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Celebrating a Life.

 Not long after they moved from the ranch to the new home a routine gall bladder surgery for continual digestive problems turned into a life sentence. In October of 1960, Daddy was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and given six months to a year to live. 

My parents made the most of the time they had left together. That fall and winter they worked making the new home more comfortable for Mom. It was not the log home Mom had envisioned but a large single wide trailer on a basement, with room for grown children and grandchildren to visit…Daddy felt good enough (pain was kept down with medication) in early spring, so they signed on with a fishing charter on the salmon river out of Riggins, Idaho. Mom would cook for the guests and Daddy would help her in the kitchen, do outside chores and also help the guide with the guests. It was a wonderful time for them, more like a vacation than a job. Back at the new home, I had finished beauty school and came home to live and make preparations for my June wedding. It was a bitter/sweet day when Daddy walked me down the aisle on June 10th. Daddy spent several months in the hospital and died on October 15, 1961, age 54. 

  Although “Celebrations of Life” were not done in the 60’s, after Daddy’s funeral we did celebrate arrived with food, enough to feed a small army. Family and friends joined together eating, talking and laughing as we reminisced about the many good times in Daddy’s life, his accomplishments, his sense of humor, his kind heart and his straight forward thinking. He was a jovial person but prone to give his opinions, of which he had many. We talked about and shared the many sayings that peppered his everyday speech, and the swear words he used to express himself. 

That evening Mom and we five “kids” returned to the cemetery to pay our respects and say our last goodbyes. I noticed the sign on the gate leading into the cemetery it said “Dead End”. My Dad would have thought that extremely funny and it struck me that way as well. Daddy never wanted to be buried but cremation wasn’t common then. He didn’t like the idea of being put in a cement vault in the ground, and said, “I don’t want my body turning to jelly instead of dust, why don’t you just sharpen my head and pound me into the ground like a post?” We laughed over this idea while he was still alive. And many times after a long work day, he would make the remark that with his luck he wouldn’t get to rest after he died, because resurrection would probably come on the day after. That didn’t happen and maybe in the ensuing fifty years he has been able to rest. Now when I’ve been at the cemetery for short visits, I hear whistling through the trees, his voice murmuring:  “They did it anyway; dressed me in a suit and tie, put me in a God Damn cement box and covered me with dirt. Not my choice.”

Our Dad, left this life, not a wealthy man, but rich in many ways. He was loved and respected by family and friends and we were blessed to have him enrich our lives.

Another lesson.

For the next ten years Daddy, with Mom at his side, improved their property by remodeling the house, adding a bathroom and developing a new water system. By using good farming practices the land became more fertile, which meant better crops and any extra money was invested in more land. By this time, my brother George’s family was growing and he found a steady job in the logging industry and helped on the farm when he had days off. Mona and I became Daddies right hand “men”, always with him whether it was milking cows, taking care of the animals or harvesting the crops. Mona was especially good on horseback and spent most of her time riding the range, checking on the animals and moving them to better pasture when needed. We could both drive at the age of ten and spent much more time on a tractor, wearing jeans and T-shirts than in the house learning how to cook, sew or do laundry.

I remember learning how to mow hay on a hot July day. All of Daddies jobs were stacking up as he had hay that was ready to bale and a field that needed mowing. After breakfast that morning he said, “Della, do you think you can mow that field of alfalfa today?”  “I think so Daddy, I’ve driven the tractor and raked hay lots of times. I would like to mow because I love the smell of freshly cut alfalfa.” “Mowing is a little different than raking, you have to be very careful of what you are doing, with the power take off and the sickle blade both to worry about. Come with me now and I’ll get you started. We’ll see how you do.”

After about four rounds of Daddy riding on the tractor with me, I was able to push or pull the right lever to raise the sickle at the end of every row, make a big wide turn and come back around, then lower the sickle and start cutting right where I had left off. I had such a feeling of pride that I could again help my dad, so his workload was lessened.

“Okay Sister, looks like you’ve got it, just keep the tractor in this gear, don’t try to go any faster and pay attention!  I’ll be back at lunch time to see how you are doing.”

We all worked hard, played very little, but it was never enough. Several years in the early spring both Mom and Dad worked in the local potato cellars sorting and cutting potatoes for the spring planting. They did everything possible to bring in extra money to survive the long winters. I’ve heard a trite saying, “If one works hard, he will be lucky.”  That didn’t happen with my Dad; no matter how hard he worked he again found himself drowning in debt. 

Mona and I had both graduated from high school; she married in 1956 and moved back East and I started Cosmetology School in June of 1960. That left Daddy without a “right hand man”, he couldn’t do all the farming himself. The decision was made to sell the ranch.

A buyer was found, equipment auctioned off, debts paid. A new place to live was built on a knoll overlooking the valley and Jug Handle Mountain. It looked like Daddy’s luck might change. He could work odd jobs that would bring in enough money for them to live a simple life. Maybe travel a little, enjoy grandchildren, and even have time to go fishing. It would be like retirement but he could still keep busy.

Lessons with Daddy

 I’ll never forget when Daddy taught me to fry lamb chops and make gravy. When I was twelve Mom spent a week in Utah with my older sister, helping her after the birth of a new baby. Daddy and I “batched it”. Both Mom and I helped Daddy outside, doing chores, milking cows, feeding chickens and gathering the eggs. Mom would leave us, to finish up, while she started supper. So on our first night of “ batching it” Daddy sent me to the house early with instructions to fix supper. Lamb meat being a staple of our diet we planned to eat lamb chops for dinner. I quickly washed up, set the table, peeled potatoes, got frying pans out of the cupboard and had the chops ready to fry when Daddy got to the house. I remember our conversation going something like this.

  “Sister, I don’t smell anything cooking, what have you been doing?” 

 “I have everything ready to cook, but Daddy, I’ve never fried lamb chops or potatoes or made gravy.”  

 “Well little girl, it’s about time you learned.”  Daddy washed up and joined me in the kitchen. 

“Stand by the stove, next to me, so you can watch what I’m doing.”  I loved standing close to Daddy, his familiar smell of cigarettes and farm animals, not offensive to me, but comforting, as I felt safe near him. He was gentle and kind and wasn’t afraid to show affection. He loved all of us girls unconditionally and taught each of us, how to ride a horse, milk a cow, and drive a tractor. Always with a soft voice never yelling at us, he explained, then let us try our hand, then explained again, until he was satisfied that we had learned the lesson.

He put bacon drippings in the fry pans and turned up the heat. He sliced potatoes, with lightning speed, his hand gripping the knife. The potatoes sliced and the grease sizzling, he handed me the bowl of potatoes and said,  “ Now very carefully, so you don’t burn yourself, slide the potatoes into the hot grease.”  I did as I was told, then watched the potatoes cook, while Daddy floured the chops and placed them one by one into the hot grease in the other frying pan. They browned quickly, on one side, and Daddy picked up the fork to turn them. 

“Wait,” I said, “Let me turn them, I need the practice.”   Handing me the fork, he watched as I turned the chops. 

 “That’s my girl, perfect.”  He said. “Now turn the heat to low and cover the chops and let them cook.”  Then with his calloused hand on mine holding the spatula, together we turned the crispy brown potatoes to the other side. Fragrant smells filled the kitchen; I couldn’t believe that I was really learning to cook. But with his help I learned quickly and was sure I could do it myself the next time. “Della, put the chops on a platter and into the warming oven and I will show you how to make gravy.”  He poured out some of the grease, scraped the browned bits off the bottom and edges of the fry pan. “Okay, sprinkle flour into the grease with one hand while stirring with the other. When the flour and grease start to thicken, add milk and keep stirring, adding more milk until you have gravy.”  I did as told and soon we had a fry pan full of delicious milk gravy to cover biscuits, warming in the oven. As we dished up our plates and started to the table to eat, Daddy’s blue eyes twinkled as he said, “Tomorrow night I expect lamb chops cooking when I come in from the barn.” 

 “I’ll bet I can do that,” I said, as he hugged me tightly. 

500 miles of 2 lane roads.

 In October of 1950 Mom and Daddy put the Porterville place up for sale and took a trip into Idaho looking for a farm to buy. They looked at places in Lake Fork, Moscow and St Maries, Idaho, traversing the entire length of Idaho, ending up near the Canadian border. On the return trip they decided to look at the Lake Fork place one last time, and while there put down earnest money until they could sell the property and take care of their affairs in Porterville.

One month later December 3, 1950, four trucks were loaded with machinery, horses, cows and household furniture. A “touring car” carried the rest of the family. The five hundred mile trip from Porterville, Utah to Lake Fork, Idaho took two days. We left Utah in a rainstorm and arrived in Lake Fork in a blinding blizzard. 

The county road, that led to our new house was snow covered, with wind blowing a gale, making it impossible to see the unplowed road. Finally we arrived at the house to find it locked and the key nowhere to be found. I remember standing there in a strange place, in the dark close to the car, wondering what we would do now. I heard Daddy’s voice as he said, “Della come here I have an idea. I will pry up the window with this shovel, and since you are the smallest person here we’ll see if you can crawl through and unlock the door.”  With him boosting me up, I squeezed through the window and found myself standing in a dark, bare room, which I assumed was our new living room. A light flashed in front of me and Daddy said, “here is a flashlight, take it, find the door and open it from the inside.”  Soon everyone found the open door and came into the house, stumbling around in the dark until the electrical box was found and the electricity turned on. 

 I remember Mom and Daddy starting fires in both stoves, the fire snapping and crackling and soon the smell of chili filled the room as it bubbled on the stovetop. My sister and I had already explored the main floor and were very intrigued with the stairway that led up to more bedrooms. Daddy and the other men headed outside to unload the animals, fed them hay, and made sure they could get fresh water. After everyone had their supper of chili and homemade bread with home canned peaches for dessert, mattresses on the floor were quickly made up into beds, and all the weary travelers were soon asleep.

Daddy planned to make a new start in Long Valley, a place he grew to love. He was forty-four years old, strong, healthy and one of the hardest working men I have ever known. He farmed the two hundred acres of tillable land and again contracted out his labor and machinery to neighbors for extra income. He left the milk cows, all but one, in Utah swearing he would never be a slave to them again, but had to eat his words when it became apparent that they afforded the only way to have a small steady income, to supply much needed cash. He brought home bum lambs from a big sheep rancher and started a herd of sheep. He also diversified with a small herd of Angus/Hereford cattle. Pigs and chickens were added to the mix.

Three hundred acres of timberland came in the purchase and would be logged and sold to pay off the mortgage and finally Daddy would own property free and clear. That was his dream. 

The sound of chainsaws echoed high on the hill at the edge of the property in the spring of 1951. Daddy investigated and found a small local timber company (part of a larger timber company) cutting timber on his new property. They claimed to have the timber rights on this property and had moved their machinery into this part of the forest, using an old logging road for access instead of using the road that came passed our house. Daddy immediately sought legal help, but the sound of chainsaws continued. After many heart wrenching months, the case was settled out of court. But what did he have left?  Yes, the cash settlement paid off the lawyers and other bills associated with the court case. But the company harvested and sold the prime timber, leaving the land scared and ravaged.  His dream of owning land, free and clear, again only a dream. Although I saw him bitter and defeated he still struggled on, thinking that more hard work would someday pay off. He somehow kept a positive attitude never losing his faith or sense of humor. 

. Hard work doesn’t always pay off

I was born a year after they moved to Porterville, completing their family. Everyone wanted another boy, and vowed to have nothing to do with me, another girl!  But Mom said that as soon as I started to cry they couldn’t wait to hold me. My older siblings were in their teens when I was born and loved taking care of me. My sister, Mona was six years older than me and was not happy, when I got more than my share of attention from “her” Daddy.  She didn’t like me sitting on his knee at the breakfast table tasting his coffee. Daddy’s coffee was the best. It was a cup almost full of very strong coffee, with two spoonful of sugar added and then filled with thick cream. Mona didn’t like the taste of coffee but would try to inch her way in, so she could sit on Daddy’s lap as well. He would move me to his other knee and say, “Okay Sister come on there is room for you too,” and we would sit, each on a knee, me taking sips of his coffee, until he hugged us and lovingly scooted us off his lap and left for work. 

While in Porterville, two grandsons were added to our family, when Loraine married Steve Smith and Barbara married Worthy Reed…I became an aunt at 3 years of age to George Smith and Alan Reed. Now I had to share my dad, with two little boys.

Daddy borrowed money to buy a combine and a baler and had a good business working for other farmers. The idea was to pay off the new machinery with money earned from these jobs. Money always seemed to be in short supply no matter how hard my parents worked. Always of course the weather played a big part in farming and just when a bumper crop seemed eminent, hail or torrential rain would ruin it. The farm after nine years was overwhelmed with debt and Daddy started talking about moving. 

A new beginning, determination.

  “We didn’t sleep much the rest of the night and were very unsure of what would happen at the meeting, but your Dad didn’t sign any papers or pick up a rake the next day at the meeting, and after the meeting, we hired a lawyer to advise us further. We did get a settlement from the mining company eventually and we were always so thankful to Billy Ball, a man who dared to speak out.

With the settlement from the mine company, bills that had accumulated during the past three years were paid off. Daddy and Mom went in search of a small farm to buy. With the hope that a small farm with a few milk cows would bring in cash for food and clothing. They could raise chickens, sheep, pigs and beef along with a large vegetable garden for most of their food. As Daddy’s health improved a small farm would be doable. The family moved to Porterville, Utah in the spring of 1941.

  

In 1941 the average cost of a new house was $4,075.00, average yearly wages $1,750.00, gasoline 12 cents a gallon and houses rented for $32.00 a month.  Europe was at war and the US soon to follow. December 7th 1941, the United States, after being attacked by the Japanese at Pearl Harbor, entered WW ll. More than 2400 American servicemen were killed in that attack. Until that time the US had remained neutral, but now tanks were dispatched to Britain along with food, trucks, guns and ammunition. For the next five years all of America was affected by the war. 

The war touched our family because many of my parent’s nephews served our country overseas. Their daily living changed when the government issued stamps for gas, tires etc. In 1942 the US began to ration some necessities to guarantee that everyone would receive a fair share and to help prevent inflation. The following items were rationed; tires, sugar, gasoline, bicycles, footwear, fuel oil, silk, nylon, coffee, stoves, meat, cheese, butter, canned foods, dried fruits, jam, and many other items. Production of new automobiles and appliances stopped. Books of rationing stamps were issued to each person in a household including babies and children. Ration stamps had an expiration date to prevent hoarding. Automobile racing and sight seeing were banned. Unemployment that had continued through the years of the depression ended with the start of the war as wartime production created millions of new jobs. As the young men were drafted, women stepped into the workforce to replace them. This started the trend as women left traditional roles of homemaker and mother and moved on to a career. 

In 1941 Daddy settled into farming like any other job, working long hours, trying to eke out a living for his family. He plowed a garden spot, amended the soil and he and Mom planted raspberries, strawberries and a vegetable garden. They purchased a few sheep, pigs, chickens and milk cows to supply their food and bought only sugar, flour, paper products and clothing, from the grocery store. They worked side by side. Both of them milked cows while the kids gathered eggs, and fed the animals. Daddy always helped with the supper dishes before he relaxed in the living room after a full day of work.  In their spare time they made the house more livable, again papering and painting. While Daddy worked in the fields, harvesting hay and grain to store for the winter, Mom planted flowers, weeded the vegetable garden, cooked meals, baked bread and persevered fruits, vegetables and meats to fill the cellar for winter.