Memories, in cedar

The Baker City business Emrich Furniture Co. customarily gave girl graduates a small replica redwood cedar chest.  Sixty-seven years later, the replica chest remains in possession of this writer.

Although I was not afforded a new full-size chest at the time, I later acquired a used one.

 Universally known as a “Hope Chest,” in jest referred to as “Hope-less Chest,” the 2-foot-by-4-foot chest suggested visions of future marriage for young ladies’ dowry purposes. Space was adequate for linens, blankets, pillowcases, dishes or other items a bride would find useful.

In 1951, with marriage pending, the writer embarked on a crusade to fill the cedar chest with dish towels. Used flour sacks were obtained from Gwilliam’s Bakery. After bleaching, the absorbent cloth towels were subjected to hot iron transfer patterns, and various designs were embroidered by the bride-to-be.

Appropriate designs for each day of the week included: Monday, Wash; Tuesday, Iron; Wednesday, Mend, until a full set of seven was complete. In fact, several sets took their place in the cedar chest.  

After many years of marriage and housekeeping, used linens and dishtowels wore thin. During this interim, a gradual metamorphosis of contents took place. No longer was the space filled with useable items — instead it became a storehouse for preserved heritage items.

Today, upon opening the lid of the storage chest, a familiar cedar fragrance met my nose, and my eyes gazed upon family keepsakes from four generations.

I inspect Great-Grandmother’s belted money bag worn beneath her skirts as the covered wagon rolled from Missouri to Texas in 1847. Constructed of striped ticking, much wear is evidenced by repeated repair with non-matching fabric. During the trip, valuables were placed securely in the bag to be safe from Indian attack.

 The cedar chest now reveals 85-year-old delicate garments from the writer’s babyhood, saved by a doting mother. Frayed ribbon on a fragile hand-crocheted baby cap indicates extended use on 1924 outings.

I note a yellowed 1957 sales slip from Blue Mountain Candy Company, signed by salesman Hershel Wood. The purchase consisted of cigars and candy bars. Proud father Don gave these favors honoring birth of son Rick. The same gesture took  place in 1952 at the birth of daughter Joyce. 

I caress the smooth white leather baby boot size 002, a 1957 gift from grandpa to his only  grandson, Rick. A pair of baby socks with a horse design accompanied the boots. Grandpa’s underlying thought was for a future horse riding partner in the Oregon Trail Riders organization.

I smile upon viewing a 1957 hot pan holder created on a loom by kindergartner Joyce. Her baptismal dress and matching bonnet lie in close proximity to a skate key, threaded with black twine. 

A 45 rpm record labeled “Downtown” is a reminder of Joyce’s 1964 Junior High School infatuation with popular British singer Petula Clark.

A fur coat lies dormant among souvenirs in the cedar chest. The soft gray squirrel fur appealed to me when purchased with a down payment from a long ago paycheck. As a single working girl, I splurged for the coveted coat. My sister and twin cousins also acquired fur coats. Their choice was brown squirrel pelts.  These lovely coats helped fend bitter cold during Baker’s record breaking winter of 1948-49.

Nestled deep in the cedar chest is a hand-pieced, hand-quilted treasure of 1931. Created by my maternal grandmother, the pattern is “Double Wedding Ring.”

I’m reminded of the special occasion on grandmother’s 75th birthday when she presented each of her 10 children a handmade quilt. A drawing was held, and numbers on empty thread spools corresponded with numbers on the quilts. Among quilt patterns that day were Texas Star, Dresden Plate, Flower Garden, Red Tulip, and Log Cabin.

A prized item in the cedar chest is my 1951 stylish, feminine three-piece suit. Immediately recognizable is the quality gabardine garment, purchased at Robb’s Ladies Shop. Recalling at the time I considered it expensive, however, over the years it proved a worthwhile investment.  Styles change and body structure changes, until alas, the slim styling of 1951 no longer fits a mature figure. 

Rolled up in a corner of the chest I find my mother’s black woolen swim suit. The length is defined by a white stripe that dared show a bare knee, in 1920. Swimming at Radium Hot Springs near Haines was the favored swimming facility. 

My reminiscing reverie is suddenly interrupted by  persistent ringing of a telephone across the room. The shrill jangling differs from the pleasant tone of former days when “one long, and one short” gave notice of a call on the party line.  

The interruption detracts from further inspection of cedar chest items, so I close the lid of the chest, and utter a prayer that when my offspring inherit the contents, they will  value the heritage treasures as much as I do.