My mother related this story over the telephone yesterday, it being her deceased sister's birthday, December 4, 1923. Come Christmas Eve three weeks later her parents bundled her up to ride in the horse and sleigh to her grandma and grandpa's house. I can't remember the distance or direction they would have traveled, but at any rate, it would be beyond us now to consider it.
I still remember an incident planted in my five year old head: it was 1947, with my brother only a few months old, and we traveled 11, maybe 12 miles south of Sheldon to visit an uncle's family. My grandma and another uncle accompanied us, and on the return trip home, a blizzard caught us near the Sheyenne River, forcing us to spend the night at the Pemberthy farm. Next morning Dad and his brother walked home, and several hours later Dad returned with a team of horses pulling the hayrack mounted on sled runners. We must have bundled up because I don't remember being cold, even though the distance was about 6 miles.
1947 was a cold, deep snow winter, the winter of my grandpa's death. In order to attend his funeral the uncle living 12 miles south had to ride up on horseback to attend the service.
Those years after World War II found the country struggling to modernize and move forward, but remnants of old ways remained that people could draw from when necessary.
A movie on my must-see list is due to open around Christmas, War Horse. Set in World War I, it tells of a boy's horse that was sold by his father to the military. A great demand for horses and mules existed during this time to be trained as cavalry mounts or draft animals to pull artillery, supply wagons, ambulances, etc. Of course, the boy goes on a search to find his horse; I hope he is successful. My grandpa who fought in WWI told of how it bothered him to hear the screams of the wounded animals, of which hundreds of thousands were killed. A rodeo horse I am interested in, Tipperary, was rejected as too wild to tame by French military buyers who came to the Dakotas and Montana during that time. The demand for these animals was very great.
I still remember an incident planted in my five year old head: it was 1947, with my brother only a few months old, and we traveled 11, maybe 12 miles south of Sheldon to visit an uncle's family. My grandma and another uncle accompanied us, and on the return trip home, a blizzard caught us near the Sheyenne River, forcing us to spend the night at the Pemberthy farm. Next morning Dad and his brother walked home, and several hours later Dad returned with a team of horses pulling the hayrack mounted on sled runners. We must have bundled up because I don't remember being cold, even though the distance was about 6 miles.
1947 was a cold, deep snow winter, the winter of my grandpa's death. In order to attend his funeral the uncle living 12 miles south had to ride up on horseback to attend the service.
Those years after World War II found the country struggling to modernize and move forward, but remnants of old ways remained that people could draw from when necessary.
A movie on my must-see list is due to open around Christmas, War Horse. Set in World War I, it tells of a boy's horse that was sold by his father to the military. A great demand for horses and mules existed during this time to be trained as cavalry mounts or draft animals to pull artillery, supply wagons, ambulances, etc. Of course, the boy goes on a search to find his horse; I hope he is successful. My grandpa who fought in WWI told of how it bothered him to hear the screams of the wounded animals, of which hundreds of thousands were killed. A rodeo horse I am interested in, Tipperary, was rejected as too wild to tame by French military buyers who came to the Dakotas and Montana during that time. The demand for these animals was very great.
