My Mama was born a long time ago
In a town called Eden, 'cross the border below
Her family was poor and didn't have much
Of this worlds luxuries like fine clothes and such
They lived in the hills of northeast South Dakota
The land was not good for producing a quota
Of the crops that were needed to maintain a healthy life
They had more than their share of heartache and strife.
Mama was the youngest child out of five
Her folks did their best to keep them alive
Then tragedy struck when she was eleven
Her father was killed, Mama said he went to Heaven
It seems that a horse Grandpa had long driven
Struck out with its hooves, with no warning given
He was knocked to the ground, his chest was all crushed
No hospital was near where he could be rushed
He died that evening there in his home
The hills of Dakota no longer to roam
The boys made a box in which Grandpa could lie
Struck down in his prime, he was too young to die
They laid Grandpa to rest in the churchyard on a hill
At Buffalo Lake near a tree that's there still
He was drawn in a wagon by a horse and an ox
With nothing to hold him but that homemade wooden box
The family was broke and the debtors did call
They wanted their cash and they wanted it all
My Grandma was poorly, not much work could she do
But the family pulled together
And helped Grandma make it through
Mama was twelve when she went out to clean
To cook and and to wash for wages quite lean
Her struggle went on for several long years
And oft' times at night Grandma prayed through her tears
Mama met a young farmer from not far away
And it didn't take long til her heart he did sway
He went off to college to work and to learn
A degree in steam engines he wanted to earn
Soon they would marry and start a new life
To her hard working husband she would make a good wife!
She bore him four children, here in the States
They then moved to Canada, where better times would await.
She had four more children this side of the line
Two girls and six boys had this mother of mine
She cooked and she sewed for most of her life
Though things were much better
She was not through with strife
Depression years hit and things were real tough
Of things bought with money there was never enough
Worn out clothes she'd mend with patch after patch
She darned and she sewed so our socks would all match
With lard pails for lunches to carry to school
We learned reading and writing and the golden rule
Though Mama herself went to only grade three
She wanted a better life for my siblings and me
Mama died in her eighties, she lived a long life
She made a good mother, and to Dad a good wife
Yes, Mama'a gone now, her and dad rest side by side
But the mem'ries she left me in my heart will always abide
Written by Ed Tollefson Page design by
Mary Jones
This is a true-to-life poem, it depicts the recollections of his dear mother by my friend Ed Tollefson. I hope it touched the hearts of all who read this as much as it did mine. Thank you Ed for allowing me the privilege of making this web page in honor of your beloved mother.
Your Friend,
Mary Jones
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