When I was a year old, we moved to Abiff, Tenn. This was just a railroad stop, and grocery store, probably a schoolhouse too. We were forty miles from Nashville, and fifteen miles from Bon Aqua Springs. G’pa [Levi Henry Dysinger] had a brother, Uncle Ike [Isaac Luke Dysinger, grandsons of Jacob Dysinger], and a [first] cousin, Clint [Clinton O. Dysinger, also a grandson of Jacob Dysinger], they both lived near the area we moved to. They had been writing to G’pa and coaxing him to move south, G’pa had arthritis real bad, and he had one leg shorter than the other. He had a history of broken bones, and this one time his leg was broken, and smashed up badly, that the Dr. told him he would have to amputate, G’pa tried to talk him out of it, but the Dr. went back to get tools. G’pa had G’ma get his shotgun, and laid it on the bed with him. The Dr. returned, and G’pa told him to set his leg, and to fix it up the best he could. The Dr. refused, but G’pa held his gun on him, and said if he tried to saw his leg off that he would be a dead man. So the Dr. did the best he could, and G’pa recovered, and had a limp the rest of his life, but he said it was much better than a peg leg.

You never wanted to underestimate G’pa, whenever he made his mind up, that was it. He farmed our acerage, helped Mama with anything she needed done, worked at the shop helping Dad, and always had time for us kids. He pulled his own teeth, he would heat a wire in the forge, get it red hot, then kill the nerve in the tooth that was aching, then use a pair of pliers on it. Sometimes he worked on one tooth for two or more days, but he always got it out in one piece. One time G’ma said they should quit drinking so much coffee, so G’pa said why don't we just quit. So for two days, no coffee, the third day G’pa smelled coffee, he said I thought we were quitting, G’ma said she just couldn't, so she kept on, but G’pa never drank another cup, he drank tea from then on.

Now to get back to moving to Tenn. The first few years I was too young to remember. However I have heard about it often. We all traveled on the train, people, furniture, and all of Dad’s equipment. [About 500 miles, costing around $10 per person plus freight]

Clint meet us at the station, and took us back to his farm, his wife’s name was Callie, and they had several children, but I can only remember the name of the youngest, Helen, she was my age. I guess we stayed with them, for a few days. Dad rented a house not far from there, and soon had us moved, and he also rented a shop, it was right across from the railroad tracks. Soon he had a business going. As soon as we were all settled, Dad bought some land with a barn on, but no house. So G’pa and Dad worked every spare moment, until they had a real nice house. He also built us an outside toilet, a two-holer, they were called. None of the neighbors had an outhouse, so Dad got a lot of extra work, building outhouses. When asked how they got along without an outhouse, they told us the men used the outdoors, and the women chamber pots.

I remember the smell of freshly baked pies, we would pick the berries, and Mama did the baking, she could make the best pie crust, it almost melted in your mouth. There were dewberries, something like the blackberries, in Mich., except they were larger, and grew on the ground, a lot easier to pick than the tall ones in the north. Especially if you was a kid.

I don’t know how long we lived there in that house, maybe two or three years, but someone came along and offered Dad such a good price, that he didn’t turn it down, so we moved again. We rented a farm about five miles from Abiff, called the Gray farm. This house was a lot different from any we had ever lived in before. In the front was two large rooms, divided by a huge fire place, it was open on both sides, so heated the living room, on one side, and a bedroom on the other. Then at the back of the living room, a door opened onto a long porch. There were four doors opening off of the porch, the first led to a large kitchen and dining room, the next three doors led to bedrooms. No one room had access to another, without going back onto the porch.

Another great feature of this place was springs, we didn't have to pump water, there was a cold spring up by the house, and back farther were hot springs, nice to bathe in, also G’ma and Mama would load their wash tubs, dirty clothes, and wash board in the wheelbarrow barrel, and wash the clothes right there, the water was just like soft rain water. They always made their own soap too, all winter they saved every bit of fat drippings, they would strain these drippings, then use them to make soap. They had a large iron kettle, this was set on three large stones, then a fire built under it, first wood ashes and water were cooked together, and boiled down, this made the lye. Then the lye and fat and possible water were boiled down, when it was thick enough, it was poured into molds, and left to harden. I think that made about a year’s soap. After you scrubbed a batch of clothes with this soap, you were lucky to have any skin left on your knuckles.

While we lived on the Gray farm, G’pa raised sugarcane. It grew ten feet tall, and when it was ripe, he cut it down, and ground the cane up, and made molasses. He set up a grinder in the yard, then laid a wagon wheel flat on top. He then hitched a horse up to the wheel, he let one of us kids drive the horse around and around, and G’pa fed the cane into the grinder. Then he put it through a press to extract the juice. He strained it, and then built a fire under the old iron kettle, he stirred and cooked until it was as thick as he wanted it. It was called sorghum molasses. We used it on pancakes, and made cakes, and cookies. G’ma was the cookie maker of the family, she made the best rolled out sugar and molasses cookies, they always stayed so nice and soft. I watched her make them many times, but I never could make them turn out like she could.

Mama always baked bread on Monday morning, usually enough to last all week. She also made a large pan of rolls, she called these light bread biscuits. She would put a large pot of navy beans on to cook, for lunch we would have bean soup, and rolls, fresh out of the oven, with home made butter, this was a meal fit for a king. One of our neighbors was so impressed with the bread, she asked Mama to teach her how. So Mama showed her how, even gave her a start of yeast. When she saw her again, Mama asked her how her bread came out, she said the bread tasted good, but she had an awful time mixing, and kneading it. When Mama asked why, she said she just couldn’t get the hang of using her left hand to do everything with. We all had a good laugh over this. Mama and three of us girls were all left-handed.

We must have lived there a year or two, then G’pa wanted to move again. He was helped along by Mama, Barb had been having sores all over her arms and legs. Mama tried her home remedies, but nothing seemed to help. She finally took her to a Dr., he told us to take her to a different climate. I want to say here, that Mama raised seven children, and we had most of the deseases children normally have, and you could count on your one hand, the times she had to call a Dr. G’ma had been corresponding with her sister and brother, they lived in Michigan, about fifteen miles north of Clare [see Dover below]. So after much discussion, everyone decided that’s where we would move. Dad made it clear, that this would be our last move.

Before we leave Tenn., I will tell you what little I remember about it. There were all kinds of beautiful flowers, and trees, black walnut, hickory nut, and pecans, also loads of fruit trees, the one I liked best, was the persimmon, the fruit, when ripe was so sweet and juicy, but if not real ripe your mouth would be so puckered up, you wouldn't believe it.

Clint wanted to build a barn, they always made the sides and ends, then had a barn raising. Everyone in the area, came and helped, men, women and children. The women cooked, the men put the barn up, and the kids played, and watched. I loved to watch the men work. Everyone had a good time, like a party.

Our G’pa, never did anything wrong, not in the eyes of us kids. He always had time to tell a story, and always had a nickel in his pocket for us. He never used tobacco, never used liquer, and was our idol. However he did like to play a joke on someone, once in a while. When the men were called into dinner, a man in front of G’pa laid a cub of tobacco on top of a fence post, intending to chew it again, after he ate. G’pa threw it away, and put a fresh hunk of hen manure, in its place. When the man came back out, we were all watching, he grabbed up the tobacco, slapped it in his mouth, and made a run for the horse tank. He was so mad, he looked like he would have a stroke. He spent the afternoon trying to find out who was to blame. G’pa even offered to help him find the culprit. Good old G’pa, always helping someone out.

G’pa’s brother, Uncle Ike, lived farther out in the country, than we did. He had a large horse farm, and a large family. His children were all grown, but most of them still lived at home. His house was different, there was a covered patio, with the living quarters on one side, and the bedrooms all on the other end. All the rooms were heated by fireplaces.

To get back to moving again. Dad was in trouble, he planned on shipping everything on the train, so he sold off all of the livestock, and whatever else we didn’t want to move. But when he wanted to sell the team and wagon, G’pa put his foot down, he didn’t want to sell them, he said he would drive them north. Well, they argued for a few days, but G’pa won out. So Dad began to make the wagon into a covered one. First he extended the sides, he put a twenty inch board on each side of the wagon, this made the wagon about twenty inches deep, and forty inches wider. Then he bought canvas and made the covered top. He also made flaps for the front and back, they tied on the inside, so they could be closed and fastened at night. Then he put a small laundry stove on a corner in the back. This was used to cook on. He put springs and mattress on top of the front of the wagon, this was so he and G’pa would have a place to sleep, because he wouldn’t let G’pa go alone. When G’ma heard this, she decided to go along, to cook for them. We had a large collie dog, Barb and Esther’s pet, so as long as the wagon was going they wanted to take the dog, and they would go along and take care of it. That left mama, Ethel and me, Mama was about 5 months pregnant, so Dad wanted her to take the train, but the trip sounded like a lot of fun, so she coaxed Dad into letting us all go. So Dad put a mattress under the other bed, and in late March or early April, we started out. All of us kids were small, Esther was 10, Barb 8, I was six, and Ethel was two, G’ma never was very large, so with two kids in the front, and G’ma and another in the back, we all slept well enough. We all walked all the way, except G’pa, and at night we probably were all so tired, we could have slept outdoors, and we never would have known the difference.

On the first day, we crossed a small stream, it was so swift that we had to hold onto a rope, or we would have not been able to stay on our feet. None of the streams had bridges, you just waded across, and drove the horses and wagon right through the water. I have often wondered where our clothes, and groceries were stored, but I guess they must have found a place somewhere. At that time stores and towns were few and far between. But we never went hungry. I wish I would have asked a lot more questions, while my folks were alive. Esther did keep a journal, she kept track of where we stayed every night, and how many miles we made that day, and all of the interesting things we saw, but a lot of years had passed, and she lost track of it. We usually made between fifteen and twenty miles a day, all depending on the weather. [At fifteen to twenty miles a day, this trip of 650 miles would have taken longer than a month]

A few times some men tried to hold us up, but Dad and G’pa slept up front, and they always had a loaded shotgun, and a rifle laying between them. I think Dad slept with one eye open, because no one ever succeeded in robbing us. I am sure Dad had every cent he had on his person. I don't remember him to ever use a bank. Later on when I was in my early teens he had me keep his books, and order his supplies, he gave me the money, and I got a money order from the mailman.

That trip was an experience for all of us, and we enjoyed every minute. One night we camped along the road, there was a large brick home, it was setting way back from the road. After we had eaten, several men came out, it was home for disabled war veterans. They kept us entertained all evening. One man had a peg leg, so G’pa had to tell how he almost ended up with one. G’pa did enjoy the evenings, and the visiting. We had always had homemade butter, but I suppose the amount we brought along was all used up, because when we came to the next store, Mama bought some oleo. We had fun with this new concoction. It looked just like lard, but there was a coloring capsule in the package. You were supposed to mix this yellow coloring in the white stuff. Well, we were limited to the amount of utensils, I suppose just the bare necessary things were brought. So we didn't have a mixing bowl, or paddle. We ended up with white oleo on our bread. 

One afternoon we came to a large river, we had to be ferried across, and the wind was so strong, they refused to make another trip that day. So we made camp on the bank, and there was quite a slant, so Dad had to put blocks under the wheels. We were near a large city, [possibly Indianapolis, Indiana] Dad went and inquired, and there was a train going out, so Dad came back and told Mama he had tickets to Coldwater, Michigan. And wanted her and Ethel and I to leave that evening. Mama hadn't been feeling very well, so we packed and left. I didn’t want to go, but no one paid any attention to anything I said. Soon after the train pulled out, a man came through with a basket of ham sandwiches, Mama bought us each one, and I don't think anything ever tasted so good. We must have left before we had supper.

Mother had a good friend living in Coldwater, and she had written and told her we would stop. She was an artist, and always had an easel set up, she worked on her painting whenever she had a spare moment. I can remember an older lady living with her, and she had a son about fifteen. He had curly red hair and freckles. But I don’t remember seeing a husband. I loved to watch her paint, a few days after we arrived, was my seventh birthday, she gave me a bag of hickory nuts, and told me if I would crack some nutmeats, she would bake me a hickory nut cake, for my birthday. Mama always made a strawberry shortcake for my birthday, while we lived in Tenn., the first picking of the season. My mother was a very good cook, the pie crust she made would melt in your mouth, between Mama and G’ma we fared very well, as any of our family can testify. They always said it was because they had so much practice.

We had been in Coldwater for a week or so, when the rest of the family caught up with us. I don’t know how long we stayed, before we left for Uncle George’s, probably long enough to give the horses a good rest. One day Harold took us girls for a walk, back to a lake on their property, we were all bare footed, and before we had gone very far, we found out what thistles were, evidently that was the first time we had seen any. We finally started on the last legs of our journey, I don’t know if Mama, Ethel and I, went with the wagon, or if we took the train, but I think we went with the rest, because I think I can remember arriving at Uncle Georges. He and his wife (Aunt Rose), had three sons, Verlin, Russell, and Grant, later on they had one more son named Paul. He is the only one alive today. They made us very welcome, but they had a very small house, so Dad rented a farm house, just around the corner, and as soon as he collected our furniture and his tools from Clare, we moved in, and Dad started up his business in a small garage on Uncle George’s property.

We wasn’t there long, when Mama gave birth to their first son, Walter Franklin was born on July 16, 1921. Dad and G’pa weren’t the only ones excited, even the dog came up to the porch, she howled and howled. Quite an exciting day. 

We were out of the mainstream of traffic, and Dad wasn’t making a living, so he started looking for a different place to locate. He finally found a house, barn, and eight acres of land, this was in a place called Dover. [Wikipedia lists Dover as a historical settlement in the northeast part of Grant Township]

It was six miles closer to Clare, was on four corners, had a grocery store, schoolhouse (see below), and church. It was a much better location, so we bought it, and moved in. Dad soon had a blacksmith shop built, and a much better business going. The house was very large, a large kitchen and dining room, parlor, and two bedrooms down stairs, and loads of room upstairs. We also had a good sized orchard. We used to take a salt shaker, and climb up in an apple tree, and end up with a stomach ache. The house is still there, and better looking than ever, it part stone, and part wood. Whenever we go up that way, we go past the old place, we had a lot of good memories there.

All us kids went to grade school there in Dover, a one room schoolhouse [photos above are the actual schoolhouse], one teacher to teach twenty five or more students, all eight grades. The teacher drove about twelve miles each way every day [possibly from Beaverton, approx. 12 miles away], and probable made from fifteen to twenty-five dollars a month. Doris and Jean were both born in Dover, and started school there, when the tractors and trucks became more plentiful, and horses and wagons less in use, Dad’s business went down hill, until he was forced to close the shop. He moved to Flint, and started working for Chevrolet, he continued working there until his death.

note- Following Jessie's timeline, in 1915 her mother and father moved their family with two children by train from Ohio to a Tennessee farm. They built a new house, then sold it, and rented another house nearby. They had a third child and moved again. This time, they traveled 650 miles north by horse and wagon from Tennessee to another farm in Michigan and had two more children. Finally, Jessie's parents moved once more to Flint, Michigan, so her father could work in an automobile factory. Sadly, he died in 1942 at 54 years old, 27 years later, half his lifetime.

Esther married Chick Williams, he worked in Clare as a mechanic. They had four children, Mary Lou, John, Kathy and Eddie. Esther lived in Clare the rest of their lives. Their children all live near Clare, or in the vicinity. Barbara married Herbert Myers, they had three children, the first one Elmer Jay, died with pneumonia, he was only nine months old. Then Verna Lee was born, then Alfres Lewis, or Buddie, his nickname. They lived on his Dad’s farm for a few years, then in the Flint area. I married Gerald Myers, we had one child, Betty Jean. We lived in Flint, Vernon, Lansing, Mecosta and Bradenton, Fla. I am now living in Eden Prairie, Mn.

Ethel married Dorsey Davis, they had four children, Dorsey Lee, Mary (Sis), and Ruth Ann. Their other child Jerry Ross, died in infancy. They lived in Merril, and Flint. Walter married Betty, I can't remember her maiden name. Walter did his part in keeping the Dysinger name going, he and Betty had nine children, all boys. However they only raised six of them. I don't know if I can name all of them, but will try. Richard was first, then the twins, they died of pneumonia, I don’t think they were a year old. Then (not in order), was Wayne, William, Robert, Stuart and Donald. Doris married Donald Heath, they had one son, Jeffory. They lived in the Flint, and Clio area until they retired, then they bought a home on Big John Brown lake, it was connected to Horsehead lake by a channel. We lived on Horsehead lake (Mecosta County), and were real pleased, this was the closest I had ever lived to any of my sisters.

Jean married Jimmy Heiple, they had four children, Joy Ann, Michael, Marie, and Jimmy. They lived in the Flint area, all of the children still do. Jean moved to Beaverton, after she retired. Out of the seven Dysinger children, only three are still living, Barb, Jean and me. And none of us are spring chickens.

One time Dad had a model A ford, he took Mama on a camping trip, they went up across the straights, to fish, they had a tent to live in, they meet a whole tribe of Indians they were from Oklahoma, they were wealthy, from oil wells. They enjoyed fishing with Dad. So next year, on their way north they camped in our front yard. There were lots of cars, and trucks with supplies. They took Mama and Dad north with them. The head man liked Dad so well, that he offered to move us to Oklahoma, buy us a big house, and said Dad never would have to work again. But Dad turned him down. One of the young men, fell for Esther, she was probably fourteen then. We had a good time teasing her, about how much money she was turning down. That was the only time they stopped at our place, but Dad would get a letter from them, once in a while.

note- These were likely Osage Nation Indians from Oklahoma. In the early 20th century, oil was discovered on their land and many Osage became wealthy through leasing fees generated by their oil shares. The "straights" Jesse mentioned were likely the Straits of Mackinac near Mackinaw City, and the Mackinac Bridge, some 200 miles north of Jesse's home in Dover. The Osage were a long way from home just to go fishing. Martin Scorsese’s 2023 movie Killers of the Flower Moon is based on the Osage people's story of 1920.

Not many young people can begin to imagine what it was like to earn a living and raise a family, back then. Dad and G’pa worked from morning till dark every day, except Sunday. The women Mama and G’ma did the same thing. Without phones, or electricity, or running water, washing machines, refrigerators, modern stoves, and thousands of other conveniences, that we take for granted.