Missouri Life October 2023

MY MISSOURI LIFE

Ice Capades Over the River “YOU SLIDE OVER BY THE DOOR WITH SAM AND GET A HOLD OF THE HANDLE. IF I SAY JUMP, YOU JUMP OUT QUICK.” This is what my dad said to me as his eyes were glued to the rearview mirror. He was trying to steer a two-ton cattle truck loaded with stock cows, and it was sliding backward on ice down a steep incline toward the narrow Knisely bridge high above the Grand River. Sam was a border collie and the best cow dog we ever had while I was growing up, and he was already hugging the door. He knew something was wrong. This was back in the ’70s, after land for the Truman Lake had been taken by eminent domain but before the lake filled with water. I remember loud and long discussions about eminent domain and how it wasn’t right that so many farmers were losing their land for a lake whose main purpose seemed to be recreational. At least, that’s what I recall hearing from the adults discussing it. My grandparents and uncle lived near this river. After the government took the land, some of it was rented back out to farmers. It would be years before the water reached part of the land. My father, being a practical farmer, took advantage of the opportunity to rent land. He baled hay, stacked it there, and then put cows on some of the acreage. That’s where we were headed, to “the Dorsey Place” as it was called, on that cold, icy day. I enjoyed visiting that farm and have pleasant memories of it. The house had been knocked down, but flowers still bloomed. We picked cherries from a tree in a little orchard near where the yard would have been. My mom draped old, leaky water hoses through the branches in an effort to mimic snakes and keep the birds from getting all the cherries. Maybe it worked because we got enough cherries to make several of the best-tasting pies I’ve ever had. (I made so many pies growing up, I still remember the crust recipe for two pies: 3 cups flour, 1 cup lard, and 1 / 3 cup cold water, plus a few tablespoons more if needed to get the right consistency.) Many people lost their land. Some may have been

happy to take the money and run, but I suspect most agonized over leaving their land—at least this farm girl knows my heart would break if someone decided they needed our farm and used eminent domain to get the land. I wonder about the Dorseys, the other farmers, their memories, whether time has softened the pain, and whether any are still alive. That’s the thing about time. It can change our per ceptions. I remember the anger about eminent domain. Once the lake filled, though, my uncle and my grand parents switched from fishing on the river to fishing on the lake. Then my father bought a boat, and I learned to water ski on the lake during my college years. We switched from stocking cows on land now at the bottom of the lake to my dad steering the boat, patiently circling around to get us aligned again, while he taught my four sisters and me to water ski. My mom would take the wheel, and he would ski some, too. I have happy memo ries of those Sunday picnics and afternoons on Truman Lake. (See our story about the lake on page 38.) And, Sam and I didn’t have to jump. My dad kept the truck centered on that icy road and then the bridge. He backed all the way across that bridge, then made the run again with more speed. He successfully got over the bridge and up to the top of the steep incline. Sam and I rode, hugging the door. We all learned to live with—and love—Truman Lake. My mom, Marcille Allen, posed on the bridge during my college days. We called it the Knisely Bridge, after a nearby rock quarry, but a Library of Congress photo named it the Surprise School Bridge. The school was also nearby.

DANITA ALLEN WOOD EDITORIAL DIRECTOR danita@missourilife.com

DANITA ALLEN WOOD

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