More From Grandpa's Wallet

Grandpa had a number of these insurance cards in his wallet, all listing his name and address. I am not sure why he kept all of them, since I am sure that some were issued earlier, yet without an expiration date on the card, I assume they were all in effect and reflecting a current policy.

It is interesting how things change. Everything like that was so much simpler then as compared to what happens now. Medical insurance sends a card to present to the hospital; however, this one is different. It appears it is something you would carry in the event of an injury where you could not speak anyone for any number of reasons. It is actually something that companies should offer.

Grandpa's Farm Insurance card below lists the insurer as John C. Ward & Son. And it gives the coverage information at the left. It is also interesting to note that the spelling for grandpa's name is J O H N and not J O N. My dad's legal name was the same way, but he preferred the shortened version and always wrote his name that way. I don't remember if he changed it when he signed legal papers, like when he bought Rulon Ward's farm or the land from Jule Harris.
When dad bought Rulon's place, I received a call when I was at school in Provo. I drove to Brigham and was with dad at Walt Mann's office--the lawyer my family used for decades. Dad made sure I was there, and it was the beginning of serious talks about when I would be the owner of the ranch.

Things change. Dad's cancer came at the same time as a grasshopper infestation that devastated crops in the mid to late 80's. And even after things looked better, dad only lived about five years after the major cancer surgery. It came back with even more uncertainty.

I remind myself often that it really does not matter now. And most importantly, given the demands that work was on dad and me when we were both healthy, what could I have done since 2003 with this situation. Things would have been worse, because unlike dad's cancer, mine would never have allowed me to return to the physical work we did on the farm.

My cancer forever changed me, making me more vulnerable with lung problems and affecting me in so many ways in my physical strength. In 2004 I briefly lost the ability to walk, and after chemotherapy, it still remains a challenge with the aching joints and stiffness that restricts my mobility. But at least I can walk.

The Farm Bureau card and the left was current at the time of my grandfather's passing, good from November of '55 until November of '56. Great Grandpa Ward passed away from colon cancer in '55.

The fifties were times of change for our family too.

The card below is for the old crawler tractor. It was completely different than the one we had on the farm when I was young.

It had a starter motor rather than glow plugs. You would start it up first and let it run for a short time before starting the tractor. The card gives details about care for the engine. I'm not sure whether that was just during the initial "break-in" of the motor, or if they continued that throughout the life of the machine.























The pictures below, and I added them, shows the machinery I talked about in this blog. None of the pictures were obviously in grandpa's wallet. The picture at the left shows that last caterpillar we had on the farm. My mom and dad are in the picture with Ann's son Brent as a baby.

As I remember, this tractor was the first of two purchases that dad made after grandpa passed away: this tractor and a self-propelled John Deere 55 Hillside combine.


When grandpa was alive, they used a pull-type combine. Grandpa ran the combine by elevating the cutter bar by hand with a wheel, and my dad drove the crawler.

Neither machine had a cab. And neither piece of equipment was a luxury item. Both made work more efficient, and on the farm it was a necessity.

Dad taught me at an early age that this is where you invested money rather than other things. It was a lesson he emphasized to me every day sometimes, making sure I "understood," because farming in desert country meant not only working hard but having the tools to ensure that the land would produce the crops.

The next purchase was a new self-propelled combine, the 95 John Deer Hillside. It had twice the cutter bar capacity, so we could cover twice the amount of land in the same amount of time.

The first picture, the one in black and white, shows the rigging dad used to shade him from the sun. I remember dad welding it and attaching the canvas. Since I was still young when dad had the smaller John Deere 55 Hillside, I don't remember for sure what he had on it, but I thing he had rigged something similar.

Temperatures were very hot in August on the ranch, and in a day of harvesting that began very early and ended after dark, dad needed that to have shade from the sun.

The second picture shows the combine with a cab. Dad had it installed later, so that I could operate it with my severe allergies. Dad had me ride combine with him without it for a day. My lungs filled, and I had a reasonably severe reaction. We just didn't know it at the time. All we knew was that my riding on the machine without a cab would not work.





















The picture at the left also shows the water tank from the Crenlow Cooler. I put clean water in it every day.

On the top of the cab a vent is visible in the picture. There was a large plastic housing that held a fan in place. Hoses pumped water into it, keeping the cab cooler. There was also a large filter that I cleaned and changed every day. As long as I kept the filter clean, the air did not bother me as badly, but I still became very sick from the allergies every harvest season.



Grandpa's driving license was also in his wallet. There was no picture at that time, and it was simple--not covered in protective plastic like the ones we have now.

It was also valid only two years. Grandpa received in in November of '55, and it was to expire on his birthday in August of '57.

It also shows his height as 5' 10" at the time. Dad always told me that grandpa was over six feet tall. His weight was accurate, so I do not understand why he would have written the height differently than it was. My dad's height was the same, and I always used that for mine as well, although I am shorter right now.

My last license was good for 10 years. And by the way, I also did not put my weight down as it really is.

The receipt at the right is for that same license. It was also in the wallet.














The business card at the right was also in grandpa's wallet. It was for the Hill Top Service, a small station that still is on the road on the way to the old Deep Creek Inn.

It was been vacant for a long time, and now, even the Deep Creek Inn is no longer in business.

The Hill Top was an interesting service station. Dad called the owner Old Swivel Neck, because the owner sold beer to teenage minors. The way the owner looked both ways up and down the highway before he loaded the beer is why dad called him that.

I know enough about my grandpa to know that he would be embarrassed to know that I have this card, but I think it is interesting because it is part of what was in the wallet when he passed away.

And it may reflect on his sense of humor. Boise had an old "greasy spoon" diner in the heart of downtown. It was the T & A cafe, and yes, the initials refer to twice as much as Hooters. The food and not the waitresses were the reason you went there, unless you feared the cholesterol.

I am not a pervert, but I kept a napkin from that restaurant and still have it. It was similar to the cartoon picture on the backside of the business card above, but my napkin had a different caption. "Where the elite come to eat."
I always thought that the comment was more than funny; it was hilarious. I figure my grandpa kept this card for the same reason.

After Old Swivel Neck died, a local "good" member of the community of Malad and farmer had a $10,000 bill at the station. When the widow called the "good," church-going man, he told her that he owed her husband, not her. He never paid a dime, and she did not seek legal help.

One of the man's father's nicknames was Rock Wool Charlie. He would add rocks in bags of wool after shearing his sheep to get a better by the pound price for wool. He got caught. But it didn't seem to make him shy, because he was the same type "good" person his son was, rarely missing Sunday services.

I go every Sunday, but I hope no one has a complaint like this about me.

If my dad were standing looking over my shoulder as I type, he would whisper in my ear, "Just tend to your own knitting and don't worry about the problems of someone else."

My grandpa would say in my other ear, "Now, did you see and hear that, because if you didn't, you shouldn't say it." Both did not like people saying bad things about others. My dad and grandpa didn't talk trash. They were too busy on the farm to frequent any of the rumor establishments in town.

When I was upset about someone saying things about me, dad had an interesting response. "Is it true? Others know you and know the truth, so it doesn't matter what people say. Most will know the "kind" of people who spread lies like that."

It was tough to take that advice. And I didn't. I held a grudge for decades and still do because of things said about me by this person. But dad was right. And I will eventually forget the grudge.

The notes at the left and below are things my grandpa wrote down and put in his wallet. Like my dad, his thoughts were continually about the farm. I haven't been on the ranch since '92, but I still have the agenda in my mind that dad had in terms of what he wanted to do in the next few years--pipeline, fences and completion of the water storage tank on the top of the hill across from the ranch.


When I was young, my dad had me write down the number of loads of wheat we harvested in a calendar book like this. Dad would get them from Jones Hardware, the John Deere dealership he and his dad did business with for years.
The notes were important, because I remember at least once when a person who bought grain from my dad and loaded it from our grain bins was not honest. Dad made sure the man made things right. Whether he did it purposely or not, the notes kept everyone honest.

Dad also used them to keep track of the number of bales we purchased from Leonard Clark, and he kept notes about the cattle--dates when we put them in different pastures or fields, so that we did not overgraze the land.






The card below is grandpa's draft card. To the left of the image is the side with the postage, showing it having been sent as a post card to the ranch in Snowville. As I remember, grandpa had a farm deferment.