We even brought our woodpile with us, which we gleaned from the mill in Spaulding. Mill ends and bark were good for the taking at most mills; kept us warm most winters. “I’ll get a fire going to warm up the house before night,” Tom said, as he put wood in the kitchen stove and lit the kindling. Immediately, the house filled with smoke. We doused the fire and opened windows and doors. A bird had built its nest in the flue. Tom had to take the chimney apart and clean it out. Good thing he did. There was soot build-up inside that could have caught fire. Nothing’sscarier than the roar of a chimney fire with flames shooting out the top—especially with nothing but a tar paper roof.
We told the folks and Edna on Christmas Day. Our news was greeted by smiles, laughter, and congratulations. No one cared about the small gifts we gave. They were thrilled we would finally be settled in a place of our own.
Before New Year’s Day, Tom warned his sister that we couldn’t bring anything to share for dinner. We were moving. We wouldn’t give them an exact address to keep it a secret from his father. Tom’s father didn’t come. He wasn’t feeling well. I breathed a prayer of thanks and then felt guilty for wishing him ill. Grace and Jim had brought Mother Chase.
It was a full house. All of Tom’s family was there except Frankie who lived in Portland. The living room seemed very small. Adults sat in chairs; kids sat on the floor.
“So.” Neen looked around the crowd. “I think Tom and Susie have something important to tell us.”
Immediately, Mother Chase yelled out, “You’re gonna have a baby?” She wanted us to have a child as much as we did.
Everyone was very quiet as Tom and I shook our heads. “Nope,” Tom looked around and grinned. “We just bought us a place.” Everyone began talking at once. Questions were answered with caution so as not to reveal the location. My husband stood proud among his family that day.
The next week at work, Everett Leachman, who had been at the mill, started working for the railroad. Everett was married to my cousin, Lucy. It turned out they lived on the corner of Grelle and Lindsey Creek, just an eighth of a mile from us. A block in the Lewiston Orchards at that time was a quarter of a mile long. It took four blocks to make a mile. Each block was broken into ten-acre lots. The Leachmans were already pretty well set-up with a house and barn. They had a family of three kids.
“What are yer plans for the property?” Everett asked one day at work during supper break.
“Got ta build a barn and fence a pasture, and make a chicken coop so we can get some critters. Don’t know where we’ll get the money for all that. It’ll work out somehow.” Tom stuffed the last of his bread and bacon grease sandwich into his mouth.
“Can I tell ya a secret?” Everett said as he moved closer to Tom. “I was just working at the mill, ya know. They put all the cull boards in a pile out near the road. You can have them just for the hauling.”
“What? You’re kidding.” Tom’s unbelief sometimes rivaled his namesake.
“Nope. When our shift’s over tonight, follow me and we’ll load up some for your place.”
So began the great lumber express. Every night, Tom and Everett would go by the cull drop and pick up all they could haul. Sometimes, there’d only be a board or two, and sometimes there’d be so many, they couldn’t get them all in their cars. The stack of lumber at the end of our humble home grew taller and wider than the house itself, as the winter began to let go and the weather warmed. It would make a fine barn and coop.
Tom began going to work early to collect big rocks along the riverside of the railroad yard. Sometimes, bent rails that couldn’t be straightened were free if you could load them. By April, we dug ditches and laid rocks and rails as the foundation for the barn and coop. Old memories came flooding back of rock-hard trenches dug for the log cabin. This was easy in comparison. By the middle of May, we had a barn that any cow would be proud to live in, and it hadn’t cost a cent—except for the nails.
We needed a fence, but fence posts would have to wait till after Edna’s baby was born. Papa needed his vehicle close at hand to make the run to the hospital. Papa’s pickup would take us to Waha Mountain to cut trees and make posts. We were experts at that.
Herman was true to his word, paying cash for all the baby’s bills. Patricia Joy was born at White Hospital in Lewiston on May 22, 1937. She was the first in our family to be born in a hospital. She was a beautiful, blond-haired baby with big, blue eyes. I loved her at first sight, but found I couldn’t completely shove the jealousy out of my heart.
Shortly afterward, Herman was drafted into the army.
Chapter 58
A Cow of Our Own
On Tom’s days off, we drove to Waha Mountain in Papa’s old pickup to cut down trees and saw them into fence posts before berries set on at the folks. We stripped the bark and dipped the bottom three feet in leftover tar we got from the road crew when they finished paving Grelle. We buried them five feet apart then nailed two cull boards diagonally from the top of one post to the bottom of the next, making an X on the inside so the cow couldn’t push the fence apart. The fence took longer to build than the barn. It was a good enclosure with plenty of green grass.
We were ready for our cow. This presented several problems. We had no idea how much cows were going for. The auction only happens on Saturdays. Tom works that day. Women never attended auctions. Also, how in the world would we get a cow from the sales yard down by the railroad, to our house? It was about ten miles. Too far to lead her.
Tom talked it over with Papa. “Well,” he answered. “We usually got a new milk cow from some neighbor when we lived in Reubens. Just led it home behind the horse. Guess you can’t do that here though with all the traffic. Now Bossie, we got from the Martins next door when she was just a young heifer. Think we paid ten dollars for her. I’ve got racks for the pickup, you know. You could haul an animal back there.” There was a solution to one problem. Ten dollars? That was a lot. Maybe we couldn’t get a cow right away.
We turned our attention to the chicken coop. We left about a foot open all the way across the front of the lean-to roof so they’d have plenty of air. Tom built nesting boxes and put three roosting poles at different heights the full length of one side. It was good and tight to keep out night stalkers. Fifty baby chicks cost one dollar at the Mark Means Grainery in Lewiston. By the end of summer we’d have fryers, and by early fall the rest would be laying eggs. It seemed like the best investment. We handpicked our box of little, yellow fluff balls. They weren’t quite old enough to tell whether they were hens or roosters. Roosters always start growing a comb first. “Peep, peep, peep,” all the way home. What a contented sound they made. We put grass on the floor of the coop and filled the old feeder and watering jugs that Neen loaned us.
We had our first resident animals and were buying our own home. We were proud of what we had accomplished, but there was that ever-gnawing hole in the middle of life. The hole that could only be filled by a baby of our own.
On his way to work, Tom dropped me at the folks to pick berries around the middle of June. I went straight to the patch, knowing it was getting late in the day for picking. Where were they? I grabbed a halic and began picking. It wasn’t even full before I heard an awful sound coming from the barn. “What in the world?” I ran to the barn. “Papa, Mama! Are you okay?” Opening the door, I saw, in the bright sunlight streaming in, Bossie standing, straining, and groaning. “What? You didn’t tell me she was going to calve. What can I do to help?”
“Nothing really. Just waiting. Cows know what they’re doing. It’s hard on her ’cause it’s her first time.” Papa shook his head. “Sure wish we could help, but nature has to take her course.”
Mama took me by the arm. “Come on, Susie. You and I’ll go pick. Papa can handle this.” So we picked, Bossie groaned, and I prayed for this young cow that all would go well.
It seemed like hours before we heard Papa yell, “Yippee!
It’s a boy.” Mama smiled. “That means roast and steak.” We finished picking our rows before we trudged to the barn. The full flats needed to be put in the shade.
Sure enough, there lay a little golden calf with its mama cleaning him up. I’ve always been amazed by the eyes of cattle—big, round, brown eyes with long lashes. When you stare into them, it seems they reflect the whole world. “You did well,” Papa told Bossie as he petted her neck and side. “Good girl.” She began to have spasms again. “She’s just flushing the afterbirth.” He announced. While Papa waited for the process, Mama and I went back to picking. Berries waited for no one, not even the wonder of birth.
The sun was high, must have been noon when we heard Papa calling from the barn. “Mama, Susie! Come quick.” Fear filled both of us as we rushed to the barn. Papa turned with a grin as we opened the door. “Look here.” He pointed to the hay. There lay another little calf with mother dutifully cleaning her precious second baby. “This one’s a girl!” he announced. “Susie, here’s your milk cow.” She was tiny with the beautiful markings of a Jersey, and eyes twice as big as her brother’s. They stared at me intently.
I started toward her, “Nope, stay back. Let Bossie take care of her. There’ll be plenty of time for you two to get acquainted.”
I looked at Papa. “Did you know it was going to be twins?”
“Nope, I think the good Lord did though. He planned one for us and an extra for you. Isn’t He good?”
Mama shook her head. “She was already bred when we got her. Clyde said that was a bonus for being a good neighbor.”
We finished picking while Papa cleaned up the barn—a second time. He changed his clothes and took the berries to town. I helped Mama get some supper ready. With all the calf excitement, we hadn’t even thought of eating dinner. What a day!
Tom pulled in at eleven thirty that night, to take me home. I was wide awake, anticipating sharing with him the great baby news. I was almost as excited as if it had been my own child—well, maybe not that excited. I went out to the car. “Tom, do you have your flashlight in the car?”
“Of course, never without it.”
“Get it and come with me.” I ordered. “Now, promise me you’ll be quiet,” I whispered as we got closer to the barn.
“What’s going …” I opened the door, took the flashlight from Tom’s hand, and lit up the new babies and their mama. “Oh my golly!” was his response.
“Bossie had twins today,” I beamed. “A boy and a girl. The girl is going to be our new milk cow.” Tom stared at me. I thought maybe he didn’t hear me. “Papa said the little girl will be ours.” Then I noticed there were tears forming in Tom’s eyes. I shut off the light.
“Your folks are so good to us. How can we ever repay them?” We walked slowly arm in arm to the car.
Chapter 59
Unexpected Cost
The future held chickens and a milk cow, but I had to think about food for now. The garden planted just east of the house was doing well. So far, we had harvested green beans, lettuce, and peas. It would take several weeks for other crops to develop. We couldn’t live on greens alone. This took drastic measures. “I need to take ten dollars from savings to buy some food supplies,” I told Tom after another evening meal of salad. “We can’t survive on just salad.”
The next day, we made a trip to the bank and stopped at the Safeway Store. I’d been told they had good prices. They happened to be having a sale on things I needed: a forty-nine-pound sack of flour for a dollar and thirty-nine cents, three pounds of salt for ten cents, three pounds of coffee for fifty cents, ten pounds of potatoes for twenty-five cents, five pounds of rolled oats for twenty cents, and four cans of meat for a dollar, for a total of three dollars and forty-four cents. The rest I tucked away for unexpected emergencies. Mama and Papa shared eggs with us until our chicks started laying. When their calves were weaned, they gave us their extra milk.
That emergency came sooner than expected. When Tom brought home his next check, he handed it to me with a long face. “The government’s started taking out something called Social Security from my check. Said it’s something for my old age. Man, don’t they realize I need it now? I can’t believe they’re taking three dollars out every month. Just one month would buy ninety-eight pounds of flour—enough for a whole year of bread.” It was what it was, and I couldn’t think of anything to say. Tom put up the silent wall for the first time since we moved here. He was worried and didn’t know how to handle it. Neither did I.
Toward the end of July, grain began ripening in Tammany, a flat area of farms spreading all the way from the Orchards to Waha Mountain. Tom drove a grain truck for the McIntosh family on his two days off. When that harvest was finished, he drove for the Howard Ranch down on Lindsey Creek. My man wasn’t afraid of work. By the end of September, he put enough into savings to make up for the entire year of Social Security payments.
We discovered a small mill in the Orchards overlooking Tammany. It also had free mill-ends. We began filling the car and stacking wood against the back of the house. Thinking ahead is important to prepare for winter. We learned that lesson well on the Stick Ranch.
Three times that summer, we cut our six acres of grass with hand scythes, hauled it to the barn in an old wheelbarrow, and stacked it into the hayloft. I canned fruits and vegetables, and filled the shelves Tom had built in the kitchen. Two metal barrels held oats and chicken feed so the mice wouldn’t get to it. Tom brought home buckets of grain spilled on the ground in the railroad yard from the shipping cars. It made good chicken feed or it could be cleaned, soaked, and used for cereal if we needed.
We celebrated Thanksgiving that year with our first chicken dinner. The hens were laying, but our little heifer, whom I named Elsie, wouldn’t give milk until after she had her first calf. We left her at the folks so she could have the company of her mother and brother. Cows are social and like to be with their herd.
On December 31, we made our mortgage payment, paid the taxes and water bill, and still had a little in the savings account. We were so blessed.
Chapter 60
Home Improvement
Edna came home early one day when I was visiting the folks. “Look, look!” she bounced in the door and held out her left hand. “Luther asked me to marry him.” Luther Moore had moved to the area to work on one of the big dams being built on the Columbia River.
“I’m so happy for you.” I gave her a big hug. “What does he think of little Patty?” I still had in the back of my mind we could raise her.
“He adores her. He wants to raise her as his own daughter.” She picked up Patty and gave her a hug. “We’re so lucky.” At last, maybe Edna could find a good life.
Tom and I had big plans for our home’s second year.
We bred Elsie to the Martins’ bull in December and brought her home. Cows have a nine-month gestation period just like people, so by the end of September, we’d have a calf and milk. She balked at going up the ramp into the back of Papa’s little pickup, then panicked and jumped when the engine started. I climbed in with her, rubbed her face and neck, and talked to her the whole five miles. “It will be just fine, Elsie. We love you and will take good care of you. We’ve got a brand-new barn made just for you. You’ll feel right at home. I’ll come talk to you every day.” She made it fine. I, on the other hand, was freezing.
I knew she’d miss her cow family. I made trips to the barn several times a day to scratch her neck and keep her company. Looking into her big, brown eyes and watching her ears perk up, I knew she was listening to every word. I told her everything. Guess you could say I used her for “cowplaining.” I know, bad joke.
We wanted to add to our two rooms. We began in February at first thaw. For the first time in our building career, we dug ditches and made forms for the foundation. When it got warmer, we poured a concrete foundation ten feet toward the barn and all the way across the back of the
house. We wanted it strong.
Tom dug a root cellar underneath the kitchen section of the house. He dug; I carried the buckets of dirt to the garden area and dumped them. At eight feet square and six feet high, the cellar held many shelves for storing home-canned goods. An old, brown ice chest sat on planks. Food wouldn’t spoil in the hot summer when we could afford ice. A cellar is warmer in winter and cooler in summer. Stairs led down through a door on the floor of the new screened back porch. The other room, our bedroom, extended across the back of the house to the far wall. At last, we had a private bedroom.
The other house project? Real shingles on the entire roof before it started leaking. We were sold some gray asbestos, rolled roofing. “It’s new,” we were told. “The best there is. It will last a lifetime.” Between these two projects, our savings was being eaten by the cost of materials.
In April, Tom burst in the door from work, yelling, “Susie, Susie! I got paid today.”
“Uh-huh …” I knew it was payday. It was almost midnight. I rolled over.
He shined his flashlight on the check. It blinded me. When I focused, I couldn’t believe what I saw. “Fifty dollars!”
“I got a raise, Susie. I’ve been there a year and they gave me a raise!” He grabbed me in a hug. “We’ve got to celebrate. Where’s that grape juice you made last fall from the McMillanses’ grapes?” He hurried out to the kitchen and started going through the cupboards. I crawled out of bed and got there in time for him to hand me a cup of juice. “To all the good things that are happening to us. How lucky we are!” We clinked our cups and drank.
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