Memories

There are some things of my early childhood that I can remember clearly. We lived on a 640 acre homestead in the northern part of the state of Arizona, known as the Arizona Strip. It was a plateau grassland at about 5000 feet elevation, where the summer breezes blew cool and the winters were cold; a land where water was scarce but when the rains did fall they brought forth nourishing grass that made range stock fat and provided them strong winter feed.

Dad built us a 2 or 3 room cabin from rough cut lumber, sawed from the big yellow pines on Trumble Mountain. While our cabin was under construction, our temporary home was a "dugout" or underground house in the side of the hill on the north end of our homestead. These shelters could be built from the natural materials at hand. A site was selected on the side of a hill where a fellow could dig out an area at least 10 or 12 feet wide and 15 to 20 feet long. The sides were walled up from the rocks close by. A center post was set in front to support the ridge pole, which was the most difficult thing to locate because it had to be long and stout. The sloping sides of the roof consisted of 6 or 8 foot cedar posts, with the bark peeled off and trimmed up well so as to be fitted closely together. Cedar bark was laid on top to close up the cracks. At the lower edge of the roof, which was above the slope of the hillside, a cedar pole was secured in place to hold a thick layer of dirt that was put on top of the roof structure. This must be at least a foot deep and well packed, with rain trenches around to carry hillside water away from the dugout. On the downhill end, the doorway was framed in against rocks or logs that closed that part of the walls.

If properly made, these homes were warm in the winter and cool in the summer. A family of 2 parents and 3 or 4 kids could live there comfortably while the children were small. Many a lone cowpuncher or rancher has called this type of shelter home for years. They are clean and tidy, depending on the housekeeper. The dirt floors get hard and can be swept clean like any other floor. A little water thrown on it once in awhile helps keep it packed in place. Dad also built an ice storage cave in the side of a ridge that was suitable to store ice cut from the reservoir, packed in sawdust for summer use. When the cabin was ready, our family, which then consisted of Mom and Dad, Marie, Me, Grant and Keith, moved into it. We now had 2 or 3 rooms with a board floor. How blessed Mom and Marie thought we were, but we boys liked the dugout just as well.

One time I was walking along an old road out by myself. It was a beautiful summer day and a big hawk flew over, not too high above my head. A scary, tingling sensation went through my body which caused me to take off on the run. It seemed like I moved without effort and after awhile I stopped to look where the hawk was sailing there high up in the sky. I thought that was a lot of fun, seemed like I was almost sailing like the hawk so thought I'd do it some more. But this time the run required effort and was tiring, no free flight anymore.

I discovered that if I laid on my back under a cedar tree and found a place where I could look up through the thick branches and see a small patch of sky above, that presently my eyes would adjust so that a star would become visible. This would generally require about 10 to 20 minutes of concentration. This also might be accomplished by looking through a pipe while keeping out the bright sunlight.

The church house was about 3 miles from our place and sometimes our family would walk to church. Mom and Dad would carry Grant and Keith quite a lot when they were tired, but wouldn't ever carry me because they said I was too big. I remember wishing I was little like Keith cause he had things easy. The same church building was used for school. Marie and I walked there when I was old enough to attend. I was in the first grade and on this particular occasion there was new fallen snow of about 6 inches and the tracks of a single wagon lined down the straight roadway. Marie walked in one track and I in the other. Way ahead of us we saw a dark object in each wheel track. As the distance closed we identified the objects as coyotes walking toward us. We all approached to within a few feet of each other and then stopped. The coyotes looked us in the eye and we eyed them back. We didn't intend to give up our right of way so pretty quick they turned out around us and we proceeded on toward the school house. We looked back then to see that the coyotes had resumed their travel northward along the wheel tracks as before.

In those days I loved to roll and play in the snow and it doesn't seem like I ever got very cold. There were two teachers at the school. Each taught 4 grades in the same room. The older 4 grades were in the church house and the younger 4 grades were in the building to the north. I could read pretty good by the end of the first year and print some. By the second year we were learning cursive writing and no one was allowed to do much printing. Of course, arithmetic came right in there, too. The 3 "R's" were what we learned with the sounds of the letters so we could figure out any word that came our way. There were also lots of spelling contests to help us in this way. We would separate into groups and the teacher called out words to us according to our various abilities. This method greatly supported our learning process.

Uncle Lee's "fliver", later model, kids some older

The summer before I was old enough for school we were at Grandma Iverson's place visiting when Uncle Lee drove up in an open topped Model T Ford. It had a buggy type fabric top that could be raised or lowered and had front and back seats. He asked Mom if anyone wanted to go for a ride and Marie climbed right in. It was the first car we had seen since Dad's old jalopy. I wanted to go, but then I didn't. Mom tried to put me in but I'd kick and pull back. They coaxed me for awhile then drove over to Uncle Roy Whips' place that was about a quarter mile away. As soon as they left I was wishing I had gone. We could see the kids getting in over there and I started bawling, so Mom told me to run over to their place and maybe I could get there before they left. I took off, but they left when I was only about half way and I returned to Grandma's really whooping up a racket. From then on I have intermittently suffered because of my stubborn and contrary ways. Would you say that was an inborn, inherent trait, or one I acquired after birthin'?

It seemed in my memory that we were staying at Grandpa McCain's place at the foot of McCain Hill and Mom had helped me onto this gentle old gray horse. A tall variety of cactus grew in that area that sometimes measured 4 or 5 feet high. As the old horse walked about, he passed near such a cactus and the spines stuck into my right big toe and a section of the plant pulled off with it and suspended thereto. I reined the horse toward the house and called for help. Mom came to my rescue, but when she would get close enough that she might get hold of it, I'd get fearful and move the horse. I wanted it out, but was afraid it would hurt too much. Finally she captured the horse and yanked that sticker out. Now days they might call that child abuse. It really didn't hurt nearly as much as I anticipated.

I guess my earliest memory was when I was crawling on the wooden floor under the table and decided I'd pull myself up by one of the wooden chairs setting there. I stood there a little bit, looking around trying to decide if I was going to walk over to that other chair and grab onto it when Marie came through the door and saw me. She ran back into the other room where Mom was and hollered "he's standin' up!" I didn't want to show off so sat down on the floor, but soon I tried it again and it wasn't long till I was going everywhere. That's one trick I'm glad I learned.

Dad had a car-of-sorts when I had just learned to mobilate. He was doing something with it there next to the house and I came out and stood back of it close up. Pretty quick it started moving toward me and I didn't have sense enough to get out of the way. It pushed me down on my back and I watched it pass over the top of me. I wasn't a bit concerned but when Dad saw me laying out there in front of the outfit he got quite excited. He asked me why I didn't holler, but I couldn't see any reason to yell, everything was all right with me. In those days a car looked a lot like a buggy and usually they couldn't pull the hat off your head. A feller was a lot better off with a buggy and real horse power to pull it. Dad traded for a used one and tried to make it go, but generally what they did best was set out under a tree.

It was probably the summer I turned 6 or 7 that Dad decided to plant a patch of dry land corn at a place called Boney Holler. It was located on top of the Hurricane Rim, not far from Nixon Spring. Us boys went with him most of the time. Dad had an old Model T truck that he used some of the time, but most generally a team of horses hitched to the wagon was our mode of transportation. Gasoline at 10 cents a gallon was too expensive to just run around with, besides tires wore out fast, too.

The weather up in that high dry climate was usually perfect for camping out. I loved to sit by the campfire and hear the foxes bark nearby and the strange blow or hoot of the night hawk and the lonesome wild howl of the coyote, making me think of the moan of the wind. I wondered, where has it been, what has it seen, and where does it go? Sort of created a longing to fly with it. Dad would tell us stories and we would soon drop off to sleep. Posts had to be cut to fence the place where the corn was planted.

The lake bed was flat and fertile. Besides raising corn, it was a good place for a kid to try car driving. Daddy showed me how to set the spark and pull the gas feed lever on the truck, then go around in front and give a quick pull on the crank. Sometimes it would start with a putt-putt-putt, then you climbed inside the cab and stepped on one of the three levers which put it in forward gear. One of the levers was for reverse, and I think the other was a brake. There was also a hand lever for changing gears. After he had instructed me sufficiently and thought that I ought to know what to do, he told me to walk over to where he had left the truck about 300 yards away and bring it over to him. I got it started all right and pushed on the pedal that put it in gear. With a putt-putt-putt it started out and traveled slowly as I turned it toward Dad, but when I got to him, I forgot how to stop it and putted on by as I hollered for instructions as to how to "whoa". After I'd circled around him a couple of times, doing about 5 miles per hour, I was able to understand what he meant and pulled down on the spark lever, turning off the electrical magneto.

Sometimes Mom came up and stayed a few days and we'd catch pretty butterflies with little nets on long handles that Mom and Dad had fixed. Then Mom would press them under glass to show off their pretty colors. These were special times for our whole family, having fun together. After dark our parents talked about the gospel, about our Savior and how we should live on this earth. I always knew about my Heavenly Father back to my earliest memory. Our family always prayed morning and night and Mom and Dad helped us kids say our personal prayers. We always gave thanks for our food before we ate it. In fact, it was the Lord on whom we depended in times of accident, sickness, sorrow, and in all our troubles and joys. When the fence was completed around the place at Boney Holler and corn planted, it grew fast in the good soil. The corn was up and with tassels and was putting out silk when one of the Schmutz brothers or their cowpunchers figured it was just right for cow feed and cut the fence. The next week when Dad went up to look at it, there was nothing left, hardly even a piece of corn stalk. Dad didn't say much, but I could tell he was discouraged.

There were no medical doctors around in those days for us to seek aid from. Dad had ruptured himself inside when a young man, but never had the money for an operation, even if the doctors could have diagnosed his problem, which they could not. Periodically his sickness caused him to become delirious, moaning and tossing on the bed, unconscious. Mom would send me or both Marie and I to Uncle Martin's and Dick Bundy's for them to come administer to him. Usually this was at night so I traveled by foot. The urgency of my errand gave me the courage to go and the strength to run untiringly with a prayer for the Lord's protection. When they administered to Dad, he'd soon stop moaning and tossing around and go into a peaceful sleep. I witnessed this several times. I had absolute faith that God would give him ease of pain, and he always did.

One time Dad was driving the wagon down off the dugway above Roy Bundy's place and coming up the dugway was a car, so Dad pulled off to the side to make room for it to pass. The people were from California and stopped to talk. Cars, in those days, weren't very reliable so anyone who ventured out in that country was taking a big chance and very few ever came out that way. The man and woman asked about the roads and country. They wanted to get to the Grand Canyon look-off at Tuweep. The lady tried to talk to us boys but we were too shy to speak. She gave us three grapefruits, the first we'd ever seen. After they left I gave mine to Dad because he liked it, but it didn't smell good to me. Can't remember if Grant or Keith could eat theirs.

The section of land east of our place was homesteaded by Dad's good friend, Dick Bundy. Us kids liked to visit at their place, and play with Emer and Ray. Dick also had some younger boys and girls. One summer they had a young eagle they were raising. He was a big one, larger than their rooster and still had his white down coat on. Emer and Ray trapped jack-rabbits to feed him. He was a friendly young bird and walked around the yard with the chickens, dogs, cats and kids and seemed to enjoy his domesticated life. Years later I asked what happened to their eagle, Seems like they gave him to a zoo up in the Salt Lake area. That was before the government bureaucrats laid claim to all wild creatures.

Dick raised about 5 acres of dry-land corn next to his 4 room cabin and had a small garden they watered with a bucket. He also ran a trap line in the winter and liked to prospect for gold. I was at their place one day while he was making dobies to build a chicken coup. We boys tromped the dirt and water to mix the mud from which the adobe molds were filled. That afternoon Dick hitched up a blue mare to the corn cultivator and began to drive her up and down the rows of corn to cut out the weeds. After about 4 rounds that old biddy stampeded up through the patch, as the cultivator bounced along knocking down corn stalks. The cultivator came loose from her pretty quick and she ran over to the corral. Dick didn't swear, so I never heard him express any sentiment over that, but my thought was he ought to trade her off to somebody else.

Not too long after that, Emer, who was Dick's oldest boy was riding the mare down by their pond which was near the fence line. I happened to be across the road in our place and he asked me to get on back of him and ride over to their house, which I did. He was riding her bareback and when he put her into a lope, she stampeded, running wild and crazy, jumping washes and brush, trying to dump us. I was holding onto Emer and after a violent jump to one side Emer was left leaning that way and couldn't right himself. Off we went at about 20 miles per hour with me landing on top of him. His arms and face were skinned up, but I wasn't hurt a bit, so we walked the rest of the way to his place. Yep, she sure 'nough was tradin' stock.

One time when I was quite small, Marie and I were riding Dugan. He was gentle and well trained and traveled willingly when us kids rode him. Marie was in front and I was on back with Dugan moving along at a slow and easy lope. I felt myself slipping off to the left side and didn't know how to get straightened up. As I fell off Dugan slid to a stop and when I looked up he was standing beside me and a big cactus was just in front of where I lay. If he hadn't stopped when he felt me slide off I might have landed on the cactus. He was a fine horse and always stopped quick when anyone fell or got off from him.

Dad was riding him one day trying to cut some cow critters out of a bunch of our cows. Some of Jones' stock got in our place that was next to the gate that went into their place. As Dugan maneuvered back and forth rapidly, his foot broke through into an under ground hole which caused him to fall down. When the horse got up, Dad just lay there. Marie and I had come along with Dad and when he just lay still, Marie took me by the hand and we walked over and looked at Dad wondering what to do. I remember his face laying against the ground in some old black coals that had been left over from a dead tree that had burned sometime in the past. Pretty quick his eyes opened and he laughed at our solemn expressions. "Why didn't you run and tell Mama that Daddy was hurt?" he asked. "We was waiting to see if you was dead," Marie replied.

The summer before Grandpa McCain traded his homestead to the Jones, our pond went dry and we had to find other places to water our cows and horses. For awhile we took them over to Grandpa's pond. One evening Marie and I drove the cows over there and left them. Before we got to our fence line the light was fading fast and I was in front, walking along the trail when Marie hollered, "look out! a rattlesnake"! I just sailed into the air and landed forward about 3 or 4 feet. When I looked around a big rattler was crawling across the trail. I had jumped right over the top of him. This put us on edge, and made us boogery.

When we got up close to the gate there was the skeleton of a bobcat someone had skinned and left hanging in a tree and each time we passed there it spooked us, especially now when it was getting dark and after the scare from the snake. We had just passed through our open gate a couple hundred feet when Marie whispered, "what's that?" She was pointing over under a big tree. In the dark shadows I could barely see what looked like a big four legged animal such as a large dog or wolf. About then comes a fierce growl. We whirled around and raced back down the trail, running neck and neck, flying over the ground at top speed. When Marie seemed to be getting in front, a new surge of fear brought me up along side. Brush and rocks were barely noticed as we ran from that terrible beast. Then, faintly to our fear stricken minds came Dad's voice calling to us to come back. By the time we got slowed down we had run 100 yards or more. He had come looking for us and when he heard our voices he couldn't resist giving us a spook. We were sure glad it was him, just like being rescued from a pack of wolves.

The rains were slow coming that summer and soon Grandpa McCain' s pond also went dry, then we moved the cattle to the west onto some rolling hills and Dad hauled water by wagon from the Scholz Pond. Marie and I herded them in the daytime. They were always glad to see Dad come with the load of water. One day great heavy dark clouds came over and the water poured down. Us kids sat on our horses humped up with our tails to the storm. Water was running everywhere with the lower places turned into rivers and lakes. Finally it quit raining and the sun came out to dry us off, but we wondered how we could ever get home.

About an hour before sundown a rider appeared and crossed the waters below us. In places the horse about disappeared under the water, but he kept coming. We were glad to see that it was Dad, riding one of the work horses. He told us to follow him and we could get through the water all right. Some of the places it was running quite swift and deep and I was scared, but our horses followed close behind Dad and we made it through. That rainstorm filled all the water holes in the country and the grass grew green and wavy making plenty of feed for next winter. It turned from a land of drought and hardship to a land of beauty and hope.

Meb and I rode over to visit the Hallmark boys one day. The youngest was a couple years older than Meb but they were nice young fellers. About the time we got to their ranch house, one of the older boys rode in from the west side of the place. He says to us: "Do you want to see something interesting?" Of course we did, we were always looking for that sort of thing. We followed him over to a big wash where they had built a dam to turn the water out that filled one of their ponds. Below the dam in the wash was a big beautiful buck deer, but he was lame. When he tried to run fast he'd fall down. At some time in the past he's been shot in the front legs. He had healed up, but his front legs wouldn't support him very long when on the run. A short time later this same young cowboy was drowned when he tried to swim his saddle horse across that big wash when it was brim fiill at flood time.

Ed Zumalt was a cowboy about Dad's age. He took up a homestead west of our place and built a cabin where Mrs Zumalt and a couple of kids, older than us, lived while he was off working for a bigger cow outfit. He had another place with a spring on it south of Poverty Mountain. Sometimes us kids would stop by for a visit and Mrs. Zumalt would always give us a piece of salty bread. It tasted pretty good and we liked to lick salt rock anyway.

Ever so often our family would go visit Aunt Artie. They had a big bunch of kids which required a lot of bread baking. Aunt Artie delegated the bread mixing to a daughter who fiddled around too much and their bread always had a sour taste to it. Those kids slurped it right down and looked around for more, but I had to be mighty hungry to eat it. Neither Mom nor my other aunts ever made sour bread. Sometimes those kids would tell ghost stores that would leave us boogery for a long time. Those stories haunted my dreams for years and left a permanent mental scar. I still hate ghost stories.

During the depression of the 1930's the people were hard put for any buying money and just a few dollars would purchase the essentials like baking soda, horse shoes and nails, bullets, matches, shoes and boots, etc. Some of the homesteaders had a few head of cows they milked once each day and would skim off or separate the cream. After a few days of collecting they would have a can full of thick cream which was sent to town on the mail truck to a creamery where it was made into butter and earned them a few dollars. My mother and also some of the other women would churn butter by hand, then after washing it carefully, would mold it in a little rectangle wooden form that measured out one pound of butter. This they sold to the sheep or cattle camps. Didn't get much out of it but it added up to a few dimes.

When Roosevelt got in office he used the peoples tax money to pay the ranchers to kill off their cattle so beef stock would become scarce, driving beef prices up for those people who paid the tax. Looks like they got shafted going and coming, but those Arizona Strippers made a lot of jerky one year. Uncle Lee wouldn't participate in that under-handed shenanigan, but most people will sell their birthright (or freedom) just like Esau for something "now".

There were 3 things I really liked when I was a kid: jerky, pine-nuts, and ice cream. About once or twice a year those Arizona Strip Saints would make ice cream. That was the most delicious substance a kid could put into his mouth (that and Aunt Rettie's squash pie). There was never enough of that heaven sent ambrosia for a kid to get all he wanted. We felt lucky to be given a second helping. Sometimes if a feller was crafty he could wrangle 3 pieces of squash pie. Whenever possible we always carried some pine-nuts and a piece or two of jerky in our pockets to fend off constant hunger, just like gasoline in our tank.

Ever so often Dad would load up the old Model T Ford with cedar wood. It took a day to load and get ready, then a day to travel to St. George. We always had to back up I or 2 little hills because the gravity feed of the gas didn't work front ways and backing up kept the gas tank on the high side. The load of wood sold for about $12.00. Dad would buy gas and needed groceries and other items and we would return home the third day. In my opinion this was a good way of doing things, sure cut down on the stress of living.

Dad was a good hand with horses and they became gentle when he worked with them, the same with cattle. His stock were always gentle. He worked at horse breaking when he was a marine in World War I. The only work animals that he had to watch carefully was a team of little brown mules. I can't remember that they ever stampeded but the main reason was that he never gave them the chance. He used a white and a bay gelding as his draft team. At about 12 to 13 hundred pounds weight they were just right for all the work done by a wagon. Brother Jones liked to borrow them, especially the white one. It was Dad's philosophy to abide by the admonition of Jesus Christ when he said "give to him that would ask of thee and to him that would borrow, turn thou not away". Jones not only wanted our horse, but our grass to feed his cattle on as well.

Dick Bundy had 30 or 40 domestic turkeys that wandered the range land in search of grasshoppers and other bugs. They sometimes traveled 10 or 15 miles from home. The coyotes or bobcats didn't seem to be able to catch them, for seldom was one ever missing from the flock. At night they roosted in the cedar trees.

Dick Bundy and other trappers worked their trap lines and the fur companies paid good silver for the pelts. I was following along with Dick one cold day and there was a bobcat in one of his traps. It looked and acted like the meanest varmint I'd ever seen. I was sure glad he didn't get loose.

When Dad and his brothers first homesteaded on the Arizona Strip, the rains came often enough that dry land corn did well and Uncle Martin built a big barn to stack fodder in and a couple corn cribs to store the ripened ears. But most everybody depended on the native grass for stock feed. When the snow got deep, the horses pawed for feed and the cattle moved to browse areas.

George Iverson and Linc Bundy were up in the Cole Spring area one winter day and run onto the tracks of 3 cougars in the snow. Van Dyke, George's dog, treed the 2 cubs which they shot, but Ma Cougar crawled into a narrow hole back in a black-rock cave. George crawled in after her with his .22 pistol. Pretty quick the cave opened up and Ma Cougar came after him, but the pistol was too much for her. He soon wiggled out backward, dragging her with him. Both George and Linc were among the several fine Arizona Strip boys who were killed during World War II.