Grandma Millie

 

To Become a person like Gwen, it helps to have a Saint for a Mother, which in my opinion, she did.

Millie Lake was born to Prudence Matilda Smith and Lawrence Barnabas Lake, October 23, 1904, at Fairview, Idaho. She was the sixth  of eight children. She experienced many trials in her life, and handled them with a positive attitude as Mom says, with

Patience Personified, which is the title of the history Mom wrote about her.   It is easy to see that she passed down many of her wonderful traits down to her daughter Gwen.

From her history Millie tells this story. When I was about seven, my mother was away and Velma (sister) was caring for me and another girl. Velma lifted the girl to set her on a table.  When she set her on a leaf of the table it tipped and the kerosene lamp slid off the table.  The lamp hit my arm and exploded, spilling kerosene all over me.  The kerosene ignited into a ball of fire setting clothes and hair ablaze.  I ran out of the house terrified.  Velma caught me and put out the fire by throwing water on me out of the horse trough.  Her quick thinking saved my life.  When the doctor from Preston came and saw how badly I was burned he said my arm would have to be taken off.  My Dad said he would not let him cut off my arm.  In the little town of Lewiston, which is not far from Preston, was a Dr. Parkinson who had treated burn patients during the great Chicago fire.  Dad immediately sent for him.  He said there was a chance the arm could be saved.  Mother was to grate potatoes and make a poultice and completely cover my arm.  The poultice had to be changed often and the neighbors came to help grate potatoes.  The pain was terrible. 

I went to the doctor every day at first.  We usually rode the streetcar to Logan, but sometimes we took the white topped buggy.  As my arm healed we went less but I enjoyed the trips for about a year.  My hair all grew back except one spot over my left ear.  The tip of my ear never got a top on it and was always paper thin.  I was grateful that my hair was thick and the spot on the top of my ear never showed. 

My arm healed but it had shrunk and I could not bend my arm away from my upper body.  The therapy for that was to carry a bucket of rocks.  Every morning Mother  would take some goose oil on the tip of her fingers and insert it just a little into the bend of my elbow.  The arm had grown so close that at first she could only insert a little oil.  She worked to keep the skin soft.  I carried a bucket of rocks, tied to my hand, every day all summer.  Gradually my arm straightened and I had complete use of it.  My badly scarred arm was never a problem.  I just wore long sleeved-dresses.