Quite awhile ago, I was asked to write an article for the Long, Long Ago Column, not because I hold a longevity record, but more likely because Adams County has been my life long home. But as I read the interesting offerings in the Historical Corner, It seemed any subject I would have first-hand knowledge of paled beside those who wrote of our county's early industry and business ventures.

I did notice one interesting area left untouched that I think I remember well. It just may be interesting to you, the reader. Recreation! That is, the recreation I knew in my Easton-White Creek area. (Those days a kid didn't get far from home base; from about 1918 on). I guess that the recreation of that time would have been much the same in most of the rural Adams County. My family, the Bacons, were pioneers in the county, coming from Yorkstate by wagons, many as carpenters rather than farmers, and building many of the landmark buildings of the past.

Since the holidays are not far behind us, I would like to start with them in my childhood. They were school-oriented. Even the summer vacation had much teacher leadership. In my family the holidays began with Thanksgiving at Aunt Hattie's, Christmas at the family home, and New Years Day at Uncle John's.

Thanksgiving was truly the festival of the in-gathering of home grown foods, giving the hostess an opportunity to demonstrate her culinary skill. What a display of home preserved jellies, pickles and relishes! It was the day that ushered in three holidays that would bring families together.

Christmas! The breathless magic of Christmas! Contrary to popular belief about those earlier times, my Christmases were not church oriented. Church services in my home area were almost non-existent on any regular basis. The church building was usually closed with Sunday School a few weeks weeks in summer. Church services consisted of rare visits of about two weeks duration from two walking evangelists, and now and then visits from ministers in the Easton one room school house. Schools back then so strongly adhered to the separation of church and state, no religious reference was made, even at Christmas. But, perhaps in my little school there was the highest form of religion practiced... the warmth of caring, respectful teachers, the sharing of talents, pupil and teacher alike, and the high expectations we had together.

Several weeks prior to "that night," when the Christmas program would be presented, our "parts" would be given to the pupils and memorization would begin in earnest... monologues, plays, poetry, and, of course, the numerous school songs. Then would follow the scouring of the neighborhood for costumes. Later, the men of the district  would come to build a stage, filling the front of the schoolhouse. Wires were hung to suspend blankets with safety pins to become our theatrical curtains and the cloak rooms were the dressing rooms.

Our school ceiling was high and the Christmas tree, which the big boys hauled in, would almost touch it. The pupils decorated it with school-made chains and decorations. There were young ladies and men yet in school to trim the high branches, for these older students often continued in grade school after graduation, especially in winter, for high school education was denied most young people then, and they found enrichment in the many activities that the teacher devised.

Then came the nervous, wonderful night! (One just might forget some lines). But the whole body of students came through fine to the pride and satisfaction of the audience of parents and neighbors. Then... the presents! A special one from our parents, for school and home were yoked on this occasion, and one exchange gift from a fellow student, and unspeakable joy, the beautiful bauble given by our teacher, from some outside source to each of the pupils, Then several comments would come from persons in the audience as to whether they had heard strange noises such as jingling bells and tiny hooves. This conversation would bring feigned alarm and some fathers would go outside to investigate. You guessed it! Santa had come and gone, leaving a big bag holding little bags of rare sweets and peanuts for each pupil and all the younger children of the district, also a bushel of shiny red apples for the whole community to eat. To the children, Santa was a mercurial never-seen little elf of a man and magic would have been gone and our hearts broken, if we had happened to see him.

Each holiday was a big bustle for a few days prior to the special day... a polished house... much baking on the wood range. Yet they were spontaneous and fun, and there was no frantic long search for gourmet food or decorations. No gift exchanges except around the family tree at Christmas. The excitement, giggling and warmth were so real.

Christmas Eve was the time the family hurried with chores to gather around the pine Christmas tree, brought from the woods and trimmed with home-made ornaments and real candles that glowed, and under the tree the gifts...needed clothes, and always a toy and big bowl of hard candies, with the most the most special gift of all...the once a year oranges.

Christmas day brought the relatives to our house for dinner. The "pièce-de-résistance" was Mother's English suet pudding, made just like the one described in the story, "A Christmas Carol." There was much eating, playing games, visiting, and joking together.

New Years Day meant arising early to do the barn chores so we could start on the sleigh ride to Uncle John's for a dinner of fresh oyster stew. I don't know exactly how but, yes this delicacy was available once a year. He would buy a gallon and make stew for the many people who would gather, as did we, arriving rolled up in warm blankets in the  sleigh. Games, indoor and out, and good conversations were held all day long. I never heard of a New Years Eve celebration.

After a winter without eggs, the hens would again be laying. Easter was a dinner with neighbors with lots of eggs to eat. Some years my mother made me a little doll from a blown out egg shell. I especially remember my older sister, working away from home, brought me a papier-mâché rabbit and a few colored candy eggs. This little toy was long and carefully kept and the unheard of eggs made of sugar were meted out and savored.

I'd like to tell you about some of the ways we entertained ourselves, especially in the winter months, when farm work was not so demanding. One of the most popular Christmas gifts was books, especially the adventure and westerns written by such authors as James Oliver Curwood and Zane Grey. Mail order catalogs featured pages of books that could be ordered. These would be lent throughout the neighborhood. In addition, we made use of the Free Traveling Library in Madison. From the long lists we would order and receive through the mail books we could keep for two weeks, as I remember. In the time allowed, several people could read these. They were a Magic Carpet to an outside world we could only speculate about.

Winters, there was skating on the ponds and sliding down the hill and building snow forts. There was the Babcock Ski Hill, east of Easton, made possible by the efforts of Mr. Babcock. The only thing he asked was that the people have fun there. He spent many hours preparing this ski and toboggan slide.

Then there were the neighborhood house parties, both cards and dancing, I attended as a very small girl. Euchre was the progressive card game, and we children went along and played together and were fed the same party foods that our elders would have. Then we would fall asleep on a bed until our parents were ready to go home. What good food! (Sure wish I had the recipe for that pressed chicken). When we became a bit older, we took part in the card games, too. The house dances were big stuff!! Paraffin would be shaved on the wooden floors. Most of the time a Mr. Snyder furnished the music. He played accordian, sitting on a chair on top of the kitchen table. Parents taught their children how to dance, as they thought it part of their responsibility to teach them social graces.

The teacher was the recognized leader in the community, most likely being the only person with added education. True, he or she had to build schoolhouse fires and organize the pupils to carry the wood and the water, and sweep the floors, but the teacher was also the bearer of culture. In the winter, the teacher would organize and direct a community play. First, a meeting to assign the roles and the home memorization of lines would begin in earnest. Then nights of walking to the school house for coaching and practicing, the scouring of attics for costumes again, and props for the night of the performance. Local musical talents would be used between the three 3 or four-act play. Later, often the troupe would travel to a nearby neighborhood and again present the play. To the local residents, the teacher was the leader, confidante, and counselor. I loved every teacher I had.

Music was such an important part of our recreation, occurring in many forms. We children learned, while young, this enjoyment, starting with singing during each school morning's "opening exercises." Almost all gatherings featured community singing. Surprisingly, there were many self-taught, or very limitedly trained musicians and vocalists. I really don't know how we accomplished this, but there were fine music groups formed. In addition to parlor organs and a few pianos, there were quite a few people who owned musical instruments. There were only a few music teachers. Their background must have been limited. Many learned to play by picking up sketchy information or played by "ear." My brother learned to play the violin through correspondence lessons.

When I was quite young, the local citizenry held plays, programs, and dances in the upper floor of the Easton Cheese Factory. The particular area I grew up in was a place enriched with various kinds of music. This happened here in Adams County for an unusual reason...the existence of an old building in White Creek that dated back to stagecoach days, when this little town had been a bustling crossroads for early travel by horse drawn vehicles. That old building had held a hotel, dining room, saloon, and ballroom, then with its glory long gone and the building in gathering decay, except a ballroom floor of exquisite excellence. This old hall rang with many types of dance music. The music for the "Beavers" and "Royal Neighbors" lodge dances was usually the "fiddler" type with piano accompaniment. There were the "sawer" types, but one gentleman, the village barber, was a violin maestro. With velvet, graceful strokes of his bow, accompanied by the deep masterful chording on the piano, he produced a musical delight to be savored. I'm happy I participated in it.

I'm amused by what people now think old time dancing was! Where did the notion come from that the old dancers were "jumping jacks?" There was such pride in performance. Each dance form required such careful execution. The "Landler," the swirling "Waltzes," "Schottishes," and the elegant "Heel and Toe" Polka. The grace and beauty of these dancers! In my parents' age dancing was an art form. The few persons who knew how to "Jig" did this as an exhibition dance, while his fellow dancers rested. The evidence of the mastery of this dance lay in the intricacy of the steps, performed while lifting the feet only inches from the floor! From my experience as a youth, I find little resemblance in what is called polkas and schottisches today or the music to which they are danced. The graceful beauty of these dancers was fulfilling to me. As a child, I knew how to dance them a bit, too. I loved music and dancing. Then there were the "Square Dances" of that day. The Caller was the master of the ballroom floor and watched with careful scrutiny of every set in his repertoire. The area boasted several fine callers. But I thought my Dad best of all, because he could sing every one of his calls in his beautiful baritone voice.  

There was an Irish gentleman, a true Burl Ives type of balladiere and folk singer. He sang of the logging camps. His songs came alive as he visited your home and at community affairs.

That old hall also came alive to a wholly different type of music. A new music scene was happening. Strange as it may seem now, it came quickly to Adams County and this par excellence dance floor in this shabby old building was the magnet that attracted Jazz! The Peterson Orchestra from Kilbourn, started their musical career there and for this reason, continued to come to White Creek to play to a packed hall of dancers at $1.00 plus 10 cents tax, a fortune then, even though by then they were commuting by train to Milwaukee to play in the big ballrooms there. I remember several other orchestras who came there, but most of their names escape me now; however, I do remember the "Klein" and "Burgdorff" orchestras. I don't know how so many people travelled so far to this old ramshackled building with its waxed floor, but come they did, from all over the county and farther. I was able to be present because dancing was my father's joy, so all of us were able to go. The "Charleston" and "Hesitation" Waltz came along for the skilled and daring to perform. The "Fox Trot" was the real biggie!

The only familiarity I had with classical music as a child was through the old phonograph with the big red horn we wound by hand that had been bought as a package deal with big thick records that really lasted. We played them over and over because we never got any new ones. The recordings of those days left much to be desired, but there were records in that boxful sung by some of the greatest operatic voices of the times.

Since all recreation included the whole family, maybe you wonder, did men and women have some chance to be with their own sex to relax? I gave this some thought, and I'm sure they did. The men would sit by themselves and spin yarns (story telling). These men developed this to a fine art. These men were neighbors and knew by heart each other's jokes. No matter! Delivery of the yarns was the thing they watched. They told their stories over and over, adding new ones as they learned and polished them. How they would laugh uproariously, as the story telling went the rounds. The stories were often ribald in nature. We small fries were not supposed to know their meaning, but we often guessed a bit. I often listen to the "Hee Haw" on TV. They truly have searched for genuine folk lore yarns. I often recognize, word for word, the stories I heard men tell when I was a child.

For the gals my mother's age, it was visiting in homes and congregating at the local Ladies Aid Society. I'm sure this organization was involved in some good cause, though as I remember it, it seemed a bit vague as to its purpose, but these meetings were a marvelous outlet for those hard working farm ladies. It was an opportunity to display their magnificient culinary talents and to talk woman stuff. We children went along too, and sat quietly and listened. We loved those neighbors. I cannot remember any quilting bees, but I can remember tying a quilt, or helping another lady cover an old quilt. They also helped each other wallpaper.

Winters hold memories. Families would invite one another for Sunday dinners. There was always something special at each home for the visiting children's entertainment. My favorite was a wooden viewer we gazed rapturously through at cardboard dual pictures, giving the scene depth and dimension. I learned so much of social behaviors and neighborliness.

Summers I remember the traveling medicine tent shows that would camp in Easton for several nights. People came from far and near for a taste of outside show business. Amateurish as I'm sure their productions were, for us, this was a taste of the outside world's show business. It was glamorous.

I have rambled on, each memory kept pulling the next in tandem. You know, I'm glad I was asked to do some delving into memories...the neighbors coming in at night to play cards, checkers, or dominoes, the popping of home grown popcorn, the 4th of July celebrations with their sandlot ballgames and politicians who thought they were William Jennings Bryan, Bumper's picnic (come to think of that, what did that name mean?), homemade ice cream, get togethers, the summer days, when the wild berries in the bluffs and swamps were ripe, when for very practical reasons the whole family along with other families, would pick the luscious fruit for canning. All the while laughing and picnicking together. The happy charivari when a couple in the neighborhood was married. All of this socializing without alcohol. It was around for a few, but as a child I never saw it served or anyone drink it.

Kids were "at times" quite isolated and lonesome and we wondered about the big world we only knew through reading. But our brand of entertainment was created and creative, and educational in a very real sense. I'm glad we children were always a natural part of it.