I have always wanted Ben’s place. It
would be so nice to move into that nice big house Ben built. It’s the prettiest
place here [at Gilbert] to my notion. Senters tore down Ben’s first house and
it improves the looks. Mrs. Cordell said the house looked like a picture
inside. Bertha
Dickson Dobson to her sister Mabel -- June 1, 1936
On
a September evening in 1936, Ina stood gazing out across the northern fields as
she washed the supper dishes. At the horizon she could just make out the
chimney of her brother Ben’s house. The sight had given her comfort for years,
but now Ben and Ida were no longer there – sold out – moved – living in Orofino
where Ben worked various odd jobs. It was strange to think that Ben’s place
should now belong to another family.
A
pang of loneliness swept over Ina and her thoughts drifted back to those first
happy years here at Gilbert. Homesteading was hard work, but living so near her
parents and siblings had eased the burden and yes, it had even been fun. Her
eldest sister Ida and husband Ed Patchen had the homestead on the other side of
June’s. Pa had 80 acres adjacent to Ed’s. To the north was Ben’s place. Her
whole family was here.
Those
were happy times all right. The men worked together to plant and harvest. The
women had helped one another while gardening, berrying, cooking harvest meals, and
canning. The extended family had gathered for special meals. Her brothers Ben
and Frank had courted Ida and May Chandler, respectively, and had married in a
double ceremony that Christmas Day of 1898. Ina reflected that life in those
first years had been a little bit of heaven because they were here together.
But
-- that heavenly togetherness had accounted for just five of the forty years
she had lived here. They had come with big dreams of success – owning their own
land and working for themselves. But, Ed had quickly become disillusioned with
what he saw as little return for his hard work and decided he’d had enough. In
1901, he sold his homestead for $3,000 and moved his family to Drain, Oregon.
Ma and Pa, Frank and May, and other family members left with them, and Ina was
devastated that she, Bertha, and Ben would now live in this remote place
without their parents and elder sister.
But
– that was another story. She was thinking about Ben’s house, Ina reminded
herself. Ben had created a pretty place all right, nestled in the trees the way
it was. The house was white with a red tile roof and had other decorative
features of its era, such as windows bordered with colored panes and decorative
wood trim on the front porch. The fact that it was picturesque was to Ben’s
credit because, sitting inward from the canyons, the property lacked views.
Ina
knew that Bertha (and probably some others) thought Ben’s house the prettiest
place here, and her pride rankled a bit at that. Ina
had planned her house carefully so that it would be serviceable, and when the
time came to build, she conveyed her ideas to a bona fide builder, Mr. Philpot,
who put them on paper and built a solid house. And while it was commendable
that Ben had built his house himself, Ina knew he took shortcuts. The house had
no foundation and she suspected that unforgivable flaws were hidden under the
wallpaper. And yet they said that the new owner had fixed it up really nice
inside. Someday soon she would call on Mrs. Senter and see for herself.
Many
had come and gone from the community over the years. Most of the “homes” built
here were just cabins, meant to meet the needs of a family over a short period
of time. Change was inevitable.
Ina
shook herself from this uneasy reverie. The light of the setting sun behind the
big pine trees in the grove cast huge shadows over the shorn grain fields and
now she had to hurry to finish the dishes as daylight quickly faded. “No use to
think of these things,” Ina reminded herself with a sniff as she poured the
dishwater on the roses at the back gate.
The
Ben Dickson Place – built c. 1915
Purchased
by Bruce and Celia Senter – c. 1935
Purchased
by Neil Miller – c. 1960
House
torn down -- 2013
KW
3 comments:
Homes have such personality. It's hard not to feel loss when they are torn down. Out with the old and in with the new, as they say. AND they also say, gone but not forgotten. :)
Oh, Hallie just took the words out of my mouth, er, or from my keyboard!
It's sad this house is no more, but if it had no foundation, that explains a lot. So glad you were able to redo your house and spare it the same fate.
The house was not habitable and therefore needed to go. It's just that it was a reminder of days gone by, but we can't be sentimental over that which has lost its usefulness.
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