HIGHWAYS, DIRT ROADS AND TRAILS
Across and
around the obvious wet lands of
In 1927 there was no direct public route between our forty
acres and the
We could see straight across the lowlands to the ridge
where the village was located, and at most times we could hear its louder
sounds as they echoed across. We could
hear Oscar Tralmer’s big gasoline engine as it labored long hours at grinding
feed for cattle, chickens, etc.
“Pop! - -
- Pop! - - - Pop! - - - .” It was slow
cadence for even a single cylinder. The
smaller machines sounded far more ambitious:
“Pop,
Pop, Pop, Pop, - - - .” As the crows
flew in
There was a trail of sorts across through Bauman’s and
farther along it cut through Frank Kukuck’s domain. Understand, using this route required
permission from both farmers; otherwise it would be trespassing. Anyhow there was no guaranty that we could
“make it through”; it was best to use the horses when attempting that shortcut. Our “four corners” at the time was only
wishful thinking, pending actual construction of a proposed public road across
the lowlands. In reality it was a point
on the townline where a northbound dirt road intersected. This led through still more wilderness, one
mile along which stood the
When I mention a proposed road across the lowlands, it’s
not that I had foreknowledge of anything better to come. As a kid I learned of this new road only as I
saw it gradually take shape. That could
have covered two years or longer. During
our first winter at the bluff I attended the
I can recall no incident at any time when their right to
cross our place was challenged. At a
later time, upon an occasion, the Bauman’s did attempt to deny my father the
privilege of passage across their farm on his way to Frank Kukucks; seems like
they even demanded that he turn around before he left their place, but it
didn’t work. My father was known to
invite his opponents to “go to h _ _ _ “ (the hot place), and there the matter
would rest. There were recurrent feuds
between us and the Bauman’s. At these
times there would be absolutely no social relations with them. As they would go “barreling” through our
place, Lorena, their wife and mother, would stare straight ahead, as rigid as a
bust in bronze or in marble. If another
route had been available, I think they would have preferred using it! But we were not continually “on the outs”;
these spells would come and they would go.
After all, we did attend the same church!
During that first winter, 1927 - ‘28, while I was trudging
through snow to Mound View, my father was spending quite a bit of time in the
opposite direction on the south edge of the lowlands. He was working along with our neighbor who
lived across to the north of the townline road.
Norman Hearth was a character, if ever there was one. He could probably sign his name and that
would be about the extent of his formal education. His vocabulary could be most amusing. When
John Kellogg told my father early on that the wise and
safe course relative to Norman was to maintain an adequate distance; but Dad
made his own decisions; and because a little maintenance work at the school
house and a little time now and then on local roads provided convenient extra
cash, Dad was with Norman intermittently.
Thus Dad was becoming familiar with the territory south of
us; and as he would tell of the day’s work in the evenings at home, in a
vicarious sort of way I was also learning of and gaining a concept of the
opposite side of the lowlands. Most
obvious in our view of that direction was a continuous range of hills that
extended from the distant east beyond Oakdale, then to our south and clear
around Tomah to the horizon where the sun went down. Much of what we observed was therefore wild,
akin to the western frontier -
The real boundary, so far as we were concerned, was the
double tracked mainline railroad which more or less skirted the base of the
hills and bluffs to our south. Trains
roared through at all hours. The
It was probably between a mile and a half and two miles
straight across from our place to this good road; but our only access to it in
1927 was by way of Oakdale via the circuitous five miles to our east. So we could only “drool” as we thought of a
better road into town; and we would continue sinking into the mud up to our
axles as we “opted out” for the more direct approach. It’s true, vehicles did become stuck, right
in the middle of the townline road. Sometimes
one of us would “hoof it” on home for the horses. On one occasion the Model “T” remained
“stuck” until we returned the following day.
It was Lady and Queen to the rescue.
Parenthetically I interject a few comments relative to our
horses back then. As I remember, female
animals were generally preferred by the farmers (the old gray mare ain’t what
she used to be.); although castrated males could be among the most gentle of
creatures (“Old Dobbin” and the shay).
Lady and Queen were a medium sized pair.
Our mother, who never could develop confidence at the steering wheel, had
special attachment to “Lady”. With this
patient animal hitched to the buggy our “mom” never hesitated to take to the
road, “no matter where it was going”.
Dad used to tell his friends that he had a “willing” team. Lady was willing to work and Queen was
willing to let Lady do it! During our
last years in
I would far rather have a gifted story teller describe the
new road as it gradually took shape.
Needless to say, when it was finally open to traffic, it was not much in
the way of any improvement. Rather it
was just another stereotyped example of what the townline had been all the
time. One stretch of the “new” road
would have scarcely more than the pre-existing peat bog as foundation for its
roadbed. This meant that some portions
would be virtually impassable following heavy rainfall. At the north end where it lay along our
property there was high ground; and over at the south end it was more of the
same. The main advantage would be a
shorter distance to a decent road: Two miles or less across to “double ‘C’”
compared to a full five miles on the direct, but equally impassable townline.
This world is full of enigmas, and construction of the new
route was no exception. Actual work
began across from us where connection would be made with the county road
between Oakdale and Tomah. That first
winter, 1928, Norman Hearth and my father were working in that area clearing
right-of-way. Uncle Arlie, my mother’s
older brother, was also on the labor force.
How many men were at work? I
never knew. There was a limited number
of county men; for I remember Dad’s accounts of difficulties they were having
with their equipment. The project no
doubt began in that sector purely because machinery could be brought there over
a good road.
Work that winter was confined to perhaps a half mile where
the new road would follow a free-flowing stream of clear water which rippled
over a clean, sandy bed. It would
average less than a foot in depth; yet there were deeper pools at
intervals. The stream would be six or
even eight feet at its greatest breadth, and in some of the deeper spots its
width may have been only half that. As
you would expect, the water disappeared in places beneath fallen trees, brush
and other dead vegetation. This stream
did not follow a natural channel; it was far from that! It had been dredged out at some earlier time,
and it followed a very unnatural straight line; it also flowed to the north,
and it bore considerably to the east as it continued in that direction. Another unique feature of this ditch was that
it grew progressively deeper as it continued “down - stream”. In reality this excavation penetrated another
sandy ridge, so typical of those flat wetlands.
At the deepest point of the excavation the water flowed ten, or twelve feet,
or even farther below the original profile of the hilltop. According to folklore, a floating type of
dredge had been used; and sufficient water to float the barge-like rig had been
a real problem. The stream originated
either at the base of or among those hills beyond the railroad; and were it
passed beneath the parallel highway there was not much variation in seasonal
flow. Without that artificial drainage
canal there could have been some real soupy swampland there abouts.
The dredge had left an embankment of excavated material
along both sides of the channel and now the plan was to level off that ridge
along the west bank of the ditch and use that as the new roadbed. At the point where this canal passed through
the highest part of the sandy ridge, the drainage angled off even more abruptly
to the east; and here the new right-of-way bore back to the north. It also led back down the gentle slope where
it again entered the nettles and the peat bogs.
And just west was the area where recurrent wildfire exposed the charred
stumps and reject logs of what once had been a pine forest. There were several acres of that.
I have but one memory of a visit to this construction
project. At seven years old I trudged
along beside my “Pa”. He wanted to show
me something he had seen “on the job”.
As we made our way on foot, it was fall, or even Christmas Vacation
(from school). Dad was not much “of a
hand at walking, any time or any place; so these rare occasions really stand
out. Riding in a wagon behind a leisurely
team of horses, well that was almost the same in its effects; yet walking
beside a grown-up with plenty of time to “see” things and the opportunity to
really “talk things over”, that was very special! The trail across the marsh is rather blurred
as I attempt to reminisce on that day.
It’s possible Dad and Norman had been taking their horses back and forth
through there. Horses were a common
denominator in terms of transport; they were also used extensively in land
clearing. There was no ground cover of
snow at the time; but the peat was frozen, and walking was fairly easy. We had the wide, beautiful world to
ourselves, a claim we can seldom make nowadays.
The sky was overcast, and there was no direct sunlight.
At length we made our way up the north slope of the
glacial ridge where litter from the scrubby forest carpeted the earth; and
presently we could “look” on across to the county trunk road and the railroad
embankment. There remained but one
obvious obstruction; and it stood right on the center of the path of the
otherwise nearly cleared right-of-way. A
stately Elm, it was very mature, and huge compared to lesser growth in adjacent
lowlands. While it stood within the
higher regions, it was somewhere midway between the crest of the ridge and the
distant railroad. I remember the outline
of that tree so well; it was tall and well-proportioned. It must have sprouted and taken root way back
when the dredge had been at work.
But the big tree was not the object of our adventure. As we proceeded southward to where the
“ditch” was not as deep Dad began calling my attention to our left and just
below us. That was where the stream of
crystal water flowed over its sandy bed.
To men and boys nothing can be more exciting or stimulating than the
sudden appearance of fully grown fish in their natural habitat; and as we
proceeded at our leisure we saw them in five or six different places in that
pretty stream of clear water. Maybe
there would be one or two at first, then we might spot three or four others in
a place; and then they would dart for cover.
They were some species of trout; that was Dad’s guess, and some were
well beyond the “pan-fry” stage. It was
a dream, but reality to a young boy, to be fixed forever in his treasury of
memories.
Subsequently we would hear it from Dad: the final days of
the Elm and its valiant resistance to the road builders. I would never again see that tree, but I
would hear the story of the men and their prolonged struggle to get it out of
the way. Coming as it did from my
father, and being more or less translated through the ears and understanding of
a seven-year-old, my version of the narrative can certainly be inaccurate. I had the impression that they had tried to
bring it down without first sawing it off at the stump. That could loosen a significant portion of
its roots from the ground. At some time a heavy charge of dynamite was
detonated at the base of the tree; it seems like there had been an entire
boxful, or even more. It’s astonishing,
the energy that’s released when that stuff goes off. In the case of only three or four “sticks” being
used a cloud of dirt and combustion products will be thrown sky-high; and watch
out when the debris begins cascading back to earth. While much of it will go in a column straight
up, other pieces of wood, rock, etc. will be catapulted an unbelievable
distance as they travel at an angle to the center of the blast. However, when the dust had cleared that old
tree still stood where it had been for years.
Elm can be tough; try splitting it sometime for fire wood! However, the country men remained confident;
all those exposed roots would soon give way.
They had a big Caterpillar Tractor on the job, and that should bring an
early climax to the tree’s resistance.
Those old “crawlers” sure looked preponderant to us kids;
and adult men would almost fight among themselves to get onto the things and
“show the world how to use them”. But
even that old monster failed to finish the job.
I don’t know how early on Caterpillar was turning out sixty horse power
machines; but whatever was available at the time, the County Highway Department
would certainly own the heaviest and most powerful. Dad described this one as “getting into the
pull” until its tracks began to “slip” beneath it. As I remember, the tree was gone when I was
through there again - and so were the fish!
When that old Elm finally yielded its position, it’s
entirely possible that living trees were in its vicinity which are still alive
and well, so many decades later. Year by
year such individuals continue to reach upward and outward for the sunlight,
and their main trunks continue to expand in circumference. A healthy tree is close to a perfect example
of perpetual life. A tree that has
survived for a century is, indeed, a marvel of the plant kingdom; we need not
go on to the Sequoias or the Bristle Cone Pine.
Take a modern chain saw and in only minutes a Centenarian can be brought
low; it can cause the ground to shudder and tremble when its bulk hits the
earth. But how soon can we have a
replacement standing in its place of anywhere near equal quality and value?”
Sometime during the ensuing months a county-owned
Caterpillar came clunking and clattering down the townline road from the west;
and it was towing a whole train of road building and maintenance
equipment. There could have been four or
even five different items; and they were hooked together in tandem, trailer
behind trailer behind trailer. I
happened to be there as it approached the northwest corner of our forty acres. There was a wagon carrying a van-like thing
which resembled a box car, railroad style.
There were other wagons which carried tanks and crates of various kinds;
but the central theme was a huge “grader”, designed to be drawn, when in use,
by a heavy tractor.
Alongside today’s self-propelled rigs with all their
hydraulics and precision controls, this old-timer would still be
monstrous. Its heavy steel beam
framework, borne on steel-rim wheels, reached considerable height above the
ground. Its blade was controlled
manually by an operator who, of necessity, rode near its rear end. The blade was raised and lowered by a pair of
steel “tiller” wheels, somewhat like pilot wheels on ships. The two wheels worked independently, and thus
the opposite ends (right and left) of the blade could be adjusted
separately. The grader blade could also
be presented squarely to the road’s surface; or it could be angled, either to
the right or to the left. In short it
required at least two men to get anything done with that prehistoric beast, but
they got results! It required real
coordination as well as cooperation between the man on the crawler tractor and
the man who attempted to control the grader.
Ordinarily it would do its best work while pursuing a straight
line. Any necessity to back the thing up
would be a clumsy frustrating operation.
A smaller version of grader was designed to be drawn by
horses or mules, and they were also easier to manage; but still the “mule
skinner” had the mechanical controls to operate. A “superman” with a well trained pair of
animals could learn after much experience to do fairly well “on his own”.
The huge tractor-drawn rig shaped and graded the new road
along the east boundary of our farm.
Until 1936 when we came west there would never be any surface material
applied; it would remain just as it came from nature - bare earth and nothing
more. Although the grader was slow, I
thought as a boy that it did a wonderful piece of work. Kids are imitators; and I was soon building
toy-sized roads all over our sandy yard, using my mother’s garden hoe as my
“grader”. Mom was proud as could be of
my miniature highways; and I even overheard her tell Dad that I should some day
become a builder of full sized roadways.
The big grader stopped short of reaching the southeast corner of our
property, for ten to fifteen rods of that dropped down into the lowlands. And presently Baumans were no longer using
our driveway; they now had their own access to a public road. And just to add a little spice to things, I
suddenly remember the Kennedy’s again.
Being a bit on the illiterate order, they always translated “Bauman”
into the Bammels”
Regarding the mile or more of the new road remaining to be
constructed between our place and the higher ground to the south, that would
require a different type of equipment.
At least there now existed a genuine “four corners” where the northeast
corner of our property lay along the townline. On the intervening lowlands of
the new road and at different times and on different portions, two different
dredges would be at work. A deep, wide
ditch would be dug alongside the new route; and the ridge of dirt the diggers
left along its bank would be more or less leveled to form sort of a
roadway. This left much to be desired,
and it never did “stand up” as it should even under light traffic. There were bottomless soup holes in spots,
and in still other places the bank was leveled off only until the roadway was
barely eighteen inches wider than the width of the wheel tracks. A deviation of only a foot on the “off” side
could send a car or a wagon over an abrupt thirty inch drop. If the vehicle should veer off the opposite
side it could easily slide on into the deep ditch.
These “roads” worked best where quantities of sand or clay
were dredged up from beneath the peat; but in too many spots that build up
layer of vegetation during past years was just too deep. Such were the limitations in those early
decades of the automobile age. At least
the dredging provided a measure of drainage.
If the water table could be lowered as much as two feet, that would
help. Ford and many others went all out
to manufacture cars and sell them to the citizens. Let someone else worry about roads and
highways; but without good roads the Tin Lizzies were certainly inhibited in
their usefulness.
Our first trip over the new road was in the
In 1931 an
