pages 137-139

ATY 137-139

                Once again, I was on the trot, heading for Shirley Creek and home.  I went down by our ranch.  I could see Jim in the distance working on some fence.  He had also ordered some fruit trees to set out.  But I did not stop, as he didn’t see me, and went on through the two gates and up to the house.  Mother was working in the garden as I drove by.  Seeing me, she came to the house. She wanted to know the news so I handed her the letters, and as I unhitched, told her all about the trip and how Father and brother were getting started on the cabin for the ranger.

                She said, “Jim got back late last night, and I fixed him a lunch, so he’ll not come back until supper.“ “Yes, I saw him, but didn’t stop,”  I replied, watering the horses. Then, turning them in the corral, went on in the house. 

                My sister had fixed lunch and was setting the table.  We all sat down to eat when the grandchildren came in.  We gave them their mother’s letter and they ran home.  Their grandmother called them back to given them a paper sack with some goodies in it that she had been saving for them.  Each one took a look in the sack , then squeezed the top tight and ran on.

                After dinner we read the letter from my sister Sallie.  She said they were getting the ranching fever again, and they were thinking of moving back to their ranch in Montana,  but they were doing real well there now and might not go for a year.  “But we always get that fever every year about this time since we moved away from Montana.  We are looking for another child in September, and we hope it is a girl.  Our two sons are growing and doing fine.”

                I left Mother reading the letter, and going outside, I stood staring at the garden.  I couldn’t believe my eyes how well things had come up and were growing so nicely.  I strolled down by Shirley Creek, and between the rows of vegetables, taking in each kind that was growing there.  That hill side was always a challenge.  Jumping Shirley Creek, I started climbing its flower, rock-covered sides, pausing now and again to look off into the distance, hunt a pretty rock, or pluck a pretty flower.  Life was carefree at that moment.  I could look for miles in every direction, and the view was so enchanting that I just stood there, looking far and wide.  I was standing there when I saw Jim leave the ranch and start for home.  With my hands full of flowers and small, pretty rocks, I started back down the way I had come up, picking my way as I went.  I was down to the road as he came through the last gate.  I waited. When he came by, I got in the wagon.  “I’ve been missing you.” He said and putting his arm around me, gave me a kiss.

                As I told him of the happenings of the day before, he said, “that must have been quite exciting.” Pulling on the reins.  And with a “ho” we were home.  I went in to put my flowers in water while Jim took care of the team.  Then I went back out and waited while he watered and fed the horses.

                We stood hand in hand talking for some time of our plans for the future.  Father and brother had done quite a lot toward building our home.  They would try to finish it when the ranger’s cabin was done. 

                One week later, after I had taken Father and brother to the cabin site.  Brother came home on evening at dusk to get more supplies.  This time he took the team and wagon with the stuff he had come for, and also all the hay he could take for the team.  He had a young girl to stay with his wife to help with the house work so she could have more time for the baby.

                Mother still enjoyed her work with the turkeys and geese, only now she had young turkeys and geese.  But the zeal or enthusiasm was not dampened.  She still enjoyed all of it, and no matter what Mother undertook, she always did well.  Neatness and cleanliness were her watchwords.  The garden she and Father had planted together was her pride, too.  She loved to cultivate and pick the lush vegetables and prepare them in an appetizing manner for the table, or to can and preserve them for winter’s use.

                May had been a month of blossoms, but now May was gone, and the fruit blossoms had turned into green fruit to ripen as the summer and fall advanced.  And from the looks of it, there would be loads this year of the wild currants, gooseberries, cherries, sarvice berries, etc. Mother had plans to can what she could of this fruit.  Nature had endowed the countryside with.  There would be tame fruit to be had from the irrigated ranches.

                As each day went by, the little place in the valley became more like home to all of us.  For there was something that seemed to fulfill our wishes and desires.  It wasn’t where one lived so much as contentment of soul and mind, and that’s what we seemed to have found for the present.

                Our friends came often to visit , and young men visited my sister.’            

                That evening, Jim and I drove to the Post Office for the mail.  Being a small country Post Office, sometimes no one was there to get us the mail, so Jim knocked at the door of the ranch house.  And as he did so, he heard someone say, “Who is this Annie? Is she one of the girls that live over on Shirley Creek?” his wife said “yes” as Jim knocked the second time.  Then he came to the door and went to get the mail.  “just a paper this time.” He said.  But when Jim handed it to me, I found two letters wrapped in the paper, one was from Jim’s mother to me, and the other one for my folks.  We could not read it as we drove along, for darkness had settled over the valley, So Jim whipped Beauty up and she soon covered the two miles.

                Driving in the yard, we saw that Father and brother had returned for there was the wagon loaded with all of their carpentry tools, etc.’ So the next few days became exciting ones for us.  They would start building on our house again.  When we went in, Father wanted to know if there was any mail.  So we passed over the letter.  Father read it and commented to Mother,  “that same fellow wants us to come back to Portland and build more houses.”  “Nothing doing“ Mother replied, “unless we move back, and we are quite content here.  We have everything we want here and this little valley has more than become home to us.  We love it.  Some day we may move away, but not now”.

                Father replied that we couldn’t go if we wanted to.  “We’ve promised to build for too many people here.”

                We visited and played the piano and sang.  For the day had been a long one.  So off to bed we went.  Father, Mother and sister all went upstairs, While Jim and I lingered behind a bit to have a goodnight kiss at the foot of the stairway.  Then I too went on up to bed. 

                The next morning was a cloudy-like morning,  It had rained in the hills , the mountains were surrounded with fog.  Mother had aroused early, for she always liked to take care of the chickens, turkeys, and geese before getting breakfast.  I heard her trying to sneak down the stairs without waking anyone, so I dressed and came down also.  I wanted to try my hand at baking another batch of bread.  I had tried on several other occasions.  Some had turned out badly and some pretty good.  Knowing Jim liked home baked bread, I’d have to keep trying, and this was one of those days.

                Mother had the fire going, so I set a yeast cake to soak this time rather than try mother’s starter.  The elderly nurse that took care of my sister-in-law said a beginner should use bought yeast to get started on.  Mother came in as I was getting the warm water to put the yeast in.  Putting her finger in the water, she said, “there’s one of the main reasons your bread hasn’t tuned out well.  You kill your yeast before it can even work, with water too hot."  Pouring the water out and getting more, she said, “it’s just barely warm to the touch or eighty degrees.   And if you have to, warm the cup just a bit with the yeast in it, it is better than the water too hot.”  That day I had wonderful bread.  I was so proud of it, I could hardly keep from showing it off, when everyone couldn’t seem to get enough of it, as slice after slice covered with butter disappeared at supper time.  I kept waiting for Jim to say something,  Finally , after his third slice, he looked up and said, “Mother, that’s wonderful bread.  Makes me feel like I am back home in Iowa.”  Mother said, turning to him, “thanks for the compliment, but you are complimenting the wrong one”  “then who,” he asked.  Mother pointed to me.  “You!” he said with a broad smile.  “I am more proud of you than ever.  You are the wonderful little homemaker I had in mind you’d be all along”  and couldn’t say anymore, for having filled his mouth with more of the hot bread.  I was happy for once.  For I remembered my other sad failures so vividly.  It was the climax to a happy day.