Portion of the Tuesday, August 3, 2010, funeral service honoring Agnes Devone Salmon Derr as written by Nephew Rex Salmon and read by Grandson John Seymour:

The Dash Between the Dates:

          1912-2010

   Today we're honoring Agnes Salmon Derr, our mother, aunt, grandmother, counselor, and friend. There'll never be another woman to compare her to. What Gal! What a life! What a woman! What a lady! Three Cheers for Agnes!

   Agnes entered time on Earth in 1912 on the 23rd day of December.

   She left this world just 5 days ago on July 29, 2010.

   That's a span of 97 years, 7 months and 6 days. Almost a century. When she was born, William Howard Taft was president and she lived through the 17 presidents since.

   We know her beginning in 1912 and her ending in 2010, but what about the dash between the dates. The dash represents her long life of working, mothering, loving, and giving.

   So, let's open up the dash and see the real person, the one who started out in life named Agnes Devone Salmon in a farm home and ended up as Agnes in Grand Island, the widow of Elmer Derr, with 111 descendants.

   Agnes was born at home to Thomas and Lizzie Detamore Salmon, on Monday, Dec. 23, 1912. Her home for the first 15 years was on the farm southeast of Giltner. The Blue River ran through the pasture and near the house, providing fun times in the river with her little brother A F in the summer time and sliding on ice in the winter.

   Compared to 2010, life was totally different for a farm gal then. The farm had no running water, no electricity, no radio, no phone, and no automobiles at first. Horse and buggy took Agnes to town with her folks. She and A F either walked or rode horses to Dist. 12 school, where there was a corral, pasture, water tank, and a small barn.

   Today, one of Agnes' great grandchildren might wonder if life was worth living back at the turn of the 20th Century. What could they do for fun without cell phones, cable TV, computers, printers, electric lights, gas stove, indoor toilet, hot running water, air conditioning, or automobiles?

   The younger generations expect all of these conveniences as necessities for living, but Agnes enjoyed the basic life on the farm. All of today's modern electrical inventions were only dreams back then.

   Horses were the source of power on the farm then, not tractors. Trees provided wood for heating the cooking stove, the living room stove, and for making fence posts. Trees were also sawn to provide lumber for buildings.

   Agnes did have conveniences though as a young gal that her father and mother didn't. That's progress. Her father, Thomas, was born in 1871 in a log cabin that his father built along the Blue River. It was about three miles further downstream from where Agnes was born.

   Winter in the drafty log cabin was a big problem. Her father said he and his brothers slept in the loft and in the mornings had to shake snow off the buffalo hides. He said he saw Indians returning from war parties with other tribes, but they didn't bother the homesteaders. He told her that buffalo still roamed the southern Hamilton County area and were hunted for food and hides.

   When Thomas was a baby, his mother, Jean Rutherford Salmon, said an Indian stopped her as she was returning to the cabin from feeding the chickens. He asked to hold the baby. She was afraid to hand her firstborn over to him, but afraid not to. He said he would give her the pony he was leading. He held the baby for a while, then returned Thomas and handed her the lead to the pony.

   When Thomas' father, Alexander "Sandie" Franklin Salmon, returned home later in the day, he asked about the pony in the corral. She told her husband the fearful event and he said "In the morning, the pony will be gone. Sure enough, the next morning, he opened the door to look out and the pony was not there, but his other horses and cows were.

   Agnes' grandparents were homesteaders and suffered many hardships establishing life on the Nebraska Prairie. Sandie Salmon came to the Stockham area in 1869 with his two cousins and claimed his 160 acres under the Homestead Act next to his cousins' acreages. He spent most of the year sawing and hewing logs to make himself a cabin, and then returned to Wisconsin to marry his sweetheart, Jeanie Rutherford.

   Sandie had settled in Verona, Madison County, Wisconsin in 1856, when he arrived as a 16-year-old from Dundee, Scotland. He worked for John Rutherford clearing trees to make farmland and gained in two important factors: he learned how to cut trees to construct his cabin and he met and married the boss' daughter, Jean.

   They were married Feb. 22, 1870, and they honeymooned in a covered wagon in the winter on its way to "no-where Nebraska" or so thought the bride's parents. It must have taken a lot of love and faith for the bride to leave a comfortable home for parts unknown, loaded down with many hardships required of pioneer living.

   The wagon was pulled by two oxen and they had a cow in tow for milk and for the start of a herd. There were no Motel 6 then, no roads, no signs pointing out the direction to Stockham, and no bridges. They traveled for about three weeks, crossing the Missouri River on a ferry boat at Falls City. Only the canvas top separated them from the freezing cold and blowing snow. The front and the back openings weren't exactly wind proof either.

   But Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Franklin Salmon survived the trip and in a few years, they built a two-story house and had 7 children to prove their love.

   This pioneer heritage is what provided the strength for Agnes in her lifetime. Her father told her about the struggles of life in early Nebraska, which had become a state in 1867 -- four years before her father was born. Swarms of grasshoppers clouded the sun and ate up their crops several straight years.

   Agnes' mother, Lizzie Hannah Detamore Miller Salmon, was also the great granddaughter of Giltner pioneers John and Nancy Huffman Detamore. Agnes' mother was born in 1881 in Champaign County, Illinois, and came to Nebraska in 1883 with her family.

   Agnes learned from her parents what was necessary to set up house and to run a farm. When time came she was prepared to strike out on her own.

   She'd been 15 for a week when she married a good-looking dude named Elmer Clarence Derr, whom she had met at a home dance. They celebrated their 68th wedding anniversary in 1990, the year Elmer died.

   For entertainment back then, neighbors would take furniture and rug out of the front room, and presto! A dance floor often came with live music somehow. They enjoyed themselves despite the lack of money. Elmer came from the Blue Hill area and lived then on a farm southwest of Giltner with his parents, John and Nellie Fooken Deer.

   The newlyweds got hitched in Smith Center, Kansas, on January 4, 1928, and they lived with the Derrs at first. Elmer was farming with his father and a brother John.

   She lived through the Great Depression and the Dust Bowl in the 30s when rain would not fall and the crops burned up. Russian thistles somehow found enough water to grow and were often the only green spots in a field. Life was very difficult and coins were tough to come by, let alone a dollar bill.

   Day after day for weeks the hot summer sun would beat the life out of plants, animals, and people. Through the years they lived at two farms 3 miles east of Giltner and then moved to the edge of Giltner for a little "city life" when Elmer's occupation turned from farming to custom combine operator. He would leave in the spring with his crew, starting harvesting wheat in Texas, and working his way up to Montana and Canada as the grain would ripen. When the children were grown, she'd take trips to the harvest fields to drive trucks to the elevators, and of course, for some loving time! She admitted the latter under strong questioning about 40 years later.

   The 4 children who entered their world were Eugene Elmer Derr, born Dec. 2, 1928; Nadean Agnes Derr Seymour, born Nov. 27, 1930, Robert Edward Derr, born June 4, 1936, and Lynda Rae Derr Garver, born Dec. 23, 1947, on her mother's birthday. Her son Gene died April 24, 2008, in Aurora. She said children aren't supposed to die before parents, and she took it very hard. She said Gene often called her late at night so she kept a phone by her bed. He would talk for hours sometimes and end the conversation with "Good Night, Mom." This one night he ended with "Good-bye, Mother." At the time Agnes thought this was unusual because he always had called her "mom." A few hours later she got a call from the care center telling her that her firstborn son Eugene was gone.

   Her four children have given her 111 descendants. That's not a typo. That's 11 over 100. She kept up with the names and birthdates mostly, but when it got down to great-great-great grandchildren, what's a woman to do? She never saw some of her descendants.

   Until a little over a month ago, Agnes lived in the house that her husband bought for her in 1947. For years, she'd been saying that she wanted to stay in the house as long as she could. She realized that wish and when told that she'd have to go to a care center, she requested a bed with a window. At her home at 1212 W. Anna, she had a big window by her big chair and she kept track of the weather and watched the traffic flow by.

   So, we've only seen a small snapshot of the dash between the dates belonging to our beloved Agnes.

   But, who really was this great charming woman? What was she like? Her personality?

   She was a warm and loving person. She had a big heart and expanded it far beyond her own family. Her heart had an open door.

   She was very patient and didn't expect life to be handed to her on a platter.

   On the farm, she milked cows, separated the milk, slopped the hogs, raised vegetables and canned them, while cooking, sewing and making a home for her family. She was active in the Bingville Community Club for about 50 years.

   Agnes lived to serve. She would offer her help and then provide advice if asked. She wasn't pushy. Up until recently, she kept up with the news events of the nation and the world. She would log daily in her diary who phones, what happened, who visited, and whatever else was on her mind.

   She had a fast smile and immediately made you feel at home. She wasn't one to gossip, but was very concerned about health of her children, nephews and nieces, and grandchildren. She was a joy to be around.

   Her mind was on auto rewind. She loved to talk with older people about events of the past 80 years or so, and did it with enthusiasm. She also told the truth and if she couldn't say something nice about a person, she'd move on.

   The last time nephew Rex Salmon phoned her at the St. Francis care center, she said she was tired. He said, "Well, you don't have to milk the cows tonight. I'll do it for you." She said "Thanks, I couldn't do it any more." The past 20 years he reminded her "to keep breathing." She always said, "I'm trying." She lived 20 years beyond her husband and brother A F Salmon, who both died in 1990.

   What a treasure this extended life has been for those who have been around Agnes. She loved to listen to DJ Josh Salmon on her radio and he'd stop in to watch "Jeopardy" with her, and bring something to eat. He lived next door to her. She called Grandson Bill Derr her "right-hand man."

   We know that Agnes asked Jesus to forgive her and accept her, so at the end she was looking forward to ending this long life, which had become very painful. She was used to hardships, but at 97, peace is better. Grandson John Seymour said "it's a difficult time, but grandma is at peace, and that helps me cope with it."

   She went peacefully and now we pause to thank God for our loved one. We're better because she passed through our lives, and that she gave us her love. What more could we ask?

   Daughter Lynda reminds that her mother's favorite expression was "Tomorrow will be a better day!"" For her it is. For us who mourn at this time, keep looking on the bright side of life. That's where she lived. That's what she wants for us! Share her love with others.

   The sun will probably rise tomorrow just like it has for Agnes the past 97-plus years.

   Life will go on. Summer will end, then fall, winter, and spring will happen again. But at this time as we publicly pay our last respects, it seems like the bottom has fallen out of our lives. She lives now with each of us in our memory and as she said "Tomorrow will be a better day!" Believe it.

   Thank you, a dear heart named Agnes, for sharing your life with us. God Bless You.

   Good-bye for this time.

   We'll meet again. Tomorrow will be a better day!