The Old Dillard Settlement

Doretha Dillard Shipman

Aug - Sept 2000

Once upon a time when I was a little girl, my family would move from our home on the hill to the Buffalo River farm to make a crop or move to the cabin to run the Dillard Ferry for "a spell". In moving, which was done by wagon and team, I remember how dishes and other breakables or kitchen goodie were packed in washtubs, along with everything else we had to have to survive. It was only 5 or 10 miles we traveled, but, my, how exciting. It was also exciting to move back to our home on the hill, where the old familiar playhouse had been, which was formed by rowing up rocks and dividing the rooms off in like manner. There were boards I used for the table and chairs, with pieces of glass around I used for dishes. That was life at its best.

Then I remembered Leon telling me once upon a time his Uncle Andrew and Aunt Bertha loaded up their wagon with all their possessions- and the kids - with washtub and all moved to near Bentonville, Ark. I am sure Neville and Odale had a good time. The Davis family was also happy to get back to Freck, even if there were no bathroom facilities. There were other places for accommodations ... no close neighbors and plenty of big trees.

Funny how a scene with a tub can make a person think of so many things. I wonder if my great grandmother had a moving tub. I'm sure that if she did it wasn't a zinc one. And what did she put in it?

Aunt Jenny Baker had a pretty good saying which she thought the Bible help up. She said, in her fine, high-pitched, sweet voice, "Well, you know, the Bible says every tub sets on its own bottom." She had a point. It is remembered on its own merits and I guess we will be, too.

Yes, there still is a Maumee, and the population is two, Glen and Nelda Davenport. My daughter Beci and family call that home also.

Bill told the man that he recalled after the community started to grow and was becoming quite a mining town, with Hamilton, Jameson and Whit Massengale pushing the mining industry, with a planing mill, one-room school, general store, hotel and zinc smelter where ore was processed from several area mines. Mr. Hamilton named it Maumee. He was appointed postmaster in 1899. Maumee Post Office was used until Uncle Sam moved it.

Many people pass by the old store and post office building (which is well preserved by the Davenports) as they are on their way to Maumee Landing to take a canoe trip down the beautiful Buffalo River.

I think this year I will be in fashion. I heard that the "in" thing this year was called "dirty jeans, skirts and jackets." Also, even the cosmetics are geared to the dirty look - whatever that look will be. I know a lot of times I sure do get my clothes pretty dirty. I don't guess that's what they had in mind.

Once upon a time it was embarrassing to have dirty-looking clothes to go out in public and if they were torn (especially in certain areas) we were poor or our mothers didn't have time to patch our clothes, and the boys really wanted to have what they called a "slick" haircut and shave before they were caught out courting. That was the "in" look. I'm not sure which is best, but when it was so hard to come up with 50 cents or a dollar, beside the trip to town, knowing that Bryon was going to give Leo a hard time and his cry could be heard all over town, with two big sisters to help hold him. I was sorta glad the trend was a little longer hair.

Then I was really happy when the "in" thing was little boys' hair that could be combed into bangs instead, with that straight part which looked so neat. My boys couldn't keep a part. That was good. The girls nowadays don't have to have their hair in place or have to wear the wave clamps to sleep in. That is where I drew the line anyway, I wanted sleep, but I guess Myra, my sister, didn't mind; she had the perfect hairdo every day. She didn't like the wind disturbing it or my arms around her neck to move a hair, and somehow I had the biggest desire to show her I loved her with a big bear-hug at those times.

All in all, you can see I am at least halfway for some of the "in" styles - don't get carried away, though.

One of the things us girls loved to do in the spring was gather daisies and pluck the petals off to see if our "fellers" loved us or not. With each petal pulled we would say, "He loves me, he loves me not," and so on until the last and we always tried to make it come out on "he loves me." If it didn't, we did it again, but otherwise we let well enough alone.

Then when we found out about a talent show contest in Augusta, Ga., Treva and Ann made it quite often and always placed and were awarded Sankins Ice Cream. We had ice cream the whole summer we were there.

I reckon there is always a way and pleasure. One of the prizes was a record player with several records. One of the records was "Mama's on the War Path". This song stayed with my children then, and especially after I had all seven. When I got upset they would start singing, "Mama's on the War Path." This was another time of trials and tribulations, but my song to them when they got upset was "Love One Another." All is well now and it's the once-upon-a-time memories that I treasure.

Last week I was invited to go up in Missouri with two of my sisters-in-law, Mary Sue Swayne and Rose Nell. We hit the antique and garage sales. What fun we had. The antique places brought back many pleasant thoughts. I bought a first-year reader, "Fact and Story Readers." Perhaps some of you remember that book. What I remembered were the pictures of the squirrel's home entering into the home through the root of a tree and the cozy, quaint rooms down in the ground under the tree.

When I showed the book to some of my grandchildren and family, they were surprised at the difficult words for the first reader. I'm sure the "Baby Ray" primer must have been before this and I have never seen that book in print since I cut the paper doll out and I played with it for months. I am still looking for that book.

<talking about a fish fry at the Bruno Fire Dept> I was reminded of a tall fishing story of one of my uncles. I may have told you, but if I did, read it again, it might help you out at your next fish fry.

Once upon a time Millard Reeves and Bazze went fishing on White River. It was in August and if it was anything like August of this year it was hot and when it's so hot a lot of times the fish don't bite much and as these two cousins talked of how to catch fish, they decided to go over to a large boulder in the river and just go swimming to cool off for a while.

There were several large boulders about five feet under water where they were swimming. They were still thinking bout the fishing trip they were on and that they had caught "nary" a one when Bazze asked Millard, "Did you hear a sound like a grunting hog?"

Thinking it might be a big catfish, they got back into the boat and untied the 30-foot anchor rope. Willard took one end of the rope and dove under the rock. It was dark and the sound of the catfish was his guide.

After the third dive, they found the catfish's head sticking out from under a cave formed by a boulder and the bank. It was a sight to see that catfish opening its mouth, taking in the cool, clear water.

The boys finally figured out how to bring him in. They put the rope through the fish's mouth and gills. Tying the rope seemed to agitate the catfish and it began to thrash about. In doing so, the fish's side "thorns" put a 3-inch gash in Millard's forearm. Returning to the board with the rope in his mouth, Millard's mouth that is, they had a struggle handling that 63-pound catfish.

A fish that size would go a long ways toward serving a group of folks, wouldn't it?