People
Every community has its own characters.  Among those that were recognized as "different" are those that remain in a child's memory even though other people are probably more worthy and important. Mr. and Mrs. DeArmond (postmaster and mistress) were dear friends.  As a young man, Mr. DeArmond went to Sitka in charge of the Experimental Agricultural Station.  Mrs. DeArmond had gone there as a teacher.  After their marriage they remained there until his death.  She then became postmistress until her retirement when she went to live nearer her children who had each made a home in different parts of Alaska. Robert frequently writes articles about Alaska that are widely quoted.  

Mac (Mr. McNulty) who ran the Standard Oil Dock was the first person we children recognized when old Cynthia would arrive for her quota of gas. He was also the father of the 17 living children we later came to call friends.  His wife, May, became a particular friend of Mother's.  May was a large woman, fat.  Each day she went for a walk downtown. It might be unkind to remember, but if she missed her walk everyone would start speculating, "Was it a boy or a girl this time?" She was so large her pregnancy was well disguised.

Among others that stood out was Mr. Gilpatrick because he wore his hair quite theatrically long.  He also was the owner of the Photo Shop where Daddy got his film, and he was the father of Mrs. Peterson who ran the curio shop.  Her husband was the Territorial ranger and roved the SE  Alaska area in a sleek white cruiser.  They had at least two children, Charley and Lena, several years older than l was. Mr. Gilpatrick took wonderful pictures, climbing all the mountains in the vicinity.  Sometimes he'd enlarge particular views and they'd be for sale in his shop where he did a good business on "steamer days.”

Another celebrity was.Robert Merrill who painted wonderful, authentic pictures that were wildly expensive for those days. (Editor’s note: Photographer E. W. Merrill had his photographs hand-tinted; this memory might have been combined with that of a visiting painter.) How I wanted one!  I remember standing behind him on the green lawn fronting the Pioneer's Home when he was painting the old Tlingit war canoe on the rocky beach.  I know my mouth must have hung open as I watched each stroke of the brush.  No one else paid any attention, but to me it was magic.  His particular companion was Henry Woodruff, a long gray bearded man I have vague recollections had been a miner or prospector.  The two lived together in a one-bedroom shanty across the street from McNultys. (Editor’s note: Etolin Street.) In our second year of high school, Ruth and I lived in the shanty while it was in probate.  We had an electric light, a "one-holer" out back, and a water tap with cold water.

W. P. Mills was the successful businessman..  He and his sister May Mills owned the Mercantile General Store, the more posh of the two shops in Sitka. He always wore a business suit, I remember.  He and his wife lived in a house on a little Islet facing the business district and reached by a Iong board walk on stilts that connected the mainland right behind the store. (Editor’s note: the Mills House is behind the current Sitka Public Library.) He was always called W. P. just like my father was C. Jay.

May Mills lived in a large white house atop a little hill on the street behind the business district.  (Editor’s Note: the May Mills House is on Seward Street.) She had two adopted children, a boy, Laddy Thompson, and a girl, Patricia, quite a lot younger than I was.

There were still, when I was a child some of the old Russian families. There were the Triershields - May McNulty's parents and their numerous offspring; the Marvels - Laurie was in school with us only older, then there was brother Rudy, sister Lulu (married Mr. Wortman, the pharmacist) and others whose names I forget; the Kostrometinofs represented the older more elite Russians who chose to stay when Alaska was purchased from Russia.  The Russian Orthodox priest came from Russia and was rotated once-in-awhile.

 Luba Malakoff shared a double desk when I was in third grade.   I'm sure there were others.  The Herman family was Russian Orthodox, but I don't know when they arrived.   Probably they were of the older Russian group, but diluted by marriage along the way.

There were others, too.  One was universally called "Dirty Dave".  We first became aware of him after we moved to the Island.  He was dirty--but there was a reason.   He was a hand troller with nothing but his rowboat and fishing gear. He had the barest possible equipment, practically no clothing except what he wore.  He spent long hours out there on the fishing grounds, rowing in all kinds of weather for several years before he had enough saved to buy a small very old troller.   While it was tiny he did have a cabin to retreat into for shelter and to cook his meals, and a bunk to sleep in.  He often came our way and I have thought it was as much for the friendly conversation as for the meals Mother always offered.

Mrs. Moleneaux was the caretaker of the Manse and St. Peters Episcopal Church.  I really have no recollections of her until Ruth and I went to Sitka for our second year of high school.  She was elderly then, and had arthritis badly, probably accounting for her unusual figure--sort of a Gibson Girl with thin waist.  She could be very cross and disagreeable, but never with me.  I stayed with her for my junior year in high school.  I'm sure she was not too well paid, but she was generous in housing and feeding me. She also bought me a coat and some shoes.  All I did was a little housework and taught a class in the Sunday School.  I also helped with the confirmation class.  When the Bishop arrived in the spring to conduct the confirmation there was a great consternation.   Everything had gone well--the candidates were in the church waiting when I started across from the manse with the Bishop.

"And where were you confirmed?" he asked me.
"Oh, I've never been confirmed", I answered.  "You see, my father is a Quaker and they don't believe in infant baptism or confirmation."
Well, he stopped right there outside the door, his face scarlet, and I thought he was going to refuse to confirm anyone.   He stamped his feet, growled a little, and finally went in and conducted the service.  A close call!

When we were quite young--first moved to Sitka--there was an old lady and her son who frightened us.  Granny Fix was elderly, wore long black skirts that dragged in the dirty unpaved streets and frequently talked to herself as she walked along.   Her son, poor boy, must have been a teenager then.  He had a club foot that caused him to lurch along.   He was simple minded too.  We all ran when we saw him, but I'm sure he was perfectly harmless.  Some of the bigger boys threw stones at him.  They lived in a little house out in Jamestown Bay.

   The Midget

 It was the third or fourth year on the island that Daddy realized an open rowboat and outboard was not going to be enough to transport us to school and   fish (for fox food) and even go to Sitka when he was away fishing in the summer. He had built a warehouse out on the near side of the dock.  There he laid the shallow keel for a 17-foot boat, quite wide, and with a covered cabin just large enough to accommodate a small gasoline engine.  There were seats all around an open cockpit.  When it was finished we each chipped in suggestions for a name--and almost by common consent she became the Midget.

At first Mother took us the 3 1/2 miles to school, stopping to pick up the Jackson children and Donald Hough, then all the way home, only to do the same route at the end of the day.  3 1/2 miles doesn't sound far to us here in California.  On a stormy day on open ocean with waves so high we couldn't see out of the trough, the wind blowing drenching spray, the rain coming down in sheets, it was a long way, taking as much as 2 hours sometimes because that little engine was only a 5 horsepower.  Still, it was much better than the rowboat and outboard.  With that we had to constantly bail the water that slopped over the sides of the boat. Then there was the problem of a "sheer pin".   If we were not careful and got too near a bed of kelp so it tangled in the propeller a pin would break.  We'd have to lift the motor off the back of the boat to replace the pin while others manned the oars to keep us steady in the water and away from the rocks that dotted the route we used, taking whatever shelter from the wind we could find.  Sometimes, too, we'd get water in the carburetor and have to dry it out   Oh, the Midget was a great improvement. By my last year at home it had become Ruth's boat.

Swearing was simply not tolerated in our house.  Mother actually scrubbed out the mouth of any offender with soap and water.  Once was quite enough.

Of course we heard Chris Jackson and his brothers, Sig and Happy, who had quite fluent vocabularies which they never voiced in Dad’s or Mother's hearing.

When quite small Glen picked up "Oh Heck" for which he was suitably punished, but not too severely, so it persisted.  Mother made him a "Cream of Wheat" man doll which was promptly dubbed "Oh Heck". Cream of Wheat featured, as an advertisement stunt, a 12 inch printed figure on cotton to be cut, sewn, and stuffed all for 25 cents.

Daddy's favorite expression was "Rasp it!"  Once, I must have been about 12, he was seriously provoked about something, We were all getting ready to go out in the rain to work when he said "Darn!"  Absolute silence!  We were shocked.  We didn't believe what we heard.  In unison we turned and looked at him.  In unison we burst into laughter.  So far as I know, he never said it again.  
 
School
 
Names sometimes escape me now.  Somehow they are not always as important as incidents along the way.  Perhaps you will forgive me.

Our first school at Goddard was in a one room cabin along the waterfront with the resort-hotel well above us on the hill.  As I remember it, there were 3 or   4 of these cabins, each with its one-holer out back, that were built to rent to vacationers or people there for treatment in the hot springs.  We had cabin #1 for our school.  Each cabin had a little wood stove for heat.  Desks had been lined up 2 abreast, the youngest at the front by the teacher's desk.

"Tex" (I have never known her given name) Goddard, daughter-in-law of the owners of the resort, was that first teacher.  She was tall, fairly attractive, and I assume came from Texas.  I must confess that I didn't like her, but wouldn't have admitted it even to myself, then.  It was difficult to find teachers willing to work our strange term (Editor’s note: because of the problem of boating in the winter, the Goddard school term ran from April to October) and to work under such conditions.  To me Tex seemed to resent being there.  Of course it was daunting work with 10 children in grades 1 through 4.  Now I think she was brave to tackle it.

The third year, when we had our own school building, we had Miss McCann.  She, too, was brave to walk that mile from Goddard down that trail hacked out of the woods, most often drenched from the drips of overhanging trees and underbrush  only to have to start a fire in the wood stove before she could even think about the day's work.   In April, at the beginning  of the term, it was just getting light and usually raining--in October at the end of the term it was dark and stormy so she needed a heavy flashlight to see the roots, holes, and rocks in the trail.  Moreover, Miss McCann was decidedly lame.  We adored her and had her come for the weekend several times.  She, too stayed for 2 years. She could laugh with us, and made an effort to be interesting in the teaching of the Territory-imposed curriculum.   Then, too, she wore attractive, cheerful clothes. You've no idea how much children starved for excitement and company can gain from that.  It's like a gaily wrapped package.

Daddy had been the prime instigator of the schoolhouse.  He'd read a great deal about the effect of color on the eyes and its effect on the attention span.  As a consequence the room was painted pale green with windows all along the beach front side, just high enough so I had to stand up to see out.  He wanted us to study, not sit and day dream watching the channel or the surf on the beach.

It is unfortunate that girls were still required to wear dresses in those days.  Jumping out of a boat bobbing in the surf, with a basket containing all our lunches was no mean feat when hampered by skirts.  The basket was heavy because it was before plastic.  So the sauce dishes for the canned tomatoes in a glass Mason jar rattled and I had to keep the basket upright too.  Sandwiches were usually wrapped in paper, often torn from magazines, and all was covered by a clean dish towel.  At lunch time I parceled them out to everyone coming back to my desk for his portion.  Almost always we had peanut butter on our whole wheat bread, sometimes with brown sugar or honey added.   Usually we had cookies, but sometimes cake.  Cheese was a rare luxury.  We also sometimes had deviled venison--cooked ground meat mixed with cooked salad dressing until it was spreadable.

Those were the days when we were expected to have homework so each of us carried it home trying to keep the books and paper dry in the almost   constant drizzle rain or storm.  We didn't have fancy rainproof backpacks or plastic covers so it was a real organizing problem.   In stormy weather it was even worse because of the wind-blown salt spray.  Although we had our problems, I'm glad I lived that life and not one the children of today face with gangs, drugs, and crime.  When Ruth and I graduated from 8th grade after taking those exams sent from Washington,  D.C. because Alaska was a Territory, the Goddards gave us a special party.  We didn't go home with the boys (I think Daddy came for them) but trekked up the trail with the teacher (then Miss Whitmore).

Mrs. Goddard (Gaddy) gave us a room in the hotel to stay in until she called us.  We had glorious hot baths and started "primping."

Dorothy Goddard, at home for a visit, came bringing nail pencils and cream nail white so we could work on the ever-present  dark stains under our nails (residue from our rustic life).  Poor Dorothy!  We used almost every bit (and still had stains).  We had with us our best (homemade) dresses to change into and really struggled to look well.

When we were called at last, we were surprised to find Mother had arrived to join the party.  Gaddy and Madge (Clemmons) had really extended themselves to have a special dinner.  Moreover, they gave each of us a glamorous handmade "Teddy", our first really feminine lingerie--Ruth's pale green and mine pink, both with tiny rose buds embroidered at the lower front edges.

That next year we both stayed home to work, taking turns running the school boat.  We were paid $17.00 per month which we shared and saved toward our high school the following year.
 
Interim Between 8th Grade and High School
 
In the interim period following graduation from Goddard School, Ruth and I had added chores.  Graduating in Mid-October, it would be almost a full year before we could go to hig_h school.  That winter we were completely responsible for catching the rock fish for the "mush," cooking the food, and delivering it to the feeding stations.

In addition, we took active parts when trapping time came.  We learned to judge which foxes to kill, which to release for breeding.   I wasn't much good at killing the beautiful, snarling, snapping beasts, but Ruth did more than her share. Glen, too was a big help.  Each fox had to be branded at this time.  To do this, one of us had to hold the squirming, fighting, terrified beast while Daddy punched our brand, KKI, into an ear.  One-year-olds into the right ear, two-year­ aids into the left.  This was a quick way to judge age when they were trapped and helped in the decision of which to release for breeding. Once, I remember, Ruth was severely bitten.
After we carried the dead animals home they had to be skinned, a tedious job.  This was usually done right away because it was much easier before rigor mortis stiffened the body.  It was also easier then to "Fletch" the skin because the fat was looser while warm and it all had to be removed.  To nick the skin reduced the value of the fur.

Once all this was done, the pelts were stretched skin side out on boards shaped rather like miniature ironing boards, and propped up to dry all over the living room.  It was an awkward time in our little house, leaving little space to move about.

All this occurred in January, usually, because that was the coldest dry weather time.   It was almost frantic work because dry winter only lasted about two weeks.  The longest guard hair and thickest pelts could be found then.  Wild animals protect themselves that way as we do by adding more clothing.
Next morning, Daddy would fill gunny sacks with the dead carcasses, add heavy rocks and carry them out a mile or so into the Pacific before lowering them overboard.

When spring edged in, Ruth and I would get up around 3:30 pr 4:00 AM, just as the first fingers of light crept in, then off with the Midget to troll for salmon before we had to get back to transport the younger ones to school.

Usually (but not always) Ruth did that while I did washing or whatever the day's chore might be.  Once home from the school run, it was fish for bass for that yawning kettle.  Two barrels would be hoisted into the Midget's cockpit and off we'd go until time to go back for the kids at school.

Then one of us would go, and the other would cook the "mush" so it would be ready to distribute as soon as the Midget was home.  Sometimes Glen would go along with Ruth to deliver the fox food.  Then I could start dinner or finish the ironing.  No polyester in those days!

There was another activity that summer--we were getting ready to go away to high school!  It was an exciting time--prices were up for fish, and the fur pelts had brought the best prices ever.  It was the summer of 1929!
Mother was ripping “missionary barrel” gifts (those garments cast off and sent from various relatives) dying them and making them into a wardrobe for each of us.  Most of them were totally unsuitable, but we didn't realize it then. Our excitement was at a fever pitch and Ruth and I were getting along better than we ever had before.  We cooperated without rancor.

Dad was away for 2 or 3 weeks at a time, fishing, but we kept the work going with little trouble and even went to Sitka in the Midget a couple of times for supplies.   It was a good summer--a good happy time.

Several incidents remain quite vivid in my memory.  The first and most important was almost a tragedy.  The boys were at school, Mom and Dad were off somewhere, possibly in Sitka.  Ruth took a magazine and went to cook the fox food taking Cora, then nearing three years old, with her.  Cora was happy, pushing her favorite little toy along, a green tin wheelbarrow with a red wheel.  It had been a gift from some well-meaning relative for Carl who was well past that age.  I was ironing while bread baked.  It was a beautiful day and life was very good.

Ironing was a tedious chore so I looked out the window often while the tub of wrinkled laundry never seemed to grow less.  Napkins, tablecloths, shirts, jeans, pillowcases, dresses, no polyester.  And then--as I looked up I screamed and ran to the door.  Cora blithely pushing her barrow was running along the planks of the dock.  No way could I get to her before she'd go off the end into deep water. I screamed again and Ruth realized what was happening.  She tore off down the trail toward the dock.  But before she could get anywhere hear the little red wheel caught in the cracks of the dock planking and threw Cora over onto the granite boulders just short of the water.  It was a fall of about five, maybe six feet and the wheelbarrow went with her.

Ruth scooped her up and came running to the house with a trickle of blood to mark the way.  Cora was limp in her arms and dazed--probably concussed.  Carefully, Ruth laid her on the kitchen table while we examined her. The cut on her scalp--a good two inches long on that little head, but no other sign of injury. I sponged the cut and washed it with peroxide.  Cora didn't even whimper.

That scared us.  I couldn't get the bleeding stopped except with pressure and that worried us too.  Finally I trimmed the hair away and while Ruth pinched the raw edges together, I used adhesive tape to hold the cut together.  It worked. After sponging away the worst of the blood and dirt, we put a folded blanket on the window seat where I could watch her and let Cora take her nap there.

Remembering an article I had read read on concussion, I woke the poor little tot often to be sure she was all right.

Ruth went back to the badly burned fox food and I to my ironing.  Never had we felt so great a relief as when Mom and Dad came home.

Cora seemed to have no problems by morning except the bald patch. The scar healed and her hair grew out again.  She was just as lively as ever jn a couple of days and looking for that dratted green wheelbarrow.

Next: Final post: Going to High School

Shopping, Hunting, Fishing and Gardening

Perhaps here is as good a place as any to explain the grocery shopping. After that first year on the island, Daddy ordered from a wholesale grocer in Seattle twice a year.  There would be 8 or 9 100# sacks of sugar, the same of white flour, the same of coarse whole wheat, 20 cases evaporated milk, 4 or 5 cases tomatoes, string beans, peas, and corn in gallon cans.  Usually there was a 5-gallon can of honey, 2 of peanut butter.  When it became available there were 25# tins of skimmed powdered milk and less evaporated.   Bulk tea, I don't know how much, and 9 or 10 cases of coffee in gallon cans.  There were sacks of potatoes and onions.  Usually some special treat was added:  a case of peaches or pears, sometimes pineapple, a tub of pickled pig's feet and Daddy's favorite chow-chow (Editor’s note: this is a kind of pickled relish).  If fishing had been profitable there might be other things like Graham crackers or a whole hand of bananas and/or case of fresh apples. Yeast for bread had to be bought in Sitka because it didn't keep well.  lt was not like the kind available today, but coarse squares that were hard to dissolve.

Each fall eight 50# sacks of dried prunes were ordered from the Springbrook (Editor’s note: the Oregon community her parents were from) dryer along with two of dried apples.  Again, if the fishing had been good, small sacks of dried corn and cherries would be added and maybe 50# of walnuts.  Grandpa Mills usually included hazelnuts and pecans as a gift.

These were our basic groceries for six months.  From our garden we augmented with leaf lettuce, green onions, potatoes, turnips, strawberries, and raspberries.  With careful gardening and not too severe an autumn we'd have lettuce until the end of October.  Meanwhile in summer red huckleberries grew under the trees, salmon berries were plentiful, nettles were our spinach and when we could find it, goose tongue.  Toward fall we always planned a trip to Pirate's Cove to pick wild "cranberries" (lingonberries) among marshy moss.

In spring there were the "runs" of herring when we'd fill a rowboat. Usually on July 4th, if the weather was good, we'd go crabbing and eat our fill.   It was then we dug our first new potatoes and picked the first peas.   If Daddy had been to town for ice for fishing, we made ice cream.  It was a special treat day I liked better than Thanksgiving.

There was a "Turkey Shoot" each fall in Sitka.  I'm not sure who sponsored it, but Daddy always went and later took Ruth.  She became as good a target shot as he so they each would win one or two turkeys.  One would be brought home for Thanksgiving and the other left in the Cold Storage freezer for Christmas.

When the geese were migrating we usually had one or two and Daddy often shot Mallard ducks in the fall.  At all times we had bass, cod, halibut, and in summer salmon.

When I was 10 years old, Daddy started me target practicing with a 22 rifle.  For my birthday he got me a surplus World War I Army Craig rifle.  It was so heavy I couldn't hold it steady. He cut off much of the wooden stock and I was a tolerable marksman.  The next year Ruth was taught with the old 22 and he gave her his 30-30 Winchester rifle, getting himself a new 30-06 rifle.

Guns were an important part of our life, always.  As tiny children we were taught never to touch.  They had a special place and were kept there, always empty and cleaned regularly.   At the cabin on the Island they were on a rack on the living room wall ready to use, but high enough so the babies couldn't reach them.   Each of us was taught to shoot by the age of ten, how to clean, oil, take apart, and put back together our guns and given regular target practice. Strongest lesson of all was a healthy respect for firearms.   Even the babies were taught never to point a toy at a person and go "bang, bang."   Being caught repeating the gesture merited real punishment.

Labor Day was the opening of hunting season and a very special weekend.   Daddy and Mother would pick us up from school on Friday night, then head toward Chicken Foot Bay.  There the water was so deep Dad could moor the boat to the bank.  Days already were getting shorter so we'd sleep on the boat that night, but first light would find us climbing the steep hillside.  Dad set a steady fast pace and we were expected to keep up with infrequent rests to catch our breaths.  When Cora was tiny he carried her in a pack on his back and we distributed the knapsacks of food among Ruth, Glen, and me.  Each had a hunting license and carried our own guns.  Mother was free to help Don and Carl.  We used no bedding or tents.

That night we'd reach the top of the chosen mountain.   Under the edge of trees at timberline there was a giant rock.  Here we gathered dry wood and Daddy built a fire against the rock to reflect the heat toward us.  We'd heat canned soup in a gallon can we'd brought, then make coffee and munch on the bread we carried.  All the time we were cautioned to be quiet, because sound carries so much further in the quiet of the mountains.  While we ate the night grew quiet and dark with the stars brilliant in the sky--and it would be getting cold with a breeze nipping at us.   Pulling our jackets around us, tightly buttoned, we'd choose a spot with feet toward the fire and sleep there under the shelter of the trees.  The fire radiating toward us from the boulder, only night birds making any sound.

First rays of sun had us stirring, a bit chilly and slightly stiff from our rapid climb the day before.  We'd get water from a tiny stream, make coffee and eat dried prunes and bread.  Always, I was awed by the first sight of the alpine meadows and the mountain peaks, the grazing deer, the carpet of flowers.
 The first alien sound and the lookout stag would give warning whistle herding his harem and the still spotted fawns ahead of him as they bounded away.   Daddy always had wonderful pictures of them all.  That day was for picture taking and pure enjoyment at the marvels we saw, felt, and smelled there among the peaks.  Next day was for hunting and returning downhill to the boat, then home long after dark.  Monday, Labor Day, we butchered the deer and canned all day long.

Solid meat was stuffed into cans with a bit of salt and a couple of whole black peppers.  Scrappy meat was ground and made into patties seasoned with chopped onions and canned after browning in a little tallow.   Bones were put on to stew for soup, the meat picked off and added to the broth seasoned with onions and carrots, then this, too, was canned.  We ate the heart, liver, and kidneys at once, often making scrapple for breakfast.  We all were in on the act and I became quite good at skinning and butchering.

Sometimes, if we'd been very lucky and there was more than we could can at one time, a heavy brine was made and chunks of venison would be immersed to "corn", a frontier method of keeping meat before the days of refrigeration.  I remember watching Mother and Daddy adding the salt, bay leaves, whole peppercorns, and mustard seed then stirring and mixing in the huge barrels until a medium sized potato would float atop the brine.   It was an old, well tried test of the strength that would preserve the meat for months.

Later on, during the winter there were other hunting trips just for Daddy or maybe including Ruth or me, but Labor Day was always a very special time.

One time we girls both went--it must have been in November because it was after school was over.  The weather was cold and snow had already touched the mountain tops.  We got back to the boat after dark with a storm threatening, chilled through.   Our anchorage  was not safe in a storm and Daddy immediately started home although the tide was on the ebb and we were anchored behind a little islet deep enough there but shallow in the narrow channel. Clouds scudded past overhead with a full moon showing between. Outside we could hear the rising boom of wind and surf.

Just halfway down the little channel we hit a huge rock on one side and the boat started listing.  To keep it from capsizing, we propped hatch covers under the railing.   Ruth and I took turns standing in the skiff holding them in place until the tide turned and lifted the boat upright.  We were so cold we were numb and couldn't feel either feet or fingers--but we didn't capsize.   I'll never forget the beauty of those clouds with the moon glowing between, and black shadow of the mountains on our side of the channel, the stillness back in our hideaway, and the rising sound of the wind and waves outside.   It was rough ride home and as usual I was seasick.

Food was always a big concern that required much work on the part of us all.  After every winter storm we carried great heaps of the seaweed and kelp that drifted ashore to the garden, digging deep trenches to bury it to decay for fertilizer.   Along the front next the house a trench was dug for sweet peas and a lattice was strung.  Then came daffodils, then pansies, and right by the sidewalk   came leaf lettuce and green onions that were easy to harvest in any weather. Against the east end of the house a honeysuckle grew to enormous size, covering the whole end of the building.   

Beyond it was the garden where all of us labored in spring, but especially Mother.  Each of us were assigned a tiny plot and each spring we could choose a packet of seed from the catalog.  One year I chose Kohlrabi.  I didn't know what it was, but the name fascinated me.  It was a very successful crop although none of us really liked it when cooked.  Another year I chose dahlia seed.   Daddy objected, said it wouldn't grow, but since he'd promised our choice and it was only 10 cents he grudgingly let me order it.  How they grew!  From seed, while the first tubers formed, I had buckets of blossoms. Each succeeding year they multiplied  and cross pollinated  to form hundreds of shades and mutations.  Each year I had to expand further out, digging virgin soil, cutting out roots and stones so I could plant all the tubers.  That was the last year I ordered seed.

The other children were more cautions, allowing Daddy to guide them to select the standard flowers and vegetables.   Somehow I was always the rebel. Mother's daffodils expanded from one little clump to a six-foot-wide bed the length of the house.

Fishing was very good that second summer we were on the Islands and the price stayed high.   First, two "Morris" reclining chairs were ordered.  What a marvel!   We kids fought for possession when Daddy wasn't there.  Next came lumber and an extension was built for a kitchen on the west end of the log building during that winter.  That winter Daddy shingled the whole outside wall facing the harbor in an effort to keep out the winds and rain.  Another extension was built behind the woodshed to create a bedroom for Mother and Daddy.  And a special, special piece of equipment, a gasoline powered washing machine arrived.  This was very important to me because I was the one who helped wash using old fashioned scrub boards heating the water atop the stove.  On ironing day, because we had to keep the wood fire going, we baked beans.   On wash day we baked bread.   Since I was the light-weight, awkward and more inept, household  chores more often fell my way.  Ruth and Glen were better outside although each of us, even the boys, had to learn the rudiments of cooking and sewing and to help outside if needed.

Improvements, Crafts, Cooking and Fun

It was that winter, too, that Dad started hauling the heavy timbers and sinking the piling for a dock.  All of us worked on the block and tackle pulling them into place while he used a peavey to align them.   Even with my feet braced I was too light for such work.  Ruth delighted in special little signals to the others to let go rope leaving me stranded up in the air by the weight of the timber.   Dad would be furious with me dangling.   It served one purpose--I was left more and more to cook, clean, and wash, and I was not unhappy with the decision.

Mother had acquired a little hand turned sewing machine while we were still on the house boat.  As we grew older and did heavier work, the mending and sewing piled up higher.  About this time they ordered a wonderful treadle machine and mending was added to my chores.  Of course Mother still did the bulk of it, but I had my share during the long winters.  Also, most of our clothes   were homemade from fabrics chosen from the Sears wish book, or from garments in the "missionary barrels” shipped by various relatives.  Very often the fabrics were totally unsuitable.  Those that could be used were ripped apart, frequently dyed new colors, then cut from patterns we made using magazine pictures or Sears designs as a guide.  None of us was really gifted as designer or seamstress so everything had the “homemade" rather than the desired "handmade" stamp, but they did cover us.

I don't remember just when, but Daddy ordered a knitting machine and yarn, delighting in making heavy woolen stockings for all of us during the stormy winter when were confined indoors.   Modern machines can make sweaters and other items, but this one was confined to tubular things.

Shoe repair was another of Daddy's accomplishments.  He had acquired a kit with different sized lasts and he half-soled our leather shoes.   He even made sandals from buckskin we tanned, but they weren't really very successful. We needed to learn more about tanning and preparing the skins, but Daddy didn't approve our contacts with the Indians who could have taught us.

All of us enjoyed different kinds of craft work during the long winter months.  Mother taught us (boys too) to crochet and embroider.  Mother didn't knit, but a visitor taught Ruth when she was at Goddard Hot Springs for a few days.  She became especially accomplished and still had work in progress when she died in 1988.
Dad was intrigued by an article he read on weaving and rattan work so he sent for supplies.  All of us had fun making baskets and other things.   Ruth did a floor lamp, I remember. Daddy was especially good with wood.  He built a huge desk of yellow cedar with all kinds of pigeonholes and a fold up writing shelf.  There was a huge inlaid red cedar star on the front--a piece of furniture I wouldn't mind having today.  This again was a skill Ruth excelled at.  I was awkward and often gouged my fingers but did complete a set of book ends with three dimensional squirrels.

When Donald was small Daddy found a pattern for a dragon pull toy in one of the Sunset Magazines. He promptly made it and I was envious because I was too big to pull it, wibble wobble, across the floor.

I don't know why it took so long for Grandpa Markell's will to be probated, but we were in our second or third year on the Island when I received what was to me a vast sum in a check for $10.00.   Immediately, I started drooling over the Sears catalogue.   Here Daddy intervened and I know Mother was upset when the order was sent.  We picked out a doll that took most of the amount.  This was for Ruth.  The balance went for Marshmallow men for the others.  When they arrived and were distributed there wasn't even one for me.  Even today I can feel the hurt of that.  Ruth promptly named her doll "Baby Ruth".  Since I could sew better than Ruth I was told I could make doll clothes from scraps in the rag bag, but the doll had come complete with wardrobe so it wasn't necessary.

 I don't want anyone to think it was all work.   Work we did and it was hard physical work, but we could see with our own eyes that for survival it was necessary.  There was joy in climbing mountains, seeing the rare alpine flowers or finding a miniature orchid fairy slipper in the moss under a tree on Tava. When there was a rare bout of frigid weather and the pond on Tava swamp froze, we went to skate.  We played hide and seek through the trees and across the beach at sunset.  We often would grab a hanging tree branch and swing out over a gully, Tarzan style.  On long winter evenings when the wind roared, we played cards (Flinch, Rook, and 500) or popped corn and read--how we read! There were 36 monthly magazine (Saturday Evening Post, American Colliers, Ladies Home Journal, Black Fox, etc,. and we devoured them all.

Dad always gave each of us a book for Christmas so we read our own and each other’s. There were dominoes and checkers and Chinese checkers.   Finally Dad got a chess set, but that was about the time I left home for high school so I never learned to play.

Neighbors from nearby islands came, especially for holidays, and stayed over because of the short days and stormy weather in winter--sometimes  for a week or more. In summer the children we'd known in Sitka came for a week or two at time.  In wintertime Ruth and I would go (sometimes) when Daddy went to town and stay overnight with our friends.

Every couple of summers the Sydnors, whom we'd known in Kake, would come, usually on their own boat and with four or five college students from Pasadena.  They'd stay for several weeks and it was a great disruption while Daddy neglected his fishing to give them the grand tour and Mother and I prepared meals--but it was fun too, to meet and exchange ideas.

As long as I can remember, when we were little and especially after we moved to the Island, Daddy fixed breakfast if he was home while Mother dressed the babies.

A sourdough hot cake starter was kept in a crock on the cabinet next the stove.  There were always prunes followed by hot cakes (buckwheat if Daddy was there) with peanut butter and homemade syrup or honey.   Fresh fried fish and milk gravy accompanied the hot cakes, and sometimes, venison liver or heart and gravy if we'd been hunting.  Venison sausage patties were often served, especially in winter.  Halibut cheeks were a favorite or clam fritters.  Butter was a very, very rare treat.  It was too expensive and needed refrigeration which was nonexistent.  Meat and fish could be caught nearly every day.

Both our parents were aware of the lack of dairy products and the need for fresh green vegetables.  We had evaporated canned milk (diluted) until skimmed powdered milk became available and it was used for drinking (although I never really liked it), but also added to things like gravy.  I can't remember gravy ever made without milk when I was home.   From an early age we all drank coffee diluted with evaporated milk. I must have been about eleven when I realized I was less likely to be seasick if the milk was omitted. I still drink it black.

Cheese was a very special treat and usually used for school sandwiches or macaroni and cheese.  Venison fat was rendered and became the tallow that was our only shortening.  It gets very hard so that cakes were heavy, doughnuts rattled like stones and pastry was solid.  We never had cake flour--or even knew it existed.
Each summer Hires Extract was ordered and Mother made root beer using the solid yeast cakes.  If they didn't dissolve enough and left too many granules, the jars would pop with a bang when it was put in the kitchen attic to age.  Great brown rivulets would seep through the ceiling to drip down on the unwary.

Once when Daddy was away fishing Mother tried to make wine from the red huckleberries, but they were too full of water and it was just sour mash.

Daddy was violently opposed to wine, beer, or any alcoholic beverage so it was just as well that experiment was a failure.

Measuring cups and spoons were totally out of our experience.  We used whatever coffee cup was available and the tablespoons and teaspoons from the silver drawer. Recipes were adjusted to the measure.

Bread was baked twice a week, eleven loaves of coarse whole wheat (Daddy claimed any other kind unhealthful).  Hot cinnamon rolls and dinner rolls were made then too.  From age 10 onward it was my responsibility to keep cookies baked for lunches.  Like most frontier areas, a coffee pot was on the stove most of the time and cookies went with it.  Our parents would have been disgraced if a neighbor or stray fisherman had come into our harbor and there had been nothing to offer.

Except for breakfast, Daddy did nothing about the house, ordinarily. There was too much outside work that none of us could do.  But--there are exceptions to every statement. At least once each winter he would come back from Sitka with a can of Crisco, a bunch of bananas plus a dozen lemons and a dozen eggs.  We'd be ordered out of the kitchen after breakfast and he'd go to work making a pastry to fit the largest fry pan, filling it with lemon pie filling alternating with bananas.  We thought it ambrosia.

In one of the trade magazines Daddy read that molasses and eggs should be added to fox food in the fall to improve the sheen of the fur, and tripe, liver, and heart added in the spring for nursing mothers.  After that he ordered regular shipments of candled eggs from Seattle. We'd go through the crate and could find enough good ones to use in cooking.  We used the tripe too, parboiling it, then dipping it in beaten egg and flour before quickly frying it.

Oleo margarine was a great treat when it came along.  It was a chore to mix the yellow powder into the hard white cubes but quite worth it.

Southeast Alaska has an overall average rainfall of 5 days per week year-round. This does not change the fact that sometimes we might have as much as three weeks without rain because other times it might rain, pour, or drizzle every day for a month.  When we had a period of drought (and it was usually in the summer when we were the busiest) the rain barrels would go dry so even the wigglers (mosquito larvae) died.  To forestall the problem Daddy tried digging wells, here, there, and everywhere in the vicinity of the house.  Always he hit bed rock within a couple of feet of the surface after digging through a barrel of tree roots.

Finally, over past the cook house and up the trail that crossed the island, at least 1/4 mile from the house, he was able to get down about eight feet. Water drained from several rivulets.   Of course we had to carry it, bucket by bucket, but it was usable, drinkable water.  The unwary could mistake it for dark cider vinegar and clothes boiled in it came out a dingy shade--slightly darker than tattle tale gray.

New Boat and Life on Maid Island

About our third year on the island, we'd had a good year with fishing and percentage on the furs sold on the London market.  Since Cynthia was really a very aged lady, her motor constantly needing repair, Daddy decided to have a boat built.  He studied many plans and finally chose one from a Tacoma boat shop.  Shortly after the trapping season was over, he left Mother in charge and went south to supervise the construction.

It was a ghastly period. Ruth and I did the fishing and cooked the mush. Glen and even Don could help carry it to the feeding stations on Maid, but Ruth and I or Mother had to do the rest.  To make matters worse, it was a particularly vicious winter with storm following storm relentlessly.  We knew we had to do the feeding because the fox pups were about to be born and our livelihood for the next year depended upon their survival.

By mid-March Mother developed a severe bronchial flu and gradually we each one had it.  Mother sent word (I think it was Ruth who went with me, both coughing until we could hardly stand, carrying Mother's note) to Chris Jackson asking him to go to Sitka and ask Roy Commons (Uncle Seth's wife Edna's brother) to come help.  He did arrive and things improved.  Roy had been lazing about Sitka, unable to find work so he welcomed the opportunity.

School was well underway--it must have been late May, in fact when Daddy sailed home in the Alaskan Maid. How proud he was!

She was a pristine white with a diesel engine that pushed her along at 10 miles an hour, sometimes a bit more.  We all marveled and it was only later we learned that she rolled excessively.   We were impressed with the oak stained built-in cupboards, the oil stove, and especially the "head" (Editor’s note: marine toilet), a great improvement on poor Cynthia's coffee can.

Sadly, the storms that next winter tore Cynthia loose from her mooring so she was driven ashore, high up the beach in front of the house.   It was the end of a good, faithful old lady.

In about July of 1925 Mother told us she was expecting another baby. None of us had realized it because she had become heavier over the years and the additional "pooch" hadn't impressed any of us.  Because she was afraid Daddy might be away when the time came, she sat me down to study Dr. Gunn's Medical Directory.   I didn't learn anything about conception, but there was detailed information on the delivery of a baby.  Fortunately, Daddy was home on August 20th, 1925 when Cora May made her appearance.  Mother was confined to bed for a good long two weeks and the baby was mine to bathe and diaper, to love and dream over.

Possibly Mother would have been glad of a few more days of quiet, but it was not to be.  Another great event occurred:  Grandma and Grandpa Mills arrived on their first and only visit.  They had to be feted, to be shown everything and carried off to visit Uncle Seth and Aunt Edna, to meet the Goddards at Goddard Hot Springs, and all our other neighbors.  Poor Grandma!  She was such a tiny thing--at eleven years she made me feel a cow!  And gnats and mosquitoes devoured her.  Her feet and legs became so swollen she couldn't get her shoes on.  Her hands, arms and shoulders, even her face became grotesque.  How glad she must have been to leave on the next Seattle-bound steam ship.

And poor Grandpa, too.  We deluged him with requests for tales of Daddy's early life.  He carefully avoided most of our questions.  The only tale I really remember included Daddy (at about 14 or 15 years old) and a gang of his neighbors and cousins.  Each year they had raided the barn where the cider press was kept just as the cider was getting "hard."  On that particular year Grandpa decided to teach them all a lesson.  He pressed a keg of pears for cider and rolled it to the front of the cider barrels and waited.  Sure enough, one night he saw the boys gather and head for the barn.  An hour later they were rushing out and jumping over the fence into the bushes.  Pear cider is very good, but it does have a quick and violent reaction.  Grandpa could still laugh, but I noticed Daddy had nothing to say.

I'm not at all sure when the decision was made to buy the fox farm.  We were never consulted and usually learned such things by accident.  At any rate, somewhere along the line, payments had to be made instead of Dad collecting wages. It meant tightening up expenditures even more.

The day before Thanksgiving that winter after Cora was born, Chris Jackson came rowing over the mile from Legma in a dreadful storm.  He needed help. His wife was in labor and the baby was breech.  Dad had gone to Sitka. Mother went off with Chris and helped save Mrs. Jackson's life, but the infant was stillborn.

I was at home to look after Cora and the others. Ruth was involved cooking fox food.  Mother was gone until very late Thanksgiving Day. Daddy came home as the storm lessened and the Harris family arrived to share Thanksgiving dinner (and stayed for a week because the storm grew worse).  It was then I cooked my first turkey dinner.  I was 12 years old.  Mrs. Harris had never learned how--and I remember thinking nastily that she'd perfected the art of never ever doing whatever she didn't want to do by not knowing how.  For some it works, but I knew better than to try that stunt.

Dad got home just before dinner and Mother just before we finished. They all ate the turkey, so I guess it was OK.

As children alone on our islands we learned to know and appreciate many simple things.  We knew where to find the shooting stars, the harebells (we called them bluebells), the fairy slippers, the fascinating lily-like skunk cabbage-­ where the huckleberries grew and the salmon berries.  We also had a healthy respect for the Devil's Club with its hooked little barbed thorns that seemed almost to jump at the unwary passerby.  Some splinters will fester and come out easily.  Devil's Club thorns just work deeper because of the barb so they have to be dug out.

We could sit quietly for hours watching the fox puppies at play like delightful animals of any species.  We knew where the eagles nested, where the migrating ducks rested.  Internal radar warning seemed to inform us when a strange boat was anchored in the harbor or on the other side of the island from the house (usually a fisherman for afternoon siesta).  When the "Around the World" flyers went over our island we stood, mouths open gawking until the last speck was gone from the sky, our necks so stiff we could scarcely move our heads to a normal position.

Some magazine had an article on building a radio--an infant invention then.  Daddy was enamored by the possibilities and immediately sent for miles of spaghetti tubing and all kinds of strange new things including a new storage battery.  All one winter he labored until he had a radio that hissed and growled and shrieked if anyone came near.  With a long stick especially carved to turn the knobs, he could control the static enough to hear the news on his headset. We were not privileged to listen.  When he had it on, I was forbidden to go anywhere near that end of the room--I caused more static than anyone else just walking by.

Eventually Daddy acquired an "Atwater Kent" which was an improvement, but still we weren't permitted to turn the radio on just to listen to music or other programs besides news.  Random use ran down the storage battery.

Daddy was talented in many ways.  Reading Black Fox magazine and other trades (I've forgotten their names) he grew angry at the editors’ attention concentrated solely on the penned foxes.  He started writing articles that were widely printed and quoted, bringing him a spate of mail.  Whether he ever had any remuneration I doubt, but one month in particular he had a different article in each of three magazines.  In proof of his theories, he could prove he'd had top price at the prestigious London fur auctions.  And we children learned to judge fox and mink pelts from him, to know the length and sheen of guard hair, to search for blemishes that reduced the value.  We took pride in the ear marking (branding) of the K.K.I. which was on every one of "our" animals and the quality of the C. Jay Mills name denoted.  We felt we had earned the right though I doubt any of us analyzed the thought.

Next: People, the Midget, School, and the Summer of 1929