Kate [Tribute and memories of Kate Austin, 1902]
There is a satisfaction in having known Kate. I call her Kate because she preferred to be called by her first name by everybody, and by this name she was known all over Cedar county by young and old. She liked the visits of comrades with whom she could exchange her ideas, hear new ideas and the various experiences from those who had been “kicked all over creation,” as she terms persecution and imprisonment by governments. Had she had the means, she would have invited to her hospitable home every comrade she had ever heard from; in fact, her hospitality knew no limits, and several times while questioning me about comrades she knew by name only, she remarked how nice it would be and how much more solidarity and satisfaction there would be if all would know each other personally. I suggested that this would in many cases cause more disappointment than joy, but she thought it worth while to have the experience.
The beautiful moonlight evenings I spent on the porch of the old farm house with Kate, her companion Sam, and her sister Isa, and the children, belong to a past which will never be forgotten. And the watermelon feasts:
Lo, upon his porch the farmer rests
From weary toil in summer’s heat;
But see, instead of Markham’s hoe
He holds a dagger in his hand,
Bent on assassination of a—
Watermelon.
Anyone who had been in the company of the Austin family once, desires to meet them again. While we can do so little for each other during life, what can we do for the one that has followed the countless army across the mythological river Styx? Nothing but to cherish the memory of the dear one departed from us so early. Those who were more or less acquainted with her privately may muse over this or that, over what she should have done and should not have done in order to be still among the living, but it is all in vain, for we all choose our own road to the same place, the grave. However, for the benefit of others I desire to state the following observations I made.
Consumptive people, especially while in the first stage of the disease, are inclined to think lightly of it and often neglect it; later on, when the disease becomes troublesome, they consult a doctor, then it is generally too late. Two years ago, Kate was advised to go to a more suitable climate, but did not go. Six months ago, when coughing and weakness increased on her, she consulted a well known and able doctor in the east, but this treatment by mail at a distance of over a thousand miles is something that seems to me, at least in such a case, irrational.
No matter how good and experienced a doctor may be, he can never treat and diagnose his patient at a distance as he can when he can see and observe his patient from day to day. And when at last she decided to go to Colorado, I argued with her in vain to take the railroad instead of going there in a covered wagon; she was not strong enough, but she insisted she was.
Then she took half an hour’s walk in the fresh morning air and smilingly tried to contradict my arguments by saying: “You see, I don’t feel tired at all!”
Poor Kate, we all sometimes like to deceive ourselves in strength and ability.
A lovely rose has faded away, a good and true comrade is resting.
CARL NOLD.
Free Society 7 December 1902 https://historicalseditions.noblogs.org/files/2023/04/Free-Society_9-49_7-December-1902.pdf via https://historicalseditions.noblogs.org/post/2023/05/01/free-society-and-the-firebrand-digitized-1895-1904/