Sixty Years of California Song | Page 6

when the journey was ended, but we were made welcome
and comfortable by more pleasant faces and willing hands. The
parsonage was a large, barnlike-looking place, built partly of logs and
"shakes." There was one large room and two small ones adjoining and a
shed that extended the length of the house. In the large room was a fine,
spacious fireplace, into which had been rolled a large log and a bright
fire was blazing which sent a glow of warmth and lit up the logs and
rafters and the strips of white plaster, used to close up the cracks and
keep the warmth within the room. The floors were made of oak and
were white and clean. Several old-fashioned split-bottom chairs graced
the room, a long table was placed in the center, upon which was spread
a snow-white linen cloth of homespun, and woven by the women.
While the wraps were being removed the women had placed upon the
table the best that could be prepared for the pastor's welcome. I'll never
forget the delicious roast chicken; baked sweet potatoes, baked in the
ashes, for cook stoves were not known; the fine hot corn pone baked in
the Dutch oven, hot coals heaped upon the lid to brown and crisp; fresh
sweet butter, pickles, preserves. Generous loaves of bread, biscuit and
cake filled the pantries.

When father entered the room and saw the preparation that had been
made he was overcome with the tender hospitality of the women of his
new charge. He could not restrain his tears. As they all surrounded the
table, he raised his hands in prayer and besought God's blessing upon
the people and the charge he had once more accepted. The
congregation was scattered far and wide. Many miles separated the
neighbors and once a week was the only time when gatherings were
held. On the Sabbath the log church was filled with solemn, substantial
people, men and women in their homespun garments, healthy and
robust the men and rosy and buxom the women. Families came in their
conveyances, wagons, carts and old-style buggies; some came on foot,
others on horseback, when they did not own a wagon. Rain or shine,
the faithful assembled for two services. After the morning service the
families gathered and seated under the trees or in their wagons lunched
of the food brought along. A fire was built and a huge caldron of coffee
was made of parched wheat ground and boiled. Coffee in these days
was only for the rich who lived in the cities. Delicious cream and milk
was in abundance for all the younger people. After the noon repast the
children gathered for the Sunday school. The second service began at 3
o'clock and closed at 4. This work continued for seven years. During
that time the log church was replaced by a fine frame church large
enough to accommodate six or seven hundred worshipers.
During the years of this pastorate my oldest brother, Rev. Phillip Henry
Kroh, was graduated from the theological seminary in Ohio and had
returned an ordained minister. He was at once made an assistant by my
father, the field being too large for him.
In 1841 father returned from the eastern Synod with the sad tidings that
he had been appointed to go to Cincinnati, Ohio. We had lived so long
here, we expected it was to be our future home. We had a comfortable
house, a maple forest, gardens and stock, and the news came as a
severe blow to my poor mother. We had been so happy among the
fruits, flowers and country freedom, we were loath to give it up for the
city. It was with a sad heart that father parted from these good and
faithful people. The only balm for this separation was to leave brother
Phillip with them as his successor. He had become endeared to them

and had done such good work among the young, they prayed father to
leave him if the family must go.
After a journey of three weeks we arrived at the parsonage. The
congregation had purchased the old Texas church in the western
addition of the city, and the parsonage was attached to the church in the
rear. It was a comfortable place of six large rooms. The furniture had
preceded the family and everything looked homelike and comfortable,
so mother had not the sadness of coming to a bare, cheerless, empty
house. We were cordially greeted by the elders' wives and families, and
when we arrived dinner was upon the table for us. This welcome was
more homelike because of our own things having preceded us. And
then we were such a busy family that we had little time to waste in
repinings. We were all put in the harness--the