1931 - PART IV - “A” - Spring and Summer

     by: Joseph M. Carr, Salem, Oregon began in August 1998.

                      A first of 3 parts: A, B, & C

March winds, April showers, May flowers; or is it that March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb?  Anyhow, within the opening weeks of the fourth month we, in Wisconsin, could be reasonably sure that the worst of the season was now over.  There could still be what we called Robin’s winter.  I have vivid memories of wading on our way to school through new snow, knee-deep on April Fool’s Day.  Robin’s winter in the spring was not exactly the same as what we referred to as Indian summer in the fall.  I don’t recall that we had wintry weather to any extent at the beginning of April, 1931.  Dad was away for a few days at the time, and from my subsequent memories of his absence and from his return that spring, it would seem that April was a bit retarded with its showers.  It’s also entirely possible that March and its windy character was somewhat reluctant that year in relaxing its grip.  Our father may have been gone for up to a week, but the duration of his journey is more or less low profile.  I can only speak for myself when I say I was eager to have him return.  My mother no doubt shared that anticipation, and as a child my sister always was “Daddy’s Girl”.  And there was excitement as well along with his absence; there was money in his pockets, and that should ring the bell!  His avowed purpose when he had set out was to find and to bring home a good car - a really good one for once!  Well — - - - “the best laid plans”- - -—; we all know how it goes.  For the time at least, Dad had already abandoned his dream of the trucking business, but that dream would not die, rather it would lay dormant.  Out in the Pacific Northwest, 1937, he would actually have a go at it; but that would blow over in just a short time.  Although that venture was financially a disaster, he would maintain, “I still believe “they’s” money to be had in trucking”. (“They’s” was a local perversion of “There is.”)

We return to his objective when he had boarded a train to the big city in Wisconsin.  There was general consensus among the men who claimed to know from the inside-out, that to get a real good deal on a car you had better go to a big town.  It was more or less like the attitude among the cattle: the grass is always greener beyond the fence.  Rumors were both consistent and persistent that in those distant cities there were no end of good, clean used cars at real sensible prices.  In fact it was asserted among local gossips that at the right time and place they were practically giving those cars away!

However, expectation is one thing, and the experience of reality can be so entirely different.  After a day or two in Milwaukee Dad began to reconsider.  He concluded that he might just as well go on over to Madison.  So far he had encountered only disappointment, and in Madison there were in-laws and relatives where he could spend a day or so in more congenial company.  That afternoon he called on his Aunt Lizzie Tuttle where he was welcomed and encouraged to stay for the night; and at this point the gloom appeared to be lifting; light was beginning to shine through.

Sadie, Dad’s cousin and daughter of his Aunt Lizzie and Uncle Will, was still at home with her parents in Madison.  With subdued voice and gentle manners, she had made her career that of elementary teacher, public school system.  She was quiet, unobtrusive, definitely among the meek and mild; and yet she possessed an inner strength which even the most pushy and domineering must recognize.  She was a bit older than Dad which would put her around forty at the time.  The two had been great friends during childhood and that no doubt had influenced his stopping there first on his swing through the state’s capital.  Sadie had been married, but it had not endured.  All the same she had continued to be a real princess, and where ever she worked or socialized she was loved and respected; a warm, bright spot in a stormy and troubled world.

Sadie was at least as enthusiastic as my father at their being back together.  Of course, Dad would begin immediate explanation as to why and how he happened to be there; and as he began unraveling his frustrations, Sadie almost instantly went for her phone and address book.  “Just a moment, Haldane, I have a call to make!”  Most of Dad’s relatives addressed him by his middle name, and for some reason or another he definitely resented that; but so long as it was Sadie who had spoken, almost anything could be tolerated.  “You may be interested in a car which I just happen to know of.  If you like I can drive you over right away to see it.”

Miracles do occur and witnesses will agree; mere coincidence is an inadequate explanation.  The reunited cousins were not out for long, but by the time they returned the transaction had already been made.  It had been love at first sight, his heart had begun skipping beats; and Dad had certainly gone into a tailspin.  (I was still ten years old and I would do the same when he brought it home.)  The car was four years old, clean as could be.  The paint was still like new, and that beckoning interior was practically dust free.  It was a 1927 Chevrolet four-door sedan; and Dad just knew he was dreaming when he heard what it would cost: $175.00.  A good story demands that essential details be included.  Simultaneously the attention span must not be violated.  As to the “miracle” just referred to, there are more details.  To me at the time it was most compelling and it still is!  Anyone curious or otherwise interested have ways of letting me know, and I will be ready to supply the expansion.

At home we were eager for Dad’s return, and as you may well believe, he was now more than “chomping at the bit” to be on his way.  Boy, this was to be the greatest trip ever!  But first he had to swing around by our Aunt Alice Thorson’s who also lived at Madison; and was he ever in for another surprise, again unexpected!  Aunt Alice did not hesitate to indicate shock and even chagrin when she opened her door and saw my father standing there.  She was also taken by surprise!

Aunt Alice was another gentle and kind person, one of the most patient and forbearing I’ve ever known.  She would not intentionally injure another person’s feelings.  I guess, at the moment, she just didn’t know what to say, and neither did my father.  I heard of this encounter through him and therefore it’s 100% second hand when it comes from me.  “Well, it’s alright to tell Cora. (Her sister, my mother) You will probably do that anyway! Why?  Why couldn’t you have waited another week, or ten days?  I was trying to keep this as a surprise!  You won’t tell my mother, will you, please?”  Dad retained confidence in that he never did tell Grandma.  It was a surprise to her; and neither did Grandma especially appreciate it.  She later retaliated to a limited extent by taking it out on my father!  The surprise was, of course, our new cousin, Alice Lucille Thorson, born on April 15, 1931.  Our infant brother Bill was then at the midpoint of his first year.  We older kids had advance information of just a few days, so our “surprise” was a bit watered down.  We were all very enthusiastic, to say the least.

Grandma’s act of retaliation is also second hand, as you might expect, coming form me.  I also heard of it through my father.  He was over at Grandma’s house when the new granddaughter was introduced.  He was probably the one who had brought the baby over.  Anyhow, there are routine procedures, like changing the diapers.  Back then there were no “disposables”, at least not to our knowledge.  The mother had placed her infant upon the kitchen table as a convenience for the ritual.  Grandma made no objection to that at all.  There were others present, positive identity would now be a problem.  The thing of it is, Grandma did object to something else; this theater of operations was no place for Dad to be loafing around!  Very deliberately and obviously she crowded in and superimposed her own person between Dad and the object of this gathering.  Never must he be permitted to gaze upon all that bare anatomy!  As I’ve said before, I liked my grandma, and I have broken faith by telling another one at her expense.  “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?”

Recurrently I find myself wandering off down the side-roads and through those byways which are definitely off the beaten path.  Many times it’s done deliberately, perhaps in quest of variety.  Again it may be an effort to escape, an urge to “get away from it all”.  The mainstream has become so monotonous it its efficiency; at times it is maddening.  The stress it engenders can be awful.  I did not intend to complain; never before have I had it so good!

I will attempt to sum it up in a few brief sentences, then I will try real hard to “cram” it all into the proverbial “nut shell”.  Now that I’ve stated my objective I do not really expect to succeed!

Out here in the Pacific Northwest wildfire is one of our problems.  Firefighting ranks high annually.  Whether we consider manpower, natural resources, technology, expertise or finances.  But that’s hardly significant to residents in Southern California, or say, in Florida earlier this year. (1998) but we do have the problem to live with, and there are many categories to consider.  In earlier times, it ran more to forest fires, and we do not boast when we admit that there have been some really bad ones.  In recent decades our publicity has been aimed more on field burning and it’s damaging effects on our overall well-being.  Traditionally our worst season for fire has been our warm, dry summers, say July through September.

In Monroe County, Wisconsin, one of our critical wildfire seasons came in early spring.  I’m writing of our plight as rural people sixty-five years ago.  I recognize that back beyond that era there were raging forest fires at different times and places in Midwestern states which still evoke stories, told and retold in popular publications.  Uncontrolled fire is a natural force to be reckoned with and even today it continues to threaten property and resources of every description.  Death from burning and suffocation appear all too often in our newsprint and newscasts.

We lived on that forty acres from 1927 to 1936.  I have previously mentioned the Townline road, the bluff, the swamps, and the marsh hay; and early spring was a dangerous time: watch out for fire!  During those nine years we could easily have burned out on several occasions.  There was an uninterrupted strip of this lowland extending nearly all the way from our property into Tomah, five miles west.  This corridor was bordered on the north by the Townline road and on the south by the double-tracked mainline Milwaukee Road.  The railroad right of way provided a reasonably secure firebreak.  The road on the north side did provide access to some extent for firefighting men and whatever equipment they might be using.  Until the summer of 1931 this strip was maybe a mile and a half wide on its east end where we lived.  There was a road of sorts across here which also fronted on our property.  This road provided even less firebreak than did the Townline, but it was still better than nothing at all.  Otherwise, between our place and town there were no other roads across this corridor, only a couple of horse and wagon trails.

A word of explanation is now appropriate, approvable, or otherwise to be appreciated.  This choice of adjective is up to you; any one of the three will be correct!  English language has never been known for simplicity; and I fully expect to be advised: There are better ways of expression.  And there is no valid reason why I should limit my efforts to words including a double “P”.  Aw, forget it, I was only trying to explain!  Early spring was definitely high risk in terms of wildfire.

I have already introduced this wilderness area in Monroe County, Wisconsin.  There were several square miles of inaccessible territory in this one corridor alone.  In normal years natural rainfall was abundant as were also its lightning and thunder.  Hot, humid atmosphere contributed to phenomenal growth of vegetation.  Temperatures of ninety degrees, or even 100+ would sometimes persist for days, around the clock.  These lowlands remained virtually as they had come from the hand of nature.  Variety was the word.  There was native marsh grass which grew broad and stiff.  In its mature state we called it “cut grass”. (razor-sharp edges) Another descriptive name was “rip-gut”.  In its earlier growth it was often harvested as “marsh hay”.  In some areas there was dense growth of small willow brush.  In other openings weeds predominated, notable the nettles, growing to an average height of four, or even five feet.  (And mosquitoes, we never could explain which was worse: insect bites or nettle stings.)  In other spots there were acres of wild raspberries.  Again it was frustrating.  I never could find anything resembling ripe fruit.  Several plausible reasons might be offered, but that never relieved the disappointment!  There were also extensive deciduous woodlands.  Again the trees grew tall, but were crowded closely together.  Some we called “popple”, no doubt a local perversion of “poplar”.  Others were the white birch.  Valued among Native Americans for its bark.  These ambitious growths of trees were commercially worthless; they didn’t even make decent firewood.  In yet another eight to ten acre tract were the blackened remains of a former stand of Pine.  Obviously it had been logged off in previous years, and the charred remains of the stumps put real life into our wood-burning stoves.  And we should also note the small forests of Tamarack, a type of larch which practically “floats” on the surface of water-saturated swamplands.  These trees resembled conifers except that their “needles” turned brown in winter and fell from the trees.

Water!  It’s not a basic element, but it is a substance basic to life.  In my school days water was a pristine example of the three states in which matter exists.  Within a relatively short range of temperature water could be solid, liquid, or gas.  I am naive enough to assume that it’s still true.  Either Fahrenheit or Centigrade, at the range of degrees to which homo sapiens most readily adapts water is liquid.  As water’s temperature climbs the liquid evaporates and becomes gas.  But at any point between freezing and boiling the transfer from liquid to vapor continues.  As the thermometer drops below humanity’s preferred range fluid water converts to ice and becomes solid.  Ice is peculiar in that as temperature continues to drop the solid water does an about-face and begins to expand, thus affecting its density.  Regardless of how low its temperature may drop, ice will invariably continue to float.  In this process of expansion ice also exerts enormous pressure.  Another characteristic of water is that while in a solid state it will revert directly back into a vapor (gas).  This process is known as “sublimation”.

Perhaps now we can form a conclusion.  All that mass of vegetation in our lowlands would remain frozen for weeks, even months.  It would probably be tinder dry whenever the breath of spring arrived.  Add to that the free oxygen supplied by March winds, and the first spark from any source was all that was lacking.  Fire in the marshes and swamps was not absolutely predictable, but we soon learned to remain alert to its possibilities.

Over the years 1927 to 1936 these wildfires were of such a character and so commonplace that I could not hope to remember them all.  I would not claim that they occurred annually with clock-like precision; but neither would I insist that there were periods, say three or four consecutive years, when we could forget all about them.  Of the specific times I do remember, one stands out from all the others.  Although I do not contend as to the exact year it occurred, so many of the details of this especially bad one coincide with features of Dad’s trip to Milwaukee and on over to Madison.  The two events fit together almost perfectly, and for that reason I will take the liberty to place the fire right there in the spring of 1931.

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It may have been on a Sunday but that’s only a guess.  The day was fine; nice sunny spring weather with a stiff breeze from the west passing over our forty acres.  Dad was away so our mother, myself, and my sister, younger than I, were in charge of the animals and also of other things.  Everything appeared in order about the place.  Sometime during the forenoon my mother’s face suddenly became anxious and worried.  I had seen the ominous curtain of smoke off in the direction of Tomah at about the same time as she had.  She sent me straight over to alert the neighbor and to call for his help, but what especially impressed me is my memory of her at the well in our farmyard.  We would need all the water we could come by, and when I returned she still stood at that old iron pump, working its handle up and down nonstop until the tank where the live stock drank was full to overflowing.  Its capacity was not great, maybe four, or perhaps five hundred gallons; but my mother was doing whatever she could to meet the crisis.  Obviously, that “pillar of smoke” was coming in our direction.  It seemed to be an “irresistible force” directed at nothing at all like an “immovable object”.  This would call for a miracle of mountainous proportions, and there appeared to be no friendly Red Sea or any impending cloudbursts.  If I could recall complete details during the next critical hours the story would stretch to infinity.  I assure you, from a self-centered viewpoint it will never become boring or monotonous.

There was no spectacular display of divine intervention; I am sure there were those who were praying.  If ever there was a need for divine wisdom, strength and endurance, that need had been suddenly thrust upon us.  People, people, people began converging; many we recognized, many others did not know one another any more than what we knew them.  The threat was real to each person present.  No individual could do a whole lot by himself, but working together for everyone’s benefit, “mountains could be removed.”  And that was the real miracle of that early spring day.  Our firefighting equipment would be scorned and sneered at by many moderns; but in the hands of determined and dedicated men of the time their shovels and their wet gunnysacks went a long way.  Some carried tanks resembling pack packs from which they dispensed water with hand operated pumps.  They were not the ones to belittle our few hundred gallons in our stock tank!

Anyone threatened by that fire, including our family by the bluff, would return to their own tables and their own beds for the night.  There were several isolated and abandoned buildings devoured by the flames that day, but that was all.  There was a ranger station in Tomah and it’s all to their credit that the staff was out there with the rest of us.  It seems like we called them “wardens”.  Sometime during the earlier hours of the battle our neighbor, John Kellogg, and some other men were with us.  They used a “walking” plough drawn by horses and turned up several furrows of fresh earth across a narrow strip of hardwood forest between the Townline road and open fields south and west of our “bluff”.  The plan was to establish a “backfire” which would work its way against the breeze and eventually meet the advancing flames.  Well, the playful (one”1") air currents soon upset that arrangement and the new fire now jumped the rather feeble firebreak.  The entire north side of our mound (perhaps 150 feet high) was burned over; but this blaze was stopped as it progressed around to the lee side on the east flank.

Sometime that afternoon I looked back toward our farmstead, and there I saw a very unfamiliar automobile; but, really, I had been watching for that.  Sure enough, it was Dad!  What a home-coming!  That evening the caring and the curious continued to congregate in our farmyard until well after dark.  There were still burning and smoldering embers of brush and stumps as far as we could see, but the advancing flames had vanished.

- End of part A -