Print Version
Email this story
Comment
They were times of opportunity and change
published April 8, 2003
By Lee Juillerat
It was a life that, in retrospect, sounds stranger than fiction.
But the life that Bill Ganger and his family led was all too real.
Ganger, 81, was only 8 years old when he and his family moved to the Tulelake area in 1929. His father, Ralph, who served in the Marines during World War I, had received a homestead earlier that year.
Although the family had a small farm in northwestern Oregon, his parents, two sisters and his grandparents made the move.
"My father finally decided to move because it was the only opportunity he'd have to get land," says Ganger, noting Klamath Falls area people were "really bad-mouthing" the homestead lands. "He wanted to establish himself as independent. that was about the only way he could do it - get some property and start farming."
Ganger and other family members stayed behind while his father built a shack, which had two tiny bedrooms, a living room-kitchen and wood stove.
"The only luxury we had was the powerline going in front of the house," he remembers. "No well, no running water, so we hauled water in 10 gallons cans from Merrill."
By the time the Gangers arrived, it was too late to plant crops so much of their 54-acre homestead was weeds, "weeds as tall as my sister and my heads. We thought it was great playing out there. It was like a cornfield maze."
To earn money his father, who had worked for Portland Electric Power before the move, took on a job as an oiler on a drag line. It was Ganger's grandfather, Will, who did most of the building and farming - "He could do anything."
Ganger and his sister, Phyllis, walked two miles to the Winema School, a one-room, one-teacher school. His other sister, Gerry Luttrell, now 74, remembers less of the early years because she was just a few months old when the move was made.
What both remember is that life was simply what it was.
"The kids, it didn't bother them, but it was sure hard on our parents because they didn't know where the next dollar was coming from," says Ganger.
To generate cash, the family took milk from the family cows to a cheese factory in Malin.
"That gave you a little cash to buy what you needed at the grocery store," remembers Ganger. "That was about the only cash money that was generated in the country."
Along with chickens, pigs and cows, the family raised turkeys, which were killed and sold to local grocery stories before Thanksgiving. They also relied on a sometimes lively barter system. Peddlers from the Rogue Valley provided peaches, pears and apples in exchange for bags of oats or barley. Others from the coast offered salmon. And traders from California provided other produce.
"That was always a treat to us, to get fresh produce," says Ganger.
"I think of that," agrees Luttrell. "You couldn't even get lettuce in the winter time."
To keep produce relatively fresh, Ganger's grandfather dug pits. The bottom was covered with straw, which was covered by layers of carrots, rutabagas, potatoes, parsnips and turnips, and again covered with straw.
Pits of another sort were used by others. Years later, after the Gangers leased other lands and had about 30 dairy cows, they used to deliver fresh milk to houses, restaurants and seven bars in then-developing Tulelake.
If there was excess milk it was often given to transients, who each fall visited to help with the potato harvest.
"They'd stay here as long as there was a job, but there was no housing," says Ganger, who remembers the workers would dig pits about 8-feet long, 4-feet wide and 3-feet deep, which they'd fill with straw and, wrapped in blankets, "burrow down in that for a bed. Thinking back now, I can't think how people would survive."
Survive they did.
The Gangers built a vat used each fall to scald pigs. The meat was butchered. Some was cured into ham and bacon, and some was smoked. Everything was used. Luttrell remembers the pig bladders were saved, blown up and used as balls.
She and her brother recall wearing clothes with "patches on patches" and worn-out shoes.
While the Ganger youngsters simply accepted what life offered, the adjustment was especially troublesome for their mother, Gladys.
"My mother was more distressed than anybody because she came from a forested area," says Ganger. To add some color to the bleak landscape, she planted flowers, "But the chickens and turkeys rooted them out."
Ganger left in January 1942, when he enlisted in the Navy while attending Washington State University. A year later his father was dead, a victim of tetanus after catching his hand in a hay baler.
When Ganger was discharged and returned in 1946 with a wife and child, he gave up dreams of college and, instead, bought into an insurance agency. He and his wife, Rose, bought two former homesteads and still have the family's original property, where his mother lived until her death at age 94 in 1995.
Ganger, now retired, reflects on a life that was.
"It was a time of opportunity. They could raise a crop. The prices were generally real good then. If they hit a good year with good yields and good prices they were on their way," says Ganger. "Looking back, it was an excellent time to stick your neck out and go."
By Lee Juillerat
It was a life that, in retrospect, sounds stranger than fiction.
But the life that Bill Ganger and his family led was all too real.
Ganger, 81, was only 8 years old when he and his family moved to the Tulelake area in 1929. His father, Ralph, who served in the Marines during World War I, had received a homestead earlier that year.
Although the family had a small farm in northwestern Oregon, his parents, two sisters and his grandparents made the move.
"My father finally decided to move because it was the only opportunity he'd have to get land," says Ganger, noting Klamath Falls area people were "really bad-mouthing" the homestead lands. "He wanted to establish himself as independent. that was about the only way he could do it - get some property and start farming."
Ganger and other family members stayed behind while his father built a shack, which had two tiny bedrooms, a living room-kitchen and wood stove.
"The only luxury we had was the powerline going in front of the house," he remembers. "No well, no running water, so we hauled water in 10 gallons cans from Merrill."
By the time the Gangers arrived, it was too late to plant crops so much of their 54-acre homestead was weeds, "weeds as tall as my sister and my heads. We thought it was great playing out there. It was like a cornfield maze."
To earn money his father, who had worked for Portland Electric Power before the move, took on a job as an oiler on a drag line. It was Ganger's grandfather, Will, who did most of the building and farming - "He could do anything."
Ganger and his sister, Phyllis, walked two miles to the Winema School, a one-room, one-teacher school. His other sister, Gerry Luttrell, now 74, remembers less of the early years because she was just a few months old when the move was made.
What both remember is that life was simply what it was.
"The kids, it didn't bother them, but it was sure hard on our parents because they didn't know where the next dollar was coming from," says Ganger.
To generate cash, the family took milk from the family cows to a cheese factory in Malin.
"That gave you a little cash to buy what you needed at the grocery store," remembers Ganger. "That was about the only cash money that was generated in the country."
Along with chickens, pigs and cows, the family raised turkeys, which were killed and sold to local grocery stories before Thanksgiving. They also relied on a sometimes lively barter system. Peddlers from the Rogue Valley provided peaches, pears and apples in exchange for bags of oats or barley. Others from the coast offered salmon. And traders from California provided other produce.
"That was always a treat to us, to get fresh produce," says Ganger.
"I think of that," agrees Luttrell. "You couldn't even get lettuce in the winter time."
To keep produce relatively fresh, Ganger's grandfather dug pits. The bottom was covered with straw, which was covered by layers of carrots, rutabagas, potatoes, parsnips and turnips, and again covered with straw.
Pits of another sort were used by others. Years later, after the Gangers leased other lands and had about 30 dairy cows, they used to deliver fresh milk to houses, restaurants and seven bars in then-developing Tulelake.
If there was excess milk it was often given to transients, who each fall visited to help with the potato harvest.
"They'd stay here as long as there was a job, but there was no housing," says Ganger, who remembers the workers would dig pits about 8-feet long, 4-feet wide and 3-feet deep, which they'd fill with straw and, wrapped in blankets, "burrow down in that for a bed. Thinking back now, I can't think how people would survive."
Survive they did.
The Gangers built a vat used each fall to scald pigs. The meat was butchered. Some was cured into ham and bacon, and some was smoked. Everything was used. Luttrell remembers the pig bladders were saved, blown up and used as balls.
She and her brother recall wearing clothes with "patches on patches" and worn-out shoes.
While the Ganger youngsters simply accepted what life offered, the adjustment was especially troublesome for their mother, Gladys.
"My mother was more distressed than anybody because she came from a forested area," says Ganger. To add some color to the bleak landscape, she planted flowers, "But the chickens and turkeys rooted them out."
Ganger left in January 1942, when he enlisted in the Navy while attending Washington State University. A year later his father was dead, a victim of tetanus after catching his hand in a hay baler.
When Ganger was discharged and returned in 1946 with a wife and child, he gave up dreams of college and, instead, bought into an insurance agency. He and his wife, Rose, bought two former homesteads and still have the family's original property, where his mother lived until her death at age 94 in 1995.
Ganger, now retired, reflects on a life that was.
"It was a time of opportunity. They could raise a crop. The prices were generally real good then. If they hit a good year with good yields and good prices they were on their way," says Ganger. "Looking back, it was an excellent time to stick your neck out and go."
 |
||
| Coming up |
Reader Comments
The following are comments from the readers. In no way do they represent the view of HeraldAndNews.com. Comment Disclaimer: The editors of heraldandnews.com reserve the right to refuse publication of any comment posted for consideration. We may refuse for any reason, including use of profanity, disparaging comments, libelous comments, etc. Any reader who notices a comment they believe is particularly offensive, should notify us at webmaster@heraldandnews.com.
RSS