My Life on the Moody Ranch

"Breakfast is served in the rear dining car," the gruff voice came from the bottom of the stairway. My sisters and I looked at each other and smiled. That’s how Daddy always woke us. He had lots of sayings, and we couldn’t help but wake up in a good mood, because he was always so cheerful. Three of us girls all slept in one bed—it was warmer that way. I had a twin sister, Betty Jo, my name is Norma Jean, and Jeanette was our younger sister by two years.

Our brother Gordon was two years younger than Jeanette, and he always slept in his bed in the hallway unless he had a bad dream. In that case, he’d bunk with one of the hired men in the other bedroom. When he was in his own bed, we’d wake him, which wasn’t an easy feat. He was the baby at that time and didn’t always want to get up, but if we ventured downstairs without him, we’d just have to go back and get him. There was no such thing as sleeping late in those days; everyone worked starting before dawn. Even two-year-olds had a few chores. No one was exempt.

When we opened the stairway door, a delicious wave of warm air from the pot-bellied stove greeted us, but best of all was the smell coming from the oven. Mom often baked homemade cinnamon rolls for our breakfast. Now these were not anything frozen or picked up at a fast-food place. We had no electricity or water in the house, and she started the bread at 4:00 a.m. By 7:30, the bread and rolls were in the oven, filling the house with that marvelous fragrance.

As we entered the kitchen we saw Mom frying sausage and making pancakes (our favorite). We always loved seeing the smile on her face; it was all the reassurance we needed. We never were a touchy, feely family, but us children never doubted we were loved from the day we came into the world. I wish everyone on the planet could share that cared-for feeling.

This day started like all the others: we had to get dressed before the hired men came in from doing their morning chores, feeding the animals in the corrals. We weren’t allowed at the table until we were fully dressed and our hair combed. We girls helped each other accomplish this task. Our next chore was to set the table for breakfast. Winter was a slow time of the year and we only had two hired men, so our family could all fit around the table together. We ate in silence. In those days, children were seen and not heard, that’s just the way things were. We answered if someone asked us a question. I suppose now people might call this child abuse and think it might cause problems down the line. The word I prefer is respect.

This was the typical morning at the ranch where I was born and raised in northwestern Nebraska.

The Moody ranch was a large sheep, cattle, and horse ranch where times were hard; work was constant, and love of family ever so great. My parents each came from a family of 10 children. So obviously they believed in large families. My mother was born, Caroline Wasserburger, in Orella, Nebraska, not very far from the ranch. She had 4 sisters and 5 brothers. They lived on a farm and she walked 3 miles to school with her siblings. Mom was able to attend school through eighth grade, and that was the end of her schooling. In that day and age people felt it was more important for young women to help at home with the younger brothers and sisters. Her life wasn’t easy; though she used to share stories about the many good times she had at home. As one of the middle children she was able to attend the dances that were the main form of entertainment. Her older brothers took her to most of them, and of course she was chaperoned closely until they became involved with their own activities. At one of these dances she met my dad.

My father, James T. Moody (we always called him Daddy) was born on the ranch where we lived, part of a family with 7 boys and 3 girls. They attended school on the ranch where the teacher lived with them. They helped at home much the way we did. Daddy was the oldest child. He and his brother Kenneth were the closest in age, and it was always said "what one of them didn’t think of the other would". Work or play, Daddy and Kenneth were always together, and they had a lot of fun—sometimes at the expense of others. My Grandmother used to say that when she hung clothes on the clothesline she’d tie Kenneth and Daddy to each end of the sofa so they wouldn’t get into trouble.