Adolf Joseph

Rita writes more about family to David Trask and sends a copy to the Newsletter:

From: Roy J Reichenbach <rjrx2@juno.com>

To: dltrask@aol.com Date: Mon, 21 Feb 2005

Subject: About "Joe" (Adolf Joseph) Fromherz..........

David, We haven't met, yet. I'm Joe Fromherz's second child; I'll be 55 this May 20th; my name is Rita Jo (Fromherz) Reichenbach; Roy Joseph, my husband since November 20th, 1976, and I, live at 3529 Bevans St., Cheyenne, WY 82001-1704; Roy works for The State of Wyoming, Department of Agriculture, as The Technical Services Manager; he's been working for the State of WY since February 17th, 1998; first, as The Weed&Pest Coordinator for The State of Wyoming, then, as of May 1st, 2004, Manager of Technical Services; he works in The Dept. of Ag. Office in downtown Cheyenne. I could tell you a lot more about him and us (we have one child; Margaret Mary (Reichenbach) Rayda, married, who lives with Ryan, her husband, in Laramie, WY.), but, I might have told you much of that in a previous E-mail??? If not, I'd be happy to write you about us, when things "simmer down" in our lives.......

My dad ("Joe" Fromherz) has been married twice. The first time, to our mother, Margaret Mary "Peggy" (DeRyke) Fromherz, who passed away after giving birth to her eighth child (Louis Martin Fromherz, who is 43, married, with 4 children, and living in Veneta, Oregon, now...).

"Mother" was 35 when she died. (By the way, dad was born on August 1st, 1918, to Lucy (King) Fromherz and Adolf Fromherz). Our mother and dad had, first; Allen Joseph, then, me, Rita Jo, Marie Therese, Francis Anthony, Rose Mary, Barbara Ann, Sylvia Jean, and Louis Martin (mother, also, had a miscarriage once). Louis was born a month early, I believe (?).

The second marriage of my dad was to Margie Joan Mischel, single, never married before, and 33, when they married on May 13th, 1967. Together, they had three boys; John Arthur, Paul James, and Matthew Michael, so, all together, there are 11 of us; all, married, with at least, one child (or more), except for Marie, John, and Paul. (My 17th birthday, was on May 20th, 1967; one week, exactly, after "mom" and dad's wedding day!).

Roy and I have an old computer our daughter generously gave to us when she got a newer one for college (she graduated from The University of Wyoming, in Laramie, WY, with a Bachelor's Degree in Weed Science; she is working on her Master's, while working a full time job. Her husband got his Master's Degree, also, at The U. of WY. in Architectural Engineering. He and his family grew up in Laramie, WY; He, also, has a full time job for an engineering company in Laramie). Roy and I subscribe to Juno Mega Mail, and we don't subscribe to The Internet, YET. If I want to get the Fromherz Family Newsletter, I must go down to the local City Library and print it off of their computers. It costs 10 cents a sheet in black and white, but, $1.00 for color, so, I opt for B&W! (but, I'd love to get the color, for the photo's, etc.). We may get a new computer someday and get on The Internet; get a printer/copier/fax machine, also, but, when???

I wrote you "out of the blue", about my dad going into the hospital. Did I tell you that the doctors found he has terminal cancer, now? They guessed he has from 3 months to a year to live (but, how can they know???). Dad's home from the hospital, not in any more pain than "usual", as he claims, except for the bad cough and upper respiratory infection, he, mom, and my sister Marie, still have. Dad's stomach has been upset for the last three days, too (but, he's not getting radiation or KEMO treatments...doctors decided it would be harder on him and not feasible). He hasn't been sleeping at night and he's been keeping mom awake, too, not wanting to. Mom told Hospice and they prescribed something to calm him down and sleep (I might have that story wrong...she could have told dad's personal physician (?)). I call home and talk to at least one of them almost every night, since last August, after we'd (Roy and I) driven out to Oregon to visit and help dad celebrate his 86th birthday (Roy was 55, the next day...our Margaret Mary ("Marge") Rayda's hubby, Ryan's 25th birthday was August 3rd...our brother Louis Martin Fromherz's 43rd Birthday followed on August 16th, but, Roy and I had driven back, home, to Wyoming before then...we made a quick week trip;

Roy had just hired a replacement for his Weed&Pest Coordinator job, and he needed training, plus, Roy had 18 State Employees to manage, who, themselves, enforce 11 State laws, concerning Agriculture). But, I've digressed...Mom wants us, "kids" and our families, who can make it, to come see and visit dad, soon, since, she thinks he'd getting less and less "with-it" (that cold hasn't helped his health any either!). I can tell, lately, since the cold came on, he does get tired faster and slurs his words, sometimes, not really "getting-it", when I say something to him, or ask him a question. Before that last hospital stay, which was about a week ago (he came home on Tuesday, Feb. 15th), he used to be in pretty good spirits all the time I'd ever talk with him. He sang songs (little delightful "ditties", which, I'm sure, he'd learned from his mom &/or dad, like: "Froggy Went a-Courtin'", "Way Out West In Kansas", "Be Kind To Your Web-Footed Friend", "Marie, The Dawn Is Breaking", "Whoopie-Ti-Yi-Yo, Get A-Long Little Doggies", "Said The Little Boy To The Little Girl, In An Ecstasy Of Bliss...etc., etc.", and, one of his "signature" songs (of which, he was careful to not sing around someone with the name "Sue"...he didn't want us to, either, for fear of hurting their feelings...he was THAT sensitive to others' feelings...), "Oh, I've Got A Girl Named Cross-Eyed Sue; Her Eyes Are Red And Her Lips Are Blue; Dimpled Hair And A Curly Cheek, Her False Teeth Rattle And Her Glass Eye Squeaks. She "Chaws" Terbacca All The Time, And Her Spittin's Neat; She Can Hit A Razorback Right In The Eye, At A Hundred And Fifty Feet!" (when he sang the words: "Squeaks" and "Feet", he would fluctuate the tone of his voice, from one note, then, a note a scale above, and, back down to the original note...made it sound like a real "squeak", too!!!; "Wake Up A-Yawnin', A New Day Is Dawnin', Under A Western Sky...etc., etc", and there were many more!!! He used to sing and let (encourage) us to sing along while he drove our family around to wherever we had to go, until, he took up the practice of putting a Rosary between his teeth and starting leading us (whoever was in the car with him, no matter who was driving...) in The Most Holy Rosary, 'till we'd get to our destination, then, if we hadn't finished it, he'd lead us on 'till it was done, all the way home. I sure enjoyed the joyful singing, though!!!

Well, I just wanted to tell you a little bit about dad, and I could go on and on, but, here, it's 12:47AM, and I'd better "git" to bed, now.

Roy returns from Washington D.C., via Reagan National Airport, Denver International Airport and flies into The Cheyenne (Municipal (?)) Airport, TODAY, already!!! He had a weekend business trip there. Most of us, brothers and sisters and our families, live in Oregon, fairly near dad and mom's place at 8680 Windsor Island Rd., Salem, Oregon, 97303-9703 (1-503-393-3970), but, there are some of us in Colorado, Arizona, Washington State, and, "Your's Truly", in Wyoming! John had been called to active duty in The Army Reserves, and is coming home for a leave, soon. Dad and mom are really looking forward to his return (he, when he lived at home, was dad and mom's "right-hand-man"). Hopefully, dad and John can go to The Woodburn Auction one more time, while John is home on leave. Those two always enjoyed that so much, and, dad has kept going, visiting with his "old Cronies", as mom calls them, or/and with his favorite brother Jim Fromherz (and, sometimes, his wife Mary comes along to keep mom company, if mom's the person who takes dad to the auction that time). John and dad went to The Knights of Columbus meetings together, too. They were "bosom buddies", those two!

"Good Night!!!", or, should I have written, "Good Morning!!!"...I will write more, if you request me to, but, I can't promise exactly when. Roy and I, or, maybe, just me, may be flying out to Oregon, soon. Sincerely, Rita Jo

My dad died this morning, March 15th, 2005, at about 5:30 or 5:45AM, in Oregon, at home, in bed, and in the arms of our stepmother Margie. I had the blessing to have had a very good telephone conversation with him after 8PM the night before he died. For some reason, I felt compelled to keep telling him he was "going home". I had to repeat it, over and over, again, because, to each sentence I'd say, he'd say, "What?!". "Dad, you're going 'home', to Heaven...to The Arms of God, you know,,,Jesus! And, who knows, you'll most likely see Peg right behind Jesus, when you get there!". Dad said, "Who?", so, I said, "You know, Peggy, your first wife, our mother!". His response was positive, happy, and hopeful, but, I don't remember his exact words. "Then", I said, "after you're 'up there' with Jesus and mother, you can work on getting Margie, and all the rest of us 'up there' with you, too!". Dad hesitated a few seconds, then, he said, "Well, I'm not ready to 'give-up', yet!". So, I took that as a que to change the subject (remember, I had no idea, on earth, that he was going to pass away the very next morning!!!). I started telling dad all about Roy's job, in about as much detail as I could (and, detail isn't very hard for me to go into!). Dad was very interested and responded just enough to let me know he was following my every word, closely. Then, he said, "What kind of weather are you having in Wyoming, now?". to which, I answered, "Snow and cold, but, sunny.". He exclaimed, "We're having flowers!", and he talked a bit about all the kinds of flowers up and blooming in the Willamette Valley, near Salem, Oregon, his home. I asked him if there were any of "his favorite" Trillium blooming, yet. Dad said he thought there might be, but, he hadn't been out, nor down to the bottom land to see them. Then, he started calling for my sister Marie, who had "given me" on the phone to dad and gone to bed earlier. Dad kept calling for Marie! I tried to tell him, "Dad, she's, probably, asleep...you don't have to wake her..." (you see, I had a sneakin' hunch dad was going to ask her this, and he did, when she came into his room after mom had awoken her to help her get dad ready for bed)..."Rita wants you (Marie) to go get me some Trillium from down in the woods, now!".

Well, by now, it was almost 9PM and dark! Of course, I didn't mean for her to search for the trillium right then, but, "tomorrow morning, rather."! I suddenly realized that dad was going to "give me" back to Marie on the phone, so, I, real quick-like, said, one last time, "I love you, dad!"...then, Marie was on the phone. I'm pretty sure dad heard me, but, he knew I loved him. I joked with Marie about the trillium and said, "...you're 'off the hook'...you don't have to look for the trillium until tomorrow morning!". She laughed. Then, we hung up the phone since mom needed Marie to help her get dad to bed 'one last time' (but, we didn't know that!). What a blessing that I was able to talk with dad and Marie, to help mom with him the night before he died. Mom was with him; he was in her arms, when he passed away; when he breathed his last. (written by Rita Jo (Fromherz)

Reichenbach on April 16th, 2005...I revised my first draft, written on the day dad passed away).

Once, when dad and Marie, and I, were late for church, dad trailing behind us, noticed he didn't have a tie on. He called out, "Why didn't you girls let me know I didn't have a tie on?". We responded with something like, "We didn't notice.", and kept on truckin' towards the church. Dad, a bit exasperated, retorted, "Well, "neck time", if you notice, let me know!". (respectfully submitted by me, Rita Jo, in memory of our dad Joe Fromherz...and, I must add: our brother Frank Fromherz has, definitely, inherited dad's ability to make a play on words; his boys Chris and Nick, following in their grandpa and dad's footsteps! I have always nicknamed Frank "The King of The Puns",,,he's THAT good! And so, our dad lives on in us!).

Dear Connie, For the Newsletter: April 23, 2005 About a week before Dad died I brought him Holy Communion. He was asleep in bed. I said Dad, just say “Jesus I Love You” and go back to sleep. That’s just what he did. I gave him Communion and he said “Jesus I Love You” and closed his eyes to go back to sleep.

Dad received Communion everyday during the last month of his life. I brought it to him at home. Anyone can do it. Love Marie

Thank you Marie for you Gift From The Heart. . . and for Mother Teresa’s I Thirst For You.cg

Our mother liked us to call her “Mother” out of respect, I think, but, to us, it was just as endearing as “Mom”. She was definitely the disciplinarian of the two. Dad was gone a lot of the time, working as a plumber and steam fitter, helping do repairs and maintenance, etc. while the paper mill had a “shut down,” usually during the Christmas Holidays or some other such “un- opportune time of the year”. I remember he had to spend weeks at a time away from home. It must have been hard on the both of them, Mother and dad. Dad also helped to build many of The Holiday Inn's in The Northwest, especially the Salem area.

My aunt Mary, uncle Jim's wife, once told me a story of my mother baking a loaf of bread which turned out very hard. She buried it, so dad wouldn't have to know. Dad had taken a camp cooking school, I believe, during his army days, before they were married., and, if he was anything like he was later on, after Mother passed away, HIS WAY of cooking was THE ONLY WAY. I liked to experiment with new recipes, make tuna fish casserole and things like that. Chop suey, which my aunt Winnie, uncle Art's wife taught me to make and other new things, dad didn't always appreciate. But, back to the hard loaf of bread. When dad returned home from work that evening, there was the family dog, on the porch, enjoying every bite of that treasured find of his, Mother's loaf of bread, which the dog had dug up. Now, since I don't remember this story personally, we can just imagine what my parents must have gone through. They probably ended up laughing about the whole thing!

I was talking about Mother being the disciplinarian, because of dad being away so often working. She was firm, yet gentle. I do remember getting a few spankings, though, and Mother would say, “This hurts me more than it hurts you!”

She taught Allen, myself, Marie, and was starting to teach little Frank to play the piano. We were required to practice for half an hour every day after school before we were allowed to go out and play. It was excruciating. Half an hour might as well have been two hours for a kid in grade school! It paid off, though, Mother organized recitals, a BIG DEAL, with all kinds of folding chairs in the spotless front room. Parents and friends of all of her piano and voice students would sit in the audience, including she and my dad, and us kids, dressed in our very best, would play our recital pieces we'd memorized. She always told me, “When you make a mistake, just go on like nothing has happened, and no one will notice.” Well, that was a hard thing for me to do. I'd want to start over, if not from the beginning, at least from the nearest jumping off point. You see, when you memorize a piano piece, you just about have to get it right or a cog gets thrown in there and you come to a halt. Mother was patiently trying to teach us, her children, and the other children she taught, to get over that!

She would line us up, Allen, Rita, Marie, and Frank, and have us harmonize songs like “Frara Jocka, Frara Jocka.” Allen would start out with the first line, then, each one of us would chime in succession. Allen was going on with the song, “deaf” to our singing. That was the only way you could do this and keep sane. Mother always was after us to smile while we sang. We must have looked cute?!

Lawrence Welk was a must see on our TV every Sunday night. We watched it as a family and thoroughly loved it. There might have been varying opinions, however.

When dad would come home from work, it was another BIG DEAL! We'd all greet him with hugs and show him all our most recent sprained ankles, scraped knees and bee stings, but mostly mosquito bites. Mother had to deal with all these little emergencies while he was away. Once dad built me a pair of crutches, so I could limp to school anyway, after I'd jumped down off of somewhere too hard and sprained my ankle. Dad, himself, once sprained his ankle on the job, bad enough for him to stay home and be off work for a time, that was fun (for us!). I'm not sure, exactly, but, dad has broken his ankle, arm and leg at different times. And, once, when he was older, he fell backwards off a cherry ladder and had a concussion to the back of his head. Mom (Margie) and Marie had quite a time getting him in to the doctor. Dad was singing something about already being halfway in the grave, kind of a funny song, but, Marie and Mom weren't in a funny mood as you can imagine! Dad was OK, after a few stitches and an X-ray or two. Mom and Marie might remember this story differently, so believe their version first!

One time, when Mother was taking little baby Rose to the doctor for her shots and a check up, Allen accidently slammed the car door on her tiny big toe, nearly severing it. Mother quickly scooped her up (there were no seat belts nor baby car seats at that time in the 50's) and took Rose back in to the doctor who stitched the soft toe back together, and I think everything was fine after it healed quickly. Babies seem to heal much quicker than older people. When I had to hand over our two week old baby girl to the anesthesiologist to have surgery, it was like I might not see her again alive, it was awful. Good thing Roy was by my side and comforted me "till she woke after surgery, then she let out a scream that could be heard throughout the hospital halls. After the doctor gave her some Tylenol, she slept all the way home, a one hour drive to Douglas, Wyoming. She woke up the next morning just as happy as could be. It was like she was already as good as new!

Dad tried other things to “bring home the bacon,” feed and support his growing family. He sold Forney Arc Welders for a time. I can remember going out to the old garage, where we lived on Cherry and Pine Streets in Salem, Oregon, and he'd be welding something, maybe demonstrating a welder to some prospective buyer. He was always a very careful dad. He'd immediately have us put on the shields and look at the sparks flying, through the safety of the special smokey glass. We were to stay far away from the sparks, too, so as not to get burnt. Our Mother was also very careful with us kids, warning us to never accept candy from strangers, or go anywhere with them, but, scream for help and run. That reminds me of another story which I'll tell in a bit.

Some of dad's welder patrons couldn't afford to pay dollars for the welders, so dad would take something in trade, like a steer, or a heifer, or a couple of nanny goats and a Billy goat. We'd be delighted when the nanny goats had twin baby goats in the Spring. We got to help milk the nannies and feed the babies their milk in glass ketchup bottles with black rubber nipples. We had to hold on to the bottles very tightly, since the "kids" would butt at the nipples so hard. Those baby goats were so darn cute. As they grew, though, they could stretch up further and further on to the fruit trees that my dad would plant at each place we lived at. They loved to strip the trees of their leaves, so, dad would construct chicken wire fences, very high ones, all around the little fruit trees or they'd have never made it! I can remember hearing our heifer (or was it a steer?) bellowing in the back yard where it was staked near the grape vine, right in the middle of the city, on occasional mornings. Next, I remember enjoying roasts and hamburgers from that critter.

Dad also picked cherries to make money between his construction jobs, his plumbing and steam fitting jobs were not steady. Sometimes Marie and I would go along with him. We'd play in the yards of the older ladies he'd pick the cherries for while he kept a watchful eye on us. I was pretty good at climbing cherry trees to enjoy the fruit, especially, at home in our black cherry tree out front. I could put away a lot of those little cherries in one sitting! My Mother always wanted me to be a “Lady,” but, I preferred being a “Tom Boy”, which seemed to me to please my dad more. Once, while Mother was preparing a salad, I commented that I could eat a whole head of lettuce, I liked it so much, and she gave me a worried look.

Allen got way up in a big Bing Cherry tree in our back yard, went out on a limb, and got scared. His knee started shaking and he couldn't come down, so, dad climbed up and rescued him. Maybe dad used a cherry ladder to rescue him, I don't remember for sure, but, I do remember that incident because it was a BIG DEAL, too!

Back to where I talked about our Mother warning us to never accept candy from strangers. Once, she took Allen, me, Marie, and Frank downtown. We were in the old panel wagon, an old van with no windows except in the front, sides and very back. It was completely closed in. She had something to do in a beauty shop which just happened to be right next to a bar. She had instructed Allen, who was the oldest, 8 or 9, to baby sit us until she came right back. She told him not to open the doors for anyone, but her. Well, some of the littler ones started fussing and crying and guess who pulled up next to our panel wagon but a policeman. Somehow, after quizzing Allen from behind the closed windows, he surmised that our mother had gone into the bar, rather than the beauty shop. That is where Allen was pointing. Now, I don't know if he went into the bar or the beauty shop to look for Mother, but, we wound up down at the police station. All of us kids were scared, and the nice policemen were trying to make us comfortable by offering us CANDY! Of course we stoutly refused as we had been taught. Soon Mother appeared at the door crying, the first time I can remember seeing my mother cry real tears, using Kleenex and more Kleenex. She was so relieved that we hadn't been kidnaped, but I know it must have worried her sick until she found us. I still don't know HOW she found us. The policemen told her how we'd refused any candy from them and she praised us for that. I'm glad that story was over!

Dad took the Real Estate test and got his license to sell Real Estate! He promptly found the place on Scissim Road about 5 miles West of Silverton, Oregon. After convincing Mother that we'd get a water softener and would not be living “in the wild,” he bought that 13 acre farm and we moved in the Spring. Quickly, dad, Allen, Frank, and even, us girls got busy building an addition off the back porch. It had a large family room and two pretty good sized bedrooms for Frank and Allen. Us, girls, all slept upstairs together (Rita, Marie, Rose, Barbara, and little one year old Sylvia). Dad also built on a nice two-car car port, covered with corrugated aluminum, some of it was “see through”. It sloped towards the gravel driveway. Lots of rain, especially, in the Wintertime, made that a good idea.

We joined the 4-H Club and I raised two Poland/China pigs. Marie had Rhode Island Red chickens. They sure got big! Allen went China Rooster Pheasant hunting in the corn field stubble where they, plus Quail, were abundant.

Dad was a farmer at heart, so he was delighted with the 13 acres of berries (Blackcaps, Elderberries, thornless Blackberries, Boysenberries, Chahalem's, Marion berries, and some Raspberries). He took out some of the berries, like the blackcaps, and we planted corn. He put in a nice big vegetable garden in the rich Willamette Valley soil on that farm near the house. I'll always remember how good his cooked Swiss Chard tasted with salt and butter on it!

Marie's chickens were delicious, too, after she'd shown them at the State Fair. She may have won a blue or purple ribbon! I'd never seen, nor tasted such luscious and huge pieces of fried chicken in my short life. Of course, dad showed us how to chop off their heads, put them in gunny sacks by their feet until they quit thrashing. We’d then dip them in boiling water, pluck their feathers off, singe the hair off of them over some open flame, cut them open, gut them, properly, so as not to contaminate the meat, then cut the pieces up in grand style. We'd cut the back with ribs piece apart from the back with tail piece. He even showed us how to carefully cut out the oil gland located on top of the tail. Roy always calls the tail piece on a chicken or a turkey, the “Pope's Nose”, because his grandma Gertrude Jensen always did. Roy's my husband. We learned how to avoid cutting the bile, and how to take all the rocks and grit out of the gizzard, oh, yes, and to save the liver and heart, so they'd all be edible.

Dad cured his own bacon and ham. He had a mixture of brown sugar, pepper, and salt. He cured them in bins in the old chicken house. Then, I remember he hung them up and smoked them for a long time. They were pretty good, but, I, personally, would have preferred milder bacon, because his burnt too fast when you fried it (all that sugar cure, probably). Dad butchered goats, pigs and an occasional beef critter, and kept it in our big deep freeze with all the frozen berries and corn, etc.

We were out on the first hill, picking blackberries one August afternoon, August 15^th. Our aunt Marty, visiting us on her way from Hawaii to New York City, called for dad to come up to the house, so he left us kids picking. Mother was having difficulty with her eighth child and had passed a lot of blood, so dad took her right in to the Silverton Hospital. Aunt Marty stayed at home to care for us 7 children. Sometime during the early hours of the next morning, Mother had given birth to a baby boy, her eighth child, whom she and dad named Louis Martin. He had come a month prematurely and needed to be incubated for some time, but, he was otherwise healthy. Mother passed away from loss of blood, sometime that August 16th, 1961. There wasn't anything anyone could do after it was discovered she had been bleeding, and the key had broken in the lock of the blood supply room. An ambulance with blood and supplies was sent from Salem, but, it arrived too late. Dad never did talk very much about that night, but, I do remember him saying something about using an axe to try and chop open that door in which the key had broken off in the lock, but, to no avail.

My sister Marie told me that a good priest friend of Mother's wept like a baby at her bedside when she died. When dad came home and the light of day shown in the windows of our upstairs bedroom, Marie and I awoke to him coming up the stairs. I could see that he had

been through “Hell”. Pardon my expression, but, that's how I'd describe it, today. His right eye was completely bloodshot. I'll never forget that. It stayed that way for a long time afterwards, too. He gently asked Marie and I to come sit on the side of our bed and told us quietly that our Mother had passed away that night. We immediately started to cry, but, he told us, not to cry, that she was in Heaven because she gave her life for her child, and we had a new baby brother Louie. He said we should be happy for her since she was, now, in Heaven, but, somehow, that didn't console us very much...we wanted our Mother back!

Frank was about 7, and I was 11, Marie 9, Allen 13, Rose 4, Barb 3, Sylvia 1, Mother was 35 years old, and dad was about 45 or 46 years old. I remember that Frank and I sat in the driveway and prayed very fervently, three “Hail Mary's,” asking God to bring our Mother back home to us. We just knew He would grant our request. I was sure disappointed with God. Our Mother had told us that God would give us anything we asked Him for as long as it would not harm us. We asked, “Like a knife, or a gun would?” “Yes,” said Mother. “And, does that mean God would even bring us a red wagon, if we asked for it, if it wouldn't hurt us?” we asked. “Yes,” she said, “Anything.” Well, we never got our Mother back and life sure changed drastically after that day.

Let me tell you a little more about life BEFORE Mother died. She used to love to make us homemade French Fries, but was always concerned about the hot grease starting on fire or one of us getting burnt, so was very careful. She loved to make Angel Food cakes from “scratch” with 12 egg whites and everything; I watched her. I loved the smell of the almond flavoring, or maybe it was cherry/almond flavoring she'd put in the cake batter at the right time. She liked to use Jergens lotion for her hands, and I, still, to this day, love the smell of the cherry/almond scent in original scent Jergens Lotion! Mother would painstakingly give Marie and I home permanents, which we hated, but, she'd say, “Beauty must suffer.” She liked to let us grow our hair long, then brush it 100 times, or teach us to do that. Dad liked to cut everyone's hair in the family, including us girls's, and, when Mother would relent, he did. He did a pretty good job of our hair, too...made it look like a “Bob” cut.

Before Mother died, us older girls used to help give baths and help dress the “little kids”, (Rose, Barb, and Sylvia), when we could, so, after she died it was just natural for us to continue to take care of them, with an added little brother. He went into the bath tub right along with the girls, no matter. Mother was a good seamstress. She loved to, but, now, I'm amazed at how she found the time to, sew us clothes; matching outfits, like white dress's with red velvet polka dots and red velvet sashes and bows around the waist, matching green dusters with red velvet lining in the cuffs and a green beanie that was reversible into red velvet on one side. Then, she made the same exact outfit for herself, looked beautiful in it and even made little tiny dress's for Rose and Barb and Sylvia! She made us many things, including sun outfits, with shorts on the bottom and tie tops with our initials sewn on the front. She also made checkered green and black shirt coats with black skirts and matching pants, which were nice and warm for the cold rainy Winters.

Mother found time to paint a daisy and a rose (two separate oil paintings), I know, 'cause I saw them. Her dad, my “Gramp's”, Al DeRyke, was a sign painter by trade, and when he retired he painted oil pictures of the ocean where he and Grandmother lived, right next to the ocean in Yachats, Oregon. He also collected rocks and agates and cut and polished them.

When Mother came back from going to her dad's funeral, my sister Marie reminds me

that us kids had gone around and picked every flower in her gardens to give her when she returned. She was so grateful, she just cried and hugged us. She loved to work in her roses. We had Rhododendrons, Camellia's, Tulips, Daffodils, every kind of Crocus, and, oh yes!, Iris's. Lots of Iris's and Hyacinths. We had Hawthorne tree's at the Silverton Farm and Marie claims we had a patch of St. John's Wart in front of the kitchen window, there, too. We also had Dandelions, lots of Dandelions, that we used to hold one under our chins to see if we liked butter. Our Grandmother DeRyke's favorite flowers were purple Lilacs, Pansies, and African Violets. She raised wonderful African Violets and colorful Pansies.

Now, dad had a different kind of flower to work with, Tanzy Wragwort, a noxious weed which grew profusely out in the Willamette Valley, then, even, later out at the dairy on the coast near Beaver, Oregon. Us brothers and sisters would go out daily on work detail, chopping them down, collecting them, and burning them before they went to seed.

Dad always saw to it that the boys would milk the cow and slop the hogs at the Silverton place and the girls would do the cooking and wash the dishes, do laundry, and clean house. After dad married "mom" on May 13th, 1967, Frank, Marie and I milked the cows, carried in the newborn calves, and fed the cows their hay. “The Little Kids,” Rose, Barb, Sylvia, and Louie, made sure the cows got their feed with bloat guard in it if they looked like they were bloated from the alfalfa and grass in the Spring and Summer, or else the cow could die. Mom took care of the cooking and she has always been an excellent cook! We all helped do other dairying work, too, including cleaning the gutters behind the cows, carrying in the buckets of milk and dumping them into the milk tank (we had a Grade B Dairy; for cheese). Dad fought like the dickens to keep the cows healthy and free of infection, but it was a losing battle. He finally ended up selling the cows.

He had traded the Silverton place for the dairy to an old couple who had worked on that dairy for years and years, seven days a week, milking twice a day, like clockwork, year around. They didn't like it much when they saw dad wasn't doing everything exactly as they did it, so came and criticized him a time or two. I remember, my dad wasn't too happy with them for that. He just stated, matter of factly, that they had no right to come back and tell him how to run his own dairy, after all, he didn't try to tell them what to do with the Silverton place!

Dad liked the wild mustard plant, which grew in a field across from us at the Silverton place. Once, we all went harvesting the tender new tops, bringing them home and steaming them, eating them with butter, salt and pepper...ummm, GOOD! Once the owners of that field planted strawberries and the first year they produced just tiny red berries, few and far between. After school, I'd go out and pick them, bringing quite a few home to freeze for us to eat later. They were quite tasty, even though they were small in size. No one ever said for me to quit doing it, so I just kept picking. Of course, when those same strawberries got big and bushy enough to really pick for the cannery, us, kids would help pick them.

Seems like we used to get 25 cents a carrier, which held six "hallicks", or six, one pound boxes of picked strawberries. A "crate" was two carriers and we got 50 cents for one of those. Strawberry picking was hard work out in the cold rain and hot sun, early in the mornings to start and early in the afternoons to quit when the sun got unbearable. Early in June for Strawberries, Boysenberries, beans, then thornless Blackberries. We had to train them up on to the wires, cut out the "thorney" ones, and pin back the new shoots growing down below. Dad would plow, then disc the rows between, and before the berries would

start to ripen, he'd have someone come spray them for worms and bugs, or, he'd have a crop duster do the job, depending on how big a field he had. We'd always have to go and hoe out the weeds that came up in with the berry vines, careful not to damage the new shoots growing below, nor the "old" ones trained up on the wires and ready to produce the berries. Dad would have to irrigate the berries occasionally, too, then, they'd get big, fat, and juicy!

When we first arrived at the Silverton berry farm, dad found an old empty oil barrel, cleaned it out real good, cut it into pieces, all around, so there were scoops, to which he fastened some sky diving harness's, to hold the scoops up when we put them on and walked down the berry rows with the scoops under the berries, which we just picked and let drop into the scoops, then come time to empty them, we'd walk down to the end of the berry row and bend over and dump the berries out into the crates waiting there. It was a really nifty way to pick berries...better than the old bucket-tied-around-the-waist.

Once, during a lightening storm, I got so scared I was going to be a target for lightening with my scoop on, I flung it up over my face and shoulders, as the thunder and lightning' crashed and flashed, cutting my lip quite badly. Of course, unless it was a real emergency, we didn't go in to see a doctor, so, therefore, I, still, to this day, have a scar on my right side of my lip from the cut.

I, once, was running barefoot (Oh, who can remember running barefoot all Summer long when we were kids?) through the yard, and stepped on a bee of some sort, which stung me between my big toe and the second toe. My whole leg swelled up to my knee, like an elephants foot. I was continually putting a poultice of baking soda and water on it, but it took it's own sweet time to go down, a week or two, I think?

Uncle Art used to bring his kids over in the back of an old truck from Shaw, Oregon, to our berry farm to help us pick berries. They were a lot of help and fun to work with.

The Yellow jackets (bees) were always thick around the crates of berries and they were drunk on the fermented berry juice they drank, too. They'd leave you alone unless you put your hand or finger down on one of them, hiding underneath the crate when you went to pick it up, so, you had to BE CAREFUL! Some people who are deathly allergic to bee stings just can't do that kind of work.

When Rose was a little girl, like 2 or 3 years old, dad built a rocking horse, we called it a “Hobby Horse”. He painted it white with a black saddle, good sturdy handles for Rose to hold on to and wooden stirrups for her feet. Rose loved the TV show Zorro, so she'd tie on a cape wearing a mask we’d made, like the real Zorro, and she'd rock on that horse, like the dickens, singing, “Zorro-da-man-a-dee-o!” or something like that!

Dad was always making us things to have fun on. He made us wooden stilts and added strips of inner tube to keep our feet from slipping off. We learned we could run, kick, and jump in those stilts, showing off to the traffic on Cherry and Pine Streets in Salem, of course, and then, go up to a wall or a fence, let the stilts fall forward and step right out of them, safely. We thought we were Hot Stuff, yeah!

We got Pogo Sticks one Christmas and bounced our pounds off with those. Then, another Christmas we got Hula-Hoops and you know how much effort they take to keep up! Etch-a-Sketch's were “in”, so we got those, Oh, yes!, and paddle balls, those wooden paddles with rubber balls attached with a rubber string. They always broke, but, they were cheap and they were fun! Dad made us homemade blackboards, huge ones, which he mounted on the wall in the living room, where we'd draw with colored or white chalk to our hearts content.

Dad brought home bits and pieces of scrap lumber for us kids to play with and we sure had fun with building all sorts of imaginary things with them. He also brought home empty appliance boxes, which we made into pretend African Huts and houses. Later, at the Silverton place, I used to draw on those boxes and make windows, with flower boxes, doors, appliances tables and chairs, pictures on the walls, doors, etc., etc. and the Little Kids would have lots of fun playing in them. Shhhhh...don't tell anyone, but, I, also, drew that kind of stuff on the sheet rock in the small closet of our bedroom upstairs. It had a little door and a light bulb in it, so it was perfect for a rainy day hideout home!

Once, when we were a little bigger, Frank and I got into one of those huge appliance boxes and starting at the top of the hill by the barn, we rolled, like the tread of a “CAT,” down the hill, 'till we suddenly hit water. We had gone into the Little Pudding River, which ran through our bottom land! We should have known, however, that we were getting close, as we had smashed a lot of cattail's along the way. We laughed and laughed, though we were soaking wet!

Dad made tire swings every place we lived at. At the Salem place, there were two long ropes holding a wide board. That was a very popular swing for the kids in the whole neighborhood. We’d get to invite whole class grades over for our birthday parties, for which Mother would bake a birthday cake and have hats, party favors, nuts, mints and everything.

Birthdays were always a Big Deal around our family. We tried to get Mother to tell us how old she was, but, she'd only say, “Twenty one-plus!,” and say no more. Maybe Allen figured that out before the rest of us dummies, but, she meant she was married when she was twenty one-plus however many years had passed since that date. Sneaky, huh? Mother always had a way of making you feel good about yourself, if you deserved it. We ALWAYS knew she loved us, even when she'd say, “No!” so many times. That used to really bug me, though, at times. Dad, however, was more of the fun one, coming home with the goodies.

Once, Mother told Allen to leave the door ajar, so, Allen, promptly, went and got a canning jar and left it next to the door. Mother laughed and we all did.

Mother loved to sing. Dad loved to sing. Sing, sing, sing. When we'd go on road trips, both, dad and Mother would lead us in song, so many songs that I couldn't begin to name all of them here.

Mother played the piano, usually, at night, after us kids had gone to bed, with dad reading the paper, or whatever, and us kids falling asleep to the beautiful piano music. It was pure bliss.

We knew Mother and dad loved each other. Mother would hug and kiss dad, a peck on the cheek in front of us, and often, too, she, being the instigator of the affection most of the time. Dad seemed to just need to “soak it up.” Once, when they were hugging, at the Silverton place, I nestled in-between the two of them, looking up and remember feeling more secure than I ever had in my whole life. I was almost 11. I knew my parents loved each other and that's all that mattered.

Dad took an old oil tank, or some kind of sturdy steel tank, welded legs on to it, painted it, and filled it with water for us kids to swim in. Of course, after a few weeks in the hot Summer sun, water bugs grew in there and we'd swim anyway, screaming when one wiggled between our legs or brushed past our backs.

We used to play croquet and dad would love to play horse shoes, practicing up for the

annual Fromherz Family Reunions held at Avery Park in Corvallis, Oregon. Dad loved all his brothers and sisters and each one of their children, and later on, their children’s children. Dad made it no secret that he loved each one of us, his own kids, too, and our children, as well. Mom is a mother to each one of us and a good Gramma to each one of our children.

Mom and dad had three big, strapping boys, who have grown up into very fine gentlemen. One, Matthew, the youngest is married. He and Karen have a four month old darling baby girl. John is in the Army Reserves. Paul has had a steady job, first, with the Smuckers Cannery Company, now, with the same company that bought out Smuckers. Mom is a person with the GREENEST THUMB of anyone I've ever known, no kidding. My brothers Allen, Frank, and Louis, plus their wives and children, I am very proud and fond of, too. My sisters, Marie, Rose, Barbara, and Sylvia, and their husbands, and children...well, just, DITTO! I am so thankful, to God, for my parents Peggy and Joe and for my mom, Margie. Last, but, not least, I am ever so thankful for my sweet, kind, thoughtful, and loyal husband Roy, and for our precious daughter Margaret Mary “Marge” Rayda, and her husband, Ryan. Love, Rita Jo (Fromherz) Reichenbach, May, 2005.