Little One, Come Out! Be Free!

Little One
Words and music by Penny Lewton Binek


Little One--come out, be free!
Little One--come and play with me!
It's all right--let your secrets unfold,
Cry the tears of pain you've tried to hold.
Come to Me, I'll hold you tight,
And the darkness I'll not let bite.
Shout your anger! Vent your fears--
FEEL your sadness and your sorrows,
Then watch them disappear...

Little One, come fly with me!
I've loosed your shackles--guilt, shame and misery.
Little One, come let your spirit soar
Through wondrous places you've never dreamed before...
(Instrumental)

Little One, come sing with me--
We have a song, a glorious melody.
Little One, come lift your heart in song
Giving thanks for all parts played,
Whether right or seeming wrong.
Hear the thunder, hear the ROAR--
A celebration like we've never felt before!!

Little One, at last you're free!
Little One, come and dance with me.
It's all right--you've let your story be told.
And in the Light of Day, behold!
You're a wonder!
Life's a gift!--
A celebration of ALL THAT IS.
Though you stumble, though you fall--
When it all is said and done,
All there is--
IS LOVE!

All there is IS LOVE, Little One.
All there is IS LOVE, Little One.
All there is Is Love, Little One--
How you've grown into my sun/son!

A Breath of Fresh Realization

I am writing this to help myself anchor this realization. It makes me smile and not take myself so seriously. I love when I loosen up--the best things seem to happen then, and they have been ever since this understanding blossomed.

Our eyes are the greatest deceivers.

Close your eyes and take a good deep, down-into-your-lower-ribcage breath.

Open your eyes and now look all around you--including your body.

All of your reality, everything, is merely a SUGGESTION of what can be. It does not have to be WHAT IS.

We were living--acting out--a hypnotic suggestion...that's all. Pretty much the same as a hypnotist telling a volunteer that he is a chicken--and he accepts that suggestion as his truth, and he flaps, struts and clucks about like a chicken.

Stop Fighting with Cancer--Use It as a Tool for Greater Self-Awareness

Stop fighting cancer!

I cannot say this loudly enough. I know you feel like you're supporting yourself or loved ones when you jump onto the "Fight this Disease" bandwagon, but you aren't aware that you're actually supporting it staying manifested in reality by struggling and fighting with it.

Fighting cancer is like a fly getting caught in a spider's web. The more it struggles, the more the web attaches its sticky self to the fly, the more trapped the fly becomes, until it's nothing but an empty carcass from which the spider has drained the life.


Shift your point of perspective.

View the cancer as a gift--a TOOL you gave yourself in order to open up your understanding of who you really are--to wake yourself up--and to gain wisdom for your soul.

Lie down in a comfortable position, close your eyes, take some good deep-into-your-diaphragm breaths (beneath your lower ribcage):
Inhale through your nose: 1, 2, 3, 4.
Hold that breath: 1, 2, 3, 4.
Exhale through your mouth: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.
And FEEL into your body. Feel the beating of your heart.

Do a body scan:

Am I feeling tightness in my shoulders, jaws, limbs, back? Take a breath to release it and let the tightness melt away.

Am I feeling pain anywhere? Take another breath and explore and FEEL into the pain, allowing it to guide you to its source and center.

Let the pain tell you its story. Don't judge your feelings and thoughts--let it all out! Icky painful, fearful, angry, sad, regretful feelings and thoughts allowed in your own safe and sacred space won't harm anyone. Let yourself cry, scream, hold yourself. There is no such thing as the right or wrong way to be and feel here:
I am listening...
I am FEELING it all through...
I am allowing myself to just be however...
No more monitoring, no more trying to control or force things...

You actually have never done anything wrong.

No one, no other god out there is punishing you. You just got momentarily lost in a story--an act of consciousness. You haven't done anything wrong in bringing cancer into your life--you just FEEL as though you have.

This disease is in your life as part of getting yourself to ALLOW unrelenting self-forgiveness. It's helping you REALIZE the importance of self compassion--of being kind to oneself for simply being an imperfect human. All of us humans have done dark things because of having such a limited consciousness--we were all just trying to survive in a world where we believed we had to fight and struggle in order to live and be abundant. No more pointing fingers of blame and judgment. We all were just doing the best we knew how to at the time, trying to find our way while feeling so lost, so scared, so alone.

This shift in perspective will help you make decisions on the treatments you choose to use to address the physical symptoms--and you can't make a wrong choice from this place of expanded self-awareness. Whatever you choose is appropriate because you're now ALLOWING your energies to serve you in grace. Instead of radiating out armor and shields and weapons which attract something for you to then fight, your consciousness is open and allowing, and these aggressive energies just flow on by now without attaching themselves to you.

You exist--eternally! You are conscious awareness. You are light. You are here out of love.

We are ALL here out of love, and it's unto love we all return.

Please stop fighting--wars don't work anymore. Have you noticed?

Related Posts:
4 Questions to Help You Feel Through and Release Painful Old Stories

Nation's Center News Article: Meet Your Neighbor: Frank Lewton

 Meet Your Neighbor: FRANK LEWTON

By Linda Stephens

NATION'S CENTER NEWS

Buffalo, SD

Articles from Wednesday, December 5 & 12, 1984 editions.

Reprinted by Penny Binek with permission from Wally Stephens. (Mick Lewton)

Friday, November 30, 1984, I finally got together with Frank to do his interview. We have tried to get together several times over the last ten months, but every time we had an interview scheduled, Frank would call and postpone it as something would come up. Actually, I think he was trying to avoid me, but finally just gave in…

Frank was the oldest of 12 children born to Jennie Alice (Gorman) and John William Lewton. Only seven of the twelve children grew to adulthood. They are as follows:

Frank Gorman was born June 28, 1907 in Omaha, NE. (continued later).

Florence Katherine was born May 12, 1909. She married Harold Gunn and they live southwest of Lemmon, SD on a ranch. They have one son and two daughters. Their son Vince is the County Agent for Perkins County.

Cecil Clare (May 12, 1911--Dec. 25, 1911) died of spinal meningitis.

Jessie Lorena was born Dec. 16, 1912 in Liberty, IL. Jessie married Ralph Berg (deceased--summer 1984). They lived in Hettinger, ND and he worked at the Farmers Union Station. They had 10 children—1 deceased. Jessie now lives with a son in Grand Forks, ND.

John Maurice was born August 9, 1914. He ranched near Chance, SD

(south of Bison) for many years. He was known to many area folks as the “watermelon man” as he would sell watermelons all over the area including Buffalo on Labor Day. He is now retired, living in Rapid City, SD. His present wife is Thelma Eichenbruger. He has eight children.

Lyle Bernard was born June 8, 1916. He married Katherine Hunt. They were both killed May 10, 1970 in an automobile accident north of Bowman on the county line. They had 13 children, 12 of which are living. They lived on the old Holman ranch 8 miles northwest of Camp Crook. After their death their son Larry came home from the service and took care of all the kids and saw to it that they got through school.

George William was born June 4, 1918. He married Bernice Palmer (divorced). He is retired, living in Tucson, AZ. He has 5 children.

Alan Mason was born Feb. 11, 1920 and died Feb. 16, 1920 of heart trouble.

Henry “Woodrow” was born April 1, 1921. Woodrow married Elizabeth Exman and they live on a ranch near 

Lodgepole, SD. They have one son and one daughter.

Ralph Edson was born Dec. 4, 1922 and died Dec. 13, 1922 of heart trouble.

Eugene Paul was born Sept. 18, 1924 and died Feb. 5, 1926 of whooping cough.

Jerome was born Dec. 15, 1927 and died Dec. 15, 1927 of heart trouble.

John and Jennie Lewton were married at Council Bluffs, Iowa, on September 5, 1905, and then went to Omaha, NE where John worked for the Union Pacific Railroad. He was a finish carpenter working on the Pullman cars. Jennie had taught school a few years before they were married, but afterwards worked as a housewife.

The Interior Department decided to open up about three million acres of free land to homesteaders. Anyone with fourteen dollars filing fee and enough money to put up a homestead shanty could file on 160 acres of free land. If you qualified with the regulations of building a one-room shanty, digging a well, breaking five acres of land, and living on this claim 14 months, you would own your claim. At this time John was earning $100 per month from the railroad, and the idea of homesteading appealed to him.

In the fall of 1907 John came to Hettinger, ND to locate some land. His homestead was located south of Lodgepole, SD on the south side of the South Grand River on the old T.X. Trail that led from Bismarck, ND to Belle Fourche, SD. All mail for the early settlers in this area first came to Belle Fourche and someone would ride or drive horses down for it. Later a post office was established at the Fred Nelson’s Sidney Store, and it was here the Lewtons got their mail and groceries from 1909 until 1914. From 1914 to 1922 their mail came to Strool, SD. Then in 1923, after moving across to the north side of the river and building a new home, their mail was changed to Lodgepole, SD. Both Sidney and Strool have been discontinued as post offices.

In the spring of 1909 Jennie and her young son, Frank, came by railroad to Hettinger, ND where they were met by John. They then rode out to the claim in a lumber wagon. They lived with Jennie’s brother, Maurice Gorman, who had been in South Dakota since 1896, running cattle on the wild open prairies with no fences and no owned land.

While John and Jennie were building their sod house, they had to keep an umbrella over Frank to keep him dry as the weather was rainy. The lumber for their roof came from Sturgis, SD. Frank said, “It was a one-room shack with a portiere (hanging cloth) dividing the room. Now I suppose you’d call it drapes or a curtain, but then we called it a portiere. We also had a cook stove that burned both coal and wood. There also weren’t any fences in the area, only a little one for the horses.”

Frank continued, “My uncle Maurice Gorman had come from Quincy, IL and his wife Anna was from Iowa. They settled on the only land in the area where cottonwood trees were growing. We lived about ¾ mile from each other. In 1911, during the drought they moved back to Iowa in a covered wagon. They had 5 children, but now the whole family is dead. Their children died when they weren’t very old.”

In 1909 there was a terrible prairie fire that started in the Slim Buttes and burned to the South Grand River. The fire burned right beside John’s sod house and pole corral. There was also a terrific wind along with the fire. Jennie went out to watch the fire. She was wearing a new bonnet at the time and a gust of wind blew it off her head. The bonnet was blown high into the air and across the prairie it went. She never recovered her bonnet.

John needed a team of horses, so in the spring of 1908 he took his last $300 and went over to Doc Hodge’s ranch in the Slim Buttes and bought his first team. Frank was very proud of that team. Now John would be able to farm and also have a means of transportation. The horses were high spirited, but John was a young man and figured he could handle them. He got his field plowed with a one-furrow plow that he walked behind and held onto the handles. But, when it came to harrowing the plowed ground that was another matter. John got in front of the team to fix the harness when something spooked them and they ran away and pulled the drag over him. There was no doctor or hospital but John eventually recovered from the ordeal.

The drought of 1911 was hard enough to battle, but sickness and death were much worse. Their little daughter Cecil Clare came down with spinal meningitis. Dr. Frank Walker of Bison, SD had been out to the ranch home several times to treat her, but she didn’t get any better. Finally on Christmas Eve, she was in such pain that John set out with the team and wagon to bring Dr. Walker. It was a forty mile trip. He reached Bison with no trouble, but on the homeward journey it was so dark and hard to see that the horses got out of the trail and ran through a barbed wire fence, nearly cutting the leg off one of the horses. Dr. Walker and John took the remaining horse and rode double to the Lewton home. Nothing the doctor could do helped and she died on Christmas Day, December 25, 1911. Because at that time graveyards were so far away, she was buried on the Lewton ranch where she still lies.

Through the years times improved, but still there were hardships. The Lewton children had to cross the South Grand River in order to drive seven miles to school by horse and buggy. There was no bridge across the river. One night in early spring, Florence, Jessie, John and Lyle were returning from school. The river was high and floating with ice, and some ice was just breaking up. When they tried to cross the swollen river, the horse floundered, broke through the ice, swam, went down, and finally got the cart turned around so he could swim downstream with the current until they finally made it back to shore where they had started. Taking a sixteen mile detour by the Sidney Bridge, they finally reached home to be greeted by frantic parents. Florence wrote a poem about this tragedy called “That Wicked River.”

In 1923 John and Jennie built a modern home on the north side of the South Grand River and built up a fine herd of Hereford cattle.

Frank said, “We went to school part time at our house and mother taught us. Sometimes we stayed at the school house with a teacher. We had a hard time getting to school.”

In 1929 the Great Depression began when so many banks closed and the depositors lost a lot of money. The prices of cattle, grain and sheep were very cheap. Wheat sold for 25 cents a bushel. In 1934 the government bought the cattle, sheep and hogs from the farmers and had them slaughtered and thrown into a deep trench and buried. The government paid $20 a head for cattle over two years old and $8 for calves. John took a lot of cattle to Hettinger, ND and sold them to the government at these prices. He also sent a car load of the best steers to Chicago and received $23 each. John and his sons also helped slaughter sheep at the sheep ranches and brought home carcasses to feed his hogs. Because of the extreme drought there was very little feed for hogs or stock of any kind, so farmers and ranchers were forced to sell their stock to the government.

John was stricken with a fatal heart attack on August 23, 1956, at Bismarck, ND where he had gone for a checkup. Jennie continued to operate the 666 Ranch with the help of her son Woodrow until the fall of 1971, when she decided to quit ranching and sold her cattle. She then made her home with her daughter Florence, and son-in-law, Harold Gunn until her death December 26, 1976.

While Frank was growing up he raised a little over an acre of onions each year. Frank said, “One of the first things Dad did when he came here was to build a dam along with my uncle Maurice Gorman. Each year Dad plowed me up a patch of ground where it was flood irrigated. We’d put the onions on a new plot every year, but the big problem was weeds. The flood water would bring every kind of weed imaginable. At that time we couldn’t get onion sets but planted them all from seed. An onion seed looks like a buckwheat seed—it is a 3-cornered seed but about half the size of a buckwheat seed. I sold the onions as soon as they were big enough to neighbors, people in town and the Fair in Lemmon. My onion patch provided me with quite a bit of spending money in those days.”

Frank recalled seeing his first automobile. “I was about 5-6 years old and had never seen anything come in,” stated Frank, “without horses pulling it. I looked at the hill and here came the mail carrier in a white car. I just couldn’t believe what I saw! I walked around the car two to three times looking for the horses! Then about 3-4 years later, the mail man got some old trucks and used them to deliver the mail in.”

Jello was also quite a novelty item for Frank. Frank chuckled, “The first time I can remember seeing jello was when the Fred Nelson’s had it for dinner. They ran the Sidney Post Office, and I just couldn’t believe it. I was about 6-8 years old and all we had ever had before was gelatin. How here was jello with all those colors! I remember that Mom sent to Sears & Roebuck and got jello. It was really a treat!”

The flu epidemic spread over the country in 1918. Frank was 11 years old and had driven a wagon load of hogs to Hettinger with his dad. It was a 2-day trip and when they got back Frank’s dad and then the whole family came down with the flu, all except Frank. Frank said, “I had to feed the cows and pitch hay over the fence. I know I sure thought it was lots of cows that I had to feed. When my dad got well, he went around the neighborhood and helped many people. I know it was because of my dad that many people made it through the flu epidemic. Dad’s remedy was to fry up big gobs of onions and make an onion poultice. He would put the onions in a flannel cloth and put it on their chest. He also had them drink hot jello water.”

Frank attended Hettinger High starting in 1922 and graduating in 1926. During 3-1/2 of those high school years he worked at Hancock’s Drug Store. Frank said, “I did everything from keeping the furnace to helping make prescriptions. One day I was making up 1 lb. packages of Epsom salts and alum. I had them sitting side by side in two piles, but hadn’t marked which was which. In those days heavy-set ladies would use Epsom salts in their bath water which was supposed to help them reduce their weight. A rather heavy-set lady came in to purchase Epsom salts and the druggist grabbed a package of alum and sold it to her instead. Later she told how she had put it in her tub and it had puckered her up like a prune. I sure felt badly about it, but it wasn’t my fault really as the druggist didn’t ask me which pile to get the Epsom salt from.”

After high school graduation, Frank came home to work with his dad. Sometimes he took the younger children to school and that was a good excuse to meet the new schoolteacher—Pearl Myrtle Allinson. Frank also decided that it would be the neighborly thing to do if he would occasionally stop and help her build the fire in the school house stove. It wasn’t too long before Frank was dating the young school marm.

Pearl had a younger sister Opal who was attending college in Aberdeen, so in May 0f 1928, Pearl and Frank decided to drive to Aberdeen and visit her. Frank said, “We had a nice trip down. That evening was beautiful and everyone was sitting outside visiting. The next day we left to go home. We got almost to Mobridge when the wind hit. All we had was side curtains on the car and it got so dusty and dirty we could hardly breathe. I think we drove off in the worst field we could find and we sat there for almost 2 hours in the car. We had our good clothes on and when we finally drove into Mobridge we looked like a couple of mud hens with just slits for our eyes. There was just a little sprinkle of rain, enough to make the dirt stick to you. We really looked a sight! To make matters worse, here we weren’t married and had to check into the hotel and get a couple rooms to take a bath and clean up. You never could imagine any two people coming into a hotel looking like that!” Frank continued, “I know some of your readers will remember that same wind that hit the Camp Crook area in 1928. The wind blew 80-90 mph and it tore some of those big trees off the ridges that had been there for 200 years. It blew lots of lumber down in the Long Pine Hills. Later, after Pearl and I were married, we moved to Camp Crook and I cut a lot of that timber for our own wood. We also made pitch pine posts out of the hearts of many of the large trees that were blown over.”

Pearl Myrtle Allinson was born in Adair, Oklahoma Territory, before it was a state, to Anna (Ridgeway) and Curtis Allinson. She had no birth certificate as she was born on the Indian reservation. Her parents moved to Harding County in the early 1900’s and homesteaded on the south side of the Grand River right north of the Slim Buttes. They had a sheep ranch and finally lived in an old log house on the river where Claude Olson lived for awhile. 

Jim and John Ridgeway, her mother’s brothers, also lived nearby. John was married but had no family. Jim was married and Charles, Betty and Fern were his children.

In 1917 the Allinson’s moved to a ranch just 1mile east and ½ mile south of Bowman, ND where Frank presently lives today. They ran sheep here, and also north of town, south of Marmarth and north of Camp Crook in South Dakota.

In 1917 Anna and Curtis took their two girls Pearl and Opal with them to go check on the sheep. There was something wrong with the car so Curtis took it to the Sampson Garage and they gave him another car to use. The shifting gears weren’t the same and Curtis had a hard time getting used to driving it. They camped all night on a 40- foot bank overlooking the Little Missouri River. They got up, ate breakfast, and all piled into the car to start for home. Curtis started the car but pushed the wrong pedal and instead of going 

into reverse, it went forward and plunged 40 feet into the river. They were all crippled 

except Pearl. She walked to the Ray Miller ranch to get help. As a result of the 

accident Curtis spent the next 17 years of his life in bed as he broke his back and was 

paralyzed from the waist down. 

           Anna took care of Curtis until 1936 when she died from Tularemia. She had taken Dean and Gene Lewton, her grandchildren, up on the Buttes behind their house and had gotten a tick. The tick gave her this disease which is normally associated as “rabbit sickness.”

After Anna’s death, a lady by the name of Lucy Wolf began taking care of Curtis who was an invalid. She got a trailer house and pulled it with a car. She took him on trips around the country and made several trips to Florida where Curtis’s father was living. They would stay in Orlando, FL during the winter and come back here in the summer. Curtis died the day before Christmas in 1941.

Pearl’s sister Opal attended high school in Bowman and then college in Aberdeen. She married Homer Cornell (Carl’s son—from Buffalo) and they lived at Fort Yates for many years where he worked in Indian service. They later moved to Bismarck where he worked for the State Highway Department. They have now retired and live in California near Sacramento. They have two children. Their son, Alan, is a professor at Berkley University near San Francisco, and their daughter, Joan, is married and lives in Fargo, ND where they own Scheel’s Hardware.

Pearl attended college in Dickinson for part of a year. She then taught the Ridgeway School east of Buffalo. She then went to Aberdeen and got her teaching certificate. The next year she taught the Fredlund School in Perkins County near Lodgepole. After teaching a year, she and Frank decided to get married. They were married July 2, 1928 in Baker, MT. Frank’s sister, Florence, went along and was their witness. Frank said, “It seems about everyone in those days drove to Baker and got married. I had a brand new Ford Sport Coupe Model A car that I had bought in Hettinger for $700. I had it all shiny and polished. While driving near Griffin, ND on the way home, another car hit a big mud hole just as we passed by and plastered my car. That sure made me mad!”

Frank and Pearl went to the Black Hills on their honeymoon. Frank said, “Everywhere we went, somebody would run us down to look at that car. It was a new model and they hadn’t seen anything like it.”

Pearl and Frank lived with his parents that summer and the fall of 1928 they moved 12-13 miles north of Camp Crook. They lived across the creek from the Otto Burghduffs. Frank said, “That first winter was the worst time. We lived in a little tar paper shack. It had plain boards on the outside and red and blue building paper on the inside with a little cook stove. Alice Goggins, a lady who lived in Rapid City, had said we could rent this place from her. She had a nice house there and was going to have it fixed up. She bought finish lumber, but not the windows, so we couldn’t live in the house. First we lived in the granary and then we got into this 8x10 shack that sat kind of kiddy wampus. Alice had 25-30 head of horses that I was to take care of, but there wasn’t much to do.”

In the spring of 1929 Frank visited with Gilbert Osheim, a bachelor, to see if they could rent his place. Gilbert’s mother lived in Kalispell, MT and he said they’d have to talk to her. Mrs. Osheim decided they could rent the place, but Gilbert didn’t have any place to live, so he moved in with them and slept upstairs. Frank said, “Gilbert was just out of the service and was very bashful. I think if any girl looked at him he’d run 4 miles. A bunch of the young guys in Camp Crook knew he had all this money to spend from being in the service so they talked him into buying a car. Gilbert couldn’t drive it, so they took his car all over the country. Sometimes they took Gilbert with them and sometimes they didn’t. Finally I decided I’d better teach Gilbert to drive so we took the car down on the sage brush flat and taught him how to drive. He didn’t like to shift. I’ll never forget when he came to the big creek--he’d gun it and down he’d go and just swoop right out through the dust like a big bird on the other side. He didn’t want to have to shift so he’d get up enough speed going down so he could make it up the other side without shifting!”

In the spring of 1930 Frank and Pearl moved to the Allinson place just east of Bowman. In later years Frank bought the place from him.

Five children were born to Frank and Pearl. They are as follows:

Twins—Dean Clarence and Gene Curtis were born May 6, 1929 in Camp Crook at the home of Mrs. Charlie Turbiville. Frank said, “We took them home and we both had a wrestling match—we had to pack water to the house and wash clothes with a wash board. That first year was really something!”

Dean Clarence attended Bowman High School and BHSC in Spearfish, SD. He married Leona Kivimaki and they lived 15 miles southwest of Bowman for many years. They now live in Bowman and Dean is a mechanic and works on carburetors. They have 8 children: Gary married Doreen Fadness. They live on the home place southwest of Bowman. They have two children—Ali and Renae; Jerry married Candice Doe. They live in Reeder, ND and he works for Knife River Coal Co. They have 1 daughter, Melissa; Steve married Nadine Fadness. They live in Bowman. He is a small appliance repairman and also drives the school bus. They have 2 children—Abby and Thaddeus; Mick married Mary Breen. They live in Dickinson where he works for Hersruds International Harvester and she is and R.N. at the hospital. They have two boys—Marcus and Matthew; Laurie attended NDSU at Fargo and has a degree in Foods and Nutrition. She is presently living at home and works at Gambles and Bomars; Tim married Cheryl Mollman. He is a mechanic at the Carburetor Shop in Bowman. They have one daughter—Crystal; Penny attended NDSU for one year. She now works at Bennett Drug in Bowman; David is an 8^th grader.

Gene Curtis graduated Bowman High School and attended BHSC. He then attended church college in Chicago. He married Marion Empie, a minister’s daughter from Bowman. They went as missionaries to Kenya, Africa and have been there since 1954. It soon will be 30 years that they have lived there. Gene is now involved in building a 90-bed hospital in Tenwek, Kenya. They have four children: Colleen married Terry Hawk of Ohio. They live in Honduras, Central America and are missionaries. They live on a cattle ranch and teach the natives how to run stock. They have 2 children—Jeremie and Benjie; Kenneth and his wife Sherry live in Jackson, Mississippi. He is a minister. They have two boys—Dennie and Joel; Diane has a 4-year degree in nursing and is a captain in the Air Force; Dwight is a computer technician and operator living in Oklahoma City, OK.

Gail Lee was born March 12, 1933 at the farm in Bowman. Frank said he had been up night and day lambing for two weeks before Gail was born. Pearl’s folks finally found a hired man and sent him out to help Frank. Frank said, “He came about 6 PM and we worked until midnight. I told him to go upstairs and sleep. About 1 AM Pearl poked me and told me I had to go get the doctor. I was so tired I just told her to roll over and go back to sleep! Well, she wouldn’t let me so I got out of bed. Gail was going to be born in the front room so I decided if I was going to get the hired man out, I’d better do it now. He had barely got to sleep and I told him what was happening and he’d better get out of there, so he went down to the shed and slept with the sheep. I’ll bet he wondered what kind of slave driver I was!” Frank managed to get Dr. Cornelius to the house. He said the snow was so deep that it was over the fence. The doctor had to walk downhill to get into the house.

Gail attended Bowman High School and National College in Rapid City. She completed her nurse’s training at the hospital in Rapid City and became an R.N. She married Delbert “Bud” Murner of Rapid City. They live in Woodland, CA where he worked for the Fire Department and she is a registered nurse. They have three children: Linda married Joe Yingst (divorced). They had one daughter, Amanda. Linda is a bookkeeper at the hospital and has also taken nurse’s training; Mike works for Pacific Power Co. and is putting in high lines from the thermal power plants; Larry attended school in Phoenix, AZ. He has since made it his home and is an IBM technician and operator.

Sue Ann was born on Labor Day, Sept. 1, 1936 in the Bowman hospital. She died in February of 1978 of cancer.

Sue Ann graduated Bowman High School and attended Dickinson College one year and got a teaching certificate. She taught Cottage School north of Bowman. Before the school year was out she married a local rancher Don Burke. They lived 15 miles north of Bowman. They had seven children: Tom married Twyla Frietag. He ranches on the place with his dad. They have 4 boys—Don, Matthew, Mike & John; Wanda is married to Ron McKitrick. They live 7 miles southeast of Bowman. They have 3 children—Amy Sue, Garrett and Joseph; Bruce married Tammy Teske. They live in Bowman and own Twin Butte Liquor. They have one son—Ryan Michael; Donna married Craig Speidel. They live in Bismarck where he works for Montana-Dakota Utilities. They have one son—Nicholas; Mark married Kitty Theuer. They live in Bismarck where he is an insurance agent for American Family. They have 2 children—Sue and Adam; Patrick is in his 3^rd year at SDSM&T but should graduate this spring. He is presently doing some of his college work for a company in Cedar Rapids, IA; Ruth is a 7^th grader.

Linda Jo was born July 12, 1939. She graduated Bowman High School, attended college at Grand Forks and Fargo, and then finished in Ames, IA with a degree in Home Economics. She married Jay Olpin and they live in Frederick, MD. He is a scientist and has been involved in cancer research for 20 years. Linda helps him with various scientific projects. They have 3 children: Rebecca is a sophomore at Brigham Young Univ. in Provo, UT; Ruth is in high school; Tim is in grade school.

Pearl and Frank always raised a large garden. Frank said that Pearl would can anything that would go into a jar. Frank also planted and raised apricots, crab apples, apples and pears. When I was there on Friday we had apricot sauce that was made from the apricots on the place.

Pearl and Frank enjoyed traveling. Frank said, “We traveled all over the U.S. by car, train and plane. We went to Chicago once or twice a year to see Gene when he was going to college. We have been to Mexico, and to California, several times. We drove to New York City to see Gene when he came home from Africa. We flew to Washington, D.C. several times to see Linda and her family. We’ve been to Missouri to see all the Ridgeway relatives. The only place we haven’t been is in the real southern states and the far northeastern states.”

In 1977 Maxine Paulson started coming to the farm to help Pearl. She has been coming off and on three times a week since. She was there the day I interviewed Frank and made us a good noon meal.

Pearl died September 4, 1983 after suffering a series of strokes. She had been hospitalized many times the last three years of her life.

Frank manages to keep himself busy on the farm. He enjoys working outside and keeps himself busy.

Frank Lewton is a very nice man. I’ve certainly enjoyed visiting with him and I’m sure you would, too.

Dear Mom and Dad...With love, Pen

One of the greatest gifts I received from one of my hardest losses, the death of my first boyfriend, was to make sure that no matter what story or disagreement might be playing out at the time, I wanted my loved ones to know that I ALWAYS loved them no matter what.

I was digging through my stash of keepsakes looking for a wedding program for a friend when I found this letter I had written to Mom and Dad. I had forgotten doing it. It was just a flow of thoughts while out on a walk that I'd wanted to capture, so it wasn't complete or polished. but I had just decided to send it to them anyway...and I'm SO glad I did! 


I went out for my walk along the creek yesterday, and as I walked I was thinking about the two of you and how profoundly you touched my life--as a couple and as unique individuals. I also determined that I was going to tell you all of these thoughts personally. I didn't want to wait to say them at a funeral. It's important to me that you know this now. You're the only ones I desire to hear this anyway. It's not that I expect you to die anytime soon either. Why should I want to wait until you're gone anyway?

I also realize that my relationship with you is uniquely my own. My brothers and sister would have their own unique perspective, too, which is the beauty of this experience we call life.

As I walked along, it struck me that I was blessed not to have been raised as a member of any organized church. I remember (person's name) remarking on my having a relationship with God when I wasn't even a church-going member. He was impressed, but I know he also couldn't quite fathom how I could ever understand the concept of praying. I hadn't read the Bible at that time, yet I was drawing pictures of kids praying. Mom, I know I've told you this many times before, but this is for the record: I'll always remember you telling me not to judge someone until I've walked a mile in their moccasins. I don't even know whether you were preaching it to me either. In my mind, I see it mostly as a philosophy you lived by, and it made a whole lot of sense to me.

Thank you both for not having me baptized because it caused me to question the validity of that ritual. When other people's kids told me they were worried about me going to hell because I wasn't sprinkled with "holy" water, I had decided that a god who was as petty as all that wasn't my god.

Dad, you challenged me to not believe everything I read or saw until I had run it through my own experience.

Mom, you encouraged me to read and grow. You both stressed being the best at whatever I chose to do--mostly by example and not by preaching--but you never stressed doing it for good grades or for how it might make you appear.

Dad, you never were much of one who liked going to musical concerts--thanks for the ones you did suffer through--but you were ALWAYS there for me when I needed you. I remember calling home sometime around midnight the night I graduated when (person's name) and I got the car stuck. I wasn't afraid to call you and I never felt as though I had to keep my party attendance a secret from either you or Mom. You trusted me first--and that has had quite an impact on me. When your parents perceive you as responsible, you perceive yourself that way, too.

When I called home crying about college, you drove all night and were there the following morning to take me home.

And when my boyfriend died you were with him as close as you could be, and you and Mom were there to hold me the moment I got home. Probably one of my greatest memories of you is the morning you drove me all over the countryside to find wildflowers in the middle of July to be made into a bouquet for Arlen. The word "thanks" just doesn't quite do that one justice.

As a kid, the moments I hold dear to me now are when you were sitting on the couch with your arm around me as we watched TV (an episode of Loveboat comes to mind). And of course, there were all those times you carried me into the house as I pretended to be asleep. I remember the tickle of your whisker rubs on my hand, and getting a sip of your beer and tomato juice when you'd come home from work. Heck, even blowing out your match that lighted your cigarette was a treat! You're still one of my most favorite dancing partners. Whenever I play Steve's song, It's Just Life, or my lullaby I think of dancing with you--they're both waltzes.

I remember standing up for Show & Tell in the second grade and telling my class that my dad was the president of NFO (National Farmers Organization). I don't even know if that was true, but I thought it was at the time. I saw you as someone concerned with the welfare of not just his own family, but of the world and future generations. Kids are taught to think "global" in today's classrooms, but it was ingrained in me in my home. You were gone quite a bit, but I understood it was important for you to do that, and I'm glad you followed what you believed. I perceived you as doing something important and good, not just for me, but for a lot of other little kids out there. I missed you and was always happy to have you home, however.

I remember a trail of people through our home--from strippers to combiners to business associates and longtime friends. I remember laughter of a good kind and acceptance and an openness to hear other people's stories. I always admired your ability to converse with total strangers, especially because I was so shy in those circumstances. It didn't matter who they were--everyone was worthy of having a conversation with. You loved people and it showed. We've all kidded you about your seeming attraction to Gene's and the Gateway, but I loved you for it and I wouldn't have had you any other way. I watch the continual rotation of people through that restaurant booth and I can't help but marvel.

I also remember (name of a young friend) asking me to ask you for some gum. Every kid who knew you knew about the gum in your shirt pocket. Juicy Fruit made it big because of you.

I remember being carsick from riding with you over those hills and around those curves on the way to Newell or Belle Fourche, and to Woody's. I remember long trips with stops along the way to buy an assortment of candy bars.

I remember you drawing pictures for me--the camel off your cigarette package, for one. I also remember being in such awe of the portraits you drew of Mom. I so wanted to draw with the talent I saw in you.

Mom, when I think of you I recall a woman of great courage, patience, generosity and quiet faith. I see a human being who's grown so much, and who's flowed with the changing times with a grace I hope to embrace as my own. You're so much more than a great cook and caregiver. You're an intelligent and strong and capable, loving, gentle woman who has my utmost respect. You're one of my dearest girlfriends and trusted confidantes.

As a child, I remember you reading me stories before our naps.

And hiding the Easter eggs so cunningly the Easter I was sick with the mumps.

I remember sledding with you, and climbing over huge snowdrifts searching for posts to use for firewood when the power was out.

Every time I plant a garden I recall all the gardens I "helped" you plant and harvest and can.

You were also a terrific neighbor, and I loved going for coffee with you.

You also are so creative, and you have the eyes of an artist. I feel my love of sunsets comes from you.

4 Questions to Help You FEEL Through and Release Painful Old Stories

Our body cells are libraries of lifetime after lifetime of our souls expressions. Many of those lifetimes end in trauma and tragedy, and those scarred and wounded aspects find their way into our present lifetime and often influence what our consciousness radiates in our current life. We often have protective emotional guards up that we're unaware of even having in place--and those guards tell the friendly energies in service to us that, "Hey--I'm defending and protecting myself!" And wha-la!--those energies read those signals as you desiring that kind of experience, and so manifest as something in your life that you need to fight and defend yourself against.

If you are experiencing some type of dis-ease, or mental or emotional imbalance, it's possible you are experiencing one of these wounded aspects crying for your attention. They will keep attracting crap experiences to you until you give them your attention and your clear self-mastery presence. By allowing yourself to observe and feel them through, see the wisdom and the compassion that their traumatic experience gifted your soul, you set them free, and they can then integrate into your body of consciousness and no longer haunt you.

The most graceful way I found to do that was to first decide that I was going to allow myself to be an imperfect human and feel it all through with complete honesty.

"No matter what, I am okay."

I give myself a safe and sacred space where I can bawl and scream and hug and hold myself with total unconditional acceptance. As long as I set the intention to do no harm, there is no right or wrong way to do this, and I ALLOW myself to be human. I allow myself to feel anger, sadness, sorrow, fear--all those icky feelings I'd just rather avoid. I allow myself to feel like a victim, even blame others (though I actually know I wanted a betrayer role played out for me, and some loving being did that just for me on this earthly playground).

The whole idea is to feel my way honestly through my Dark Night of the Soul tunnel. And I do it KNOWING this is temporary--that I will survive it--and there is Light, Wisdom and FREEDOM waiting for me at the end.

4 Questions to help you feel your way to freedom:

1. What happened? (Allow yourself to feel angry)
2. What didn't happen? (Allow yourself to feel sad, to grieve)
3. What could happen? (Allow yourself to feel fear)
4. What can't happen? (Allow yourself to feel sorrow, to feel sorry)

Our human facet in all its perfect imperfection is the grandest of gifts to our soul. You are magnificent!

You. Are. A. Gift!

Little One--come out, be free!
Little One--come and play with me!
It's all right--let your secrets unfold,
Cry the tears of pain you've tried to hold.
Come to Me, I'll hold you tight,
And the darkness I'll not let bite.
Shout your anger! Vent your fears--
FEEL your sadness and your sorrows,
Then watch them disappear...

Little One, come fly with me!
I've loosed your shackles--guilt, shame and misery.
Little One, come let your spirit soar
Through wondrous places you've never dreamed before...
(Instrumental)

Little One, come sing with me--
We have a song, a glorious melody.
Little One, come lift your heart in song
Giving thanks for all parts played,
Whether right or seeming wrong.
Hear the thunder, hear the ROAR--
A celebration like we've never felt before!!

Little One, at last you're free!
Little One, come and dance with me.
It's all right--you've let your story be told.
And in the Light of Day, behold!
You're a wonder!
Life's a gift!--
A celebration of ALL THAT IS.
Though you stumble, though you fall--
When it all is said and done,
All there is--
IS LOVE!

All there is IS LOVE, Little One.
All there is IS LOVE, Little One.
All there is Is Love, Little One--
How you've grown into my sun/son!

Are You Short, To the Point--Or Long-winded and All Over the Map?

I SO appreciate those people who can tell a good story or joke. I have family members who are amazing and funny storytellers, but I didn't inherit that particular gift. There is a reason I write my stories down. I can edit and shorten and clarify my points--cut out the excess that otherwise seems to haunt and lengthen my tales.

There's a joke about men using few words to get their points across, and women being flaky, long-winded and off on many varied tangents before arriving at a conclusion--and then apologizing for taking so long. Let's face it--that profile fits me to a T, and the previous sentence reinforces that sentiment.

I've always felt a bit embarrassed and sensitive about this aspect of myself. For years, I struggled with leaving my sentences and thoughts incomplete, dangling out in dead air while I searched for that suddenly elusive word that was JUST THERE, only to give up and mumble to an unimpressive conclusion. Yesterday, as I was sitting in the bathtub (and, yes, this is an important part because some of my best ah-ha!s happen in the bathroom and I thought you should know that), it occurred to me what's actually going on. It's to do with which side of the brain we're predominantly using.

The masculine side of the brain is the LEFT hemisphere. It helps us perceive ourselves as a sovereign, separate entity from the rest of our creation. It's logical, handy with words and language and reasoning. Its awareness is very linear and time/space-oriented. It's a beautiful and important part of us. Its perception of oneself as being a unique individual allows our soul to have all these human experiences which is distilled into compassionate and joyful wisdom.

The feminine side of the brain is the RIGHT hemisphere, and it links us to our spirtual or divine facet--our soul. We intuitively feel and see our connection to everything that is, and divinity doesn't give a crap about time or space.

"My Stroke of Insight" author and brain research scientist, Jill Bolte Taylor, shared her story of having a stroke, a blood clot in the left hemisphere of her brain. Because of only being able to access her expansive, beyond time and space, right-brain hemisphere, she said she couldn't discern her arm or hand from the wall. It all blended together--she was EVERYTHING. (Google Jill Bolte Taylor, TED Talk, "My Stroke of Insight").

So here is why the stories I try to share out loud can get so convoluted and long: 

I am using the creative RIGHT BRAIN hemisphere, so I feel and see the connectedness of every aspect of a story. And I often only become aware of the importance of an aspect as I am telling my story. Even the simplest, often overlooked little tidbit suddenly becomes important because like a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle, every piece helps to create a whole-FEELING picture. Only, the pieces come together from different places in time and space--from the past, now, out of left field, within, without. Basically, I am channelling my soul--that pinpoint of awareness that "I exist!"--where time and space don't exist, where limited linearity is replaced by expansiveness. Getting to the point doesn't matter because I AM THE POINT.

Obviously, both genders have access to both brain hemispheres, but due to old customs and cultures, we often accept as our truth the suggestion that women are more right-brained intuitive, while men are more left-brained logical. We've practiced that suggestion for so many eons it's become one of those "this is just the way men are, and this is the way women are" beliefs. It's time to quit separating them, and recognize that we all NEED, and can access and utilize, both qualities--masculine and feminine/logical and intuitive. Practice being both to get the best of who you are.

Some people can talk circles around me, and, with just a few words, make even the most convoluted, twisted idea seem to make reasonable sense.When this happens, I walk away feeling like I'm not even going to try to share my ideas on the subject because I can feel they are certain their perspective is the only right one. I can feel the wall between us. They aren't seeking to connect--they are seeking to be right, no matter what the cost.

Writing words is a left-brained exercise which, in conjunction with my right-brain-inspired stories allows me to both more clearly and empathetically relate to all of you through story-telling. I'm done apologizing for my lack of speaking prowess. I'm so appreciative and honored by all who so compassionately allow me to express myself safely when I do speak. You are such a gift to me! I don't seek to drain your time or energy. I am simply reaching out to make a connection with each of you--parts of my world and creation that I find fascinating and wonderful. And with practice and a growing self-trust, I get better at being more succinct.