Across the Years pages 91-105

PART II
OUR HOMESTEAD ON SHIRLEY CREEK
The wind continued to blow and the sand drifted. The young man came as usual for his grocery order. I was deeply interested in a new book and my sister intent on learning a new piece of music, therefore, we did not go to the door. Mother gave him the order. Finally, he asked where the girls were. Hearing his remark, my sister went out. They talked for some minutes and then he went on his way. We spent most of the day indoors for it wasn’t very pleasant to be out, especially if one was not used to Idaho’s dust storms. The days that followed were extremely nice, as though nature was trying to make amends. As one fellow said, “There are days when I wonder why we ever took this land from the Indians. Then on nice days I can readily see why.” Thus the days went by and summer came. We were beginning to get used to this climate and to appreciate it more. July 3, 1912 arrived. That night a party was given in our honor at the home of this young man by his mother. A neighbor boy had been invited also, so he went with my sister and I. It was a lovely quiet summer night. The frogs from the wayside ditches tried to drown out any conversation we might be having as we walked along. When we came in view of the home. Some of the young people had already arrived and were out in the front yard. We were soon introduced and everyone went indoors.
Here sat the young man who took the grocery orders and another nice looking young man. Both arose and came forward. The young man in question introduced his friend, “I want you to meet James Throckmorton, a young man from Iowa.” My heart sorta slipped. I thought, “another Jim,” at the same time he said, “But everyone calls me Jim.”
The evening was spent in playing the piano, singing, and playing various games. Late in the evening the lady of the house served refreshments. After enjoying these everyone was saying good-bye and shaking hands in a jolly mood. I passed the refreshment table to
thank the hostess for a lovely evening. Mr. Throckmorton was standing close as I passed. He reached out to shake my hands and asked me if I would like to go to Blue Lakes tomorrow. His friend and his girlfriend were going and he thought it would be a nice trip. I agreed and said I thought I could go but I would have to ask my parents. Somewhat silent on the way home I was thinking what if my folks objected. I was supposed to be up early the next morning and ready for the train trip to Twin Falls. The young man walking between us sensed my quietness and began kidding me. I took the kidding all in good humor, but I was a bit worried. The young men I had gone with before had always been to our home first and properly introduced to my parents. When this young man left us at the door and bid us good-night, he called back, “Just be brave, you’ll make the grade.” I laughed and said, “O.K.”

Quietly we opened the door and walked in. My folks, whom I thought were asleep, were far from it. They asked if we enjoyed the party. We said we did. My sister went to bed while I began trying to explain about the trip I was to go on the next morning by saying, “You know the young man who takes the grocery orders? Well, he and his girlfriend, that you and I know real well, are going to Twin Falls and Blue Lakes early tomorrow. I met a young man at the party by the name of Jim,” but before I could get the Throckmorton out, my father said, “Jim how many?” Then I told him the last name. I said he seems like a very nice young man. He wants me to go with him. The four of us would go on the train for a Fourth of July trip. My mother said she thought it would be alright. It sounds like you will be in good company. My father agreed to that and added, “We’ve never met this young man.” “No,” I replied, “but my brother has. About this time my brother spoke up and said he had met him. He thought he was an exceptionally nice fellow. Then he said, “Let’s all get some sleep.” I went to bed feeling good that everything was settled. I didn’t sleep even though I knew I had to be up early and ready to go. I tried not to wake my sister for she would do as she had done so often, poke me in the ribs and tell me to go to sleep. I lay there, trying not to move or turn, wondering just what the trip would be like. I didn’t have to wonder long for somewhere in the distance I heard a rooster crow. I wondered if it was day break or midnight. Surely it was past midnight. Then a dog’s lusty bark broke the stillness. I could see faint rays of light. It was early morning. My sister’s snoring and the far away bark of the dog seemed to lu1l me to sleep. Thus my worries were over. Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder and someone whispered in my ear that it was time to get up. It was mother. She had arisen early and prepared my breakfast. She was going to assist me in getting off on my trip. I quietly got up so as not to awaken my sister, slipped on a house coat, and went to breakfast. By the time I had washed, dressed, and arranged my hair nicely, a knock came on the door. I opened it, and stepped out. Jim wanted to know if I could go. I said I was ready. Then he held out his arm and motioned. I took a hold and we were off. There were a number of folks at the depot. One young man in particular edged over to where we were and said to Jim, “I’d like to meet your girl friend.” As I was made acquainted, the other young couple walked up that we were to go with. The train was a bit late, but we were having a good time talking. Finally it pulled in and stopped. The conductor went into the station. All of us went aboard and took our seats. Jim raised our window. The train moved out. There was nothing pretty about the countryside on the beginning of the trip. Mostly sage brush and desert, but the clean cool fresh air that came in the window made up for the scenery. It was a fascinating trip: For Jim was so attentive to me trying to explain each little detail about the country. He had come to this part of the country one year before on April 1, 1911 from his home at Derby, Iowa.
It took some time for the train to get to Twin Falls. The depot was somewhat larger than the one at Rupert. And the town much larger. There were many lovely homes and a pretty country side. The four of us went looking for a cafe. We soon found a very nice small country place that was clean and well kept. Here the four of sat at one table. And made the mistake of ordering fried chicken. We sat for an indefinite length of time. It seemed almost an hour. Maybe it just seemed long because we were talking, laughing, and wondering what could have happened. Surely we thought they must have had to go to some farmer, buy the chicken, then dress and frying them. And in the meantime working up quite an appetite. When they finally brought the dinner, it was exceptionally good. As one fellow said, by that time most anything would have tasted good. We hurried through it for time was slipping away. We then headed for a livery stable to hire a team and carriage for the trip to Blue Lakes.
It was a warm ride except for a cool breeze. Soon we were driving down into the canyon where the lakes were. They were very pretty with a bluish color. And much cooler in the canyon. To our surprise there was a cherry orchard set in among the rocks. Here was a quiet calmness. As we strolled around the lake, I thought how nice it would be to have a home here away from the hot winds and the glare of the desert. But only a small place, and already in another’s posession. We were not there long when others seemed to seek out its Inviting coolness and looking for a place to rest, relax, and perhaps enjoy a picnic lunch. After walking around awhile we decided there were other places of interest. So back we went to the carriage and drove away.
The boys thought it would be nice to visit Shoshone Falls. So started out in that direction. The trip was rather hot and dusty, but it was worth it for the Falls were very pretty. We walked around quite awhile, then stood just watching the huge body of water go over the Falls. Then descended the long steep steps to the valley below the Falls. I had walked up an ddown the steps at Oregon city, Oregon and Council Crest, a summer resort near Portland on numerous occasions, but these steps were much steeper. I was no used to this high altitude and the trip back up tired me. Being tired was something that never bothered me before for I was always on the go, running, jumping, and sailing up the long flights of stairs two at a time at home. The sun was hot but the mist from the Falls were cooling to our sun-scorched faces. We were enjoying this part of it very much. Other people had gathered for a picnic or just sight seeing.
Consulting his watch, Jim thought we had better start back so as not to miss our train. The team, quite sweaty with dust sticking to their hair, were more than anxious to be on the go. Taking hold of the reins, Jim tapped each with the buggy whip. This seemed unnecessary for the horses took off on a trot over the winding road back to Twin Falls. We laughed and talked of the never to be forgotten Fourth of July in the year 1912 and thought it had been quite a day.
As we ddrove the team back to the livery stable, the man came out to take the team. As we got out of the carriage said, ‘You young folks have a good time I reckon.” “Yes,” we replied, “sure did and thanks a lot.” Of course the boys paid for the hire of the team for that was the man’s business.
We didn’t have long to wait at the depot when the train whistled and clanged the bell, and the huge engine puffed into the depot. Here we went aboard for that homeward bound trip. We were not he only young folks. There were others like ourselves out for some Fourth of July fun that year of 1912. all were laughing and talking. They seemed to have a great amount of fun. The conductor calling all aboard. The train started with a jerk. This started some of the young folks giggling all over again. It was like dropping a ruler in school everyone laughs. Once again the miles seemed to vanish as the train made its way across that long piece of desert waste land. It seemed to me after living in a city like Prtland, Oregon.
By late afternoon, back again in that small western town of Rupert, Idaho. Jim took my arm. I stepped from the train. Thys we left the depot and the many Fourth of July fun seekers with only a few blacks to where we lived. The walk soon over. We talked of the trip and activities of the day. Mother came to the door an dinvited Jim in but he said he’d better go on. He had chores to do. He was farming and kept some stock where he boarded.
Mother was preparing the evening meal when I went in. her first words were, “when I saw you walk away towards the depot I thought he’ll never do for Annie. He isn’t tall and slim enough. He’s most too heavy set.” He was somewhat heavy and did not look his height, which was 5 feet 11 ½ inches.
I Changed into a house dress and busied myself with helping y setting the table.

My sister had gone with other young folks to Burley which wasn’t much larger than Rupert. She did not arrive back until after I did. But was full of fun about the doings of the day. Immediately she sat down to the piano. to play some of her new pieces of music and soon we were both singing. And still at it when mother announced we should eat. It was a nice meal. Mother had fixed a bit special. She thought the young man might eat with us. Not long after the table had been cleared away, there was a knock. And my friend with his nice horse and buggy wanting to take me for a drive around town. It was decided we’d attend a movie first. Those were the days of the silent films. I don’t remember the show now except it was a love scene with a lovely country lane, fields, woods and streams. Those were the kind I liked best.
Afterwards we went to an ice cream parlor. And had a dish of ice cream each. Then a short drive. The night air cool and refreshing with a big moon just coming up from behind the mountain peaks as we arrived home. From the light that shone thru the window, I knew Mother was waiting up for me. My young man jumped from the buggy to assist me. He asked, as he escorted me to the door, when he could see me again or if he could take me to church on Sunday. I agreed to church. He grasped my hand firmly and we said goodnight. I slipped in through the partly open door as Jim pulled on the reins and with a tap of the whip he was gone. The shiny paint from the buggy wheels glistened in the moonlight. My mother sat waiting for me. An open Bible on the table showed. She had been reading and meditating while waiting. The rest of the household was asleep. Mother turned to me saying, “Did you have a nice time?” “Very,” I replied. Looking back as I started for the bedroom, I said, “He’s an exceptionally fine young man.” Mother smiled and nodded a good night.
Donning my night dress, I crept quietly into bed, hoping not to awaken my sister. But she was awake and the hours rolled by as we lay there talking. Our minds were drifting. Once again of our home the scenes so vivid. My sister was talking of Sidney. She had given
up her sweetheart in a rash moment, and wished that time could be turned back, so she could live those days over. She wondered where he was and if he were married. I said, “most likely. Once in everyone’s life there’s a regret, but you’ll get over it. It’s just because we are in this strange country. Things will be different, you’ll see.” There was a sadness there that I’ve never forgotten. We had both had a full busy day. Midnight had rolled around and dawn was coming up as we drifted off into dreamland. The talks between us that night were lasting. Years have not erased.

We were both awakened by the clattering of dishes. My mother and sister-in-law were talking in the kitchen while getting breakfast. Father and brother had dressed and gone outside to feed and harness the horses. At that moment little Mary had gotten out of bed and stood in the middle of the floor in her pajamas. She was clutching her Eskimo doll in one arm and her teddy bear in the other. And had evidently taken the teddy bear from her brother for he was putting up quite a fuss about it. When finally she went back and said, “You can have it. I didn’t want it anyway,” the tears subsided and all was calm.
After breakfast my sister played and sang several of the pretty songs. Sidney had loved and watched with admiring glances as she played. She had a lovely voice and an exceptionally nice touch while playing the piano.
Later I saw her admiring his picture. I said, “Why don’t you write. Maybe he isn’t married.” He had written her the last three letters. “Oh!” she said, “He’s surely married since he’s so nice looking.” A handsome fellow, with dark brown hair and eyes and the tan of a summer sun complexion. And all of six feet tall. A university graduate. Finally turning to me quickly and in a soft low voice, said ‘Do you really think I should write?” Then turning away said in a faraway voice, “what’s done is done. I’ll not write.” I’ve always believed there are times in ones life when we’d like to turn life’s pages back, but see the uselessness of it.
We went to town in the afternoon just to look around and pass the time away. Father and brother had gone to the ranch with another load of lumber and other things. He had coaxed mother to go along but she said she’d wait until the home to be was nearer finished. Days went by and at times they seemed to go too fast. My young man Jim came Saturday evening and took me for a drive and to the show. It was a nice drive. Idaho as always cool and pleasant after a hot summer sun had set behind the distant hills. For I had at times watched the sun disappear after a long day and enjoy it so much. In this country it seemed more beautiful than ever. As a child that gold ball had a fascination for me. Mother used to call and say, “Come now, supper is ready.” Even though, like a child, I was hungry as usual, and mother’s suppers always something delicious, I’d say, “Just a little while, just a little while.” When the last rays of the sun had flickered away, I’d go in and take my place at the table. Mother would get down the coal oil lamps and light them. How bright they seemed compared to the darkness outside.
I was no longer a child now, but still the fascination lingered on. My young man seemed to enjoy this along with me or maybe he was making believe, as we returned home from the show. He gave my hand an extra squeeze and we said good-night.
When I went in everyone was asleep so I quietly retired. Soon I too was fast asleep. But I had not slept long until dogs began to bark and a noise like a wagon driving into the yard was heard. Mother was soon up and turned on the light. She knew immediately what it was. She always seemed to have a way of knowing things ahead of time. It was the men folks returning from the ranch. My sister-in-law also arose. She and mother prepared a lunch for the men before retiring. I heard my father say just before I drifted off again “If building of the house was all-,that would be fine, but there is still the fencing of the land, post to ‘be gotten from the hills, and wire to be bought.” A lawfull fence was five wires with fence posts ever so often.
It was somewhat later the next morning before anyone awoke.M sister and I though attended Sunday school and church. When we arrived, horses, wagons and buggies were parked all around the church. They were starting to sing when we walked in. I looked back as we went in the door and there in the distance was Jim’s horse and buggy. The mare was a beautiful animal. She had tracked in Iowa and other mid-west states. And was of Hamiltonian breed. The buggy glistened in the sun as though Jim had spent some time polishing it.
My sister and I took a seat, beside two of our girlfriends. And there was so much to talk about what had happened during the week that we just had to whisper some when the teacher, my young man Jim, wasn’t looking. He almost caught us once when he asked us a question. As luck would have it, I was listening and answered it. After Sunday school all of us went up to sing in the choir. A quiet, nice summer morning. The minister’s sermon was inspiring and filled with words that gave one something to live on through the week. Jim stood between my sister and I as the closing hymn was sung. He had a good high voice, which I couldn’t help but notice. It blended so well with my sister’s and mine for my sister and I had sung so often together by request at church, parties and so forth. At the close of the service Jim drove his horse and buggy up a little closer and assisted us in. One little pull on the reins and we were off. My mother had dinner ready so we all went in and ate. Father asked Jim to return thanks. It was a good prayer of thanks. I tried to remember it and succeeded somewhat.
In the afternoon we went for a drive. And that evening Jim took us to church again. The services were nice for I always enjoyed church activities.
After services we stopped at an ice cream shop. A little wooden building on the west side of the square in Rupert. Run by some friends of Jim’s. Here we had a dish of delicious homemade ice cream. (There wasn’t much to Rupert in 1912. It was a pretty new country.)
Upon arriving home we just sat and talked for awhile. Mother came out and invited us in. Jim said he thought he’d better be going as he had a lot to do the next day. My sister went in the house. But Jim and I continued to talk and time seemed to vanish. There was a quiet stillness in the air except for the frogs from the irrigation ditches. More like an invisible melody or a scrap of a tune hovering in the air. Now and again a faraway bark of a dog or the call of a night bird. Life was somewhat beautiful at that moment.
During the next few weeks Jim and I saw much of each other. He’d ride his pretty horse or mare and lead her beautiful colt. I named Billy Fortune. He wanted to show me how he was breaking the colt to lead and get used to the rope and halter. The colt was from racing blood like his mother.
The following Sunday my mother invited Jim and the young man, who was a son of the couple Jim boarded with, over for dinner. So I baked a cake on Saturday. After church when the four of us arrived, mother had everything ready except setting the table. Idid this while sister entertained the young men.
When finally mother said, “Let’s sit down.” Father took his place at the head of the table. Chicken was the menu with nice fresh garden vegetables and a crisp salad. After thanks was returned by Jim, the food was passed around the table. A most enjoyable occasion. Much visiting and talking went on. Especially directed at father in regards to the ranch and home he was erecting there for his family. They were still talking along those lines as we arose and left the table at the completion of the meal. My sister and I cleared away the table, washed and put away the dishes. After this was over Jim and I went for a ride. As we got in the buggy and started off, I could hear my sister playing the piano and singing with the young man accompanying her.
It was a nice sunny afternoon not a cloud in the sky. And almost a bit too warm for it was mid-summer. The birds sang and chirped. The meadow larks whistled. Jim could imitate them perfectly and did so as we drove along. Soon we came to the river. So drove down by it. Jim said, “I am going to drive out in it.” I said, “You hadn’t better.” He said, “Oh, just on the edge.” “No farther,” I told him. Beauty was very hesitant. She didn’t want to go in the water, but she obeyed the voice that cowed her on. She no sooner got her feet in it when she headed for the shore. “I think she knows better than we do about this old muddy Snake River,” I said. “Do you think so?” asked Jim trying to keep her in the water awhile longer. 1 said, “If you drive out any farther, I’ll get out.” He replied, “Look what you’ll get out in.” “I can take my shoes off,” I told him. By that time Beauty had her front feet on the bank. And by the way she sped out of there 1 don’t think she intended getting back in. Then Jim laughed and said, “I just wanted to tease. I let Beauty have her head.” Beauty got out of there so fast when we were back again on the road I laughed and said, “Let’s go home. My folks will wonder where we are.” He said that was where we are going and Beauty started off on a trot. And Jim asked if I wanted to see how fast she could go. And she really took off. I had witnessed lots of races but that little mare was traveling faster than most any I had seen. Maybe it seemed so because Iwas in the buggy. I had seen racing horses, hitched to sulkys, or small two wheel carts, but had never ridden in one on the tracks. I had only ridden horseback. When we drove in the yard my father immediately noticed that Beauty’s feet were muddy to the knees. “Was the horse blind too?” he asked. He figured .we were. He said, “You know that’s pretty dangerous along that river in some places”. “Yes, I know”, replied Jim “but I knew it was safe where we drove in.” He got out of the buggy and helped me out. He said he had to get home and get his chores done. And would be back later and take me to church.
When he came mother had him eat some cake, ice cream and fruit with us before we went. When we went in church, we were asked to sing in the choir. They needed extra singers. The choir was a nice place to be, since you could see everyone that came in. Soon my sister came in with the young man. They too came up in the choir. And sat behind us. Finally my brother and sister-in-law came in. We did not go for a drive that night after church. Neither did we sit and talk very long. Jim had to mow hay the next day. This was the second cutting. He had to get up early to get the sickles sharpened. We said good-night, but he continued to hold my hand as we stood near the door saying good-night for the third or fourth time.
The next Wednesday night when we saw each other, the folks he boarded with said, “That surely was a case of love at first sight.” Jim asked me what I thought. I replied; “I’ve heard of love at first sight, but I think young people should be friends for quite awhile. Then they should be good friends for some time before talking of love. I really think one should get to know each other, some of their faults, some of their failures, and some of their good points as well. They should be thoroughly satisfied that they are the one and only that they would want to spend the rest of their life with. Health and character are very important, especially if one is to look ahead to the future to the family they plan to have and raise. In fact, I think one should use their brains if they have any as well as their heart. One seldom goes wrong in picking a good Christian with good character and good health. I always told my folks if I should marry I would want good healthy children if possible for I had seen so many that were not.” When I had finished he said, “Well you know that’s the way I’ve been raised and that’s the way I believe. Since we both feel the same way, we should get along fine.” 1agreed to that. We had been driving south in the moonlight as we talked and there is no perfume sweeter than the new mown hay. The hay in the fields along side the road had been mowed that morning.
Finally when he turned to go east, I thought he was turning around to start back to town. After he had gone some distance 1said, “where are you taking me?” He replied, “Just for a drive. You aren’t afraid?.” “No I replied”, only I am not used to being alone with a
young man I do not know very well this far out in the country.” It wasn’t very far out. It only seemed that way. He turned north and headed back to Rupert. Then he told me we’d soon be home. When we drove into the yard, I hurriedly got out of the buggy saying good-night as I did so. I was afraid my folks would get after me for being gone so long. When I looked back, Jim was following me to the door. As I was about to put my hand on the knob, he said, “I haven’t said good-night to you yet.” I stood for a moment waiting. He grabbed my hand saying, “You seem to be afraid of me. Was it the drive?” “No,” I returned, “only my folks do not like me out so late.” I grabbed again for the knob. “Wait,” he said, “When can I see you again?” “Oh! most anytime.” This time I turned the knob and went into the house and my young man drove away.
Mother was waiting up for me. “You are a bit late, don’t you think?” she said. “Maybe,” I replied, “We drove a little farther than we figured tonight.” “Just be careful,” .she added. “He seems like a fine young man but you do not know him too well yet. I said, Oh, he’s a gentleman, mother. He couldn’t be nicer I am sure.” With this we went to bed.
The next morning father and mother packed extra things in preparation for the move about two or three weeks hence into the big wagon and were off on that fifty mile trip to the ranch. This was a trip mother would enjoy for she was somewhat of a pioneer in spirit. My sister and I went shopping that morning just for something to do. We went in this store and that. But didn’t find anything we wanted to buy. How different these stores were from the large department stores we knew in Portland. We missed the music store where one could buy the latest hits in songs as soon as they were out. Also missed the large beautiful parks we could stroll in.
We were beginning though to like the new country we had come to. The dust storms were less frequent for they came mostly in the spring and late fall. We would be to the ranch by then. And just wondering what the ranch would be like. Mother would tell us more
about it when she returned. Being young in experience knew very little of ranching except what we had gained through living on the eighty acres at home. And knew little of that for father worked for big companies and hired everything done. This would be an adventure we’d have to learn about. We knew there would be no modern conveniences in this ranch home located in a. small valley by a gurgling mountain stream. We loved the luxurious home we had been raised in until we got the western fever. When finally. we
headed for that mile upon mile of wide open plain country with howling blizzards, dust storms, and the night broken by the weird cry of the coyote. With his shrill, piercing cry, one would think he was only a few feet away. I had walked across the cactus and gravel
covered hills in Montana to my sister and. brother-in-laws ranch Just below their ranch was the quiet flowing Milk river. I loved those walks. The air you inhaled seemed to make one feel good right to the very end of your toes. The prairie dogs chattered and scurried away as we trespassed over their land which seemed fit only for grazing stock. The magpies too mocked and made fun in their chattering way. I was only sixteen then but life was never more beautiful. Now I “was beginning to experience a little of that beauty again since I had met Jim. (My fourth Jim.) I was older now and a little more on the settled side. It seemed Jim and I were meant for each other. He wanted to be with me as often as he could. And I too liked having him around. Life was sweet and love had crept in unbeknowing to either of us. And knew we liked being in each other’s company. I thought so often of all the nice young men I had met and gone with. I liked them just while being in their company. When we were apart, they meant nothing. I cared little whether they came or didn’t. I know now that wasn’t love. It was only the fun of being together and the good time that went with it.
I now had the feeling I was drifting into something more serious than I had gotten into before. Keeping this all to myself, I went along through the weeks that followed trying to think nothing of it. Jim continued to come more often than ever. And when he thought he was coming too often, he’d think of an excuse for coming. Soon my folks began to notice. And when they’d ask questions, 1’d say he just liked to show me his pretty colt and how he’s training him, or that he just likes to come. So thus the days passed.
And the day came when we were packed and ready to go to our new home. That day dawned brightly. And all were all astir, getting the last of the load. The piano the hardest to load. My father climbed upon the wagon seat. The horses leaned into the collar as though the wagon was loaded a bit heavy. Once out on the road they got into a jog or slow trot.
Jim came with his white top, called a spring wagon, and loaded in the suitcases. He had a lively team and made short work in catching up with my father. So mother rode with us.
We traveled slowly for some time until my father waved us on. Cupping his hands to his mouth he said it would be dark before we could get there. And soon we left the project behind. After crossing the Snake River bridge. My father had traveled this road many times with loads of lumber. We were headed for Raft River and a vast flat desert of grease wood and sage brush. Raft River a small stream running through this valley. Willows grew along its bank. The river now quite low this time of the year since the water was being used for irrigating.
We watched for mirages that appeared frequently in the glimmering sun of the desert. And it was past noon when we pulled up to camp at Raft River, and unhitched the horses. Jim watered and fed them. Mother got out our basket of lunch and my sister and I spread
a blanket and then a table cloth. Mother put the basket on this. Then began to unwrap and pass out sandwiches and pickles. Jim had brought along a jug of cold milk. This was a welcome treat with pie and cake. We enjoyed the lunch for we hadn’t eaten since early morning. After clearing things away, my sister and I took a walk along the river bank among the willows waving and growing there. We hunted for pretty pebbles and rocks that had been left on the bank when the water was high. Stooping here and there picking them up. I longed to take off my shoes and go wading. This small river reminded me of a small river many miles away.
When we returned the horses were hitched. Mother was sitting comfortably in the back seat of the wagon. Jim helped us both in with the September sun beating down hotter than ever. If we thought the long morning trip was tiring, this was doubly so for the sun began to blister our faces that were used to a damper climate. The alkali wind bit and stung, but still we laughed and chatted. We watched the desert mirages mile after mile. Ground squirrels that had their holes too close to the road scurried away. Jack rabbits by the dozens bounded over the ground through the clumps of sage brush. Herds of grazing cattle stopped their incessant eating to gaze at the passersby. Jim explained that few cattle were in the valley this time of the year. Most of them were in the hills along streams and mountain sides where there was more feed. The dead June grass made sores in the cattle’s mouths.
So far no one had passed us. The field glasses Jim had brought along came handy to gaze at the distant hills with clumps of trees where the snow laid longest in the spring time. Once or twice I turned the glasses on the long trail over which we had come. I hoped to get some little glimpse of my father with his team and loaded wagon. This was something I shouldn’t expect for we had been trotting right along. Our team was now showing signs of it. Their coats were covered with sweat and flecked with dust, but Jim urged them on for it was getting late. The sun too showed evening was approaching. Jim took out his watch every so often and kept us posted as to the time. I sat in front with him. He would let me drive once in awhile.
Finally we saw several wagons and teams in the distance on other roads. Perhaps the roads led to some cabin on the mountain side where there was a ranch, a spring, a small stream of water, a clump of trees or perhaps an orchard of fruit trees in a small valley that derived water from snow that laid long after all other was melted. Homesteaders who built cabins in the flats. Thought they would try their luck. We were nearing the foothills now with the sun disappearing faster and faster. Jim crowded the weary horses on for night comes fast in the hills. Finally we thought we heard water running. There it was gurgling away. A cool dampness arose from the valley below. Such a relief for our scorched and sunburned faces and hands. The
sun vanished and twilight was our light and darkness gathered. The moon would not rise until later, but we continued on over the winding valley road.
Soon now to the first gate. A western style barb wire gate. Jim got down and opened it while I drove. Before getting in he took a lantern from the back of the wagon and lit it. This he hung on the side of the wagon because the valley was an inky blackness. Before long there was another of those western gates. Soon through this and on our last lap of the trip. I began to become afraid. We were not used to this. I wondered where we were and what kind of a place this was. Here we were city girls that had been raised in a closely settled country all our life. Was this to be our home?
The little creek called Shirley Creek was undisturbed and ‘Continued madly on its way. In fact it was music to our ears for it was the only noise that broke the stillness of that lonely dark canyon except for the ceaseless singing of the frogs. And so dreary in the darkness. Finally the house loomed into view. We were home at last after a dry hot fifty mile drive with a team and wagon when Jim said “ho” the horses seemed to stop dead in their tracks. They seemed as glad as we for the journey’s end. Jim jumped down and assisted mother out. He handed her the lantern, then helping us out. We began to cry, Jim tried to comfort us by telling us to wait until morning things would 1ook better. Somewhere off on a hillside a weird cry arose from the throat of a coyote as though he too were trying to serenade us at that lonely moment.
I helped Jim to unhitch the horses and take them to the creek for water. Mother had the lights lit and we had the lantern to find our way to the creek. As we fed the horses we both seemed to look up at the same time to see a large ball of gold just coming up over the top of a distant peak. Here we stood hand in hand, enthralled at this sight before our eyes. As the moon slowly rose from behind the mountain top. I called my sister and mother to witness this beautiful sight. At that same moment a coyote seemed to be enjoying this also for he began baying in his crooning way.
Turning away mother said, “Come now. We’ll eat some supper.” With a fire going she had prepared some mea,t fried potatoes with peaches and a cake she had baked before we left Rupert. Never had had food tasted so good. The long trip and cool of the mountain night air had given us an appetite. Mother though seemed worried. We could sense it. She said she had the feeling something might have happened for down that long trail we had just come over was a man alone With a team and loaded wagon plodding along at a slow pace. Mother prepared the downstairs bedroom for Jim. My sister and I took the upstairs east bedroom. The west bedroom was for my parents Everything was so strange that I could not go to sleep while mother kept vigil downstairs as she always did in cases of this kind.

pages 82-90

that trip going East, the train layed over all one night on the siding. When the conductor came through the next morning he wanted to know if we slept well. We said, “yes.” He said, “you should have. We parked this train on the siding all night so you’d get a good night’s sleep.” Then he laughed and went on. He said to my father, “there was a wreck on the line.” Father said he knew the train had stayed on the siding all night. My sister and I had slept so sound we didn’t know it until we awoke and the train was going. Upon arriving in Portland a big tent revival meeting was in full swing. The tent held five or six hundred people and was full every night with people standing outside. We all took time out of evenings to attend. They were wonderful meetings. My sister and I got to sing in the large choir. Finally I became one of the personnel workers. When the altar calls were given, I would talk with some who raised their hands but yet lacked courage to make a start. I would walk down that sawdust trail with them and kneel down and pray with them until one of the special altar workers would take over. I would then talk to others among the crowd. The meetings were of no one denomination but the two evangelists were Methodist. What good meetings they were. I don’t know when I had enjoyed myself more. It seemed to me it was just the thing I wanted to do for I was so happy helping in my small way. When the time came for them to move on to another large city, I was lost for awhile but the memory was sweet. Several times in an evening and sometimes more, I would walk that trail, with someone undecided, to give them faith and courage to grasp a better life and to have Christ in their hearts. Some had said they just couldn’t take the step even though it seemed so clear and plain to them. “You don’t know,” they would say, “my home isn’t a home” or “my wife is divorcing me.” Maybe it was “we have no control over our children.” But somehow the Lord would put the right answers in my mouth for what they were saying seemed of little consequence compared to the answers that came back in return. Scripture would come to me at times like that where other times it would fail me when I was in a more careless or thoughtless mood. I have lived and relived some of those talks and answers as the years have gone by, especially where their main plea was they were alcoholics or drug addicts and couldn’t give it up. I would tell them that nothing is impossible with God. God has cured more alcoholics than medicine if you are willing to put your whole faith and trust in him. Live for him and let him be the caretaker of your soul, mind and body. My life was made happier through those experiences. Thus the Bible became more precious to me. I read it each night before retiring.
I was eighteen that September tenth, nineteen hundred and ten. “It hardly seemed possible. We had been back in Portland nearly two months. I had had letters from Frank and the two Jims. Frank was rather put out because I had not written or told him we had gone East and was there most of the summer. He said he would have come to see me. Jim, Ida’s nephew, had been in Philadelphia and had gone there just before we went East and back to our old home. He learned too late that I was there so wrote me at our new address in Portland. The main statement in his letter was that he was coming out to Portland and take me back. I answered his letter right off. I said, “we’d like for you to come very much but don’t plan on taking me back.” That just about finished our letter writing. After some time he wrote saying it was impossible for him to come because of his job. I put that letter aside and I don’t remember if I ever answered it or not. About six months later we heard he was married to a Philadelphia girl. I was very glad and happy for him, for I, as yet, had not considered marrying anyone. The second Jim’s letter was so friendly and nice. He was so pleased we had gone to our old home town and state and had had a good visit with all our old friends. Finally too I began writing less and less to him.
Our rainy season had set in, just warm-like showers. The roses were still blooming as Portland was called the Rose City. No one quit work in that country because of rains. It was somewhat like a mist that lasted the winter through. Sometimes they would get what they called a “silver thaw.” Every branch, every leaf, every wire, every pole and every house top was coated with ice. Even rosebuds were encased in ice. Lots of damage was done when one of those came. Electric wires and so forth were down and walking was dangerous. It always seemed like, to me, that more people got out on rainy days than good. Umbrellas bobbing up and down with rain coats, overshoes and rain hats under them. The working men wore those raincoats called slickers and big rain hats. Rain didn’t seem to bother anyone there.
My sister and her husband came with us that same fall we did. They too, were a bit tired of the Montana cold. Their son, William Pruden, Jr., was a big handsome, rosey cheeked boy and took the notice of most people. He and Harry and Ida’s girl, Mary, used to have quite a time at my parents. Their grandma would always want to give them some candy, cookies or oranges. Mary would always take hers and thank grandma for it. But Pruden Jr. or Buster as we called him wouldn’t. Then he’d remark, “mama got some.” He and
Mary would go in the parlor and stand in front of the big window and here, with their arms around each other eat together what grandma had given Mary. Sallie and Pruden stayed on with us. He got a job clerking a store and that September, 1911, their second boy, Robert Harry, was born. They liked being in that warm climate so well they rented them a home.
There was a nice boy who used to take orders each morning and deliver by going from house to house for his father’s butcher shop. I had met him several times by going to the shop to buy meat for my mother. He was tall with blond, curly hair and blue eyes, a very nice boy. Each morning when he came to our house to take an order, if he didn’t see me, he’d ask where I was, of my mother. Most generally I was around someplace and we’d stand and talk until I’d tell him you’ll miss out on some orders if you don’t get to going. We did a lot of talking on the back steps and once in awhile he’d come in and have me play the piano for him. Though he asked, I never went any place with him. I remember his last name but I am not quite sure of his first name. Yes, it was “Morris,” his first name. I can see him now as plain as day.
After Sallie and Pruden moved to their home, father found, through the man he was contracting and building for, a much larger and nicer home. So we moved to it. It had a large attic with large rooms. Wilhelmina and I immediately took us one of those rooms. There were three large bedrooms, a big bath and hallway upstairs on the second floor. It had a very large kitchen, dining room and a large front room and hallway downstairs and a basement as large as the house below. Which was very nice for keeping and storing things. We could keep wood and coal dry for the coal furnace. The furnace made it nice for heating such a large house. A large front and back yard and located in a grand neighborhood.
My brother and his wife and little daughter moved in with us because the house was so large and we all got along nicely. That February their second child, a boy was born to them. It was February 8, 1911. He was given the name of Harry Claud.
That winter seemed to slip past rather fast. Our neighbors came often and visited. We attended church and made many friends. When spring came mama would liked to have made a garden but the yard was all seeded to blue grass which had to be mowed instead of hoed. Vegetables were pretty cheap anyway in that big city. A man with a small wagon and little grey horse came around twice a week selling every kind of vegetable and fruits that were in season. Mama always took a basket out and picked over and bought what we needed so we didn’t lack for fresh vegetables and fruits. The grocer came as well as the butcher each morning and took your order then delivered what you ordered by eleven a.m. which made it nice for housewives who didn’t have the time to dress up and go to the store in the mornings when they were so busy. I think that was the only place we lived that they did that.
When spring came, Pruden and Sallie bought a lot and built themselves a small home. It was some blocks from our place. I used to have fun caring for their two boys. They made a small garden and there was a fruit tree or two on it.
Spring faded into summer and that August the three girls we knew and liked so well when we lived in Great Falls, Montana, came to visit us. They stayed two weeks. We really had a wonderful time. We took in everything worth seeing in and around Portland. We got up early one morning and took what is called the trip up the Columbia River to the Dalles. We left around seven a.m. It was truly a beautiful, scenic trip with water falls, mountains, lovely homes and farms along the way. That afternoon as we were eating dinner we started to go through the locks. The boat tipped badly, sliding some of the dishes into our laps. We nearly went over backwards and would have had not the waiters grabbed our chairs .We got afraid that the boat would sink. The waiter explained it by saying it was the raising of the water and whirlpools in the locks. The wharf was loaded with vegetables, fruits, chickens and what have you ready to be shipped. A little boy came aboard with a basket of such luscious looking peaches. We bought some to eat, as did most of the other passengers. I don’t think I have ever eaten sweeter peaches. The trip was beautiful going but more wonderful in the moonlight returning. There was a couple of fellows that had tried all day to get acquainted with us but we had avoided them until now. They slipped around and asked if they might set down with us on the moonlight deck. As we talked you could hear the water beating and splashing against the side of the boat. I finally got up and walked over by the rails gazing deep into the old Columbia as the boat plowed toward Portland. I watched its waves with the moonlight shining on them. At home, mama had become worried and had asked my brother if he would go down to the wharf to meet us. When the boat pulled in and docked around midnight, there was my brother standing there as the gang plank was lowered. We came ashore and he hustled us away and we barely made the last trolley home which was about a ten block ride. I felt sorry for my brother. He had lost his sleep waiting to see that a bunch of fun loving girls made it home safe. Mama was still waiting up for us. Somehow, I guess, we had failed to tell her how long we would be on the trip. She figured that was too late for girls to be out.
And so the two weeks soon passed. We went to the depot that lovely August morning to bid the girls goodbye. They hated to leave and we wishing they could stay longer. Soon the train pulled out and we were waving like mad at each other as it roared down the tracks with three girls Montana bound. That was the last we ever saw of the girls but we corresponded once in awhile with each other.
That February we learned of homestead land in Idaho. We all thought it would be of great interest to have and live on a homestead in the West. We had read so many stories along that line. So when spring came, father took his suitcase that mama had packed and
headed for Idaho. He wound up in the town of American Falls, Idaho whose inhabitants could be counted easily. The depot was about the biggest part of it. It was a wheat and cattle country. Not having anyway, at the time, to get to Malta, a small inland town where you had to sign up for these homesteads, he bought himself a bicycle and peddled the thirty or forty miles’ to this small inland town. He got a team and buggy there to drive fifteen miles to Sublett which was a store and post office. He looked over these homesteads. Here again was dry farm grain and grazing for cattle. It was a pretty country. My father selected a nice place of a hundred and sixty which was the amount you could homestead. It was on Shirley Creek, up near the mountains or what they call “bench land.” In the summer the rains follow these ranges of Mountains. You are more likely to get rains and more of it than you would down in the “flats” or low land. He got his homestead all fixed up, sold his bicycle in Malta and took the stage back to Burley. There he took the train for Oregon. We were all waiting with great excitement and interest for the news. Upon papa’s arrival, we talked that evening through, until quite late. He told Harry how he had picked out a nice place for him adjoining ours if they got back there before someone else signed up on it. That put us in a big hurry to go. Preparations were soon underway for that trip, by buying and packing things necessary. Father even bought a wagon, harness and team of horses. He got a box car and started storing these things in it. He bought lumber and needed stuff for two homes, one for us and one for my brother’s family.
Finally the day came when we bid farewell to our neighbors who came to wish us well. The box car was on its way. It was dark, around nine or nine-thirty, when the train we left on rolled out of the depot bound for Idaho. Harry went with the box car on account of the horses needing feed and water. Anyway we were off there were a few tears in our eyes as we headed for a strange land something none of us knew anything much about. The trip was very fascinating, with much beautiful scenery along the way. As the train rolled along I began to daydream of that little home somewhere in Idaho out among the sage brush, coyotes, cattle, and ticks. I had not dreamed much of a little mountain stream but it was there alright, running clear as a crystal and just as cold. It came from lofty ledges where it originated.
About midnight we got into Minidoka, on the main line. This was about the middle of or May 10, 1912. My sister and I were quite tickled when we saw a fellow come with a wheelbarrow to take our suitcases to the little two-story wooden structure which was their one and only hotel. There was very little at Minidoka that year except for the depot, railroad track, a cafe and several houses.
When we were taken to our room, we found just the old fashioned bowl and pitcher on a wash stand in one corner of the room. But for all, the bed was quite comfortable. We slept well and awoke with the dawn. My sister and I lay thinking and talking of what we thought the country might be like. We saw very little of it in and around Minidoka by arriving after night. Arising, we washed and dressed. Just then mother knocked on the door and walked in. She said they were all ready to go down to the cafe for breakfast.
It was rather chilly that a.m. so we slipped on light jackets and were off. As we walked in folks in the cafe seemed to be staring at us. The waiter wasn’t long asking where we were from and where bound. Father said, “Rupert, for the present.” “Yes sir,” the fellow replied, “that’s going to be a fine country one of these days.” “What do you mean, one of these days,” father asked. “Well,” he said, “it’s new and they sure have lots of wind and jack rabbits but they got plenty of water. One day they’ll lick those obstacles.” “Well that’s fine” father replied, “but we are going out about fifty miles from Rupert in a wheat and cattle country soon as we can build two houses out there.” “You going to get some land through Uncle Sam, I judge.” “Yes,” father said. “You don’t look like that kind of a family,” he replied as he picked up his tray of dirty dishes and left. Father paid the bill and we went back to the hotel, packed our suitcases and came down stairs into the small but neat waiting room. Once more the man with the wheel barrow appeared, loaded our suitcases and was off to the depot with us walking behind and here we sat on the long seat waiting. The train was late that morning. It seemed hours that we sat there when it was only a short while until the train came steaming in. The three train men headed for the little cafe while the passengers and freight was being loaded. Here we sat straining our eyes, looking at the vast desert that stretched for miles into nowhere, so it seemed. Again we began to wonder, was this where we wanted to live, this somewhat forsaken country where the winds blew at will shifting the sands and the mournful cry of the coyote that fell on your ears at dusk and daybreak. Finally we consoled ourselves that where we were going would never be like this.
We had not long to wait now. The conductor was calling all aboard. The bell was clanging, then the whistle gave two sharp toots and the train started out and we were off, still gazing through the window at the glare of the morning sun on the sage and the silence of the desert. Here and there a jack rabbit scampered away as the train whirled up the dust in passing. It was so dry it seemed to make our faces burn for we were used to that moist Portland, Oregon, climate. Harry’s two children were very fussy. And mother was trying to help Ida with them. They too seemed to dislike the dry atmosphere.
Things began to look somewhat better as the train drew nearer to Rupert. Some were getting their suitcases ready as if anxious to get off. Father now was getting ours down. The train was blowing for the crossing. The conductor came through the train calling, “Rupert, next stop, Rupert,” as he went on his way. It was all dutch to us, sounded like a nice enough name, but what was it like? The train was slowing down. People with their suitcases were moving down the aisle. Father handed each of us a suitcase while he carried three and mother a smaller one. We moved down the aisle with the conductor
saying, “watch your step.” The porter, standing to one side, said “let
me assist you lady,” speaking to my sister-in-law for in her one arm Was her little son and the other was holding her little daughter’s hand tight. I could almost guess her thoughts, for if ever she needed her husband it was now. But, he had volunteered to go with the box car of freight for someone had to water and feed the team of horses. The train had gone on its way now and we were left standing on the depot platform. From the looks of those who descended, Rupert had increased quite a bit in the last few minutes. Some went one way, some another and horses and buggies were waiting for others. We stood for some little time looking in all directions. My father asked the station agent of a good place to stay and he pointed about two blocks to a wooden structure on the southeast comer of the square and said quite a lot of people stay there. All around the square were small wooden structures that May of 1912. The rooms were clean and comfortable. We were all tired and somewhat disappointed. A tent would have looked good to us right then, especially Ida with her two small children. The next night the freight pulled in and our box car of freight was shunted onto a siding. You never saw two people more glad to see each other.
Houses were small and hard to find, but father had hurried around all that next day and had finally found one that evening when the freight came in. The next day found a busy family getting our furniture moved into what would be home for us for some months to come. My father and brother lost no time in getting the lumber moved to our ranch, some fifty miles away at Sublett or in the foothills near Sublett on a little creek named Shirley Creek. Their first trip though was for my brother to go to Malta and file a claim on the hundred and sixty adjoining our place. Then the task of building the houses soon got into progress while we women folk stayed at Rupert and took in its surroundings.
We soon made friends and church people came to call. My sister and I were asked to sing in the choir and we did. We are also asked to sing solos which we did. We enjoyed going to the little Methodist church. The Baptist church found out we were Baptist. So the minister and his wife came calling. They were extra nice Eastern folks but we didn’t change. For we figured we would soon be moving to the ranch and we had already gotten acquainted with the people in the Methodist church.
My sister and I used to like to go walking around the square and shop. One morning we walked into a dry goods store. The lady who managed it came up to us and said, “you are not Idahoans.” We said, “how do you know?” She said, “from your white or fair complexions.” She then said, “you’ve come from the coast.” We said, “Portland.” She said, “I knew it. After you live here awhile you’ll lose that fair complexion.” I said, “I already have. This sun and dry wind makes my face burn.” We made some purchases then hurried to get home. The first thing I did was look in a mirror to see how much I had suntanned.
The next morning I was singing and washing the dishes when a young fellow knocked at the door to take orders for groceries and then deliver them later. I was somewhat talkative that morning and we talked for quite awhile while mama fixed out an order to give him. When he returned with the groceries we talked some more. That was the forerunner of someone else I was to meet for this party boarded at his home. Each evening he’d go home and tell him about the little girl that just moved here from Portland. The day went by and “Even tide” drew nigh. My sister was trying out a new piece on the piano, one of the last we bought before leaving Portland. It was a very pretty piece and I was just as anxious to learn it so I joined her there. As I sat thus taking in each note and sound, a melancholy feeling crept over me.
When we had retired I was still drifting and dreaming. Sleep would not come for I was once again, in my dreams, back home, my childhood home. I was turning over in my mind happenings, the old barn, skating pond, the hill where we spent so many happy hours coasting on chilly winter days, old Alice and her gingerbread that I like so well. It was evening and we had returned from school and father from work. Old Alice was putting the supper on the table as we gathered there. This was always a happy occasion for the family to discuss the happenings of the day. My mother was there at bed time roasting a pan of peanuts for us to enjoy before retiring. The mill and the steam engine that ground the com and sawed the wood. I could visualize the yard full of horses and wagons and people on milling day. The boy with the white goat and wagon and our store with its many attractive things to a child. I was once again on my pony visiting the many haunts of those early morning rides. Yes, it was all there in my dream. Now we were leaving it and the new country we moved to proved just as nice. I can hear my brother-in-law say now, “what a lovely spacious home you have. And Frank’s words in the letter I received just before moving West were, “wherever you go, I wonder if you will ever be able to entirely forget what you are leaving behind?” No, I hadn’t. I didn’t think the time would come when I ever would and most of all the little church in the Wild Wood
With its city Sunday crowd and the happy times we enjoyed there.
Somehow, I don’t know when, I drifted off to sleep. It must have been toward morning for the night was dark. And one of those Idaho dust storms seemed to come up from nowhere. The dust found its way in around the windows and under the doorsills. The house was quiet and still except for the wind.
I was awakened the next morning by the odor of fresh rolls baking. My good sister-in-law had arose early that morning to prepare and bake them, a delicious treat for breakfast. She had made up the dough the night before. I sat up in bed rubbed my eyes and hastily dressed. Breakfast was on the table and most everyone seated “Well!” they said. “Here’s sleepy head. What happened to you?” Harry and Ida’s little boy lay whimpering in his crib wanting to be taken up. Their little girl sat in her high chair without a care banging her spoon on her plate. Soon we were seated and “thanks was returned for all things good.” Truly what was on the table merited thanks, but as I gazed out of the window, the outside had not merited that much to me, yet. As I gazed the feeling crept with in me, we had made our choice, there was no turning back. We were destined to become part of this, and would be for years to come. This country of wind, dust and shifting sand, this country where we would carve out a home, would become dearer to us than any place we had ever lived before, for Idaho was a nugget in the rough waiting to be polished. And we were “Destined to go West.”

pages 76-81

That afternoon, as I planned to walk back, Pruden said, “I’ve got some time off and I’ll take Sallie and you for a drive and then go into town.” When we started out we went up a hill and continued until we were up on a very high hill. Here we stopped and took in the country. Over there said Pruden is what they call the Montana Bad Lands, only fit for grazing and not too good for that. He pointed in the distance toward an Indian reservation and the army fort about eight miles out of Havre. It really was a beautiful country, green as far as your eyes could look, but there was something lacking, houses and trees on either side of the road. Instead, the houses were miles apart and most generally built in a little valley, hidden or obscure from the road. There they would be a little more sheltered from the cold Montana winters. Its vastness was almost frightening but I loved it all. I wasn’t wanting to return East, for there was something here that drew and exhilarated one. The climate gave one a new feeling of being. It was cattle and sheep country where grain and hay were the main crops.
When we wound up in town it was dull and dreary to me, as towns always were. But my appetite was still keen from the drive and supper took on a delicious smell, coming from the kitchen, especially the rhubarb pie Ida had made from some rhubarb growing in the small garden back of the house. As we all sat down to the table my brother-in-law lost no time in complimenting her on the pie. She said, “oh go on, you act as though I had never made a pie before.” The baby, in her high chair, was growing fat and strong now. Pruden, looking toward the baby, said, “you’ve got us beat now but you wait. We’ll be having one of those sometime and I’ll bet it’ll be a boy. Anybody want to take me up on that?” Everyone was silent. Finally Harry said, “we’ll wait. Time will tell.”
After supper we all gathered around the piano in the parlor and had a good sing. Ida sang alto which always made the songs and hymns we sang so much prettier. It was wonderful, seemed like old times. It was the first time we had done that since being in Montana. For a moment I closed my eyes and we were all back home again having one of our usual good times around the piano. My two sisters played duets then Harry and two sisters played two trio pieces which were very pretty. Later on I added my bit by playing. I loved to play but I played in my own way, by ear. Everybody clapped and Said play some more. Pruden said, “play one of those ragtime pieces or better still play Frank’s favorite song, “A Hammock Built for Two, and sing it.” I did and I’ll put the words here:
A Hammock Built for Two, above the skies of blue
a boy who whispered Sue,
You’re the only little girl on earth will do.
A hug or sigh or squeeze,
A kiss floats on the breeze
as they kept on swinging
to each other clinging
in a Hammock Built for Two.

The above was the chorus. I’ll not bother to write the two verses. Father and mother were enjoying all of this to the utmost for they had a pleasant look on their faces, as they sat there with their arms around each other. These were their children grown up. They were proud of their family and their daughter-in-law and son-in-law and most of all, of their granddaughter.
It was somewhat late that night when my sister and husband started for home. A bright moonlight night but the air was still a bit chilly for June. In fact, it wouldn’t have been back home, but out here it was.
The next morning as I came down to breakfast, I overheard my parents talking and discussing the work situation. There was very little of the kind of work my father and brother did in this small sheep and cattlemen’s town. Without work my father soon became restless for he was a man that liked to be busy. Upon hearing of a considerable amount of building going on in Great Falls, father made a trip up there, found work, and rented a house. We moved up there and were soon settled in that beautiful city. It wasn’t long until father and Harry were contracting and building houses.
That summer, I still remember for we had such a nice time there going to church, parties and etc. Among the young people we met were three girls, daughters of a business man in that city. Their names were Elsie, Bertha and Constance. We went most everyplace together. Later on near neighbors of ours, a rancher’s wife, gave a party for their five boys and invited us. There we met two of their sons that we went with quite a lot that summer. Carl and Joe were very nice boys.
It was such a lovely city that my sister and I used to just like to take walks of evenings down its shaded streets. There too was a big copper smelter. Father finally got permission from some of the head ones of it to take us through. We got to see just how it was run and
copper refined. Even after our permit there were still places we weren’t allowed to go. They said just by getting a few drops of water in one of the copper molds caused the death of one man, blinded three and injured several. It was called the B& M Copper smelter. I was enjoying that summer intensely but I still missed those long pleasant walks out to the ranch on Milk River and the little white house against the hillside where my sister and husband lived. As a month and over had gone by I began to wonder how they were. Some days later a letter came announcing the birth of a fine, big boy along
in July, 1909. They gave him his father’s name bu the was nicknamed Buster which stuck with him for years. My parents were very proud of him for that was their second grandchild.
When their son was older Pruden and Sallie came to see us at Great Falls. As my brother-in-law put it they were just taking a few days leave from the ranch. They only stayed a couple of days but we enjoyed their visit so much. We told them what a fine looking son they had. “Well,” Pruden said, “he comes by it naturally. Just take a look at his father.” Then he laughed. Sallie said, “oh, yes!” Pruden went with Harry and father on the works. He thought that was something he would like to do or at least learn.
As Pruden, Sallie and little Buster left to catch the train to go back to Havre, but came back later and went with us to Portland, Oregon, we went to the depot with them and waved goodbye as the train pulled out. Then my sister and I stopped in town and did some shopping. Upon arriving home, I found the mail had brought me three letters, one from the Jim I met on the train, the Jim in Virginia and Frank in New York. They were all nice friendly letters. I put them aside to answer at a more convenient time and went to help mother with getting the evening meal. Wilhelmina sat down to play over some late songs we had purchased. They were very pretty and I was wild about learning them. One of them I knew somewhat because I had heard Carl whistling it. By listening to Wilhelmina play them I could soon learn to play them also. As the days went by I accomplished my aim. There were times that I just loved to play and sing for an hour or more.
One morning while finding nothing much to do, I was reading through a magazine and found where they wanted someone to get subscriptions to it. Thinking that was something to occupy my spare time, I started out early one morning. ‘It was then about the first of October and the mornings were rather chilly. Hurrying along from house to house I was surprised at most everyone, because at nearly every home I got a subscription to that little magazine. On my way back on one of those mornings, I met a large like lady whom I had seen passing our house quite frequently. With her that morning was her little girl about four years old with long dark red curls. She spoke and I returned the greeting. Then she paused and said, “the air is quite chilly this morning.” For a little bit I thought she was speaking of her little girl’s hair and in reply I said, “Your little girl does have beautiful hair.” She replied by saying, “yes, her hair is quite pretty.” Then I caught on. I thought to myself, she must be English for I had heard they left the “H’s” off where they should be and put them on where they shouldn’t be. I had been accused of Southern talk but this was a new turn of affair. I bid her good day and hurried on, wanting to finish my rounds for that day, then home to figure just what kind of a prize I would get. I had been sending in my subscription money and the magazine had sent me a book of the many prizes they gave. I began looking through its pages. There were dolls, roller skates foot balls and what have you. Finally when I got to the last page, there was the most beautiful set of dishes. I thought I’ll get those for my mother. Figuring up, I only had a few more subscriptions to get then I could turn the last of the money in and have the dishes sent. I danced around and hummed a tune for I was quite happy over the thoughts of what I was going to do. The time soon slipped by, and my order for the dishes had been sent.
It was getting very cold in that country and some men on the job were telling my father and brother about the new additions being added to Portland, Oregon, and all the building that was going on there so they planned to take off as soon as they finished the job they were on. My folks talked it over and they agreed if they could go where it was warmer and work most of the winter it would be better as we had nothing to lose anyway. Harry and father were finishing their last two houses and would not take on any more. Instead plans would be made for the trip. Mama agreed to sell the piano. She said we had hauled it far enough and we would get a new one when we arrived in Portland. She also parted with quite a bit of the furniture, thinking something new would look better for a change.
That day in the first part of November, 1909 arrived and we left behind a very pretty city and a host of friends. It was cold and blustery when we boarded the train for the City of Roses. I could see the pretty parks, the Margarette, The Gibson, and the one named after the famous Indian squaw, Sacajawea, that helped Lewis and Clark on some of their trips. As we hurried toward the depot, I thought of all the good times and picnics we had had there that summer. The train whistle blew, the bell started clanging and the conductor called out all aboard then the train slowly pulled out of the depot. This was a very nice trip for we went by the way of Wenatchee, Seattle, Tacoma, and Vancouver, Washington, and on to Portland. At Wenatchee the tram stopped for awhile. Here we got off during the stopover. The clouds hung so low it was almost like washing your hands in them. Outside the depot there was box after box of such big red apples. Wenatchee at that time was quite an apple country. At Seattle the train laid over long enough that we got to take a taxi and take in the city and out to the old exposition grounds. That was a nice
trip Seattle was such a pretty city. It was misting a bit as we took in the city. This was common in that country for that time of year. In fact, we found it somewhat misty the rest of the way to Portland but it was warm, grass green and flowers blooming. One could almost stand out in those mists and enjoy them like a warm shower.
We arrived in Portland the evening and went to a hotel. The next morning my father went out and bought an Oregonian paper. After we had breakfast we went back up to our rooms and started hunting a house. That very morning we found an ad saying house for
rent, mostly furnished. As mother had sold most of our furniture, that was just what we needed. Three bedrooms and bath upstairs, kitchen, dining room, and large front room downstairs and a big basement sounded just like what we wanted. My father soon had it rented and we moved in. It was a very pretty place, a half block from the end of the trolley line on Clinton Street. It was up on a hill and a lovely rolling grassy lawn with flowers and trees. Father and Harry were soon at work for there was lots of work. Soon going with us too, my sister her husband and baby son joined us there.
Around Christmas time one of the big department stores put an ad in the paper for clerks. My sister and I, having nothing to do, thought we would apply thinking we would work just until the rush was over. When it was over they asked us to stay on, out of the many girls they had hired for the rush. We worked until the first of March. The weather was getting so warm and nice outside. Wanting to have some fun and take in the pretty parks, Portland and places surrounding it, we quit.
Along in the first of April the lady that owned the house we rented made we girls acquainted with two nice Pennsylvania boys that had boarded with her for two years. She said she wouldn’t have made us acquainted with them except that she knew they were extra nice boys. That was the beginning of having a good time. My sister took to Ben and I drew Jim. That was the third Jim in my life. They were Eastern boys and we Eastern girls. They took us so many places that spring, to the large and beautiful Portland park, Council Crest, Portland’s big spring and summer resort high up on a hill overlooking the city, to Oregon City and through the paper mill so we could see how paper was made. We really enjoyed that spring.
In the meantime, father and Harry built two houses for one man and five houses as big as the one we lived in for another man. Along in the last of May my sister-in-law got word some of her relatives were quite sick. She cried a lot about it and was so homesick for them and home. So in the first of June, 1910, we stored our furniture and stuff and went by the Sunset Route that took us down through California. We started out from Portland going by Salem, Eugene, Roseburg and Grants Pass, down into Berkeley and Oakland, California. Here the train ran on a huge ferry to San Francisco. This was a lovely trip especially those mountains we went through on the start in California. On down to Santa Barbara and Los Angeles where the train ran about a hundred miles along the ocean. That was the first time any of us had seen the Pacific Ocean. This was a trip I’d never forget. We were eight days and nine nights on this trip. In Arizona we came to the little boarded up and down depot that was called Tucson. There was nothing around it for miles but a hot, dry desert. That year the heat was almost unbearable. We saw a few burros and a dead cow now and then. At the depot a woman and her little girl got on with a basket of lunch. Said she was taking it up the line to some men who were working. A Spanish boy standing on the depot was calling out his wares which were cow’s horns, painted and carved like a fish. I was told later that the little adobe town of Tucson was bypassed by the railroad when the railroad grade was surveyed and staked out. It was back in the desert some nine or ten miles. Father stepped off the train and bought a horn from the boy, as a souvenir. Dust rolled up in clouds as the train moved on. With the sun beating down, I wondered how anything could live out there at all. It was that way much of the day making the water cooler a favorite place. Finally after some miles the train slowed to a halt. There were the men working. The lady and little girl, with the basket of lunch, got off. I looked back as long as I could. The train pulled out and gained speed.
We touched the border of New Mexico and saw the monument that marked the boundary between Old Mexico, New Mexico and Texas. On into El Paso and on through San Antonio. Things looked better now. This was a beautiful city. Then on through Huston and on we traveled. In Louisiana were those beautiful old Southern mansions and some in Alabama just as pretty. We were stopped for an hour or more in that big, quaint, old, busy waterfront city of New Orleans. We left the train and got a taxi and took in the city. It was really a sight worth seeing. Out on the edges were big old plantations, well kept and worth a lot to see. Everyone felt rested when we were back on the train again and on our way. On through Tennessee and those beautiful rolling hills of Kentucky.
We had begun to miss that wonderful, Western climate. Here it was low, hot, humid and sultry. We had lived in that kind of climate all our life, but found something different by going west.
Our friends were all glad to see us and we they but we spent most of that summer in Baltimore, Maryland. My brother, his wife and little daughter spent the summer visiting with her folks. We enjoyed where we lived a home not too many blocks from one of Baltimore’s nice shady parks. There we spent a lot of time, especially my sister and I. We took daily walks through it. Toward August the sun began to bear down and in that damp climate the heat was somewhat too warm for any comfort. We visited with our friends once more and then planned to return by September.
We took the shortest way going back that time. When we arrived, we found a nice modem, three bedroom home one block from where we lived before. We were quite pleased because it was nice and also a very pretty neighborhood. It was really a nice home and we were quite busy for a week or better getting settled. The man my father and brother had built the five large homes for our first winter in Portland was ready for them again. They lost no time in getting back to contracting and building.
The trip coming back to Portland was pretty and nice but couldn’t compare with the one we had going East. One night in California on

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I’ll have to admit though, as we looked back once more at our home and as we boarded the trolley for that last trip to Norfolk, there were tears in our eyes. Mother was dabbing at hers quite frequently for she was taking it a bit hard. My brother and wife, Ida, and baby had spent a few days with her relatives before leaving. In Norfolk they joined us at the train depot just before take off time. There was much waving and good-byes, as the conductor called out “all aboard,” from the folks who had gathered to see us off., “Well, it’s Westward we are bound,” my father said after we were all seated. Mother looked up and smiled a bit but you could still see a wee trace of a tear there, when the train lurched and pulled out from the big station. Finally at last we were on our way to a country and its customs strange to us.
The trip had been wonderful and so far I was enjoying it, and I think the others were also. Soon we were in rolling country and I kept thinking it may, not be long until I would be seeing those beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains which I had dreamed of so much. Finally pulling into Richmond, Virginia, the capitol, and here we changed trains. I’ll never forget those long steep hills right in the city of Richmond. We walked up and down that windy March day in the year of nineteen hundred and nine. While waiting we went to a cafe for lunch and then returned to the depot in time to hear the man call out our train. Picking up our suitcases, we were once more seated in the Pullman car. When the conductor began calling all aboard for points West and mentioned the towns by name, I knew then we would soon be off again.
The whistle blew and the bell started clanging and the train was rolling out of the depot. Then the conductor came down the isle calling, “tickets, have your tickets ready.” I was at home again, in my thoughts, on the school trolley. How familiar were those words. I could see myself getting my school ticket book out and handing it to the trolley conductor. He would tear out the required tickets and I hand it back to me and for a moment I was dreaming amidst all of this.
I was wondering about the old crowd that rode the school trolley and who eddy would be saving a seat for and who Maggie would pick for a pal, who Ethel would confide in and who would take my place reciting the long poems at church affairs. I was always the one picked because I memorized them so easily. Would the little girl like my pony I had left behind as well as I did? Would she treat him nice and give him a lump of sugar before she took him out for a canter? Would she see that he was fed well as I did for him. My cat Boots I had rescued from a watery grave out of a sack in Julian’s Creek - would
the folks that bought the place see that he had his saucer of milk each day? Would the little red squirrels that chattered so and seemed to fly from limb to limb miss my calling and talking as I entered their domain and rode among them or sat quietly listening to the whispering of the pine trees sighing from the wind with their sweet scented pine needles. I was remembering too the little cottontail rabbits that scurried by and would sometimes sit up on their hind legs to see just who was coming and the birds singing sweetly among the pine boughs. I was leaving all this behind. Maybe the West would be better.
Opening my pocketbook, I found Frank’s last letter, unopened and unread. Leaning my head back against the seat I began to read. He summed it up this way. “Wherever you go, I wonder if you will ever be able to entirely forget what you are leaving behind?” “No,” I thought to myself, for I was already remembering and would always remember for they were precious years, childhood days that leave an imprint on one’s memory. I must have dozed off when I felt a hand on my shoulder. Mama said, “we are going to have dinner now.” About that time the porter came through the car calling, “dinner, dinner, now being served in the dining car.” We made our way there and waited to be seated. My brother and wife had to have the porter get them some milk for the baby. Ida nursed the baby but never had enough so gave her the bottle to help out.
That night was the first time I had slept on a train. I happened to get the lower berth and my sister the upper. I guess I was tired for I only gazed out for awhile at the lights and things that could be seen that moonlight night as the train sped past. The bed was very comfortable and in a short while I was fast asleep.
I awakened and rose early the next morning. I had that habit from having to be at the station on time for the school trolley. I dressed and went to the dressing room to wash my face and comb my hair. Returning to my berth I found the porter already making some of the beds. My sister had passed me on the way as I was coming back. “Good morning, Miss.” He said. “If you’ll wait a bit I’ll have that berth made up so you can have your seat.” I sat in one just across the way. As he finished, my sister came back. We both sat down together and she proceeded to answer some letters she had failed to do before leaving. We talked some at the same time.
For she was the quiet one about going West. At last she brought out her thoughts on the matter saying, “do you think this was a good idea, going West?” “Well,” I said, “I hope so but right now we haven’t gotten far enough away to know.” She thought again and looking out the window said, “I don’t think it is.” I said, “let’s cross that bridge when we really get to Montana.”
About then folks began moving out to the dining car as the porter went through announcing breakfast was ready. I was feeling refreshed and fine after my good night’s rest and breakfast. My sister seemed to be a bit blue and unhappy as though she were leaving something she would lose forever. She read and re-read Sidney’s last letter and would write a little each time she read parts of it. Feeling she wanted to be alone, I slipped out into another seat. “We would not change cars any more until we got to Chicago,” I said to my father and mother who were sitting right behind me. “That’s what the conductor said,” father replied. Someone had left a magazine in the seat so I picked it up and busied myself with looking through its pages. I found an interesting story and read in between looking out of the window at scenes, as we went by.
We did not have to change trains in Chicago as we thought. Instead, ours or the main coaches of the train were backed’ onto a siding and another engine hooked on and took off. I guess they did that way because it was late and a lot of pullman travelers had retired for the night. My folks said we’d better wait. Finally the conductor came in and said passengers in the pullmans would not change trains. The porter came and fixed our berths for us. So we were in bed when the other train backed up and hooked on. With a jolt, a jerk, a bell ringing and whistle blowing we were off once again, Westward bound.
That was too much noise for me to sleep. So I gazed out of the window at the railyard and at what I thought was snow proved to be right for it was snowing against the window and right then it seemed much colder. In fact it was for we were farther west and had left the
sunny south. Flowers were blooming there and people were putting in gardens when we left. In fact, the people that bought our place were wanting to get moved in as soon as they could so they could get a garden in. Anyway I was enjoying the trip and was still enthused about it all. Yes, we knew it would be colder, for Havre, Montana on the Milk River was pretty close to the Canadian line.

Somehow I wasn’t sleepy that night so I turned my little light on in the berth and wrote several cards. I can still hear the clack to clack of the rails or wheels on rails, whatever it was, as I sat there in the still hours of the night. I could hear people shoring and once in awhile someone would get out to go to the restroom. I would hear them brush my curtain as they went by. My sister leaned over from the top berth and wanted to know what I was doing. Said she couldn’t sleep either but somewhere between there and morning I fell asleep. I must have slep pretty soundly for mama reached in and shook me and said get up. Later we all went to breakfast.
And when we got to Saint Paul, Minnesota, we really did have to change trains and my was it cold! Snow every place and as we walked from the train to the depot you could see our breath like a steam engine. However the wait wasn’t too long before they started calling out our train and on what track it was and the cities it went through.
Father said come on let’s get up to the gate before the crowd gets ahead of us. So we picked up our suitcases and started. Seeing we had made a start caused all of them to get in line. The conductor was saying, “tickets, show your tickets,” as we passed through the gate.
One reason we changed trains there was we had to change to another railroad. The bunch was crowding in on my mother, being a little short. Father took her arm and too a young man stepped up and took her arm to assist her on, out of the crowd. Finally in and seated. This young man, a nice looking blond, sat just across from me. After the train pulled out he asked if he might sit with me. I smiled and nodded and he sat down. Said he was from Cut Bank, Montana, and had been in St. Paul, Minnesota, visiting some of his folks. He had a couple of magazines and we looked at them and talked. Finally he got around to asking me where I was from. I said the “sunny south lands” and told him where we were going. I said I had a married sister living out there. Well he went on, “you’ll find this a much different country and much colder than Virginia.” I replied by saying I had already found that out. I looked back and noticed another young man had also asked to sit by my sister and they seemed to be enjoying one another’s company and the trip, too.
Here the train sped on through the snowy country side and every mile seemed to be colder, when we’d stop at cities and places where we could look outside or step off of the train for a minute or two we soon got into the Dakotas, that is North and South Dakota, it was much colder still. I then began to wonder what Montana would be like as I looked out over those vast plains or prairie country. Sometimes one could see nothing for miles, only snow and little villages or small towns and cities along the railroad. Yet, there were people trying to make a living out there. Of course, that was in 1909. Before we were through the Dakotas, we got into a raging blizzard and there were snowplows along the tracks to keep them clean with crews of men to man them. They also used shovels. I was glad when we got out of the Dakotas and into Montana. It was night time though when we crossed the line so I thought we were still in the Dakotas from the vastness of the plains that stretched out as far as your eyes could see. When finally the conductor came through the train and announced we were now traveling in the state of Montana. I began to gaze out into the distance. A feeling of loneliness crept over me. Is this what we are coming to? Our home loomed up before me and all the things we had left behind, lovely home, trees, crops and ‘things worthwhile. As I thought, a voice said, “may I sit with you again?” I looked up and nodded. There was the same young man. He said, “I want to tell you this is the worst part of Montana. You may not like any of it for awhile. You see, I grew up out here but my folks were easterners. I remember how homesick mother used to get to return to our old home in the East. Finally after many years father took her back. That one trip was enough. She never wanted to go again after that. She exclaimed on her return, the west is mine. I am a part of it. I never want to return again to the East. Why, the very air you breathe out here makes one feel alive and ready to do things.” he finished.
Neither of us had asked the other’s name until just about time for him to get off at his station. Finally he said, “I am going to be leaving you pretty soon and I thought I’d give you my address.” .He handed me a card with his name printed on it and said, I would like yours in return. We might like to write to each other and I would be interested in knowing if you like Montana.” I hastily wrote mine on a card from my purse and handed it to him while gazing at the name on the card he had given me. I said, “so James is your first name?” “Yes,” he said, “but everybody calls me Jim.” Well, I thought, this is the second Jim.
The hours soon flew by and toward evening the conductor came through calling out, “Cut Bank, all out for Cut Bank.” Getting his suitcases ready and putting on his overcoat, Jim said, “this has been a very pleasant visit. I have enjoyed your company so much.” He picked up his suitcases as the train came to a standstill and the conductor called out one more time, “all out.” On the platform, Jim went past the window where I was sitting, smiled, waved and tipped his hat and vanished into the night.
That next morning we arrived at Havre. It was such a bright sunny day and only a few patches of snow, here and there, could be seen from the car window. Getting off we noticed it was quite chilly in the high mountains, enough so that one wanted to pull their collars up around their neck. My sister and I just wrapped our furs a little closer around us.
My sister Sallie and husband were about thirty miles away up in the Bearpaw Mountains and were unable, at the time, to meet us so we went directly to the hotel. There we stayed until our freight car of furniture arrived.
The next day my sister and husband came. They were overjoyed to see us. Sallie laughed and said. “My prediction came true. I am in Montana and I am living in a log cabin on a ranch, as I said when I first heard of my husband-to-be. But, at the time I didn’t know it.” We all got quite a laugh out of it. Pruden spoke up and said, “we’ll soon just be about one mile and a half from Havre. We’ll be moving to a ranch on the Milk River.
.We were at the hotel about a week before our freight car of goods arrived. Father had a house all rented and ready so we were soon moved in and comfortable.
We had only been there about two weeks when Pruden’s sister was to be married. The wedding was to be at his parents home in the Bearpaw’s. Pruden’s brother came to get us, that is my sister and I, in one of those mountain spring wagons with a large bay team hitched to it. It was about three thirty or four p.m. The evenings were cold in that high altitude and mama was afraid we’d take cold driving thirty miles that time of day with a team. I wanted to go. I wanted to see a Montana mountain wedding and square dance but my sister wouldn’t go with me. It was left to me to tell him we were sorry but we couldn’t go and explained why. To this day I wished I had gone anyway. The next time my brother-in-law saw me he said, “I know why you didn’t come. You were just too hightone to come to one of our mountain weddings and square dances.” “Oh, no!” I protested. “You know me better than that.” Then mama saved the day by telling him why, I said, “If he had come earlier we would have gone. You know we are not used to this cold country.” “Yes,” Pruden said, “I felt that was the main reason, but there sure was a lot of fellows there to meet you for word got whispered around you were coming.” He finished by saying they had danced most of the night. That Sunday at church we met a couple of nice fellows, Joe and John, that we went with just part of the time for we didn’t want to be tied down to anyone.
The days seemed long there. After supper my sister and I would go for walks. We’d walk to the end of the side walk and then climb the hill in search of pretty rocks and early spring flowers. That was a nice pastime. Upon returning we would play the piano or entertain company when they called. Then off to bed, tired enough to sleep well.
I remember Easter Sunday. It came in the middle of April that year or about that. We dressed up in our spring suits and hats and, started out. Such a lovely day, but when the services was about halt over we heard a wind and something like a pelting rain. When we came out everything was covered with snow by a driving blizzard which was still in progress. Being only a couple of blocks from where we lived, my sister and I, good at foot racing, took out. We heard someone call we’ll take you home but we were soon home. Those were horse and buggy days and most people who came had had their buggys and wagons already loaded with more than they could accommodate. We were somewhat wet though and the flowers on our spring hats were a bit droopy but it was so much fun, and we enjoyed being in a Montana blizzard for that short length of time. The next day my mother said, “you girls better answer your letters. You seem to be collecting quite a few. I had received one each from the last Jim and the Jim back home and one from Frank. My sister had several to answer also. She said, “You know what? I think I’ll just quit writing to them. They are so far away and I am not going to leave my family and go back there to live even if they did come out here for me. In that way they’ll know there’s no hope and get someone else.” “Well,” I said, “that’s fine but mine are not serious. We are only writing for the fun of it. Or maybe, she went on, “I’ll tell them I have someone out here I am going with for Sidney’s last letter states he’s coming out here to take me back. If I encourage him he will and I am having too much fun to marry and settle down right now.”
We were writing these letters in the dining room. It was a good home we were renting, three bedrooms upstairs, a large parlor, dining room and kitchen downstairs. Across the street from us was a large, nice home that belonged to one of Montana’s sheep men. He came in there in the early days and married a pretty Indian maiden. Their children were quite nice looking and he was educating them well in music and sending them to college.
Havre, in 1909, was a small town but there were a lot of pretty homes in it. My sister and I, for lack of something to do, enjoyed walking around the streets taking inventory of the different homes and how they were built by looking at them from the sidewalk.
On good days we’d set out for a hike of a mile and a half across rolling, rocky country to the ranch on the Milk river where Sallie and Pruden lived. It was a wonderful walk. We d hunt for pretty rocks and wild flowers as we strolled along, scaring up a chipmunk or
ground squirrel here and there. We loved to watch them sit upon their hole or mound and chatter. Now and again a jack rabbit or a big old snowshoe rabbit, at the sound of our feet crunching in the fine pebbles, would scurry away into the brush. Sometimes we’d pick up
a small rock and throw it to see them scurry on faster to another place of refuge. This was fun. Just before we got to the neat little white ranch home in the valley there was a long sloping hill that we would always run down to get to the house. Sometimes we would go by the road alongside of Milk River. This gurgling, rushing stream with willows growing on its banks and the black birds whistling among their branches, was always a milky color. The old maggie pie calling out every little bit was an interesting sight. Sometimes my sister would have other things she would want to do and I’d walk these trips alone. With the brisk morning air blowing across my face and inhaling its clean fresh atmosphere filled with ozone, my thoughts would wander back to our old home or the little pine forest on the eighty.
Here too, the prairie dogs, as I passed, sat on their little mounds of earth keeping up an endless chatter. Sometimes cowboys have been thrown from their horses and their horse would wind up with a broken leg from galloping along and stepping in a prairie dog hole.
I d stay a day or two. My brother-in-law who had batched quite a lot on his ranch before meeting and marrying my sister, liked to get up and get the breakfast. His pet name for Sallie was Petsie. When he’d get it ready he’d go to her bedroom door and say, “Petsie, I’ve got it ready. You get up and get the table set and the milk and cream while I go out to feed, harness, and milk the cow. I’ll be back in a little while and eat.” And when he’d get that breakfast of cowboy drop biscuits, oatmeal, coffee, eggs and bacon and the aroma of it started drifting through the house. You were awake right now, for one did not lack for an appetite in that country.