Chapter 1: Origins
Such thoughts come to mind as I sit now on the edge of the deck which my son, David, built in 1990. It is so much easier to enter our home now, than previously when two steps led to the door. A fresh breeze pushes around the front corner of the house this sunny spring day, as I remember a time when there was no grass at my feet and the slightest movement of air would engulf us with dust.
I was unprepared for what lay ahead of me when I left my parents' nice home in Dover, Delaware. Though it was the state capital, Dover was a small town; we would go to Philadelphia to shop or see a play. My friends and I had good times together, including days at Rehoboth Beach, where we roamed the boardwalk and built sand castles after a swim in the ocean. My parents could little imagine the future adventures their only child would have when she went so far away to live the rest of her life.
Carl left his family farm after high school and "rode the rails" to Chicago, where he studied electrical engineering. He went on to do interesting work with sound equipment at the movie studios in California, and he did sound experiments at USC. Carl also was an electrical engineer at hydroelectric power plants in California and at Boulder Dam while it was being built.
World War II changed the lives of everyone, including Carl and myself. After joining the U. S. Air Force in 1941, he was eventually stationed at Dover, where we met at a servicemen's dance in the fall of 1942. Following his tour of duty over the South Pacific, we were married at the home of my parents, Russell and Mary Wilson, on December 31, 1944.
We moved to Chandler, Arizona where we lived with Captain Fred Lindsey and his family until the end of the war in August 1945. Carl was discharged the following month at Fort Douglas, Utah, and we moved to his home town, Orem, Utah, where he was buying a seven acre orchard from his father. After living a while with his parents, Horace and Charlotte Skinner, we eventually moved into a small home that Carl built. There, after two years of marriage, I was finally my own boss in the kitchen. Our daughter was born in Provo, Utah in 1946 and I remember thinking that we would probably spend the rest our lives near those beautiful snowcapped Wasatch Mountains that towered nearby.
Soon, however, my life changed again when Carl noticed an article in a local newspaper regarding government land being offered to veterans for homesteading. He sent applications to locations in California, Idaho, Wyoming and Washington. His name was finally drawn for the Roza Irrigation Project with the Bureau of Reclamation in the Yakima Valley of Washington.
The following information from press release No. 14229 of the U. S. Department of the Interior, dated February 14, 1947, was printed in a monthly labor review in April 1947:
Seventeen hundred acres of irrigated farm lands in the Yakima Valley in the State of Washington were opened as homesteads for men and women, veterans of WW II on April 1, 1947. The land is part of more than 4,000 acres of the public lands of the Roza Division of the Yakima Project, which are to become available for homesteads as rapidly as the U. S. Bureau of Reclamation can complete irrigation facilities which are under construction.
In announcing the availability of the initial 28 homesteads in this region, the Secretary of the Interior stated that the land is rich and suitable for a variety of crops, when irrigated. Sixteen of the 28 farms allocated to veterans in April were fully or partly developed on a lease basis during war time. The remaining twelve units are lowlands covered with sagebrush. Each unit is from 40 to 100 acres.
To qualify, a veteran must have had at least 90 days service during WW II. His eligibility was determined by a board of examiners and, in general, was dependent upon two years of farm experience, $3000 in liquid capital or assets or credit usable in the development of an irrigated farm, good character and industry, and the physical ability to do the required farm work. Applicants also were required to meet the principal qualifications of the Federal Homestead Laws including age (21 years or head of a family, with exceptions for veterans), citizenship (citizens or having declared their intent to become citizens), and limitation of land ownership (not more than 160 acres in the United States). The cost to the homesteader was only the government fee and irrigation construction charges.
Being 20th on the alternate list of names didn't sound promising; and after everyone else looked at the remaining unit (which was so rough that it seemed only good enough for a goat pasture), Carl also declined the offer. However, another unit, which had just become available again (by default of one of the applicants) was offered to Carl, and he accepted it. Then, in the fall of 1949, the unit next to it was also offered to us. The Bureau was anxious to close the books on the project, so Carl was given both units, a total of 120 acres of sagebrush and sand dunes to homestead. His Utah pioneer heritage and a strong sense of achievement were his motivations for independence. Carl's enthusiasm encouraged me to embark on what was to become the most adventurous and rewarding experience imaginable for us both.
To prepare for our move to Washington, Carl and his brother Keith, who also lived in Orem, worked on the motor of a former coal truck. It would carry our possessions and pull an 18-foot used house trailer which we bought and repaired. After I painted the interior and made new curtains, we put new linoleum on the floor; then I packed it for the trip. We would live in it along the way, and after we got to Grandview. The refrigerator, couch, round oak table with chairs, washing machine, boxes and boxes of home-canned fruit and vegetables, a box of cured pork, various household goods and numerous tools were all loaded onto the truck.
Carl's parents and several relatives had a dinner party for us before we left, and nearby friends also entertained us at dinner in their home. It was the last time we would be close to anyone we knew for quite awhile. None of them wanted us to leave, and we all cried.
We were finally ready to leave about 10 o'clock in the morning of Thursday, March 18, 1948. I had turned 26 that January and Carl would be 34 in October. I anticipated it would take perhaps two or three days at the most for us to drive to Washington; never dreaming that it would take seven long days.
The account of our trip to Washington in subsequent letters
to my parents undoubtedly caused them some concern, and they probably wondered
whether I should have married Carl to begin with. The numerous problems
encountered along the way may reflect a certain degree of unpreparedness,
but Carl never lost his confidence that we could accomplish the trip ahead.