Ernie Hammer is a long time Kiowa County Press contributor. This story is written by Ernie’s Aunt Liz, Elizabeth Katherine (Hammer) Smith Benatti, based on her memories and family research. The story begins in Germany with Oswald Hammer and Margarethe Marie von Barsewisch, Liz’s parents. Liz passed away at the age of 104. She was living at the Kohart Home in Kit Carson at the time of her death. Part 29 can be read here.

Ma’s Final Years

It happened during that part of the August day when the bright sun sent its slanting rays piercing into exposed surfaces as if to condemn it as something vile or unnatural.  Unnatural it was, too.  It exposed the surface of the twisted face of a ninety year old lady; she was spread helplessly over the ground with one leg in an unnatural angle.  So unnatural was the position of the leg it surely must be a broken hip.

Mrs. Hammer had made one of her frequent trips to her garden patch.  The small garden was fenced with a type of farm fencing to keep small animals out of the vegetable garden.  The stucco cottage with its lean-to screened porch was a small cottage placed in the southwest corner of the big ranch yard.  Mrs. Hammer asked that this cottage be built when she left her own big ranch house on the homestead seventeen miles east of Colorado Springs on the Drennan Road.  This IH ranch was the last acreage added to the original one hundred sixty acres of the homestead improved on in 1907.  In this circle of buildings used by the ranch were the horse corrals, barns and sheds for cattle and a few feed lots near the windmill and two big water tanks.

This August day that she had walked into the hot sun was from habit.  It helped her pass the lonely days.  She peered across the yard to see if her daughter, Gertrude, was in sight at a window or doorway of the ranch house.  Then she continued around the corner of the stucco cottage.  There, scratching at the tomato plants was the leghorn pet hen.  The dirt was flying into the air.  Mrs. Hammer “shooed” and waved the broomstick cane.  The old hen rested a moment, blinked her eye and returned to her vigorous scratching.  Then Grandmother Hammer stepped close and with a swish of the stick, made a swipe almost hitting the fluffed-up feathers.  Again the swipe of the broom handle swung by the hen, hitting a mound of dirt and the tall feathers.  With a squawk of alarm, the hen fled up the path towards the open garden gate, just as she had done so many times before.  Suddenly, an unexpected whirlwind slammed the gate shut before the hen could escape.  With a cackle of distress and surprise, the old leghorn, half flying and half running, turned towards the fence corner.  Ma flung the stick at the troubled hen.  The stick fell with a thud.  Mrs. Hammer fell in a heap as she lost her balance.  She had twisted to throw the broomstick and down she went.

Helpless as she was, she began to pray, “His purpose will ripen fast, unfolding every hour.  The bud may be bitter, but sweet will be the flower.”  Then she heard voices.  The voices were ever closer, closer came the fearful voices.  She recognized Henry, Will, and Gertrude with the teary voice. 

Henry searched for a makeshift door for a litter.  Gertrude got the wet towels.  Soon they had the litter and patient in the station wagon.  Henry drove and Gertrude and William knelt on either side of the litter door.  As they neared the hospital, Mrs. Hammer said, “Oh my, will I have to stay in the hospital?”

Henry stifled a sob and said, “Gee, I sure hope so.  You’ll get to see Pikes Peak every day.”  The bitterness has ended for Mother Hammer.  Yes, Henry was right.  There was Pikes Peak seeming to say, “I’m here for you.”  

Next week – Ma’s Final Years (continued) 

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