Howard Robert Hirschel recalls growing up with Grandpa Adam

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 backtrack a bit and then continue the story of Howard Robert Hirschel by Howard Hirschel:

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.

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:

There was no house on the place when we moved there, so Dad had one built. I think two men and my great uncle from Wenatchee helped build it.

There were a couple of funny incidents that happened. The water from the well was pumped up into a tank by windmill, plus we had an overhead tank. This enabled us to have water in the house, but no inside facilities other than the sink.

Dad was deathly afraid of heights, so, when the windmill needed to be oiled, he would watch up and down the road to see no one was coming. Then he would get Mom out there and say, "OK, Mom, the coast is clear. Go up and oil it." It's rather hard to visualize this taking place, particularly by the people who knew my mother in later years.

The alfalfa from those fields was all cut by horses with an old mower and raked. The hay was stacked in shocks out there in the field. In the winter time, in those days, we had lots of jackrabbits, so to protect the stack they would have to run a woven wire fence around the stack, which was supposed to be rabbit proof.

But with the large number of rabbits it was pretty hard to keep them fenced out. So along toward spring if that hay was not completely fed up, chances are that the rabbits would have eaten under it so far that the stack would have fallen over, because there were thousands of them.

On Sundays and different days when there wasn't anything else to do, rabbit drives were organized. A fence was put in place and anybody available would get out with a stick and they'd form a line and chase the rabbits to the fence. They hauled wagonload after wagonload of dead rabbits. Now you can drive for miles and hardly ever see one.

There was only about a quarter section of ground in that place, but some of it ran up on the hill where our pasture was. In those days we didn't pay too much attention to fences and our cows ran quite a way back on the hills and it was always our job to herd them into the house at night.