life

HERITAGE JOURNALS: STORIES COLLECTED BY 6TH GRADE STUDENTS OF JAQUI EICHER, 2002

Written by: Weltha Jo Goin Johnson

“My Dad’s family, the Goins, came to Oregon in the late 1850s by covered wagon. They first settled east of Jefferson near Green’s Bridge. In about 1898 my grand dad, Alfred Goin, bought the property north of Jefferson that my husband and I live on now. My dad was born on the farm in 1903 and died there in 1993. My children, Kari and Blair, and their families, including Danielle, live on this same property. That’s five generations to have lived on this property. The farm used to go from Danielle’s house all the way to the Jefferson Middle School, but most was sold.

“My dad went to school at Jefferson. So did I, my children and now my grand daughters. My dad walked 3 miles to school and home. Sometimes he rode a horse or drove a buggy on the dirt or mud road, but it was too much trouble to take the horse to livery stable downtown Jefferson in the morning and pick it up after school, plus the horse was ‘barn sour’ and really didn’t want to be taken to school. So my dad just walked or jogged. Our neighbor says he was the original ‘jogger’ way back in 1916.

 

HERITAGE JOURNALS: STORIES COLLECTED BY 6TH GRADE STUDENTS OF JAQUI EICHER, 2002

“Little Woodburn, Oregon was called ‘The Berry Capitol of the World’. Maybe it still is. I don’t know because when I drive through the town now, I don’t see many berry fields anymore.

“I was raised in Woodburn. In the 3rd grade I started walking with my Grandma to the Kahut strawberry field early in the morning, when the sun was just peeking up over the hills. We would pick all day long whether it was hot or whether it was cold, until sometimes 5 in the late afternoon. The fields all over town were loaded with moms and dads and grandmas and grandpas, big children and little children.

“From the end of May to the middle of September, we were picking away — strawberries, loganberries, marionberries, raspberries, blueberries, santiamberries, and of course blackberries. Berries, berries, berries!

“After the long, hot day sometimes my mom would buy me a nice cold ice cream cone. I remember driving to the Molalla or Pudding River and jumping in ver cold water and swimming as fast as I could to warm up. It felt so refreshing after a long hot day in the berry fields.

“Then we’d eat dinner and I’d go to bed about 6:30 – 7pm. I had to get up very early, around 4 am to pick again.

“Every day I would try to beat what I picked the day before. All my money I put into my savings account. When I had enough I would buy a $25, $50, or $100 savings bond. I was saving for college. My parents would buy my clothes and things I needed.

“When I went to high school, I got a job during the summer at Conroy’s Packing Company and guess what we packed? Berries, berries and more berries! I would work 8-12 hours picking out bad berries and stems on a conveyor belt, singing songs in my mind or whistling tunes out loud. I’d try to be the fastest although I was slow by nature. And guess what I would often dream about? You got it: berries! On days the cannery wasn’t working, I was out picking in the berry fields again. I liked picking.

“I was able to pay for three years of college with my savings bond. One year at Marylhurst and two years at University of Oregon before having to take out a school loan to pay for my last year at U of O. I paid that loan off in 9 months after I graduated. Guess how? You’re right!

“Because of Woodburn, Oregon being the berry capitol of the world!”

HERITAGE JOURNALS: STORIES COLLECTED BY 6TH GRADE STUDENTS OF JAQUI EICHER, 2002

Written by Nadine (Croft) Larabee

“My name is Nadine (Croft) Larabee and our family moved to Oregon in March, 1947, first living in the Grizzel place. My aunt and uncle (the Cole family) lived in Charles’ big house and we in the little green one. With 7 kids, it was just a little crowded!

“My older brother Marion and I registered for school with the District Clerk Ruby Pesheck at her house. Little did I know that a few years later I would be part of that family. Marion drove our big Studebaker President to Jefferson each day, along with Betty and Bonnie Brannen who had just moved here from Iowa. They lived in the Dever area but were assigned to Jefferson High School, same as we were.

“My younger two brothers and sister attended Conner School; Don graduating from 8th grade in June 1947. Summer time meant lots of work, but we were glad for the opportunity–hoeing mint for Noah shelby, working 10 hours a day. At 50 cents an hour, that was $5 a day. Big money to us. We soon got a raise to 75 cents an hour and felt quite rich (after a week)! Bean picking at Charlie Grizzel’s occupied the latter part of summer. Our move to the ‘Davis Cabins’ that fall changed our school to Albany High, the younger ones still at Conner. A big flood came late fall, with neighbors riding around in boats. I remember wading out to the outhouse at various times (no inside plumbing). Our next move was to the Harnisch house around the corner–a little more room, but with 7 kids, still crowded. We experienced the blessings of electricity here for the first time, and indoor plumbing a little later. Our fun times included summer softball games, riding on Harnisch’s flatbet truck down to the floating bridge for a swim after a long day of work, neighborhood kids just getting together (we walked everywhere). When we were lucky, we got in a car and went to Albany for a milkshake at Linn Creamery, sometimes (when we had the money) to In and Out or Cleo’s for a hamburger.

“Winters of 1947, ’48 and ’49 were the coldest I can remember, maybe into 1950 also. But there again we had our fun times: skating on frozen ponds, where surface water had collected from earlier heavy rains, then frozen solid. We managed to ‘skate’ without skates and it was fun. During snow times, my brothers Marion and Dan, along with Dave Harnisch rigged up snow skis from barrel stoves (how, I don’t know). We used the hill behind the Case’s for a good downhill run. Youth group times at the church were fun with Wyman and Mildred Bohl, our first full time pastors at Dever Conner Community Church. One sunday night we wanted to get out early from our meeting to go see the fireworks in Albany. It was kind of difficult to persuade Wyman to close early, but finally he did let us go.

“Before the freeway was built, we could walk across what is now Dever Conner Road, over to Bender’s. Sometimes clear into Jefferson, as the Greyhound bus stopped at the Jefferson Terminal Cabins on its way into Albany. We could also catch it at the intersection of 99E and the Bluff Road for a day of shopping and fun in Albany.

“We sometimes went swimming in the Santiam by the Bluff — Pat Bender, F. Kuvaas, Conners, Wanda Cole and I, along with others. We almost drowned one time when 3 of us girls all got into one innertube and it tipped us over. Later a man did drown in that same place, so that put a stop to our visits.

“Early in 1951 our family moved to the Elbert Chambers place (same place Syracuse School was). My younger brothers then attended Dever School. Marion had graduated from Albany High School by then (1948) and joined the Army. I also graduated in 1949 and lived in Albany where I worked. My youngest sister was born in 1951 — our only Oregonian. We as a family really enjoyed our early Dever-Conner experience and all the original ‘home-made’ fun of those days.

HERITAGE JOURNALS: STORIES COLLECTED BY 6TH GRADE STUDENTS OF JAQUI EICHER, 2002

Life in Little Norway

“In the 1920s and ’30s there were several Norwegian families living in Evans Valley (Silverton, Oregon). Among them were the Rue, Langsev and Brenden families.

“All the neighbors would often walk together (20 or 25 people) to each others’ homes when there was birthday to celebrate. They brought sandwiches and goodies to share. They made lanterns from tomato cans because they were larger than other cans. Bailing wire made the handle and a candle inserted from the bottom made their flashlight. They played card games after dark.

“There were small farms through the valley. A truck from the Rose Valley Creamery in Mt. Angel traveled through the countryside, picking up mild cans that were left out by the road for them. If they needed butter, they would leave on big rock on top of the can. If they needed cheese, they left two rocks. They had tried leaving notes but they would blow away.

“The valley was a happy place in those days.”

HERITAGE JOURNALS: STORIES COLLECTED BY 6TH GRADE STUDENTS OF JAQUI EICHER, 2002

Written by: Shirley Johnson

“Unexpected Hot Air”

“It was a beautiful, sunny morning in Oregon. we were outside working on our little farm in Silverton. There were flowers to plant and hedges to trim. Suddenly we heard voices. ‘What was that,’ I asked Rod.

“‘I don’t know,’ he replied, ‘sounds like it’s coming out of the sky.’

“‘Like voices from heaven?’ I asked.

“We looked up and there, floating towards us, was a beautiful rainbow of colors. It was a huge hot air balloon. The people in the basket were waving their arms and hollering at us. ‘Can we land in your field?’ they asked us. Rod waved his arms and nodded his head, inviting them to set down.

“The big balloon gracefully floated to the ground behind our big red barn, next to the old oak tree. We ran over to greet them. They climbed out of the balloon and anchored it for the moment as Rod helped to hold onto it. They explained that they were giving rides that day from Cooley’s Gardens and planned to return their riders there for a champagne brunch. But the wind got them off course. They decided what to do next. Rod offered to help with whatever was necessary. They deflated the balloon and loaded the whole unit on Rod’s pick up truck to get it back to Cooley’s. So the big hot air balloon arrived at its planned destination at Cooley’s on the back of Rod’s pick up truck.

“The crew was very appreciative and invited us to join them for the champagne brunch. Of course we accepted! It was a very elegant party. The beautiful buffet table was set outside on the grass and there was delicious food everywhere!

“It was an unforgettable experience and the next time we hear voices from heaven, we’ll believe it.”

HERITAGE JOURNALS: STORIES COLLECTED BY 6TH GRADE STUDENTS OF JAQUI EICHER, 2002

Written by Shirley Johnson

“In 1835, Loda Wiska’s parents Ephraim (Buck) and Sara Jane Adams were living on the East Coast. Ephraim was thought to be a grandson of our second president, John Adams.
Sara was expecting their first child. They had a friend who frequently passed their house, transporting liquor on his wagon. He often stopped to visit and was there one day when they were trying to decide on a name for their new baby girl. Their friend said, ‘if you will let me name your baby, I will give you some land I own in Oregon.’ It was a huge tract of land and it seemed like a reasonable offer so they agreed to let him name her.

“The name offered was Load of Whiskey and the baby girl became Loda Wiska. Whatever became of the property is not known for sure but we do know that her parents owned a huge ranch along the Yamhill River south of McMinnville. Loda’s father brought sheep from the East Coast by boat around Cape Horn to Oregon. He also owned fine horses and wagons.
“Loda Wiska came to the Amity area of Oregon by wagon train in 1843 when she was eight years old. She was married twice and had eight children. When she was only 29 years old, while at home by her fireplace, writing a letter to her husband in the gold fields of California, her dress caught fire and she died from her burns. One of her twin daughters, Ella, also died in the fire. The other twin, Emma, survived the fire. Loda and her daughter were buried together in the Pioneer Masonic Cemetery West of McMinnville in 1864.

How To Saunter

(For Owen)

Forget what you left behind if possible; think ‘wander’,

Look ahead, nonchalantly, toward the path,

Only as far as the flowers and

the birds that have nested near the climbing hydrangea.

While we’re on the subject of birds,

study them quietly — let them teach

you about what’s important; notice

their priorities (do they spend time worrying over small things?).

Sauntering requires that you dismiss

the minute, mundane worries of life

and remain free to inhabit

the joyful moments of life instead.

To enjoy life, even the slightest bit,

one must saunter.

Wind Work

To be is too much work.

I crave the wild and wistful wind;

Some days my edginess creeps

in so far — there’s nothing

for it but to go out and let

the wind do its work:

soul building

grace restoring

dust clearing.

The stronger the wind, the longer

I linger. I lean on its breath.

Then, when the world again is

still and the creatures return

to industry, I feel myself moving

through and through the trees;

around and down the river,

into open meadow green and

I am as free and wild again

as the zephyrous wind.

Algebra

Afraid of life, she listens to

them tell her how different

she is; she takes it to heart

at first. Watch her try, try

try to be like them but

no matter how hard she tries,

she is not like them.

Somewhere along the equation

she realizes that different than

is not less than;

it is equal to. Sometimes (maybe

mostly) different than, plus

different than equals a sum

far greater.

The Enclosure of the Heart

Like a sprouting seed, love climbs

the enclosure of the heart

that has at last allowed

the light of grace to reach it,

tendrils — fragile and leggy —

pull it up and out

of its dark place,

deep in the dank ragged

edges of loneliness

until it flowers, spilling

all its fragrance and color

on any one who will stop and listen.