pgs 318-334th

 

Across the Years 318 thru 334

     He had worked later than usual, the horses were quite sweaty and glad to be free of the harness and to roll on the dry dusty ground.  Jim said as we walked toward the house, “it’s just getting too dry.” His hair and eyebrows were covered with dust and his clothes as usual that dusty sage smell.  He was tired I knew, so we did not tarry long before retiring, sleeping soundly, until around midnight when the barking of our neighbor’s dog awakened us, his barks seemed to come from just below the house in the canyon.  We thought, “Why would he be there?” and what could he be barking at?”  Our minds dug up a number of things from bobcats to a cow or a horse that had gotten in, but why on our place, unless he had chased or crowded it on our place.  Much too dark to go prowling around when we knew not what, we just left well enough alone, going back to sleep only to wake every little while, until daylight, when we heard a sound like that of a very large animal.

     Jim slipped into his clothes, and opening the door saw a big Hereford bull eating at the rack.  The dog, tired out, was lying close by.  When the dog saw Jim, he renewed his attack, finally getting the big fellow on the run, causing dirt and small rocks to fly, as he made his way up the hillside to crowd through a loose wire, leaving hide and hair sticking to the barbs in an effort to free himself and get away from the dog.  Once through the fence on his own side, he turned on the dog with lowered head, bellowing furiously.

     “Well,” Jim said, when he returned, “there’s more fence to fix.  I didn’t get to see his brand, so I don’t know who he belongs to.”  But the dog didn’t seem to want him around, and was satisfied and went home after getting him through the fence.  Then seating ourselves to eat, Jim, said, “Do you know what tomorrow is?”

     “Well, yes and no,” I answered.  “If it is some special day – no”

     Jim piped up without further adieu, “June, the month of roses.”  Then he went on to say,  “Let us hope that it isn’t as dry as May.”

     Our garden looked well enough, but it was the heavy soil that held the moisture deep right at the roots.  And dry winds swept the land sometimes for several days until they became wearisome, with dust in everything.  Even to imagine  it in our food wasn’t unlikely.  This was the last day we would have in May, it came in dry, so we wondered what June would do.  At sunset though the skies were dark and lowering and did look a bit stormy.

     We retired hoping for a light shower, if no more than to help settle the dust.  A wind seemed to come up from nowhere in the night.  We heard things being whipped around.  As we lay listening, with the wind and dust came the raindrops, beating on the roof and against the windows, it came from the west, beating the hardest on the kitchen and bedroom windows, this was music to our ears, continuing through the night.  The valley and surrounding country, it took on a clean, moist, refreshed look . when we looked from our back door that morning, and so this was the month of June,  clearing away about noon, giving the valley a dripping look for bushes and fences were still loaded with the little raindrops that continued to drip for some time after the shower had vanished, into the atmosphere from whence it came.  A wonderful feeling, for the air had been exceedingly dry for some time.

     We spent the day indoors catching up on reading and writing letters long overdue, we always enjoyed times like this, but the next day Jim spent at the barrowing.  This went on until it was gone over again, and would also keep the weeds down, that would use up the moisture, if let frow.  Thus the days went in much the same manner.

     The sage chickens were quite plentiful that year.  When one would come on a bunch, the little poults would scatter into the brush, seeking a hiding place.  Once we came upon an old coyote, lying among the sage waiting for just such a chance, then the hawks sailing overhead seeking out what they might devour.  So many of them when young became food for other wild creatures.  This somehow seemed the logical plan by which this earth was laid out, for one wild creature to live off of another.  So many of the little poults or sage chickens never had the chance of growing to maturity, with all of the clever, cunning ways , the mother sage hen was endowed with to protect her young, it seemed useless at times.  There were also pheasants, but we saw only a few.  For they seemed to be somewhat scarce that year of 1914.  Some of our neighbors down in the flats claimed to have seen quite a few.  The little cottontails though along Shirley Creek, were more plentiful.  Our neighbors below us would come to hunt them and sometimes would bag three or four.  They were smart little fellows, their holes or burrows most generally close by could escape on short notice into dens, dug into the bank.  Jim would mostly go real early of morning or just at dusk at feeding time, for they seemed easier prey then, and never more than two I would tell him.  We could use that many nicely.

     One evening just as darkness began settling in the canyon, I stood at the edge waiting, I had heard one shot, and was waiting for the second.  Then, I heard him cracking and breaking the brush, as he walked along.  A sudden halt, and the fun fired again.  “Well,” I thought, “he’s got the other one, he’ll soon be coming.”  I waited and waited, but no sound whatever, finally the fun fired again, so I wondered what was wrong.  He couldn’t see now. When a faint outline dashed past me up the hill from the opposite side, I then could see Jim coming.  He had his two rabbits, but he had stayed in the canyon long enough for the shades of night to fall around him, the time for earth’s wild creatures to prowl, saying as he neared me “There was two of them.  I’m quite sure I got one.”  As we opened the door to enter, we halted for a moment to listen to the weird howling across the canyon.  “That’s the one you didn’t get,” I said, as we went on in, lighting the lantern I held it outside the door, so Jim could dress the rabbits.  When our night bird sent out his cry and a little farther down the old hoot owl began his “hoo, hoo” for the night as it answering the nightbird’s cry.  They were still at it, when Jim had finished, washing the dressed meat, and we went in, closing our door to nature and the drawn shades of night.  That encompassed us.  Then yapping cries and hoos continued faintly falling on our ears, as we sat reading for a while before retiring. 

     “one more month and about two weeks,” I said to Jim as I turned the covers to retire, “before,” I went on, “we’ll know what our boy will look like.”

     It had to be a boy, we couldn’t think or plan for anything else, it had been dubbed a “he” from the start, and we were getting anxious now and time seemed to drag.  Doc had said it would be in July unless I did some silly stunt.  I had had that preached to me by the nurse and also my mother.  Having been a tomboy all my life, how could I refrain now.  Then Jim warned me of the consequences, so I tried desperately hard to do as I was told,  but it grew monotonous, staying alone at times.  I tried to get interested in reading good books, but somehow I wasn’t the book type, at that time, anyway, I read though just to pass the time.   I liked short stories in magazines best, they ended quicker and suited my temperament better.  I liked to write though, so short stories and poems used much of my time, but whenever Jim went for the mail with the buggy, I went along.  He would hold Beauty down to a walk, the buggy had good springs, so it was quite easy riding.  I always enjoyed trips no matter what – horseback, wagon, buggy or in what direction. 

     This brings to mind a horseback trip Jim and I took shortly after we were married.  We went hunting for a young heifer we had out, it had gotten away earlier in the fall, we saddled up, filling the saddle bags with sandwiches for a noon lunch, starting early, it just couldn’t have been a nicer fall day.  We rode along enjoying the glorious freshness in the air,  frost had been hitting heavy in the hills along Shirley Creek above my folks’ place, the leaves on the trees, losing nature’s green, had faded to yellow and red, then brown, and falling on grass still green, like molten gold of the quaken aspen, a foot stool for the green pine and fir trees above it, the chirping of the crickets and the moaning of the wind through the closely clustered boughs, a sighing lonely feeling, a thing that would be of little comfort to one lost in a forest, the birds squealing in a whistling like sound, flaying above these giants of the hills, and those making sweet chirping noises among the branches, the deer, that took off madly from the cool flowing water he was drinking, pausing awhile in flight, to look back, from his mountainside retreat.  A wonderful trip and I was enjoying it more than one could express.  Always glad of a chance to take to heart and mind more of the grandeur there was before us.   

     We continued to ride here and there, the calf we were looking for never came to view, using our field glasses whenever we were near or came on a bunch of cattle.  Being fall, very few cattle were in the hills, most by now were down in the flats or feed lots.  At noon we let the horses eat grass, while we sat on a fallen tree log to eat our lunch, little wood chucks and squirrels darted away n the brush on sight of us, perching himself atop a small rock, sitting up straight, unperturbed for the moment, when I cracked a twig in trying to throw a crust of bread his way, only a flash was all as he vanished.  We did not stop long, for afternoons pass quickly and darkness cloaks the hills and valleys fast.  When the sun starts, its descent over the horizon, for the days were shorter, now, causing daylight to fade even faster. 

     Jim said, “ There’s two more places I want to look, then we’ll start back.”  We had been riding for some time now in the Heglar canyon, but not a trace yet.  Then turning, rode in the opposite direction, backtracking a part of what we had come over, then about that time a scream fell on our ears.  “That’s a mountain lion,” Jim said, “and he could be close by,” bringing our horses to a halt, the piercing cry came again.  Starting on Jim said, “he’s hunting prey, the old boy is probably hungry,” and getting our horses off to a gallop, the squawling and coughing came to us again some distance down the trail.  Our last place failed to produce a clue, so we took to the main trail leading along toward Shirley Creek, for we had ridden further than we thought.  When we came to Fall Creek, turning we followed back over the divide, for Fall Creek flowed down the reverse side from Shirley Creek, and then the summit where we paused to use the field glasses.  In taking in the country there was our folks’ place and to the north aways my brother’s and neighbor’s and farther down ours then putting the field glasses away.

     “come on, “ Jim said, “let’s get out of here, see those shadows,” he continued, “that’s a good sign the sun is leaving this part.”  Looking back, shadows were gathering and soon the earth would be covered with the dark of night.

     We rode on much faster for the sun’s departing rays always left a chilly aftermath, especially in the higher elevations, and along creeks, we could now see the mist rise from the gushing, rushing stream as it flowed downward, then soon cool and quiet it was, rippling along to the valley below.  The darkness came on faster now with a coolness settling over the valley, we could feel it on our faces.it seemed to rise from the floor of the canyon, we were nearing my folks’ place.

    We could hear toby barking, father was our feeding his stock.  I could see mother in the door, then my sister came out, field glasses were excellent for picking out and drawing things near, the smoke from the chimney drifted upward, then curled away toward the top of the bench, soon close enough to inhale the quaken aspen smoke, we must stop to eat with them was a must with my folks, so we agreed.  Mother was putting the supper on while my sister finished setting the table, when we entered soon seated and being hungry from the long ride, we ate heartily and much tired from the day’s trek remained only a short while to visit.  On our way home Toby tagged along to the first gate, when father gave a sharp whistle, he pricked up his ears then hesitated, for a moment, then dashed away at full speed, as though a pan of food awaited him.

     Through the second gate, now our horses took off on a gallop.  Our neighbors looked out wondering who was going by, as our voices rang out a “hello” that echoed back to us and with a hello from our neighbors in response.  Here now was our gate, Jim dismounted to open it leading his horse on to the house.

     We tarried a little before retiring that night, still wondering as we lay talking, where could Fawn’s heifer have vanished to, and the more we thought , the less we knew, giving her up as lost, thought little about it until spring came when cattle were returning to the range for summer, and so our neighbor, south of us, going by in the section lane one morning on horseback, stopped to tell Jim she was in with a bunch of range cattle above his other place in the hills along Shirley Creek, and thought she would freshen soon.  She evidently had been rounded up that fall, wintering with someone’s cattle, but we never found out whose, so with the help of another fellow, Jim brought her home in the first part of May.  This is the one I mentioned coming fresh in another part of this story.

    So, the days slipped by, each seeming to go a little slower, than the one before.  I would go with Jim when he walked to do odd jobs, like burning small piles of brush pulled out by the harrow, to set an extra post or string another strand of wire.  I liked housework and cooking while around it, but now it became monotonous, for I felt it was something I had to do to pass the time, and there were days the wind blew.  I would try desperately to keep the dust mopped up that sifted beneath the doors and around windows, no matter how well they were corked or fastened, the fine powder sifted through the most minute opening, so I grew a dislike for winds, spring winds  especially.  The winds here though were never as fierce or blew as hard as those we encountered when first arriving at Rupert from Portland that spring of 1912, those were usually heavily laden with dust, intermingled with a few drops of rain, while here our winds blowing less hard, would be accompanied sometimes with a cloudiness that brought on a roar of thunder with a flash of lightning resulting in a light shower, just enough to dampen the earth and small peaceful streams to overflow banks, sometimes mild, while at other times, a wall of water came sweeping things along in its wake, other times, a wall of water came sweeping things along in its wake, uprooting trees, tearing out fences and posts and sometimes a helpless calf was swept off its feet, drowned, as it was carried along by the torrent, a mountain peak seemingly coming in contact with a water laden cloud, and being ripped apart, supposedly, spewing it out in one big roaring rush, to flow over where it will for a cloud burst can be heard for some distance, when it goes on a rampage.

     A few days later, when I decided it was time to get the wash done, a dry wind, without warning, whipped up from the arid flats.  I could readily sense how those folks below us felt, about these wind storms, and later when I went out to put the clothes on the line, the wind was shifting about in little fusty circles, as though angry, slapping each piece of wet garment in my face before I could fasten it to the line, gazing up in the sky saw big feathery like clouds, drifting and changing, for the wind seemed their guide.  The clothes popped, and whipping like mad as though someone were cracking a heavy whip, shaking the still dripping water from each piece, while I somehow managed to pin the last garment to the line.  Back in the house, gazing from the window, to see the clothes being beat by the ever increasing wind, and seeing a cloud of dust, coming up the valley, for the wind by now had picked up momentum speed, moving loose dirt intermingled with sticks, brush and trash.  Picking up my basket, to be re-washed or would be torn away.  In the nick of time, Jim came to help and carried them into the house for me.  Most were practically dry, I had only a few to spread around or hang them on the line in the kitchen.  Unharnessing as quickly as he could, Jim came running to the house, them looking from our north windows, could see the horses making for the canyon, for shelter, thinking it a better place to weather it out than the barn.  The wind by now at its strongest, seemed filled with much debris.  Toward evening, as it retreated then came a shower, bring out the smell of the sage, the wild roses from the canyon and flowers from the nearby hillsides, halting by night fall, leaving a slight mist to continue blessing the land, while darkness came early to cover the damp renewed earth.

     By morning, an aftermath of coolness was everywhere, leaving fragrant scents, when the sun pulled itself atop the mountain to send our a glowing warmth of brightness, filling each nook and cranny.  Our garden doing nicely, showed its glossy green vegetables, the results of the shower.  As usual, Jim harrowed to hold the moisture.  This would go on until about September when the ground would be seeded to fall wheat.

     Then at the close of day Jim came, after caring for the horses, we both stood gazing into the west, watching intently, the setting of the sun, then, later we noticed a cloud, which seemed to interrupt the lowering, marring it from view, causing a shadow to settle over it, then, after a moment of time, the fleecy cloud vanished, leaving the sun to show its last golden ray before sinking from view.  We then went in, lighting the small coal oil lamp on the table, and sat down to lunch.  I had baked that morning, so we had fresh bread, milk and a dish of rhubarb I had canned the fall before, going to the living room later we sat reading for some time.  Upon retiring, a prolonged cry like a thing in distress, or a wild cat on the prowl, hunting something to devour, the cry much different than that of the coyote.  His yappings were never heard that night,  a thing unusual for our coyote friend.  He wasn’t aiming to let his whereabouts be known for reasons of his own.  He no doubt understood the prowler’s hideous cry.  Throughout the long drawn out night in fact, Mr. Hoot Owl, nor our nightbird uttered a cheep.  Tired, we were soon fast asleep, waking only as the faint rays of dawn came stealing in our bedroom window.

     The noises we had heard the night before, were as silent as the surrounding hills, only the chirping and whistling of the birds from the canyon, that usually filled the hours at dawn could be heard, and the merry little breezes that rustled the small leaves on each bush, when it passed through.  The intruder had left behind footprints, plainly identifiable – no one was fooled by them. We thought little of it, for prints like these had been seen before, the prints were those of the cat species, much wilder and more fierce than the common housecat.  If captured, when a baby, can be trained, to be tame and somewhat of a pet.  But, when full frown, are not to be trusted with all his training.

     Some days later, one of our neighbors, came calling , they came in a spring wagon.  The lady said, as she was assisted out, we hadn’t driven over to their place for some time, so thought they should come calling, just to see how we were.  The children dashed everywhere while the lady and I went to the house and Jim and the man took care of the team, then sat down on the pile of posts close by to do their talking.  The lady and I sat on chairs just outside the door, here we sat enjoying every minute of it.  She was a person most anyone would love to converse with, for she had a homey good natured way, one who could fit in no matter where or with whom, so here we talked almost forgetting dinner time was close at hand and company.

     I got up quickly saying, “I must prepare our noon meal.”

     “Now let’s not worry or hurry too fast,” she said,  “We took the day off for this visit.”

     Here she followed me into the kitchen, where I set about to fix up the fire and put a teakettle on to boil, then I took an apron from the hanger in the bedroom.  Handing it to the lady, by now she was peeling potatoes.  The men folks, having grown tired of their uncomfortable seats, came into the living room to set in chairs more restful.  While the lady put on the potatoes, I fried meat, made gravy, then opened a can of peas, put it on to boil, adding butter, seasoning with milk, thickening and opened a can of peaches to go with a part of a cake I had left over and while I made the tea, the lady lifted the dinner, slicing the bread, we were all ready.  The men folks needed no coaxing, they were at the stand washing and combing their hair before we hardly had it on the table.  The children had to be called , the excitement of a new pace had taken their minds completely off of dinner.  In the hurry to get to the house upon being called, the little girl stumbled, falling, skinning her knee, and of course, there hat to ba a big cry and then the doctoring of it, before we could assemble ourselves at the table.  When we sat down and the tanks was returned, we passed the food and all ate heartily, especially the children, their playing and running had given them an endless appetite.

     Their mother spoke up, saying, “One would think they hadn’t eaten for some time.”

     I replied by saying, “I haven’t forgotten my own childhood days for there was never a time I couldn’t eat.”

     “yes,” she said, “that was true of me as a child too.”

     All finished, the children back at their play, the men at their talking and the lady and I left with the dishes.  We had a grand visit though, while performing this lowly task, that was a must after every meal, or had to be done.  It was pretty well toward evening when they left.  Long shadows, were to be seen here and there when they closed the gate behind them at the top of the hill, taking off on a trot out of the lane, soon disappearing from view into the narrow sage road leading toward their small home some distance away.  Jim and I stood watching, giving them a last wave before they left the lane.  Then Jim took the bucket to do the milking and other chores, while I took care of the chickens.  We could still hear the rattle of the wagon, when I had finished my task.  They were driving almost straight west below our place to theirs.  The soft cool evening breeze was drifting up the canyon wafting back to us.  With The eggs still in my hands, I went over to the corral where Him was finishing the milking, setting the milk down to put the poles across before going to the house.  Here we stood for some time reminiscing in the coolness of the gathering night.  We thought of the grand visit, the wonderful folks they were, this country had a way of making everybody kin, the things we talked of, we would review and talk over for a week to come.  A lonely county, with honest folks, just as lonely for a visit with a neighbor and their little girl, wild and free as the wind, made me think much of myself with her brownish black hair intermingled with light strands at the temple, freckled face, with a sunbonnet fastened to her long braids, pushed back off her face, flopped  like wings in the breeze as she dashed about in an inquisitive manner, trying desperately to discover everything in the shortest length of time.  Her brother, much quieter, and less curious, a couple of nice children, I remarked later to Jim, as we sat reading, before retiring.  Then the screechy voice of our nightbird, as did the “Hoo, Hoo” of the owl, and later the yapping cry of the coyote, letting us know they were there, as usual penetrating the silent, stillness about us, while we read, enjoying each other company, that June night.

     Tae next morning, after breakfast, Jim worked around doing odd things he had been wanting to get caught up on, for some time, while I stood around assisting in any way I could, but mostly just visiting while he worked, and toward the middle of the afternoon, when we figured the stage would be in with the mail, Jim hitched Beauty to the buggy, helping me in and we were off.  Soon out on the winding sage road, and in the distance we could outline the small log cabin house, smoke was rising from burning piles of sage.  He had cleared a sizable number of acres, planning on bringing it under the plow, with the intentions of seeding early in the fall.  Driving along, we took in things of interest, out of the ordinary, few things on the trail over which we had traveled often were out of the ordinary, always though, watching for any change in scenery.  The tall Lumbard poplar trees that surrounded the large home of the rancher where the post office was, loomed before us, soon we’d be there.  Tall straight and slim, these trees reaching to the heavens seemed to captivate me,   I became filled with awe, the closer we came, thinking of their stately height, their shade in summer and wind break when winter winds blew, with storms piling snow deep at their base.

     Other folks ahead of us drove in for their mail or to buy groceries for they had a well stocked small store to go with the Post Office.  These groceries had to be freighted in,, a distance of fifty miles.  It was a real accommodation, these good folks had for ranchers, having come to the country themselves when it was exceedingly new, with neighbors few, if not scarce.  They claimed pasture abounded for stock, in places belly deep to a cow.  This did not last long, for once a country is discovered, others and still more come, all with one purpose, a home and land, living in the way they best know it, it wasn’t easy for those early pioneers, plenty of hardships went along with no doctor for miles and had to learn the skill of doing their own doctoring.  Neighbor ladies became mid-wives and many a baby came into the world unassisted by a doctor.  One lady told me, when spring came, she never failed to make a tea of the sage leaves for her children to condition their blood, fruit was another scarce article.

     Once in a great while, a peddler in the fall would come to this country with a load of apples or peaches.  One year he came early and the apples were not quite ripe.  He said to this lady,  “I’d put these away to ripen before letting your children eat them, or they might make them sick.”  So concealing them as best she could, when a number of days later, thinking they were ripe enough to make into a pie, went to the hiding place only to find no one apple left, and laughed when she told me,  “Not one of the children were sick, I think it was what they needed.”

     The very early settlers followed the creeks, settling along them insured of water for domestic use, a small garden, a few fruit trees and livestock.

     The people that had driven in ahead of us had already gotten their mail and were leaving as we drove in, but just to be friendly, drove along side, as Jim pulled Beauty to a stop, exchanging a few words.  The conversation got under way.  The man and wife seemed exceptionally friendly, we talked for some time, before discovering he, too, was a Missourian and a brother of the one who had come some mornings before to our place to see Jim about the rail, we were pleased at meeting these folks and when we drove on, made a promise to hunt them up, as we did them.

     We had had a very pleasant afternoon, we thought.  When Beauty came to a stop at our own gate, I took the mail to the house, papers Magazines, and letters, while Jim unhitched, fed and tied up Beauty to the rack, we always kept one horse up to round up the others, for we never knew how far or where they would be when wanted, on our three hundred and twenty acres, so a saddle horse was handy to have, for such occasions.  After the evening meal, we sat for some time reading and going over the mail.

     We had not seen the folks for quite a while, so we thought the following Sunday would be a good day to go for a visit and thus we planned.  That Saturday afternoon Jim thought he should set more posts, not wanting to stay home alone, I went along, hitching the spring seat on this, saying I would ride quite comfortable then, off we went to the east side of the bench, where he worked for several hours, digging holes setting and tamping posts, wanting to finish the post setting job, worked later than usual, going back down over a new road he had been working on, and with darkness coming on somehow Jim missed seeing a large rock to the right of the front wheel.  He might have seen it better had he been sitting on the seat beside me.  He thought it best though to stand in the wagon back of me, when all of a sudden, the wheel came in contact with the rock knocking the seat and me from the top of the high sideboards to the bottom of the wagon.  Jim stopped the horses instantly, helping me on to the spring seat in the bottom of the wagon, here I sat while we drove on to the house.  Driving up close to the door, he helped me out, carrying me into the house for my legs wouldn’t hold my weight.

     The next morning though, I felt fine and arose early to get the breakfast.  After several hours, I rested again, for the trip up the canyon to my folks.  When we arrived there, mother had company and big dinner, and later I became miserable again, and instead of telling mother what had happened, I spent most of the time in the bedroom, instead of around the company until I could get the chance to tell Jim we should go home.  When we left, mother came out to see why we were leaving so early.  But, still I didn’t let on, our excuse was chores.  Back home, I rested until time to fix a light supper.  We retired very early that evening and the long night’s rest took all my fears away by morning and feeling extra well, got the breakfast, washed up the dishes, swept and straightened up the house, looking through the cupboard, discovered we needed groceries and with letters to mail and mail to get we made the trip to Sublett returning home about noon and I fixed the lunch, then Jim said, he’d better hitch the team to the wagon, and string those three wires, and after loading the things in the wagon he said, he’d be going and wouldn’t stay very long.

     I said, I don’t want to stay alone.
     He said, “you can’t ride in the wagon, would you want to drive Beauty and the buggy?”

     Looking toward the rack, seeing Jackie saddled there I said, “No I’ll ride Jackie, he’s the easiest riding thing on the place.”  So I followed behind on Jackie.  Getting up to where he was to fix fence, Jim spread a large wagon canvas on the sunny slope of the hill and here I slept until toward evening when Jim had finished setting more posts and was ready to string the wire.  In those days without wire stretchers, on would fastened the wire to the back of the wagon, using the tam to do the stretching, we had a wonderful big team hitched to the wagon, a sorrel and a black, the black was quiet, gentle and stopped when one said “Ho,” but the sorrel would take the bit in her mouth and pull, like pulling against a collar almost.  I was doing the driving and when Jim would call tight enough, it took almost more strength then I had to stop them.  This went on until we had it all done, and when I climbed into the saddle to ride back, and Jim helped me off by the door, I turned, saying to him as I went in “ Don’t unhitch Beauty.”

     “Alright,” he replied, unharnessing the others, turned them loose, and he soon came to the house.

     We sat down to eat, and about midway of the meal, I lost my appetite.  I went to the bedroom, came back and sat down to the table again.  Then I stood up, and said, “You’ll have to go for the lady (calling her by name), who will take care of me.”

     He grabbed his hat, and in no time was out of the lane, he would have to drive about two miles there and two back.  It seemed like he was only gone minutes, in fact, I had just gotten into bed when he came back and the nurse came into the bedroom with him, asking how I was making it.

     “Alright, right now,”  I said, feeling as though nothing would happen.

     Jim then rushed back out to drive two miles to the Sublett Post Office to phone for the doctor.  When he knocked at the door, our friend, the old white hair cowboy, was staying there that night, so he answered the door and let him in.  He could not get the doctor on the phone, so he drove the fifteen miles to Malta,  I’ve forgotten just how short a time, but when he left Malta coming back, turning a slight corner, Beauty was traveling so fast , the doctor was afraid she’d turn the buggy over.

     In the meantime, the lady had made me a comfortable as she could.  When Doc walked in about 11 p.m. he said, “This is about two weeks ahead of time for you, What happened?”  Then Jim told him.  “Well, no wonder,” he replied.  Thern the nurse said, “This didn’t surprise me a bit, Doc, it’s a wonder it hadn’t happened a long time ago the way she’s been riding on loads of hay, in rough wagons, and everything as though she wasn’t expecting at all.”

     And, by then , the tea kettle boiled over, and she went for the kitchen,  I told Jim to have her make Doc some coffee and get him some cake, so some time was spent drinking coffee and eating cake and talking, and as they sat to the table, saying, “It would do no good to crowd things.”  It wouldn’t arrive until morning or later coming ahead of time.  So everyone right them seemed comfortable, but me.  Doc had been up all night the night before, so he laid down and slept until about four-thirty, a.m. and I told the nurse she should rest close by.  Jim sat on the side of the bed holding my hand and encouraging me.  When finally I said, “I just feel real good, you go take a nap”  The rest and the excitement of all of it seemed to make me feel like I had Sunday and Monday morning,  and after the nights before.

     The lady made more hot coffee when Doc awoke and wanted me to drink a cup, but I declined.  Then, about six, she got breakfast , everyone ate, as for me, I had no appetite for anything about then, and from then on I kept everyone busy, when about one P.,> our little girl, Virginia Anne, weight nine ponds, was welcomed into our home, Tuesday, June 23, 1914, a precious little bundle to give us other things to think and plan for and most of all to help make some of the lonely hours brighter with her presence, her crying and her laughter.  Doc stayed until long in the afternoon, before having Jim drive him the fifteen miles back to Malta, just to make sure I would be alright.  The nurse pulled the shades down, then tiptoed from the room, closing the door quietly, as I slipped into a sound sleep, and not waking until evening shadows began stealing over the valley.  Hearing our little daughter cry, opening my eyes, there stood the nurse in the bedroom doorway, with our little daughter in her arms, saying, “ I think she’s hungry and needs you.”  Cuddling her in my arms beside me proceeded to take on the task of feeding our first born, getting things to going after some time.  The nurse left the room while we both went back to sleep.

     The next day my folks came, this was their eighth grandchild, they were very proud and spoke highly of her good looks and of course they brought along a basket of nice things to eat, and later that evening my sister rode down on horseback.  She, of course, had to hold her as did her grandparents, with the same exclamation of what a handsome baby, then smiling said, “You know what, she takes after her Auntie.”  And the day following, my brother and family came, all quite pleased by the new addition to our family, then the neighbors began to come.  Jim never smoked himself, but having neighbors that did, he had put away a box of cigars for the occasion, passing them out to those who did.  I became a bit tired, so the nurse said I was to rest, no more company.

     Each morning and evening the nurse would sponge my face and hands with a soft cloth and towel, but my hair she would just brush, saying it was impossible for her to combat. While lying on the bed with my head on the pillow.  My hair lay on the floor, before I was married I wore it in two curls down my back.  I had to pull them aside when sitting down to prevent sitting on it, so nine days later, when I was allowed to get out of bed, the first thing I did was to comb my hair, it took some little effort, for my arms had become weak and useless, while lying there, but when I did, I had quite a good sized bag of combings.  In those days when everyone had long hair it was the style to have pretty hair receiving bags, for the combings, the one I had was pink inside and green outside, with a pink cord to draw the top together, leaving a loop to hang it on the dresser by the mirror.

     My good neighbor nurse stayed with me for about two weeks, Her fee was a dollar a day, she did all the housework; cooking, washing, ironing, besides waiting on me and taking care of our little daughter, even when she cried in the night, which happened to be quite frequent while she was there, but toward the last few days she began to learn the difference between day and night and did most of her crying in the daytime, which was bad, too, if one had lots of work to do.  When the time came, I begged the lady to stay longer, but when said she had much to do at home, then, too, her family needed her, so the morning of her departure Jim hitched Beauty to the buggy, she put her suitcase, then holding our little girl, helped me in, giving me our little one, she got in and off we went, for about a two mile drive there and back.

     Our little daughter was like an angel all the way there and back but the minute I got back and laid her down, thinking I would prepare the noon meal, she thought otherwise, crying as though she was demonstrating the capacity of her lungs, and never being used to being bothered when doing my work, I began to feel like the props had been suddenly knocked from under me, so that put an end to dinner.  When Jim came, there was no dinner , then he sat down in the rocking chair and in his soothing way, soon had our little daughter asleep, while I proceeded to fix the dinner and set the table.  We hadn’t more than eaten, when she decided it was her dinner time, too, so sitting in my favorite chair, proceeded to feed and rock her back to sleep.  This I accomplished with little effort, then went about getting my work done up.  And before the day was over I accomplished more than I thought I would, my strength came back fast, and I was soon on the go as usual, planning things ahead to do when I wasn’t otherwise engaged with our daughter, who, by now was growing fast and gaining weight rapidly.

     Now in the second week of July, I was going everywhere again with Him, bundling our little girl in a blanket we would be off in no time.  Jackie again served a way of transportation.  I would hold her on one hip, then grabbing the saddle horn with the other hand and my foot in the stirrup, was soon aboard and off on our jaunt.  There were times I would take Beauty and the buggy , but I couldn’t go places that way I could on muleback.  There were times I would ride Beauty though when Hackie was doing his bit as one of the six on the gangplow.  Our little daughter loved this, there was never a cheep or a whimper, so long as she was going places in the buggy or being conveyed by muleback, and there were times when Him would want to pull brush, he’d make a nice little soft mound of brush, lay his coat over it, then lay her down on this mound, while he worked nearby,  She seemed to love sleeping there, causing her blankets to smell of the sage, while I would plow, driving the six head, strung out two and two, and making perfect corners for there were four corners of west to east.  I would stay with this for some time until our little girl thought it time I gave her some attention.  I would turn the reins over to JIm.  It seemed fun to be able to do things I hadn’t been able to do for some months.  There were times, too, when Jim would want to burn brush after quitting time, turning the horses loose to come down to the house by themselves, I would unharness, putting each set of harness in its place and have them fed by the time Jim would show up, then skip to the house, to put the supper on and find that our daughter figured it was her meal time, also.  And after the day was over, I would sit rocking and singing to her in the living room while Jim would read aloud, feeling our cup of happiness was most to running over for life now had a bigger meaning, and much more so worth living, with a baby of our own to care for, bringing us closer and meaning more to each other, with our marriage vows complete, and happiness as never before was ours for evenings as we sat there, with this added joy that had entered our lives and when time had  slipped away and time for retiring, there was a precious bundle to be put to bed, and someone to think about during the long night hours, a cry every so often for nourishment, and someone to hold, cuddle and love, the home less empty or void for an added life had been sent to fill it with sunshine and too our hearts with a closer, dearer live, for  an added joy had entered our life, that grew with each day, her smiles and then the day when she would coo and make the blankets fly.

     I think July passed much more rapidly than the months before, for the days seemed less lonely and less long.  August came in with one of those cloudbursts in the mountains, a heavy downpour, a thing no wanted by the wheat farmers, when the time of harvest was so near, these downpours would flatten the heavy grain, causing the loaded head to lay over and at that peak, seldom straightened up, weeds too quickly spring up growing to an enormous size in a short while in this heavy rich soil, making extra work for the heading machine, its crew and the header box men that accompanied the machine to catch the golden heads of grain, then stack to await the big threshing machine, with their ten to fifteen men crew, that put the grain into sacks to be hauled to elevators, at Declo and Burley. 

     Jim had taken on this kind of a job and it would not be long now until he’d be freighting grain.  He would fasten two wagons together, using six head of horses to freight it to the elevators.  I dreaded the thoughts of being alone, for he’d go one day and return the next.  Some of the ranchers lower down were already threshing, there, it ripened faster, with less moisture, but Jim would freight for the bench ranchers.  That would give us extra money to tide us over, as we had no crop that year, but hoped to be more fortunate another crop season.  Our prospects looked good with the virgin soil we had, under the plow and ready for seeding.  Father’s bench of wheat, so plainly visible from our place had taken on that golden harvest color, some days later, when I again used the field glasses, could see the heading machine crew making the long rounds, with one header box beneath the spout and another waiting its turn.  Father had fixed a stack yard, and here they were stacking it for the thresher, when ready.

     We went for the mail, the next morning, and our little daughter enjoyed these long bouncy jaunty trips, sleeping all the way there and back in the warm sunny August air.  Birds whistled and swayed from the tops of the silver tipped sage, filling the air with its dusty late summer foliage.  Looking through the mail, while Beauty trotted along, we found there a letter from Jim’s folks, among the papers and magazines.  We had not heard from them for some time and were anxious to get the news.   Jim didn’t stop to unhitch Beauty, only to tie her to the hitchrack.  Once in our comfortable chairs, I was soon going through the magazines, while Jim proceeded to open and read the letter, our little daughter, sleeping soundly at first, after being eased down on her bed, missing the shaking and bouncing buggy, with a wail of protest, called my attention to her wants.  Dropping the magazines, I sat rocking her while Jim read the letter.  At last his folks would make that long planned trip to Idaho, especially coming they said to get acquainted with their daughter-in-law and granddaughter, and to see Jim and of course, and the country they had heard so much about.  They would be leaving in about a week, and of course, we were all excited about this,  Jim especially, for he hadn’t seen his folks since he left Iowa in March of nineteen and eleven, or a little over three years, and because we wanted the time to go quickly it seemed to drag. 

     Again, Jim contacted our good neighbor to borrow his mountain hack or white top for the trip.  They would come to Rupert first, visiting for a day at his father’s brother’s place, where we usually stayed when in Rupert.  Jim  would meet them there, so at last, the day came.  Jim and I drove out of the lane at the same time, he with the team and white top and I with Beauty and the buggy, with out little daughter on my lap.  I turned, going up the canyon to my folks and Jim the opposite, heading out across the flats toward Rupert.  We wave until we could no longer see each other, then Beauty got into a fast trot, and we were soon winding our way down into the canyon.

     There were the gates to open, but I happened to be lucky, father was threshing that day, so one of the men that was to help, came up behind me, on horseback with pitchfork in hand, and rode up beside Beauty, just as I was stopping at the first gate and saying as he got off.  “I’ll open them for you.” What a relief! I had never gone through them alone with our little daughter, but had figured I’d lay her on the buggy seat.

     Nearing the house, could see a lot of smoke rolling from the chimney.  I knew then mother was getting dinner for the threshing crew of about twelve men.  Toby was no place to be seen. So I judged he was with father on the bench.  Our little daughter was extra good that morning, so I made myself useful.  Fried chicken was on the menu and that’s what mother was doing when I drove up, getting the chickens ready, so slipping on one of mother’s big aprons I was soon at work.  My sister was busy baking a cake, the pies were ready and in the oven.  My sister-in-law and children came down while we were at it, wanting to borrow something she had run out of, saying she was doing a little fixing that day, for they would be getting theirs threshed the next day, or she would help.  The children wanted to help by plucking the feathers from one of the chickens so mother let them, but most of all they wanted to just stand and gaze at their new  cousin.  I told them to be very quiet, coming out later, telling me all how she looked, color of hair, etc.  and said they couldn’t see what color her eyes were because she kept them shut tight.  “Well,” I said, “ I am glad she’s still sleeping.”  They then took off for home.    

     Mother by now was frying chicken, I had gotten the potatoes on while my sister fixed icing for the cake, the pies looked delicious setting in a row on the cupboard.  I then lengthened out the table, so the whole crew could get around it at once.  By putting four leaves in the extension table in the dining part of the living room.  Finding the table cloths, put those on while sister put the dishes and the silverware on.  We were ready now to put on the salad, butter, etc.  By the time the main course was ready, here they came, some stopping to wash off the worst of the dirt in Shirley Creek, after jumping over it. 

     Mother had a long wooden bench just outside with soap, wash pans, towels, a mirror and combs, so as each finished, he came in looking pretty slicked up to take his place, until all were seated.  Mother, sister and I waited table, father was carrying quite a broad grin, so I judged the wheat was turning out to his satisfaction.  When it was over, each man seemed perfectly happy and hunted for a place to rest a bit, before returning to finish the job.  Toby sat quite expectantly, with an eye on the door and on father, not wanting to be left behind.  When mother came out with a large pan of scraps, for it there was anything Toby liked better than chicken bones, it was more chicken bones, gulping it down in dog fashion, was soon off at father’s heels, tagging along with a stop now and then to flush out something from the rustling bushes.

     By mid-afternoon father’s grain was n the sack, leaving them just time enough to pull to my brother’s place and get set for tomorrow’s threshing, and darkness came, engulfing the valley.  The same familiar sounds fell on my ears, for the stillness of the night, made them much plainer, and with Shirley Creek rippling along to its destination, a warm like breeze floated down the canyon, the cry of the hoot owl sounded from the chokecherry grove, while a big harvest moon splashed the mountains with its rays of gold.  I had only a moment to wait, until the yapping of the coyote filled that awful calm.  I was drinking in this mystic magic, the smell of the ripening grain, the new threshed wheat being wafted through the night air along with the heavy odor of the smelly sage.  Our little daughter was having the best of care, soundly sleeping on her grandmother’s soft lap, after making the rounds for each to cuddle and fondle, while I stood thus in the glow of a full moon, listening to sounds and wonders of nature, the crickets’ and katydids’ constant singing.  The humming noises were made by the forewings of the male of the katydid.  The crickets uttered their shrill sounds too, by rubbing together parts of the forewings of the males, this alone filled the hillside.  The valley by now was being drenched in silver by the pale moon’s glow, and turning to go back in, the coyote began his crooning down the canyon a piece, while the nocturnal owl set up his hoos answering his every howl.   Down by the corral, some of the horses began to whinny as thought their kind were approaching, something suddenly scared them though, for as I took leave of these mysterious thing of nature the resounding of hoof beats died away in the distance.  And the last whistle like whinny from the leader of the heard faintly came to me on the soft night breeze, that was caressing the valley.