Submitter’s note: This is the third and final part to Sophia Lucas Vossmeyer’s memories of living in an area called Peter Cooper in Johnson Township, Brown County. The first and second parts ran in the March 31 and April 14 papers.

I loved the parlor when the only light was the firelight dancing on the walls and the big pine branches rustling on the roof above.

A summer kitchen was built a few feet from the house. Mother usually peeled apples, peaches or potatoes and prepared other things for cooking and canning. All the baking and other cooking was done in the regular kitchen which became so hot they carried the food to the summer kitchen to eat on a long dining table. This building had a large loft where the boys slept, and was heated in winter. It was also used as the laundry. The hot water came from large black kettles outside that hung above a file built on the ground. The kettles were filled with water that came from a well and a cistern.

There was a big pine tree standing back of the parlor at the corner that remained important to me during my first nine years. It had done a lot of growing from 1865 to 1893. Grandfather Lucas had brought it back in a gunnysack on the back of a horse which the Union Army gave to those returning from the Civil War. He had just been mustered out from Sherman’s march through Georgia. He was a member of the cavalry.

Another tree in that sack was very important to his family and the neighbors. It was called the Balm of Gilead tree. He planted it in the “dreen” at the left as one faced the house. The dreen was a small stream along the rising ground where the log home stood. Another stream flowed down the roadway from the opposite side. Both streams ran under the culverts and across the road. It was a resinous tree of the balsam type with broad, cordate leaves of aromatic quality which are soothing and healing. The words “balm of Gilead” are mentioned in the Bible, Jeremiah 8:22.

I remember that on weekends, streams of buggies, carriages and horseback riders lined up along the road. It would now be called a traffic jam.

Each person could get what suited his needs of buds or leaves. I remember grandma used them for cough syrup. I have yearned to find some descendants of this tree, but found none. I believe it was a victim of its healing powers by its life sustenance being stripped away.

Grandfather carried back numerous herbs and berries and planted them in his mother’s garden. One was chicory which the southerners liked to mix with their coffee. He brought back red raspberry plants, new to the North.

The big pine tree lulled us to sleep in our trundle bed by its many sounds. We loved its gentle swishing on the roof of the parlor. There was also a singing sound and sometimes a whistling, rustling sound made by the wind in the pine branches. Only when it became scraping and scratching, beating and roaring, did we become concerned.

In summer, we loved the tree for its shade. A table stood there where we sometimes ate evening meals.

My brother and I used the pine as a crying tree on which we leaned our foreheads after spankings from our parents, hoping they would feel sorry for us. I remember crying long and loud when a bee stung my brother and his eyes swelled shut. I was afraid he would die.

When company came, we took chairs out of the house for them. For ourselves we took pallets and cushions to lie on the grass to listen to every word they said. One day, two aunts came. They had much to say to the grownups but not to youngsters. I had an urge to jump on the cat sleeping peacefully and attention came in a hurry. I was a disgrace and fled to the pine tree and cried loudly. Luckily, mothers forget, and cats have nine lives. This one remained my friend.

Another time, another day, we were gathered in the back yard to keep cool. Baby Gladys was sitting in her new little rocking chair which our father had just made. A sudden hard shower of rain came without warning. Everyone grabbed his pallet and pillow and ran into the house. It wasn’t long before mother called out, “Where is the baby?” and rushed to find her rocking in the rain enjoying water pouring over her body. She would have been scared I suppose if we hadn’t been used to standing up in the bath and being rinsed by having water poured over our heads.

On summer afternoons, we took naps on our pallets and mother sometimes dozed in the cool shade of the pine tree.

— Submitted by Pauline Hoover, Brown County Historical Society