Mary was the daughter of Stephen Elmer Allen Jr (1869-1957), and Emma Stagg (1878-1900). Sadly, her mother died when she was only 1 year old. She was then adopted by Frank and Clara Huston; though she kept in touch with her Allen family through her life.
My grandmother, Mary M Thrash was a very talented person. She was President of the Verse Writers Guild Of Ohio three times, and wrote numerous poems. She was a self taught painter, and painted many different paintings of horses, cats, landscapes, and religious subjects. And she had very strong opinions on certain subjects. She was against the death penalty, and was an early crusader for equal pay for women, and against high taxes. In a letter published many years ago she wrote:
"We have a supposed minimum wage of 75 cents an hour, and yet women young and old, are working in establishments in some of the large capital cities and doing very hard, exhausting work for less than 50 cents an hour. When their husbands are working and they themselves claim no exemption, how much do you think they have left with which to feed inflation ? Please consider a concrete example: A woman works 48 hours at 50 cents an hour for which she earns $24. How much is left after taxes ? $18.74. Do you not think that being underpaid and overtaxed is wrecking the economy of the nation's people, squeezing the last cent from those thrifty folks who believe in saving to take care of themselves-people who do not want or desire charity, but want only the right to work and earn their living but which living is so high nothing is left over to save ?"
Here are some of her poems
The Birthday Quilt
Dear Aunt:
The secret of your sweetness lies - At least it gets its start-
Within the gentle faith and prayer, That fill your loving heart.
Just like your loving thoughtfulness, You sent me for a birthday gift
A quilt all pieced with floral stars, To give my lonely heart a lift.
You thought you could not write a verse - But making quilts is artistry-
And every teeny-tiny stitch, Will always speak to me
And when my spirits sink, dear Aunt, as they are sometimes bound to do,
Ill wrap myself in quilted stars, and send my loving thoughts to you.
The Old Home
O, Poor dear house, if I should live, As many years upon the earth,
As you have sat in patience there, And witnessed death as well as birth,
I wonder if I'll know neglect, And have to watch in silent pain
For those I long ago have loved, yet know my vigil is in vain.
Like Scraggly beard and unkept hair, Dank weeds and snaggy trees abound
Where mother used to plant sweet flowers, And children's feet caressed the ground
Your poor old roof is much awry, Once friendly doors now hang askew,
Your windows now have broken panes, Where prowling cats crawl freely through.
But I will not reject, dear house, Some mead of loneliness and ill,
Since of the cup of happiness With You, my heart has drunk its fill.
And if a life of usefulness, has been our happy lot,
We'll meet old age with joy, dear house, Nor care if we are old or not.
My favorite is a tribute to her Father-In-Law, Ervin Albert Thrash, she fondly called "Pops"
The Farmer Rests
The cows moo low in the barn-lot, The kittens sit near the back door,
The chickens wonder what's happened, That Pop doesn't feed them once more
The puppies whine sadly together, The farmhouse mourns in the sun
The flowers droop in the garden, When August's hot days are done
But Pop's toil-worn hands are folded, He's taking a long needed rest,
Perhaps when he has found Grandma, He'll find at the end of his quest
A land of beauty and sunshine, Together once more, their heavenly hours
Will be an unending contentment, With berries and beautiful flowers.
And clasping hands with Freddie's, Grandma will pass the short happy hours,
Until those left behind will join them, When earth' life passes so fast,
And dear ones will joyfully greet them, and all be united at last.
A couple of her paintings are in the attached pictures.
My grandmother, Mary M Thrash was a very talented person. She was President of the Verse Writers Guild Of Ohio three times, and wrote numerous poems. She was a self taught painter, and painted many different paintings of horses, cats, landscapes, and religious subjects. And she had very strong opinions on certain subjects. She was against the death penalty, and was an early crusader for equal pay for women, and against high taxes. In a letter published many years ago she wrote:
"We have a supposed minimum wage of 75 cents an hour, and yet women young and old, are working in establishments in some of the large capital cities and doing very hard, exhausting work for less than 50 cents an hour. When their husbands are working and they themselves claim no exemption, how much do you think they have left with which to feed inflation ? Please consider a concrete example: A woman works 48 hours at 50 cents an hour for which she earns $24. How much is left after taxes ? $18.74. Do you not think that being underpaid and overtaxed is wrecking the economy of the nation's people, squeezing the last cent from those thrifty folks who believe in saving to take care of themselves-people who do not want or desire charity, but want only the right to work and earn their living but which living is so high nothing is left over to save ?"
Here are some of her poems
The Birthday Quilt
Dear Aunt:
The secret of your sweetness lies - At least it gets its start-
Within the gentle faith and prayer, That fill your loving heart.
Just like your loving thoughtfulness, You sent me for a birthday gift
A quilt all pieced with floral stars, To give my lonely heart a lift.
You thought you could not write a verse - But making quilts is artistry-
And every teeny-tiny stitch, Will always speak to me
And when my spirits sink, dear Aunt, as they are sometimes bound to do,
Ill wrap myself in quilted stars, and send my loving thoughts to you.
The Old Home
O, Poor dear house, if I should live, As many years upon the earth,
As you have sat in patience there, And witnessed death as well as birth,
I wonder if I'll know neglect, And have to watch in silent pain
For those I long ago have loved, yet know my vigil is in vain.
Like Scraggly beard and unkept hair, Dank weeds and snaggy trees abound
Where mother used to plant sweet flowers, And children's feet caressed the ground
Your poor old roof is much awry, Once friendly doors now hang askew,
Your windows now have broken panes, Where prowling cats crawl freely through.
But I will not reject, dear house, Some mead of loneliness and ill,
Since of the cup of happiness With You, my heart has drunk its fill.
And if a life of usefulness, has been our happy lot,
We'll meet old age with joy, dear house, Nor care if we are old or not.
My favorite is a tribute to her Father-In-Law, Ervin Albert Thrash, she fondly called "Pops"
The Farmer Rests
The cows moo low in the barn-lot, The kittens sit near the back door,
The chickens wonder what's happened, That Pop doesn't feed them once more
The puppies whine sadly together, The farmhouse mourns in the sun
The flowers droop in the garden, When August's hot days are done
But Pop's toil-worn hands are folded, He's taking a long needed rest,
Perhaps when he has found Grandma, He'll find at the end of his quest
A land of beauty and sunshine, Together once more, their heavenly hours
Will be an unending contentment, With berries and beautiful flowers.
And clasping hands with Freddie's, Grandma will pass the short happy hours,
Until those left behind will join them, When earth' life passes so fast,
And dear ones will joyfully greet them, and all be united at last.
A couple of her paintings are in the attached pictures.
Mary was the daughter of Stephen Elmer Allen Jr (1869-1957), and Emma Stagg (1878-1900). Sadly, her mother died when she was only 1 year old. She was then adopted by Frank and Clara Huston; though she kept in touch with her Allen family through her life.
My grandmother, Mary M Thrash was a very talented person. She was President of the Verse Writers Guild Of Ohio three times, and wrote numerous poems. She was a self taught painter, and painted many different paintings of horses, cats, landscapes, and religious subjects. And she had very strong opinions on certain subjects. She was against the death penalty, and was an early crusader for equal pay for women, and against high taxes. In a letter published many years ago she wrote:
"We have a supposed minimum wage of 75 cents an hour, and yet women young and old, are working in establishments in some of the large capital cities and doing very hard, exhausting work for less than 50 cents an hour. When their husbands are working and they themselves claim no exemption, how much do you think they have left with which to feed inflation ? Please consider a concrete example: A woman works 48 hours at 50 cents an hour for which she earns $24. How much is left after taxes ? $18.74. Do you not think that being underpaid and overtaxed is wrecking the economy of the nation's people, squeezing the last cent from those thrifty folks who believe in saving to take care of themselves-people who do not want or desire charity, but want only the right to work and earn their living but which living is so high nothing is left over to save ?"
Here are some of her poems
The Birthday Quilt
Dear Aunt:
The secret of your sweetness lies - At least it gets its start-
Within the gentle faith and prayer, That fill your loving heart.
Just like your loving thoughtfulness, You sent me for a birthday gift
A quilt all pieced with floral stars, To give my lonely heart a lift.
You thought you could not write a verse - But making quilts is artistry-
And every teeny-tiny stitch, Will always speak to me
And when my spirits sink, dear Aunt, as they are sometimes bound to do,
Ill wrap myself in quilted stars, and send my loving thoughts to you.
The Old Home
O, Poor dear house, if I should live, As many years upon the earth,
As you have sat in patience there, And witnessed death as well as birth,
I wonder if I'll know neglect, And have to watch in silent pain
For those I long ago have loved, yet know my vigil is in vain.
Like Scraggly beard and unkept hair, Dank weeds and snaggy trees abound
Where mother used to plant sweet flowers, And children's feet caressed the ground
Your poor old roof is much awry, Once friendly doors now hang askew,
Your windows now have broken panes, Where prowling cats crawl freely through.
But I will not reject, dear house, Some mead of loneliness and ill,
Since of the cup of happiness With You, my heart has drunk its fill.
And if a life of usefulness, has been our happy lot,
We'll meet old age with joy, dear house, Nor care if we are old or not.
My favorite is a tribute to her Father-In-Law, Ervin Albert Thrash, she fondly called "Pops"
The Farmer Rests
The cows moo low in the barn-lot, The kittens sit near the back door,
The chickens wonder what's happened, That Pop doesn't feed them once more
The puppies whine sadly together, The farmhouse mourns in the sun
The flowers droop in the garden, When August's hot days are done
But Pop's toil-worn hands are folded, He's taking a long needed rest,
Perhaps when he has found Grandma, He'll find at the end of his quest
A land of beauty and sunshine, Together once more, their heavenly hours
Will be an unending contentment, With berries and beautiful flowers.
And clasping hands with Freddie's, Grandma will pass the short happy hours,
Until those left behind will join them, When earth' life passes so fast,
And dear ones will joyfully greet them, and all be united at last.
A couple of her paintings are in the attached pictures.
My grandmother, Mary M Thrash was a very talented person. She was President of the Verse Writers Guild Of Ohio three times, and wrote numerous poems. She was a self taught painter, and painted many different paintings of horses, cats, landscapes, and religious subjects. And she had very strong opinions on certain subjects. She was against the death penalty, and was an early crusader for equal pay for women, and against high taxes. In a letter published many years ago she wrote:
"We have a supposed minimum wage of 75 cents an hour, and yet women young and old, are working in establishments in some of the large capital cities and doing very hard, exhausting work for less than 50 cents an hour. When their husbands are working and they themselves claim no exemption, how much do you think they have left with which to feed inflation ? Please consider a concrete example: A woman works 48 hours at 50 cents an hour for which she earns $24. How much is left after taxes ? $18.74. Do you not think that being underpaid and overtaxed is wrecking the economy of the nation's people, squeezing the last cent from those thrifty folks who believe in saving to take care of themselves-people who do not want or desire charity, but want only the right to work and earn their living but which living is so high nothing is left over to save ?"
Here are some of her poems
The Birthday Quilt
Dear Aunt:
The secret of your sweetness lies - At least it gets its start-
Within the gentle faith and prayer, That fill your loving heart.
Just like your loving thoughtfulness, You sent me for a birthday gift
A quilt all pieced with floral stars, To give my lonely heart a lift.
You thought you could not write a verse - But making quilts is artistry-
And every teeny-tiny stitch, Will always speak to me
And when my spirits sink, dear Aunt, as they are sometimes bound to do,
Ill wrap myself in quilted stars, and send my loving thoughts to you.
The Old Home
O, Poor dear house, if I should live, As many years upon the earth,
As you have sat in patience there, And witnessed death as well as birth,
I wonder if I'll know neglect, And have to watch in silent pain
For those I long ago have loved, yet know my vigil is in vain.
Like Scraggly beard and unkept hair, Dank weeds and snaggy trees abound
Where mother used to plant sweet flowers, And children's feet caressed the ground
Your poor old roof is much awry, Once friendly doors now hang askew,
Your windows now have broken panes, Where prowling cats crawl freely through.
But I will not reject, dear house, Some mead of loneliness and ill,
Since of the cup of happiness With You, my heart has drunk its fill.
And if a life of usefulness, has been our happy lot,
We'll meet old age with joy, dear house, Nor care if we are old or not.
My favorite is a tribute to her Father-In-Law, Ervin Albert Thrash, she fondly called "Pops"
The Farmer Rests
The cows moo low in the barn-lot, The kittens sit near the back door,
The chickens wonder what's happened, That Pop doesn't feed them once more
The puppies whine sadly together, The farmhouse mourns in the sun
The flowers droop in the garden, When August's hot days are done
But Pop's toil-worn hands are folded, He's taking a long needed rest,
Perhaps when he has found Grandma, He'll find at the end of his quest
A land of beauty and sunshine, Together once more, their heavenly hours
Will be an unending contentment, With berries and beautiful flowers.
And clasping hands with Freddie's, Grandma will pass the short happy hours,
Until those left behind will join them, When earth' life passes so fast,
And dear ones will joyfully greet them, and all be united at last.
A couple of her paintings are in the attached pictures.
Gravesite Details
There is no headstone but they were one of the last buried at Salem as they are near or in the front row.
Family Members
Spouse
