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Over the Back Fence By HANK HENRY Big snow evokes farm-life memory Have you ever been in a heavy snowstorm that literally shut everything down? The worst one I remember in Oregon happened in Roseburg when I lived there back in 1949. A series of snowstorms closed Highway 99 for several days with drifts rising 7 to 8 feet high. A lot of tourists were stranded in town. The state didn�t have large snow removal rigs in Southern Oregon then. It was five or six days before electric power was restored. There was only one restaurant in Roseburg that remained open, with bottled propane gas as the only heat source for cooking its food. All the rest closed. Grocery stores stayed open, equipping employees with large flashlights. Writing about a heavy snowfall reminds me of the stories I heard from a lady named Ermie who is 88 years old. She and her family lived on a ranch in the mountains of Idaho in 1918 and 1919. The snow levels didn�t set any records in those two winters, but they did come close. Ermie was born in 1913, and was about five years old when the family moved to a ranch in the mountains. Their new farm had apparently not changed much in the last 100 years. It was literally at the end of the road. There was no electricity, no running water, no radio or television. It was a hardscrabble life, requiring labor from the children as well as the parents. The mother by then was an expert on drying vegetables such as sliced cabbage and corn, and fruit such as peeled and sliced apples, on the roof of a storage shed near the main house. The food was covered with cheesecloth to keep the birds from eating it. Meat and fish to be dried were hung by strings from the ceiling. The kids helped out with all the chores involved in preparing and serving the food. One big chore involved cleaning out wooden barrels and preparing them for that year�s production of sauerkraut. The first ingredient was sliced apples, followed by lots of shredded cabbage and vinegar. The barrels were supposed to remain untouched until all the ingredients were thoroughly aged. However, the kids in the family couldn�t wait. They would quietly slip the wooden lid off the barrel and grab handfuls of the tangy stuff. A potato cellar was used to store squash as well as spuds. Deer meat was hung on wires over a slow fire for days. Trout were caught in a nearby stream, gutted, and also hung from wires. Not only did the mother cook all the meals for the father, the two boys and four girls, but she also sewed and crocheted. Once a year she would write the Salvation Army in the nearest town and request any used clothing it might have. A large cardboard box would arrive weeks later, and the mother would wash the clothing, dry it, and then rip it up and completely remake it into new garments. The father, in addition to farming the place, did such things as repairing leather shoes for the family. The mother bartered with the Indians for many things, using her famous sauerkraut as a bargaining chip. The ranch was adjacent to the reservation for the Kamaiah. The kids went to the two-room school on the reservation and almost came to recognize themselves as Indians. I began this writing about snow, and now is where it comes in again. On snowy days, the four boys would ride their horses up and down the driveway to tamp down the snow. Then they would take off cross country toward the school. Many times the snow would be higher than the fence line and they could ride directly over the barbed wire without seeing it. Several times the snowstorm was so heavy that the students were forced to stay in the school overnight. All of this happened in the period between the two world wars. Most of the farm homes were primitive then, and it was hard for a farmer to make any kind of profit. It was a tough life, but it had its compensations. (Hank Henry is a retired Jackson County commissioner and a former radio and television announcer. Call him at 772-9055.) Mail Tribune Home | Ottaway Newspapers, Inc. | Dow Jones & Co., Inc. | Privacy | Contact Us Copyright � 2001 Mail Tribune, Inc.