A NEW BABY
Mama sent me up the staircase to our attic bedroom, “Helen, you take Jack and go upstairs and don’t come down. Stay up there. Don’t come down” she repeated. I took Jack, my youngest brother and did as I was told. What was all the flurry about, the anxious looks, the urgency? The three older girls were downstairs with Mother and it seemed like some exciting kind of trouble was afoot. Carrie closed the door half way up the stairs behind me. I sat on the top stair holding Jack in my arms, trying desperately to hear what was going being said, trying to make some sense out of all the commotion. I was terribly worried, yet in Mama’s eyes I had seen no fear – just extreme concern.
I heard Ann and Patsy (Al Bjorn) leave the house on the run. Wherever could they be going this time of night? There was a lot of activity going on below me. Things were being moved about and pots and pans rattled. Mother was giving Carrie quiet orders and Carrie was carrying them out. Every now and then I would hear Mama cry out. It was all so strange.
After awhile I heard my Mother gasp, “Carrie, I can’t wait for Mrs. Boltz. Go quickly and get Mrs. Pasco. Hurry, Carrie, hurry!” And again the downstairs door opened and shut. Carrie, my eldest sister was gone into the night. Mama was down there alone now and I could hear her crying and praying. Surely, it was time now for me to come to her aid, for me to go down and to help her with whatever the trouble was. So I went down the stairway to the door. Opening it a little, I called, “Mama?” Mama’s voice was frantic, “Helen you stay right there with Jack. Be a good girl and don’t come down here!” I closed the door reluctantly and retreated to my place on the top step. Jack was beginning cry, sensing my own nervousness and tension. I sat and rocked him, listening apprehensively to the groans and cries that were coming from the bedroom below.
Suddenly the sharp cry of a newborn child came from down in that bedroom. I looked at Jack, no; it certainly had not come from him. A moment of pure wonder came over me and then, understanding slowly began to dawn on me.
Downstairs, the door bust open and I heard the voices of Carrie and our nearest neighbour, Mrs. Pasco. Bustling activity ensued and I held onto Jack soothing him and stilling his wails. I heard pounding footsteps and again the door opened below and Mrs. Boltz’s hearty voice up the stairs “What’s going on here?” It was Ann and Patsy with the midwife. “I couldn’t wait for you. You are too late,” Mama laughed weakly.
Now Mrs. Boltz was calling me, “Helen, you can come down now and see your baby brother!” My baby brother! How could it be! Where did he come from? Not till now did my young mind begin to put all the facts together. A whole new area of understanding was opening up before me.
I came slowly down the stairs and gazed at the wrinkled little face of my brother Russell.
I was ten years old. In one night my world had changed before me. Reality came and stood upon my path and I must walk with her.
Helen Albion (nee Casselman)
HANDS
These hands are clasped, head bowed to pray;
These hands now look up to God each day.
These hands, once small and searching
Now reach out to a world that’s hurting.
These hands, once young, no scars from abuse;
Now old and rough through years of use.
These hands once found no work too hard
Now still with age, by time are scarred.
These hands, in war, held a gun to kill’
Now hold God’s word, a mission to fill.
These hands, can erect a building tall
Then push a switch to make it fall.
These hands that feel the winter’s cold
Can start an inferno with cost untold.
These hands, when evil has withstood
Are used by God for only good.
The hands of Jesus, pierced for me,
These bloodstained hands have set me free.
These hands, sustained by God’s great power
Now rest at last in life’s final hour.
Russell Casselman
November 2003
HARRY BJORN
He said his name was Harry and he came riding into our hills and valleys about the year of 1926. Folks said they’d known his parents in the early years of our little border town. Growing tired of cowboying in the Central California rangeland, Harry was returning to the place of his birth. Just a romantic notion I guess as none of his people lived in our country anymore.
In a day when long hair was unheard of among men, his blond tresses curled around his collar, more for lack of finding a barber than for any other reason. It made him different. Everyone had an opinion about Harry. I, as a child, could not fault him. I sensed a gentleness in this tall lean young man with the smiling blue eyes and unshorn locks. Children have a way of passing right through the external trappings, taking direct route to those motivating forces within. We were all glad that Harry had come. It gave the ‘grown-ups’ something to talk about in this rural backwoods area and as far as we ‘young ‘uns’ were concerned, here was an adult we did not need to fear.
My first real encounter with Harry came on the day I was delegated by my parents to take a large package to the local railway station. It was almost two miles distant and the package was too large for me to carry so I was told to sit by the main road and wait for the next wagon of logs to come along. In those days the logs were hauled by horses. Neighbours were always willing to stop and give a lift to anyone on foot. I hear the team with the load of logs coming down the road and I waved, indicating I would like a ride. It was Harry and I was relieved that I would be traveling with him rather than one of the gruffer drivers. With a friendly grin he helped me to lift my package up on the wagon and we were on our way.
Always a romanticist, my young head was filled with dreams of Indians, Cowboys and Gypsies and I soon found I had met a kindred spirit. Harry began to talk and he opened up a whole new world of Indian lore to me. How much of what he said was truth and how much was fictional entertainment I shall never know. I sat spellbound, as the wagon carefully threaded its way along the deep ruts of our country road. Many things about Indians and Cowboys were discussed that day. Better than all of this, I learned that Harry was a gentle person, a dreamer like myself.
Because my own life was a harsh one, this day was to become indelibly fixed upon my mind, like a ray of sunshine on a dark path. I do not recall delivering my package or how I got back home that day. Yet forever, I would remember Harry. He had opened up the doors of my imagination and we had waked among our dreams. He was my friend.
Helen Albion
In years to come Harry Bjorn married Helen’s sister Alice.
HIS HAND
He came to me in darkest night
When I could see no ray of light
When all my world had fallen apart
He placed his hand upon my heart.
O Jesus, mindful of us all
Who cares should even a sparrow fall
Oh Master of the raging sea
Still keep your loving hand on me.
Helen M. Albion
THOUGHTS
Eighty long years I have lived on this earth,
I’ve seen the good and the bad, the blest and the cursed.
With six billion people, some starved, some well fed,
The rich or the poor, they all end up dead.
With so many races that span this old earth,
All different languages learned at their birth.
With the advancement of science our world should improve,
But morals are forgotten and God’s word is refused.
Life so busy, stretched beyond comprehension,
More money needed to inflate their fat pensions.
People plan ways to steal and defraud,
When caught in their evil, judges just give them a nod.
Billions are spent to put men into space,
But little is spent on this plagued human race.
So what is to become of this civilization?
Read your Bible, it gives you your final destination.
Christ died for your sin to save you from hell,
The choice is now yours; may you choose well.
Russell Casselman
April 2004
SCHOOL DAYS IN SNOW
It was pure joy in our school days when the snow formed a frozen crust. This would always happen when there would be a thaw followed by a hard freeze. The sheer delight of skipping across this great white desert—only the tops of the bushes and stumps breaking the smooth rolling surface. We could run free without a path in a wintery wonderland. I recall, as a girl, wading waist high through the deep snow drifts, on our way to school. Skirts wet to the hips, we
D arrive at school and teacher would have us dry ourselves next to the big wood heater that stood in the center of the one room schoolhouse. For some reason, no harm ever seemed to come to us from these soakings and dryings of the clothes on our small bodies.
There were times when Father would hitch up the team and drive us to school in the sleigh. This was the most exciting way to go, with sleigh bells ringing and the runners singing as they cut their way through icy rutted paths.
There was nothing prettier than a creek, when snows began to thaw and open spaces formed over the gurgling waters. Winter was lifting her veil a little, showing us that spring would surely come. Even the waters seemed to laugh as they rippled, glanced over the pebbles, eddied and slipped under the ice floes.
The snow was a healing blanket, a covering under which the earth could sleep for a season and awake to new life on a springtime morning.
Helen Albion
PREFACE TO HELEN ALBION’S (CASSELMAN) BOOK
These stories, thoughts and poems have been written by Helen May (Casselman) Albion. They were typed into the computer from her hand written notes by Virginia her second child. Helen hopes that by reading this book, your world will be enlarged by the stories, history and thoughts she has experienced during her life.
Helen May Casselman was born May 29, 1914 in Boundary Falls, British Columbia, Canada and was the fourth of ten children. She spent her years growing up in the mining and farming communities of the Boundary Country. She attended the Boundary Falls School and received many awards, as she was a dedicated student. She received her High School entrance certificate on July 24,1929. It was later in that same year the family moved to Victoria, B.C. after the death of her father. She originally met James Albion in the Boundary Country. Years later when they met again in Victoria, she and Jim started dating. On January 25, 1936 she and James Leach Albion, commonly referred to as her husband in these writings, were married in Victoria, B.C. They made their first home in the country around Fort Lake on Vancouver Island. They left there around 1937 with their first-born child, Danny, for the Kaslo area. They spent several years in and around this area and left there after the birth of her third and last child, Stephen, returning to Victoria sometime during the early part of 1941. Jim enlisted in the Canadian Navy in August of this year and served his country during the Second World War. They stayed on in Victoria after Jim's return, and they continued to live in and around Victoria, B.C. where their children attended school and spent most of their youthful years. In September of 1952, she and her husband along with the children moved to the United States and have made their home there ever since. They first lived in Oregon and then moved south to California. They moved back to Oregon during the early 1980's. It was during the first stay in Oregon that the birth of her first grandchild occurred and she became known as Mimi to her family. This is the name he called her when he couldn't say Grandma and it has become her honorable title to this day. She and her husband presently live in Klamath Falls, Oregon. They have been married for fifty-eight years. She is now eighty years old.
Helen grew up with a great love of the world outside her door. She loved all the life she saw and was able to translate her feelings for birds, bugs and trees alike into expressive written concepts. Her pen was fluent not only in words but in her younger years she would draw. These drawings were of nature’s creatures, scenery, flowers and faces of people. I remember these faces being drawn on bits and pieces of paper. They flowed from the pencil with easy strokes making the most fascinating portrayals of people and things.
Mimi's life may seem like a simple one to you, but to us her family, she is very special. She has left us a heritage in these written works, the legacy and history of her life.
The idea to preserve and print these writings of my mothers came about at her request to know which writing she had given me. Not wanting to return to her, her handwritten originals, I typed them in the computer and mailed them to her. These brought back so many memories and pleasant thoughts that I suggested, if I had all her writings and notes I would proceed to type them for her too. So it began, and I must add that through the years many have been lost or sent on to the recipient of the written works, so we cannot call this a complete edition. I truly feel these writings have given me a greater perception of my past and are representative of our ancestry.
June 1994 Virginia May Albion Bacchi
MY TESTIMONY
I was heading for hell not knowing my need
Not caring for God nor His word did heed
Walking the broad road in bondage of sin
When God’s Spirit said, “Stop”, and beckoned me in.
I could not speak or utter a sound
As my sinful life had me tightly bound
But God in His love for all who will come
Turned my eyes on the cross, said, “Look at my Son”
As I looked at Him there on that cruel lonely tree
I knew that He suffered for people like me
I cried, “O Lord Jesus, I put you there”
You have taken my judgment for sin I should bear
Then I knelt and asked Jesus to cleanse me from sin
And opened my heart and let Him come in
In that very moment I knew I was free
For the burden of sin He had taken from me
And now through life’s trials I can smile all the way
For I’m living for Jesus day after day
My faith is so weak but His promise is true
And He won’t ever forsake me
As I journey on through
Russ Casselman
MY TESTIMONY
I was heading for hell not knowing my need
Not caring for God nor His word did heed
Walking the broad road in bondage of sin
When God’s Spirit said, “Stop”, and beckoned me in.
I could not speak or utter a sound
As my sinful life had me tightly bound
But God in His love for all who will come
Turned my eyes on the cross, said, “Look at my Son”
As I looked at Him there on that cruel lonely tree
I knew that He suffered for people like me
I cried, “O Lord Jesus, I put you there”
You have taken my judgment for sin I should bear
Then I knelt and asked Jesus to cleanse me from sin
And opened my heart and let Him come in
In that very moment I knew I was free
For the burden of sin He had taken from me
And now through life’s trials I can smile all the way
For I’m living for Jesus day after day
My faith is so weak but His promise is true
And He won’t ever forsake me
As I journey on through
Russ Casselman
THE CASSELMAN-NENZEL-BOLTZ RANCH
Before I was born, a family called "Nenzel" came from Nebraska and bought my Uncle Ace Casselman's ranch. Still in those years, the Nenzel's son-in-law, took over the old ranch. His was Johnny Boltz and he had accompanied the Nenzel family from Nebraska as a scout. The ranch has continued in their ownership as the Boltz Ranch, to this day.
Anna Boltz was a tall woman of great charity, a heart of gold and who had a consuming passion to do physical labor. She worked from dawn to dark, in the fields, in the big vegetable garden, in her spotless shining house and raising her four boys in strictest order of Catholicism. The excellency of her table, especially her bread, was renowned and her competence as a midwife was in demand. Anna was hale and hearty, a plain spoken woman, wonder of good and noble deeds. Her husband, Johnny Boltz was a taciturn man, somewhat of an enigma to his neighbors.
Our family, being mostly girls and the Boltz family (of four boys) grew up together almost as brothers and sisters. We went to school together, we played together and sometimes we even slept together.
The old Boltz Ranch was such a part of our lives that even the seeds that yet grow along the shaded lane to the barn, are nostalgic. When we had our family reunion in 1969, the Botlz Ranch became the scene of our get together. The Boltz family, grown and increased as they were, were a part of the activities. Each of us had roots in that soil. The old house was blackened with age and uninhabitable but the elderberries still grew along the lane and the well was still filled with sweet mountain water.
It was here on the old ranch that Johnny Boltz, desiring once more to see his cattle and view the old homestead, before he died, came with his wife Anna. As though directed by an invisible hand, the cattle had come down from the hills and gathered at the fence greet him.
It was Johnny Boltz's last request.
Helen Albion
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