Submitted to the ORMULTNO-L maillist by Peter Wasser on
3/30/00
My Grandpa’s Wondrous Farm by Helen Saunders
Among my fondest childhood memories is my Grandpa’s farm. We lived in a
district ten to fifteen miles southeast of The Dalles, Oregon, called
Pleasant Ridge. Our place was a mile from the schoolhouse, and Grandpa
lived about a mile and a quarter beyond, up on a hill. We entered his
place by driving up a long lane between two rows of large locust trees.
The shade seemed like heaven on a hot dusty summer day, especially when
the trees were in bloom and filled the air with that lovely, pungent,
sweet odor.
Grandpa had the largest house and best facilities in the area, so that
many neighborhood social functions took place there. There was intrigue
and mystery about his place, as there were quite a few “no-no’s” where
we children were not allowed – by ourselves, anyway.
There was a rather imposing log house with a big kitchen, and a pantry
which always held a supply of fresh sour-cream cookies where we kids
were always welcome. (I have tried all my married life to duplicate that
recipe, but I know I will never quite get it.) There was a wonderful
chiming clock, with carvings and filigree, on a shelf in the kitchen and
a large, square-shaped table with straight high-backed chairs which had
fancy engravings across the top. There was a wood burning range with a
hot-water tank along the side of the fire box, and a big wood bin beside
the stove. The floor was bare scrubbed boards with rag throw-rugs.
Grandma and Grandpa slept in a small room behind the stove which could
be entered from either the kitchen or the living room. The living room
had wall to wall carpet, padded with straw, and made of woven rags,
which I am sure my Grandma made as she had all the “makings” for such
things in a little room under the stairwell, where we children were only
allowed a quick peek. The ceiling of the living room was covered with
some kind of material which was kept white-washed. In there was a
platform rocker and a sort of chaise lounge covered with velvet. There
was a flat-bellied wood heater and a square table on which stood a
kerosene lamp. A lower shelf on the table held a magical stereoscope
with a number of wonderful pictures which could carry you to far-away
places. Off the living room there was a small covered porch, which was
seldom used, but every summer there would be a bird’s nest on top of one
of the posts.
On the opposite side of the living room was a guest room which was even
smaller than the other bedroom. There was just enough room in there for
a double bed which had high carved boards at both the head and foot. It
was covered with a hand-crocheted spread with long fringe all around,
and there was a tiny square table in the corner by the window. All the
windows had crisp white lace curtains, and the walls were covered with
pretty paper.
Behind the entrance door to the kitchen, where we always came in, was a
stairway to the upper floor where there were two very large bedrooms.
One was where my mother and her sister slept, and the other was for my
two uncles. Besides these rooms, there was a large open area which was
nearly empty except for a very fascinating old sewing machine which made
a chain stitch. On the wall of the stairway hung two scary-looking guns,
which we were warned never to touch, so because of them and (I presume)
the open stairwell, we children were not allowed up the stairs. Under
the stair was the little room I mentioned before, where Grandma kept all
her torn rags and bright colored yarn. She used much of the yarn to make
stocking caps, scarves and mittens which we always received on the
Christmas tree. In there was also another sewing machine and a rug-loom,
along with the scraps of material for making quilts, aprons, etc.
Instead of a back porch there was a long, narrow room where Grandma
washed the clothes and the men would wash before coming in to eat. In
the center of the room was a shallow well which Grandpa had fixed so
that it would fill automatically with drainage water from the roof.
Grandma kept her butter, and things she wanted to keep cool, in buckets
which she dropped down near the water with the ropes.
The log barn was huge, with a big hayloft. In what we would call a
daylight basement were the stalls and mangers for the livestock, two of
which were Jude and Jenny, the only mules I have ever been acquainted
with. We children were not allowed to play out there. I suppose it was
because Grandpa was afraid we would fall through the holes where the hay
was dropped down to the mangers.
There were numerous other buildings, such as a woodshed, a tool shed, a
root cellar, a granary and, of course, a two-seater “privy” as Grandma
used to call it. But one of the most intriguing was the blacksmith shop
where Grandpa used to do wonderful things for himself and for the
neighbors. Sometimes he would let me pump the bellows, which was a big
thrill. I liked to watch the sparks, and see the iron he was working get
really re-hot and then turn almost white. It was fascinating to watch
him pound it into the shape of a horseshoe or whatever.
The most wonderful building of all, though, was the ice house. He built
this little house out by the pond which he had made by damming a gully
that ran down behind the barn; it was up the hill from the barn, so the
barnyard did not drain into it. He filled the little ice-house with
sawdust, and in the winter he and the men folk would cut large squares
of ice from the pond and would bury them in the sawdust. This way the
ice would keep all summer, and when we would have a big neighborhood
picnic we could always look forward to having delectable home-made ice
cream, which I am sure every child that lived in that vicinity at that
time can still remember as fondly as I do.
Note: The Anderson House is open for viewing located at the Fort Dalles
Museum, 15th & Garrison Streets, The Dalles, Oregon. Fort Dalles Museum
is the original dwelling of the Surgeons Quarters of Fort Dalles. Fort
Dalles is celebrating their 150th Anniversary of the founding, May 20,
2000, of
(Camp Drum) renamed Fort Dalles. For more information contact:
541-296-4547.
