Leon Ballard - Talk About Nothing (or Nothing to Speak of)
Leon Ballard (1918 - 2004) was asked to write down memories of his childhood. His writings follow below.
More about this trip by covered wagon, as well as other Ballard history stories, was recorded in two other accounts:
Claud Ballard and son,
Leon, in 1920. Enlarge photo.Born February 1, 1918 to Claud and Cecil Ballard, nee King, at Plaza, North Dakota, all of which has been previously recorded. I was 3 months old when we left North Dakota for our trek to Canada by covered wagon and other horse drawn vehicles. My home was the covered wagon which mother drove. We were in company with mother's family. I was 3 months old when we started.
The first world war still being in progress. Uncle Glenn [King] rode a horse to the border, turned the horse loose and walked across the border. I have never heard where the horse came from. Perhaps I still may. How Uncle Clyde [King] done it I have never heard. I do know he never would go back.
Pictured above are Cecil King, Claud Ballard, Clyde King and Bill Meyers. Click here to view full sized image and notes written on back of photo.
We arrived in the Spalding district that fall and rented, squatted or whatever, on land owned by Bill Myers. I recall they had a young girl, really a child, who had diabetes. I felt so sorry for her because all she could have to eat was bananas.
I am not sure if it was that fall or next spring. Three of the horses came up missing. They never knew if they wandered off or had help. No matter, they never did show again, even after riding for miles seeking.
The one mare was mother to our saddle horse Todd, a foxy, lazy little devil. If you left him a loose rein, one big loop and you would be back at the barn.
I remember dad and mom saving a penny here and a nickel there until they had enough to buy a cheap saddle. Then mother put on her kun-ickers and went riding. They were a khaki coloured bloomer type tied at the knees.
I used to ride Todd on the homestead to get the cows and the deer would be running with the herd. The land was bush and sloughs. I would ride Todd when I went to visit Grampa King, mom's dad, and uncle Gene [King] who was a couple of years older than I was. Gene was a real cowboy type. We tried to ride every animal on the place. The one story he told me was he was trying to ride this heifer and, having a hard time to stay on, looked back and the bull was trying to get on too, so he got off. I say story as I wasn't there. Knowing Gene it's at least 50-50 chance of being true. We made our own fun. Remember making a teeter totter, lining up cans on the fence post, teetering, and trying to shoot them off with sling shots.
When we became bored with that we got an old .22 rifle and cut the barrel off short and the stock off at the pistol grip and then tried shooting the cans with that.
Speaking of sling shots, and this story can be verified by Garnett Fielder, son of Marion [Fielder], who was a brother of my gram King. All of us outlaws went to Sunny View School at the same time. Somebody decided we should have a war. Uncle Gene, ever the hero, decided he'd take us all on, barricaded himself in the woodshed. We then proceeded to shoot at one another with our sling shots. (Kidneys man, kidneys)
Hilda N. Biscoe taught at Sunny View School District No. 2307 in 1925 and then again from 1927-1929. The school was established on March 8, 1909 and closed on January 24, 1973.
Source: Spalding Roots and Branches 1981
Miss Biscoe was the teacher. She was trying to teach Gene something and he couldn't get it. They both got mad. She finally wrote the answer on the board but he wouldn't look. Miss Biscoe broke three pointers over his head and shoulders. He never did look at the board.
Grampa King, Gene and Helen [King], Hope [King] was there for a time, then she and Harry Leader I believe they were married at that time, along with Toots [Rhoda Leader] and Clayton Fielder, left for the states.
I believe by that time Gram had left home. Grampa King wasn't the easiest man to get along with. I can recall he and Helen getting into the battle because she was giving the cats whole milk.
I recall the day Hope et al. left for the states in the big old caddie. I had sneaked the old 12 gauge Remington of Gramp Ballard's (Wren) out and crept up on these ducks on this slough. I would raise the gun but couldn't dig up enough nerve to pull the trigger, so crept a bit closer. How often or how long this went on I don't know. I finally armed the gun, closed both eyes, and let drive. Well! All hell broke loose, ducks and feather flying all over. I know because I was on my backside, looking up. That old Remington kicked worse than an old age pensioner when you cut off his supplement. After I was much older it still whacked me around. However, after the world got itself all righted, there were six ducks that weren't going anyplace. They were laying on the water.
Needless to say while the gun had been tip toed out, it came in making lots of noise. So that everyone would see, along with the six birds. The hell with it. I get a licken', I'll take her. Six ducks and a shot gun is a good load for a ten year old. One more thing, every one of those ducks were eaten. This was 1928-29 and many people lived off the land.
Home of uncle Marion Fielder, at Spalding, Saskatchewan on NE-26-38-18. Built in 1912.
Marion and Eva Fielder always had lots of people around on Sundays and nobody ever left hungry. They were usually fed canned duck, venison or prairie chicken, potatoes and rhubarb, as aunt Eva always had this big patch of rhubarb. We kids played hide and seek in it.
Aunt Eva never had a bad word to say about anyone, at least that I ever heard.
In the morning she would call Marion Earl and Garnet [Fielder] over and over. They would answer and go back to sleep.
When we lived on the homestead uncle Marion used to shoot rabbits and often stopped in. One day when he was there, Joyce [Ballard] was playing around. The cellar door was open and she fell in. Uncle Marion made a grab but all he ended up with was a hand full of hair. Joyce would be three or four at the time.
Mom used to make me go into the cellar to get potatoes. How I hated it. I was always picking up a lizard. There wasn't any light down there. I expect the reason I had to go, Mom didn't like it either and she was bigger.
Uncle Marion, after a day of hunting rabbits, said when he closed his eyes all he could see was two black eyes in the snow.
Dad cut logs to build a barn when we were on the homestead and told me to peel them. How well I remember trying to peel logs in the bush in July. Don't expect I done too many. I can't imagine a parent today giving an eight or nine year old an axe and letting them go alone to peel logs.
Uncle George [Brown] and Aunt Flossie lived on a homestead about a mile from us. One day Uncle and his dog, Buster came calling. Mom had made some frogs' eyes (tapioca), had it cooling in the snow outside. Buster ate my frogs' eyes. I wasn't at all happy. Uncle fixed that and I can still hear him saying it. "You come on home with me and I'll give you a treat".
We went up to uncle's and he gave me oatmeal, almost as big a disappointment as when Buster ate my frogs' eyes.
I'm not too sure that I have all the details correct any more but when the Brown's lived there, [Living Individual], who was 5 or so, fell in an old well.
In those days the rule was to dig a hole next to a slough. It would fill with seepage. It was used to water cattle. In this case there was poles laying across the top. [Living Individual] grabbed on to one and hung on while Doris [Brown], his sister, who was a couple of years older, ran to the house and got aunt Flossie to come and rescue him.
[Living individual] was born when we lived on the homestead 1927.
In places the water was as deep as the hubs on the wagon or buggy to get in or out.
In 1928 we moved to a place we called the lumber yard place. I expect some lumber company had taken it for some bill, it happened lots in those days.
The folks moved so as to be closer to school. I was ten years old at the time. [Living individual] and I started school at the same time at Sunny View. Our teacher was a Miss Biscoe. She would make hot soup for us in the winter.
Biscoe had a little saddle pony and she also drove her single on the buggy. I remember they called her Blaze, a pretty little strawberry roan. Biscoe got Blaze from Uncle Orton Sabraw. He was married to mom's sister Margaret [King]. What the deal was I have no idea. Miss Biscoe returned to England and gave the horse to Gram King.
King house south of Spalding 1929
In 1936 there was nobody left on the farm. Grampa King had moved into Spalding. Gene left for Oregon in '34 or '35 but was home visiting in '36, as was uncle Alex McCallum and aunt Marian, mom's sister from Rosetown, also uncle Glenn, mom's brother from Stockholm, the oldest in that family.
Gram King had given Blaze to Glenn so they borrowed a trailer and loaded Blaze and took off, Alex's car, Glen, Gene, and yours truly.
One mile south of Spalding we turned a corner, upset horse and trailer in the ditch. Being no damage done, loaded up and took off again. We got somewhere in the area of Foam Lake and there was an ugly looking black cloud coming up. In those days it was all dirt roads, no gravel, so we unloaded Blaze. Uncle Glenn climbed on bare back and went loping off into the teeth of one of the blackest clouds I ever seen. That was the last time I ever seen uncle Glenn.
Gene was singing as we were riding along and Glenn wanted to know what the hell he was doing working for a living.
Another amusing incident that happened with Gene. He came into the house clutching his pant leg. He wanted Gram to help him get that mouse. After a lot of fiddling around they finally got it out and he had a vice grip on his handkie. In those days when we went to get a load of straw we tied a string around the bottom of our pant legs to keep mice out.
Gene and I used to go out to the pasture, catch a couple of horses, cut a switch for each hand to steer with and proceed to race. Gramps caught us at it and that stopped, someone always out to spoil one's fun.
I was very disappointed the first or second year I retired. Gene and wife, Ethel, were to come visiting. He took a massive heart attack and died within a few days.
Grandpa King - he was a very small man and had a double hernia. I can still see him cross his legs one way and push one up, cross them the other way and do the other one. He would only go a short way and do it all over again. Grampa also had Bright's disease, and one kidney, and lived for years after they had only given him a few months.
It was no wonder he had a hard time trying to farm, and that things were in poor repair, especially fences. The cattle were always going through the fence into the crop. So he hid in the crop with the shot gun and fired at them from too far away to do too much harm, of course, hoping to scare them.
They never had a well so hauled water two barrels on a stone boat. A stone boat consisted of wooden runners with a platform nailed on, mainly used to haul manure from the barn. So you can guess what we, the unwashed class, called it, hauling water with that set up. When it was thirty below things got slippery.
One day on the homestead dad, [Living Ballard] and I were riding on the thing, standing up, of course. She had a grab on one of dad's legs. I had the other one. Dad had the reins to hang on to. The horses were going on a full out trot, really splitting the breeze. We hit a stump, then we really took wings. It was winter time and there was a good cover of snow. We weren't harmed. And they think bunjie jumping's a thrill.
Another time I took wings, Gene was going to show me how Blaze would jump. The only thing for her to jump was the barb wire fence. He didn't think she would jump the top wire so I was to stand on it, which I did. Only thing using my kidneys again instead of standing on the same side, I stood on the other side. Blaze seen the bottom but not the one I was standing on. I think that time I made a complete loop.
Grampa lived close to a swamp and it was just full of water fowl, cranes or turkeys and they used to hunt a lot.
Gene was telling how he had to laugh. He and Gramp were hunting. Gramp wounded this crane and was looking in the sort of buck brush three or four feet high. He finally found it. When he did, it stood up and Gramp, being so short, the bird stood eye to eye with him. That swamp was later dredged and drained into the Quill lakes.
In the early thirties Gramp moved into town, lived one winter in a tent, lumber around the bottom to bank the snow up against. It was really warm in there as long as the fire was going but cooled off fast when it went out.
He later built a one room lumber shack. Don't know how or where his money came from as there was none of the social programs in those days that we have today.
I do know he tried his hand at a bit of boot legging. Cops caught him. Don't recall much about it except when they discovered he wasn't a Canadian citizen, they took all his guns away. Clyde, that's uncle Clyde [King], who was second oldest, could have purchased them back but wouldn't. I think he figured you stole them, I'm not paying you for them.
It would be in the 30's Gramp cobbled up some sort of a trailer, hitched to an old Model A Ford and went to Washington, all alone, through the mountains. Roads in those days weren't what they are today. That really must have been some trip.
Before we went to the homestead we lived just a few roads from Grampa King. The only thing that I recall of that time is [Living Ballard] and I rolled some leaves in paper and was about ready to fire up when mom discovered what we were up to. We were sitting in a straw pile by the barn.
Previous to that we lived on a quarter section northwest of Spalding owned by Iver Knutson.
Back to Gramps [King] for a second. He had an old Model T. When he went to crank it, he would jack one back wheel off the ground. This was so it didn't kick. He would ask me to hold that wheel from turning. I was afraid of it and how I hated it. I was about eight.
He would get fiddling around when he was driving, maybe trying to push one of his hernias in place, and the car would take off on him and he would say come here you old SOB. You never done that before.
Back to when we lived on Iver [Knutson]'s place. I believe Joyce and [Living Ballard] were both born there. I know Joyce was. We had whooping cough and very nearly lost Joyce. The doctor was a doctor Stewart from Naicam.
The house had a sod roof and an unplaned plank floor, log walls. There were always many bed bugs in those days. I'm not sure if it was because of the logs or that most of the houses were logs. One of the ways they got spread, as well as lice, was at threshing time.
There were only a few threshing outfits around. At that time all different size of crews depending on the size of the separator and that was judged by the size of the cylinder head how many bundles it would take at one time. In those early days the engines were generally steamers. By the time I was old enough, they were gas operated. Some of the larger crews consisted of six teams, a couple of field pitchers and a couple of spike pitchers. You brought your own blankets. Most outfits had a bunk house they pulled from farm to farm. If not you slept in lofts, granaries or wherever.
I'm back, after a two year or so break, having spent one summer in and out of the hospital with pneumonia. The first doctor I had I shook hands with as he had me on twenty-five pills a day and was slowly killing me. Judging by the fact I'm still here the next one pulled me through. And so now to carry on.
When we lived on the Knutson place, I often slept over, as I did for years, at Grandpa Ballard's (Wren and Lilly). Uncle Wilbur [Ballard] and aunt Edna [Ballard] were still both home at that time. Grandpa and Wilbur would be milking and one or both of them would squirt milk at me. They said I would say, "do that again Grandpa so I can see which one did it".
When only 4 or 5 years old, the dog, Trip and I went for a walk. The dog came home but not the wayward nomad. The folks said go find him and Trip took off. They met an old bachelor neighbour Sven Molstad bringing me home. I had walked up on the banking of his shack and was looking in the window.
Another time the door on the house locked itself on the outside. I being the only one small enough to get through any window, they shoved me out to unlock the door. However, I decided to go down by the granary and play on the spring seat of the wagon. One of the greatest mistakes of my young life was to ever open that door. That same thing might happen today and be perfectly legitimate, I'd forget.
The railroad ran behind the barn, (CPR) perhaps within fifty feet. In the dirty thirties there were a lot of guys ridings the rails. Being so close to the track, that used to make Gram and Edna nervous. This farm was called the Shinkler place.
One evening after Grandpa [Ballard] had his stroke and he was bed ridden, something hit his window. That was enough to panic Edna. She got the shot gun and some shells and gave them to me. She was afraid of the gun too. This terrified Gramps. He tried to get them to give him the gun in bed. He very likely knew he couldn't use it but it would take it out of the hands of that child.
Grandpa would go into the pasture for the cows and many times when the wild strawberries were ripe, he would run across a patch and come in with his hat full. Gram would make a cake and we would have strawberry short cake.
One thing that really wasn't much fun was turning the grindstone for Gramps while he sharpened cutter plates for the sickle bar on the mower or binder. Today haying is done with a hay baler or swathers. Turning that thing was hard, especially when Grampa would put the pressure on.
It was Edna's job to pump water for the stock. It seemed to me I ended up on the end of the pump handle a lot. On a hot day in July that wasn't fun either.
One summer I was to work for Gram [Ballard], Edna or Wilbur, I'm not too sure who was the boss. Anyway, it was through summer holidays. My pay was a suit of clothes. Wilbur was teaching piano so he had to practice. Also he had to keep his hands in good shape. I milked six cows night and morning and turned the cream separator that was used to separate the cream from the milk, which we got very little of. The cream was shipped to get a bit of cash for sugar, coffee, tea or another thing that money was needed for, such as coal oil for lamps and lanterns.
When I was finished milking, it was clean the barn, have breakfast, harness four horses, hook up to a three horse disk to disk, breaking. A three horse disk is a very narrow machine and impossible to ride on breaking. It's also very rough and hard to walk over. The irony of the job was what in hell did I need of a suit for when I had no money to go any place?
Uncle Joe Hutchison came rushing into the house one day, grabs the shot gun and goes out to take a shot at some geese that were flying over. Down one came. He went out and found it and Grama was going to cook it up. Well she cooked that thing and the more she cooked, the tougher it got. She never was able to cook it enough so that it was fit to eat. They finally came to the conclusion it was a tough old swan.
Back to the [Tom] Shindler place. It caught on fire a number of times. This one time mom's oldest brother, Glenn King, was there. I'm no longer certain who was the depositor or the receiver but believe Glenn was the depositor and Wilbur the recipient. Whoever done it grabbed the full slop pail heaving it at the ceiling where the fire was burning around the chimney. The whole mess came down over the top of the other guy. If you recall the slop pail you know there was everything in there except the dish pan. We never had sinks in those days.
Grampa went out one night to feed the pigs. That night it was thundering and lightening, raining. The pigs were in a woven wire fence. As he bent over the fence to put the feed in the trough, there was a blinding flash of lightening and a terrific clap of thunder. Gramps was knocked flat and stunned for a few seconds. When he finally became aware of things there was this terrible stench and a number of dead pigs. He never, it seems, knew what the stench was, the lightening zapped pigs or what. Now if that had happened to me, I'd have known exactly where to look. "Check my britches".
That all happened at the Shindler place but in 1931 or so it caught fire for the last time and burned to the ground. They had a hired man, Archie McFarland. When they were carrying things out of the house, when it was on fire, Archie carried the lamp chimney out all the way from upstairs but left the lamp. Who can say for sure what they might do in the same circumstances?
When Grampa passed away, Archie and mom's uncle Marion Fielder sat up with the body all night. The next morn' uncle Marion said, "Last night I was the smartest man. This morning Archie is for he knows all I know and what he knows too". Archie wasn't a big talker.
The McFarland's came to Canada from Ireland about 1927, give or take, and lived only a mile away when we lived on the lumberyard place.
Garnet Fielder, who was a cousin of mom's and a year younger than I, went calling one day. The McFarland's were butchering. They had cobbled up a tripod to hang the beef up with only problem being it was too short. The hind quarter was still laying on the ground in the blood, guts and dirt. We really didn't think it looked very appetizing. However they likely done the best they could with what they had to work with, including knowledge.
Nobody had anything in those days but some were worse off than others, and then there were the privileged. The rich and the poor, it's ever the same and never the twain shall meet.
Even though the times must have been hard, I never remember ever going to bed hungry. After school, as a teenager, I ate many a bread and onion sandwich. In those days vegetables were a lot harder to grow. They didn't have all the early varieties or the high yields. It was an exceptional year when one had corn or tomatoes. They used to grow an early corn they called squaw corn but it never had much flavour.
My mother usually grew cucumbers and made dills in crocks. I loved them when they were about half ready. She also made sauerkraut and it was the same with that, made in a five gallon crock, a cloth over it, a plate with a rock sitting on it. Dad always planted lots of potatoes and some turnips. In the early years I don't recall mom canning peaches, plums or pears. However, lots of wild raspberries and strawberries, also rhubarb, both fruit and jam.
In the fall of the year I can remember J.W. Hutchison would get in a box car of apples. The people came with bags, boxes, washtubs or whatever to pick up.
There were no fridge or deep freeze at that time but some people would put up ice to put around ice cream freezers or at times a syrup pail and you turned this back and forth until the ice cream would freeze. It would sometimes take more than one batch to feed the gang.
They preserved meat especially hams. Side pork they smoked for bacon. After they were cured, it was kept in what was called a root cellar, often built under ground. I can remember going in and cutting off a bit of ham and eating it. Then there was the process of salting mainly pork, beef. Wild meat was most often cooked and canned. Mom's uncle Marion and aunt Eva Fielder, as I recall, canned a lot of deer and wild birds.
I can see in my mind's eye the turkeys roosting in the trees all over, also eating turkey eggs. Garnet and yours truly shot a crow. We built a fire and ended up eating crow. Also tried blackbird. I can't really say that I remember what the taste was or even if we had salt. Garnet said he tried eating sparrow.
From one extreme to another, the second Xmas we spent in Flin Flon, mom sent a 27 lb turkey that she bought from Ina's mom. The stove we had was an apartment size electric stove, just barely room, and the roaster was just about too small. And when the juices started to run over that was it, the bird's cooked. It was, and to perfection.
March 18, 2000 - [Living Individual]'s Birthday
Been a while since I told any lies but perhaps if I tried it may be possible to regurgitate a few more.
Sister Zell phoned from Spalding, Saskatchewan this morning to say that Garnet Fielder had passed on. He had been suffering from lymphatic cancer for sometime. He was declared legally blind a few years ago and was also hard of hearing.
He and I were second cousins and, as a child, boy and man spent many hours together, playing when young, hunting and a bit of fishing, or as we went into our so called golden years, just swapping lies.
Garnet had a terrific memory and loved to talk of people from the past, present and future. Garnet went through the battle of Italy, Ortano, and all that. However, like a lot of guys who went through a lot of action, never spoke that much about it.
We just returned from Spalding, having gone out to the Ballard reunion. There was some 40 odd people there. Never done much except eat a lot and talk a ___. Ina ran into a bit of trouble with minor strokes. In fact, took her in to emergency in Humboldt. She is still at this having an odd one.
