History of Early Pioneer Families of Hood River, Oregon. Compiled by Mrs. D.M. Coon

FREDERICK HOMER BALCH                  D.M.C.          1885

     James A. Balch, father of Fred Balch was born at Sullivan, Indiana, where he was raised and, educated. He was a student at Wabash College, then studied law but was never admitted to practice. He came to Oregon in 1851 and was a photographer in Silverton in 1857. Those who knew him at that time speak of him as a very melancholy man, who spent much of his time in playing the violin.
     Harriet Snider was born in Ohio. She was a cousin of Bishop Wright, a well-known pioneer missionary of Oregon. Bishop Wright is better known now as the father of the Wright Brothers, the aviators. At an early age Harriet became an orphan and was adopted by Dr. Crawford and crossed the plains in 1852 in his train Dr. Crawford settled in Linn Co. and the adopted daughter met Mrs. Balch and married him. They settled at Lebanon where Frederick Homer Balch was born Dec. 10, 1861.
     At the beginning of the Civil War the father enlisted in the Oregon Infantry and was a lieutenant in Company F. Eighteenth Regiment, stationed at Steilaccom, Washington. At the close of the war he taught school at Olympia, Tumwater and other places. In 1871 the family moved to Klickitat County, Washington, where the father engaged in the stock business; they lived for some time in Goldendale, Mr. Balch being County Judge.
     In 1875 the family moved to Mt. Tabor, East of Portland, where Fred attended school for one year. As a boy he was fond of a joke even if the joke was on himself, as a student he showed a decided taste for mathematics, history, poetry and literature in general but was averse to the study of grammar; to use his own words he "hadn't any use for grammar". Ten years later he spoke of this incident to his former teacher, saying "I found out my mistake and paid for it by the hardest kind of work". From Mt. Tabor the family moved back to the ranch in Klickitat Co.
     The father becoming incapacitated by the infirmities of age the burden of providing for the family fell upon the shoulders of the son. In the day time Fred worked long hours, sometimes at the plow, sometimes in the saddle, at one time wielding pick and shovel as a common laborer on the railroad, but always at night he studied or wrote and his manuscripts accumulated.
     He gave little thought to religious matters, but believed himself to be an infidel until one night at, a meeting in a little schoolhouse near Lyle his spiritual eyes wore opened and like Paul he turned about and labored for Christ and Humanity. All his writings that did not square with this new spiritual vision were consigned to the flames.
     About this time he was saddened by the death of a very dear friend, Miss Whitcomb. His poem "Genevieve" was written in memory of her. The death of his oldest mister added another sorrow to his life, but there was no time for weeping, he had a work to do and his time was filled with new duties.
     He organized a church at Pine Hill, near his home. Land was donated from the Whitcomb farm and a neat little building erected. At White Salmon another church was organized and a church built on the Jewett farm. Then he came to Hood River organizing a Congregational Church at the Barrett School house. Regular services wore held there until a substantial building was erected in 1887.
     All this time he continued to study and write. The "Bridge of the Gods" was completed but he knew his deficiencies and sought help to make it meet the requirements of the printer. Mrs. A.E. Barrett came to his assistance and together they went through the manuscript correcting and arranging, then he copied it and sent it forth in search of a publisher. Many trips were made by it before it found one who appreciated its merits. A.C. McClurg and Co. printed the first volume in 1890, about the same time that Mr. Balch entered the Theological School at Oakland, California. In the spring of 1891 his health began to fail and he came home to Hood River to recuperate, failing to improve he went to his old home at Lyle, but found no relief there; then he went to Portland and entered the Good Samaritan Hospital where he died two weeks later, June 3, 1891. His mother had been in poor health for several years and six weeks later was buried by his side in the cemetery near Lyle. His sister, Mrs. Gertrude Balch Ingalls lives in Hood River, Herbert Balch, a brother is in California. The father died in Indiana.
     The "Bridge of the Gods" is now in its eighteenth edition. It was dramatized by Miss Mabel Ferris and given in Astoria in 1913, also in Multnomah Field in Portland and in Oklahoma. In September 1908 the Historical Society of The Dalles visited the little building at Pine Hill and held appropriate memorial exercise. The little church, which he was instrumental in building, had been sold to the school district and was being used for a school house and was that day christened "The Balch School". A block of granite had been brought from near his old home and on it were chiseled his name, date of birth and date of death and the words "Bridge of the Gods". At the memorial exercises his poem "Genevieve" was read, also a poem dedicated to him by T.R. Coen who taught the Mt. Tabor school when Mr. Balch was a student at that place. A tribute to him from the pen of Dr. T.L. Eliot of Portland was also read. A portion of Dr. Eliot's tribute is here given also part of "The Hills of Lyle" and the poem "Genevieve" in full.

"A Tribute to Frederick Balch"

     "I recall in him a man unartificial, magnanimous and sincere, a minister of the great gospel shining through his words of appeal. His mind and heart were set to great tasks. His imagination and intellect were expanding every year he lived, retaining a childlike eagerness and readiness for truth and life from every source."

"The Hills of Lyle"

"How clear the sun comes o'er the hills
And caste long shadows, for awhile
On rocks and plains, on lakes and rile
While song of larks the morning fills
To praise the grand old hills of Lyle.

Here Balch's spirit bowed in prayer,
'Mid Natures charms and Heavens smile
And sang of Genevieve the fair,
No more with him in life to share
Earth's joys, among the hills of Lyle.

And here the mound of earth in shown
And granite rock, to mark awhile
The poet's ashes 'neath the stone
He bore the cross but not the crown
Among the sacred hills of Lyle.

The bridge and time shall be no more,
But human hearts made free from guile
Shall feel no pain on any shore;
And thus my life shall keep in store
Sweet thoughts of thee, blest hills of Lyle.

Lift up mine eyes unto the hills,
From all below find rest awhile;
Be free my soul from all thine ills,
Look up and live for God so wills
And these are His brown hills of Lyle."

"Genevieve"

"I learned a lesson Genevieve,
Tonight, from what the zither said,
It's swift notes taught me not to grieve
No mourn for pleasures fled.

Be brave! the keen notes rung;
Be brave; speak Strong
Bold words; be sorrow from you flung;
'Twill not be long.

She watches from afar;
Would you falter in her sight?
She, lifted like a star,
She sees you day and night.

Aye, her deep pity knows
All the cares that on you press;
All your sorrows, woes;
Think you she loves you less? -

O strong the words the zither said,
But weak the human heart!
Ah, me! I hunger for my dead
With pain beyond the zither's art.

The zither sings a song divine,
Of purpose grand and high;
I sea a grave beneath the pine,
The river flowing by.

I see the reach of weary years,
Of burdens bitter to be borne;
Of deathless memories stained with tears,
O zither can I cease to mourn?

Alas! I failed to learn the lesson, Genevieve,
Tonight from what the zither said;
The spell that taught me not to grieve,
That spell is with the music fled.

Be brave, be true, be strong;
Speak worrds that burn;
Defend the right, denounce the wrong;
Be worthy her you mourn.

This was what the zither said,
What it told me, Genevieve,
Was it your message, your's my dead
Saying, "Cease to grieve"?

I will be brave and true,
Fight out the battle to the end,
Live a life not unworthy you;
Live a life unstained, sweet friend.

But alas I for the years erewhile;
Alas for the glad years fled;
Ah, me! For a look or a smile
From thee, O silent dead!"

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