Memoir Monday, Mar 27, 1965

The more things stayed the same, even as they changed in little increments from one day to another. March was winding down then as it is now and I was anxious for spring and warm weather to arrive. Looking back, I realize this present year of a damp chilly spring is not that unusual. Climate has changed some but the cycles still go on.

Mar 27, 1965 Sat

Got up right at 7:00 and fed. Mom, Charlie Mike and I drove out and did the pasture chores. We left for our look-see about 9:00. Got over to Humboldt and found the place okay and then had to wait for the salesman. We found a dozen pop bottles for our time anyway. The place is disappointing as they always are. Oh, I guess it would be okay in a necessity  but I can’t see stretching and giving so much up and having to sacrifice twenty years just to get that. The range is awfully abused and we saw very few cattle.  Nope, that’s not it as far as I am concerned. I’d really like to be on 66, myself, or near the ATSF somewhere if we’re to stay in Arizona. But I’m not willing to crawl like a whipped pup and accept some turkey of a “ranch.” Ruth sent us $1000 so now we can pay the Fee mortgage interest if we must. Maybe we can stall a bit though. Something is going to happen. I’m more sure than ever now. It may be good or bad but things are going to change. Wish I had heard from Dusty today but maybe next week. Have to get used to him being slow now; better late than never. We either win or lose soon and I really don’t care very much. Just so this ends.

The endless 'ranch hunt' went on, basically through the summer of 1966 when the dominoes began to tip and then started to fall. That still took a year to reach the final collapse but it was coming. The pending disturbance was one I could feel. I really recall very little about this place, the most recent to be considered. It seems the house was small and not in the best repair and as I observed here, the range was not in good shape. I think it had been dry the prior fall and winter despite the spring's tendency to be stormy and chilly and of course it was not yet warm enough for things to begin turning green.

The northern cross-state highway was properly I-40 by then but still seemd like "Route 66" to many of the old timers, of which I was almost one myself, by now nearly a twenty-year resident of Arizona. Of course the highway really meant the paralleling Santa Fe  transcontinental main line which was a critical feature in my world at that point. There were more branch and connecting lines then but those tracks were very important to me. 

Finances were the usual mess. The folks had taken a mortgage on at least part of the twenty acres down the valley and  a payment was probably due. As so often happened, Dad whined to his siblings and they reluctantly coughed up. To this day I am ashamed and grieved that my parents, two people with college degrees and supposedly above average capabilities and opportunites, fell into this appalling state of extreme poverty. Rather than try to actively work their way out of that hole, they just kept digging it deeper and then seemed to expect they deserved to be 'bailed out' because of course none of this dreadful situation was their fault! In retrospect I am still furious.  Ruth was my dad's next older sister and was working as a teacher in a big high chool in Sacramento at that time. She may have been some kind of principal or dean; I do not know. Anyway, none  of Dad's siblings were "rich," even Uncle Dan who had a successful medical practice then.

I knew I was living my present life on "borrowed time" to some degree--we all were--and that  major change was inevitable. Somehow I still had vague hopes it would be positive. Perhaps all could have been redeemed for a short while yet but that was certainly far beyond my ability to accomplish, however much I might wish to do so. The intensifying stress and continuous intrafamily drama was corrosive and hard on the nerves. It was eroding me in a dozen ways.

In the last letter or two I had received, Dusty had spoken a bit about the difficulties he'd been having and the struggle with bad weather and many other delays and detours that impeded the progress of his gang on the work they were assigned in Flagstaff. I finally realized though he might think of me often, finding the time and energy to write a letter was challenging. That eased my mind  a bit and I tried to cultivate more patience and not become doubtful and feel abandoned when I did not hear from him every couple of weeks. How useful it would have been to have a mobile phone and be able to reach out with a few keystrokes to communicate. Such things did not yet exist and of course I would not have had one in any case. We are so spoiled today!

If I had owned a modern phone I might have snapped photos of some of those "ranches" we visited but I did not have film to burn and it did not even occur to me. There was really little to take pictures of! So I will snatch a few odd shots out of my old files for visual 'tax' of sorts. These were all taken later, in 1966-67 when I was at NAU,  but I am sure it looked similar when B&B #6 was there.  The first is a truck much like theirs. The next two are part of a work train or outfit parked on a siding out in the main yard east of town. And the last is fairly wide angle view of the Flagstaff yard. Yard in terms of railroads can be a misleading term--there are no fences or neatly contained area like around a house! Instead there are a number of tracks connected with switches and some stubs or spurs where an oufit or 'bad order' equipment may be parked.

Memoir Monday, March 20, 1965

 The first half of 1965 seemed like a sequence of mostly dull, difficult  and often depressing days. Caught up in my Eldest Daughter mindset, I would fret about many things I felt needed to be fixed or made better but for the most part I could not accomplish that. I often felt  my parents were not stable, sane or rational and as badly as I often wanted to just vanish, I felt I had to do my best to take care of the animals and to some degree,  my two brothers since I was the eldest. Charlie Mike was 13 1/2 and would graduate from 8th grade in May. Alex was six and had started first grade the previous fall.  I'm sure Mom and Dad would vehemently deny it,  but I often believed we three were pretty much left to raise ourselves and as the oldest, about to turn 22, I perceived it was my duty to do as much for the boys as I could.

Mar 20, 1965, Sat

            I got up about the usual hour and did my morning chores. “They” had a row this morning about letters versus laundry. I hate those!! I rode Annie out to do the morning chores . All was okay. Up for mail. I didn’t dare to hope but I got a letter. Love is a horrible thing but I was so glad. Came home and watered everyone and helped Charlie Mike clean the corrals. Came up about 1:45 and helped Mom with the wash. We went out early to give worm medicine to the pasture stock. They all ate it perfectly, much to my surprise. I had envisioned a gruesome task indeed. We got done quite early and came in. I played more operetta records, drew some designs and got all cleaned up for a change. Viva. I started to reply to Dusty’s letter but it was too late so had to quit. Better take me off to bed pronto as it must be 11:00. A scandalous hour to be up, but it is Saturday. Dusty is not feeling well. He shouldn’t get the flu with his asthma. Wish I could be there to take care of him. He needs me, really.

The weather and how I felt notwithstanding, it was very rare that I did not get up and take care of the horses and mules we had in Clarkdale first thing in the morning. At times I also fixed some kind of breakfast and if it was cold, built up a fire in the wood stove in the living room. Weekdays I then went to the pasture, riding alone unless we were driving to haul hay or do some other extra job. Often Mom drove but I did most of the work. That was easier than if Dad drove --because he always saw things that needed to be taken care of right now and usually viewed them as evidence I had sluffed off and told me so in no uncertain terms.

Of course I looked forward to getting mail and while any letter was a treat, one from Dusty was special. For the time being, his outfit was at Flagstaff and they had a series of problems to include one of the material cars (an old wooden boxcar) catching fire--I am not sure the particulars but it was just next to his. I think they got it put out but most of the car was a total loss. While there, they tore down an old stock yard and built a new one and did a bunchof other bulding and repair work. The weather was mostly wet and cold with snow late into what should have been spring,. It wasn't as bad down in the Verde Valley but we did have more rain than usual. Puddles, mud, sloppy corrals and pens and slippery roads to the pasture... Made everything harder. 

We gave the better quality horses worm medicine at regular intervals. I am not sure now what parasites it was to prevent. It was a powder that we mixed with grain or sweet feed and water to make a kind of mush. Sometimes they seemed to gobble it down with no problems but at times one or  more would  be finicky and not want to eat it. That was always "my fault" or at least that's how it felt to me from the bawling out I got. This time it went well and I was vastly relieved. It was aways good to get done and come in early--I could then do a few more things that I needed or wanted to for myself or my other interests which was a treat.

All this time, I was often worried about Dusty. He did have asthma which could be severe and with the harsh weather, and I felt sure not eating or sleeping as he should, he got colds and such as often as I did and I was very troubled about that.  He worried about me too and wished he could be closer to help me out. It was a bit ironic I guess; we both were having a rugged time of things but were unable to do much to make anything easier for each other. I guess it helped to know someone did care. I do not remember whether the equinox was on the 20th or 21st that year but I was surely hoping that real spring would arrive soon and with it an end to the rain, less wind and warmer temperatures! 

I will try to find a few photos. This was not a time when we took many. I don't have a lot of shots of Alex. but here is one, maybe a year or so earlier. The boys were both always thin; well, I was too, and to this day Charlie Mike hates short pants and never wears them.  I don't recall that the grown up Alex cared.  Next is both boys, a little better dressed since they were going to school I am sure. And last, Alex and me with one of the donkey foals.  I think this was Robin, the offspring of a jenny named Lila. Baby donkeys are so cute!

Memoir Monday, Mar 13, 1965

 Another one of those kind of wheel-spinning days. There were so  many of them  and I was almost chronically disgusted and depressed though there were bright spots here and there. 

Mar 13, 1965 Sat

            I stayed in bed late again but not too. Got up at 8:00 and made biscuits for breakfast. They were big fat ones and everyone liked them. We drove out together to do the chores. Drove up for mail--nothing!! Dusty, how could you? I was counting on you. Should’ve known better. I did the midday chores--a Plymouth station wagon passed, honked twice. Was it? I don’t think it was Moonspinner…  We ate lunch and talked--endlessly. Oh, I could just scream, throw dishes on the floor and pitch hissy fits  At 2:30 we finally went to get hay. I saw Maureen in Cottonwood. Don’t know what she’s up to lately. Got thirteen bales of alfalfa with some grass, real heavy. We all drove out again. Fed the herd up on the hillside this time. Got the home chores done with the aid of some small Indian girls. They are cute, sharp little creatures  I think I really want to have a boarding school, camp, foster home or some sort of deal like that. We listened to records all evening. Mom felt bad so I did the dishes. Supper was not much. I drew a luxurious 4,000 sq ft house and began another explanatory letter to Dusty. He’s got to fit in some way. He could. Oh, I wish.  If we don’t do something by summer I’m not sure what I’ll do but I really can’t stay here forever. None of us can. Where are you tonight, Dusty? Were you down here today?  I must check the coffee can tomorrow I guess. I’ve got to see him soon and give him the story etc.

"Talks" were the bane of my existence. Normally it was a) a conflict that Mom and Dad were having  and often got pretty unpleasant b) a 'lecture' or bawling out that Charlie Mike and I got for failing to do something we were supposed to or failing to do it 'right' in one way or another or c) debating some wild-ass plan that deep down I knew was utterly futile and useless but at times would briefly awaken a small spark of hope and an effort to believe it might work out. The problem was, the talks were always belabored to death and repeated a dozen times until I felt we were ridimg a dead horse that was beaten to a mush. The main speaker was always Dad and he was a total master of overkill and followed a complete refusal to listen to much of anything in opposition or doubt.  

I am vague on who the little girls were, We did have some neighbors who had moved into the vacant or semi-abandoned  lower  Clarkdale houses from the small shacks and huts up Bitter Creek toward the cement plant, an area that apparently belonged to the local Yavapai Apache tribe. Eventally they regained lots of property in the Verde Valley. The children seemed to be interested in horses and at times would be eager to help me--often more of a problem than a real aid but they tried and were not obnoxiou kids.  When kids were good, I really enjoyed working with and trying to teach them some and did entertain  notions of making this part of a future career.

I do not recall what was bothering Mom besides the usual conflicts but I helped on supper and cleaned up afterwards. I really did not mind that as a rule.So much time had now passed since I finished school and so many wishful dreams and plans had fallen apart. I knew I had to leave eventually, preferably sooner than later, but still had no idea how I could support myself or what I ought to do. The overall situation was growing more desparate and hopeless as time went on and some kind of final disaster seemed inevitable. Indeed  it was, but at that point was still some time in the future.

I am not sure where the message can was at this point. Later I located it down at the end of the river road where my trail dropped off into the river bottom to go along the bank and then cut through a field over to the pasture. An old hollow stump was a good place for it but at this time, I am not sure. I never knew if Dusty had been in the area that day or not but I imagine the answer was no. I had now not seen him since mid January and it seemed a very long time, but I had weeks more to wait, the rest of March, all of April and almost all of May. 

A few photos, first two views from the west side, looking down at the river and across to the pasture which was below that ridge on the far side. The river road ended just below the gray area which was the tailings pond, irrigated to keep dust down. At the end of Tuzogoot is where the trail went down into those cottonwood trees along the river. .Next is Mom at about this time and then Dad with the 2nd Ford pickup; Charlie Mike was checking a tire or maybe airing it up.

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Memoir Monday, March 6, 1965

March came in with fair weather it seems. But I was getting sick. I made it thru the day at least, but not in great shape. 

Mar 6, 1965 Sat

            Got up with a sore throat and a sick, shaky feeling but stumbled gallantly along. We did all the chores and got Cinder in.  The latter took a bit of doing and some time but it is on my shield or with it when I go mule catching. So I led him home on foot. Charlie Mike went up for mail. None for me. I watered everyone and then Dad and I worked on Cinder. Did the noon chores and ate lunch before going over to Patterson’s for a load of hay. We got an honest weighed ton of three wire alfalfa bales. Seventeen weighted 1970 pounds. That is the first honest ton of hay we have had in a coon’s age. The only way to buy hay is to weigh it. Soon it was chore time. I took my temperature, it was 99.6 but I rode Cinder out anyway. We were nearly done with the chores when a pickup and trailer drove up. They brought Jolly and Happy back. We unloaded them. Jolly was pretty banged up and hot so we had to walk her cool. I got awfully cold and shivery. She sure is lovely. I like her with a full mane. She is really a beauty. Happy is the same ugly duckling but a little heavier. They both seem to be in season now. Can’t figure why they did not breed them. I went to bed right after supper, feeling like I had really had it. Got tonsillitis I guess. Ugh. I hate to be sick.

I guess we did not have a saddle along  as we had driven to the pasture. I did not trust riding Cinder bareback although he was a good little mule so I walked him home. I am not sure now but guesstimate it was maybe 1.5 miles from the pasture to Clarkdale. I think we needed to work on his feet. He needed careful trimming and some modified shoes to keep him sound. Going back later that afternoon, I did ride  but we also apparently drove to haul some of the new hay, Patterson's Feed Store was not economical but they never sold mouldy or bad hay! 

It  had been a long time since we took the two young Quarter Horse mares to New Mexico back in September. Why they were returned six months later I am not sure and they had not been bred as they were supposed to be. Another deal that fell apart for obscure reasons--at least obscure to me. 

After a bit of a struggle of a day, I went to bed right after  supper. I'm not sure if I was better the next day or not. Colds, tonsillitis and virus bugs seemed to really seek me out during these months. Just part of the routine and ongoing troubles that hung around like a gray cloud. I guess I was a bit of a hypochondriac since I seemed to complain a lot about not feeling good. Well, that tended to be a family trait anyway!

A few pix--not too exciting! First is Happy Bars about this time. Her profile was a bit odd but she was not bad looking, just no beauty.  She was a buckskin. Next is Jolly Babe--she was gray and as sweet tempered as she was pretty. Finally the old cowboy girl and the pickup that saw so much use in those years--actually there were two and this was the second one. I was better dressed than usual, clearly going somewhere.