Breakfast at the Cabin

            Playing up at the cabin was hard work, whether we spent the day hiking, examining Indian ruins, swimming at the spring, playing in the tree house, or swinging.  No one ever had as much fun as we did when we were at the cabin.  By the time evenings came we were worn out and ready for bed.  We settled down while mom read about Bob White, Mr. Muskrat, Cheeter the Squirrel, and the Laughing Brook from our old animal books, and then she tucked us into bed and we slept like logs. 

           I would wake up next morning to the crackling sound of dad building a fire in the old wood stove.  It was delightful to snuggle down into my fluffy pillow, just my nose sticking out from under the covers, feeling the cool mountain air around my head.  I always slept sounder when it was cool.  Down in the desert it was hard to get a good nights sleep because everything was hot and sticky.  Up here in the mountains it was fresh and cool, and wonderful!  

           The next thing I would know I was waking up again to the smell of pancakes cooking as Dad made us breakfast.  Oh, what a delightful smell!  Dad kept his promise to mom up there in the mountains.  Although she fixed the other meals, he was the one who always made breakfast..

            Sometimes Dad would make special breakfasts for us.  He would open a can of corn and add a couple of spoonfuls to the pancake batter.  That was good!  Then he would put the rest of the corn in the refrigerator, ready for Keith and Phillip to take it down to the creek with them when they went fishing.  You never knew which bait the fish would go after that day.  Sometimes they liked worms, but often they went after corn.   

             One morning Dad showed us the secret for making the best eggs in the world.

            “Cook the bacon first,” he told us.   “Then, after you take the bacon out of the frying pan, don't poor out the grease.  Just crack the eggs right into that grease, and when they fry they will be crispy and good!” 

             Dad was right.  Deep fried eggs were the best!  Mind you, that was back in the days before healthy eating became a fad.  If anyone tried to cook eggs that way today they would be arrested for endangering the public health, but what were vacations for?  We sure had fun up at the cabin!

The Indian Ruins

          We loved to go for walks with Grandma Russell when we were up at the cabin, especially to the Indian ruins.  There were many ruins scattered around the hill tops along Haiger Creek, but the ruins we enjoyed the most were on a big hill past the spring.  It was a long walk for little feet, but worth it. 

          The first time Grandma showed us the Indian ruins I didn't think much of them.  To my young eyes it was just a bunch of tumbled down rocks, with clumps of tall grass, prickly pear cactus, spiny agave, and once in a while Indian Paintbrush flowers pushing up through the rubble.  Then Grandma explained the ruins to us.  She showed us how the rocks were really tumbled down walls of Indian houses.  In some places they still made straight lines, and we could see the outline of a building. 

          Grandma picked up reddish brown rocks and showed us how they were really pieces of pottery.  They were light to hold, and smooth.  Once in a while she even found a piece that still had  patterns on it from being pressed against a straw basket when it was made.  At first the pottery looked the same as the red rocks, but with practice we could tell the difference.  It was the same thickness, all the way across, and lighter than rock.  When we were really lucky we found pieces of painted pottery, or the top of a jar with a smooth, curved rim. 

It always smelled wonderful up on the Indian ruins hill.  The sun shone hotter there, because there were no pine trees for shade.  The grass smelled like it was baked in an oven. Big, black horse flies and butterflies chased around through the remains of those long ago Indians.  Standing on the hill, we could see forever.  Below, to the south, was a meadow with a few cabins and gardens.  Across the creek above the bluffs lay big, empty meadows, climbing into hills and then mountains covered with pine trees, standing dark green against the blue sky.  We liked to imagine the Indians, living on their hill, able to see for miles and miles in every direction.

My little sister, Linda, was especially fascinated by the Indian ruins.  She would sit on a rock and daydream for hours about the people who once lived there.  Sometimes her eyes would be red and puffy when she finally got up and walked home.  I never knew why, until she finally admitted that she used to sit and cry for the poor people who had lived and died in that place.  Linda always was the dramatic one in our family.

Playing at the Cabin

There was a great big, huge cedar tree which grew on the north side of Grandma and Grandpa's cabin.  We always told mom we were going downstairs to play, I guess because our cabin was on top of the hill and Grandma's cabin was down below.  It really wasn't downstairs, but down the path, or down the trail sounds kind of screwy, doesn't it?  

 Dad made a really neat swing by placing a big log high up between the branches of the cedar and a smaller tree next to it.  He hung a long piece of rope from the log, tying  it in two places so it hung down in a long U.  Dad cut a smooth plank of wood, notched both ends, and hung it at the bottom of the U.  It seemed like every time we came down to swing that seat was lying on the ground and we had to put it back, but we didn't mind because the rope was so long that swing went higher than any swing we had ever been on before.  When dad pushed we sailed up so high our feet almost touched the leaves above us.  Then dad would run under and come out in front of us, while we laughed and laughed and felt like the whole world was rushing by us in the wind. 

The older cousins built a tree house in the tree next to the swing, with pieces of wood nailed to the trunk so you could climb up.  It was high up in the tree, but there were railings to keep kids from falling out.  We would play up in the tree house for hours, borrowing  Grandma Russell’s cow bell, so we could pretend that it was our school. 

            Sometimes we would go swimming down at the spring.  The water was deep enough to come up above Dad's waste, so was perfect for teaching children how to swim.  Mom wore an olive green swimming suit and dad had dark blue trunks, but they always had some kind of shirt or cover-up to wear over their suits.  They knew that even though it was cooler up here in the mountains the sun shown just as brightly and we could all get burnt.  One summer Mom made terrycloth cover ups for all us kids, which we weren't too happy about wearing, but they sure made good towels.  The creek was always ice cold.  We would sit on the big rocks beside the swimming hole and slowly inch our way into the water, one toe at a time, until we got used to the cold.  Dad laughed at us, telling us it was easier to just jump in all at once.  No one would listen.  Then, suddenly, he would jump up, shout, "Geronimo!" and cannon ball into the water, splashing all of us with ice cold water in the process.  How he laughed as Mom scolded him for getting her wet, and how good the hot rocks felt when we climbed out and lay down on them to get warm.

            Sometimes we visited with Grandma Russell in her cabin.  She taught us girls how to make dolls out of the hollyhocks that grew at the west end of the garden, next to the long driveway.  When we turned them upside down it's petals made beautiful long dresses for princesses and queens.  Grandma also taught us how to sew dresses for our barbie dolls.  She had lots of scraps of material we could use, and she showed us how to cut and sew them together, using needles and thread.  She even had little thimbles we could put on our fingers so we didn't poke holes in our skin. 

            In the garden, Grandpa planted rows of strawberries.  Every morning we searched through the plants, looking for big, juicy strawberries.  When we found some we took them to the pump, washed them in cold water, then popped them into our mouth.  Oh!  They were delicious!  Sometimes Grandma asked us to pick strawberries for her.  We loved doing that, because we knew that meant she was going to bake a strawberry rhubarb pie for dinner, and that was delicious!

Paths Down the Hill

           Up at the cabin we spent our days playing outside, either down at the creek or by Grandma and Grandpa’s cabin.    We would get downstairs one of two ways.  First, there was the path that hugged the side of the hill.  It was steep, so Grandpa strung a long piece of heavy wire from tree to tree to keep us from falling over the side.  The path always seemed to have a layer of pine needles on it, which we had to rake off so it wouldn’t be slippery.  Mom told us over and over not to run down the hill, but it was really hard not to.  The path was so steep that once you got going your legs just couldn’t seem to slow down.

          One day when I was little I was eager to get down the hill, so I began running.  Once started I couldn’t stop, and I went faster and faster.  There's a feeling of freedom, running down hill.  It doesn't take any energy to keep going, and it's almost like flying.  But near the bottom of the path a tree root  caught my foot, and suddenly I was falling head over heels, right into a big rock someone had left lying under the pine tree at the bottom of the hill. That stopped me!   I howled so loud that Mom rushed out of the cabin upstairs, Dad and Grandpa came running from the garden,  and Grandma poked her head out of her cabin to see what was wrong.  I had a huge goose-egg rising on my forehead, and for awhile Mom was afraid it would swell so big it would break open.  Grandma wet a cloth with cold water from the well, and they held it on my head as mom rocked me back and forth on her lap.  Eventually the lump went down and I stopped crying, but I remembered that fall and tried not to run down the hill anymore.

The other way down from the cabin was the rock stairs Dad built at the back of the hill.  They were big rocks, and they made good stepping stones.  There was a large tree stump two-thirds of the way down the hill.  It gave us a place to stop and hold onto, as we made a 90 degree turn and slid the rest of the way down.  At the bottom of the hill was a large tree whose trunk was split in two, leaving a V in the middle big enough to climb through.  Dad attached a wire fence to both sides of the tree, and it made a natural gate we climbed through.  No one could run down that path, it was too steep, but since it was shorter and closer to the creek we usually went that way, even though you had to be careful not to trip and fall.  It was really tricky when you were holding a fishing pole, a sack of cookies, or your barbie dolls, all necessary equipment for going down to play at the creek. 

On The Way To The Cabin

            Once our cabin was built vacations to the mountains were easier on Mom.  Instead of having to camp or feel like she was intruding on Grandma Russell, she now had her own place to take the kids when they needed naps or some time out.  We went to the cabin often.  Since Dad worked at the High School he had lots of time off in the summer.  He was always busy doing something to make more money, like drawing house plans, but he made time for the cabin.

             The trip up was almost as exciting as being there.  We usually went in our green Ford pick-up truck.  It was rickety and old, but there was plenty of room in the back for our clothes, food, and all the equipment Dad needed for whatever project he was planning to work on that trip.  To Dad, vacation time meant working time at the cabin.  He liked to fish and swim and hike, but he got the most fun out of planning, building, and improving.  For Dad, working on the cabin was the best fun of all.

            Once everything was piled in the back of the truck Dad and Mom and us four kids would squeeze into the front, and off we would go.  It was pretty crowded on the seat, but this was before the days of seat belts and child safety seats, so sitting on the floor of the cab was perfectly acceptable.  There was a small hole in the floor boards, about an inch across.  Through that hole you could see clear down to the road underneath, and whatever we were driving over.  Plain black asphalt wasn't very exciting, but if we watched long enough we would sometimes see the white stripe or yellow dashes painted on the road.   Looking through that hole was also kind of hypnotizing, and it often put us to sleep.  Mom didn't complain about that.

            Dad liked to sing, so the truck was usually ringing with songs.  Dad sang about

"K-k-k-Katie, Beautiful Katie,

You're the only girl that I could ever adore-ore-ore-. 

When the m-moon shines, over the c-c-c-cow shed,

I'll be waiting at the k-k-k-kitchen door." 

or

"Daisy, daisy, give me your answer true. 

I'm half crazy, all for the love of you. 

It won't be a stylish marriage.  I can't afford a carriage. 

But you'll look sweet, upon the seat of a bicycle built for two." 

Sometimes he would sing us a song he learned when he was in high school

 

"There was a lady sweet and kind, fairest of all that met my mind. 

I did but see her passing by, and yet I'll love her, till I die." 

We always sang 

"I've been working on the railroad, all the live long day. 

I've been working on the railroad just to pass the time away. 

Can't you hear the whistle blowing?  Rise up so early in the morn. 

Don't you hear the captain shouting?  Dinah blow your horn. 

Dinah won't you blow, Dinah won't you blow, Dinah won't you blow your horn,orn,orn. 

Dinah won't you blow, Dinah won't you blow, Dinah won't you blow your horn? 

Some one's in the kitchen with Dinah, some one's in the kitchen you know,oh,oh,oh. 

Some one's in the kitchen with Dinah, strumming on the old banjo. 

And he's singing, fee, fi, fiddlie, I, oh.  Fee, fi, fiddlie, I, oh,oh,oh,oh. 

Fee, fi, fiddlie, I, oh!  Strumming on the old banjo."   

Mom liked the song about,

"Down in the meadow in an iddie biddi pool,

Lived three little fishies and their mommy fishie, too. 

 Swim said the momma fish, swim if you can,

So they swam and they swam right over the dam. 

Boop boop diddly waddie audum choo,

Boop boop diddly waddie audum, choo,

Boop boop, diddly waddie audum choo,

And they swam and they swam right over the dam."

            We had so much fun on those trips to the mountains.  Sometimes we went the long way past Globe.   That road climbed up the Sierra Anches mountains and went through the little town of Young.   Then we would turn onto Chamberlain Trail, drive by the Bar-X ranch, and eventually get to the cabin.  That route was kind of boring.   It was hot crossing the desert until you finally started climbing up into the mountains.  We all preferred the other way, through Payson.

            That road was called the Bee Line Highway, and it seemed faster.  Once we were out of town we would watch for familiar landmarks.  Soon we would see Sugar Loaf mountain on our left, then Bear Rock (a big boulder on the side of the road that was shaped like a bear, where some creative traveler had spray painted eyes on his face.)  Pretty soon we would pass Mount Ord, the tallest mountain in the range, topped with a look out tower way up high, and then we dipped down into Sun Flower, a tiny community strung out along Sycamore Creek, that consisted mainly of a store/gas station and a few houses. 

            There were camp grounds under the trees at Sycamore Creek, and we usually stopped.  At least one of us kids would need to use the potty, and we all loved getting out of the truck and stretching our legs.  There was a distinct smell along the creek, not necessarily a good smell, but a familiar, happy odor.  Perhaps it was a combination of sycamore trees and forest service outhouse deodorizer mixed together.  Whatever it was, it was a smell only found there, in the Sycamore Creek rest area.

            After leaving Sun Flower we started watching for a glimpse of Roosevelt Lake many, many miles away to the south.  Pretty soon we passed the turn off to Gisella and Roosevelt Lake.  Right after that came Rye, a little community famous mostly for the acres of old bikes collected in a lot, waiting to be sold.   

           Then came the long, long hill we had to climb to get to Payson.  That hill seemed to stretch on forever, with all kinds of false alarms where we were sure we had reached the top only to find another hill behind it.  All of the kids would be sitting up on the seat by then, straining their eyes for the first glimpse of a building, so they could be the first to shout, "I Spy Payson!"

            Payson was a wonderful little town nestled in the pines.  There was a lumber mill on the west side of the road, with a big,  teepee shaped metal building that always seemed to have smoke rising from its rounded top.  It put off the most wonderful smell of newly cut pine and fire.  It was heavenly! 

            On the right side of Main Street was a general store, with a real wooden sidewalk.  On it stood a carved Indian and a bear!  Oh, the kids loved to see that!  Dad usually stopped at the store to get fishing hooks or something else he needed, and the kids would always follow him inside.  It  seemed dim and dark in the store, where there was a long wooden counter topped with glass jars full of wonderful things to buy, especially licorice whips.  Dad  always bought a thick rope of strawberry licorice for the kids, and a black licorice whip for himself.  Once back in the truck Mom would tear the strawberry rope into pieces for everyone, and it was so sweet and good.  But we all had to try just a little taste of Dad's candy, too.  It smelled wonderful, and a little bit was good, but we never wanted to eat very much of that rich, black licorice.

            After Payson we soon drove through Star Valley, with hundreds of white flowers growing in a big, green meadow.  Then came Little Green Valley, then Kolh's ranch, (we would all look out the window here to see if we could see the swimming pool behind the main building), and then Christopher Creek.  That was a lovely little summer community.  We loved to see the creek rushing by as we crossed it's bridge.  Then came Sharp Creek, and finally, after waiting and waiting and waiting, The Turn Off! 

            The real name was Colcord Road, but for us it was always known as the Turn Off.  Now we were truly in the mountains and almost to our cabin, and life was good!

Our Cabin

Mom and Dad weren’t able to build our cabin the first year.  Dad had to teach school in the fall, and Phillip was born the first of December.  After Grandma and Grandpa Russell's cabin was finished we stayed with them, which was a lot better than camping in a tent, especially for mom.  Not only did she have a new baby to take care of along with Keith and Gale, the following summer she was pregnant again.  Linda was born November seventh, and life was busy with four children all under five years old.

It was fun staying in Grandma and Grandpa's cabin.  The kids slept on a small, double bed, squeezed in one end of the trailer. Keith and Gale would sleep with their heads against one wall, and Phillip and Linda would sleep with their heads against the other.  Of course, this meant that everyone’s feet met in the middle.  This made the perfect recipe for lots of friendly feet fights.  Gale put the soles of her feet against the soles of Phillip’s feet, knees bent, and they would see who could straighten out their legs.  It was lots of fun, pushing and wiggling, trying to be the winner.  Keith always won, and sometimes Gale, but Phillip had strong legs and he could hold his own pretty good, especially when Linda got big enough to join the fun.  One sure way to make Phillip give in was to tickle him.  He was the most ticklish little boy in the world!  If anyone even touched him under his chin or arms he would curl up in a ball, giggling so hard it made the rest of us laugh, too.

The summer of 1959 Grandpa Russell worked too hard again, and this time he got so sick he nearly died.  He was in the same hospital as mom when she delivered Linda.  Little by little he got his strength back, and then he and Grandma went back up to the cabin. 

Dad and Mom decided to take a little easier route than building our cabin from scratch.  There was an old apartment over an adobe garage in Mesa that Grandpa didn’t want anymore.  When they tore the garage down Dad dismantled the apartment and put all of it on a big cotton trailer, then pulled it up to the cabin.  That was a tricky thing to do.  The roads to the cabin were not very good, and the trailer was big and heavy.  Coming up from Globe it didn’t look like they were going to be able to get the trailer up one steep part of the road, but eventually they made it.

 Dad poured the foundation for the cabin, but Grandpa did most of the work of putting  it together.  A man named Mr. Finley came over and  built the fireplace for us out of big cinder bricks.  The foundation under the chimney wasn’t very good, and as it settled over the years, the chimney began to lean farther and farther away from the rest of the cabin.  Eventually a gap about an inch wide opened up between the wall and ceiling.  Then Dad had to shore up the fireplace, to keep it from falling all of the way over.

Our cabin wasn’t very big and it didn’t cost very much money to build, but it was cozy. The whole north half of the cabin was the front room, with the fireplace on the north wall.  There was just enough room on either side of the fireplace to squeeze in a double bed.  The south half of the cabin was divided into three tiny rooms; a  little bedroom, a tiny kitchen, and a very small bathroom. 

There was a big porch in front of the cabin, looking towards the road.  Later, in 1963, Dad poured a small back porch, and he let us kids put our hands into the soft cement to leave our prints.   Then Dad screened in the back porch and put a bed on it so he and Mom could sleep outside and enjoy the cool evenings. We used to sit on the bed and look off over the hill into the tops of the trees down by the creek.  It was like looking into a sea of shimmering green, and was the prettiest sight in the world! 

The walls inside the cabin were paneled with light, wood grained pine. The floor was dark red-brown linoleum squares.  There was a white enamel wood burning stove in the kitchen because there was no electricity at that time.  It sure could make the house hot, but it felt really good on cold mornings. Over the fireplace Mom hung a special painting that Grandma and Grandpa Russell gave her because it was a picture of Sweden.  It had been painted on a board without a frame, and was the scene of a small stream with swans swimming under a bridge.   Little Swedish children played in front of green trees around a tall flag-pole with a Swedish flag fluttering in the breeze.

On the wall opposite the fireplace mom hung a painting of a bowl of orange poppies.  Each poppy had a big black center, and one day we discovered that the middle poppy looked like a puppy dog with big black eyes and orange, floppy ears.  We could never look at that picture without seeing a dog instead of flowers after that. 

Dad screwed a hanger into the ceiling in the front room, from which he hung the kerosene lantern at night.  Every evening, as it began to get dusk, we would all pile onto the creaky old bed on the back porch.  Supper would already be over, and the kids washed and in their pajamas.  Then Mom would sit in the middle of the bed and everyone else piled around her while she read stories to us from some very old storybooks a neighbor gave us.  They were stories about a Laughing Brook and rabbits and quail and other forest animals, and all their adventures.  The stories were sweet and simple, and we loved them. 

As it grew dark Dad would get out the kerosene lantern and we would watch as he pumped a little button on the side, then opened a small door, struck a match, and lit the lantern.  It always scared Gale just a little bit.  She was afraid the whole lantern might explode, but it never did.  Then Dad would carry the light into the cabin, hang it from the hook in the ceiling, and we would all come inside, kneel down to have family prayer, then jump into our warm, cozy beds by the fireplace.  How we loved being at the cabin!

Grandma and Grandpa's Cabin

          Grandma and Grandpa Russell built their cabin that first summer of 1958.  Since they already had the trailer, they decided to use it for the kitchen and just build one long living room in front of it with the door opening into the trailer.  Grandpa poured a large rectangle of cement for the foundation and floor.  The trailer wasn’t really very long, so he extended the front room about ten feet farther on the north side.  Grandpa poured a smaller square of cement on the side of the trailer behind the front extension.  It turned the large living room into a sort of L shape.  Grandma put a metal framed bed in that back part which became their bedroom, even though there wasn't a wall seperating it from the front room. 

            Grandma and Grandpa decided to build the lower part of the walls of their cabin out of rocks, there were plenty of them in the wash and creek bed close by.  They built the rock wall up about four feet, then used wood above that.  Inside the cabin the rocks were plastered over with cement. 

            The front wall of the cabin, facing the garden and the road, was built taller than the back wall which was even with the trailer.  Grandpa put a tin roof on top, slanting back so rain and snow could slide off.  My, what a noise it made when it rained! 

           Grandpa made two big windows on either side of the front door and one big window on the north side of the cabin, looking out towards the wash.  High up in the front wall he placed three smaller windows, one over each big window and one over the door.  These windows opened at the top and hung down on a chain.

            On the south side of the cabin Grandpa built a red brick fireplace with a mantle.  It had black grill work over vents above and on both sides of the fireplace so warm arm could circulate and blow out to heat the room.  On the right side of the fireplace a small door was built into the wall, so you could reach outside and get firewood or dump out ashes.

             Above the mantel Grandma put a picture of Fisherman's Point which one of their grandsons painted for them.  Fisherman's Point was a rocky cliff which towered many hundreds of feet high above the creek.  Some people called it Lover's Leap, and it was a beautiful, but scary sight.  Chamberlain Trail ran beside the point, then along the cliff for a ways.  The dirt road was only wide enough for one car to drive on, but what a view you had looking over the side way down to the creek far below.  Mom always closed her eyes as they drove over that part of the road, while Dad had a hard time keeping his eyes on the trail instead of looking out at the view.

            Grandma and Grandpa brought up an old couch they owned and placed it on the back wall of the front room.  Grandpa's brother gave them a bear skin which they laid over the back of the couch.  It had black, wiry hair and sharp, yellowed claws on it's paws.  It's eyes had been replaced with black, glass marbles, but it still had it's own sharp, scary teeth.

            Grandma brought up her old treadle sewing machine, which she placed next to an easy chair under the south front window.  She spent many days sewing on that old machine, or sitting in the chair braiding colorful rags together which she sewed into round rugs to cover the hard cement floor.  Grandma also made a foot stool from five grape juice cans that she glued together, then covered with material.  It looked like a big flower when it was finished.

            Grandma and Grandpa brought up a wooden table and chairs that sat under the north front window.  They kept a big, green, glass kerosene lamp in the middle of that table, and every night Grandma would light it so they could see to read or play scrabble.  They also hung two kerosene lamps from the ceiling to light the rest of the cabin. 

            That cabin took a lot of work, but when it was finished, man, it was wonderful!  Now Grandma and Grandpa could live comfortably in the mountains from early spring to late fall.  Soon Uncle Tillis, Grandpa Russell’s brother, built a little white cabin on the other side of the garden, so he and Aunt Cleo could spend their time up there, too.  Together, he and Grandpa planted apple and pear trees by the driveway that ran along the base of the hill.  Grandma planted hollyhocks along the drive and Aunt Cleo planted a lilac bush next to her cabin.

            The final touch Grandpa and Grandma Russell placed on their new summer home was a green and white metal sign they bought special to put on a fence post by the road.  It said ‘El Rosel’, which meant 'the Russell’s'.

Working at the Cabin

That summer, Grandpa and Dad built a fence around the property to keep deer and other animals out of the garden and the yards around the cabins, although they didn't include the wash along the north side.  It was full of big rocks and there wasn’t anything they could do there except hang up a tire swing for the kids to play on. 

Every day they brought water from the spring that was about 1/2 a mile down the creek.  It was good, fresh water, but it was a lot of work driving down, filling up jugs, and then carting them way back to our place.  As soon as they could, Dad and Grandpa began digging a well.   They chose a likely spot close to the base of the hill.  Dad dug and dug, until the hole was so deep you couldn’t even see his head.  It was hard work, and dad was tired every night when he climbed out of the well.  His muscles ached and he was covered with dirt.  Some people would have wondered how he could call this a ‘vacation’, but Dad actually seemed to enjoy it.   The only real problem he had digging the well was when the generator caused the hole to fill up with carbon monoxide.  Dad passed out, but Grandpa got him out OK.

 The hole was 12 feet deep when water began flowing in and Dad had to stop digging.   That should have been good, but for some reason the well filled up with sand and didn't work right.  It was sure frustrating to have worked so hard for nothing, but in the end he had to move out away from the hill and dig another well.  This time Dad dug down about 17 feet, but when he reached water it was good and soon filled the bottom of the hole.  He and Grandpa put a pipe down into the well, covered it, and attached a red hand pump.  That was the sweetest, coldest water anyone ever tasted!  Keith and Gale got such a kick out of pumping the handle and watching cold water gush out.  It splashed into the old bucket Grandma left sitting beside the pump, and then they scooped up handfuls and washed their faces or got a drink.  It didn't take long for the kids to learn how to pump with one hand and hold a cup with the other so they could take their drink with them while they ran to play on the swing. 

There was a spot at the foot of the hill that looked like a good place to build a root cellar where Grandma could store vegetables and food to keep it cool.  Dad had lots of dynamite left over from working at Grandpa Johnson’s mine, but Mom wasn’t very happy at the idea of using it.  She remembered spending the summers at Grandpa’s mine in Utah when she was a little girl, and the stories he told about the dangers of dynamite.  The miners would put multiple charges down in the mine, with fuses of different lengths.  Then they would climb out of the mine, light the first fuse, and count as each charge blew up.  The danger came when not all of the charges blew.  Probably it was a dud, but there was always a chance it might blow up when the miners went back into the hole.

Dad assured Mom that it was safe to use dynamite on the hill.   He was experienced with it, and he told her there was nothing to worry about since they would only use one charge at a time.  Still, Mom took Keith and Gale down to the creek to play when Dad got the sticks of dynamite out. The problem was that Dad didn’t know the soil was very tight there, packed with thousands of small rocks and pebbles.  When the dynamite exploded, it threw rocks everywhere, including at the tent which wasn’t very far away.  Rocks also hit the trailer and broke one of the windows.  That was when Dad decided to give up the idea of a root cellar.

The Summer of 1958, continued again

           Grandma Russell loved to take long walks through the woods and meadows.  Every day she would set off to see what she could find.  Sometimes Mom, Keith and Gale would accompany her for part of the way.  They explored the meadow across the creek, where tall grass grew, and skunk cabbage and wild flowers.  Grandma pointed out Indian Paint Brush, with it bright red blossoms, and little purple and yellow flowers that looked like miniature snap dragons.  By the creek, jolly yellow columbines grew in bright clumps, and when they looked real carefully they could find little purple star flowers hiding in the grass. 

            Often they walked with Grandma to the spring.  There were big meadows all along the bluff, above the creek, where Keith and Gale could run and try to catch little white butterflies that fluttered over the tall grass.  At the spring the creek turned west because it ran into an outcropping of granite.  Here there were huge, smooth, white boulders to sit on.  They were always warm, but in the middle of the day they were almost too hot to touch. The children discovered that rain collected in cracks and little pockets in the rocks, and they loved splashing and playing there.  Sometimes they could convinced Mom to let them dangle their feet in the deep swimming hole, as long as she was sitting between the them, holding each around their waste.

            Right in the middle of the meadow between the spring and the road stood a big old tree.  Under it the grass didn’t grow tall, like everywhere else.  Keith and Gale found cow pies there, and Grandma told them that cows lived here and all along the meadows by the creek.  Maybe some day they would see them. 

            There were beautiful white flowers that grew in this big meadow by the spring.  They were so pretty that the children wanted to pick them and take them home, but grandma stopped them.  She held their hands and took them over to examine one of the flowers.  The petals were thin and white, they almost looked like tissue paper.  But the stem of the flower was thick and prickly all over with thorns.  Grandma told the children not to pick these flowers.  They were pretty to look at, but poisonous.

            As they were looking at the flowers, grandma saw an interesting rock.  She showed it to the children.  It was red and white and blue, all mixed up together in the same rock.  Grandma told them that it looked like an Indian had painted it, but it was really just different kinds of rocks mixed up together.  She let Keith and Gale examine it, then she let Keith carry it home to add to her collection.  Grandma found a new rock every time she went for a walk.  She carried them home and put them under a big cedar tree in front of the trailer.  There were rocks shaped like shoes and boots, rocks striped with white lines that looked like they had been painted, rocks full of holes that grandma said were made in volcanoes, and all kinds of other rocks that were just as interesting. 

The Summer of 1958, continued

Grandpa and Grandma Russell stayed in the mountains from early spring to late fall that year.  They pulled up an old trailer dad bought from Grandpa Johnson.  Grandma and Grandpa Russell lived in it until they got their cabin built.

            Grandpa dug a hole at the back end of the meadow, built an outhouse, and painted it white.  It looked like a tiny house.  It had a door and a wooden floor and wooden seat with a hole in the middle.  The walls didn’t come all the way up to the roof, so air could flow through.  Bugs did, too, and dad finally put screen up there.  Every day grandma collected ashes from the fire and put them in a bucket in the outhouse.  Everyone poured a shovel full of ashes in the hole when they were done going to the bathroom to keep the smell down and the flies out.  Gale always worried that a snake would get into the hole in the outhouse and climb up and bite her.  It never happened, of course, but she was glad when they finally got indoor plumbing.

Grandpa strung a heavy wire along the trail that led to the top of the hill, so Grandma Russell could hold onto it and little children wouldn’t fall over the side.  Then he began to clear the meadow so he could plant a garden.  He dug a ditch that began way up the creek at the log crossing and ran all the way down to the meadow.  Then he planted the garden with corn.  He worked so hard that he made himself sick and it took a long time for him to get better.

            Dad brought Mom and Keith and Gale up as soon as school ended in June.  They stayed in a tent at the base of the hill.  It wasn’t long before the monsoon began and it rained almost every day.  Mom spent that whole summer chasing muddy kids out of the tent and trying to keep them dry.

Perhaps one of the reasons it was so hard was that mom was pregnant, and as the summer progressed she grew bigger and bigger and more and more uncomfortable.  Sleeping in a sleeping bag on the ground was never easy, but try doing it when you’re five months pregnant!

Every morning mom would get Keith and Gale dressed and ready to go outside, then she would clean up the sleeping bags and straighten out the tent while dad made breakfast on the camp stove.  Grandma and Grandpa Russell would be up, enjoying the cool of the morning in the shade of their big sycamore tree under which the trailer was parked.  When mom would come out of the tent, already hot and frazzled, she would see Grandma, sitting serenely in her chair.  Grandma would smile and say, “Isn’t it a glorious day?” and mom would think, (but never say), “Yes, if you’ve been sleeping in a real bed and have a sink and bathroom and mirror so you can get clean!”

The Summer of 1958

            The summer of 1958 was one of the longest summers mom ever endured.  It turned into a never ending succession of driving up to the mountains, struggling with little children camping in a tent in the rain, and driving back to Mesa to pick up mail and food, just to turn around and drive back up to the mountains again.  Because dad was a school teacher, they had the whole summer to work on the cabin.

            They drove back and forth in an old pick-up truck.  In those days there were no such things as seat belts, let alone car seats, so the kids climbed over and under everything.  It was a long drive to the cabin, and hard for such little kids to sit still for long.  To add to the discomfort, it was hot.  Automobile air-conditioners hadn’t been invented yet, and it felt like you were sitting in a sauna, sweating and steaming.  The only way to survive was to drive with the windows open, but that was sometimes just as bad as sweating, because it whipped your hair into your eyes, blew everything around in the cab of the truck, and made it so noisy you couldn’t hear yourself think.

            One early morning, before the heat had time to build up, they started up to the mountains.  Gale had a cute little toy to play with.  She was standing on the seat next to the door, and dropped the toy out the half open window. Gale started to cry and mom looked out the window to see the little toy laying beside the road.

            “Ralph, stop the truck!”  mom exclaimed in horror.  So dad slowed down and stopped.   After checking to make sure no cars were coming, he made a u-turn and drove back up the road until they found the little toy lying in the gravel. Dad made another u-turn and mom got out to pick up the toy.  She gave it to Gale, and they started down the road again.

            This time mom put Gale between dad and herself, and Keith by the window.  Gale wiggled and squirmed until mom finally put her down on the floor of the truck, where she began playing with Keith.  Mom and dad were talking, and before they knew it, Gale was on the seat by the door again, hanging her toy out of the window.  Mom realized it just as the wind whipped the toy from Gale’s hand and she watched as it fell behind the speeding truck.  “Stop!” mom exclaimed.  “Gale’s dropped her toy again.”

            This time dad slowed down and stopped, but he wasn’t as quick about turning around.

            “If we keep on turning back we’ll never get there,” he grumbled, but mom insisted they go back for the toy, it was such a cute little thing.  Finally, dad turned the truck around and they drove back down the road until they found the toy, this time laying in a bunch of weeds at the side of the road.  It wasn’t as new and pretty looking as it had been, but Gale was still excited when it was put back in her hands.

            “Close the window so she doesn’t drop it again.  Next time I’m not going back for it,” dad declared. 

            Mom rolled the window up, but it was stifling in the old pick up with the sun beating through the window.  Dad didn’t have it so bad, because his window was open, and the sun wasn’t shining on him.  Mom endured it as long as she could, but she was hot, tired and cross, so she finally cracked the window just enough to let a little breeze in.  It helped, but not enough.  After a while, she rolled it down a few more inches.  By this time, Gale was playing on the floor of the truck with her toy, so mom focused her attention on helping Keith get a drink of water.  Suddenly she realized that Gale was again standing on the seat wailing.   The toy was nowhere in sight.  “Oh, no,” mom cried.  “She’s dropped it again!

            “Well, we’re not going back for it,” dad stated flatly.  “I told you if she dropped it any more we would leave it behind.”  Mom pleaded and Gale and Keith cried, but it did no good.  Dad was determined to get to the mountains, come heck or high water.

The Cabin, continued once more

It was a fun camping trip.  Keith and Gale especially loved the creek!  Dad tried to teach them to fish in the deep pool at the crossing where they camped.  The water was shallow and sparkled over rocks where the road ran through the creek, but upstream it was deep, with  quiet pools shadowed by overhanging trees.

 Keith stood, hand in hand with dad, excitedly watching for fish.  Dad tried to point them out to the little three year old, but they flashed by so quickly it was hard for Keith to see them. 

Dad put a worm on a hook, and helped Keith hold it out over the water.  Little fish nibbled at the worm, and suddenly the bobber was pulled under the water. 

            “Look, you’ve got a bite,”  Dad exclaimed as he helped Keith pull the line in.  Slowly and carefully they reeled the little fish out of the stream, wiggling and splashing water all over.  Keith jumped up and down on the bank.

 “Mommy, mommy! I caught a fish!  I caught a fish!”  He chanted over and over again.  Mom came running, caring Gale with her.

 “My goodness!   Look at that big fish!”  she praised the little boy.  “Grandma and Grandpa, come see Keith’s fish!

 Later, everyone drove down to the property to explore some more.  Grandma and Grandpa picked out a spot where they would build their cabin between a giant old sycamore tree in the back and a really big cedar tree in front.   Dad and Grandpa chose a likely looking spot at the base of the hill to dig a well.  A path was started, following along the side of the hill, and everyone climbed it to explore where Dad and Mom would build their cabin. Then, while dad and grandpa talked about digging a ditch to bring water to a garden, mom took the kids down to see the creek.

            The creek was especially beautiful here.  It came flowing out from beneath overhanging branches, running south until it turned sharply west at the base of the hill.  Huge sycamore and oak trees grew here, some  right on the edge of the creek, with limbs hanging out over deep pools.  Further down the creek sparkled shallowly over white rocks, perfect for wading in the coming summer.  Below the bend, two huge old trees grew on the south side of the creek.  Swift flowing water had cut the soil out from beneath them, leaving their roots partially exposed, digging out a deep fishing hole.           

Keith loved picking up rocks and throwing them as hard as he could into the water to see them splash.    Sometimes he would pick up the biggest rock he could carry and drop it close to the water’s edge.  If it didn’t fall into the rock at the side of the creek, it made a nice, big splash.  Gale’s little hands couldn’t carry big rocks, but she delighted in picking up little pebbles and sticks and leaves, and throwing them towards the water.  She wanted to be just like her big brother.

            It was cold by the creek.  The sun struggled to shine through the bare branches of the forest, and the ground was muddy.  Mom had her hands full trying to keep little knees from getting muddy and little feet out of the water.  Every time Keith picked up a big rock she checked underneath it for centipedes.   She also tried to keep Gale from putting pebbles and sticks and leaves into her mouth.  She was taking a really dirty stick out of Gales fingers when she realized that Keith was throwing a big, fist sized rock directly behind them.  He thought it would make a nice splash when it hit the water, but it hit Gale’s head instead.

            Mom never was sure which of the two children cried the hardest that day.  Gale, with a welt the size of a goose egg rising on the side of her head, or Keith, who thought he’d killed his baby sister and couldn’t be comforted.

The Cabin, continued again

“This is it,” Dad proclaimed proudly as he pulled Mom faster up the road.  They were taking an early morning walk to see the land Dad and Grandpa Russell had just leased, where we would build our summer cabins.  “The property starts down there by  the creek, and includes the meadow, hillside, and the top part of the hill on the west side of the road."

Mom was puffing by the time they climbed to the top of the hill, but Dad pulled her along, across a flat area, to the edge. 

            “What do you think?”  he asked. 

Mom was speechless.  It was beautiful!  They were standing on a gently sloping ledge jutting westward out of the mountain.  It made a flat shelf , not very big, covered with pine needles. 

“This is where we’ll build our cabin,”  Dad explained.  The hill fell away under their feet, down to the pretty little meadow covered with last years tall grass.  He pointed straight down. “We’ll dig a well down there, in the middle.  The folks are going to clear the meadow and put in a garden.  They'll build their cabin on the back end of the place, and Uncle Tillis is going to build his up by the road.  I told you he wants to go in on the property with us, didn’t I?”

“Yes,”  she answered.  “I love this place, Ralph!  It’s just beautiful!”

            They stood, looking out over the meadow toward the north.  They could see where the creek would be, under a forest of oak, sycamore, and black willow trees.  Beyond the trees rose a long, flat topped mountain,  the east end of it falling away in a jagged cliff.  Next to it, more mountains rose out of the forest.  To the west, they gazed into the tops of tall sycamore trees.

            “During the summer this will be the most beautiful view of all,” Dad predicted.  “It will be a sea of green.  If you look carefully, you can see the creek down there under the trees.  You can hear it, too.”

            Mom listened for a second, spell bound.  She could hear the gurgle of the creek as it rushed along, almost hidden beneath the sound of the wind in the pines, the call of crows and blue birds, and the enormous silence of the forest.  No wonder Ralph and his dad had fallen in love with this place!

          
            When they got back to the campground they found Keith and Gale already awake, playing happily.  Grandma Russell was holding Gale on her lap, she was only a year-and-a-half old, and still prone to falling over rocks and bumpy patches of ground.  Keith, on the other hand, was three now, and he could go most anywhere.  At the moment, he was helping Grandpa Russell add wood to the fire.  Both of them were still in their winter sleepers, a little dirtier than when they were put to bed, but good and warm.  Grandma had also bundled Gale up in a big quilt.  Keith was wearing his jacket. 

              One of the things mom liked best about camping was that Dad did the cooking.  By the time she had the kids changed into play clothes and bundled up in jackets and hats, the bacon was sizzling and the eggs were frying.  It smelled wonderful!

            “Who’s ready for breakfast?”  Dad asked as they came out of the tent.  “Me me me me me!” shouted Keith, while Gale smiled and toddled over towards the fire.

            “Not too close,” Mom warned as she picked Gale up and sat her down on one of the chairs next to the camp table.  “Keith, come sit down so we can get you your breakfast.  You sound hungry!”

            Quickly Keith scrambled up into a chair, and Dad brought the food over to put on the plates. 

            “This looks delicious,” mom praised.  “If you promise to make breakfast every time we come up to the mountains, I’ll want to come all the time.”

            “It’s a deal,” dad promised enthusiastically, as he dished scrambled eggs onto their plates. 

The Cabin,continued

Chapter 2

It was early when mom woke up.  She was snugly warm and toasty, sleeping next to dad in the warm sleeping bag, but her nose was freezing, and she could see her breath when she blew it out, even in the tent.

            She struggled to turn over in the tight space, and Dad whispered, “Are you awake, honey?”

“Mmmmm,” she mumbled.  “Kind of.   How did you sleep?”

“Great, but  I’m ready to get up now!  I didn’t want to wake you before, but now that you’re awake, how about going for a walk with me.  You’ve got to see the property!”

“What about the kids?” Mom whispered.  “They’ll sleep for a long time, still.  It was late when we finally got them down last night.”

“The folks are up,” Dad answered.  “They won’t mind keeping an eye on them while we’re gone.  It will only take a minute to walk down to the place.”

“Aren’t we going to drive?”  Eleanor was surprised.

“There’s no reason to,” he said.  “It’s not far, and if we start the truck we might wake up the kids.”

They were careful not to make any noise as they got out of their sleeping bags and dressed.  As they crawled out of the tent, mom saw that Grandpa Russell had already started a fire, and Grandma was sitting in a chair by it, reading.

“You’re up early,”  Dad greeted her. 

“It’s a glorious morning!”  Grandma replied. “ I couldn’t stay in bed.”

“Do you mind if we take a walk down the road so I can show Eleanor the place?”  he asked.  “The kids are in bed, and will probably stay asleep for a while.”

“That will be fine,” Grandma answered.  “They are  probably exhausted, but if they wake up, I’ll keep an eye on them.”

“Thanks,” Dad said as he grabbed Mom’s hand and pulled her past the tents and headed towards the road.

“I wish you could have seen the place last night, but there wouldn’t have been much point, it was so dark.”

“It’s OK, honey.  We tried as hard as we could, but there really wasn’t any way to get here before dark.  I’m surprised we were able to get off as soon as we did.”

“I know.  It wasn’t too bad setting up camp after dark, though.  Except for being cold.”

Mom shook her head, but didn’t say anything.  Last night had been a nightmare as far as she was concerned.  It had been dark and cold, and the kids had wanted to get out of the truck and play, but she had made them stay in the cab until the tents were set up and a fire was started.  Even then with the light from lanterns and a roaring bon fire, it had been hard to watch the little ones and keep them from wondering off towards the creek which was rushing by only a few feet away from camp. 

“It sure is cold,” was all she said.  “I’m surprised.  It was so warm at home.”

“It’s still early,”  Dad reminded her.  “It will probably be very pleasant by this afternoon.  Remember it’s only April, even if it does feel like summer back in the valley.”

The weather is funny in Arizona.  There may be four seasons on the calendar, but there are only two in the desert, summer and winter.  It wasn’t unheard of to be 80 degrees in January, though it usually stayed in the 70’s through March.  Once you left the desert and climbed into the mountains, though, it was a different story.  And this morning, it was cold!

“I thought you said our place was by the creek?”  Mom asked in surprise as they walked north along the road  They were climbing a small hill and the creek had disappeared, winding it’s way off to the east.

“It is,” Dad assured her.  “The creek turns and follows the road just below here.  You just can’t see it all the time.”

They crested out on the top of the hill and Mom stopped to look at an old, gnarled alligator juniper by the side of the road.  “What a funny looking tree,”  she pointed out to dad.   “It almost looks a like a person’s face, doesn’t it?”

Dad laughed and grabbed her hand as they began walking again.  “You’re going to love it up here, Eleanor!  We are going to have such great times!  Now, look over there between the trees.  What do you see?”

“It’s the creek!”  she exclaimed.  “How pretty it is!”

It was, too.  Even though the sycamore and black walnut trees were bare of leaves, it was a beautiful scene.  The little winding road straightened out here for a spell and ran parallel to the creek.  It was rushing merrily, gurgling over big and small rocks, sounding like happy laughter as it gushed its way under a barbed wire fence stretched across the creek between two big white sycamore trees.  Old leaves lay on the ground next to large white rocks and black earth.  Cedar and juniper trees with blue green  needles grew next to huge old oak trees covered with dead looking vines that in summer would become wild grapes. 

Mom and Dad walked west  around a corner in the road and saw before them a meadow, nestled at the base of a large hill.  The road climbed the hill, which was really the west end of a mountain.  It was covered with  ponderosa pines, tall and stately, stretching up into the early morning sun.  The road, and hillside and meadow where still shadowed from the mountain rising on the east.

“This is it,” Dad proclaimed proudly.  “The property starts down there by  the creek, and includes the meadow, hillside, and the top part of the hill on the west side of the road.  Come see.” 

The Cabin

“Eleanor, do you and Ralph want to ring in the New Year with us?”   It was the 31st of December, 1957, and Amy had called Eleanor first thing that morning to make plans.   She was just a year older than Eleanor, and they had always been good friends as well as sisters.

            “No,’ Eleanor answered in a put out sort of voice.  “Ralph and his dad are going camping, so I have to stay home with the kids.  It’s too cold for them to sleep in a tent.”

            “Camping?  On New Year’s Eve?  You’re kidding!”

            “I wish I was,” sighed Eleanor.  “Ralph says it’s the only chance he’ll have to go looking for land, since school starts again as soon as the holidays are over.  He and his dad drove through a promising area last week and they want to explore it better.  You know we’re trying to find a place in the mountains to build a cabin.  I just wish they had chosen some other time to go looking.  Spending New Year’s Eve alone with the kids isn’t my idea of a good time!”

            Amy was sympathetic.  “Why don’t you come over and go with us anyway,”  she suggested.  “You’ll be miserable staying home and I’m getting a babysitter.   I bet she wouldn’t mind watching Keith and Gale, too.”

            “No,” Eleanor decided after thinking about it for a minute.  “I wouldn’t have much fun without Ralph.” 

            “Right,” Amy sympathized.  “And if you did have a good time, you couldn’t be mad at him for leaving you home alone.  If you stay home with the kids,  maybe he’ll feel bad for making you have a miserable holiday.”

            “You know what,” Eleanor sighed grudgingly, “you know me too well.”

            “Only because I’ve been through it myself,” laughed Amy.  “Come on, go out with us.  It really won’t help if you stay home and are miserable.”

“No, I really don’t feel like going out.  But I have an idea.  Why don’t you bring your kids over here,” Eleanor suggested.    “They could keep me company, and we could have our own New Year’s Eve party, and play games and stuff.  Then I wouldn’t have to be alone, and you wouldn’t have to get a babysitter.”

So that’s how the year 1958 was ushered in by the Russell family.   Dad and Grandpa camped up in the mountains, under the Mogollon Rim, and mom stayed home with me; I was one-and-a-half;  my big brother Keith who was almost three; and her nieces and nephews; playing games and eating goodies.

When dad and grandpa got home the next day they were excited. The area they had explored was beautiful.  They camped on a rough forest road called the Chamberlain Trail.  It stretched between a little town named Young and the main highway up on top of the Mogollon Rim.  Their camping spot was close to the Bar-X Ranch, where they stopped to get water in the morning.  After visiting with the owner,  Mr. Clark, they asked if he knew of any property for sale.  He said he had the perfect place, and drove them to a spot where the road ran along Haigler Creek for a few miles.  It was beautiful country covered with tall ponderosa pines, with sycamore and black walnut trees growing along the creek. 

A mile or so south of where Chaimberlain Trail crossed Haigler Creek was a hill that bent the stream to the west.  The road climbed over the lower west end of the hill, where it was covered with wild grape vines.  There was a pretty little meadow nestled below the hill, between the road and the creek.  Mr. Clark owned this property, and although he wasn’t interested in selling, he offered to lease it to dad and grandpa for 40 years, which is how we obtained the property where we built our cabin, and my heart still resides.