Childhood Recollections of Lincoln, Montana

My grandfather, Alfred Briscoe, raised his family in Cascade, Montana. He served as mayor from 1920 to 1923 and postmaster until 1936, and owned the Briscoe Mercantile Co. After his wife Minna died he married Pearl, the only grandmother I ever knew. That added more relatives to our family. Pearl's daughter, Mae Weiderhold, had property in Lincoln called Dreamland Lodge and wanted Grandma and Grandpa to move there as they grew older. So, at age 72, Grandpa built a beautifully hand crafted two-story log home for he and Grandma Pearl. It was in a spacious wooded area, close to two small cabins already there.

My first memory of Lincoln was winter of 1944. I was five and a half. The home my parents built in Great Falls had sold quickly that summer. They packed most of our household belongings into a large trailer and were hauling it to Lincoln for storage until spring. Part way up the old steep winding dirt road the snow and ice was so bad my dad had to unhitch the trailer and leave it parked on a wide turnout. We made it the last few miles to Lincoln in our 1939 Plymouth coupe.

Snowed in for the winter, we lived in the nice middle cabin, next to my grandparent's big house. It was a very cozy place, and my parents maintained it well. Dad even made a covered cushioned seat next to the fireplace with a hidden potty inside so I didn't have to use the outhouse in freezing winter.

The far cabin to the left was where Mae's son Moritz, his wife Virginia, and their four children lived. To my delight the oldest was a girl, Sharon, less than a year younger than me. Now, we each had a playmate with the same grandparents. That winter the frozen banks of snow were four feet high in places. I remember standing up on one, able to touch the lower roof edge of our cabin. I also recall mom bringing in frozen long underwear off the clothesline to thaw.

Christmas came. Grandma and Grandpa had a fresh cut tree in the big house and we ate dinner on the long dining table lit by kerosene lamps. It was a few years yet before electricity and indoor plumbing came to Lincoln. There was a pump in the kitchen sink and grandma cooked on a big wood stove. She heated andirons on it and water for washing. Mom bathed me in a large galvanized tub near the stove where it was toasty warm. I was still small enough to fit in it.

The presents Santa brought me were two candy canes, an orange, and a child's folding chair. Mom told me years later they were the only things for a child in the small general store four miles away. Getting supplies in winter was hard, and it was war time. It seemed like we had a lot because there was family all around us and plenty of homemade Christmas goodies.

Spring finally arrived. Sharon and I carefully gathered eggs from under warm chickens in the coop, enjoyed our tall swing under the pine trees, and often caught a wild rabbit in the wood pile to show our grandma before letting it go. The woodpile was near grandma's vegetable garden at the back of the big house so it was easy finding rabbits nearby.

I remember salt blocks and a well-kept barn with cows, where Grandpa helped Mae with the milking. The brick milk house was in back. There were always big canisters of fresh milk, thick cream for our cereal, and hand churned buttermilk. East of the far cabin there was a fenced in area with a large bull. Sharon and I did not go near there.

The cows were let out mornings to graze. Aunt Mae rode horseback as she herded them in for the night. I loved the soft jangling sound of cowbells as the cows came home from pasture in the evening. In the years when mothers wore house dresses Mae was the first woman I ever saw who wore blue jeans, boots, and a denim jacket. It also impressed me that she rode a horse.

Mae was good to us kids. One time she took Sharon and me to a field by the woods and gathered mushrooms. She knew how to pick the safe ones and taught us never, ever to pick them by ourselves. Then she fried them in butter on the wood stove in the big house. They were the best I ever ate.

At a certain time in spring Sharon and I sat on a little bridge over the dry creek bed and eagerly waited for Mae to· open flood gates that let river water flow in. We giggled when our bare toes touched the rushing water coming through. For a child, home life was good in Lincoln.

My parents finally bought a home in Great Falls and were able to haul the trailer off the ledge. The winter dampness had caused small cracks on my large.baby doll's face. I kept her for several years anyway, though I didn't play with dolls much. One of Mae's husbands had made little booties out of rabbit fur for the doll. I treasured them and still have them today.

Another year I remember visiting over Halloween. Bonnie, another cousin, was also there. My creative, resourceful mother didn't have any pumpkins so she hollowed out oranges. Mom carefully carved out tiny faces, lit them with birthday candles, and placed one by each dinner plate that evening. With the lamps lit they were an impressive glowing sight on grandpa's long table and delighted everyone.

Grandma Pearl always kept the downstairs extremely hot in fall and winter and the upstairs icy cold. When no-one was looking I'd often open the door at the bottom of the stairs to let some of the heat go up for a few minutes until she caught on.

When I was eleven we had a family reunion at Lincoln. Uncle Joe, my dad's brother, also brought his wife and children to visit grandpa and grandma. We had great fun playing hide and seek around the barn. Lincoln was always a home of happy gatherings with blended families.

Visiting in summer was wonderful. I slept in my special place at the top of the stairs, snuggled under handmade quilts, in a twin bed by a wide window overlooking the yard. At night the soft breezes whistling through tall pine trees had a magical sound, and when the moon shone bright I could see our swing in the stillness below. In later years grandpa's roll top desk sat stored away in the loft, where the bed once was.

For years his treasured desk, which he had as postmaster in Cascade, had been in a comer of the living room, with an array of photos of all the grandchildren on it ... his and grandma's as a combined family. He treasured every one, as did Pearl. I have a photo of all of us in frames there on the desk.

In December 1951 grandpa Briscoe passed away. I was twelve and it was a sad time. The following spring the family gathered in the living room so grandma could distribute grandpa's belongings to anyone who wanted them. No one asked for his French horn. I told grandma of my interest in it and she kindly gave it to me. I treasured it for many years. His desk remained in the home for a long time.

In the mid 1970s my mom and my two sons, Dmitri and Jason Michas, made a trip to Montana and stopped at the family home in Lincoln. Mae's grandson Jerry, who was Sharon's brother, was living in the far cabin on the property with his son Mike. They were very gracious and showed us through grandpa and grandma's now empty house. The original oak wall phone was gone and the pump in the kitchen sink had long since been replaced by modern plumbing. I remember when a hall closet was converted to an indoor bathroom.

In 2008 a friend of mine stopped at Lincoln and was greeted warmly by Jerry's son Mike and another boy. Bob told them my grandfather had built the big house, and took photos of them on the porch.

I went back to Lincoln in September 2016, and again July of 2017, happy to see the town thriving with so many businesses and cheerful residents. Unfortunately, grandpa and grandma's house sits totally empty now and the beautiful hardwood floor has severe water damage. The garden is long gone. I feel deeply saddened seeing the once loved family home sitting like a lone sentinel that is no longer cared for. The middle cabin too has suffered ravages of time. Mike still lives in the far cabin that his dad grew up in, and has made nice additions to that dwelling.

I spent many happy occasions in Lincoln, with the only grandparents I ever knew. The big well-built house felt just as much like home to me as our first house once did in Great Falls. I live in another home now in Spokane that my father also built. He learned the art of good craftsmanship from his father Alfred. It would be wonderful if someone could save and restore that very special two-story house and put it to good use for family and the community.