Lauren's Roots & GeneJourneys

Digging Up Dead Relatives

A Tribute to Ernest & Susan (Stanwood) Simpson

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By Goldie (Simpson) Uphouse Edwards
I suppose everyone has a particular standard to use as a guide for daily living. The choice of the person yard-stick has come through the experience of knowing people.

As I grow with my daughters I am deeply and eternally grateful to the parents I was blessed with.

My mother was the very essence of a gentle-lady. She was tender and soft-spoken, all-loving and often impractical with her gentle sympathies. At one time she was known to have milked a sensitive cow. Men made little bossy nervous, so Mama obliged with the milk-pail. (I often wonder if she was worried lest they be given sour cream.) Mama was a lady of the last century, she could play her piano softly, and tat beautiful edgings, but in contrast, she rode her horse astride. I don’t think any side-saddle would have held up under her boundless energy.

Daddy was a vigorous Paladin sort of man. He was much older than Mama, and his past was colored with numerous tales, many of which I am sure were not told to me. An ordinary deck of playing cards came to life under his fingers. To see him shuffle and deal was a lesson in not playing cards with a stranger. He often remarked that he preferred a fine horse or dog to most people any day. His horses were a constant source of fascination to a very small me. I loved the smell of stables, and the velvet softness of a horse’s nose. Daddy bred, trained, and drove many superior harness horses. I was crammed with information regarding trotters, pacers and ever “mudders”, (which are not colt’s mothers), also I recall he would shudder and speak disgustedly of ‘stump suckers’. I wonder if such a beast was troubled with emotional insecurity.

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