Pages 222-231

Pages 222- 231

(222)

It had to be good weather for us to make a fifty mile trip in an open buggy.

The morning though we thought we would go, we awoke to a heavy, soggy snow storm more like a spring snow shower.  Some weeks before when our teeth first started to bother us, we had seen an ad in a farm paper about a liquid filler for teeth.  We sent for it.  You used it by putting it on cotton and while still soft and moist with a tooth pick, put it in the hollow tooth, packing it in firmly.  after a little while the saliva would cause it to become exceedingly hard, almost like a regular filling.  It would keep the cold form getting to the exposed nerve and you could eat with comfort.  These fillings would last for a month or six weeks.  What a blessing it was when one couldn't get to a dentist.  Our teeth, filled with it, were giving us no trouble.

The next few days though turned out to be very nice for February.  We set the alarm so we would get around for an early start.  We drove Beauty and Babe, Jim slipped the shafts from the buggy and put in the tongue so we could drive a team, making it must easier than driving one.

By 8:00 a.m. all bundled up in heavy coats and lap robe, we were up the sloping hill and out of the gate, giving a last wave to our home that had begun to mean more to us than just a home.  It was everything, a home of our dreams, of plans and things to come in the future.  Though humble, our castle, I took a last look just before we drove out of sight.  A thin curl of smoke still rose from the chimney from the dying embers we had left in the stove.  We made double sure all would be well with our home before locking the door to leave it unoccupied.

The air was brisk and anything but warm that early in the morning.  I drew my scarf around my face for my cheeks had more than a chilly feeling.  And as the sun rose higher it became warmer as we jogged along over the narrow rut filled road.  The dead thistles and June grass softened by the winter snows was feed for cattle we saw in numbers.  Now and then a meadow lark would perch on a sagebrush near the road as we drove by, bursting his throat with a song of spring.  Even the little chipmunks had come to the top of their holes, chattering in a friendly fashion, then dashing back in.  Houses were very scarce out here and people more so, but off to our right was a dug-out home.  Some folks from the Midwest had homesteaded this, having no money to build a home, had fixed a pretty nice dugout.  We hear later they came to this dry country for their health.

We were now about half-way across.  So far we had met no one, just us traveling over the many miles along.  Not a breeze was stirring. The sun became warmer and the jogging of the horses gave me a sleepy feeling, laying my head on Jim's shoulder, I fell asleep. (223)  I slept until we came within a mile or two of a ranch and home on a hillside.  We learned that some of these early day folks had been horse and cattle rustlers and some of their sons even had done time for their activities.

We were not close enough to see much except wheat fields greening up after the snows had drifted or melted.  Draws and ravines were still filled with snow.  Raft River was running much fuller that morning, almost up to the bridge that spanned it.

Jim stopped, dropped the tugs, and let the horses drink.  Well do I remember the dry hot September day we stopped there to feed and water the horses and eat our own lunch.  Jim, my sister, mother and I. It looked much better now, the whole valley did.  The winter moisture had given it a much better appearance.  The wheels as usual did not stir up the dust as we drove along.  And the sun was not blazing down with a mirage in the distance, an optical atmospheric illusion.  the alkali dust did not burn and sting our faces, but the cool February sun did tan them considerably after being in the house most of the winter.

The horses had begun to tire.  Jim held them down to a walk, but they seemed anxious to get it over with, taking on a trot again.  We were now climbing, heading for the point of the mountain on the opposite side of the valley.  the long trip across the wide flat valley had been accomplished.  The horses were sweating some and slowed to a walk again. 

We could see Rupert from the point and all of the town in that irrigated valley.  At last we were there letting the horses pause to blow a bit.  We surveyed the countryside for miles.  A cold wind came up with a few flakes of snow.  We were already chilled from the many miles behind us and this did not help any.

The old Snake River looked cold and foreboding, looming before us.  It was now about one in the afternoon. As we made the descent the wind subsided and the snow ceased as we moved from a higher altitude to a lower, putting us in a warmer atmosphere.

The point of the mountain was always cold, even in summer a cool wind seemed to circulate there.  Some miles below the point we began to meet people.  Some were in buggies and wagons going their various ways.  We saw only two jackrabbits loping across the flats, but here we saw dozens of them.  They had come to be known as the long-eared pest.  They foraged at night around haystacks and feed lots.  And summer in farmers hayfields, mostly those farmers next to the desert were damaged considerable by them.

We were still traveling in Cassia County, but the bridge was in sight and soon the horses' feet made a hollow plump sound as we drove across.  When middle way, Jim stopped the horses while we gazed down into its depth.  A cool breeze that came from the river bathed our already cold faces.  Jim said, "How would you like to be down there?"  I returned, "It wouldn't be pleasant on a day like this." 

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Now in Minidoka County the horses sped up, feeling they would soon be to their destination and this was Uncle Sam's pet project.  It perhaps was better in ways than others why it was so named.

It was just 2:30 p.m. when Jim tied the horses to the hitch rack on the north side of the square around the park.  A number of teams hitched to wagons and buggies were also tied there with the leafless poplar trees.  These kind of trees grew fast making a quick shade and the shade was pleasant in summer when farmers and their families came to town to trade from their sometimes treeless forty or eight in those days.

We did not have far to walk before we were at the dentist's office.  Luckily the dentist was there and not busy.  After telling him how far we had driven, he went right to work digging out the false fillings.  He seemed quite interested in what we had used to keep food and cold from the hollow tooth. 

After my one tooth and Jim's two were treated, Jim took me to his uncle and aunt's in the northwest corner of town where they had a nice two story house and an acre in lots.  He drove the team to his friend's place to stay until we were ready to return home.  Then he walked back to his uncle's home where we spent the night.

They were such wonderful Iowa folks.  I'll never forget how nice they were to us.  The next to the oldest girl played several lovely pieces on the piano which made me feel right a home.  We visited until late before retiring.

The next morning we went back to the dentist to finish up the job of filling our teeth which did not take long.  And while I shopped around town, Jim walked out to get the team and buggy, tying them to the hitch rack, we loaded up with groceries and other things we would be needing for some time.  One didn't make fifty mile trips very often with a team and buggy.  When the job was finished we drove back to his uncle's to bid them goodbye.

Jim's watch showed straight up twelve noon when we waved goodbye, taking off again for the wide open spaces, leaving the town of Rupert.  We headed south for Snake River and the bridge.

It had been a pleasant memorable trip for we seemed to have plenty to talk about to make the miles go faster as we drove along intent in our conversation. 

For we traveled the four miles or better to the bridge in what seemed like no time.  The horses hooves were making that hollow, plump sound again as we crossed the bridge that divided the two counties. The wind was a bit sharp stinging our faces as we drove along beside the old Snake. Winter or summer it was always cool in the first road. We were now driving through irrigated land in Cassia County. I counted four small homes.  After some length we came to the last canal and bridge to cross.

(225)

The desert faced us straight ahead. Over this same desert, narrow sagebrush road, my father, brother and Jim, had freighted their furniture and lumber for our homes to be on the dry land homesteads.

Jim said, "I am right at home on this road." "Well," I replied, "I have a faint recollection of it. This is the same road you brought us over when we made that trip in September of 1912."

We were climbing now and had been ever since we left the river, hitting out for the point of the mountain. The wind came up stronger with more chill in it. We did not make it as fast as we figured back to the point. The closer we came, the harder the wind blew. Only now it was carrying snowflakes that became thicker each minute, pulling our canvas which we always kept on the back of the buggy seat for just such purposes, up over our shoulder and partly over our heads. We continued on, we had no other choice for there wasn't a person or even a house to be seen. It was the horses and us for it did not let up until we started down the other side.  It took a mile or so to outrun it. It was still chilly in the flats, but more quiet and peaceful and a bit cloudy with the sun trying its best to break through. Another mile or so and the sun was bright and clear. What a welcome sight.

It was now one-thirty. We were halfway across the flats. A few stray cattle feeding late in the winter on the dead thistles stopped their grazing momentarily to gaze at us and utter a moo or two. But even that sounded good.

Finally our eyes caught sight of a wagon and team coming into our road from a side road. The man waved his hand and said, "Hello" to our nod. We pulled alongside. When he stopped his wife leaned over to say, "Well, we don't know you, nor you us, but it seems mighty good to see some folks, whoever they are." They were going to Burley to do some trading. "Yes," I replied, "and do you know you are the first people we have seen since leaving the river?" "It don't surprise me a bit," the woman said. She went on, "You know, sometimes weeks go by before we see anyone, unless a cowboy rides by looking for a stray critter. Our three young ones ride to school on horseback and in that way they get with other young ones and see folks that's way." "Well," the man said, "We best be getting along, but you know where my ranch is," motioning up in by Coe Creek. As he drove on he told us his name. Also they'd be right pleased to have us stop a spell if we ever happened up that way. Jim called after them, "You never can tell." We waved them on. "They seemed like nice folks," Jim said, crowding the horses to a trot.

Jim looked as his watch and said, "Do you know we talked an hour?" My glance showed it to be two-thirty. "Exactly," I said, "but what's that to people hungry for a visit and the sight of another human being? But they certainly must go to their school house for box socials, square dances or they should have a Sunday School anyway." Jim said, "Maybe they feel their clothes aren't good enough." (226) "I thought they looked nice enough," I replied. We moved closer to home with each mile we put behind us.

The Shirley Creek foothills still white with snow higher up were plainly visible.  The jogging of the horses caused my eyelids to become heavy with my head on Jim's shoulder, I soon was fast asleep. With his arm around me for warmth. Thus I rode out most of the last half of the trip until we came to the many little homestead cabins on the edge of the flats below our place.

There was the log cabin of the folks we had visited some weeks back and on farther south, the boarded up and down home of the man helping Jim to rail the sage and here was the cut off leading to our place. It was a narrow rut-filled sagebrush trail that two cows could hardly travel side by side on.

Now the horses went slower for we had been on the climb for a good many miles. Our fence line was in sight and also the chimney of our home and did it ever look good. It seemed like we had been gone for weeks. We could see father had been there and fed the stock, but they were waiting around for another handout as we wound up our fifty mile journey in our own yard.

Out of the buggy I jumped and ran for the house, unlocking the door.  We soon had two fires going. Jim took care of the team and stock. We then unloaded the buggy, piling our kitchen table and cupboard high with groceries and other things we knew we would have to have.

We did the chores. The house was warm and cozy now so we went about filling the cupboards with the groceries. I had bought flannelette to make night shirts and nighties. Mother had said I might have her machine to use, but I put the material away figuring some later date I'd make them as we did not need them at present. And too there would be sewing for the arrival of our little one and mother had also promised she'd assist me in getting the things cut out and made.

At supper that night our newly filled teeth felt funny to chew on, but even though they didn't feel just right, it was a blessing and we'd soon be used to the fillings and the tooth ache would be gone.

The trip too had been tiring. So when the clock showed nine, we left the warm, dying fire with a singing teakettle, picking up the lamp, made our way to the bedroom to retire for the night, and when blowing out the light, the room couldn't have been darker, for there was an almost inky blackness outside.

Jim said, "I am glad we got home before dark for I'd hate to be out on the road in this pitch blackness." "But I don't believe though it was any darker than that night we came back from Albion after our wedding," I replied. "Maybe not," he answered making himself comfortable to slip off into slumber land. And soon we realized someone was there for we heard the yodeling voice drifting over the sage and down the valley to us. (227) My brother was coming back from where he had been building a home near Burley. That yodeling, I'd know anywhere, for no one could ever yodel just that way. It was music of the sweetest kind, falling on our ears and there it was being wasted in the blackness of night in a lonely empty desert.  That was his way of keeping himself company when traveling alone at night. Then too his little family would hear him coming and be waiting for his return. they would arise and put a light in the window that would shine forth out in the darkness, a small wee beam to guide him to his door. What happiness there would be I thought, turning for the third time. I closed my eyelids and I too was asleep, sleeping away the thoughts and happenings of another day that was gone forever but not lost for much was accomplished on that trip.

As I prepared breakfast the next morning, the thought of the couple we had met on the road in the wagon was still going through my mind and I said to Jim as we sat down to eat and to return thanks for a new day and our many blessings, "We ought to visit them sometime. I have a feeling they would be grateful." "But we have so many right around us," Jim said, "why go that far?"  "But they seem more like folks that are 'The Salt of the Earth,'  and too there's a very nice couple and three children that have moved to this country from Missouri that we haven't visited yet so we must plan our next visit there." But before we had hardly finished our breakfast, we saw four head of horses hitched to a wagon come through the gate at the top of the hill. And soon the horses came to a stop with a loud, "Ho." Jim was out the door. He had come to do railing on the sage where they left off last summer.

I was glad Jim now could get around fairly good on his broken leg. The ankle was awfully stiff, the break was so close to it, but Doc had said to jut use it naturally and the stiffness would disappear. Jim did, but it was hard going so he still used the one crutch.

When I looked out the door, Jim had harness the team and off to the bench.  I knew that meant company for dinner. After cleaning up the dishes I set about to make pie and plan the meal.

Then sat down to relax for a while by writing a letter to my sister in Montana. Later I peeled the potatoes and set them on the back of the stove to cook slowly. I added more wood to the fire, then opening the oven, I lifted out the prune pie, a golden brown and set it on the cupboard to cool, basted the meat I had roasting and put on a cup of dried corn to cook. Jim's folks had sent it to su from Iowa.  That was the first time I had used any of it since getting the big cardboard box.

At dinner Jim was all elated over getting to eat corn form Iowa. This got the men talking of growing and cultivating corn. This went on until time for dessert. They enjoyed the pie more for prunes raised in this altitude sere exceptionally sweet, especially if a few (228) light frosts hit them before canning or drying. After dinner I slipped on a jacket, going down the hill from the house, across Shirley Creek and up the winding road to the bench.

Had Beauty been around, I would have saddled and ridden her, but she was off with her colt, Billy Fortune. Jim turned her loose the night before and that could mean most any place on this three hundred and twenty acre ranch.

Oh! well, the doctor said, "exercise" and this certainly was it.  I stopped once in awhile to rest on the steep-like clime. There was another road for teams and wagons on the west fence line, but this was shorter though steeper.

Jim saw me as I made the top, saying coming toward me, "Why didn't you let me know? I would have left a saddle horse for you to ride." "Well I am supposed to exercise,' I said, "But not this much," he replied taking my arm. He limped noticeably on his broken leg without his crutch. I said, "I should be helping you instead of you me." "Oh, it's just stiff is why," he said.

Just then the four head of big horses mad the round where we were. I'll always hear that popping and tearing loose of the sage roots as I heard it that day, when the man rode the heavy rail over it pulling it loose. There was the smell of the green wet sage that one never forgets and lasts a lifetime.

Now and then a rabbit would dash for safety away from the onslaught of the rail and then a sage hen would chatter frantically, leaving her home to be ruined.

After railing for so long he would rest the horses awhile. And hitched the idle team on a rake to windrow and bunch it. That's where the fun came when Jim set one fire after another, for the freshly piled sage quite wet did not burn so good, but the burning of it clearing the land was always a happy occasion since time began, especially so with our pioneering forefathers. And here it was being enacted in our day.

Jim was afraid I'd get to tired. He insisted I start and walk back slowly which I did. But I hadn't more than started when the man thought the horses had done enough for one day on so heavy a job. I stopped and waited until they were ready to start. Jim helped me into the wagon, then he got in, sitting down, held me on his lap to take some fo the jar of the wagon. I never did forget that ride.

It was quire cold when we got to the house. I soon remedied that by having the fires going when Jim came in from doing the chores. He said, "Now we are in for the night," and shut the door to the world outside, comfortable in our own little home.

A few days later we awoke in the middle of the night to hear the eaves running. A rain had come to the valley, turning into snow by morning leaving the valley blanketed in white seeming to indicate winter wasn't over yet.

(229)

About noon with the warm rays of the sun and a Chinook wind, the snow had disappeared again into Mother Earth.

February days now were numbered, a short month and during the last few days of it we went visiting our new neighbors. They were Midwest folks, seeking land and a home and little to do with like most homesteaders.  His chances did not look too good where his place was located. They were very glad to have us call. He was small-like. His wife was somewhat taller with four children. Two were in school when we arrived, but both came before we left.

Jim and the man were much interested in their visiting. The woman went to prepare their evening meal, returning to the room said she'd like us to stay for supper. "Oh, no," I replied, "we have chores, we mustn't stay." But she insisted.

Jim had also come from the Midwest so they were reviewing and comparing this country with that, and there was no comparison that I could see. Finally getting Jim's attention said, "We must be going." Jim rose and reached for his hat when she asked us again to stay. I had gotten close enough to nudge Jim's arm, meaning we must go. Then the man began to insist so we finally gave it.  I did not want to embarrass these good folks, but she did have a very good meal though of roast deer, gravy, potatoes, home baked bread and an apple pie for dessert.  These folks were the kind we had for neighbors for everyone loved his friends that much. "The Salt of the Earth," I said.

We did not get any more railing done. The weather hadn't been good enough. The next day we went for our weekly mail again. We found the arrival of several packages of things we had ordered, also papers, letters and magazines.  We were about ready to get the folks mail when father drove up to get it, talking for some little time. We started home slowly, father overtook us saying they wanted us to come for dinner Sunday.  We said we would. He turned right and we turned left to go to our homes and trotting right along we were soon there.

There were still embers in the stoves so I added more wood. We were very anxious to open the package, the one of garden seeds, with their gaily decorated packages made one anxious to get the ground read for seeding, we turned each package, handling it over and over, reading each carefully, scrutinizing the fine print, so as not to miss a thing at planting time, for we had paid a whole big give dollars for them which we could hardly afford.

Jim's folks had sent us another box of papers and books which meant so much to us. The other was goods and clothes we had ordered from a mail order house. Everything fit and was what we ordered. I put the things away and settled back once again going for the much attractive seed packages.  If the seed house only knew that those well colored seed packets were one of the main causes of giving one spring fever with a desire for planting a garden (230) with never a thought of the cultivating, weeding, hoeing and backache that follows. Ours was put away until a suitable time to plant and for the time being would enjoy our papers, magazines and those the folks had sent which would take a considerable amount of our spare moments. 

The day had dragged somewhat, but evening was drawing nigh as I prepared our evening meal.  Jim did the chores.  Somewhat cloudy, daylight waned much faster and by the time we were ready to eat, I had to light the lamps with the valley engulfed in darkness. We sat enjoying our food. Later I when opened the door to throw out the dishwater the coyote had begun his nightly serenade.  The night-bird from the canyon let out an angry-like scream as though protesting this hideous yapping.

Shirley Creek, running much fuller and faster these days, could also be heard, gurgling and dashing along as it poured over the small dirt falls below our home. Jim had put in some logs and rocks to make a dam to hold and back the water up in the summer when the stream carried so very little.  I was shutting the door to the roar, the yapping and still darkness of the night, when the bawling of a cow fell faintly on my ears.  One of our neighbors perhaps, below us.  Soon it became plainer, more like a distress bawl. The bawling was closer now and then a calf's piteous bawl, as though it was being attacked. I opened the door only wide enough to peer out when a cow lumbered past with what looked like a calf by her side with a strange looking object following. It did not cry out so to this day I do not know what it was, but the cow's bawls became less audible as she disappeared.  I asked Jim if he had heard the noise.  He thought it just a lost cow that drifted from a herd and had gotten into our field. Hearing nothing more we sat thus reading until bedtime.

Jim though had quit reading and was sleeping soundly in his comfortable rocker.  Laying my magazine aside, shook him lightly, asking him if he thought he was in bed, mumbling something under his breath, arose, and followed me to the bedroom.  We both shivered a bit, as we got into bed, for I had let the fire die out long before we retired.

Morning and all was well.  The sun was just hitting our valley.  I had neglected to draw up a bucket of water from the cistern the night before, so I stepped out in my housecoat into the chilly dawn.  I raised the lid to hear the bucket hit the water with a smacking-like sound and drew up the cool fluid. Shutting the door behind me, I filled the empty tea kettle, setting it on to heat and went back to bed. "Where have you been, you feel like a snowbank?" Jim asked. "Well in order to have breakfast," I replied, "I first had to get water to put on." "Outside?" he asked, "Yep," I answered.

The fire soon roaring away I arose to finish the task of preparing our morning meal. Hot coffee and biscuits tasted mighty good. The (231) sun was much higher now. We would soon be going up to our folks place for this was Sunday.

Jim had already fed and harnessed Beauty, and finishing up the last touches of cleaning the house for I never like to come back to a dirty one.  I got ready while Jim shaved.

Off with the lap robe tucked in, Beauty trotted right along, waving to our neighbors as usual we were soon following the somewhat winding road into the canyon.

Jim wanting to be funny said, "What would you do if the britchen broke?" That was the part of the harness by which a horse could keep the buggy from going down a hill too fast, somewhat like a brake. Before I could say, "I don't know." he told me he had often heard his father repeat about the old lady who trusted the in the Lord until the britchen broke, then her faith all went with the wind.

We could see a thin wisp of smoke, circling from the chimney and that pungent-like odor of the quaken aspen that filled the air on our many trips to the folks. I loved that smell. It had such a delightful woodsie campfire odor.  Toby, the first to spot us, came bounding down the road, his tail like a sail, waving madly, barking and jumping at the buggy, making us welcome in his doglike fashion, brought father to the door as we drove up.

The hills were rather bare looking since the snow had melted and the old wild cherry grove looked as dead as ever with its bare limbs reaching out to the sun, waiting for new life of spring to awaken them.  The birds chirp, through somewhat sweet was far from a spring note. Toby continued his twisting into many shapes to make us welcome, following us clear to the door.  Mother opened it with a most welcome gesture, chicken was on the menu for the delicious smell filled the house.

With my sister was busy putting the finishing touches to cleaning the front room, it seemed good to be home again in its warm confines. Mother cheerful as ever and busy as usual for you seldom found her hands idle. She was the kind who made the most of life, always peasant.

It was not long until one of my sister's friends came.  He liked music and singing so they were soon in the middle of it. Father, Jim and I sat in the kitchen along with mother to visit while I helped with the dinner.  The hour soon rolled around. I set the table and we were seated. Father returned thanks and things were passed. Everything tasted so wonderful and when it was over, Toby was more than thankful for his dish of scraps.

At evening mother talked us into staying the night and a usual we weakened and stayed, for so like children, still loving the old home.  Later Jim and I went up to visit my brother and family. They seemed quite happy and content. The children sat playing with their toys having the most fun until their mother said it was bedtime. They (232) rebelled, but finally retired tearfully.  Soon they were lulled to sleep by our talking which kept up for some time until I felt my parents had retired also.  We left arm in arm down the hill.