LIFE IN A DUGOUT OR SODDIE

By Caroline Clemmons

Subbing for Christi Corbett

Although I’m a Texan, my father's and mother's family were Oklahoma pioneers. Daddy's family moved from Georgia to Texas and then to Oklahoma. Mom's family moved from Tennessee to Oklahoma. The following is part of an account by a member of my paternal step-grandmother's Garton line regarding their move from Hill County, Texas to Old Greer County (now Harmon County), Oklahoma in 1899. The entire account is too long to include here, but I hope you find this portion interesting. It's from an oral history recorded in 1978.

"...We camped at Mr. Brim’s because he had water. There was an empty dugout nearby. We moved into it because it was so There was an empty dugout nearby. We moved into it because it was so cold in the tent. We had a sheet-iron stove, but there wasn’t any wood. Willy had pneumonia. The gyp dust of the dugout turned out to be worse on him than the cold, and so we had to move back into the tent. 

It didn’t take long for us to get initiated to the hazards of living on the prairie. Rain was our chief concern. Everyday we searched the skies for rain clouds. When we saw a rain cloud approaching, we always remembered what a settler’s wife had told Papa when we camped out on Turkey Creek. He had gone to try to buy food for the animals. He asked if it ever rained in Greer County. In a long drawn out tone she replied, "It don’t never rain in Greer County, but when it does, it don’t never stop."

Dust storm

About two or three weeks after we arrived in Martin, we experienced our first sandstorm. Murray and Papa were digging the dugout, and the rest of us were working around the tent. We had spread all the bedclothes outside on the grass so they could air the damp out. We saw the black cloud coming from the north. We thought it was a bad rain cloud. It hit with all the fury of a spring rainstorm, but it was only wind and dust. Mama struggled to get the bedclothes off the grass while we kids fought to keep the tent from falling. Even Willy, who still had pneumonia, was trying to help. But the tent collapsed in spite of all our efforts. After it was over, Papa and Murray came running to us. Papa said that he had never been so frightened—he had thought the world was coming to an end! Later we found our pillows a half-mile away hanging on a barbed wire fence.

After that experience, we watched the skies for rain, those ominous black clouds, and another cloud of a different color. This was a gray cloud that meant an approaching prairie fire. All of the settlers feared these fires. Everyone plowed his fields to make a fire guard; but if the wind was strong, nothing could stop the fires. We were never burned out, but we lived in fear that we might be.

You can understand how
cattle could be on the roof.

Murray and Papa finally finished the new dugout. There we were—seven kids and Mama and Papa—and we didn’t own one dollar in cash. Mr. Brim helped Papa get groceries "on account" in Quanah. He had a fenced garden spot that he said we could use. Mr. Payne let us milk two of his cows. 

Sod house interior

Then we started breaking land with our horses and that old mule. We didn’t make any crop that first year, but we did get all of the land broken. The second year we planted maize and cotton. Papa would dig the holes and I would place the seeds in the holes. The maize was the old goose-necked variety that grew as high as a man’s head and then curved back toward the ground. We had to cut each head separately with a knife. It was difficult for us to reach. Our hands would get cut by the sharp blades of the leaves and, once in a while, by the knife.

We had to go to Quanah, Texas for everything. It had the 

closest railroad. Four or five families would sometimes get together and go over there because we had to ford the Red River. If the river was up, all of the horses would be hitched together in order to pull the wagons across one by one. We had to tie everything down in the wagons or we might see our supplies floating down the river. We would never know whether or not the river would be high. There might have been thunderstorms further west we knew nothing about.

It seemed like we were always in debt to that man at Quanah. I remember one of the first years when we made a good crop. Papa went to Quanah to pay off our bills. When he came home, he said, "Well, Susan, I didn’t tell you, but now I’ve paid it off I guess it can’t hurt to tell you. I mortgaged the mule last spring." 

Mama was shocked. She fretted the remainder of the day. She said over and over, "Just think, if we hadn’t made this crop, we’d lost that mule, and then how would we have broken the land for next year’s crop?"

We made pretty good crops when we first came to Martin. The land was fresh and would grow anything if we could just get enough rain. Our biggest problem was getting water. We had to haul it from Quanah or catch it in rain barrels. When it rained, we filled every available container with water.

The year after Papa mortgaged the mule, he traded it for the price of digging a well. The man had to dig 115 feet before he hit water. We had to draw all our water—even for the stock. Whose job do you think that was? Talk about "the good old days!" If I didn’t think Mama or Papa were watching, I would drive the cattle away—they would drink too much.

Our next biggest worry was the damage caused by the open range policy. Before the Herd Law was passed, the cattle would eat our maize crop and trample our cotton. There weren’t any trees around for fence posts. All the lumber had to be freighted in from Quanah. Besides that, barbed wire cost money, and we were always short of money. 

Willy got a job in Texas. That $10 a month he made sure helped us. One of most vivid memories relating to that open range policy was the day two bulls got into a fight on the top of our flat topped dugout. We were afraid to go outside because they might attack us, and we were afraid to stay inside because it sounded as if any second they could come crashing through the roof. Finally, they gave up and went away.

I was just nine years old when we moved from Hill County, Texas. Oh, how homesick I would get for all those beautiful trees I used to climb (I was the tomboy of the family) and the creeks I used to wade in. I missed our big house too. Everything got so dirty in the dugout. My brother-in- law Ed, who had said this country wouldn’t sprout black-eyed peas, brought my sister Attie to see us. They decided to homestead north of us. We were all together then, and I knew there wasn’t much hope of going back. 

All of us children had to work in the fields planting and harvesting. In the winter we went to school. I loved school and secretly dreamed of going back to Texas to high school. My aunt offered to take my older sister Lucinda and send her to high school so that she could become a teacher. When my sister refused, I asked Mama if I could take her place, but she shrugged it off by saying that I was too young and should stay at home..."

Readers, don't look for Martin on the Oklahoma map. When the railroad passed the town in favor of Hollis, Martin Township died. Even Hollis' population has dwindled now that the railroad no longer goes there. 

And if you are wondering why--if Willy couldn't breathe in the dugout--his father and older brother built another one, it's the gypsum. Gypsum deposits run through some areas of Old Greer County, now Harmon County. Since the gypsum-filled dugout was on Mr. Brim's land, one can only guess that the Brim's had either built the dugout in a gypsum deposit or used limestone/gypsum wash to paint the inside of the dugout. I have no idea, but know that I prefer a brick home with a nice firm (cleanable) floor. 

FORT HUACHUCA by ARLETTA DAWDY

          Many old forts and military camps have been covered here at Sweethearts of the West, in books, films and campfire stories. My fascination with Fort Huachuca began nearly forty years ago. The Huachuca Mountains are Sky Islands stretching from just short of the Mexican border, fifteen miles north in westernmost Cochise County, Arizona. Over the years we dry camped atop the mountains, RV’d close by, stayed in cabins, motels and the Copper Queen Hotel in Bisbee to the east  I  had become obsessed 

with the area, its scenery, people, museums and fascinating history.

On July 8, 2015 Celia Yeary posted an article here entitled "BUFFALO SOLDIERS."

Fort Huachuca Museum

          I returned again and again even after my husband’s death in 2008 at least yearly for extended stays. I poured my energies into research and absorbing the sense of the terrain and atmosphere. A brother-in-law’s stories of his grandmother led to the book’s heroine, Josephine. Though she carried the same name as the original, she was very different and, so, HUACHUCA WOMAN evolved as the first book in THE HUACHUCA TRILOGY. BY GRACE and ROSE OF SHARON came later

          In 1952, Josephine’s young adult grandchildren have returned to the four generational family homestead in the Huachucas to record their 75 year old grandmother’s stories of her life. In Josephine’s words, here is her tale of the origins of the famed fort:

EXCERPT:

“Fort Huachuca and her soldiers have been a part of my life since memory began. After all, we shared our birth year of 1877. That’s when the camp was to deal with raiding Apaches. Before the fort, the government had set up special units of black soldiers and white officers for the Indian campaign in the north. Those first soldiers were something of a ragtag bunch with tattered uniforms, mostly left over from the Civil War, and whatever they cobbled together. Many wore the blue wool in stifling hot weather and cold winter. But none wore the ‘uniform’ more proudly.

          Negro soldiers fought in the Revolutionary War and Civil War, always with white officers in command. Later, Plains Indians gave ‘em the name ‘Buffalo Soldiers,’ for the dark of their skin, the nappy pelt of their hair that felt of buffalo hide, and for their fierce fighting ways, despite their raggedy appearance and their dependence on the worst of army nags. The soldiers took to the name with pride, not insult.         


      Most Buffalo Soldiers fought for the Union and made their way west after the War Between the States. Others were wandering freedmen, looking to make their way. Some made a life of the army, some moved on. They came in all ages and stages. Some still wet behind the ears and some with the bowed legs and grizzled look of a long life on back of a horse. Some with useful skills left from plantation days and some seeking the security of a regimented way of life.

          With a goodly amount of water and these old mountains jutting up sharply out of the desert in all their greenery, the fort was pure oasis for the weary or desert bound.

          White officers tended to come for a spell and move on. Some saw the assignment to Fort Huachuca as punishment and some took p0ride in it.  Others bided their time. By 1886, the officers had their storied houses lined up along one side of the parade grounds, just as in eastern forts. Wives and Families followed and social life of balls, picnics and good deeds came, too. For the whites.

          For the enlisted men, barracks lined the opposite side of the parade grounds. Parlors and barracks alike filled with the dust from hooves of parading horses and the boots of marching men. By this time, regulation uniforms and decent horses were the order of the day for they had been earned in the Indian Wars. At first, few recruits married or took up with squaws. They evolved their own social life in hunting, horse racing and rodeo stunts, gaming and music making. Off grounds, a few cantinas offered drinks and lady companions for a buck or two.

          

When not fighting Apaches, usually relying on Apache scouts to locate the rascals, or searching for first Cochise and then Geronimo, the soldiers were kept busy: laying telegraph wires, surveying the fort and mountains, building roads and the various buildings needed at the fort. They looked to the safety of settlers in patrolling the surrounding area regularly and stopping at ranches. Their officers might take a cup of coffee or a meal with a rancher or his family but the regulars kept to themselves.

Nearing the turn of the century, things got hot busy along the Mexican border and much of the soldiers’ time was spent patrolling against renegade Mexicans, as well as Sierra Madre or other Apaches from across the way. Others tended the orchards and fields in Garden Canyon or doing whatever work was needed to keep the fort running.”

********

Fort Huachuca has continued in service to the country ever since. Two excellent museums, designation as a National Historic landmark, many changes in the operation of surveillance and communications systems have flourished. Yearly re-enactments of the 10^th Calvary’s Buffalo Soldiers continue to bring attention to its traditions. Historical events include: Ancient petroglyphs in Garden Canyon;

Geronimo’s surrender to post Commander General Nelson A. Miles in 1886; Pershing’s doomed “Punitive Expedition” into Mexico (1916-1917) to search out Pancho Villa; the 1917 appointment to post commander of Col Charles Young, West Point graduate and first Black army colonel; Singer Dorothy Dandridge and WACs arrived around WWII; and visitors and trainees now come from the world over. 

References:

Over the years I have found a multitude of books, magazines and periodicals about Fort Huachuca helpful. Unfortunately, I cannot provide you with ready references for my library is in disarray due to downsizing. Two books of some merit are:

          The Buffalo Soldiers by William H. Leckie, U of Oklahoma Press, 1967

Fort Huachuca: The Story of a Frontier Post, by Cornelius C. Smith Jr, sold by Huachuca Museum Society, 1976  

 

Photos: Google Images, Armyand Wikipedia

 Arletta Dawdy lives and writes in Northern California but her literary heart lives in the Southeast Arizona.

         

AMERICAN PROGRESS By Cheri Kay Clifton

John Gast, American Progress, 1872

I first saw this painting while researching Trail to Destiny, Book 1 of my Wheels of Destiny Trilogy. I found the painting both an inspirational and fascinating piece of historical western art. Not only did I admire its rich and detailed symbolism and the powerful meaning it gave to America’s westward expansion, but I understood the controversy it provoked as well. Although the original artwork is only 12 ¾ x 16 ¾, the painting viewed by most is a much larger reproduction.

Crofutt's Trans-Continental Tourist's Guide, 1872

John Gast, a Brooklyn based painter and lithographer, was commissioned by George Crofutt, the publisher of a popular series of western travel guides. With so many images of the western landscape already in circulation, Crofutt collaborated with Gast to create a new design. Crofutt included an engraving of Gast’s painting in his guidebooks.

In order to appreciate the images depicted in Gast’s painting, one has to realize the connection it had to the concept of “Manifest Destiny,” which was first authored by newspaper editor, John O’Sullivan in 1845, who claimed America had been chosen to carry out the duty of expanding the country all the way to the Pacific Ocean. Gast used his painting to tell the message that the United States was destined to migrate West and to encourage interest in Americans to forge their way across the western frontier. This manifest destiny ideology was common among many early Americans who viewed it as an economic opportunity to start anew.

American Progress conveys a dynamic story. First, let’s take a look at the landscape. The right side represents eastern America with what is assumed to be the Mississippi River and the left side represents western America with the distant Pacific Ocean. Notice the eastern side is much brighter than the western side which grows darker with storm clouds above the snow-capped Rocky Mountains. Reading into that, some viewers might interpret the east as safe and civilized and the west as a dark, uncivilized and untamed wilderness.

Second, take notice of the large, ethereal feminine figure in the middle of the painting. With the “star of the empire” on her forehead, she seems to be leading and lighting the way for the travelers from East to West. In her right hand she carries what most often is interpreted as a book of knowledge and she suspends a length of telegraph cable, depicting educational advancements and technological improvements and inventions.

Next look below her; men follow her on foot and by various methods of transportation – pony express rider on horseback, covered wagon, stagecoach, and steam engine. In the lower right, farmers work the land, a stone house, trees and a split rail fence nearby. On the road in the foreground, three men walk beside a horseman. One carries a shotgun and another holds a miner’s shovel on his shoulder.

As sequential waves of Americans move forward across the plains towards the Rockies and beyond, their images tell a story about the importance of the frontier in American life and of the progress achieved through communication, development, transportation and expansion.

But when we look closely to the left side of the painting, we can see quite another dark and controversial meaning to that story. Bison, wild horses and a bear are seen retreating into the darkness. Several Native Americans look back, one bare-chested male raises a tomahawk and another carries a bow and arrow. A horse drawn travois carries a mother and child. Another woman walks beside it and looking over her shoulder.

In the nineteenth century, the new nation of the United States had great ambitions for its future and westward expansion was a common mindset among most Americans. Looking at “American Progress” today, one can appreciate the bright, positive side of Americans’ enthusiasm and energy for forging a bold path across the West, yet also understand the darker, negative side and sympathize with Native Americans being forced from their native land and way of life they were accustomed to.

Gast’s painting at the time he created it effectively conveyed a history of the past, the innovations of the present and a vision of the future. The original painting is now held by the Autry Museum of the American West in Los Angeles, California.

Inspired by 19th Century Americans traveling across the western frontier, I wrote the first two books published in the Wheels of Destiny trilogy, Trail to Destiny with the heroine traveling on a wagon train & Destiny's Journey with the heroine traveling by stagecoach. 

Historic California-Bale Grist Mill by Zina Abbott

When most people think of California in the mid-1800's, they think of the discovery of gold in 1848 and the coming of the "Forty-niners" to mine that gold. Up until 1848, California belonged to Mexico. However there were Americans and other foreigners there intent on making the region their home. One such person was Edward Turner Bale who built a grist mill in the northern part of Napa Valley in 1846.

The mill was established in 1846 on property in the Rancho Carne Humana land grant. Bale lived near the site until his death in 1849.

The gristmill and granary were built with local materials, Douglas firs and coast redwoods. Some timbers were cut to length with the bark left on, while others were roughed out with hand tools. The timbers were notched and held in place with wooden pegs as well as nails and screws. 

The foundation of the structure is native stone. The mill was powered by a waterwheel, with water diverted from Mill Creek nearby. A ditch carried the water from a millpond to a wooden flume, which brought the water to the top of the waterwheel. The first wheel did not provide enough power during dry summers and was replaced by a larger one, similar to the one at the mill today.

The mill was once the center of social activity for Napa Valley settlers as they gathered to have their corn and wheat ground into meal or flour. Farmers brought grain to the mill where it was placed into the boot of an elevator to be mechanically transported upstairs where it was cleaned by various types of equipment. The slow turning of the old grind stones and the dampness of the mill's site gave the meal a special quality for making cornbread, yellowbread, shortening bread and spoonbread. As old timers put it, "When meal comes to you that way, like the heated underside of a settin' hen, it bakes bread that makes city bread taste like cardboard."

Theodore Benedict Lyman bought the mill and surrounding land in 1871 and passed ownership on to his son, William Whittingham Lyman. The mill remained in operation until 1879.

 

The Bale Grist Mill is now a state historic park. It is a fully restored water-powered grist mill is now managed by the Napa Open Space District in partnership with the Napa Valley State Parks Association, and still grinds grain.  Visitors can watch the original set of French Buhr millstones in action when the miller grinds grain into Bale Mill flours and meals. In the late 1800s, Napa Valley farmers brought their grain to the mill where it was placed into the boot of an elevator to be mechanically transported upstairs to be cleaned and sifted by various types of equipment – a technical wonder for the Pioneers. The slow turning of the old grind stones gives the fresh meal a special quality for making cornbread, yellow bread, shortening bread and spoon bread. The mill is ADA accessible.

Below are photographs of the Bale Grist Mill and its interior workings I found on the public domain site:

My mind has been on grist mills for the last several months due to my story, Millwright's Daughter, which is part of the nine-author anthology, Under a Mulberry Moon. The story is set partly at a historic grist mill along the Stanislaus River in California. You may read the full book description and find the purchase link by CLICKING HERE.

And, although my next book has nothing to do with grist mills, look for Nissa, part of the Widows of Wildcat Ridge series which is starting in September.

Sources:

https://napaoutdoors.org/parks/bale-grist-mill-state-historic-park/
Wikipedia