Midwifery & Chocolates

Walking into our tiny living room before Christmas had become an annual event for this older couple. They always had a gift in hand, which they presented to Mama, and then they relaxed to chat awhile.

The pleasant-looking pair were no strangers to me; I saw them in church every Sunday. But bringing an annual gift to Mama seemed to have special significance. Living during the Great Depression meant making do with only the necessities of life – and that certainly did not include boxed chocolates. Even as a child, I knew that!

Only years later did I come to understand. I was often an unwilling “guest” at the neighborhood tea parties, but I later realized that I owed my knowledge of family history to those get-togethers. It was there that I gained invaluable insight into Mama’s early homesteading experiences, and my curiosity about the chocolates and the silver-haired couple who brought them was at last satisfied.

Back in the old days, adventurous young ladies joined the ranks of those aspiring to land ownership and independence. Mama was one of those. With the able assistance of her grandfather, she had filed for available land in northeastern Montana. Soon every available acre was claimed, and homesteaders’ shacks dotted the prairie. Then the living, loving and dying began.

One family in this new, thriving community was expecting an addition.

Mama, known by her childhood nickname, Lena, was quite concerned about the expectant mother. With her growing family, assistance from outside the family would be needed.

But no talk of providing help had reached Mama’s ears, so she decided that it was her Christian duty to at least offer aid. Doctors were available in the country, but they were 50 miles north, and those were horse-and-buggy days.

Mama knew how to cook, clean, wash, starch and iron clothes; she even milked the family cow. But the skills of a midwife were unknown to her. Still, Lena was undaunted. In her spare time, she laid the old, reliable “doctor book” on the oilcloth-covered table and studied it in a circle of light from the kerosene lamp.

When Mama decided that she had the instructions memorized, she confided her readiness to Mrs. LaFeat, who passed the message on to her husband. It was agreed that the expectant father would inform the novice when labor started and “not to procrastinate.”

Fortunately, the husky French woman had already given birth to three children.

And anyway, it never occurred to Mama that the impending birth could be anything but normal.

Her partner in this once-in-a-lifetime event was divine and comforting. Just hearing Mama tell the story riveted my attention, and I was more in awe of my beloved Mama than ever. There were times when Mama seemed impelled to spell words – I had no problem with that, realizing that this tactic was due to my presence. Besides, Webster’s Dictionary always helped me fill in the blanks. I thought this particular chapter of Mama’s homesteading experiences was awesome. At certain points in the account, I was tempted to laugh out loud. But that was forbidden – children were seen and not heard!

Mama, “an old maid,” as she nicknamed herself, was accustomed to wearing long, white dresses indoors. She was very fastidious, as a lone woman can easily be. Mama had been raised in Vienna, Austria.

She arrived in the United States knowing three languages and refined her fourth, English, in various schools, even though she was considerably older than the other students.

So now we find her caring for a family in a one-room homestead shack out on the Montana prairie. There was no electricity, refrigeration or indoor plumbing; such luxuries were not even in the dream stage for these pioneers.

The other three LaFeat children were not always potty-trained; and, most shocking to the young Austrian maiden, they were naked from the waist down! Recycling was not in the vocabulary of that day, but it was implemented nevertheless. Montgomery Ward and Sears Roebuck catalogs were utilized to the utmost, both indoors and out.

One day after the new mama was feeling stronger, she sat by the tall, heavy crockery churn with her hands on the round broomstick handle. Up and down, up and down, a steady rhythm accompanied the splash of the cream. All of a sudden, the sound changed – the “butter came,” with buttermilk running down the sides of the churn and onto the floor.

What a great delight for those darling, dark-eyed children! They squealed in anticipation, watching, then playing in buttermilk rivers with tiny hunks of pale butter running across the floor.

Lena was beside herself, but the little ones were never happier! Mrs. LaFeat could see how distraught her young neighbor was and smoothed her by gently remarking, “Oh Lena, don’t let it bother you – you’ll stay young a lot longer.”

Fifty years later, while raising my own family, I quoted this pioneer lady. To my surprise, my physician wholeheartedly agreed with her advice.

Mama passed to her eternal reward many years ago. Who knows? Maybe those chocolates and homesteading stories are still being shared in the great beyond.

And by the way, I did meet that baby Mama had delivered. She was then a soon-to-be-retiring Washington schoolteacher who enjoyed meeting her midwife, Lena.

Mama, I - your “baby” as you used to call me – walk in your shadow, even though your stature was much shorter. Your caring ways and life of sacrifice as you raised four children after Daddy’s sudden death are examples cherished by all who knew you. God bless you and your memories, which are being shared now with the great-grandchildren.

Helen DePuydt is a regular contributor to the Courier and a member of a homesteading family in the Saco area. All of her stories are true.