The Hood River News, Hood River, OR., March 18, 1949, section 2, page 2
HISTORY OF WINTERS THAT WERE "REALLY" SEVERE
By Arline Winchell Moore
(Ed note: This is the second in a series of recollections by Mrs. Moore on winters in Hood River county of which she has records or that she has personally known.)
There is another story of an early day "tough winter"
which has to do with a train being stalled in the gorge west of Hood River,
near Viento for a period of ten days or more during the winter of 1884-85.
The young blades of town made themselves a considerable "grub stake" packing
supplies to the marooned passengers through snow which they claimed was from
eight to 10 feet deep. The late William (Uncle Billy) Rand, worked a day
shift at this venture, used to describe their activities in a most delightful
way. With him were Jack Luck, Grant Evans and several others whose names
have eluded us. The railroad company paid them $10.00 per day.
Uncle Billy Rand used to say, "That was big money for
those days, but we earned it, every blankety-blank cent of it."
There is a dim childhood memory of my mind which I fix
as the winter of 1892-93 for the reason that there were only two of we children
that winter and the third child (my oldest brother) was born July 4, 1893.
Our old home was just south of the Pine Grove school. As a matter of fact,
the school stood on the north line of our property. The Warren Wells family
was living on the present J.D. Lester place that winter. One stormy day brought
an urgent call for assistance to our door. I do not remember what the illness
was, but, somehow, I think it was a "blessed event." There is no recollection
left with me now of what we did upon reaching their home. Only the rush to
get ready to leave is with me and a picture of the trip to their home through
almost blinding snow. Dad went in advance along the trail, which extended
through rather thick, tall timber, driving a little, dark horse hitched to
one of those three-cornered snow plow contraptions with which every pioneer
used to open trails and roadways. The thing was simply three heavy timbers
fastened together with a pointed front end and a square back the width of
the trail or roadway to be opened. I came next and mother last with sister
riding "piggyback." The snow seemed to stretch away from the trail into the
timber at just about the level of my father's shoulders. I remember that
when we went there again after the storm had passed and that I could not
see over the snow's edge beside the trail.
The winter of 1898-99 is another that lingers with me
most unpleasantly. The snow came early and lingered into March of the following
year. The first thing that comes back to me poignantly was the lingering
illness of our Uncle Mark, my father's only brother, and the great difficulty
of keeping fuel on hand for the little black heater that stood in his room.
By this time we were four children, three of us old enough to assist a little
with the chores. The constant battle to keep the paths open to the out buildings
is still a very accurate memory. Uncle Mark's death in early December was
a shock to we children. Dad and Mother had been away on some unavoidable
errand for the most part of the day. Like every child, we loved to play in
the snow. We had so much fun that afternoon that we forgot to take care of
the fire in the Uncle Mark's room as we had been directed to do. It was dusk
before we remembered and the room was very cold. We had trouble starting
the fire and we noticed that Uncle Mark didn't answer us when we asked if
he were cold. For a long time we thought he had died because we let the fire
go out. We were a pair of the extremely chastened little girls for some time
thereafter.
Also, that was our first winter without the great fireplace
before which we had passed so many pleasant winter evenings. In the manner
of many pioneer homes, the old fireplace was in the middle of the house,
with two faces, and built of the natural grey rocks that abounds here. It
was a huge thing that would hold several sticks of four-foot wood. There
were two swinging arms that could be turned out of the fire when no big iron
kettles were steaming there, which afforded a wonderful place on which to
dry boots and other outdoor clothing. Almost every evening, we sat on a big
black bear rug and popped corn or roasted apples over the lovely red coals
that glowed there. Sometimes we were told tales of the other days and others
we listened to someone read Grimes fairy tales. Added living space had demanded
its removal. We missed that old fireplace and couldn't adjust ourselves to
other activities to fill the time once passed so pleasantly before it's great,
cheerful mouth.
On January 1, 1899, there was a blanket of approximately
12" of snow and the mercury was sliding downward. Daytime would sometimes
push it up to the "more snow point." My youngest brother was born January
6, 1899. I think old Dock Stork must have frosted this toes that night, for
the thermometer registered 19 below zero with the snow at about four feet.
During the next 20 days, the temperature range from 14 to 20 below continuously.
Making the conditions more difficult in our house, all of us were entertaining
a nice little case of mumps, even our dad joined the agony. And I guess it
was real agony with him. He seemed to feel worse than all the rest of us
together. Poor mother, with a tiny baby in hand, must have had about all
she could take.
(To Be Continued)
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© Jeffrey L. Elmer