SPRING - AND MARBLES
With spring in that my first year of high school, came a new activity at school--playing marbles. Robert, of course, had played marbles in his previous three years at high school, and was really skilled at the game. For me it was totally new. All the boys played at every opportunity. We ate our lunches on the run, in order to claim a good plot of ground in the school yard on which to play. Our only trouble was our Mom--not that she played marbles, but she ruled that we must not play for keeps! (Playing for keeps means that when you shot a marble out of the ring, you got to keep that marble. The only exception was that you couldn't claim your opponent's shooter.) Mom thought that was gambling, and we never could persuade her that it was a game of skill. Nearly all the boys would only play for keeps. There were a few other boys who would play without playing for keeps, so we still had fun. But the really "big league" players were not willing to play with us.
Actually, we played two different marbles games. One involved marking a ring in the dirt, each player putting a certain number of marbles in the ring. Then we took turns shooting until all had been knocked out of the ring. When it was your turn to shoot, you could keep shooting until you failed to get a marble out of the ring. We became pretty good at both long and close-up shots, and learned how to make our shooter glance off our target in such a way as to stop near the next "victim." It really was a game of skill. Sometimes if one got off to a good start, you could clear the ring without missing. Then you had a pocketful of marbles to use the next time you played.
The other marbles game was called "lagging," I think. One player would put down a marble on the sidewalk, as a target. Then the opponent would try to roll a marble from about six or eight feet away to strike the target marble. If he hit it, it became his, and he got to "lag" at another marble. The players changed places when one missed the target marble. Naturally, we used our poorest, chipped marbles to set up as targets, though we protested vigorously when our opponent did the same thing. The sidewalks around the school would be filled with these "bowling" games during the lunch hour,and sometimes before and after school. I'm not certain, but I suspect that the term "he has lost his marbles" originated from the experience of frustrated marbles players who had just lost their last marble, and did something senseless. I now confess that at times Robert and I did not obey our mother, and we, too, sometimes played for keeps. Although I lost a good many marbles while learning to play those games, I never lost ALL my marbles--at least I don't think so!
My brother Robert was graduated from high school that spring, the head of his class! Jean had another two years to go. Our little sister, Mary, was doing well, I think in the fourth grade. Dad ended his rural school teaching that spring, and began work for the Works Progress Administration, as a researcher and writer of Montana history. Mom took care of us all. Though that first year of high school was soon over, and summer was upon us, I shall always look back to the pleasures of that year. As I grew older, many things came into my life to cause worry and anxiety. That first year of high school was most pleasant because I was so free of any troubles. The next three years were not always like that!
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
STILL MORE ABOUT MY FIRST YEAR IN HIGH SCHOOL
Two things especially stand out in my memory of that first winter on the Burke place. First was the purchase of my first rifle! For years I had dreamed of the day when I could have my very own .22 rifle. I had spent many hours studying the rifles offered in the Montgomery Ward and Sears Roebuck catalogs. I knew the descriptions and prices of all the various makes of rifles by heart.
My big problem was that I had very little money. I had saved some of the money my teacher, Viola Woodard, had given me for doing so well in the county-wide exams in May. I had about four and half dollars to spend for a rifle. I finally made my decision, and sent off my very first mail order to Montgomery Ward, for a Western Field bolt action single shot rifle. It was the best one that I could afford, not nearly as good as I would have liked, but would be good enough, I was sure. In those days it took a week or more for an order to be shipped. You can imagine my intense excitement as I waited for it to come. I guess I should admit that my parents weren't nearly as excited about the whole matter as I was. They probably felt I didn't really need it, and should have used my money for something practical.
The package finally arrived! I can still remember opening the long box in which the rifle came, and tenderly taking it out, in pieces, of course. It didn't take long to get the parts put together, and to wipe out the barrel to make it ready to shoot. I had already purchased a box of shells, so was ready to use the rifle right away. Now I wouldn't have to ask permission to use the old worn-out .22 rifle any more; I had my own! Our dog, Laddie, seemed about as excited as I was.
It was probably the following Saturday--the first time I had free time for anything like going hunting-- that I took that rifle out to look for jack rabbits. There were rabbits around, but I quickly found that I had trouble hitting them! It took a bit of practice, and some adjustment of the sights, with Dad's help, to get that rifle to shoot where I was looking. But with that done, I became deadly with it, and shot many jack rabbits, some as far as one hundred yards away. Of course, the rifle had only simple open sights. Telescope sights were just then coming on the market, but were expensive, far beyond my financial reach.
The second important thing I recall about that first winter was learning to skate! We had never had opportunity for that before, but now we had a river right at our door. Relatives from Wisconsin had sent out some ancient clamp-on skates in various sizes for us, so that all of us--Robert, Jean, Mary and I--had skates we could use. All we needed to do was learn to use them.
You've never heard of clamp-on skates, have you? You haven't missed anything, believe me! But if you had nothing else, they could provide a lot of fun. Clamp-ons were made with a good thick runner, mounted on two metal soles. The skates were held on your shoes by clamps that were tightened onto the soles and heels of one's shoes with a key. Both ice skates and roller skates with such clamps were common in those days. The big drawback to clamp skates was that the clamps would often come loose. Just when you were flying along, one skate might leave you, or trip you up as it dropped down from your shoe, and cause great frustration and damage to one's pride. Also, it was not unusual for the heel to come off your shoe, still held firmly by the clamp. That would put a stop to skating until Dad could nail the heel back on the shoe. Fortunately, our Dad was skilled in repairing shoes, and he could take care of most of the shoe failures caused by skating--when he was at home. Robert and I did some renailing when Dad was away.
The ice on the river was great that first winter. Hard freezing weather came early, before the snow, and the river froze over smooth as glass. I can still remember one Saturday morning when "Duffer" Welton, the girl who lived with her parents across and up river about half a mile from us, came gliding down the river, and urged us to come down to go skating.
How do you learn to skate? First you put on your skates. We took those old clamp skates down to the ice, and clamped them on our shoes. We used stout leather harness straps around our ankles to give them some support, and were ready to start. But we could scarcely stand up, let alone move anywhere we wanted to go.
Duffer had the perfect answer to our problem. She told us we needed to get some chairs to hold on to as we learned. We used an old high chair mostly, taking turns pushing it along on the ice as we learned to stroke and glide. It really didn't take long at all, and by evening all four of us were doing well on our skates, although it took much practice before our ankles grew strong enough for long skating sessions.
After that skating became almost an obsession with Robert and me. Whenever we could spare the time (and sometimes when chores had to wait a bit) we were down on the ice, practicing our skating. We probably had some written information on skating, about how to turn, and how to skate backward. Mostly we learned it by observing other kids. The Vogel young people used to come over, and we would skate in the evenings, though it might be terribly cold down there on the ice. When snow came, as it surely did, we would shovel snow off large areas so we could play games, especially our own particular brand of hockey.
We knew nothing about hockey, but had heard about it. While today you who are reading this might simply go to a store and buy a puck and hockey stick, we couldn't do that. No one around Hinsdale played hockey, and we had no money to buy sticks and pucks if they had been available. So we made our own! Robert invented our puck. He cut two circular pieces about two and half inches in diameter out of an old tire tread, then nailed the two pieces together, and we had a puck, a good one. At least I can testify that it was deadly painful if it hit you in the shins or elsewhere, as it often did. It's black color made it easier to find, too, when it flew out into the snow.
Our hockey sticks we made from diamond willow. It took a lot of looking to find a stick of dead, seasoned willow with just the right bend in it. There were lots of willows all along Milk River, and after searching we found what we wanted. We whittled them down to about the right dimensions, and were all set to play. Our home-grown rules made sure that we never hit the other person anywhere with those heavy sticks, though they did sometimes cause an opponent to stumble and fall. We had hilarious hockey games, with Lawrence and Walter Vogel,and the Grant boys.
One evening I recall we were playing hockey long after dark. It was bitter cold, about thirty degrees below zero, and we had a big fire built right on the ice, to give us both light and some warmth. We played until my feet were totally numb. When we finally quit, and went up to the house, I found that the ends of my toes on the left foot were white and frozen. Oh, how painful it was to soak my feet in cold water, then in warm, until they thawed out! Though no part of the toes fell off, I have had bad chilblains on those toes at times ever since. Go to the doctor? We didn't even think of doing that; it would cost money that we didn't have.
We also played Fox and Goose on skates, and crack the whip, a lot that winter. On one or two occasions Robert and I skated all the way to Hinsdale, to school. We estimated it was about six miles around by the river, which meandered a lot. Despite the greater distance, we could arrive at school earlier on skates than we could by walking the two and half miles of our usual route. There was one barrier that Robert found--a strand of barbed wire strung clear across the river at one point. He found it when he skated right into it, and it put him down quickly and hard. It doesn't always pay to be out in front! He wasn't hurt badly, but we watched for wire pretty carefully after that experience. We could skate to town only when the ice was smooth and not covered by snow.
Because we lived so far out of town, and always had chores to do, Robert and I couldn't try out for basketball. That was the BIG sports activity of Hinsdale High School! Town boys, plus some of the lucky fellows who lived in the dormitory, made up the regular team. Competition with neighboring high schools was fierce. I wanted badly to learn to play, but never did. Oh, we played a little during the lunch hours, but I was never skilled in the game.
Robert and I enjoyed going to the games, and seldom missed one during the long season. It meant we had to walk home the two and a half miles, do our chores, then walk back to town, watch the game, and hike back home in the night. Some of those walks were pleasant, with the moon shining brightly on the snow, but others were just plain miserable, cold, dark, and lonely. Also, during that first winter, Robert and I sometimes walked to town in the evening to attend the rare movies (when we had the money!) or to listen to lectures.
That was an exciting winter for me. With my new rifle I wandered far and wide, hunting jack rabbits for their skins and to feed to the chickens. Frequently I shot a snowshoe rabbit, to use for bait in my weasel trapping, or for the chickens. Occasionally Mom cooked a young rabbit for us all to eat. They weren't nearly as good eating as cottontails, or the tame rabbits we had left out at the homestead. The truth of the matter is that I was terribly blood-thirsty in those days, and almost anything wild was fair game for me. I was always trying to kill any magpies that offered themselves within range, and also shot a great horned owl or two that first winter, ignorantly thinking they were predators that should be killed. They were very plentiful along the river, no doubt due to the large population of snowshoe rabbits.
I ran a considerable trap line, trying to catch weasels. I saw lots of weasel tracks around the place, and didn't realize then, as I did later, that one weasel makes an awful lot of tracks. They cover a wide territory regularly, hunting for mice or rabbits. I did manage to catch a few that winter, and earned a few dollars selling those skins and the skins of jack rabbits. The chickens that we had brought down from the old place were kept in a dug-out chicken house almost exactly like the one on the homestead. They made quick work of the carcasses of rabbits and weasels. Chickens love meat!
Another activity that took much of our time, and provided good exercise, was the preparation of fire wood. There was plenty of dry wood on the place, chiefly old dead cottonwood trees, and many clumps of diamond willow. Dry willows made fine fire wood for use in the cook stove. The cottonwood was used mostly in our little heating stove. The two stoves together served as the heat source for the whole house. As you can guess, without any system for moving the air around, the two bedrooms were always mighty cold! The little wood heater stove would accept chunks of wood up to two feet in length. If carefully filled with wood at bedtime, and the damper closed down to avoid too much draft, that little stove would keep warm for several hours. After that it got just plain cold in the whole house. Many times we had ice frozen on the water pail by morning! Frost a half inch thick would form on the heads of nails in the walls and ceiling on some cold nights.
Preparing wood for use in the stoves required much ax work, chopping willows into foot-long lengths, and sawing and splitting cottonwood chunks. Using a big two-man cross-cut saw, we first sawed the cottonwood logs into chunks about twelve or fourteen inches long. Then we split them into pieces small enough to go in the cook stove. Both Robert and I became so skilled in splitting wood in those years on the Burke place that either of us could usually split a match laid on the chopping block. Today I'm lucky if I can hit within an inch of where I want the ax to go!
I almost forgot another fun activity that Robert and I had that winter. I don't think we ever tried it again, but that year there was some good ice on the old slough that occupied a sizeable part of the land of the Burke place. Water flowed into the slough when the river was high. Sometimes heavy rain or melting snow run-off would partially fill the slough. That winter there was a nice area of smooth ice about half a mile long, roughly L-shaped. Our Dad had often told us of the thrills of ice sailing on the frozen lakes in Wisconsin when he was a boy. Now we thought perhaps we could do some ice sailing ourselves! One Saturday we rigged up a small square sail, about four feet on each side, and took our best sled down to the slough. We used the ax for a rudder. One of us sat facing forward, and holding the sail, while the other sat facing toward the rear, holding the ax wedged between his feet, with which to steer.
As I remember, the wind was fresh, blowing out of the southwest, so we moved down to the far end of the ice on the slough, settled ourselves on the sled, and raised the sail. I was in front. Our start was very slow on that first trial, but we soon gathered some speed, and scooted down the ice in great shape. We made the turn at the bend all right, without losing any speed; in fact, we were still picking up speed! All too soon we were approaching the end of the ice--and remembered that we didn't have any brakes! The only choice was to "abandon ship" any way we could, which we did. Even then we slid for some distance on the ice before coming to a stop. We made several runs that day, and with the wind coming up stronger and stronger, we had some great fun. As well as I can recall, that was the only day we tried ice sailing. The ax didn't work well for steering, and the stopping process was pretty rough. One person couldn't manage both the sail and the "rudder," and we just didn't pursue the sport any further.
Thus the winter passed, with plenty of things to do. I look back on those months with great pleasure. School work was always easy for me, and everything we were learning was interesting. The studies in General Science were especially so, as I already knew something of the natural world, and loved the simple little chemistry experiments we did. It was a good year.
Two things especially stand out in my memory of that first winter on the Burke place. First was the purchase of my first rifle! For years I had dreamed of the day when I could have my very own .22 rifle. I had spent many hours studying the rifles offered in the Montgomery Ward and Sears Roebuck catalogs. I knew the descriptions and prices of all the various makes of rifles by heart.
My big problem was that I had very little money. I had saved some of the money my teacher, Viola Woodard, had given me for doing so well in the county-wide exams in May. I had about four and half dollars to spend for a rifle. I finally made my decision, and sent off my very first mail order to Montgomery Ward, for a Western Field bolt action single shot rifle. It was the best one that I could afford, not nearly as good as I would have liked, but would be good enough, I was sure. In those days it took a week or more for an order to be shipped. You can imagine my intense excitement as I waited for it to come. I guess I should admit that my parents weren't nearly as excited about the whole matter as I was. They probably felt I didn't really need it, and should have used my money for something practical.
The package finally arrived! I can still remember opening the long box in which the rifle came, and tenderly taking it out, in pieces, of course. It didn't take long to get the parts put together, and to wipe out the barrel to make it ready to shoot. I had already purchased a box of shells, so was ready to use the rifle right away. Now I wouldn't have to ask permission to use the old worn-out .22 rifle any more; I had my own! Our dog, Laddie, seemed about as excited as I was.
It was probably the following Saturday--the first time I had free time for anything like going hunting-- that I took that rifle out to look for jack rabbits. There were rabbits around, but I quickly found that I had trouble hitting them! It took a bit of practice, and some adjustment of the sights, with Dad's help, to get that rifle to shoot where I was looking. But with that done, I became deadly with it, and shot many jack rabbits, some as far as one hundred yards away. Of course, the rifle had only simple open sights. Telescope sights were just then coming on the market, but were expensive, far beyond my financial reach.
The second important thing I recall about that first winter was learning to skate! We had never had opportunity for that before, but now we had a river right at our door. Relatives from Wisconsin had sent out some ancient clamp-on skates in various sizes for us, so that all of us--Robert, Jean, Mary and I--had skates we could use. All we needed to do was learn to use them.
You've never heard of clamp-on skates, have you? You haven't missed anything, believe me! But if you had nothing else, they could provide a lot of fun. Clamp-ons were made with a good thick runner, mounted on two metal soles. The skates were held on your shoes by clamps that were tightened onto the soles and heels of one's shoes with a key. Both ice skates and roller skates with such clamps were common in those days. The big drawback to clamp skates was that the clamps would often come loose. Just when you were flying along, one skate might leave you, or trip you up as it dropped down from your shoe, and cause great frustration and damage to one's pride. Also, it was not unusual for the heel to come off your shoe, still held firmly by the clamp. That would put a stop to skating until Dad could nail the heel back on the shoe. Fortunately, our Dad was skilled in repairing shoes, and he could take care of most of the shoe failures caused by skating--when he was at home. Robert and I did some renailing when Dad was away.
The ice on the river was great that first winter. Hard freezing weather came early, before the snow, and the river froze over smooth as glass. I can still remember one Saturday morning when "Duffer" Welton, the girl who lived with her parents across and up river about half a mile from us, came gliding down the river, and urged us to come down to go skating.
How do you learn to skate? First you put on your skates. We took those old clamp skates down to the ice, and clamped them on our shoes. We used stout leather harness straps around our ankles to give them some support, and were ready to start. But we could scarcely stand up, let alone move anywhere we wanted to go.
Duffer had the perfect answer to our problem. She told us we needed to get some chairs to hold on to as we learned. We used an old high chair mostly, taking turns pushing it along on the ice as we learned to stroke and glide. It really didn't take long at all, and by evening all four of us were doing well on our skates, although it took much practice before our ankles grew strong enough for long skating sessions.
After that skating became almost an obsession with Robert and me. Whenever we could spare the time (and sometimes when chores had to wait a bit) we were down on the ice, practicing our skating. We probably had some written information on skating, about how to turn, and how to skate backward. Mostly we learned it by observing other kids. The Vogel young people used to come over, and we would skate in the evenings, though it might be terribly cold down there on the ice. When snow came, as it surely did, we would shovel snow off large areas so we could play games, especially our own particular brand of hockey.
We knew nothing about hockey, but had heard about it. While today you who are reading this might simply go to a store and buy a puck and hockey stick, we couldn't do that. No one around Hinsdale played hockey, and we had no money to buy sticks and pucks if they had been available. So we made our own! Robert invented our puck. He cut two circular pieces about two and half inches in diameter out of an old tire tread, then nailed the two pieces together, and we had a puck, a good one. At least I can testify that it was deadly painful if it hit you in the shins or elsewhere, as it often did. It's black color made it easier to find, too, when it flew out into the snow.
Our hockey sticks we made from diamond willow. It took a lot of looking to find a stick of dead, seasoned willow with just the right bend in it. There were lots of willows all along Milk River, and after searching we found what we wanted. We whittled them down to about the right dimensions, and were all set to play. Our home-grown rules made sure that we never hit the other person anywhere with those heavy sticks, though they did sometimes cause an opponent to stumble and fall. We had hilarious hockey games, with Lawrence and Walter Vogel,and the Grant boys.
One evening I recall we were playing hockey long after dark. It was bitter cold, about thirty degrees below zero, and we had a big fire built right on the ice, to give us both light and some warmth. We played until my feet were totally numb. When we finally quit, and went up to the house, I found that the ends of my toes on the left foot were white and frozen. Oh, how painful it was to soak my feet in cold water, then in warm, until they thawed out! Though no part of the toes fell off, I have had bad chilblains on those toes at times ever since. Go to the doctor? We didn't even think of doing that; it would cost money that we didn't have.
We also played Fox and Goose on skates, and crack the whip, a lot that winter. On one or two occasions Robert and I skated all the way to Hinsdale, to school. We estimated it was about six miles around by the river, which meandered a lot. Despite the greater distance, we could arrive at school earlier on skates than we could by walking the two and half miles of our usual route. There was one barrier that Robert found--a strand of barbed wire strung clear across the river at one point. He found it when he skated right into it, and it put him down quickly and hard. It doesn't always pay to be out in front! He wasn't hurt badly, but we watched for wire pretty carefully after that experience. We could skate to town only when the ice was smooth and not covered by snow.
Because we lived so far out of town, and always had chores to do, Robert and I couldn't try out for basketball. That was the BIG sports activity of Hinsdale High School! Town boys, plus some of the lucky fellows who lived in the dormitory, made up the regular team. Competition with neighboring high schools was fierce. I wanted badly to learn to play, but never did. Oh, we played a little during the lunch hours, but I was never skilled in the game.
Robert and I enjoyed going to the games, and seldom missed one during the long season. It meant we had to walk home the two and a half miles, do our chores, then walk back to town, watch the game, and hike back home in the night. Some of those walks were pleasant, with the moon shining brightly on the snow, but others were just plain miserable, cold, dark, and lonely. Also, during that first winter, Robert and I sometimes walked to town in the evening to attend the rare movies (when we had the money!) or to listen to lectures.
That was an exciting winter for me. With my new rifle I wandered far and wide, hunting jack rabbits for their skins and to feed to the chickens. Frequently I shot a snowshoe rabbit, to use for bait in my weasel trapping, or for the chickens. Occasionally Mom cooked a young rabbit for us all to eat. They weren't nearly as good eating as cottontails, or the tame rabbits we had left out at the homestead. The truth of the matter is that I was terribly blood-thirsty in those days, and almost anything wild was fair game for me. I was always trying to kill any magpies that offered themselves within range, and also shot a great horned owl or two that first winter, ignorantly thinking they were predators that should be killed. They were very plentiful along the river, no doubt due to the large population of snowshoe rabbits.
I ran a considerable trap line, trying to catch weasels. I saw lots of weasel tracks around the place, and didn't realize then, as I did later, that one weasel makes an awful lot of tracks. They cover a wide territory regularly, hunting for mice or rabbits. I did manage to catch a few that winter, and earned a few dollars selling those skins and the skins of jack rabbits. The chickens that we had brought down from the old place were kept in a dug-out chicken house almost exactly like the one on the homestead. They made quick work of the carcasses of rabbits and weasels. Chickens love meat!
Another activity that took much of our time, and provided good exercise, was the preparation of fire wood. There was plenty of dry wood on the place, chiefly old dead cottonwood trees, and many clumps of diamond willow. Dry willows made fine fire wood for use in the cook stove. The cottonwood was used mostly in our little heating stove. The two stoves together served as the heat source for the whole house. As you can guess, without any system for moving the air around, the two bedrooms were always mighty cold! The little wood heater stove would accept chunks of wood up to two feet in length. If carefully filled with wood at bedtime, and the damper closed down to avoid too much draft, that little stove would keep warm for several hours. After that it got just plain cold in the whole house. Many times we had ice frozen on the water pail by morning! Frost a half inch thick would form on the heads of nails in the walls and ceiling on some cold nights.
Preparing wood for use in the stoves required much ax work, chopping willows into foot-long lengths, and sawing and splitting cottonwood chunks. Using a big two-man cross-cut saw, we first sawed the cottonwood logs into chunks about twelve or fourteen inches long. Then we split them into pieces small enough to go in the cook stove. Both Robert and I became so skilled in splitting wood in those years on the Burke place that either of us could usually split a match laid on the chopping block. Today I'm lucky if I can hit within an inch of where I want the ax to go!
I almost forgot another fun activity that Robert and I had that winter. I don't think we ever tried it again, but that year there was some good ice on the old slough that occupied a sizeable part of the land of the Burke place. Water flowed into the slough when the river was high. Sometimes heavy rain or melting snow run-off would partially fill the slough. That winter there was a nice area of smooth ice about half a mile long, roughly L-shaped. Our Dad had often told us of the thrills of ice sailing on the frozen lakes in Wisconsin when he was a boy. Now we thought perhaps we could do some ice sailing ourselves! One Saturday we rigged up a small square sail, about four feet on each side, and took our best sled down to the slough. We used the ax for a rudder. One of us sat facing forward, and holding the sail, while the other sat facing toward the rear, holding the ax wedged between his feet, with which to steer.
As I remember, the wind was fresh, blowing out of the southwest, so we moved down to the far end of the ice on the slough, settled ourselves on the sled, and raised the sail. I was in front. Our start was very slow on that first trial, but we soon gathered some speed, and scooted down the ice in great shape. We made the turn at the bend all right, without losing any speed; in fact, we were still picking up speed! All too soon we were approaching the end of the ice--and remembered that we didn't have any brakes! The only choice was to "abandon ship" any way we could, which we did. Even then we slid for some distance on the ice before coming to a stop. We made several runs that day, and with the wind coming up stronger and stronger, we had some great fun. As well as I can recall, that was the only day we tried ice sailing. The ax didn't work well for steering, and the stopping process was pretty rough. One person couldn't manage both the sail and the "rudder," and we just didn't pursue the sport any further.
Thus the winter passed, with plenty of things to do. I look back on those months with great pleasure. School work was always easy for me, and everything we were learning was interesting. The studies in General Science were especially so, as I already knew something of the natural world, and loved the simple little chemistry experiments we did. It was a good year.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
MORE ABOUT OUR NEW HOME AND HIGH SCHOOL
That first night at our new home was truly something to remember. The shack--for that was all it was--where we were to live was even smaller than our former house! There was one long, narrow room that served as kitchen, eating area, and "living room." The latter area became the folks' bedroom at night, with the same old lounge bed they had used for years pulled out to make a double bed. Then there were two small bedrooms, one occupied by Jean and Mary, and the other by Robert and me. The outside of the house was covered with tar paper--so we felt right at home. It was very much like the homestead. There was only one door to the outside, facing to the east. A roomy cellar under the house had an entrance on the south side of the house. There was no attic, or "back porch" where we could have the washing machine. Thus that valuable machine sat in the kitchen, near the stove. The room was very crowded, even with our scant furniture.
Directly in front of the house, about seventy-five feet away, ran the Milk River, which formed the east boundary of the place both north and south of the buildings. The river was bordered by thick groves of cottonwood trees and diamond willows.
About forty yards south of the house were the barn and hay yard. The barn was terribly small, with room for only two cows or horses at a time. It had been the original dwelling on the place, a very small log cabin, made of cottonwood logs. The building had a very low door, and only one window. The hay yard was fenced, with the corn on which Robert and I had worked so hard and long safely stored there. There was a fenced barnyard, too, enclosing not only an open area maybe thirty yards by forty, but also a patch of brush, mostly chokecherry bushes. That sheltered area was where the cows spent most of the winter, as in the brush they could find some shelter from the wind.
Just west of the barnyard was the toilet, a sad little structure with only half a roof. In the three years we lived there, we never repaired that roof! The result was a very airy situation, indeed, with snow on the seat whenever snow fell. Just south of the toilet, and dug into the bank of the slough, was the chicken house, much like the dug-out chicken house on the homestead. It was well lighted by the sun, and was cozy and warm in the winter months.
There were no other fences on the place, except the outside line fences that enclosed the whole property. I don't remember just how large the farm was, but would guess about three hundred acres. Brush and trees covered a large part of the land. An old slough (former river bed) and an alfalfa field of about eighty acres lay just south of the house and barn. The remainder of the land was sagebrush "pasture." It was not a prosperous farm, by any means. There were no machine sheds, or machinery, for that matter.
But to me it was a regular paradise. Except for occasional trips from the homestead down to the river bottom land, for wood, or fishing, I had never had opportunity to wander around through woods, or have a river so near at hand. As it was late in the fall, and the land had not been grazed, we simply let our cows and horses roam at will all over the place. It was my job to bring the cows in for milking, as before, and that let me explore the whole place to my heart's content.
One of my first discoveries was an ancient and huge cottonwood tree that had but recently been cut down. Someone--we never found out who--had found that the old tree was a bee tree, and had cut it down for the honey. They had taken most, but not all the honey. I soon found that by reaching far up into the hollow trunk I could find and break off pieces of ancient comb, some of which contained dead bees, but some contained very old, dark brown honey. I had never tasted anything so sweet! I don't know what had happened to the swarm of bees, but there were none there that fall. I enjoyed many a sip of honey from that old tree before we cut it up and made it into firewood.
When we first moved to the Burke place, the land and surrounding area claimed my attention and interest almost as much as the studies in school. Altogether, our lives were very different from the days on the homestead. Very soon after moving, we began to go to church at the little Methodist church in town. This pleased our Mom immensely; she had long wished for opportunity to attend worship services, having been somewhat starved for that while living on the homestead. The Methodist church was an ancient building, rather small, with seating room for perhaps fifty or sixty people. The church was too small and poor to afford a full-time pastor, so it was served by the Methodist minister from Saco, a small town thirteen miles west of Hinsdale. The most influential person in the church at that time was Mrs. Chester, who was the widow of a former pastor. We had known Mrs. Chester for at least two years. She was the owner of the little shack near town where Robert and Jean had batched with the Carter girls while attending high school during the past two years. At the church, Mrs. Chester seemed different. She always wore black, I remember, and appeared very severe and sober. I think she was probably officially a Deaconness. Secretly, we kids were pretty much afraid of her. Her son, Milton, who was for some unknown reason nicknamed "Mutt," had the job of taking care of the furnace at the church. He also was chief bell ringer on Sunday mornings. The bell rope hung down from the belfry right in one corner of the entry way. To pull on the rope and ring the bell at the wrong time was considered a serious offense. But, oh, what a temptation it was! A boy could quickly give the rope a yank and be out the door before the bell sounded, and no one would know who had done it! I know one who yielded to that temptation more than once!
It didn't take long for the people at the church to find out that our Mom was a good musician, and appoint her to play the piano and organ, and direct the choir. So that first winter of 1932-33 found Mom and us three older kids having a part in the choir. Would you believe that I sang bass, despite my youthful voice? It was the easiest harmony for me to sing, so you might say I got to second bass before ever getting to first! Robert also sang bass in the choir. We three older kids also were active in the young people's group, Epworth League. We soon made friends with the other young people in the church, and with our fellow students in the high school.
One family, the Vogels, lived on a farm about half a mile east of town, and we usually cut across their land when walking to and from school. They had five children. Cecilia was the oldest and worked as a beauty operator away somewhere. Lawrence, next older, had already graduated from high school, and lived at home. Marjorie was one of my classmates and a very good student. Walter came next; he was a couple years younger than I. I spent a lot of time with Walter, chiefly tending to the cattle. Then there was Lois, the youngest, about two years younger than Walter. All the children were musical, and we had some good times listening to them play their instruments.
Mr. Vogel was on the school board. He was formerly a country school teacher and early-day homesteader. He had a reputation for being extremely frugal and tight-fisted--a habit learned by many of the early settlers. He and his wife were of German origin. Mrs. Vogel made a notable sour bread.
Another family, the Grants, lived on the farm just north of the Burke place. They had but recently moved there from near Saco, west of Hinsdale. We had great fun with the three Grant boys. Wyatt, the oldest, was my sister Jean's age, and a classmate of hers. Next came Melvin, a year younger than I, and then Chester, the youngest, about the age of our younger sister, Mary. We boys got along fine, and had lots of fun together. Since we lived so near each other, Melvin was often down at our place on one excuse or another. Their Dad believed in hard work for the boys, so they were kept pretty busy when not in school.
Since we lived much too far from school to go home for lunch, we took our lunches, and ate in the room the school had designated for that. We had lots of company, as many youngsters from both the high school and the grade school ate lunch together. Our little sister, Mary, was one of the grade school youngsters. After eating lunch, we could play out of doors (if the weather were good) or in the gym. There we must remove our shoes! No one could walk on that gym floor with improper shoes! We had a running battle with Mr. Rundle, the school janitor, about that; he watched us like a hawk, and seemed to delight in making someone leave the floor. As I think of those days, in that first year of high school, I remember one bit of difficulty I had. An older boy, a senior, I think, was something of a bully, and decided to pick on me. He was considerably larger than I, and would come up behind me, throw his arm around my neck and throat in a choke hold, and hang on that way until I begged for mercy. This went on for several days and no one came to my rescue.
Then one day he tried it once too often. When he grabbed me I was standing in the hallway, right by the railing designed to keep people from falling down into the gym six feet below. This time I reached up with both hands, grabbed his elbow, and by bending forward suddenly, threw him over my head and down into the gym! He landed with an awful crash, and although he wasn't hurt badly, he apparently was convinced that he should leave me alone after that. He never bothered me again.
That first night at our new home was truly something to remember. The shack--for that was all it was--where we were to live was even smaller than our former house! There was one long, narrow room that served as kitchen, eating area, and "living room." The latter area became the folks' bedroom at night, with the same old lounge bed they had used for years pulled out to make a double bed. Then there were two small bedrooms, one occupied by Jean and Mary, and the other by Robert and me. The outside of the house was covered with tar paper--so we felt right at home. It was very much like the homestead. There was only one door to the outside, facing to the east. A roomy cellar under the house had an entrance on the south side of the house. There was no attic, or "back porch" where we could have the washing machine. Thus that valuable machine sat in the kitchen, near the stove. The room was very crowded, even with our scant furniture.
Directly in front of the house, about seventy-five feet away, ran the Milk River, which formed the east boundary of the place both north and south of the buildings. The river was bordered by thick groves of cottonwood trees and diamond willows.
About forty yards south of the house were the barn and hay yard. The barn was terribly small, with room for only two cows or horses at a time. It had been the original dwelling on the place, a very small log cabin, made of cottonwood logs. The building had a very low door, and only one window. The hay yard was fenced, with the corn on which Robert and I had worked so hard and long safely stored there. There was a fenced barnyard, too, enclosing not only an open area maybe thirty yards by forty, but also a patch of brush, mostly chokecherry bushes. That sheltered area was where the cows spent most of the winter, as in the brush they could find some shelter from the wind.
Just west of the barnyard was the toilet, a sad little structure with only half a roof. In the three years we lived there, we never repaired that roof! The result was a very airy situation, indeed, with snow on the seat whenever snow fell. Just south of the toilet, and dug into the bank of the slough, was the chicken house, much like the dug-out chicken house on the homestead. It was well lighted by the sun, and was cozy and warm in the winter months.
There were no other fences on the place, except the outside line fences that enclosed the whole property. I don't remember just how large the farm was, but would guess about three hundred acres. Brush and trees covered a large part of the land. An old slough (former river bed) and an alfalfa field of about eighty acres lay just south of the house and barn. The remainder of the land was sagebrush "pasture." It was not a prosperous farm, by any means. There were no machine sheds, or machinery, for that matter.
But to me it was a regular paradise. Except for occasional trips from the homestead down to the river bottom land, for wood, or fishing, I had never had opportunity to wander around through woods, or have a river so near at hand. As it was late in the fall, and the land had not been grazed, we simply let our cows and horses roam at will all over the place. It was my job to bring the cows in for milking, as before, and that let me explore the whole place to my heart's content.
One of my first discoveries was an ancient and huge cottonwood tree that had but recently been cut down. Someone--we never found out who--had found that the old tree was a bee tree, and had cut it down for the honey. They had taken most, but not all the honey. I soon found that by reaching far up into the hollow trunk I could find and break off pieces of ancient comb, some of which contained dead bees, but some contained very old, dark brown honey. I had never tasted anything so sweet! I don't know what had happened to the swarm of bees, but there were none there that fall. I enjoyed many a sip of honey from that old tree before we cut it up and made it into firewood.
When we first moved to the Burke place, the land and surrounding area claimed my attention and interest almost as much as the studies in school. Altogether, our lives were very different from the days on the homestead. Very soon after moving, we began to go to church at the little Methodist church in town. This pleased our Mom immensely; she had long wished for opportunity to attend worship services, having been somewhat starved for that while living on the homestead. The Methodist church was an ancient building, rather small, with seating room for perhaps fifty or sixty people. The church was too small and poor to afford a full-time pastor, so it was served by the Methodist minister from Saco, a small town thirteen miles west of Hinsdale. The most influential person in the church at that time was Mrs. Chester, who was the widow of a former pastor. We had known Mrs. Chester for at least two years. She was the owner of the little shack near town where Robert and Jean had batched with the Carter girls while attending high school during the past two years. At the church, Mrs. Chester seemed different. She always wore black, I remember, and appeared very severe and sober. I think she was probably officially a Deaconness. Secretly, we kids were pretty much afraid of her. Her son, Milton, who was for some unknown reason nicknamed "Mutt," had the job of taking care of the furnace at the church. He also was chief bell ringer on Sunday mornings. The bell rope hung down from the belfry right in one corner of the entry way. To pull on the rope and ring the bell at the wrong time was considered a serious offense. But, oh, what a temptation it was! A boy could quickly give the rope a yank and be out the door before the bell sounded, and no one would know who had done it! I know one who yielded to that temptation more than once!
It didn't take long for the people at the church to find out that our Mom was a good musician, and appoint her to play the piano and organ, and direct the choir. So that first winter of 1932-33 found Mom and us three older kids having a part in the choir. Would you believe that I sang bass, despite my youthful voice? It was the easiest harmony for me to sing, so you might say I got to second bass before ever getting to first! Robert also sang bass in the choir. We three older kids also were active in the young people's group, Epworth League. We soon made friends with the other young people in the church, and with our fellow students in the high school.
One family, the Vogels, lived on a farm about half a mile east of town, and we usually cut across their land when walking to and from school. They had five children. Cecilia was the oldest and worked as a beauty operator away somewhere. Lawrence, next older, had already graduated from high school, and lived at home. Marjorie was one of my classmates and a very good student. Walter came next; he was a couple years younger than I. I spent a lot of time with Walter, chiefly tending to the cattle. Then there was Lois, the youngest, about two years younger than Walter. All the children were musical, and we had some good times listening to them play their instruments.
Mr. Vogel was on the school board. He was formerly a country school teacher and early-day homesteader. He had a reputation for being extremely frugal and tight-fisted--a habit learned by many of the early settlers. He and his wife were of German origin. Mrs. Vogel made a notable sour bread.
Another family, the Grants, lived on the farm just north of the Burke place. They had but recently moved there from near Saco, west of Hinsdale. We had great fun with the three Grant boys. Wyatt, the oldest, was my sister Jean's age, and a classmate of hers. Next came Melvin, a year younger than I, and then Chester, the youngest, about the age of our younger sister, Mary. We boys got along fine, and had lots of fun together. Since we lived so near each other, Melvin was often down at our place on one excuse or another. Their Dad believed in hard work for the boys, so they were kept pretty busy when not in school.
Since we lived much too far from school to go home for lunch, we took our lunches, and ate in the room the school had designated for that. We had lots of company, as many youngsters from both the high school and the grade school ate lunch together. Our little sister, Mary, was one of the grade school youngsters. After eating lunch, we could play out of doors (if the weather were good) or in the gym. There we must remove our shoes! No one could walk on that gym floor with improper shoes! We had a running battle with Mr. Rundle, the school janitor, about that; he watched us like a hawk, and seemed to delight in making someone leave the floor. As I think of those days, in that first year of high school, I remember one bit of difficulty I had. An older boy, a senior, I think, was something of a bully, and decided to pick on me. He was considerably larger than I, and would come up behind me, throw his arm around my neck and throat in a choke hold, and hang on that way until I begged for mercy. This went on for several days and no one came to my rescue.
Then one day he tried it once too often. When he grabbed me I was standing in the hallway, right by the railing designed to keep people from falling down into the gym six feet below. This time I reached up with both hands, grabbed his elbow, and by bending forward suddenly, threw him over my head and down into the gym! He landed with an awful crash, and although he wasn't hurt badly, he apparently was convinced that he should leave me alone after that. He never bothered me again.
Monday, April 6, 2009
HIGH SCHOOL - AND A NEW HOME
At last we were in school! I had no trouble at all in learning to know my way around in the school. Each of us was assigned a particular desk in the big assembly room. We kept our books and tablets and such stuff in our desks, and went to the various class rooms on a set schedule. During those hours when we weren't in class we sat in the assembly room, studying or reading. One teacher or another was in charge of the assembly each hour, and maintained strict discipline. There was no talking or whispering allowed. I guess (rather, I know!) quite a few notes were passed from one student to another, on the sly. Instead of just raising our hand for permission to go to the toilet, as we had done in grade school, now we had to go back and ask the teacher directly for that permission. But if we had trouble with some question in our studies, the teacher was available,and was generally very helpful.
I had gotten started in algebra, too! Although we were six weeks late in starting, I was able to catch up fairly quickly, and always (well, nearly always!) got along just fine with Miss Dorothy Dutch. Far from being a witch, as I had expected, she was a very good teacher, though awfully strict. If she thought a student was loafing, or being plain lazy, not trying to learn, she was pitiless. Often when we were at the blackboard, working out equations or problems on the board, she would throw an eraser or piece of chalk at some student who wasn't doing well. Believe me, it kept us on our toes! We, in turn, would occasionally accidentally, of course, hold our chalk just right to make one of those horrible, spine-tingling screeches that only a chalk against a blackboard can produce. She hated that sound!
Poor Miss Dutch! I had her as teacher for both algebra and geometry, and learned a lot from her. Years later she was killed in a train accident in eastern Montana. She was one of the outstanding teachers of my high school years, though she was very unpopular with most of the students because of her strict approach to teaching.
Studies were the most important thing in that school. Freshmen had no choice what they would study; only in the last two years of high school did we have a chance to choose. As freshmen, we had algebra, general science, English, and world history. I loved them all, and caught up with the others in all the subjects before Christmas.
In the meantime, the folks were very busy getting ready for the move to the rented farm, which we called the Burke Place. It had once been the homestead of a man named Billy Burke. He had been the husband of my third grade teacher, Mrs. Rose Burke. Billy had a bad problem with drinking, and had died young, I believe. Mrs. Burke made her living teaching school, and rented the farm out to various people. We were to live there three years.
Finally, about the middle of November, we were ready to move. I can still remember that last trip out to the old homestead. The job of loading the sad little bunch of furniture and other moveable things on the hayrack (because it held more than the wagon box),didn't take very long. We rounded up the cattle, put the chickens in coops, and were on our way. Dad had already hauled the corn and a lot of other stuff, on previous weekends. I drove the little bunch of cattle, walking most of the way to the new place. It was very hard for Mom and all of us, going down that winding road to the "Point," turning for one last look at the old place, and then passing around the point and out of sight of our home for all those years. Although Dad went back once or twice later, doing the final clean-up of the move, I wasn't to see the old home again until 1946. By then all the buildings were gone, virtually without a trace.
That first night at our new home was truly something to remember. The shack--for that was all it was--where we were to live was even smaller than our former house! There was one long, narrow room that served as kitchen, eating area, and "living room." The latter area became the folks' bedroom at night, with the same old lounge bed they had used for years pulled out to make a double bed. Then there were two small bedrooms, one occupied by Jean and Mary, and the other by Robert and me. The outside of the house was covered with tar paper--so we felt right at home. It was very much like the homestead. There was only one door to the outside, facing to the east. A roomy cellar under the house had an entrance on the south side of the house. There was no attic, or "back porch" where we could have the washing machine. Thus that valuable machine sat in the kitchen, near the stove. The room was very crowded, even with our scant furniture.
Directly in front of the house, about seventy-five feet away, ran the Milk River, which formed the east boundary of the place both north and south of the buildings. The river was bordered by thick groves of cottonwood trees and diamond willows.
About forty yards south of the house were the barn and hay yard. The barn was terribly small, with room for only two cows or horses at a time. It had been the original dwelling on the place, a very small log cabin, made of cottonwood logs. The building had a very low door, and only one window. The hay yard was fenced, with the corn on which Robert and I had worked so hard and long safely stored there. There was a fenced barnyard, too, enclosing not only an open area maybe thirty yards by forty, but also a patch of brush, mostly chokecherry bushes. That sheltered area was where the cows spent most of the winter, as in the brush they could find some shelter from the almost endless wind.
Just west of the barnyard was the toilet, a sad little structure with only half a roof. In the three years we lived there, we never repaired that roof! The result was a very airy situation, indeed, with snow on the seat whenever snow fell. Just south of the toilet, and dug into the bank of the slough, was the chicken house, much like the dug-out chicken house on the homestead. It was well lighted by the sun, and was cozy and warm in the winter months.
There were no other fences on the place, except the outside line fences that enclosed the whole property. I don't remember just how large the farm was, but would guess about three hundred acres. Brush and trees covered a large part of the land. An old slough (former river bed) and an alfalfa field of about eighty acres lay just south of the house and barn. The remainder of the land was sagebrush "pasture." It was not a prosperous farm, by any means. There were no machine sheds, or machinery, for that matter.
But to me it was a regular paradise. Except for occasional trips from the homestead down to the river bottom land, for wood, or fishing, I had never had opportunity to wander around through woods, or have a river so near at hand. As it was late in the fall, and the land had not been grazed, we simply let our cows and horses roam at will all over the place. It was my job to bring the cows in for milking, as before, and that let me explore the whole place to my heart's content.
One of my first discoveries was an ancient and huge cottonwood tree that had but recently been cut down. Someone--we never found out who--had found that the old tree was a bee tree, and had cut it down for the honey. They had taken most, but not all the honey. I soon found that by reaching far up into the hollow trunk I could find and break off pieces of ancient comb, some of which contained dead bees, but some contained very old, dark brown honey. I had never tasted anything so sweet! I don't know what had happened to the swarm of bees, but there were none there that fall. I enjoyed many a sip of honey from that old tree before we cut it up and made it into firewood.
Down at the far (south) end of the place there were some little open glades surrounded by brush and willows. How well I remember one night when I was after the cows, and spotted some strange animals in one of those little open areas. They were deer--white tailed deer! I had never seen one in the wild before, or anywhere, for that matter. I watched them for several minutes; they were unaware of my being so near. One or two of them jumped the boundary fence while I watched. I could hardly believe my eyes! They didn't have to take a run at it, or anything; they just walked up to the fence, and jumped over it light as a feather! When I finally scared them some way, the small bunch of five or six all dashed away, waving their long white tails gaily. After that I often saw deer in the area farthest from the house and barn.
I soon found that there were many snowshoe rabbits in the woods, and dozens of jack rabbits in the sage brush pasture area. Both varieties were changing into their white winter coats, and could be easily spotted. Great horned owls hooted nearby every night, and Chinese pheasants were plentiful around the alfalfa field.
There were lots of magpies, too--beautiful birds that I hated with a passion. They are terribly malicious things. Oh, they are not intentionally cruel, but in effect are terribly so. While on the homestead we had learned how magpies might find a horse or cow stuck in a mudhole, and eat the poor animal's eyes! Once while on the homestead we had a young colt that had suffered a cut on his back in a barbed wire fence. Before we discovered it, the magpies had eaten a great hole in his back muscles, so that he had to be destroyed. Oh, we hated magpies, all right. All the years we lived on the Burke place I conducted war on those birds.
More to come!
At last we were in school! I had no trouble at all in learning to know my way around in the school. Each of us was assigned a particular desk in the big assembly room. We kept our books and tablets and such stuff in our desks, and went to the various class rooms on a set schedule. During those hours when we weren't in class we sat in the assembly room, studying or reading. One teacher or another was in charge of the assembly each hour, and maintained strict discipline. There was no talking or whispering allowed. I guess (rather, I know!) quite a few notes were passed from one student to another, on the sly. Instead of just raising our hand for permission to go to the toilet, as we had done in grade school, now we had to go back and ask the teacher directly for that permission. But if we had trouble with some question in our studies, the teacher was available,and was generally very helpful.
I had gotten started in algebra, too! Although we were six weeks late in starting, I was able to catch up fairly quickly, and always (well, nearly always!) got along just fine with Miss Dorothy Dutch. Far from being a witch, as I had expected, she was a very good teacher, though awfully strict. If she thought a student was loafing, or being plain lazy, not trying to learn, she was pitiless. Often when we were at the blackboard, working out equations or problems on the board, she would throw an eraser or piece of chalk at some student who wasn't doing well. Believe me, it kept us on our toes! We, in turn, would occasionally accidentally, of course, hold our chalk just right to make one of those horrible, spine-tingling screeches that only a chalk against a blackboard can produce. She hated that sound!
Poor Miss Dutch! I had her as teacher for both algebra and geometry, and learned a lot from her. Years later she was killed in a train accident in eastern Montana. She was one of the outstanding teachers of my high school years, though she was very unpopular with most of the students because of her strict approach to teaching.
Studies were the most important thing in that school. Freshmen had no choice what they would study; only in the last two years of high school did we have a chance to choose. As freshmen, we had algebra, general science, English, and world history. I loved them all, and caught up with the others in all the subjects before Christmas.
In the meantime, the folks were very busy getting ready for the move to the rented farm, which we called the Burke Place. It had once been the homestead of a man named Billy Burke. He had been the husband of my third grade teacher, Mrs. Rose Burke. Billy had a bad problem with drinking, and had died young, I believe. Mrs. Burke made her living teaching school, and rented the farm out to various people. We were to live there three years.
Finally, about the middle of November, we were ready to move. I can still remember that last trip out to the old homestead. The job of loading the sad little bunch of furniture and other moveable things on the hayrack (because it held more than the wagon box),didn't take very long. We rounded up the cattle, put the chickens in coops, and were on our way. Dad had already hauled the corn and a lot of other stuff, on previous weekends. I drove the little bunch of cattle, walking most of the way to the new place. It was very hard for Mom and all of us, going down that winding road to the "Point," turning for one last look at the old place, and then passing around the point and out of sight of our home for all those years. Although Dad went back once or twice later, doing the final clean-up of the move, I wasn't to see the old home again until 1946. By then all the buildings were gone, virtually without a trace.
That first night at our new home was truly something to remember. The shack--for that was all it was--where we were to live was even smaller than our former house! There was one long, narrow room that served as kitchen, eating area, and "living room." The latter area became the folks' bedroom at night, with the same old lounge bed they had used for years pulled out to make a double bed. Then there were two small bedrooms, one occupied by Jean and Mary, and the other by Robert and me. The outside of the house was covered with tar paper--so we felt right at home. It was very much like the homestead. There was only one door to the outside, facing to the east. A roomy cellar under the house had an entrance on the south side of the house. There was no attic, or "back porch" where we could have the washing machine. Thus that valuable machine sat in the kitchen, near the stove. The room was very crowded, even with our scant furniture.
Directly in front of the house, about seventy-five feet away, ran the Milk River, which formed the east boundary of the place both north and south of the buildings. The river was bordered by thick groves of cottonwood trees and diamond willows.
About forty yards south of the house were the barn and hay yard. The barn was terribly small, with room for only two cows or horses at a time. It had been the original dwelling on the place, a very small log cabin, made of cottonwood logs. The building had a very low door, and only one window. The hay yard was fenced, with the corn on which Robert and I had worked so hard and long safely stored there. There was a fenced barnyard, too, enclosing not only an open area maybe thirty yards by forty, but also a patch of brush, mostly chokecherry bushes. That sheltered area was where the cows spent most of the winter, as in the brush they could find some shelter from the almost endless wind.
Just west of the barnyard was the toilet, a sad little structure with only half a roof. In the three years we lived there, we never repaired that roof! The result was a very airy situation, indeed, with snow on the seat whenever snow fell. Just south of the toilet, and dug into the bank of the slough, was the chicken house, much like the dug-out chicken house on the homestead. It was well lighted by the sun, and was cozy and warm in the winter months.
There were no other fences on the place, except the outside line fences that enclosed the whole property. I don't remember just how large the farm was, but would guess about three hundred acres. Brush and trees covered a large part of the land. An old slough (former river bed) and an alfalfa field of about eighty acres lay just south of the house and barn. The remainder of the land was sagebrush "pasture." It was not a prosperous farm, by any means. There were no machine sheds, or machinery, for that matter.
But to me it was a regular paradise. Except for occasional trips from the homestead down to the river bottom land, for wood, or fishing, I had never had opportunity to wander around through woods, or have a river so near at hand. As it was late in the fall, and the land had not been grazed, we simply let our cows and horses roam at will all over the place. It was my job to bring the cows in for milking, as before, and that let me explore the whole place to my heart's content.
One of my first discoveries was an ancient and huge cottonwood tree that had but recently been cut down. Someone--we never found out who--had found that the old tree was a bee tree, and had cut it down for the honey. They had taken most, but not all the honey. I soon found that by reaching far up into the hollow trunk I could find and break off pieces of ancient comb, some of which contained dead bees, but some contained very old, dark brown honey. I had never tasted anything so sweet! I don't know what had happened to the swarm of bees, but there were none there that fall. I enjoyed many a sip of honey from that old tree before we cut it up and made it into firewood.
Down at the far (south) end of the place there were some little open glades surrounded by brush and willows. How well I remember one night when I was after the cows, and spotted some strange animals in one of those little open areas. They were deer--white tailed deer! I had never seen one in the wild before, or anywhere, for that matter. I watched them for several minutes; they were unaware of my being so near. One or two of them jumped the boundary fence while I watched. I could hardly believe my eyes! They didn't have to take a run at it, or anything; they just walked up to the fence, and jumped over it light as a feather! When I finally scared them some way, the small bunch of five or six all dashed away, waving their long white tails gaily. After that I often saw deer in the area farthest from the house and barn.
I soon found that there were many snowshoe rabbits in the woods, and dozens of jack rabbits in the sage brush pasture area. Both varieties were changing into their white winter coats, and could be easily spotted. Great horned owls hooted nearby every night, and Chinese pheasants were plentiful around the alfalfa field.
There were lots of magpies, too--beautiful birds that I hated with a passion. They are terribly malicious things. Oh, they are not intentionally cruel, but in effect are terribly so. While on the homestead we had learned how magpies might find a horse or cow stuck in a mudhole, and eat the poor animal's eyes! Once while on the homestead we had a young colt that had suffered a cut on his back in a barbed wire fence. Before we discovered it, the magpies had eaten a great hole in his back muscles, so that he had to be destroyed. Oh, we hated magpies, all right. All the years we lived on the Burke place I conducted war on those birds.
More to come!
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