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Show HISTORY STORY AND poster contest winners of the Centci ville Historical Society are front row left to right. Janette Slater. Paul Warnock. Chris Wright and Brad Glad, art winners: and back row. limily Richards. Danielle Hiirch and Christine Smith, ninth grade essay winncre: and Ryan Pitt. Hmily Fisher and Stephanie Ste-phanie Baily. eighth grade essay winners. By VES HARRISON Wednesday evening. April 16. was a memorable one for a dozen students of the Centerville Junior High School as they were declared winners in ourCenterville Historical Society "Pioneer Poster-Story" contests. A GOOD size assemblage of Society members, students, parents pa-rents and friends gathered in the .Choral room of the school to witness wit-ness the awards, and warmly applaud ap-plaud the winners. Appreciation was expressed to the following for their assistance and cooperation in making the contests con-tests a success: Principal Kent Smith. Mrs. Elizabeth Stewart of the Art Department. Mrs. Diana Kcrschnerand Mrs. Linda Wells of the English Department: Vernon Carr of Carr Printing Company; Mark Shelline of Centerville McDonalds: Dolores and Sylvia Moss and officers of the Society who did much detail work and judged the entries. Also, thanks to Leone Parrish Fisher who made an appearance before the combined English classes and gave an excellent excel-lent account of Centerville history to get the contests off to a good start. IN THE afternoon we presented personalized "Certificates of Merit" to each student who entered en-tered either contest. It was disappointing dis-appointing that we received no entries en-tries in either contest from seventh seemed she didn't want to answer, but said. "Hurry, before they close for the evening." I didn't say anymore but ran to my room and got the favorite white apron 1 had received for my birthday birth-day and tied it around my waist. I wore it because it had a dainty pocket on the side which would hold the egg perfectly. All the way there I wondered what was so special spe-cial about canning with her today. Why did she give me the egg? As the sun started to set, golden shadows sha-dows reflected off Ford's Mountain. Moun-tain. And I caressed the egg. The air. sweet with just a slight hint of autumn, whispered underneath a gentle breeze. The egg felt so much larger than most. NEARLY IN a trance I entered the old wooden frame store. Immediately Im-mediately friendly Mr. Hastings came towards me. "How's my little lit-tle Miss Parker doing this afternoon?" after-noon?" he asked, his large red cheeks bouncing and eyes shining. "Oh. fine." I responded, hardly looking up. "Do I detect she's deeply in thought about something?" some-thing?" he asked. Slowly I slipped the reward out of my apron pocket. "That must be the golden egg!" he smiled. I didn't understand. "It is an egg." I said. "My mother gave it to me for helping her can peaches today. But I don't know why." "1 think I do." After reaching behind the old varnished counter he handed me a small package, wrapped in pink with a pink bow. much too large for the package. Then he spoke. "Earlier today I was instructed to exchange this package for that egg." Eagerly 1 made the exchange. Inside the wrapping 1 found a small white box. My fingers lifted the lid. revealing re-vealing something glimmering and gold. As I picked it up. a note tumbled tum-bled onto the worn but polished wooden floor. Picking it up. 1 read slowly. "My Dear Young Lady. May this heart necklace always remind re-mind you of my love. Every time you place it around your neck, think of it as a hug from me. Love. Your Mother." I WALKED home slowly, thinking think-ing of my mother and noticing small whirlwinds gathering dust and then relaxing. And where only minutes before I held so tightly an egg. now my hand clutched a very special heart-shaped necklace. Thoughts and whirlwinds continued, con-tinued, circling and circling, sort of egg shaped, like a necklace on a neck, as if hugs, as they had been and 1 hoped they always would be between mother and me. V LIFE ON OUR FARM By Emily Richards Our trusty rooster sang his routine alarm and immediately life sprang to the farm. Small children yawned inside a white, faded farmhouse farm-house and ornery animals stretched stretch-ed inside the big. red barn. Pa and little Charles trudged willingly to the friendly barn to do the regi lar chores while Nanni and I gathered the warm eggs. The chickens' loud clucking was a welcome sound. MA COOKED the eggs in the old frying pan and we all washed up for breakfast. A ceramic bowl with a tiny crack was filled with fresh water wa-ter from the well and served that purpose. Our family gathered around the humble old table to eat the tasty morning meal. There were golden fried eggs and smoked ham along with steaming corn bread from the oven. My six brothers and sisters (three of each) devoured the food and then hurriedly hur-riedly left so they wouldn't have to clean up. I. being the oldest of seven children, was stuck with the kitchen duties and I began the unwanted un-wanted task of washing dishes. I watched my little brothers and sisters tramp off to Centerville Elementary which is within walk ing distance. The weather was getting get-ting warmer and spring's happy song echoed through the air. Pa was out working hard in the fields, planting the wheat crop that would be essential this year. Last year a damaging flood wiped out the entire en-tire crop. I could imagine him plowing the damp earth and setting the seeds in place ever so carefully. My father always did his best, no matter the task. I HURRIEDLY stacked the clean dishes in the worn cupboard and went to shake the crumbs off ma's good white tablecloth. I noticed it was partly saturated w ith cow's milk. I decided to wash it quickly and then get ready for school. I pulled out the large wash-tub wash-tub and put the cloth in with some clean water. 1 hung it out to dry on the clothesline. A subtle wind danced with it and its white skirts fluttered. As I started to walk to school. I saw my pa running as if his pants were on lire. I turned back to find out why pa was so frantic. He rushed in the front door and panted. "What is wrong honey?" Ma looked up with bewilderment painted across her face. "What on earth is wrong? You hung the w hite cloth on the wash line!" pa repeated. repe-ated. MA J 1ST laughed and replied. "Why nothin' is wrong. Nelly hung the tablecloth out to dry. I'm sorry dear!" I was so embarrassed! I felt the hot red crawl up my face. I'd forgotten for-gotten that ma hung up the white cloth if anything w ent w rong. That way pa could see it and come in from the fields. I wanted to become an ostrich and put my head in a hole - and hibernate forever! I vowed to never do the wash again! Hut Ma had a definite difference of opinion! grade students, and only four entries en-tries in the poster contest -- two from each of the eighth and ninth grades. The story contest brought forth 30 entries from the eighth and 31 from the ninth grades. First place winners received personalized per-sonalized copies of "The City In-Between." In-Between." a hard-bound book on Centerville's history by Marilyn Sheriff and Mary Ellen Smoot. Second and third place winners were presented one-year memberships member-ships in the Centerville Historical .Society and six fOod-drink coupons, courtesy of the local McDonalds. The history books were donated by Carr Printing Co. POSTER contest winners, eighth grade. Janette Slater. 1st: Brad Glad. 2nd. Poster contest winners, 9th grade, Paul Warnock. 1st: Chris Wright. 2nd. STORY CONTEST winners. 8th grade. Ryan Pitt. 1st: Emily Fisher. 2nd: Stephanie Bailey. 3rd. Story contest winners. 9th grade. Christine Smith. 1st: Danielle Burch. 2nd: Emily Richards. 3rd. THE POSTERS were exhibited for the audience to view, and the six winning stories were read aloud by their authors and tape-recorded for the library of the Society. We print herewith three of the stories. THE EGG By Stephanie Bailey The hot sun rested upon my small shoulders as brown laced-up boots scuffed the worn dusty road. I gazed towards brush oak trees which were changing into brownish brow-nish winter coats on mountains poking unevenly into a blue sky blotched carelessly with mar-shmallow mar-shmallow clouds. Once home. I aimed straight for the kitchen where mother was standing by the black iron stove. Her brown hair was drawn back in a tii'h.t knot at the top of the neck. She smiled a "hello" and I could tell she was relieved to see me. I spoke my greeting then hurried into the lean-to lean-to bedroom which 1 shared with my two younger sisters. ONCE IN my work dress, which was one of only three dresses I owned. 1 slipped back into the kitchen. The sweet aroma of fresh peaches from our own trees filled the air. Mother and I talked and laughed while we peeled. I liked talking to her because she told me about when she was my age. of Centerville and friends and once-secret once-secret thoughts. After canning nearly a bushel of peaches and cleaning up. mother did something I considered very unusual. After reaching into her apron pocket she swiftly placed something oval and white into my just-wiped palm. It was a large beautiful egg. I stared at it for a moment, bewildered, bewil-dered, then back at her. She casually said, "Take it to the Centerville Cen-terville Co-op and get you some penny candy." I SMILED with excitement as usually I only got candy when we went to Salt Lake City on my birthday birth-day or Christmas. "Why, mother? Why an egg this time?" I asked. It |