THE BURIAL OF MOULDY MIKE

In 1927, my Uncle Ernest Robinson (married to my dad’s sister Ethel Dobson) was sheriff of Clearwater County, Idaho. That year, an old trapper, Mike Olson, died in the back country of Clearwater County, so Sheriff Robinson enlisted the assistance of two young men, E. I. Ashley (“Red”) and John Oud, Jr. (“Buzz”), and the three made the trip into the remote back country to bury old Mike. This adventure so impressed the young men that they wrote the following rhyme, which was published in the Clearwater Tribune.

THE BURIAL OF MOULDY MIKE

‘Twas on the morning of the twenty-third,

that Sheriff Robinson received word,

that Mike Olson had passed away,

far back in the mountains and hills of gray.

To us he said,

“We must leave today to bury the dead.”

And as he left us, the sheriff cried:

“He sure picked a Hell of a place when he died.”

So Robinson, Buzz and Red, three mountaineers, tried and true,

a husky hard-boiled crew,

as ever started hiking thru,

with pack sacks strapped and snowshoes loose,

left that nite for Lewiston on the “Galloping Goose.”

At Arrow the sheriff received word,

that on that train there was a bird,

that was wanted in Greer,

for passing money that was queer.

The sheriff said: “Come with me,

and the jail in Lewiston you shall see.”

At Lewiston he put him in jail;

and the loss of our suppers made us feel pale.

At Lewiston we took the buss,

without a bite to eat, the three of us,

on the highway to Spokane, a woman had jammed

her new Marmon into a telephone pole, and never said Damned.

We climbed the pole and got her free,

“Rob,” Buzz and Red, the hearty three.

Good going from there it must be said,

we made Spokane and went to bed.

Next morning at eight we boarded the train – Superior bound,

boy! We sure did cover the ground.

At noon into the diner we trouped,

and burnt our mouths on the damned hot soup.

We made Superior at 3:28,

from there trapper “Whitlock” we did take.

From there to the “Dredge” in an old Dodge car

 – It traveled not fast but it traveled far.

At the Dredge we stayed that nite,

the eggs were bad, but the bed was right.

Over the summit in the blinding snow,

the mountains were steep, we traveled slow;

we ate dinner at Wisdom that enabled us to survive.

And at “Cloot McNutts” we took a five.

We made Dills cabin on that nite,

there was no grub and the bed was lite.

We left Dills cabin traveling lite,

on the home stretch to bury old Mike.

We found old Mike all covered with mould.

He had probably died from hunger and cold.

So we laid old Mike beneath the sod,

his spirit had passed before to God.

The job was done and all was well.

But the cheese in our sandwiches tasted like Old Mike smelled.

With Chamberlain Meadows twelve miles away,

we started out to finish the day.

We were tired and hungry; much strength we had lost,

for many rivers and creeks we had crossed.

When we sighted the ranger station we all cried:

“He sure picked a Hell of a place when he died.”

The “Burial of Mouldy Mike,” was written by the undersigned at the Chamberlain Meadows R[anger] S[tation], Clearwater National Forest, Idaho, after their strenuous trip from Orofino to the mouth of Lake creek, to bury Mike Olson, trapper, who had passed away sometime during the winter.

“The Burial of Mouldy Mike” is a true record of the trip, May 28, 1927.

Signed: E. I. Ashley – “Red”

             John Oud, Jr. – “Buzz”

[My mother kept this newspaper clipping in her jewelry case. When she left us and no longer needed her jewelry, I kept the clipping.  

Ashley I don’t know, but Buzz was best friends with Mother’s brother, F. A. (Porkie) Portfors. Mother, Porkie, and Buzz graduated from Orofino High School in 1927, the same year of this adventure. Buzz was about 20 at the time.

I don't have a studio photo of Uncle Ernest, so I cropped his image out of a wedding photo taken in 1921. He was stern-looking but I remember him as kind. KW]

SATURDAY NIGHT BATH, 1937

“I can hardly wait until Saturday night to try it.” Ethel to her brother Vance, January 1937

It was the first Saturday of 1937, and Ethel was excited. She put down the book she was reading, The Life of Omar Khayyam by Harold Lamb, in order to contemplate a wonderful thing. The water for this evening’s bath would be drawn from the new cistern at the back door. “How silly that this should be an event!” you might say, but the Dobson family had lived on this farm for 40 years without a viable source of water. Since 1896, Ethel’s father, Jack, had hauled water for his family’s needs from a spring in Wheeler Gulch, a mile or so to the southeast of the farmyard.

“It’s going to be a real boon, for it will more than cut this awful chore of hauling water in half,” thought Ethel to herself.

Having been born in this place, Ethel was no stranger to the bath night routine wherein all family members took turns bathing in the same water. She had to admit that she missed the modern bathroom to which she was now accustomed -- convenient but so much more! She could think of a string of adjectives that applied to indoor plumbing, all of them positive. No, there would be no going back from this modernization which was now the American standard of sanitation, but it would never bless her parents on this farm. She was sorry for Mama. Mama was progressive in her outlook, and Ethel knew it hurt Mama’s pride to be seen as poor. And besides, as her parents grew older, the challenge of managing life here, especially in winter, loomed larger. The fact that others shared their plight was of little comfort. The wave of the future was upon them.

Ethel was first to the back porch when it was time for Dad to do the honors. As the sun set and the family watched, Jack stepped to the edge of the cistern. Slowly lowering a new pail by means of an attached rope, he began to dip water and fill the big kettle. Then he and Ernest carried the kettle to the stove in the kitchen. Five of them would need to bathe tonight, so they heated a little extra water as well.

Even though the water might be close at hand, the procedure for the Saturday night bath didn’t change. After supper, Ina closed the door between the kitchen and dining room, stoked the fire in the stove, and opened the oven door to warm the room as much as possible. When the dishes were washed, dried, and put away, Jack brought in the big washtub and placed it before the stove. Ina pulled a chair close to the tub and laid out soap and washcloths. She placed towels on another chair near the stove and spread a cotton bathmat on the floor. The three women – Ina, Ethel and Shirley Jean – retired to the kitchen together. The process went more quickly if they helped one another. [Sorry – no photos available.]

Ina was privileged to take the first bath, but she didn’t dally over the task. No one did. Sitting in a galvanized washtub just wasn’t all that comfortable, and the room was drafty despite attempts to make it warmer. Besides, others were waiting and the water cooled quickly. Ethel was ready to pour fresh warm rinse water over Ina and then wrap a towel around her to shield her from the cool air. Ina quickly dressed in gown and robe but stayed in the kitchen to help Ethel and Shirley Jean with their baths.

 

Ethel was next, and she was ready to step into the tub immediately. As Ethel had assisted her mother, so Ina assisted Ethel. As Ethel dressed, Shirley Jean hopped into the water while Ina supervised.

Once the women had finished bathing, Ina announced to the men that the kitchen – and the bath water -- was all theirs. Once they had made use of the bath water, the two men emptied the washtub and mopped up any spilled water on the kitchen floor. Meanwhile the women sat “before the blazing fire” in the living room to stay warm and dry their hair.

And that was it – the Saturday night bath. And that bath would just have to last until next Saturday night! KW 

[The advertisements are from the December 1936 issue of Good Housekeeping.]

SPATIAL VISUALIZATION

My three children have the gift of spatial visualization. My mother had it. I suspect my husband has it. But I don’t have it. I believe people who are naturally gifted don’t understand the extent to which they are blessed and the rest of us are clueless.

On my pre-Christmas sewing list was a lunch sack for daughter Hallie. She carries her lunch to work in two refrigerator containers that don’t fit standard sacks, so she’s been using plastic grocery sacks. Her storehouse of plastic sacks is dwindling since the City of Seattle has banned them, and besides, plastic sacks are just tacky for the professional person to carry – and perhaps for the rest of us, too. Anyway, time before Christmas grew short, and I didn’t make the sack, but that was fine because I really needed Hallie’s input anyway. So, during Christmas I showed her my “bag books:” Lunch Sack! and The Bag Making Bible.

“You bought books?” questioned Hallie, a tone of incredulity in her voice. “I can’t believe you bought books. Just make a bag. I don’t see why you can’t just make a bag.” (I didn’t tell her I have even more bag patterns in my collection.)

It never occurred to me that I should “just make a bag.” I didn’t have a clue how to get started. With the help of the books, Hallie showed me a simple style she liked, and then she found fabric in my limited stash that she pronounced “fun.” I never would have chosen that fabric for her bag, but I could see immediately that she would like it – a neutral background with a splash of bright color.

So – once Christmas was over, I settled down to the promised task. Reviewing the books again, I gained confidence to begin, but instead of choosing a pattern from a book, I decided to modify “Ann’s Fat Quarter Gift Bag,” instructions that Chris gave us at embroidery club. Beyond that, I’ll spare you the lengthy details – and the weeping and wailing. Some trial and error was necessary, and I took advantage of that process by making practice bags of Christmas fabric for next year’s gift bags. Good plan!

Finally I was working on the real project. Coming into the sewing room, Mike said, “Say, that’s nice!”

“Hallie chose the fabric,” I said.

“I can tell,” Mike replied. “Looks like her.”

So, I mailed the bag to Hallie, and here’s the message I received:

“I got my new lunch bag today and I love it! I put my lunch in there and it fits just fine. I was meeting a friend at a restaurant after work and I was able to take it with me because it's so cute. Normally, I either have to drop it off in the car or go back to the office for it. Thank you so much! I also love the button and that it matches my winter wool coat. :)”

It was great to end the old year with a good finish.  Onward . . . KW

NEW YEAR'S DAY, 1937

We were at June’s for dinner and had the usual spread though Aunt had told us to not expect much. Ina to Vance, January 1937

It was late afternoon on New Year’s Day. Ina sat in the rocker beside the fire while Ethel and Ernest played Chinese checkers with Shirley Jean on the dining room table. Jack had hurried off to take care of the evening chores. Shirley failed to get New Year’s off and had to return to work in Orofino, a sure sign that the holidays were drawing to a close.

Ina was tired and sleepy and not much in the mood to do anything but sit before the blazing fire. At Shirley Jean’s pleading, Ethel had agreed to let her stay up to greet the New Year, and so Ina stayed up, too. Jack had helped her pop some corn and sugar it as a New Year’s Eve treat. Beginning at 9:00 p.m., they turned on the radio and listened to the New Year’s celebrations from New York, then Chicago, then Denver, and finally Los Angeles, munching popcorn, oranges, and other holiday goodies. Only Jack had retired early, knowing that he would have to do the morning chores as usual.

Traditionally, Bertha hosted the New Year’s Day dinner, and the five of them had walked over at noon. Ina was sure that the heavy meal was adding to her lethargy. Bertha always served a lavish feast of the richest foods a farm family could muster.  “Now don’t expect much,” she would say, and then proceed to put way too much food on the table.

Bertha’s usual New Year’s Day spread was something like this:

Oyster soup – always very good

Fried chicken with gravy

Potatoes

Corn on the cob

Cabbage salad

Jell-O fruit salad

Fruit cake with thick icing

Mince pie

Pumpkin pie

Apricot Jell-O pie, etc., etc., etc.

And Ina nearly laughed out loud when she thought of Bertha’s comment: “Why Ruth! We didn’t put any citron preserves on the table.” Bertha also set out treats -- popcorn balls, nuts, candy, gum, and the chocolates Earle and Bernice had sent them for Christmas.

Really, there was nothing wrong with the food. Bertha was an excellent cook but lacked skill in planning a balanced meal. It seemed as though she simply couldn’t make choices.  Ina had been careful not to overeat, but she still felt uncomfortably full even after walking home in the fresh air. And as far as she was concerned, anyone who wished to eat more today – and Jack just might -- could fix himself bread and milk.

The tree still sat in the corner of the living room. She would leave it up a day or two longer, Ina decided, because Shirley Jean enjoyed it so. And since they didn’t receive Vance’s decorative pieces until after Christmas anyway, it seemed fitting to keep them just a while longer.

So, Ina dozed off while sitting in her rocking chair, wondering what would unfold in 1937. In a while she would get up and take herself off to bed.   KW

[I took the color picture December 18, 2012. This is the spectacular view the family would have enjoyed as they returned to the farmhouse from Bertha and June's. The picture of the Christmas tree was taken in 1952.]