My Grandma's Diary

Great Grandma Mahala McIntosh Foster

This page is dedicated to my great grandma, Mahala Foster. . .


Written by Dorene Leach Goin in January, 2012


Mahala J. McIntosh was born February 17, 1867

 to James and Nancy Hicks McIntosh.  

She married Stephen Foster on August 10, 1890 and had 6 children
before she died on March 31, 1905.

She is buried in the Shiloh Cemetery which was called the Freeman Cemetery then.

My grandma Cora told me about her mother and said she died when Grandma was 12 years old.

As a child, I always thought that was such a sad story, but when my sister Jan found her 

Obituary in the Ava, Missori Library this last summer,

I was moved to tears.

Here it is below:

:

That was when I realized she died unexpectedly and of undetermined cause,

when her youngest (Philip) was less than a year old.

She told Stephen her husband she expected that she would have company

and wanted to scrub her floors and do some cleaning while he went to a nearby town, Olathe.

He told her, "Halie, don't you be doing to much now," so she must have not been well.

But she did her chores and then went and told 'Pearlie" that she needed to cook dinner because 

she felt "worse than she ever had".  And she went and laid down and died.

They did not know why. . . .  what a shock it must have been for that young family.

Below is a picture of Stephen and Mahala Foster
with Grandma Cora, older sister Pearl and Clay in 1895.

 After this picture was taken,
Rena was born in 1896, Nancy in 1899 and Philip in 1904.  

Below is a picture of Great Grandma Mahala with possibly sisters.  

Mahala was the last of eleven children

born to James and Nancy (Hicks) McIntosh.

They are listed in order of birth here:

Rachel McIntosh 1844-1883

Catherine McIntosh1847 -

Mary Ann McIntosh 1849 -

Absolom E McIntosh 1851-1891

John McIntosh 1853-1882

Juliann McIntosh 1854 –

James McIntosh 1859 –

Nancy E. McIntosh 1862 –

Moses McIntosh 1862 -1926

Lydia Ellen McIntosh 1864 – 1919

Mahala McIntosh 1867-1905

 And this picture is a repost of Pearl, Cora and their Grandfather,
James McIntosh (father of Mahala).

James McIntosh with Pearl and Cora Foster

My Grandma's Diary

Leach School in Rako, Minnesota

More about Grandpa and Grandma . . . and how the Leach School happened. . .

My Uncle Phil told me on a past visit that when Grandpa and Grandma homesteaded in Rako, Minnesota  in 1915, the community called them the “kids” and everyone said they would not last long up there in the cold north country.  But time tells the story, and they soon had a log house built and started their family and their long time home where they became icons and very well respected leaders of the community of Rako.  So I don’t know who was more surprised, the “community” or Grandma, but they did last;  they lasted 49 years before they moved back to Ava, Missouri in 1964.

Grandpa and Grandma donated a corner of the section of land they homesteaded for a school house.   It was right on the corner of County Road 17 in Kiel Township, later known as the “Rako Road” which led to the Rako School House where the next generation (including me) went to school.   The Leach School with first teacher, Margaret Asp

This is the Leach School when it was first built, on the south east corner of Grandpa’s homestead.   

Later it was fixed up a bit and a front porchwas added  as you can see in the next picture . . .

. . . My uncle Phil told me that the first teacher was called Margaret Asp and she was young and pretty and, of course, needed a place to stay.  So, she boarded with Grandpa and Grandma and to this day, Uncle Phil reports, those boys still do not know where she slept or, how there was even room for her in that small log house.  

A CLOSE UP PIC OF THE PEOPLE GIVES YOU A LOOK AT MY AUNT LENA (ft row rt). 

(My sister Katherine looks like her a lot and Grandma always said that.)

My Grandma's Diary

My Uncle, John Hull Leach,

Uncle John was born the fourth child of five, to Don and Cora Leach. Here is a story I wrote after one of my visits with him. . .

My Uncle John lost his leg.  On that day, November 24, 1942 when the accident occurred in that Salem sawmill.  His leg was not lost right then during the accident but complications set in as he spend a year in the Salem hospital where a Dr David and Lee Boed worked quite hard to help him save it. 

The accident happened during his work shift.  He was pulling logs up from the pond and the lever did not work.  He told me ":I got quite a gash on my leg and spent a year in the Salem hospital.  Infections kept setting in, getting worse and worse and after almost a year."  Anyway, eventually, they had to cut his leg off right below the knee and he has worn a wooden leg every since.

Grandpa and Grandma Leach (Don and Cora) went out to Salem Oregon for a year to help him during that difficult time.  They left the farm in charge of Jack and Emma (my parents) and headed for Oregon to be with John.  Grandpa and Grandma both got jobs and an apartment and were there for a whole year to help John, who was at that time 19 years old. 

My grandma wrote in her diary that she got to the hospital on the day of the surgery and John was calling for her as he came out of surgery.  Grandma said, "I was glad I was there."

As soon as the recovery process was far enough along that John could travel, they made plans to travel back to Minnesota.  Since the war rations were in effect they had to get special permission to get the gas coupons they needed for the trip.  They went to the Salem offices and were able to get them so they headed for home.

When they got home they found the house abandoned as Jack and Emma had gone to Minot, ND to work and left the farm and their farm as well vacated.  Grandma reports in her diary that every thing was quite a mess and it took some time to get it back in shape.

Uncle John stayed with his parents on the homestead in northern Minnesota while he recovered and  he told me that it was a pretty tough year.  Not only for John, who had the job of trying to make his life work with just one leg, but also for his mother and father who had to watch and make the best of it.  In Grandma’s Diary she wrote  a lot about John and John says that she basically made John her life.  He was in her diary almost every day and she kept watch over him like a mother hen over chicks.

“John didn’t come home last night”. She would write and another time she would say that John and so and so spent the night. 

Uncle John tells of a time that one of the girls ask him to dance, and he said, “Oh, no, I can’t do that with only one leg.”  She said, “The hell you can’t!” and off they went!  I believe that so often in life we fail to see the growth of pain lived out in others, but as I have come to know Uncle John through the years I certainly do see the maturity of his growth.  I have always known him to be a caring and exceptional uncle.

I know that when he was about 22 years old he made a decision which changed his life considerably.  His Aunt Blanch Reynolds, Grandpa’s sister lost her husband and was losing her home in Macomb, IL and Uncle John moved down to be with her and help her pay for the home.  That is where he met my Aunt Ila and they were married, raised three children, (Donna, Doug and Phil) and lived out their life in that same house on East Jackson Street in Macomb, IL.  When Aunt Blanch died, John inherited the house and lived there for many years before he sold it and bought the home that he and Donna live in now.

Uncle John has always been very special to me, and when Vic and I visited them this summer, we really enjoyed both him and Donna.  He is full of history, and we just soaked it all in.  I will share some of those pictures etc. . .  today, I want to share photos of Uncle John taken in Salem in 1943 with Grandpa and Grandma.

My Grandma's Diary

So here is today's and tomorrows diary post from Grandma, Cora Leach. 

 It would be about 63 years ago.

Enjoy!

There will soon be a picture of Grandma Cora and her sister Pearl in 1894.

I haven't finished retouching this pict yet but I will when I get time.  

My Oldest Grandson, Bryson Nelson

I have been thinking of Bryson a lot lately.  He is a Foreign Exchange Student for Rotary and is spending the year in Denmark.  Oh my gosh!  Can he really be that old and independent?  But in fact, he is, and I am so very proud of him.  He has always been a sensitive and caring child of my middle daughter, Elizabeth and has always excelled in school and in life.  Now he is over there, a half a world away and he is experiencing what everyone would just love to experience.  I think of him daily and I wonder what he is really thinking.  I know there must be some moments that he wonders why he did this (or not?).  But I know in the end that he will realize this is one of those epiphanies of life that changes how you think about the rest of life. . . . .  so I will dedicate this day to my much loved grandson, Bryson Nelson.

My Grandma's Diary (Cora Leach)

Cora and Don Leach's wedding picture

Grandpa and Grandma Leaches Wedding Certificate

I said yesterday in my article I would enclose the wedding certificate of Grandpa and Grandma so here it is.

Pictures of our family in the 50's in Rako, Minnesota

My Grandpa and Grandma Leach

By Dorene Leach Goin

They came from Missouri, My Grandma and Grandpa Leach.  Grandma was born in Ava Missouri and ended up there in her last years where she rests with her husband and sister Rena in the Brushy Knob Cemetery.  (We took pictures of the graves this summer (2011) when we went there.)   She always missed Missouri and actually pined away for her home all those years in Minnesota. . .

My grandpa, Don Christopher Leach was born in Macomb, Illinois September 27, 1894.  He was the son of John Hull Leach (born in Macomb, Illinois) and Matilda Katheleen Zander Leach (born in Germany).  He moved with his parents to Ava, MissourI when he was 9 years old.   

                                            This picture of Grandlpa was taken in Missouri

                                                               

When he was 19 he took a trip up to Minnesota to check our property under the Homestead Act.  He walked the 20 miles from Baudette south through the bogs to look at the 160 acres(a quarter section) which he later filed papers to receive the property under the Homestead Act.  Grandpa then traveled back to Ava, Missouri and got Grandma and they headed for Minnesota to start a life together.  Uncle John has the papers he filed still to this day – he paid $66  on June 19, 1915 to file.

He then headed for Ida Grove, Iowa and and got married on June 22, 1915.  They went back to Missouri and prepared to leave for Minnesota where they spent the next 49 years farming and raising a family.  They were fine upstanding members of the community and in fact donated land for the first schoolhouse on their property.  It was called “The Leach School”.

I remember my grandpa praying deeply on his knees in Sunday School.  Heartfelt prayers sent from a man who had learned that true reliance on God was the answer.  He was a quiet mannered and loving grandpa and a very hard worker.  He said little but when he did, you had better listen because it was well thought out and true.

There was one other thing he may have done better than pray, though.  That is play the banjo.  He ordered a five string banjo from the Sears and Robuck catalog and paid $6.50 and took lessons from a correspondence book.  He played beautifully and I danced many nights under the Aladdin lamp to his music.  He played  ”Irish Washerwoman” and I knew  it was my turn to dance the “Mexican Hat Dance”.  I don’t k now it it was done right or not, but I did know that I was the only one in the family of five kids that could do it and I felt special for that.  Sense I was the middle child feeling special was not a normal feeling for me so I took full advantage of those times!  Grandma would sit in her chair by the lamp and listen and watch. 

Grandpa had two horses, Whisper and Rex.  Large work horses they were, and very gentle yet strong.  Uncle John tells me that he bought them as wild horses from Montana and trained them himself.  Uncle John says he was a almost a “horse whisper” of a sorts without the name.   I remember going out east of their home to cut wood with Grandpa.  I loved riding on the sleigh wagon for the wood.  We worked with him and at lunch we ate toasted grilled cheese sandwiches over the open campfire.  It was such a great experience!

We loved going to Grandpa and Grandma’s.  I remember many time we sat with her and watched out the window across the yard to the pump looking for fairies.  Grandma would describe those fairies to the tee and Kathy claims she saw them too, but I never saw them and just pretended I did. 

 My grandma, Cora Hester Foster

 Leach was born March 28, 1893

 to Stephen S. Foster and Mahala J McIntosh Foster.  

This is a picture of Steven, Mahala, Cora, Pearl and Clay taken around 1895

Mahala died when Grandma was 12 years old unexpectedly and Grandma often told us about that.  We found the obituary when we were in Ava and she told her husband, Steven she was going to do the chores and then rest because she thought she may have company.  Then when she was done, she said, “Pearlie, you are going to have to fix something to eat because I feel worse than I ever had. “   She went and laid down and died.  I cried for my Great Grandma and family when I read this.

Grandma  was the second child of six (Pearl, Cora, Clay, Rena, Nancy and Phillip) and I remember her talking a lot about Pearl  and Rena.  She missed her sisters.     

                         This is a picture of Pearl and Cora with their Grandpa James McIntosh.  Grandma must have been two?

(Anyway,  I touched up and put the date of 1895 on the picture myself.)

  We found the graves of James and Nancy McIntosh  and Mahala in the Shilo Cemetery in Ava, Missouri also during our 2011 trip.

Grandpa and Grandma had five children. Lena, Ray, Jack, John and Philip.

Lena died unexpectedly when she was nineteen and pregnant and her husband, Leroy Ellis died October 15, 1945 about 9 years later.

Grandma never got over this and I believe she thought Lena would come back right up until the day she herself died in August, 1968.   In fact Grandma told  her niece,  Ila Davis that she had a visit from Lena in the night shortly before she died and she told Grandma that she would see her soon.    And she did, I am sure.

My grandma was a wonderful woman of strength and durability.  She raised flowers, a full garden, had the backbone of a pioneer woman and was up to any task.

One time when my sister, Esther almost cut her thumb off, Grandma sewed it on.  Here it was flopping back after Esther jumped off a wagon with a coffee can in her hand, and Grandma said, “You be quiet now, we have some work to do. “ and she got the needle and thread and sewed it on starting from the inside.  The nerves and tendons all work fine to this day.

 I love my Grandma and miss her especially after visiting her hometown this past summer.

My Grandma's Diary (Cora Leach - 1948-52)

That Cold Day in Hell . . . 54 years ago in 54 below weather . . .

The Day it was 54 Below in Minnesota

Written by Dorene and modified in August 1997

I’ve never been so cold in my life as I was that record cold day in January when I pumped water for the cows  on that farm in northern Minnesota where the cattle had to be watered by hand from a manual pump because we had no electricity or indoor plumbing. The bugger of it was, though, it was my turn that day to do it.  I was twelve years old and normally I really enjoyed the trip across the field to our neighbors hand pump where the cows drank from a bathtub as I pumped the water by hand to keep it filled.  Our twelve milk cows normally looked forward to the trip also as they had been pinned up in the barn for 24 hours and were thirsty and in need of exercise.  But not on this day.  They balked at even leaving their stalls and the closed in stench of the barn and go out into the cold 54 below weather, but after prodding they did go out and I let them wander in the barnyard while I went to the house and grabbed the kettle of boiling water off the stove, threw a wool scarf around it to keep it warm, wrapped another wool scarf, once more around my face and opened the gate calling for the cows to follow. 

They knew the routine and had a single file path from the gate to the pump about 3 city blocks away .  It was a path which I usually enjoyed walking as the patterns of hoofs by this time worn deep into the snow, each hoof mark precise and embedded as if there were really only one place to step and each hoof was set down oh so carefully so as not to slip off the patterned path into the soft snow which rose up to their bellies.  It was as if they understood that, to do so would cause them to sink deeply into the soft snow all around.  Each cow knew their place in line and aside from an occasional battle for the first drink, once we arrived, they were pretty docile.  They would drink their fill of cold water and then wait for the rest of the cows to finish before upon my command head back to the barn and the protection from the bitter piercing cold.  Today was different, however.  Today was 54 below and so cold that none of us wanted to be out, especially me.  I had to thaw the hand pump with the boiling water I had carried from the house. Carried in a teakettle wrapped in wool to keep from cooling to quickly and not being effective in the thaw.  I poured the still hot water on the pump and tried to move the handle.  Nothing moved.  Oh dear!  I tried again, pouring the more hot water down into the pump connection and the handle also.  Still nothing moved, so I poured the rest of the water on and prayed something would happen.  It finally moved and I pumped as fast as my skinny arms could move, knowing this was my last chance.  Somehow water actually began slowly seeping out and then a bit more and more.  But, being as cold as it was, it was freezing by the time it reached the tub so the cows had to each one put their mouth right up to the pump  spigot within 6 inches while I pumped water. And  so that is just what we did that day, each one looking with big moon cow eyes at me as I labored to get them their daily drink.  Each one, I am sure, just as anxious to go home as me.  My arms ached and seemed as if they would fall off they were so tired and yet I had to keep pumping so it didn’t freeze up again.  It was a day I would never forget as I pumped water for the cows that day, in the middle of nowhere…. where I grew up.  

Yes, it was a day, I tried hard to forget for many years after, but it is still piercingly vivid, and I still feel that intense cold as if I were reliving it when I think of it.  And these are the memories of that day when it was 54 below zero,. in northern Minnesota, on the farm, near Rako, where I grew up, with my three sisters, my brother and Mom and Dad.

I have since referred to that day as a “cold day in hell”. . . well. . I hope I never go there again.