Ed Harvill's home in Ephrata grew as he did

Columbia Basin history

The Grant County Historical Society has compiled several volumes of Grant County history. The books are available for purchase at the Historical Society Museum gift shop in Ephrata.

I bought the series in 2009 and secured permission to relay some of the history through this column.

Memories of Grant County, compiled from taped interviews by the Grant County Historical Society.

Today we continue the story of Ephrata, by Ed Harvill, recorded on Oct. 11, 1977:

Dad worked around Wenatchee for a couple of years doing odd jobs and working in an orchard. I think part of the time he actually worked for his uncle. But with the orchard experience he was able to land a job with a man by the name of E.A. Wyman in Ephrata, who had started an orchard outside of town here.

It was about five years old. We have a picture of him standing in it and the trees were probably three or four feet higher than he was, so it was a young orchard.

He brought the family down in 1911 and they moved to a house that was standing where the Grant School is now. This was the headquarters for him while he worked in the orchard there north of town.

They had two wells, one out about three blocks north of the existing high school and the other was a couple of blocks beyond. Those were the wells that supplied the water for the orchard, except for the spring runoff.

Now he worked in this orchard, approximately where the Bell Hotel is now. He worked there for some time and then went to another livery barn at the location of the old Owen's Garage. It is now a secondhand store. In the meantime, we moved from the house there at the Grant School to a house on Railroad Avenue, now 125 A Street. I was born there in 1914. So, lasting fame for that house!

He worked in the livery stables here for a few years, and then he got a chance to buy a place farther north of town. He bought a place which is now called the old Frey place. At that time I think it had belonged to a man by the name of Pierce.

There was a small orchard on it and very little farm ground on it except east of the road that you go north of town on. East of the road, and beyond the orchard, there was a large flat which had alfalfa on it. At this point he was taking care of the alfalfa field and this small orchard.

He had a few cows and started a dairy. This dairy at first was rather a small beginning. My mother made sacks out of overalls that we could hang over the saddle horn and we could insert three or four jars on each side. Then the kids, either Carl or Dorothy or I would take them to town and make the deliveries. We did this for quite a while until we could get more cows and more customers.

Another thing, in those days speaking of delivering milk, a lot of people in town kept their own cows and I remember two different summers that Dick Wildey had a thriving business of getting the cows in the morning and taking them out by our place there into the hills and letting them feed during the day, and then along toward evening bring them back in.

Of course, Carl and I were the cowboys for our cows, and like boys will, we had some pretty good rodeos up there in the hills. I don't know how much milk those cows gave after they got home. 

Wilson Creek History

The Rev. David H. Crawford compiled and published a history of families in and surrounding Wilson creek titled, "Family Memories of Wilson Creek Area." The book was printed in 1978, which was the 75th anniversary of the town.

David's son, John Crawford, has given permission for those memories to be a part of this column.

Today we continue the story of Howard Robert Hirschel by Howard Hirschel:

My mother was a beautiful woman in every sense of the word. She had long blond hair. Her eyes were a soft brown. Her personality was that of a lovely nature. I have never heard of anyone that may have spoken ill about her.

I shall never forget that fateful day of August 5, 1919, when she was summoned to leave her earthly home. The neighbors had come to assist in whatever way that was possible to no avail. There have been many times that I have speculated on how different my life may have been, if only she could have been spared.

Father took us to live with Grandpa Adam. If it hadn't been for mother's death it could not have been a happier time. We lived in a wonderful neighborhood. There were times when the women even did sewing for us.

One greatest concern was probably to find a shady spot to cool our bare feet in the summertime, while herding the cows along the road sides. The Russian thistle thorns were an ever present menace that we tried to avoid.

Grandfather Adam became a great influence in our lives. He not only prepared the food we consumed, but he also taught us his way of life. I cannot remember a morning that he didn't conduct family devotions. I have his worn Bible in my possession. It has become so frail from his use, I hesitate to open it. His code of life was unbendable. His philosophy was that, if one didn't take the first misstep, there would be no danger of taking the second.

Liquor, gambling and dancing were forbidden. It may seem to some that he was too strict; however, it must be realized that he grew up during a time when quite often there were more saloons on Main Street than grocery stores. He had seen the suffering that families had endured, when the husband had become a slave of hard liquor or the gambling table.

He was not antisocial. He enjoyed parties and games. He even joined in various card games; however, the cards of the gambling table were not permitted in his house. There were times when I have thought he was too severe with me. However, if it could be possible, I would be the first to thank him for his concern for my welfare. He was a patient, kind man. There were times when Eleanor and I exceeded his limit. He had an effective way of expressing his wishes that he resorted to when everything else failed. He called it "talking by hand," which consisted of using a razor strop on our posterior. I'm sure we deserved every lesson we received. He never injured us, as the strap was several inches wide.

There was only one time that I felt his punctuation marks were a bit too emphatic. It was our duty to bring in the wood for the kitchen range. I was giving Eleanor a bad time for not pushing hard enough on the wagon we used for hauling the wood. She in turn accused me of not pulling enough. Grandpa must have had more than he could stand that day, because he used a buggy whip to stop our bickering.

I received my eighth grade education at the Timm School. I took the eighth grade examination at Wilson Creek. It was there that Boyd Mordhorst, realizing that I felt ill at ease, being just a country kid from the sticks, took me into his care, thereby forming a friendship that has continued for many years. Perhaps this friendship was responsible for him becoming my brother-in-law years later.

I furnished my own transportation for several years to get to the Wilson Creek High School. In the winter I rode a saddle horse. In the summer I rode my bicycle. Eventually an agreement was made that permitted us to ride the Wilson Creek school bus if we would walk the mile to the point that it came closest to the Timm District.

Billy Stevens was the bus driver. He furnished his own equipment, under contract with the school district. He was careful to maintain his schedule, however there was a time or two that he was late in getting us to school. He was a careful driver, so, when the dust storms were so bad that he could hardly see the road, he took additional time to insure our safety. Sometimes when we arrived at school we looked like we had been out in the fields making summer fallow.

Basketball was the major competitive sport. Wilson Creek had a girls team, as well as a boys squad. On one occasion we boarded the bus supplied by Mr. Davis and traveled to Quincy. A storm came up and by the time we were ready to return to Wilson Creek the snow was coming down and the wind was blowing hard. It had turned cold, so a kerosene stove was lighted to help keep us warm. But the fumes from it were making some of us feel sick, so it was turned out.

The roads were corrugated gravel, so it was impossible to travel at a very great speed. Somewhere between Ephrata and Soap Lake, the bus stalled in a snow drift. The boys all got out to push. The wind was blowing so hard that it took away a scarf that I was wearing. I haven't seen it since. I suppose it decorated some sage brush. We finally reached Wilson Creek where Mr. Bost was waiting to take me to his home for the night. The next morning I had a problem. My wet socks had frozen. 1 didn't have a change of clothing, so I pried them apart and wore them.

Text

From the mouth

of babes:

Last June 7, George and Mabel Wilson celebrated their 71 st wedding anniversary with friends and family. This was a great event with a bunch of laughter and good-natured joking.

But the most fun was reading the letter great-granddaughter Miyah Wilson sent along from Lacey:

"In school, my class is learning how to write friendly letters, so that's why we're picking a relative to write to. I picked you guys.

"Grandpa was World War II worse than World War I? Was the war sad? Did a lot of people die?

"Do you know Rosa Parks? We are learning about her in school. Were you guys alive when slavery happened? Was slavery all over the country? Were you two slaves? Did you escape from slavery?

"I love you guys!"

Mabel will be 92 years old in January and George will be 95 in April. Congratulations on the anniversary and the upcoming birthdays.