not be allowed wander far from the coop when very young.
  •  Let the custom be observed here, as with other cattle; pick out the best for breeding and sell the less good.
  •  Also dispose of all hens over three years old, and those hatched after the solstice (June 21), as they will not attain their full growth.
  • Avoid the white kind, as they are not very hardy, and because of their conspicuous white color they fall an easy prey to hawks and eagles. Those of a reddish color, with black pinions, should be chosen.

    Cartoon in April, 1911 issue of Good Housekeeping. Photo caption: “I insisted that he should see the Black Minorea”.
  •  It is not expedient to keep a cock except he is exceedingly strong and vigorous of the same color as the hens and with the same number of toes . . . Such a male should be provided with five females.
  •  When the breeding season begins. . the keeper must take care that the laying places are strawed with clean straw, and free from vermin; and the eggs are gathered every day and marked, so he may know that the freshest are put under the hens when they become broody. The freshest eggs are the most proper for hatching; yet such as they are stale may be set, provided they are not over ten days old.
  • The old hens are best suited for hatching, as they are more reliable than the young.

Saving Flower Seeds

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

Friday, April 28, 1911:  Besse came out this morning to help with the kitchen. It seems we were working at it all day and I guess we were. Carrie Stout was over this evening. She brought Ma some flower seeds. Ruth and I went part of the way home with her.

Recent photo of the spot about half way between the Muffly farm and the Stout one. When Grandma and her sister Ruth walked their friend Carrie part way home, they might have turned around about here.

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

A hundred years ago people commonly saved seeds in the fall to plant the following spring. Friends and neighbors often shared seeds with one another.

According to a book published in 1911 called The Practical Flower Garden:

One of the greatest pleasures to the gardener is in raising flowers, both perennials and annuals, from seed; and especially is it interesting to gather and sow the seeds saved from her own finest plants.

I always mark the plants whose seeds I wish to save by tying white strings about the stems when in full bloom as a sign to all that the blossom must not be cut . . . .  [I keep] a box containing little pieces, about eight inches long and an inch wide, of white muslin, black cambric, pink cambric and turkey-red. I tie black upon the plants that are to be cast out in the autumn; scarlet upon the very bright red phloxes; a pink and white string upon all those of pink and white varieties; and a single white piece upon the choice white phloxes, and also upon all plants whose seeds I wish to save.

The seeds, after maturing, are gathered when dry, put into boxes, each of which is carefully labeled, and then sown either in August or the following spring.

Helena Rutherford Ely in The Practical Flower Garden (1911)

Recent photo of house where Grandma grew up. I wonder if Grandma once planted seeds in the same flower beds.
The diary entry discusses friends and neighbors sharing saved seeds, but in 1911 people could also buy flower seeds. This ad is from the April 1911 issue of Farm Journal.

Porch Railings, Flowers, Reading, and More Practical Jokes

Thursday, April 27, 1911: Missing entry (Diary resumes on April 28.)

Since Grandma didn’t write a diary entry again today I’m going to share some memories of my cousin (and Grandma’s granddaughter) Anne Marie:

Michael, Donna Marie, and I loved to pop in on Grandma when we were outside playing as kids. We’d tell her that we needed some of her “pink pills for pale people” as she referred to them. Do you remember those pink candies that were the color and the taste of  “pepto-bismol”?  Well, we loved them and Grandma never failed to treat us to them.

Photo from last summer of the house that Grandma lived in during her later years.

This is a really embarrassing one but very true.  One afternoon I was crawling around on Grandma’s porch pretending I was a cow (as if I didn’t already have enough dealings with cows) and decided the wrought iron railing that surrounded her porch would make great “cow stalls” so I stuck my head between two of them.  Well, you know what happened next–of course my head didn’t come back out as easily as it had gone in due to those things on the side of one’s head called ears. Grandma tried unsuccessfully numerous times to get my head out and then started to panic. She ran for mom who quickly came to my aid (with a “for Pete’s sake” look on her face).  Mom applied some pressure to the bars and quickly freed my head. Grandma was greatly relieved, and I was permanently mortified and remember it as clearly as if it were yesterday.

As a child, I always loved Grandma’s flowers and was always asking her questions about them.  She is the one that taught me the various names and instructed me on planting and watering them. Soon after, I had my own little flower bed and it’s still one of my favorite things to do in the spring and summer.

Grandma was an avid reader and she spent many hours on her porch glider with a book in hand and her bible always laid open on her kitchen table.

Grandma also loved to play jokes on us. One day she told me she could do something with her teeth that I couldn’t do with mine.  Of course, I found this quite hard to believe so I asked her to show me.  No sooner had I made the request than she grabbed hold of her dentures and pulled them out of her mouth and dangled them in front of my face.  Needless to say, I was awe struck and horrified at the same time as I’d never known of the existence of dentures.  I must have had quite the look on my face, as she laughed and laughed at my expression.

One April Fools Day she took an old newspaper from her basement and carefully glued all of the pages together and quietly placed it in our newspaper box. I can still hear Mom laughing when she tried to read the paper that day and it didn’t take her long to figure out who the prankster was.

One day Grandma arrived at our door with a box of candy–those boxes that have each piece of chocolate individually wrapped.  It was actually an old candy box that still contained all of the wrappers. She placed black checkers in each wrapper and was quite pleased with the joke she played on me and my siblings.

Anne Marie Satteson

Thanksgivings in the Den

Since the teen-ager who became my grandmother didn’t write a diary entry again today, I’ll continue sharing memories of Grandma in her later years.

Yesterday cousin Stu wrote, “I remember Thanksgivings at her house, with her getting up in the small hours to start the turkey, and the kids (at least, the younger ones) at the round table in Grandpa’s study.”

Stu’s memory jogged memories that I have of eating at the round table. I guess this might not be exactly the right time of year to discuss Thanksgiving memories, but Easter memories bring back memories of other holidays, so here’s a Thanksgiving memory–

After their children were grown Grandma and Grandpa Swartz built a small brick bungalow on my uncle’s farm. It had a large kitchen—and at Thanksgiving Grandma brought extra tables into the room to make a long table that extended from one end of the kitchen to the other.

But the table wasn’t large enough to hold all of Grandma’s children, their spouses, and the grandchildren—so another table was set up in the den. Grandchildren old enough to eat without adult assistance—yet not old enough to sit nicely at the adult table—were relegated to the table in the den.

I really wanted to be big enough to eat with the adults like some of my older cousins, but was always assigned to the den.

Aunts periodically rotated dishes between the kitchen and the den. But after the exchange was made, the DOOR WOULD BE SHUT. . . AND, THEN some of my more imaginative cousins would come up with all sorts of great ideas.

I remember one year we all crammed into a closet in the den to see how many people would fit. One cousin stayed outside, slammed the door shut—and held the rest of us captive in the dark. We screamed—and maybe an adult came from the kitchen to see what was the problem—though I have no memory of any adults coming to our rescue and think that we remained imprisoned in the stuffy darkness until my cousin tired of holding the door.

Then one year, one of my younger cousins—who in previous years had occupied a high chair in the kitchen— was deemed old enough to move to the den, and I was deemed mature enough to move to the kitchen.

I felt so grown up—but, good grief, the conversation around that long table in the kitchen was so boring. When I heard distant screams emanating from the den I longed for the good old days.