My earliest distinct memories are starting to school at Lone Elm district, just inside of Sherman County line east of Mason City. Mostly, I recall play times and the fact that I missed a good many days because of cold, snow and the distance I had to walk. My mother taught me enough at home, that they put me in the second grade when we moved the following spring to the Horne place north of Broken Bow.
After one year, we moved to Senate Valley. This was a farm that had been very poorly farmed before Dad rented it. Sunflowers and other weeds were everywhere. My earliest recollection is spending day after day hoeing sunflowers in the cornfield. By not letting them go to seed, after a few years, we got them under control.
Some of my fondest memories centered around 4-H work. Dad was the first leader in Custer County. He spent a lot of time with the neighborhood boys. Of course, I was expected to take top honors in judging, showmanship, demonstrations, etc. and I very often did.
My own herd of hogs was started from a purebred Duroc bred gilt purchased from a breeder near Seward. We bought her home in a crate tied to the running board of a Model T Ford; 180 miles, a long trip in those days. Her first litter was nine boars and three gilts. I raised the boars for breeding stock, expecting to sell them to other farmers, but with little success. Everybody was liquidating herds because of the depression and drought. Of the gilts only one turned out good. One was injured when very small and remained stunted. The best one, the one that took championship ribbon at the fair was sterile and I had to sell her. Not a good start! Even the market for fat hogs was only about 10 cents a pound.
I had some "interesting" experiences with horses when growing up. The earliest was when riding Midget, our saddle horse, after the cows one evening. The saddle wasn't cinched up tight because Midget would fill her lungs with air until the saddle was cinched up. Russ and I were in the saddle together. I don't remember our ages, but we must have been quite young for both of us to fit in the saddle. As we were galloping down the lane, I was leaning over hitting every fence post with my hand. Soon the saddle began to turn. I jumped and pulled Russ with me. Midge went trotting back to the barn with the saddle underneath. It gave Mom quite a thrill until she saw us walking the cows down the lane to the barn.
Seemed like I was always having runaways. Especially when the mules, Jack and Jinny were involved. One day, I talked Dad into letting me mow alfalfa with them. Jack didn't like the sound of the mower! After a few rounds, he decided he would like to take off for the barn. Of course, the faster the mules went the more noise the mower made. The more noise the mower made, the more scared they got. When the sickle bar caught on the gate post, I was catapulted straight up and came down right behind the mules still holding onto the lines. One ruined mower!
My worst experience was when I had six head hitched abreast of a ten-foot disc, discing oat stubble, which had just recently been burned. Many smoking cow pies made the mules extremely nervous! They ran and I tried to calm them down, but when the disc began bouncing, I lost my footing, slid off forward, and was run over by the disc. Being dressed warmly, the only place cut was my face. I was very fortunate. I could have been killed.
After graduating from high school at 17, I continued to help with the family farm. Because of the Great Depression and the Dust Bowl Days, there was no money for college and very little for anything else. We always hoped and trusted that next year would be better.
When I turned 21, I decided to launch out on my own, semi- independent that is. I decided to share crop rented land, help with the home place in exchange for the use of Dad's machinery and horses, and live at home. I rented 80 acres from Jim Larson. For 40 acres of alfalfa, I had one short cutting and gave half of that for rent. I planted oats on the other 40 acres and barely got my seed back. That same year I rented 80 acres from John Caywood. The 30 acres planted to corn burned up because of lack of rain. There was just no crop at all. The rest was rough canyon land with some grass of little value in the bottom that could have been cut.
Having heard glowing tales of Utopia in Oregon from Uncle Will Hogg, I had long desired to see for myself. By early August of that year I had my opportunity. The Ross Myers family was going to Idaho and offered to take me along. By the time we reached Cheyenne, a bearing burned out on the rear wheel of their old Buick we were traveling in. Ross was able to get a used bearing from a mechanic/auto-wrecker who puts us up overnight. Two and a half days later we arrived in Sublette, Idaho where Herman Myers was working on a ranch. I took a job for about two weeks on another ranch about ten miles away at Malta, putting up alfalfa for $2 a day and board.
After finishing this job, I boarded a bus heading for Oregon. I arrived in Salem in the early morning of September 1. It was very foggy after a night of rain. I immediately went to work for Uncle Will's company Will Hogg & Sons at 25 cents an hour. I stayed with Uncle Edgar VanDyke who also worked for Uncle Will, and paid $1 a day for room and board. I helped with the prune harvest and general farm work until mid-November 1936.
From November 23rd until April 15, 1937, I worked on the Jim Nichols dairy six miles east of Salem at $40 a month plus room and board - excellent wages for those days but very confining. Having a desire to see more of Oregon, I quit the dairy and worked at seasonal work on various farms throughout the Willamette Valley.
In October I went back to Nebraska to shuck corn even though I knew there was very little corn because of the continued drought. Could it be that I was a bit homesick? I visited my family but was only able to find two weeks work.
It was a rainy morning when I arrived back in Oregon on December 1. After leaving Nebraska by train two days earlier in a 20 degree snow storm, I knew now Oregon would be my home.
I stayed with Uncle Edgar that winter. We cut cordwood for a neighbor who had a small wood lot. Then I worked for an orchardist at Yamhill. We pruned and sprayed prune trees, built boxes, etc.
About that time, I went with a friend to a high school volleyball game in Dundee. My cousin, Marjorie VanDyke, was there and introduced me to her friend, Evelyn Vasey. She was the oldest daughter of a migrant family from the Nebraska- Kansas line. We were married on October 31, 1938. We rented a house south of Dundee. I was working in a nut dryer during the winter; then did odd jobs until the spring when I took a job on a dairy near Sand Lake in southern Tillamook County. My wages were $40 a month with house, milk and wood. Grass was knee deep, so we never bought hay. The open fields were for hay. The tidelands and brush areas were used for grazing. After we finished with the hay, we cut our winter wood. This was the first time I had used a drag saw.
Our first child, Wayne, Jr., was born in April 1940. Because of a feeling of isolation, we thought we wanted to go back to the Willamette Valley. On June 1, 1940, I took a job on a dairy near Sherwood, Oregon. Later in December, I went to work for a farmer near Monroe, a much more satisfactory job. Then, after one year, I was no longer needed. The boss' son decided to drop out of college to farm right after Pearl Harbor.
January 1, 1942, I immediately took a job as a dairy herdsman near Halsey. The following spring (exact date not recalled), I made my decision to become a born-again Christian. I was baptized in the Christian Church at Halsey, Oregon. Another happy event was Alan's birth in July 1943. A much better job was offered to me as a herdsman near Jefferson in September 1943. I kept this position for about three years. Our daughter, Sylvia, was born during this time.
July 1946, through an ad in the Capitol Press (Salem newspaper), we saw an opportunity to buy a dairy farm near Tillamook. We bought it on a shoestring. We took Evelyn's father in as a partner. After a comparatively short time, he decided this wasn't really the life he wanted. Our son, Steve, was born about this time, February 1949.
In 1952 I managed to get our contract rewritten and bought Lee's interest out. We did fairly well for a few years. I built up the quality of my herd through artificial insemination, built a milking parlor, and shipped Grade A milk. We had converted the old barn to loose housing for the cows and hay storage, and were planning to build a loading shed when the CoIumbus Day storm hit. The wind took about one-fourth of the old barn. After squaring up the end and siding it with plywood, we proceeded to build the loading shed. Not a perfect setup, but much improved from former years.
Then floods! January of 1964 and again in December 1964! The first one destroyed both houses. We then bought Lou Gulstrom's old farmhouse on Highway 101, just north of Tillamook. This was to be temporary until we could build. Then a worse flood the following December. Twenty-seven cattle, mostly yearling heifers, drowned on Christmas Eve. I spent that night in the hayloft of the barn trying somehow to keep my animals alive. The Coast Guard boys from Garibaldi took me out by boat about noon Christmas Day.
After borrowing more money to try to stay in business, I found that it was taking all my milk checks to service the debt on the farm. This being an impossible situation, I decided to sell insurance for the Oregon Farm Bureau and service their existing accounts. I found myself neglecting both the farm and the insurance. One had to go! A disposal sale of personal property got me completely out of debt except for a mortgage on real estate. The insurance company moved me to Hillsboro, Oregon for more opportunity and an office to work from.
After five years of a fair living but irregular income, I decided on a change. I then took a job with McCormick Pipe Co. making concrete pipe fittings. It was steady except for layoffs in below freezing weather. No future, though.
A heart problem in November 1976 made me decide on less stressful work. There had been a couple of economic layoffs that year. In October 1979, Evelyn was diagnosed with colon cancer. After surgery, the doctors thought it all had been removed, but almost six years later in August of 1985 it reoccurred. She passed away about a year and a half later, February 1987. In October that same year our son, Wayne, lost his life in a car accident. Not a good year!
Evelyn and I had a very happy 48 years together. Our children were all married and had given us eight wonderful grandchildren and one great-grandchild. Even through the busy times, we always enjoyed special good times working in the churches where we worshipped, in the different places we lived. We went on some very enjoyable trips to places like Yellowstone, Hawaii, Canada, the East Coast, Tennessee, and Nebraska.
As for my family, Sylvia and husband, Bob Barber, live near Olympia, Washington where they work at a Christian camp. Their son Eric lives in Bellingham, Washington.
Steve and wife Denice live in Hillsboro, Oregon. Steve is office manager for a computer disc drive repair company. Denice is a receptionist for Kaiser Permanente. They have two daughters, Alicia and Ashley.
Alan and wife, Paulette, live in North Plainfield, New Jersey, where Alan teaches school. Paulette also works in an office there. They have three children: Chris, Paul, and Amanda.
Wayne, Jr.'s two children, David and Diana, are both married and live in Hillsboro. Diana's husband is Noel Henson. David and wife Mandy have two sons: Timothy and Andrew. Darlene is remarried and lives near Banks northwest of Forest Grove.
The Lord has been good to me, though. He led me to a wonderful Christian mate. Leta Mae and I were married April 30, 1988. She has three daughters and a son, and seven grandchildren. I love them all as if they were my own.
I'm still selling real estate, although I've reduced my hours somewhat. We both enjoy traveling and are looking forward to doing much more. We always find it great, too, to return to our new home that we planned together here in Hillsboro, Oregon.
Details don't tell the whole story. Incidents from the past don't give a true picture of the man. What we saw in Dad was a life of consistent determination. That determination is what we could learn from. That's what will stay with us.
Through his example of strength he taught us strength. If a job had to be done, it was simply done without complaint, without hesitation. On the farm the work was uncompromising. He didn't ask us to do the impossible, but when we proved through our logic that a chore was impossible, he showed through action that what he expected to be done, could be done.
When I look for a way to communicate to my children the importance of staying with a job and getting it done, I remember how Dad taught with silent example. I think he knew we wouldn't listen to words anyway.
As I remember, he never said, "Don't give up," he just never gave up. We saw that in life, some things just have to be done, there's no choice. Responsibilities must be met, and the family must survive. When faced with a no-choice situation, Dad told us what had to be done. We asked, "How can we do that?", and he only replied, "We have to."
In our impatience and foolishness we gave Dad plenty of cause for anger. Whatever he felt, he didn't say. I once destroyed a pickup truck in a moment of advanced mindlessness. It was the sort of event that makes a father doubt his ability to raise kids he can be proud of. Without a word, Dad went to the work of salvaging what he could of a formerly dependable vehicle. No word of reproach. He trusted, at least, my ability to realize the severity of my error without pointing it out to me. Hey, I still feel bad about it.
One evening, Dad left Kermie and me to milk and take care of things. A cow fell into the mud and we had to pull her out with the tractor, but the tractor battery was dead, so we had to pull the tractor with the truck to get it started. In his haste to get things back to normal, Kermie backed up, missed the bridge and there it lay. Getting it out was an engineering feat that all the neighbors and their equipment were not equal to. Dad came home, looked at the destruction, shook his head and tried to find a solution to the problem. One of the neighbor kids said, "Your dad doesn't use many big words, does he?" "What do you mean, big words?" I asked. "You know, if it was my dad, he'd be using every profanity there is."
No, Dad had no words for the predicament. He silently in complete control spent the next weeks trying to straighten the axle on the truck. It never left quite parallel tire tracks after that.
Sylvia, who always knew her mind, couldn't even get Dad to lose control. No matter what happened, he wanted first of all to provide a good example to his children.
We tried to get the John Deere to stand on its back wheels. We played chicken in newly prepared fields. Steve nearly killed himself bouncing the tractor at full speed off bales of hay. We would have driven the average father crazy, but he patiently let us learn our lessons and deliberately showed us by his example that there is a right way to get the chores done, that there is a responsible way for a man to behave, and that faithfulness and responsibility are key ingredients in the path that his children should follow.
Dad was a big topic of conversation with us kids, what he wanted, what he was thinking, what he said. We were never quite sure of his feelings and frustrations and aspirations. We knew the farm he had placed his hopes in was becoming farther and farther from living up to his needs. As soon as things looked better, it seemed they got worse. I overheard him say once, "I wouldn't be happy if I wasn't farming." I wasn't convinced and years later after the final disaster destroyed the farm, he discovered greater fulfillment in newer pursuits, where the opportunities were greater and his talents could be better used.
During the years, I watched Dad walk and watch the land and furrow his brow. I wondered if generations of men from Jamestown to Tillamook hadn't agonized in the same way, hadn't walked deliberately and thought deeply. If I only could work a little harder, reap a little more and hold on a little longer, this land will payoff and I can enjoy the fruits of my labor with pride.
Dad never gave up, never retired, never quit. Dad passed away March 1, 1991.