The country mud road would be improved and the telephone line extended to our place if we cleared small trees from the north side of the road.
My father, O.D. Meyers, advised, loaned money and worked from dawn till dusk to help Chub bring this neglected farm back into production.
We fell in love with our 160 acres. Many friends, relatives and neighbors helped Chub build our home. In time, we had a gravel road, and the school bus transported Nancy and Walt, but the Columbia telephone line had not yet reached us.
Nancy enjoyed helping Chub work with the bees, but he went alone on this pleasant Sunday afternoon. Suddenly, Chub came to the house mumbling, "Stung. Bad. Get cold rags." He headed for the back bedroom trying to unbutton his shirt. I drew cold water, grabbed washcloths and followed him to the bed.
"Iíd better go call Dr. Baker," I said.
"Be too late," Chub mumbled.
I told Nancy to bring cold water and washcloths and whispered to Walt, "Take off Chubís shoes and socks."
We three rubbed and watched silently as red hives slowly appeared on Chubís back and sides. His tongue was huge and darker colored, and he could hardly speak. I put pillows around his back and kept him sitting upright to improve his breathing.
"Rub," I said to the kids as we saw red hives appearing on his sides with a few on his front.
"Rub!" Chub begged as I bathed his back and chest. Neither child spoke a word. Nancy was bathing one foot and leg, and Walt worked with the other.
At that moment, I wasnít at all sure that Chub would survive. He was very ill, and we were two miles from a telephone and 12 miles from the doctor. I couldnít forget that Chubís Uncle Archie, age 80, had said, "Honeybees can kill a horse."
I have no idea how long the children and I worked with Chub that Sunday afternoon. Nancy and Walt knew how serious this was and that they had been extremely important in what finally seemed to be the beginning of Chubís recovery, but neither youngster said a word. Finally I said, "Youíve both been great helpers today! Stay in the house, and Iíll call you if we need you again." Speechless, they tiptoed out of the room.
Chub squirmed a little and tried to talk but couldnít. Instead, he forced his tongue out of his mouth to show me its deep tooth marks on both the top side and the bottom. By that I knew that the tongueís swelling was starting to go down and that we were on the right track with his care. Nothing was certain.
His eyes looked better, and I felt, for the first time that afternoon, that this was not a fatal attack. James Baker saw Chub early Monday morning. He gave him antibiotics, nine to take immediately in case of sting of any bee, wasp, etc., and said, "Buy several of these cards - one for home, work, truck, etc., and follow directions, for the sting of any bee, wasp, hornet, etc."
Chub took them only one other time for a wasp sting. We never knew of another reaction like Chubís - or a horseís!