A few of us “seniors” who are still around during these few weeks in mid-July might remember the heat wave, drought, Great Depression of July 1936.The highest temperatures ever recorded in Minnesota, and in Litchfield, occurred from July 5-18, 1936. The highest was 108 degrees on July 14. In addition, the state and country were in the midst of the Great Depression.
Some of us who were very young children have glimpses of the history that occurred some 84 years ago. For me, parts of this time are somewhat faded, occasionally vivid, memories of my childhood while living in Evergreen Park, Litchfield.
No one had air conditioning or fans, and our homes were minimally insulated. Food was kept cool in an ice box; ice was delivered once a week. (It had been cut from Lake Ripley in winter, then stored, buried in sawdust, in a shed, until summer.) Milk, in recyclable glass bottles, was delivered to our homes twice a week, from the Land ‘O Lakes, half a block away.
The second floor of our home was as hot as an oven, up to 120-plus degrees. We had screened in porches, many pine and other trees, and parched grass lawns. Gardens were minimal; we watered them with pails of water. Our mothers would fill large wash tubs with water, so we could sit in them and cool off. The basements were somewhat cool, but, also damp and smelly. At night, families would take blankets out on the yards, and we would all sleep there on the prickly, dried up, brown grass.
A few good things about the heat and dryness were no mosquitoes, few ants, flies, or stinging insects, and no garden snakes. My mother covered the windows with sheets and blankets to keep the heat out. (In winter, she covered the windows with blankets, to keep the cold out and the heat in.)
Willard Piepenberg, born in 1928, and living on a farm in Meeker County, recalls the great drought, heat wave, and Depression. He remembers Round Lake “going dry,” and Lake Ripley reduced to a tiny puddle, surrounded by sand and dead fish. Most nearby wells went dry, so they shared water with the neighbors.
Butter, milk, eggs and other perishables were put in a basket and lowered down into the cool well.
There was no electricity until 1939; they had a wood stove, ice box, kerosene lamps and a windmill pump. They had no crops for two years and slept outside. Willard could write a book about his childhood experiences.
Other memories of mine: seeing Lake Ripley as a tiny puddle in the center of sandy mess, a dirt road around the former banks of the beautiful lake. Spring, 1937, brought a big “fish kill,” mostly rough fish like carp, rotting on the sand. Oof dah, did they stink).
A few years later, when the rains came, the lake returned to its former size, much like it is today.
Now, we’re having a brief period of excessive heat (similar to 1936), 84 years later. This time around, there are similarities and differences. We have the humidity, plus, a very serious life-threatening pandemic to deal with. We have no shortage of water, gardens and lawns are green and lush. We have “air-conditioned everything.”
Call me old-fashioned (cheap, frugal, environmentally conscious), but, I still rely on the old ways — pulling the shades and drapes, turning on fans, using the one window AC for “extreme heat,” conserving water. If all else fails, we can seek some cool relief in the basement, at the nearest air-conditioned store, or take a jump in Lake Ripley.
As for the COVID-19 pandemic, we can each do our part to limit the spread of an unknown, killing disease, by taking the recommended precautions and using common sense. Just as nature has changed our lives, so has the pandemic radically altered our former way of life.
Keep cool, this too, shall pass away. Soon, we’ll be complaining about the cold and snow and remembering the Blizzard of 1940. (Only 80 years ago.)
