By Roberta McKern
For The New Era
Sometimes visiting the East Linn Museum can jar loose memories of adages and tunes from the folk lore years of the past two centuries, especially since the second half of the 20th century saw a revival of folk music many of us can remember.
As an example of this, we will use Norval Rice’s patented churn with a fan which sits in the kitchen display. Thanks to a leather belt, when the churn dasher is operated to make butter, a fan made of wooden slats cools the process, maybe.
Otherwise it might have something to do with the tune, “Fly in the buttermilk, shoo fly, shoo….” Not a financial success, Norval traded off the patent for pinto ponies from Idaho and as far as we know, the museum’s churn may be the only example.
The kitchen is a natural place of inspiration.
“Too many cooks spoil the broth” goes with the overloaded cast iron range. Then, too, what about that “peas porridge in the pot nine days old served hot or cold”?
Was it fed to an idle young man of whom it could be said, “He’s not worth the salt in his bread?” Checking the recipes in Mrs. Grover Cleveland’s copy of the “White House Cookbook,” we might discover how much salt that could be since a copy of the book endorsed by Frances Cleveland sits on the kitchen table.
We may think of lullabies as we travel past the bedroom next to the kitchen because of a number of cradles reflecting that many of the area’s earlier settlers had sizable families. Large dolls acting as proxies for children are among those frightening young girls because they have, as more than one girl has observed, “such staring eyes.”
We are actually on our way to the sewing room, just past the tubs and washers of Monday’s wash day. In search of a needle in a haystack we can begin by finding a plethora of needles on display plus needle work.
Here we can pause and wonder how old the phrase, “It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack” is. Did the person who coined it know it would be a really big addition to the English language?
The museum has not just a number of needles graded according to size but also examples of needlework. In the 19th century it wasn’t just widows who augmented meager incomes by doing “A stitch in time saves nine.”
The treadle sewing machines from the early 20th century show how technology could make a difference while young girls were continually taught handiwork with a needle and thread.
Those of us who failed needlework in the middle of the 20th century, no doubt, will never be fine ladies and if we have what-not shelves in our houses, they are not made of wooden spools which once held sewing machine thread like the one put together in the parlor display composed of spools “threaded” on a network of wire and stained a uniform mahogany color, another one of Norval Rice’s projects.
The leg from a china-headed doll makes a jarring appearance among needles and buttons on display and leads to the toys in the front room where black-haired, blue eyed china headed dolls appear among other dolls with possible examples of stitchery in their dress.
Around areas where older houses once stood, the arms and legs of china headed dolls will occasionally appear with clay marbles. The doll’s head, however, being hollow, proved more fragile or wasn’t so easily lost.
Other dolls seen running to the middle of the 20th century and are not as much of the past as the china-headed ones, but all appear to have been well loved by little girls singing “Rock-a-bye baby in the treetop” who may have wondered about the “breaking bough” and falling of spring.
In the meantime, the museum has not lost all of its marbles and some can be found near three banks, a goat, red clown and a building representative perhaps of a genuine bank.
Of cast iron, these banks separate into halves when screws are removed, so we know no pennies have been left behind from “a penny saved is a penny earned.”
Too bad, because an older coin might be worth dollars, which the museum always appreciates. As Benjamin Franklin noted, “Early to bed and early to rise makes a man (or woman) healthy, wealthy and wise,” and putting coins in a cast iron bank helped as long as a screwdriver was not handy.
Adages and musical compositions from days of folk lore don’t worry about being sexist. They just are.
But in the past, “man” was meant to apply to all of us, unless other designations were made such as “whistling girls and crowing hens, both will come to no good ends.” As we, of course, now know, crowing hens have a hormone problem due to uncertain genetics. As for whistling girls, in the absence of musical instruments whistling has long served as a substitute.
We are coming to two unrelated objects not far from the toy shelves, an egg scale and a homemade whistle. Yes, the egg scale is only related to crowing hens in a distant sense, but it answered one question, how is it decided which eggs are small, large and extra large? Some of us who have never worried about it may simply assume that egg size is decided by measuring the eggs somehow, but we did not think of egg scales to determine egg size by weight.
The museum still has unexpected knowledge to share.
Though a volunteer may come forth able to whistle for the dog, the museum lacks having a “whistling girl” on hand.
Still, among various musical instruments set on a shelf like Sam Nothinger and Clarence Cady’s harmonicas and a Jew’s harp, there is a shriveled willow whistle, a genuine folk instrument. We suspect it is no longer playable in its desiccated state and when new it could only produce one note to call Fido or the cows home.
Decades ago, we watched the manufacture of such a whistle and on Wikipedia we learned how to make one as shown. So calling on memory and Wikipedia, we will give directions.
A willow with green bark is wanted, so this must likely work better in the spring. To start, a willow branch an inch to an inch and a half in diameter is trimmed down to an 8- to 10-inch length. Cut one end to a 45 degree angle and make a shallow V-shaped notch 1 inch down.
About 4 inches from the end of the whistle piece, score the bark to remove it. Gently pound the bark to loosen it so it will slide off. Enlarge the notch to the center of the branch. Whittle off a flat plane in front of the notch on the stick.
Replace the bark and blow. A high pitched note may scare the cats or call the dog.
If this does not work, look under “willow whistle” in Wikipedia where, inspired by the museum, we can find unexpected information.
Even though “A man full of words and not deeds is like a garden full of weeds,” when emulating the folk times of days gone by, do not go down to the river and cut up the willows. We leave that to the beavers except if you are on private property with permission to attack the trees.
We are lucky to have folkways and adages to call up associations with the past at the museum plus a little tune or two, although we have cause to ask what is wrong with “Sweet Adeline?”
Clarence Cady was a school teacher in the Holley area and one piece of information a past volunteer found and posted in the museum’s school section states rules for teachers.
One indicates young men must never sing in barbershop quartets. As bastions of male social life, perhaps barber shops once looked as wicked to some people as saloons where boxers were pictured in tights and girls even worse, were also seen in or out of tights.
But those days likely preceded Clarance Cady’s appearance on the scene and he played hymns, anyway, one after another.
So much can be conjectured when not a great deal is known, especially at the East Linn Museum, a good place to visit with an imagination fore-tuned.