Small But Mighty Ella Porter, by Irene

Small But Mighty Ella Porter

by Irene

Small But Mighty Ella Porter, my father’s mother was one of the strongest women I know. She stood about 4 feet 11 inches (if that) but there was no doubt that she ruled the roost.

She had been frail as a child, but she reared ten children in a two room house with no inside plumbing or toilets. Eight of them were boys. She raised chickens and kept a large garden to help feed her brood.

I remember the big canning pot and mason jars with rubber seals that she used to can vegetables and fruits for the winter. Daddy said he could remember the boys being sent out along the railroad tracks to pick up coal that had fallen along the tracks.

Grandmother had two of the strongest hands I have ever held. That came from ringing out clothes on wash day. She washed and rinsed everything in tin No. 2 tubs and hung them out on the clothesline to dry in the sun.

She was very religious and all of the children participated in church activities regularly. No card playing was allowed in her house, although rumor has it that Grandfather earned the family money gambling.

My mother says that the Porter children were always clean and well fed.

Grandmother was also the neighborhood midwife and participated in the births of many children. In the 1920’s and 30’s no one had telephone service but Grandmother had her own message system. Daddy told us they would sometimes get into mischief at school or in the neighborhood. When they got home she would call them in. “I heard you were being sassy in school today,” she would say to them.

“Mama, how do you know that?” they would ask.

“Never mind how I know," she would reply. “Just go on out to that peach tree and cut me a switch and bring it here. I’ll teach you to be respectful to your elders."

Many years later I can remember her saying nearly the same thing to one of my cousins. It didn’t matter if the child was a foot taller than her. But no matter how strict she was, we never doubted that she loved all of us and we loved her.

Grandmother died in 1963 possible of kidney disease. I remember the time well because I was almost seven months pregnant at the time and living in California and could not attend her funeral.

Irene January 30, 2003, Revised July 26, 2008

I love the photo Irene provided for her story. Isn't Grandma Porter a beautiful woman? I can see her now taking care of "family" business. Nothing got past this lady! Do we ever need more of these mamas in today's age. Irene gave her audience a wonderful glimpse behind the eyes of her paternal grandmother's life. I was ready to hear more; how about you???

Copyright © 2008 by The Write Workshop. All rights reserved.

The Garden by Irene

The Garden
by Irene

Spring had finally arrived in Portland Oregon in 1993. Spring in Oregon is an affair of riotous color with blossoming fruit trees, azaleas, rhododendrons, and flowering bulbs. Colors such as pink, red, white, yellow, fuchsia, magenta, and lavender provide a feast for the eyes.

Spring was also the time my father, Emmitt Porter always started laying out his garden. My father had two great pastimes--his garden and his fishing. Gardening was his second favorite pastime--fishing was his first love. Daddy’s garden was no small affair but instead took up the entire back half of the lot next door to the house. He and Mom had bought the lot at the same time they bought the house so that no one could squeeze a house next to them. The front half was already landscaped with a woodland scene complete with gazebo, goldfish pond and spraying fountain but the back half was all Daddy’s. He had planted his garden almost every year that he had lived in the house.

Approximately two years previously Daddy had suffered a mild stroke but he did not let that slow him down. However, during the past year he had been told that his kidneys were failing and that he had prostate cancer. He had missed the past summer’s fishing season because he was no longer strong enough for the fifty mile trip to the coast and the day’s fishing. He had even sold the boat that he loved.

But his garden was another matter. Mom tried that spring of 1993 to persuade him to forget about planting a garden for that year. Somehow, he found a friend who came and rotor-tilled the beds and prepared the ground for him. He then proceeded to plant enough tomatoes, squash, green beans and other vegetables to feed half the neighborhood.

That was the last garden that my Daddy planted. In November of that year, while I was visiting my brother, Tom at his home in Arizona, we received a call to tell us that Daddy was in the final stages of his illness and had only a few days left. He had refused to be treated with dialysis at the time he was first diagnosed. He said he was in eighties and felt that his time was coming and he didn’t want his life prolonged artificially. When the minister from his church visited him in the hospital, my father recited to him one of favorite bible passages.

“For I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand. I have fought a good fight. I have finished my course. I have kept the faith: Henceforth, there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge shall give me at that day: and not to me only, but unto all them also that love his appearing.” (2 Timothy 4:6-8)

Daddy requested and received permission to go home for his final days. Although he could not respond verbally, he was aware of each one who came to say goodbye. He held on to life until all of his children and his nephews arrived from all across the United States and Canada and went in to say goodbye. Each of us asked him to wait for another one who was on the way. Less than an hour after the last one said goodbye, Daddy let go and left us.


An amazing story of an amazing man; Irene's father. Did you feel like you knew him in an intimate way? Or like you would have loved to have spent some time with him? This is an excellent example of describing the life of a significant person in your life.

Irene wrote this first: February 14, 2003
Revised June 30, 2008

Copyright © 2008 by The Write Workshop. All rights reserved.

My Uncle Raymond by Virginia

My Uncle Raymond was a Character to Remember
by Virginia 7/2008

My Uncle Raymond was my favorite uncle, even though I was told when I was born that when he learned that I was a girl, he told them, Send her back!

He was my youngest uncle, and he still lived at home with my grandmother. He always had a smile and was very friendly and helpful. Even though I was a girl, I believe I was special to him. He was always teasing me.

One special thing he did was he took me for a ride on his motorcycle. That was all right with Uncle Raymond, but I never wanted to be on a motorcycle again.

At one time he was a life guard at Samlando Springs. That was a fun place to go. There was an indoor pool as well as the natural spring. The spring itself had a rail guard around it. The water flowed out to make a beautiful swimming area with a sandy beach.

Uncle Raymond took me swimming one afternoon at the springs. He decided that was the time for me to learn to swim. He said right in the spring, where the water boiled up, was the best place to learn, because the water would hold you up and you couldn’t sink. At first I was pretty scared to go in there, but then I saw that the water did hold me up. I did learn to paddle around and stay on top of the water.

Later I did have more regular swimming lessons.


Virginia drew us in as she gave us a snapshot of her favorite uncle. We enjoyed the story of how Uncle Raymond gave her the joy of swimming. What age was she at this time? How old was he? This would be good info to add. Too, I would like for her tell more about what happened to him later in life. She piqued my curiosity about this young man. How about you?

Copyright © 2008 by The Write Workshop. All rights reserved.

Grandmother Agnes by Bob

Early Years: A Significant Person

Written by Bob 7/1/08

All of us have friends or family members that were a significant part of our lives during our formative years. For me, one of those people was my grandmother on my mother’s side. At seven years of age, Agnes Knebel was one of eight siblings who arrived in New York from the Saxony area of Germany in the fall of 1886. Almost immediately the Knebel family settled in the town of Rockville, Connecticut, a largely German community, some 25 miles northeast of Hartford.

Agnes married Robert Seidel in 1903 when she was 24. A little over a year later, they were blessed with the arrival of my mother, their only child. They moved to the town of Manchester, about twelve miles south of Rockville in 1919. My grandfather died in 1928. Soon thereafter she returned to Rockville to live with one of her sisters and her sister’s husband, the Hensigs. It was at the Hensig’s three story home on Nye Street that I got to know this truly wonderful human being, Agnes Seidel.

She was one of the most sensitive, generous, and hard working women that I have ever known. I always enjoyed visiting her. During the summer of 1949, right after high school and just prior to attending the University of Connecticut, I worked in the meat department at the A&P grocery store on Main Street in Rockville. I remember as though it was yesterday walking the mile or so to the Hensig house and always having a delicious noon meal prepared by my dear grandmother, known in our family as Rockville Gram.

It was not long after that summer, perhaps 1952 or 1953, that she had a fall while going downstairs to the basement. She would have been about 73 or 74 at the time. Fortunately, it did her no harm, only a few bruises, but it did result in her returning to Manchester to live with us on East Middle Turnpike. It was a joy to me to have her present every day to be able to see and talk with her. We often played Parcheesi and Flinch. Her favorite television programs were the Lawrence Welk Show, Liberachi, and Perry Mason.

In June 1964, while working as a civilian at a U.S. military base outside of Tokyo, Japan, I learned of her passing at the age of 85. Each time I go to Connecticut, I always visit her grave site at Grove Hill Cemetery in Rockville.

We were all touched by Bob’s story about his maternal grandmother. By the end of the story, we all felt like we had known her. If not, we would have loved to have known her. Too, we were inspired to be better parents and grandparents. What a legacy she left. This was indeed a heart felt story about a priceless relationship between a grandson and grandmother. I am certain one day my son will be sharing similar sentiments about his grandmother. This is why I find it so important to get our stories in print. So that others may be inspired.

As a footnote, Bob told us he was in his early 20s when she lived with them on East Middle Turnpike. I would like for him to add the names of Agnes’ parents as well as his mother’s name.

Photo: Google Images
Copyright © 2008 by The Write Workshop. All rights reserved.

Watch Your Tracks by Don

In 1952 we had moved to Mississippi County Delta in the farm land. We lived on a gravel county road and farmed land on each side of the road.

At this time, two of my brothers and I were at home, and the other children had gone their way. One of my brothers, Darrell, was always finding trouble.

About a quarter of a mile from our house there was a stand of trees. Another farmer parked his tractor there where he had an elevated fuel tank. Darrell and his friend, Ray McGee, wanted to ride their bikes to the woods where the tractor was parked.

My Dad warned them about messing with the tractor because it was not theirs, and they could get into trouble.

One night after the conversation, it rained, and the next day Darrell and Ray rode over to the tractor. Darrell had a distinct track on his bicycle wheel that no other kid in the county had (a knobby tire on his bike). This tire was what eventually got him into trouble.

Darrell and Ray road their bicycles to the woods, even though they had been told to leave the tractor alone. They got the tractor started and were messing around with it and turned over the fuel tank that contained over 300 gallons of diesel fuel.

The next day the neighbor that owned the tractor came to check on it, and said the fuel had been overturned. He looked around the area, and then came to my house to tell to my father that he thought Darrell had turned the fuel over. His reason was there was track tires all over the place which he had traced by to our house.

When my Dad confronted Darrell and Ray, they both denied knowing anything about it. When confronted again, and told they might go to jail, Darrell broke down and said they had done it.
My dad told Darrell and Ray they would have to pay for any damages including the price of the fuel, and they would both have to work to pay for it.

Darrell was no longer free to ride around the county and his bike stayed at the house. It took Darrell and Ray all summer to work out the pay for what they had done.

Isn't it interesting how we remember stories of our siblings getting into trouble? Hmmm. Could it be possible we find some innocent pleasure in it? I'm not speaking for Don, but for myself! For sure, this story drums up my own memories of my brothers shannigans. Problem is, they have more stories to tell about me than I do them. Regardless, Don's memory of this account is enjoyable for the reader. Maybe we need to contact Darrell for some good stuff on Don! Keep up the good work, Don. And thanks again to Donna for typing these and sending them for me to post.

NOTE: The photo was taken from Google. You will never guess who this young man is. HINT: Old blue eyes!

Copyright © 2008 by The Write Workshop. All rights reserved.

A Hairy Tale by Irene

A Hairy "Tale"
by Irene

I grew up hearing my mother, Edna, tell about the time her sister, Myrtle, cut her hair without her knowledge while she was asleep on the couch. When I asked my Aunt Myrtle about it a few years ago she told me; “That story is Edna’s story. Here is the real tale.”

Once upon a time in a small town called McAlester and in a state called Oklahoma, there lived two sisters. Their names were Edna and Myrtle. The year was 1935 and the sisters were anticipating their high school graduation. On the radio they listened to music by Big Bands like Tommy and Jimmy Dorsey, Count Basie, Benny Goodman, Artie Shaw and Duke Ellington. All of the young people in town were listening to songs such as Ain’t Misbehaving, I Get a Kick Out of You, It’s Only a Paper Moon and East of the Sun and West of the Moon, and dancing to One O’clock Jump.

Now, the popular hairstyle of the day was called a ‘boyish bob’. Edna looked in the mirror at her long thick braids and wished for short hair. She went to her father and asked,”Please Daddy may cut my hair?" I am so tired of these braids.”

Her father answered, “No baby, your hair is your glory. You cannot cut it.”

“Please, please, please, Daddy,” Edna begged.

“I said NO!” her father answered.

However, Edna wasn't one to give up easily. She had always been stubborn. So, she grumbled and complained to anyone who would listen (and even some who didn’t want to) about her hair.

Her sister, Myrtle, finally got tired of hearing her complain about it.

“Come on” she said. “I’ll cut your hair for you. I am sick of hearing you complain.”

Myrtle rummaged around, found a big pair of scissors and set to work. Neither girl thought to take down those hated braids first. It wasn’t easy but Myrtle finally had those braids whacked off. But, when they looked in the mirror they were shocked. Edna’s hair looked awful. It was all uneven and looked nothing like the bobbed hairstyle she was expecting. The girls knew that they were in deep trouble so they found a hat, put it on Edna’s head and pulled it down to cover her hair. They hoped fervently that their father would not notice. (Any parent could have told them that that was not going to happen.)

When their father came home he, of course, discovered what they had done (you just knew he would.) When he looked at Edna’s ravaged head, he could only exclaim, “Your cut off your glory”

The cut was so horrible that Edna had to go down to the local barber shop to see if the barber could even it out and make it look presentable.

Although it was not exactly the way she had planned it, Edna did get to march at her graduation wearing her ‘boyish bob”.

Irene described a hair-raising event in a delightful way, did she not? Imagine Daddy finding out what his two girls had been up to. Oh my. I bet he found out her glory didn't leave her after all. I love the fact that Irene attached the before and after photos of her dear mother. What a doll with or with out all that hair. I'm looking forward to more of these great tales, Irene!

Copyright © 2008 by The Write Workshop. All rights reserved.