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Fern’s Restaurant

431 State Street

John Levi Alderson (July 1, 1884 – August 23 1964) was the owner. He was Fern Nona’s father. He was a partner in the Stringer Dairy until late 1940 or early 1941 when he went on his own, leasing the Clarence Nesbit Farm (I don’t know where that was). He retired in 1949.”

From Lois Hill Titus

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Obituary

Fern N. Meyer, 85, of Weiser, died Monday, Jan. 30, 1995, in a Weiser hospital of natural causes.

Funeral services will be held at 2:30 p.m. today at Thomason Funeral Chapel, Weiser. Burial will follow in Hillcrest Cemetery, Weiser.

Fern was born June 20, 1909, at Cass Township, Clayton County, Iowa, near the town of Strawberry Point, a daughter of John L. and Emma Jane Stringer Alderson. She attended grade school and high school in Strawberry Point, graduating in 1927.

She married Elbert D. Meyer in 1931 at Elgin, III., where the family had moved. After their marriage the couple lived in Chicago, III., where her husband was a printer. After visiting relatives in the West they decided to move to the West in 1934. Her parents had Modern Dairy in Weiser, and she helped them on the farm before going to work at Metropole Cafe for John Fagerstedt.

In 1947, she started her own cafe called Fern’s “Meet Me At Ferns.” She operated the cafe for about 20 years. Pies were her specialty, and after retiring she continued to bake pies, cakes and rolls for weddings, birthdays and special occasions.

The last three years she had been in Weiser Rehabilitation Center.

Survivors include a niece, Jackie J. Fretwell of Boise; two nieces, Jean Suzanne Duran of Los Angeles, Calif., and Carol Kay Tate of North Powder, Ore.; a nephew, John Hartsock of Los Angeles; several grandnieces and nephews; and numerous great-grandnieces and nephews. She was preceded in death by her husband, her parents and two sisters.

From The Idaho Statesman – Friday, February 03, 1995

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Fern Nona (Alderson) Meyer

I befriended her about 40 years ago, initially because she was the spitting image of my step grandmother. Same jet black hair to the end and similar personality. Fern shared some of her personal/family history in Donnelly and Weiser, gave me a case of her creamers, a large wrought iron archway that she couldn’t recall picking up, and a large antique, multi-drawer glass display case stand (absent the glass display) out in her garage. Sure would have loved to know what became of her late ’40’s Buick.

But perhaps the most astonishing thing she shared, was the interior of her home. OMG. Anyone who entered would know what I’m about to describe. The rooms in her home were smallish to start with, but absolutely packed to the gills with stuff she had collected over time. Her kitchen was no exception. The range had so many pots and pans stacked on top, only one burner was accessible and there was a maze of things which hung from above. Her living room was like an archeological pit. Furniture lined the outside walls all around. When she ran out of room, she began another ring of furniture in front, touching what lined the outside and making the outer ring inaccessible. Of course, that filled up pretty quickly, so there was a third ring of furniture which left just a small open space in the middle with two or three chairs, accessed by a narrow pathway.

Now some might think I’m describing a hoarder (a term which hits a little to close to home for me). I respectfully disagree! She was a “collector” of the highest order. Everything was organized, clean (even her stove top), neat and tidy, without a hint of dust that I recall. To this day, I still see her sitting on her stoop as I’d ride by and wave.

Weiser has been blessed with more than our share of kookie, quirky, and lovable personalities because it was a safe haven for them. We knew them and looked out for them, helped them get home, or at least got out of their way. I miss the heart and compassion that was more visible in past years. Things here seem a little more like everywhere else these days. When was the last time a stranger waved at you from their car window when meeting at an intersection? RIP Fern!

From Tony Edmonson

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