LAKE COUNTY — Winifred Anderson Minden lived by what she learned at the Burns Valley School when it was a one-room schoolhouse and her teacher picked up her and other students to go to class.
There she learned from her teacher, Minnie Noel, about more than just reading, writing and math. Winifred learned about “Can”t”s” grave, a cluster of daffodils planted in the shape of a grave, where Minnie would take the students to tell them “Can”t” is dead.
“Once in awhile when our complaining over some task got too loud, she would march us all out to stand in a circle around ?Can”t”s” grave where she lectured us on our defeatist attitude and admonished us that, ?There was no such word as can”t, can”t is dead, never say can”t,”” Winifred wrote in an article about the schoolhouse.
Winifred died March 9 in Austin, Texas at the age of 97.
She was part of the Anderson family who lived on the ranch that became Anderson Marsh State Historic Park in the 80s, her daughter Loris Henderson said. Winifred was born in Lakeport, went to Burns Valley School, went to the Bay Area for high school and came back to Lake County in 1969, living on the lake until 2003.
Loris said her mother was fair and kind, like Winifred described her teacher.
“She was always very positive and encouraging,” Loris said. “She made us think we could do anything we set our minds to. She was a wonderful mom.”
Winifred passed on the well-rounded education from Minnie to her children, including music, physical fitness, government and more, Loris said.
“I think some of the best years she had in school were riding to the Burns Valley School in an old school car and going to school with her cousins,” Loris said.
Loris thinks her mother was part of “one of the finest generations,” she said.
“They supported their country at war, they worked hard, didn”t expect handouts, were generous, honest and well-rounded individuals without all of what we perceive as benefits ? technology, fancy schools, sports programs ? and did all of this in a one-room schoolhouse.”
Winifred wrote an article about the schoolhouse, which can be read on this page.
“When I”m in that part of the country and drive down the old road it always gives me a strange feeling to see buildings where the old schoolhouse used to be and I wonder if anyone ever accidentally dug up the bulbs on “Can”t”s grave or wondered about a little cluster of daffodils coming up through the dust.”
Contact Katy Sweeny at kdsweeny@gmail.com or call her directly at 263-5636, ext. 37.
One-room schoolhouse Written by Winifred Anderson Minden
For some of us it is a long way back to grade school days and even further for us who remember the one-room schoolhouse with one teacher to fill all capacities. Minnie Noel was such a teacher and although she has been laid to rest for many years, it seems to me that many of her ideas would have fit in with the general ideas of today. She taught us so much more than the 3 ? R”s. Her curriculum included physical fitness, drama, voice, and her own particular brand of psychology ? sprinkled in with any other bits of information she felt would be of benefit to us.
Mrs. Noel lived with her husband in a large two-story house in the small country town of Lower Lake. Her first name must have been Minerva, but Minnie was all we ever heard her called. My first recollection of her was visiting there with my mother before I was old enough for school. At that time my greatest impression of her was that she possessed a very strange and unusual looking basket made from the shell of an armadillo, the tail forming the handle. This was an intriguing and mysterious object for a country child who had never been anywhere and a visit to her home was always high on my list of things to do.
The school she taught was about 5 miles out of town in a rural community and she drove back and forth every day in her large “touring car” which she turned into the school bus for along the way she would pick up children. By the time we arrived and sometimes in bad weather, the old car was packed and we had to sit on each other”s laps.
This bus service she performed cheerfully, without question and without extra pay. The only requirement was that we had to behave, if we didn”t want to walk. There was a lean-to
in back of the school where she parked. On wet or frosty mornings it was the older boy”s chore to help her get the fire started in the huge pot bellied stove, which stood near the center of the room.
Mrs. Noel would ring the bell that was attached to a long rope in the bell tower to alert nearby students that school was about to start. While we were waiting for a little warmth to take off the chill, Mrs. Noel would spread a large blanket on the floor and we would take turns, two or three at a time, doing our sitting up exercises ? a two fold purpose ? to strengthen our muscles and help to keep us warm. Then to our desks, after the pledge to the flags, which were placed in two rows ? one on each side of the room by a row of windows. In the center of the room was the teacher”s chair and a long “recital” bench where the different grades were called to when it was time to recite their lessons. There were from one to three or four students per grade.
The day went according to carefully planned schedule with regular recesses and lunch periods, a hand bell calling us back to class. Mrs. Noel was a strict, no nonsense teacher, with a whack on the hand with a ruler for those who got too carried away with giggles or orneriness. She was also extremely fair, quick to praise and a good sense of humor in spite of her stern appearance. There was no favoritism. She knew personally almost all of the parents of her students, but if she considered some of them her special friends, their children were never aware of it in class. Whether we lived in a run-down shack or a comfortable prosperous ranch house, it was her responsibility to teach us the most that she could get us to absorb in the best way she knew how.
In the front of the room was a small stage where we (the entire school) put on plays for special occasions ? sometimes for our own entertainment and sometimes for our families. These were always produced and directed by Mrs. Noel. Our costumes were fashioned at home out of old lace curtains or other odds and ends, but it was serious business and we all tried hard to memorize our parts. Music had a large place too. In one corner was an ancient organ that had to be pumped by foot pedals. Mrs. Noel played well and although her voice would never have made the Metropolitan Opera it had a true key and an unusual quality that I can still hear in my mind. She would gather us around the old organ and lead us in song no matter how wobbly or off key we sang.
She fascinated us by rattling off the names of the presidents from memory. We asked to hear her so many times that most of their names in sequence stuck in my mind and several years later in an
American History class in high school I silently thanked her since it paved the way for a 100-percent grade on a test paper on presidents. She had another favorite and that was her impatience with the word “can”t”.
Years before some ambitious person had planted a flowerbed of bulbs in the otherwise bare and dusty schoolyard, and it happened to be in the shape of a small grave. Mrs. Noel had dubbed this “Can”t”s” grave and every once in awhile when our complaining over some task got too loud, she would march us all out to stand in a circle around “Can”t”s” grave where she lectured us on our defeatist attitude and admonished us that there was no such word as can”t, can”t is dead, never say can”t. It became a joke, but somehow deep down I imagine we all felt a little better and more willing to try after our sessions. Perhaps we still do when we think of her.
Mrs. Noel never had any children of her own and after years of teaching she retired and she and her husband sold their large house and moved to a smaller one on the shores of Clear Lake. It was a beautiful, peaceful spot and my cousin and I visited her there a few times when we came home. She was always so pleased to see us and we had a great time exchanging bits of information about old friends or our current activities over some home made refreshment.
The old school is gone now too. The land was cleared and they built a new school with the same name, but with classrooms and more teachers and in a different location. When I”m in that part of the country and drive down the old road it always gives me a strange feeling to see buildings where the old school house used to be and I wonder if anyone ever accidentally dug up the bulbs on “Can”t”s grave or wondered about a little cluster of daffodils coming up through the dust.
There were many fine and wonderful teachers in our one room schools and probably still in some places, with many exciting or inspiring tales to be told of them, but this is my memory of Minnie Noel ? teacher extraordinary to me.
