Once when I was a small child , I visited my aunt Katie Weaver, who lived on Indian Creek, about four miles from Elgin. She was a sister of grandmother Harris. I don't think I was more than six years old then, and I don't think I was ever more thrilled in my whole childhood. Grandmother lived in a little log cabin with a lean-to on the back. Her sister's small granddaughter, Mary Smith, was with me. We rapped on the door, and a small voice said, "Come in!" We pulled the long latch string that hung on the outside of the door and shyly walked in. She said "Come sit down."
The door of the house was made of split timber, the bark still on it. The floor was made of pucheons, but as clean as soap and ashes could make it. In one end of the cabin there was a large fireplace, with a crane hanging in its place. The wall around the fireplace was literally covered with utensils used for cooking in a fireplace: Dutch ovens, brass kettles, and the coffee mill was fastened to the wall. All these things were used for cooking their meals.
In the opposite end of the cabin was a four-poster bed with all of the trimmings, ruffles around the top and around the railing, touching the floor, made of sheer material. Imagine at least three featherbeds on the bed, three pairs of pillows with lace at least four inches wide. The purpose of so many pillows was that some of them were used on the trundle bed, which was slid under the four-poster during the day. A comp[lete bed, about 18 inched high, was made up at night. It was large enough to accomodate two or three persons. There was a quilt pieced of white, pink, and green, and if I should name it, IO would say it was the "Rose of Sharon." This scene helped to inspire my hobby of quilting. The ben was so high from the floor that they used steps to get into it. It was the most beautiful bed I had ever seen.
In the corner by the fireplace sat a sweet, old lady. She sat in a high- backed ladder chair, dressed in an old fashioned tight-waisted full skirt dress with hoops, a white cap all frilled with lace, a large fischue of soft white material around her neck, with a large cameo pin on her breast.
She was knitting a sock. A most beautiful picture in its self.
She said, "Come in, girls; so glad to see you. Won't you have some of my sour cream cookies?" And of course we did! I don't remember how we got home, that did not matter, because I was too thrilled to think about going home.