I am going to leave most of Helen’s story to a biography
written by her daughter Ruth. I have let
it how I received it with no editing. I
love reading about her red hair and the little childhood stories. I was given this story by Diana Thompson.
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| Helen Clarissa Finch The Pioneer Baby
My
mother came to
Uncle
John North was a lawyer and was settled in a frame house in the village of St.
Anthony on the east side of the river. Aunt Ann, his wife, had the first piano
in St. Anthony, and gave music lessons. It was to his home that the Finches
(with my mother) came at the end of their long journey.
They
left their two oldest children in Poest-en-kill, with their grandparents, Cyreus
Finch and Minerva North, his wife. They came on the next year and brought the
two little girls, Emily and Frances, with them. And they built a small frame
house nearby. This
house is still standing not far from the original site.
Of
the journey with the six months old baby Helen, my mother, I know very little, except
hearing my mother say, “they came by boat as far as
One
can well imagine they were not, not with a six months old baby in ones arms all
the way. I can picture them in my mind’s eye. I have pictures of Grandpa and
Grandma Finch. Both were large stocky people. He had fair skin, wide-open blue
eyes, and a prematurely bald head. And he always carried a red bandana
handkerchief to wipe his head, and a blue one for his nose. She was large, too.
Ample seems to be the word for Angeline, deep of bosom, expansive of heart, and
laughs and ready friendliness. Her hair, my mother used to tell us was black as
a raven’s wing, parted in the middle, combed neatly back with short round curls
all around.
The
hardship of the journey would be difficult for people of today to imagine. And
no doubt the beauty of the untamed landscape would be hard to imagine. The
Arriving
at St. Anthony, they were welcomed by Uncle John North and Aunt Anne.
Grandma remained there with baby Helen while Grandpa built his house on the
land he had taken up in
One
of Mother’s early recollections was of being attacked by an angry rooster that
flew at and clawed her—perhaps on account of her bright red hair—or perhaps
because they were visiting at a home where there were no children and he had
never seen a child.
My
grandmother used to tell her that when she was very tiny she used to stretch out
her arms to the prairie chickens and beg – “come prairie chickens, come play
My
grandmother must have been a wonderful person, and a neighbor to be loved and
admired and looked to in time of trouble. She it was who served as doctor and
nurse to many, and many a pioneer baby was assisted into the world by her. When
the McCabes came from “Back East” to take up their land nearby, they arrived
in a covered wagon, the wagon box full of children, all sick with the measles—and
Grandma rose to the occasion—opened her home and heart, took in all the
McCabes, measles and all, gave the measles to all her own children and her
husband as well and housed and cared for them all until their house was
ready—and very soon after assisted at the birth of the newest McCabe, Nora,
whom I remember as a tiny white haired old lady who never failed to mention this
episode whenever she saw any of us.
My
grandfather was ambidextrous and was one of those rare people who could sow
grain “broadcasting with both hands” thereby doing a better job in half the
time it took ordinary mortals. He was much in demand by neighboring farmers,
and they did all sorts of things for him to repay him for sowing their grain.
My
mother was his special favorite. The two older girls were needed in the house to
help Grandmother—and since no boy arrived till the fifth child, Grandpa needed
a helper with him. So my mother spent many hours out of doors with him. He was
an extremely well-read man and something of a philosopher, too, and no doubt
was a great influence in Mother’s life. Though they were poor and endured many
hardships, there were always papers, Harpers Weekly magazines and books to be
had.
One
story Mother used to tell that gave me the “creeps” was about the time when she
found a poor little chicken that had been abandoned by its mother. It was a
cold raw windy
day, so Mother took pity on the poor little thing, wrapped it up in an old
shawl and got it in the oven. After the fire had gone out awhile the oven was
still warm. She went out to play, forgetting all about it—you have probably
guessed what happened. Grandma built up the fire and when Helen remembered the
chicken, she found him cooked in the shawl in the oven. Mother hated to think
about it—even after she was an old lady.
The
sixth child to arrive was a boy. Charlie was the first boy, the fifth child. Charlie
was Cornelia’s special charge, “Nealy” was next younger than my mother. But the
new boy, Myron, was my mother’s special charge. He was big and fat and slow, so
my mother used to carry him on her right hip (she was left-handed). This left
her left hand free. All her life her dresses had to be made a wee bit larger on
her right hip—and I often heard her explain to her dressmaker why that hip was
larger. In my childish imagination, I used to visualize a miniature “Uncle
Myron” bald head and curling red moustache riding gaily on my mother’s hip. He
must have been a darling though, for my mother never sounded as though taking
care of him had been a hardship at all. She loved to tell cute things he said
and did. Once he was sitting in the doorway between the kitchen and the weed
shed and he said “Mama I see sompin” and she said, “What do you see?”
and he said, “I don’t know but I think it’s a little cowie”—she concluded he
must have glimpsed a mouse. Another time they were walking down the road after
a rain and the sky was reflected in the roadside puddles, and Myron stopped and
looked in a puddle seeing the sky and said “Ooh it’s deep as the sea.” No one
knows where he, a prairie child go the idea.
Mother
and her sisters and brothers had to go barefoot as early in the spring and as
late in the fall as possible to “save shoe leather.” She used to tell us how
they used to kick or push the cows that they found lying on the ground, and
make them get up and then warm their bare feet on the warm place the cows left.
Of course being a city child myself I was impressed with the fact that they
weren’t afraid to go near a cow. Mother never wanted us to go barefooted. It
was a special privilege reserved for hot days that were too hot to play
outdoors—queer how in just one generation necessity and luxury changed places.
During
the Civil War my grandfather tried to enlist but was always rejected because
he had asthma. So he did “teaming” for
Once
Aunt Nealey was invited to have supper with the McCabes and they had sauerkraut,
and my Aunt told them “sauerkraut is good when there ain’t no other kind of
dessert!”
The
best food my mother ever ate was wild strawberry shortcake. Grandma would send
all the children out after wild strawberries—and she would make biscuit dough
and cook it in the skillet on top of the stove with plenty of butter in which
to brown it. She served it hot with crushed berries and plenty of cream.
They
gathered hazelnuts for winter treats. My grandfather was very fond of them and
usually had some in his pockets for “hand outs” to the children.
Grandmother
was a “crack shot” with a rifle and could bring down a squirrel—she often shot
just for a pastime. Mother never mentioned using them for food.
There
were Indians in the territory and there were “uprisings” against the whites from
time to time. During one Indian uprising an Indian and his squaw came and
looked in the schoolhouse window and then came and pounded on the door. The
children and no doubt the teacher were frightened—but all they wanted was to
bring in the papoose and get warm.
One
Christmas, times were even harder than usual, and there were no Christmas presents.
Mother never spoke as though they were greatly disappointed. She always had a
way of saying “Blessed are those who expect nothing, for they shall not be
disappointed.” They
just made the best of it. But the day did not go “unreknowned” [can’t read the
word] for before night they received a most appropriate gift—a baby sister—and
on Christmas Day!
I’ve
said before that my mother was a great favorite of her father’s—and my father
used to like to tell me that when he asked Grandpa Finch for her hand in
marriage, Grandpa said, “Wouldn’t one of the older girls do? You want the very
best one!”
[Note
by Doris Barnard West: Ruth was the youngest of Grandmother Tanner’s children.
Mother was next to the last.]
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| Helen Clarissa (Finch) Tanner |
Helen was married to William Lewis Tanner at age 19. Her marriage record and children's information is in my William Lewis Tanner post about his life after the war. Her sister Frances lived with them for a time also.
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| Helen Clarissa (Finch) Tanner |
Up until 1920 she was living in Minneapolis and here I want to note, because I have seen information different ways that she died on April 17, 1924, in Monrovia, California. Both her daughter's story and the California death index support this information, along with the probate records of her will. According to findagrave.com she was then brought back to Minneapolis and buried next to her husband in Oak Hill Cemetery in Minneapolis, Hennepin County, Minnesota.
