Sunday afternoon, at home.
My dear neglected son,
Here I have been wasting this whole afternoon and have not
written one line to my kiddies. I am awful, but it seemed good to just lie
around and rest. I guess I was tired. You see, I have had a cannery here and I
have been putting up vegetables for all I have been worth. They will be so nice
this winter. My dear, we did not receive a letter from you this week. I cant
imagine where these letters go that each of us never receive. Last week is the
first week we have missed writing for months. Daddy and the boys work from 6:00
in the morn until 8:00 at night, and they are so tired when they get in, and we
are all so tired after supper that we all go to bed, but haying will soon be
over. School starts soon, however, but probably it will be a good thing. Maeser
looks so tired. I think this is a hard country to earn a living in.
My flowers are still pretty, but it is feeling pretty cool
outside. It rained last night and this morning, and I am afraid my beans will
go down tonight. Rilla Peterson just sang over the radio. She has a very nice
voice. Daddy is in Evanston with the Bishop. The boys are out milking. Helen
has been to Woodruff to preach for the M. I. A.
I have listened to the radio and read Shakespeare’s biography.
Do you get the world news. It is certainly in a chaos. I am
beginning to think that the prophecies about nations visiting against nation
and wiping each other out is being fulfilled.
Well the typewriter makes my shoulder ache so I quit. Then I
wasn’t feeling so hot so went to bed & had rather a bad night. I’m all
right this morning. Just a bad head left.
Must hurry this off tho, & get a line to Winnie. Helen
suffered with neuralgia part of the night & I’m wondering if she will be
able to work today. Got the men off. Maeser
is some lad, but quite a sweet kid with all his funny ways.
The meeting house is to be decorated this fall. It is sadly
in need of it. Suppose Helen told you of Dallas’ wedding. Free picture shows
this week too.
I hate to write such uninspiring letters to you, but when I
have much to do my brain doesn’t work very well. Shall try to do better when I
can get outside. No wonder a poor farmer doesn’t advance very far
intellectually. When your body is all tired out you can’t think even.
I suppose you hear from Clara don’t you. Helen was telling
me how pretty she looked when she saw her last.
Well dearie, I’m afraid this will have to do for this time.
Suppose you know you only got $25 last month. We have been rather shy of money,
but will try to increase it.
Love & kisses, and a prayer for the Lords’ choicest
blessings to be with you my dear.
Loving, Mother
Picture from Wikipedia
Pictures of daughter Winnifred canning in her kitchen.
Pictures of granddaughter Carol canning in her kitchen.
Pictures of daughter Winnifred canning in her kitchen.
Pictures of granddaughter Carol canning in her kitchen.
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