~breatheoutbreathein/edna-lessons-learned-book

2d59b33c54f589ee4d5ebec72c204454d6137dce — Joseph Turner 5 months ago ba6eefd master 4
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% Created 2023-01-23 Mon 18:45
% Created 2023-09-21 Thu 00:24
% Intended LaTeX compiler: pdflatex
\documentclass[11pt]{book}
\usepackage[utf8]{inputenc}


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 pdftitle={The Rivers Were My Teachers: Lessons Learned at the Confluence},
 pdfkeywords={},
 pdfsubject={},
 pdfcreator={Emacs 29.0.50 (Org mode 9.6.1)}, 
 pdfcreator={Emacs 29.0.92 (Org mode 9.6.8)}, 
 pdflang={English}}
\begin{document}



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\chapter{City Girl Meets Wise Native Elder, Bessie Tripp}
\label{sec:org22b382f}
\label{sec:orgad2b52a}
\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[angle=180,width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/bessie-tripp/images/bessie-tripp-close-up-face.jpg}


@@ 84,8 84,1432 @@ Afterword: Bessie was Grandma to many and helped with the raising of many. She h
\includegraphics[angle=270,width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/bessie-tripp/images/bessie-tripp-painting.jpg}
\caption{Bessie Tripp. Painted by Ralph Starritt.}
\end{figure}

In the few days that I was with Bessie she taught me some things
indirectly. For example her families relationship with the forest
service was not good. This was due to the forest service being ridged
and sometimes vindictive to the people on the Salmon River. I learned
this when listening to Bessie and Little man talk about being harassed
by the Forest Service. Besides these hardships she communicated
without realizing, I also learned indirectly about native humor. This
came natural to Bessie, although it took me a while to understand.
From this understanding of native humor I was able to make closer
relationships with other Kuruk people. Another thing I learned from
Bessie was about the original indigenous peoples of the Salmon river,
the Konomihu. Unfortunately they were completely whipped out by the
early gold miners of Forks of Salmon who finished them off. What those
gold miners did was an act of genocide. I also learned about Francis
Brazil, the man I call “ the hero of Kot-ee-meen”. These were
important lessons for me, important enough to share with others.

Even though I was with Bessie a short amount of time only a couple of
days I learned so much from her about the river and the area. My
connection with Bessie was very strong right off the bat, I felt that
I had known her all my life. For me it was one of those meetings that
felt destined to be. She was a great influence on my life and I am not
sure if she ever knew that.
\chapter{The White Man Cometh}
\label{sec:org6390d55}
The first white people in the Klamath/ Salmon River area were most likely Hudson Bay trappers looking for beaver. In 1826 Devon Peter Ogden was on an expedition that traveled down the Klamath River from Klamath Lake all the way to the ocean. Other beaver trappers like Jedediah Smith followed close behind traveling down the Trinity River through Hoopa and on down the Klamath River to the ocean and then up to Crescent City. Smith’s expedition was quite a spectacle to the native people, as described in the book called “Two People One Place”. Journals and oral history tell that the Indians were not only surprised by the white man’s garb and gear, it was also the first time many of them had seen horses, mules, metal knives, and rifles. Big changes were on the way. Stephen Meek was a well-known Hudson Bay trapper who worked the Trinity River and ended up in Scott Valley. The trappers decimated most of the beaver population along the rivers, in order to supply fur for fancy men’s hats.

Besides taking away the beaver the trappers also brought something to the area; smallpox and other diseases of the white man. John Harrington quotes Phoebe Maddox as stating that a smallpox epidemic occurred when her mother was still little a girl around 1840, some years before the coming of the gold miners.

In 1848 gold was discovered on the American River. By 1849, hundreds of 49ers flocked to the Trinity River, and by 1850 every major watershed within the Klamath and Trinity basin had been prospected. More and more miners came and many of them were unprepared for the winter.

The starvation winter of 1850 along the Salmon River was described by Bessie Tripp who heard the story from her grandfather. The winter came in harsh and heavy, and some of the miners were starving. Many were helped and led by Indians along the Salmon River. There was no store established there yet, and no place for the miners to go for supplies. They relied completely on the kindness and generosity of the Indian people along the river to help them survive the winter.

By 1851, there were several thousand miners along the Salmon and Klamath rivers. 1500 were reported at the Salmon River in the spring of 1851. Miners arrived by ship to Trinidad Bay and traveled overland to “ the diggings “.
The miners were clueless about any balance of resources in the area established by the native tribes; centuries old hunting, fishing, and gathering boundaries and rules were completely ignored, and any ground desired by the miners was taken over by them, no matter how long any Indian family might have lived there. Laws were passed to support the thieving of Indian land. On April 22, 1850, the state legislature passed the law called “An Act for the Governing and Protection of Indians.” That law should have been called “an act for the governance of Indians and the protection of white men “, because the act made into law such things as any white person could apply to a justice of the peace for the removal of Indians from any land that the white man claimed as his own. Also, the act utilized the indenture of Indian children, thereby creating a new form of slavery. Another law forbade Indians, Blacks, or mulattos testifying against white people.

The Gold Rush devastated and changed life forever for the native inhabitants of the rivers, as well as changing history for all native people of California. The clash of cultures was as profound as any ever in history. The miners valued money and possessions and most of them treated the native people as inferior beings, showing no respect for established homes, village sites, family structure and customs. The white man generally acted entitled to get what he wanted, by whatever means necessary, especially when it came to the lust for gold. Many former Indian home and village sites became mining claims and, later on, homesteads. Also, miners stole, lived with, or sometimes married Native women, creating the beginnings of a new way of life in the area along the rivers, especially in the area that would come to be called Somes Bar.

The following passage is an excerpt titled "An Indigenous
Perspective," from the Indian Teacher and Educational Personnel
Program.

\begin{quote}
Lonyx Landry interviewed Julian Lang about the impact of the Gold Rush
as told by his family elders and his research into the tribal history
of the period. Lang is a member of the Karuk tribe, a published author
and Karuk tribal scholar, who with his partner, Lyn Risling, have
helped revive certain Karuk ceremonies.

There were little garrisons up and down the Klamath River-I don't know
if they had one at Orleans. In 1849, that's when the miners first
discovered gold in northern California, and then, instantly, White men
started coming into our country. They were from everywhere, from all
over the world. The first wave came and they stripped out the gold,
they took as much as they could. A law was made that allowed the
"miners" to make indentured slaves out of women, young, like 14 years
old. They would just take them, just go into their houses and take
them-they were in a territory with no women. Overnight, tent cities
and white people jammed the river bars along the Klamath. I imagine
there were a bunch of cut-throats, too. These were people who wanted
money bad, willing to do anything to get it. [Referring to a sketched
map:] We [the Karuk tribal people] start at Bluff Creek [7-8 miles
upstream of the confluence of the Klamath and Trinity Rivers].

There were some little placer mining that went on over here-Red Cap is
here-and Orleans is over here, and then the Klamath goes on
up[stream]. [Above Orleans] there are all of these little places,
villages, Pearch Creek, Ameekyaaraam. There wasn't too much gold in
there though, very little easy gold.

There were trail systems everywhere, the Indian highways. You could go
to Happy Camp, to the Forks of the Salmon, and over the mountains to
Weitchpec. All of the village-sites, nearly all of the village sites
were 'flats', open meadows that sat above the river called benches.
Nowadays, many of those benches, the site of the actual villages, are
gone. After the first wave of miners in 1849-1850, the second wave
were more determined to strip away all the earth with hydraulics, so
that, today, the old villages are bedrock. The meadows are gone,
everything.

[Referring to the map-sketch again:] Then end result was that up here
at Katimiin and Somes Bar (they were separate places in the old days),
the Salmon River runs this direction, every village was wiped out. The
mid- and upper-stretches of the Salmon River were the site of much
mining. Black Bear Mine was the most famous mine, established in the
late 1860s-era. It turned out to be one of the richest gold mines in
the world. There are reports that Black Bear was bringing in millions
of dollars per week, I don't recall the figures. The first 49-ers,
though, were not interested in long-term mining, unless they struck it
rich. Nearly all of the first wave were looking to 'strike it rich'.

Remember there were no 'whiteman towns' prior to 1849-1850. The
country was all Indian, there were the Karuk Peoples and the Konomihu
Shasta and the Klamath River Shasta, zvith the Yurok and Hupa further
downstream and southwest. The Chimariko were over the mountains south
of us. In 1850, the Indian village that became Happy Camp was,
relatively speaking a big village area. There was a World Renewal
Ceremony there at Clear Creek. Overnight this area was inundated.
There were 60 thoussand people [today Happy Camp's population is about
1,500 souls] roaming through the surrounding hills and river bars
looking for gold. The impact was devastating for them, the Happy Camp
Indians.

There were skirmishes and even what was called "Indian Wars," Indians
repelling the white miners from taking their wives and daughters. In
1850-1851 the whites living around Orleans announced that there was to
be a war, all the Indian villages were to be burned unless certain
named men, my great-great-grandfather was one of them, were turned
over for 'killing a cow'. The vigilante group burned many of the
houses at Panamniik (today's town of Orleans) and continued on up to
the village-center called Katimiin. When they were scheduled to
attack, a second group of white men, led by a man named Brazille, a
Frenchman, interceded, and so, the houses in and around Katimiin were
not destroyed as they had been both upriver and downriver.

There's many, many stories of this time\ldots{}
\end{quote}

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/white-man-cometh/images/Stephen_Meek_photo.jpg}
\caption{Stephen Meek}
\end{figure}
\chapter{The Gold Rush}
\label{sec:orge370f33}
\chapter{Chinese Miners}
\label{sec:org7d6c826}
Chinese Miners

Gold fever reached China at the same time that it was luring miners
from all over the United States and the world. In 1850, China was
still a somewhat feudal society, and advertisements posted in Chinese
cities easily convinced many to leave the warlords, destitution, and
starvation occurring in some regions of China. In her book ”Driven
Out”, Jean Pfaelzer wrote, “Dreaming of wealth or “Gold Mountain” as
California came to be known, Chinese villagers sold their fields or
fishing boats or borrowed money to sail to California try their luck
at gold mining.” Some of them traveled to Somes Bar and surrounding
areas such as Orleans, Happy Camp, and Forks of Salmon. Even though
they were considered inferior and invasive by many, they were known
for working hard, and they were especially good at stacking rocks
collected in the course of gold mining. To this day, you can see very
large rock piles along the Klamath and Salmon rivers and many of these
piles were stacked by the hard-working Chinese miners. Also left
behind as part of their legacy are place names such as China Camp,
China Grade Road, China Creek and China Point. After the outlawing of
slavery by the Emancipation Proclamation of 1863, and the outlawing of
indentured servants in the 1870’s, Chinese workers were utilized
heavily in certain areas of the U.S., especially on railroad crews and
in mining companies. They were not paid much, and what they were paid
was usually sent home to their families in China. For a short while,
Chinese workers helped establish not only the rail lines connecting
the country but also gold mining companies, many of which were owned
by white men. In the 1860 census, there were many Chinese in Siskiyou
County. Resentment of Chinese workers spread like wildfire in Northern
California. Many of the Irish who had suffered from prejudice
themselves, looked down upon Chinese workers who they said took jobs
away from them. Laws were passed such as the Foreign Miners Tax and
the Page Act, and eventually the Chinese Exclusion Act, all with the
intent of curbing Chinese workers or getting rid of them all together.
During and after the depression of 1870, Northern California towns
started having purges and persecution of Chinese miners. Some towns
burned their Chinatowns to the ground and forced out all Chinese
people. Stanshaw Mine, which was located on Stanshaw Creek near what
is now Marble Mountain Ranch, 7 miles upriver from Some Bar proper,
employed many Chinese miners. The Chinese miners either hired out for
other mining company owners, or bought registered mines of their own.
White miners earned an average of \$10-\$20 a day while Chinese miners
average between five and eight dollars a day. They often occupied
claims that white miners had abandoned. Labor Unions were very opposed
to Chinese workers being in California and were part of the force
behind planning a mass exodus of the Chinese in Eureka California. The
I W W of Humboldt County urged the purging of Chinese workers. One big
reason was the push for an eight hour day. Chinese workers were well
known for working longer days at lower wages. The Chinese Exclusion
act passed in 1882, outlawing new Chinese from emigrating to America.
By 1886, resentment of the Chinese in Humboldt County reached a peak,
and the newspapers and others called for the expulsion of all the
Chinese in the county and surrounding areas, including Somes Bar.
Anti-Chinese sentiment grew to a frenzy , and Chinese people were
rounded up and sent by boat to either China or San Francisco. Jean
Pfaelzer states in her book “Driven Out , “ on p. 270, that in 1886,
Chinese dwellings in Sawyers Bar were completely destroyed, and that a
U.S. Marshall was sent to Happy Camp to quell an anti-Chinese riot.
Happy Camp had a Chinatown that was later burned to the ground.
According to local historian Phil Sanders, in our area, some Chinese
had gotten along well with some Native families, even inter marrying,
(the Moon family of Hoopa) although most Chinese were treated poorly
by many Native and white people. About all that is left from this
entire group of people in Somes Bar that proves they were ever here at
all are the census records, place names, and rock piles left behind .
One group of Chinese miners near Orleans held out past the time when
most Chinese were completely driven out of Northern California. Laura
Sanders of Orleans , daughter of Phil and Sue Sanders, researched the
store records of her grandfather Lloyd Downs who owned the store in
Orleans in the early 1900’s , some years past the forced exodus of the
Chinese everywhere else in gold mining country. She found evidence of
Chinese food items and other things only used by Chinese people,
purchased for several years beyond when anyone thought all the Chinese
had been driven out. Laura wrote a very interesting article about this
for the Humboldt Historian, a local history publication. <Insert copy
of Laura Sanders’ article.>
\chapter{The Konomihu People of the Salmon River Country}
\label{sec:org305c5f9}
The Konomihu tribe was a band of native American people who were
indigenous to the Salmon River in Northern California. In 1850, when
contact with the white man first occurred, some of them lived in
villages along the North Fork and some lived along the South Fork of
the Salmon River. There was also a village at the Forks of Salmon and
some people say they lived a little further downriver towards the
Klamath River, a few miles upriver from old Somes Bar, perhaps near
Oak Bottom . Their territory was between the Shastas, the New River
Shastas, and the Karuk. ( see maps ) According to Susan Brazille, who
was one of the daughters of Queen Brazille, the Konomihu people had
sometimes fought with the Shasta people and their numbers were way
down by 1850. Also, according to Susan Brazille, who might have been
one of the last who are descendants of the Konomihu, the gold miners
of Forks of Salmon wiped out whoever was left in the tribe, somewhere
between 1850 and 1853. Susan Brazille was an informant of several
archeologists.

A man named George Gibbs wrote in his diary in
December of 1852 that the Indians on the Salmon are almost all
extinct. There are none on the North Fork, on the South only one small
band and on the main river but one down to Wooley’s Creek. Most of
what is known today about the Konomihu is recorded in KONOMIHU
STUDIES, ETHNOLOGY AND ARCHAEOLOGICAL DATA RECOVERY. (USFS
CA-SIS-1457) WINTHROP ASSOCIATES WHITE BINDER REPORT, commissioned by
the USFS MAY 30,1991. In (INSERT YR) the Forest Service destroyed a
sacred Konomihu archeological site when they excavated the earth there
to put out a nearby fire. Later they apologized by compiling as much
information about the Konomihu as could be found into a written
report. They met with some of the only known speakers of the Konomihu
language as well as different anthropologists and geologists to study
the area and compile their findings to better record the history and
culture of the Konomihu peoples. The two informants mentioned in the
Konomihu Field Notes are Phoebe and Susan Brazille, daughters of Queen
and Francis Brazille, the heroes of Kot-e-meen. In the fieldnotes
Phoebe and Susan state that their grandmother’s mother (Queen’s
grandma) was raised at Yreka, right under Shasta Butte. A Rogue River
Indian man went there and married her and brought her to the Rogue
River to raise a big family there. Lots of Yreka Indians followed a
similar path to the Rogue River. Queen’s mother was born and raised at
Table Rock on the Rogue River and when the white people came to the
region French and Spanish mixed with the Indians. They killed many
Indians and threw them in the river till it was full of Indians mixed
up with the bodies of white people. That is when Queen’s mother and
her mother’s cousin ran over to the Salmon River area and married into
the Konomihu tribe.

The Salmon River unwinds like a translucent ribbon of turquoise carving a path between mountains, wearing them down to smooth white pebbles where legendary fish spawn in shallow pools. The water reflects so many shades of sky until they are big enough to ride the currents back to the ocean. Samnanak is what they called the Forks of Salmon village. The Konomihu lived deep in the mountains where the Salmon River forks North and South. They caught salmon with spears of painted hardwood carbonized with salmon head glue. They would also catch fish in a dam they made at a place called Middle Sand. Susan Brazille saw it when she was a young girl and said it looked like a fence across the river with maybe ten big baskets set at intervals into which the fish would drop. Really they knew many ways to catch a fish.

There is a place the Konomihu call Hawaru Khipawahima, Where the Whirlwind Stopped. They think it means the end of the world, where the whirlwind stopped. Susan thinks the whirlwind came back again this way. Susan’s grandfather’s cousin was a doctor man and when doctoring he sang he could see everything, mentioning these Konomihu words, saying he left a place where he was and went to the end of the world (where the whirlwind stops) and then came back again to where he started.

When drying salmon in the summer the Konomihu lived in brush huts called o-pis-ah-kwi-ruk. The leaves were left on the brush of the houses. When hunting deer the people lived in bark houses called soo-nah-too-ahn-mah. The sweat house, called kos-took-hum-pik, is about eight feet by twelve feet. It has a fire in the center but no hole for smoke. It is heated by means of a large fire, but no rocks or water are used. The sweat house is dug deep in the ground and the top covered with slabs and earth and only projects slightly above ground level. A single middle post was used from which the roof rafters radiated. The Konomihu also built ceremonial housed called ko-hah-a-hem-pik which were partly underground and circular. The permanent houses were called ah-mah, also circular with a fireplace in the middle and a smoke hole directly over the fire.

The Konomihu and the Karuk would trade for baskets and goods at a place called Khipak-haw. The Konomihu made deer skin pack baskets that they could carry water in and hazel stick baskets for packing wood. Acorns were primarily kept in huge storehouse baskets calle ah-nah-ek. These baskets were closely woven of pine roots and hazel shoots about the height of a man’s body and four feet or more in diameter. The Shasta and Konomihu tribes would store good in underground caches made with a framework of posts and bark with leaves on the ground to keep out dampness. The would fill these storage spaces with acorns, dried fish, elk, deer and bear meat.

When the people killed a bear the men and women would each do part of the work required to tan the hide and preserve the meat. The women would work on the hair side of the hide after it was stretched out. They would comb the hair with big bunches of pine needles and sing the she-bear song. The men would dress the inside and rub it with rotten wood while singing the he-bear song.
\chapter{Knownothing Creek, Hearts of Gold}
\label{sec:org8d91c7e}
\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/know-nothing-creek-hearts-of-gold/images/wally_and_larrey.jpg}
\caption{Wally and his kindergarten chum, Larrey Cressey.}
\end{figure}

Knownothing Creek is a special place, gorgeous, magical, and flowing fully with abundant water, crystal clear and delicious. It is a major tributary of the South Fork of the Salmon River, located in an extremely remote area of Siskiyou County, California. The whole area is so remote that you must travel along one lane mountain roads that follow cliffs traversing the Salmon River until you reach the tiny town of Forks of Salmon. These roads can be terrifying to some people because it is pretty scary looking over the side of the cliff down to the river on one side of you, and then looking at a blind curve on an extremely narrow one lane road on the other side of you. In fact, many people have died by accidentally going off of these cliffs in their vehicles. Over the years, I have lost many friends and 2 family members to the dangerous River roads.

Forks of Salmon, aka the Forks, currently has no store, but, they do have one of the country’s smallest post offices. There are no police, no churches, no stores currently, no doctor, no electric company, and only one tiny school called Forks of Salmon Elementary, which currently has about 8 to 10 students total and one teacher. The school and the U. S. Post Office are the only businesses in the entire town although the U. S. Forest Service maintains a generator shed and some outbuildings around the school and town site, since the town is located smack dab in the middle of the Klamath National Forest, and even though you don’t always see Forest Service employees, the agency is always maintaining some sort of control and supervision. (See the chapter about history of the forest service for more on this.) They are probably most evident during Forest Fires, when they direct the firefighting efforts and set up fire camps, and communicate constantly with the locals. Unfortunately, Forest Fires have become part of the way of life for folks who live in the National Forests, for a variety of reasons. (See chapter on Fires.)

California’s Wild and Scenic, pristine, clean and beautiful Salmon River has two main branches that come together at the Forks of Salmon, the North Fork and the South fork. Knownothing Creek is located about three miles up the road from the Forks that follows the south fork (Cecilville Rd.) which goes to the next small town called Cecilville about 17 miles from Forks of Salmon.

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/know-nothing-creek-hearts-of-gold/images/kathy_scherzer.jpg}
\caption{Kathy Scherzer, my sister, at Lloyd's party.}
\end{figure}

About a mile up Knownothing Creek, across a strong but slightly scary bridge, built from local timber, lived one of the last of the modern day gold miners of the Salmon River area, a man with a heart of gold, Lloyd Ingle. He was a friend to many, including me and my husband Wally and all of our Knownothing Gang and all of our beloved Salmon River friends. I first met Lloyd around the summer of 1973, during a visit to the Salmon River and to Black Bear Ranch, at a time when I was part of the Hearthshire Free School and Commune, of San Francisco and Covelo, cousin clan of the Black Bears, as both communes were founded by members of the Digger family of S. F. (see notes by Peter Coyote in appendix A if interested). This was at a time when I also met my friend Bobbi, later to be Bobbi Harling, when she lived at the lower end of Knownothing at a place nicknamed the Sugar Shack with a fellow named Jesse Dalton. This was an old miner’s cabin, and like every place else in Forks of Salmon, it was off the grid, meaning no power made by outside companies was available. Bobbi’s cabin was lit by kerosene lamps, and it felt homey and warm. Bobbi had me sit at her kitchen table, while she cooked one of her famous dinners for a small crowd called Taco Skillet. She also had some of her famous lemon bars baking in the oven. Bobbi treated me as if I were an old friend, and we became friends who eventually grew old together over the years. From then on, through today, I have loved visiting Bobbi in her kitchen wherever she has lived, where she makes you feel welcome, she fills your tummy, and she fills your soul with river talk, which always includes the latest river news and gossip. Usually someone else is often visiting, so it is a great place to meet people and to get caught up on what’s happening at the Forks.

This poem is from the beginning of "Bobbi's Kitchen":

\begin{verse}
\itshape
That Kitchen Table\\[0pt]
\vspace*{1em}
Things that can be done at the kitchen table in Bobbi's house:\\[0pt]
You can have one of the best meals\\[0pt]
You can wait 4-5 minutes until she is ready\\[0pt]
The best gossip can be heard here\\[0pt]
Christmas cookies can be made\\[0pt]
Halloween candy can be sorted\\[0pt]
You can talk till all hours of the night\\[0pt]
You can hear the most sincere advice\\[0pt]
At this table you will always be welcome.\\[0pt]
\end{verse}

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=10cm]{./chapters/know-nothing-creek-hearts-of-gold/images/bobbis_kitchen_cover.jpg}
\caption{Cover of "Bobbi's Kitchen". From inside cover: The cover quilt pattern is one Bobbi's sister Cindy made, called "Bobbi's Kitchen". She wrote to Bobbi explaining what it meant: "Your house is a special place, filled with acceptance and warmth, and the kitchen is the centerpiece of that. The cornerstones of red represents the warmth that is the foundation of your home. Love is at the center, and is surrounded by the sunshine streaming in the windows and out of your heart. The blue represents the tranquility and acceptance found by those who are blessed to be in your presence."}
\end{figure}

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/know-nothing-creek-hearts-of-gold/images/bobbi_with_treats.jpg}
\caption{Bobbi Harling, with treats fresh from the oven.}
\end{figure}


This was the beginning of a magical journey for me, seeing a place of unimaginable beauty, with people as incredible as the surroundings. After experiencing Bobbi’s well known hospitality, my friends then introduced me to Lloyd, a little further up the creek. His hospitality matched Bobbi’s, and we ended up camping there, after an evening of great talks loosened up with shots of tequila. I was amazed at the kindness and openness of this man who would look at you full in the face and would speak so enthusiastically about so many topics, and would laugh and smile so freely. Lloyd shared whatever he had with his visitors, including canned cherries from his favorite cherry tree, and rice and beans or whatever he had for dinner. In the years to come, I played a lot of dominoes and poker at Lloyd’s house, and also drank a bit of tequila in my younger days. I would later become Lloyd’s neighbor further up the creek and our “Knownothing Gang” took shape from all the time all of us spent together, mostly at Lloyd’s cabin, where the wood stove and the hospitality were always full and warm, and the gold shone from his heart. Lloyd died in 2016 at age 64 of pancreatic cancer, after fighting desperately to live for many months. By his side the whole time was his beloved soul mate Nancy Thatcher, who was and still is another dear friend of mine, another one with a heart of gold. When I left Knownothing after that brief visit in 1973, I knew I would be back, searching for another heart of gold.

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/know-nothing-creek-hearts-of-gold/images/more_knownothing_gang.jpg}
\caption{More of the Knownothing gang: Anne and Mel Berry, and Lloyd and Mike Defaria at a party at Lloyd's.}
\end{figure}

About 6 months later, I returned to the River with my 6 yr. old son Ricky, looking for a home, wanting to live in this most remarkable place I had ever experienced. My boyfriend at the time, Tommy Truck, dumped me at Knownothing Creek at Lloyd’s cabin, when he said we would be parting company because he had decided to mine gold with Lloyd and I would not fit in the mining picture. I was crushed and felt devastated and used (I had a truck that had hauled Tommy’s tools and other things for mining up from the city. Hmm.) The only other place I knew to go to was Black Bear Ranch.
It was February, and the road to the ranch was blocked with snow. I was told there was a 5 mile trail going up Black Bear Creek that people traveled in the winter that could get us there I was basically still a naïve city girl, with more hutzpah than common sense. I dressed my poor kid in heavy snow-pants, and ended up half carrying and half dragging him those 5 miles. As dark descended upon us, I was literally terrified for our lives, but I then saw a meadow and a light, and I was at the ranch.
I saw a house nearby with a big front porch, with lights on and I could tell there were people there. I helped Ricky to get up the steps. I opened the door and a sea of people stared at me. I did not see one familiar face. On this cold winter night, the vibe at the ranch was as cold as the weather. The hospitality of the River was not present that week at the Ranch. Two welcoming and friendly people I had met previously at Black Bear, Richard Marley, the owner, and Geba Greenberg, (she was the heart of the Ranch) were not there that week and I was among unfriendly strangers. They asked who I was and I told them I was Edna from Hearthshire School in San Francisco. I had expected communal friendship and hospitality, since the two communes were cousin clans and there was a lot of travel by people of both clans between Black Bear Ranch, the Hearthshire free Land in Covelo CA, and the San Francisco communal houses belonging to Hearthshire and Black Bear. The women in particular were not very welcoming, although I was told by Elsa Marley that I could stay for up to 2 weeks in the Main House. They did feed me and Ricky and directed us where to find dry bedding for the night, but no smiles, no camaraderie. I desperately missed Richard Marley, Elsa’s husband, who had played his guitar and sang songs by Woody Guthrie when I was there in 73, and told stories about his Longshoreman days and his mother’s experiences as a communist in England, along with stories of how he and others including Malcolm Terence had traveled to Hollywood to get money from movie stars to help buy the ranch a few years previous to my arrival. Richard and Elsa were the original owners of the Ranch. (see Elsa’s Story excerpt in appendix section.) Ironically, about 25 years later, my name and that of my son Ricky were added to a list of the first trustees for Black Bear Ranch, which consisted of many of the children who grew up at the ranch as well as others with some sort of close association with the Ranch. Both Rick and I declined the responsibility, with a little chuckle inside.

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/know-nothing-creek-hearts-of-gold/images/mike_defaria.jpg}
\caption{Mike DeFaria, my closest neighbor, one mile up the road from me and Wally at the Hansen mine.}
\end{figure}

I left the next day and headed back to Knownothing Creek, via the Forks. It was February 14, 1974. Ricky and I caught a ride down the mountain in an old army truck with some hippies who said they were going on a food run. After about an hour of bumpy dirt roads, we made it down to the town of Forks of Salmon which consisted of tiny post office, a small little general store, and a field with a big tree with a picnic table across from the store. There was a small crowd of about 20 people milling around the picnic table under the big tree. I found out that this base of operations was called “the Beer Tree” and was and still is a major hub of communication for folks at Forks of Salmon. Anyway the big news that day was that a dance was being held for Valentine’s day that evening at the old Forks of Salmon school which was right down the road. In 1974, the old historic school building was still used as a classroom for some of the kids on some days, although the first building of the new school had been completed in 1972. The old school was in transition from classroom to community club building, which is it s function today. At the dance that night, there was no admission price and kids were welcome. It sounded good to me so I headed on down the road towards the old school.

When I got there the band for the evening, called the Salmon River Snipers, was just starting to warm up. Ricky and I walked around outside looking for a familiar face. I saw Tommy and Lloyd and went over and talked to them. Tommy introduced me to his ex-girlfriend, Liz Nix who was the mother of his son, a three-year-old named Toz, whose name is a combination of the names Tom and Liz. Toz was there and immediately started playing with Ricky showing him where the other kids were and how they played together at those dances, which was to run around all evening all over the place. You could actually easily observe them and it was all safe, so I was glad Ricky was set up to have a good time, now that he had a new friend.

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/know-nothing-creek-hearts-of-gold/images/lloyd_looking_up_something.jpg}
\caption{Lloyd looking up something.}
\end{figure}

Lloyd and Tommy were standing near a bonfire and there was one guy laying on the ground near the bonfire, seemingly asleep. I asked Lloyd who the guy sleeping guy was, and he said to me, “ That’s Wally the Walrus. He’s not really sleeping, he is actually temporarily passed out. We had a pre-dance run to the bar at Cecilville earlier today, and the Walrus started drinking kind of early. I couldn’t join him since I am the designated driver for the evening. I’m guessing he might wake up in a few hours for round 2. “ Lloyd then said to Wally “Hey Walrus, this here is Edna the gal I told you about that Tommy dumped at my place the other day.” Wally sort of looked up at me but eyes rolled around in his head shut again. I looked down at him and I thought he was kind of cute, but then thought no more about him. Little did I know I was to be married to this man within a few years and we were destined to be together for almost 50 years.

I went inside the old one room schoolhouse and started listening to the music and watching folks dance. The band was an old time family band, the McBrooms, with the mom, Earline, at the piano, the dad Hank nicknamed Wook, on the fiddle, and their son Dean on guitar and banjo. Other family members as well as other children of theirs played other fiddles, guitars and banjo, in sort of an old-school style of bluegrass, swing, square dancing and rock and roll. The most popular dances of the evening were the two step and the Salmon River stomp, as well as much improvised hippie dancing and the Virginia Reel. Overall, I had a blast, dancing, meeting people, checking on Ricky and his many new friends, and finding out more about this incredibly unique community that was called “ The Forks “.

Some people who lived along the River I had met at the dance took me and Ricky home for a few days, John Albion and his wife Inga. Their kindness and warm hospitality help to make up for being dumped by Tommy, and also for my cold reception at Black Bear Ranch. After getting my head together some, Ricky and I said our thank you’s and goodbyes and then went to the home of my old friend Bobbi and her husband to be, Les Harling. Bobbi had 2 children at that time, Karen and Tim Murray. Tim was Ricky’s age, and they became good friends for life, just like me and Bobbi. I stayed with them for about a week, as I tried to formulate a plan for surviving. Also, it was Ricky’s 6th birthday that week, so Bobbi made him a delicious chocolate cake and found him some give away toys from her children, and he was quite happy, which made me quite happy.

I still was not sure of how to find a place to live at the Forks. There were no rentals, and I had no clue of how to find an empty place. Just about everyone lived on a mining claim, and you were supposed to be a gold miner to live on a mining claim Lloyd had an idea of how to help me, and took me up to meet the mentor of Knownothing, Mike Defaria, an older hard rock miner who lived way up at the top of Knownothing Creek, about 4 miles up a very narrow dirt road with steep cliffs along the creek, at the Hansen Mine, an active hard rock mine owned by Eleanor Hendricks, the legendary founder and owner of Siskiyou Telephone Co., and operated by Mike with her blessing, as they were old friends from the Valley (Scott Valley) where his Portuguese family had homesteaded. (See author’s disclosure about Mike Defaria at the bottom of page.)

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/know-nothing-creek-hearts-of-gold/images/nixie_and_larrey.jpg}
\caption{Nixie Fritz and Larrey Cressey, part of our Knownothing gang.}
\end{figure}

Mike was an interesting old guy, who was teaching 2 young guys from San Francisco how to mine gold, using the old hard rock method. Each of the guys had a tiny room at the mine. One of the guys was Larry Cressey, the other guy’s name was Wally Watson. Larry lived at the mine with his girlfriend at the time, a woman named Nixie Fritz. They would later be married and have 2 beautiful daughters, Lyra and Iris. Mike, Wally, Larry and Nixie generally had a good time up at the mine, and they loved it when company visited. Everyone pitched in to do cooking, cleaning and gold mining, all pretty much at Mike’s direction, as they were learning the ropes. Mike taught those guys everything they needed to know about living on the mountain. He taught them all about firewood, shooting and guns, and things like how to render bear fat, and how to raise chickens and goats, and especially how to be self sufficient. The city boys had become mountain men.

Every evening after dinner, Mike would start up a game of dominoes. That evening that Lloyd took me up to meet Mike, he and Wally and Larry were just dealing out the bones, when Lloyd and I walked in the door. Women were a welcome novelty at the mine in those days, and I was no exception. The guys paused their game for a bit and Mike asked me if I would like a cup of coffee, which I accepted, and then Wally the Walrus said to me, “Little girl what brings you up our road?”
Lloyd spoke up for me and said,” This here is Edna. She needs a place to live for her and her little boy Ricky, who is 6 years old. I told her about Packy Kramer’s vacant cabin down the road. She would like to meet Packy and ask him if she can live in his cabin. What do you think Mike? “
Mike thought for about a minute and then he said,” Well, I think it might be nice to have a young lady down the road, if she can handle living in an old cabin where you have to cross the creek on a log to get there. What you think of that Miss Edna?” I said, “ it sounds like fun to me and I’m sure Ricky would like it so if it’s safe enough we would love to live there.”

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/know-nothing-creek-hearts-of-gold/images/ron_frate.jpg}
\caption{The king of the miners, Ron Frate.}
\end{figure}

I had spoken without seeing the log across the raging creek. It was a bit intimidating when I viewed it the next day before I rode out in an old jeep with Wally and Larry to meet Packy Kramer over in Scott Valley, where I had never been before. Bobbi had offered to watch Ricky and to let him play with her son Tim, who was Ricky’s age and they had become great friends. I was then free to go on the expedition to Scott Valley with the 2 young guys I had found to be nice and also very polite to me. And I have to admit I was eyeballing 22 year old Wally, who was being awfully sweet to me. Anyway, I will make a long story short and tell you that Packy was as nice as everyone on the River, and when I told him how I longed to leave city life and live in the mountains he seemed like he really understood that sentiment, and gave me permission to settle in his cabin, with no rent needed. I was overjoyed, and flabbergasted once again at the kindness of River people. I felt then that I had a real home to go to, in an amazing community, with great neighbors near by.

The best neighbor of all turned out to Wally the Walrus Watson. My first day there he came by with a string of fish he had caught in know nothing Creek. He taught me how to cook them on the old wood cook stove in Packy’s cabin. While we were cooking, I asked him how he got the nickname Walrus. He told me it came from some of his old surfing buddies in San Francisco, because he could handle the cold water so well. The next day he came by he showed me how to adjust the wick on the Alladin kerosene lamp in the cabin and he also helped me to get rid of the civet cat that was running around at night in my cabin, which was scaring the hell out of me. Every day I learned something new from him about how to live in the mountains, which really is not easy. He helped me was so many things I couldn’t help but fall in love with him. He was the sweetest guy I had ever met. For several months I would walk the mile up the hill to the Hansen mine to go see him when he didn’t walk the mile down the hill to come see me. Finally, instead of walking back and forth a mile we decided to move in together. I had found my heart of gold, on Knownothing Creek.

Shortly after we moved in together, my little cabin burned to the ground, with all of my few belongings. It had been an accident probably caused by a friend that had stayed over at my house who did not operate the wood heat stove properly. I learned a valuable lesson then about material things not being as important as non-tangible things, like love.

I acquired a teepee from a friend and Wally and Ricky and I moved into that. It was not all that I had hoped for, and I quickly figured out why Northern California Indian people did not live in teepees. They are not very comfortable in areas of lots and lots of rain.
We were fortunate that Wally was a skilled carpenter. There was an old chicken coop at Packy’s house site, and Wally was able to turn that into a tiny 2 room cabin, with a sleeping loft for Ricky. Wally got the job done just in the nick of time, because harsher weather was on its way, and I was pregnant, with our baby due at the end of November. We moved into the cabin that we had nicknamed the “chicken shit shed “. We were pretty content there, and Ricky had started attending Forks of Salmon Elementary school, with his many new friends. With the baby on the way, we were a happy family, even though making a living was challenging.

Geba from Black Bear Ranch had offered to be midwife for our baby’s birth. It was a bit of a long distance to our place from to Black Bear, about 2 hrs away, but we had CB radios that we used for communications in those days, so we were confident that we would reach Geba in time for the baby’s delivery. But, just in case, Geba gave Wally some “special delivery “ instructions, on how to deliver a baby himself if she did not get to us in time. I do know that he was dreading having to follow those instructions.

Well, the night of Nov 24th, I went into labor around midnight. I woke up Wally and I could tell he was a little nervous. We tried calling Geba on the Cb radio and got NO ANSWER. Now Wally was really nervous. Luckily, I remembered that Geba was meeting someone at Geba and Petey’s new house at Godfrey Ranch the day before Thanksgiving, so I realized why she was not answering the radio at Black Bear. The good news was that Godfrey ranch was an hour closer to us than black bear ranch. The bad news was someone was going to have to go get her. Once again, we were in luck. It just so happened that a friend of ours named Frank Yokum had come by to see us that evening, and was asleep outside in a camper. I said to Wally,” send Frank to go get Geba.” Wally jumped right up went outside and woke up Frank, who came in and asked if I really was in labor. I said to him,” Trust me on this Frank, and please go get Geba.” Frank ran out the door and hopped in his truck and was on his way to Godfrey ranch.

I woke up Ricky and told him “The baby is coming, son. What ever happens, don’t be afraid; it’s all natural and normal.” Ricky was peering down at us from his sleeping loft. I think he fell back asleep for a little while.

In the meantime I could tell Wally was still a little bit nervous. I asked him to time the intervals between my contractions. At that time they were about 10 minutes apart, but it wasn’t long until they were only five minutes and then three minutes apart. I told Wally to find his birthing kit, which consisted of rubber gloves, a clean towel, a shoelace, and some scissors. At that point I really could not talk anymore. I was having to do some serious panting in order to deal with pain. I think that really made Wally nervous. In between pains, I told Wally to get his gloves and the towel ready, and he said,” Do I have to?”

All of a sudden, out the window, we saw headlights, and a few seconds later Geba came in the door. Wally heaved a huge sigh of relief, and said to her,”Thank goodness you made it ; I was starting to get nervous !”

At that point, Geba stepped in and took control of the situation. She checked my progress and said,” looks like I got here just in time. It is time to push. The baby is crowning and you need to push as hard as you can. “ I followed her instructions even though it hurt like hell. I let out a horrible blood curdling, and Geba said, “Good job, the baby’s head is out now. A few more pushes and we’ll be done.” Of course she was right, and out popped a little boy baby. Wally and I both shed a few tears of joy, although Wally’s were also of relief.

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/know-nothing-creek-hearts-of-gold/images/wally_and_larrey_and_iris.jpg}
\caption{Wally, Larrey, and Larrey's daughter, Iris.}
\end{figure}

We named our son Woody Orion Watson; Woody because of Wally’s love for working with wood, and we were both fans of Woody Guthrie music; and Orion because the constellation of Orion was prominent in the night sky above our cabin all during the month of November, and that night it was so huge it was like it was guarding us. I said to Geba “ Thank you for coming “, and she said something like, “I would not have missed it for the world.”
Then I looked at Wally and I said,” you are my hero, now and forever. “
And to this day, and forever, he is still my hero.

We lived on Knownothing Creek for the next 3 years, and a lot happened in that time period. The most challenging thing was how to make a living. We tried gold mining for a short while, using a sluice box and sometimes a little 2 inch dredge. It was exciting to get a little bit of gold but it was hard work and not much return. Wally and I both got really tired of pinto beans every night for dinner, and oatmeal every morning, We were so broke sometimes we had t choose between gasoline or a food luxury, like a loaf of bread. Luckily we had a milk goat and a vegetable garden. Wally got a job logging, as a choker setter for Croman, a helicopter logging outfit. The work was hard, but the pay was good. Wally got up every day at 3:30and then traveled almost 2 hours to the job. He was dog tired when he got home every evening. Because the work was seasonal Wally was laid off that winter. He had to find another job, in a place with very little employment.


\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/know-nothing-creek-hearts-of-gold/images/lloyd_with_kids.jpg}
\caption{Lloyd with a gaggle of kids.}
\end{figure}

Other people in the area were in the same boat. The fairly recent influx of hippies to the area, a new phenomenon actually, due to so many people wanting to “ get back to the land”, brought with it many new challenges, including how were all these people going to support themselves ? A new tree-planting/forestry work cooperative was being formed, called Ent Forestry, named after the giant trees that came to life in J. R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy. Creek Hanauer had put his name on the original sole proprietorship papers to get it going, and with the help of /David Jacques and Bobo Schultz, and then, soon joined by others, jobs within the National forests were bid on and some bids were won, and work happened, primarily planting trees.

Malcolm Terrence, in his book entitled Beginners Luck, tells a lot about the ups and downs of planting trees for a living. On one hand it was very ideal, helping to replace trees that had been wiped out by over- logging the forests. On the other hand it was difficult working in a cold climate and living with a lot of other people in a large army tent. It was not communal living at its finest, more the opposite actually. For me, the work was so hard that I made up my mind to continue my pursuit of a teaching credential, that I had begun several years back in Washington, D. C., at D. C. Teachers College. I had dropped out because it was very difficult trying to take care of a baby and go to college at the same time, with no financial aid at all. The physical and psychological difficulties that existed in the world of tree-planting for me made it obvious to me that I needed to pursue my lifelong dream of becoming a teacher.

I enrolled at Humboldt State University in Arcata, CA in the fall of 1979. We moved for 3 years to McKinleyville, where Rick started 6th grade at Dow’s prairie School and Woody was enrolled in pre-school at HSU. I graduated in June of 1982, and by the fall of that year I had secured a job as the Upper Grade teacher at Junction Elementary in Somes Bar, following in the footsteps of Kristy Hibbs, an excellent teacher who was getting married to Peter Sturges, the owner of Otter Bar Lodge, which Kristy and Peter turned into a world-class Kayaking School. Wally was already employed as a steelhead fishing guide at the Somes Bar Lodge, which at that time was owned and operated by Stanley and Wilma Throgmorton. Boy, was I ever going to get an education then!


I learned so many lessons during my time living within the Salmon River watershed. I learned a lot about taking care of myself and my family, and how to be as self sufficient as possible. I had learned how to milk a goat, grow vegetables, mine gold, plant trees, split firewood, butcher a deer, and cook beans. I had pulled green chain at Jim Hensher’s saw mill, and I had worked as a Special Ed aide with little Sam George, a boy who had Down’s Syndrome AND a Heart of pure gold.

I learned some things about the history of Forks of Salmon, like who the first people were, the Konimihu, and what had happened to them, genocide by gold miners. I learned about the gold rush and how much it upsets the balance of things for the native people of all of California. I got to know and love folks from just about every “local “ family on the River and some of their histories, like the McBrooms, the Bennetts, and the Georges.

More than anything else, I had learned the meaning of community.
\chapter{Black Bear Ranch and Elsas Story}
\label{sec:org4b3d42d}
Black bear ranch

Black bear ranch evolved from the Black Bear Mine, which was a gold
mine way up in the mountains of Siskiyou County California. Back in
the mining days Black Bear was a hard rock mine and it was owned by a
man named John Daggett. Daggett employed some Chinese helpers and
miners of many nationalities; you will see a picture of his Chinese
cook in this book. John Daggett did well for Black bear mine and he
also did well for himself in California, as he went on to become a
state legislator. His daughter, Halley, became famous as the first
female fire lookout person ever .Her name was Halley Daggett and I
think there is a whole book written about her which can be found at
the Siskiyou County historical Society. Black bear mine was started in
the 1850s and it went into hibernation when the price of gold dropped
quite a bit in the early 1900s. I’m not sure how Richard Marley found
it for sale, but he scraped and begged until he rounded up \$23,000 and
bought the 88 acres now known as Black Bear Ranch.The story of him and
some of his friends going on a trip to Hollywood to try to get money
is kind of interesting. I will include a version of it written by
someone else after this introduction. Black bear ranch was definitely
a part of the phenomenon of the late 60s and early 70s that some
people might call the hippie movement, but to Forks of Salmon, one of
the closest towns to Black Bear Ranch, it was considered some to be a
hippie invasion. So who were the hippies? What was their relationship
to Black Bear Ranch ? What was Black Bear’s relationship to the
surrounding community ? these questions might have had different
answers ,depending on who you talked to. For starters what was a
hippie? Was it just a person who did not want to be clean and who did
want to be outrageous? That was the impression of many of the locals
during that time.. Actually a hippie was someone who adopted a
particular lifestyle that was related to certain values of the time.
Certain new values. One thing that most people could agree on that
were considered hippies,, was that change was needed. Change of the
status quo. The Vietnam War was dragging on for a long time , well
into the 70’s. Every night, on the 6 o’clock news, there would be a
body count. The number of Vietnamese killed would be announced and the
number of Americans killed would be announced, every day. On a typical
day, a newscaster . might say ”Today in Vietnam, 100 Vietcong were
killed and 10 American troops died.” After a while every time I heard
those words I would say “Why? Why are Americans dying?” I never did
find the real answer to that question. We were all told that we were
stopping communism from spreading. Communism was a dirty word in
America , and it was meant to provoke fear , and it did just that. It
still provokes fear in America. During the Biden Trump presidential
election, Biden was called a socialist or a Communist,several times
because he liked the idea of free healthcare for every American,
Medicare for all, as originally proposed by Democrat Bernie Sanders ,
a popular candidate for the Presidency who was not considered by his
party because they thought him to be too radical. This is considered
too communist by some, because it does reflect one of the basic
pillars of communism which is “from each according to their ability ;
to each according to their need.” Many communes operated on this
principal, although sometimes it was not always clear what was a
person’s need vs. a person’s wants, or if everyone did what they were
capable of doing, such as men helping with the dishes. Some just did
not like doing the dishes, so it became almost a game of political
correctness, to see if those who could do so would accept menial tasks
as being fair for everyone to do. There were many heated discussions
at Black bear commune about these types of questions. Many young
people in our country were very angry about Vietnam and started
protesting ; I was one of them.. I was 18 years old. I grew up in
Washington DC. It was easy to get down to the Washington Monument and
the reflecting pool. (remember Forest Gump) This turned out to be a
great place to smoke pot and drop acid which accompanied the protests
at times. These two drugs had tremendous influence on my generation.
Marijuana expanded the mind, and made people question even more what
was going on. Marijuana also had, for some, just a spiritual quality
that reinforced conscience. It was the conscience of America that
demanded that the Vietnam War be stopped. Along with marijuana was
LSD, one of the most powerful drugs ever created. I have often
wondered “how could so many people over the whole world all be
thinking the same things and end up wanting the same things at the
same time in history ?” Millions of people wanted the Vietnam War to
stop. Those same people also started seeing some of the lies that
their country was telling them. Just recently, in 2019, there was a
Ken Burns PBS show called” Vietnam “ , spread out over 10 weeks on
public television. It revealed so many lies by our leaders. I was
shocked at the extent of the lying, even though I knew our leaders
were lying to us at the time. These lies, coupled with two mind
expanding drugs that were used extensively at the time by many young
people, helped create a revolution in thought. Once young people knew
they were being lied to by their government they wondered who else was
lying .Was all of society a lie? Many, many people decided to
completely change their lifestyles. Many decided to “tune in, turn on,
and drop out” which was a saying started by Dr. Timothy Leary, who was
sort of a guru for the use of psychedelics. This meant that they were
looking inside themselves, many were turning on to acid and to
extensive marijuana use, for the purpose of inner soul searching. The
dropping out part meant they were leaving society , looking for new
places to live, with other people who would not be living the lie.
Some wanted to change everything. Guys grew their hair long as a
statement against society. Many many people wanted to leave the cities
and find a simpler way of life. Music: the music of the time. Also
reflected what was going on. In the 60s there were many protests folk
singers singing protest songs for example Joan Baez and Bob Dylan How
Many Roads? Was an antiwar song. There was also great popularity with
other folk singers like Woody Guthrie , Tom Paxton, The Mamas and The
Papas and many more and of course the Beatles; their consciousness
changed just as everyone’s around them changed. There was Country Joe
and The Fish singing “give me an F give me a you” and so on; there was
Joe Cocker singing , ” I get high with a little help from my friends”.
Even Motown had a protest song with Marvin Gaye’s “What’s going on? “
Then there were Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young and Joni Mitchell, all
singing “Woodstock. “ “By the time we got to Woodstock, we were half a
million strong\ldots{}I’ve got to get back to the land and set my soul
free” were some of the lines from that great song, which is actually a
song about the early times in the hippie movement. The movie Woodstock
in reporting on the three-day concert, showed a time when people start
realizing the movement was greater than themselves and whole lot of
people were into it. Within the Hippie movement came the “Back to the
land movement”, which, eventually became , for some folks at Forks of
Salmon, “ a Hippie Invasion”. It was and invasion to them beacause so
many strange people were showing up. Many people not satisfied living
at Black Bear Ranch wanted to live down the river. Poeple at Forks of
Salmon were kind fo conservitve, woth exception of Kathrine Gorege.
She was the matrirch of a large group of boys and girls her sons and
her dughter. She was very free thinking and she excepted the Hippies
for who they were she even liked some of them. She helped these
“Hippie Invaders” by teaching them back woods living skills. She even
let one of them Malcolm Terrance live in a cabin on her property. Her
greatest contribution to this new Hippie community was excepting them
which paved the way for other locals to accept them as well. Ctherine
was a leader in the community which helped this acceptance process
along. Her boys were tom, Richard, Dave, Hoop, Bebe, and Sam who all
excepted people too for who they were. They were all college educated
because they all took at one point and went to school at one point
including Kathrine. Her daughter was Claire she was a school teacher
in Edgewood CA about 150 miles away from Forks of Salmon. San
Francisco became a Mecca for young people from all over the world,
especially young people from the United States and particularly, the
East Coast. Many individuals came to San Francisco and so did some
other organized groups of young people. For instance, Creek Hanauer,
was with a group of people from New York called the Mother Fuckers.
There is a lot about the San Francisco groups, especially the ones
that became” the Digger family”, in a book called Ringolevio . This
book is about a young man named Emmett Grogan and his influence from
New York to San Francisco, and the origins of the Digger family , and
the 1\% free movement. The Diggers were very much into a new society
that did not need money to function. They established “ free stores”
which were places where people could go to get free clothes. They fed
people for free in Golden Gate Park. It did not take long for some
people to come up with ideas for free land. Lew Welch was one of the
first. He lived in Occidental California and started a commune called
Morning Star ranch. Another commune in San Francisco , called
Hearthshire School, also had some people donate to them approximately
60 acres of “ free land”, near the Round Valley Indian Reservation in
Covelo, Ca.. “ Free Land” meant that anyone could come live on this
commune or the place where it occurred. It was called” The Land”, and
it still is called that today. That is where I and many others learned
how to live back on the land, thanks to the generous vision of former
Digger family Claude and Helene Hayward , and David and Joanna Gibbs
now known as Bear and Rainbow Gibbs. They each gave a parcel of their
land for the greater good or what they hoped would be the greater
good. From my perspective, it was not only good, it was also a great
social experiment, which benefited many. Richard Marley was one of
those people. He was generous and he believed in people and he
believed in the communist ideal of communes that really work with
people that really care. He was a true champion of the underdog !His
mother had long worked in the Communist Party in England and elsewhere
in Europe , and so did Richard a few times .In Europe, the word
communism is not as feared as it is in the United States. Communists
and socialists are considered legitimate political parties there.
Richard was very proud of the fact that he was in the Longshoreman’s
Union which had associations with the IWW (international workers of
the world ) Which is an international union also known as the
wobblies. Wobbblies are well known as an organizations that tries to”
level the playing field so that the common man will have a chance; a
chance to make it in a world controlled by Capitalism which does not
usually offer level playing fields, or true fairness and equality.
Those concepts were part of what Marley was all about…. Giving the
common man and woman a chance to do what anyone else could do with
Land, whether they had money to buy, or not buy land , but more than
likely, did not. Richard did some very innovative things while he
lived at Black Bear and also when he lived down the mountain from the
Ranch, down on the River. He got BLACK BEAR families to increase their
involvement with the public schools in the area, or at least he and
his wife Elsa did just that, they visited, communicated, volunteered,
and even subbed for various school staff. One of them even ran for the
school board and won, in Sawyers bar. Black Bear is actually a little
closer to Sawyers bar than to Forks of Salmon. But eventually, he
established the house down the river by Indian Creek where the
children from Black Bear could stay overnight all week, all month or
all school year and go to school down on the River at Forks of Salmon
School. Richard and Elsa’s oldest daughter Yoni was one of the first
to attend school down the river. She was followed immediately by her
younger brother Aaron. When they both became high school age he went
out in the valley to board with a family which was the custom for many
years for children from Salmon River to board with someone in Etna or
Fort Jones so that they could go to high school out there since there
is no high school in Forks of Salmon. Yoni and Aaron ended up staying
with Marilyn, and Wendell Seward. Marilyn was the teacher slash
principal at Quartz Valley elementary school. The Seward’s became
their second family which was a good arrangement and lasted until Yoni
and Aaron both graduated from high school. It seemed there was
anywhere from six to ten children staying at the Indian Creek house
and anywhere from one to five adults staying there as well.
Integrating the black bear children with the River kids at the school
became very successful, and many friendships for life were formed.
Taking turns down the river was often down by adults who had children
but other commune members took turns as well because they also enjoyed
being down on the River. Black Bear Ranch is very isolated and hard to
get to so people stay there for months at a time. In the winter the
trail and the roads are often blocked by snow so it is extremely
helpful to be able to have a place to stay off the mountain. This
gives people more opportunity for socializing. In fact it was this
house that gave Malcolm Terrace who I mention soon, the idea of having
some property down on the river for people to stay at. This is part of
how Butler Flats became a place were eight families from Black Bear
moved to later on. Friends for Life: I ,too made some lifelong friends
with some people who either lived at Black Bear Ranch during my time
on the river, or had lived there in the past. Such as Gaba Greenberg
who I consider to be the heart of Black Bear ranch. Gaba was also a
midwife as was Yeshi her friend from San Fransisoco, Yeshi was also a
registered nurse, her daughters name is Rachel. There is also Gabe’s
friend who she grew up with Herriet Beinfield and her Husband Effrom
Korngold who is an acupuncturist who trained in China. They currently
own The Chinese Medicine Works in San Francisco in the heart of China
Town. Between Heaven and Earth: A Guide to Chinese Medicine is a book
they wrote together. Herriet is a philanthropist of sorts, she often
funds projects to benefit others. She also helps to organize events
and groups that benefit the community. I think she became interested
in helping people when she lived at black bear ranch. She has acquired
many skills to be able to help people. She use to lead a women’s group
at Butler flat every summer and we talked about all kinds of things
particularly our own deaths. This helped us to have a better
understanding of end of life needs and helped us to move through the
stigma around talking about death. We also learned how to take care of
the logistics of our assents and things people don’t like to think
about. Herriet had a lot of helpful hand outs. That is just one
example of Herriet helping people. I also love Herriet because she is
very kind, and I truly appreciate kind people. Herriet is a practicing
Buddist, she and Peter Cyote are good friends and Peter is now a
Buddist priest. They both follow the Dhali Lama who says “My religion
is kindnees” Some other dear friends of mine from Black Bear are Bill
Ayers and Bernardine Dhorn. They both were in the weather underground
“back in the day”. More recently they have been involved with things
in Chicago. Bernardine has had a team of lawyers working under her to
help with inner city youth. This is all documented in a book called A
Kind and Just Parent: The Children of Juvenile Court written by
William Ayers. Bill was the teacher of teachers for North Western
University for many years. He wrote a book called To Teach The Journey
of a Teacher which he also formatted into a graphic novel for the
second publication. He also wrote a book called Race Course: Against
White Supremacy which came out of the Black Lives Matter Movement.
Another book he wrote is called Fugitive Days: A Memoir it recounts
him and Bernardine’s journey through the weather underground when they
were fugitives because of an explosion in a house they were associated
with. The explosion happened with home made bomb materials. Three
weather underground comrades and friends Terry Robbins, Ted Gold, and
Diana Oughton were killed in this tragic accident. Mourning their
friends and now on the run from the Feds Bill and Bernadine went
“underground”. While they were underground they took in their friend
Kathy Boudin’s baby. Kathy was convicted of being an accessory to the
killing of a Brink’s guard when Kathy and her friend robbed a Brink’s
truck which was caring quite a payload of money that day. Kathy was
the get away driver. Kathy was a active writer while in prison and did
good work during and after she was released related to restorative
justice, for inmates, and people with HIV/AIDS. Kathy passed away
in 2022. Her son who was adopted by Bill and Bernadine is Chesa
Boudin. In 2019 he was elected to be the new District Attorney for San
Francisco. However he was recalled by a strong republican movement
that recalled a lot of people, especially liberals. He was the one to
completely revolutionize the DA’s office in San Francisco, but he was
too liberal for the Republicans. These days Bill and Bernadine, all
their kids and their families come to Butler Flat every summer and it
relieves their stress. To learn more about Bill, Bernadine and the
Weather Underground you can listen to the pod cast Mother Country
Radicals hosted by their son Zayd Dhorn. I fist came up to the River
with someone from Black Bear Ranch his name was Tommy Truck (Tom Sotto
father of Taz) Let’s not forget Peter Coyote who was a member of the
Black Bear family, he now is a zen Buddhist priest with a fallowing of
about 2,000 people. Many people may remember his voice from narrating
many PBS shows including the Vietnam Series I mentioned earlier by Ken
Burns. He wrote a book that includes many of his experiences at Black
Bear and it is called Sleeping Where I Fall. Peter wrote a series of
articals called the digger chronicles which give some history about
the diggers in San Francisco and their relationship to Black Bear
Ranch. Many of the founding Black Bear people were Diggers. One of the
arictals is called Ellsa’s story. I will summarize this story here but
you can read it in full at \url{https://www.diggers.org/freefall/elsa.html}.

Elsa found a listing for Black Bear Ranch by chance while visiting
Micheal Tierra a Digger friend at his land in Shasta, a small town in
Northern CA. The ranch was for sale at 22,000, which was a lot of
money back then add another zero and that’s about what one would pay
in 2023. Peter Coyote writes about Elsa’s first time at Black Bear
Ranch. “Elsa, Redwood Kardon and Phyllis Wilner camped there for a
weekend, poking around the old but serviceable house and outbuildings,
the abandoned orchards and meadows, cooling themselves in the frigid
creeks, and came to the conclusion that the family had to own it. The
down payment was \$2,200…” To get the money to buy this “ free land for
free people” Elsa, Richard and other friends started scheming all
sorts of ways to collectively raise the funds. The most interesting
and even slightly famous way they got the money was by asking famous
people in LA for donations. Peter Coyote mentions a member of the band
the Monkey’s who let them stay at his house while they prospected. He
also mentions Film director Michael Antonions writing them a check and
Steve McQueen giving them money. It’s easy to imagine more celebrates
of the time who may have even shared similar dreams being won over.
Peter Coyote says “Elsa's group raised about fifty thousand dollars;
serious money and hard work at any time., Because the title had to be
in someone's name, Richard signed all the papers in his. They
assembled tools and supplies, bought an repaired old Coors beer truck
to transport it all, and prepared to depart for a new life. “

“When the core group, Richard and Elsa, Mike Tierra and Gail Erricson,
John and Inga Albion, Eva Bess, Rose Lee, Redwood, Peter Lief, Ephraim
and Carol Korngold rolled down the dirt road and parked at the ranch
house, they were shocked to find 40 people already camping there who
refused to budge. It was after all, Free land, wasn't it?\ldots{}It would
be hard to overestimate either the isolation of Black Bear Ranch or
the collective inexperience at wilderness living for this initial
group of pilgrims. With the exception of John Albion, who was a
miner's son from Colorado, no one possessed even the most fundamental
information about rural living, let alone primitive rural living.” The
first winter was extremely cold and snowy for the area. You could say
the land was letting them know what these city kids had gotten
themselves into. Peter talks about what that was like in Ellsa’s
Story. “By January, they had run out of kerosene for the lamps, and
even matches. The house was freezing. They did not know how to chop
wood and only one or two people knew how to cook. Everyone complained
about the cold. The babies were sniffly and ill, and people were
crabby and miserable. Oblivious to such trivial temporal concerns,
Michael Tierra would wander into the kitchen in his silk dressing
gown, hungry after a mornings' practice at the piano, and wonder
aloud, "Where's my breakfast?" Non the less they made it through that
first winter.” Black Bear became a place to co create a new culture so
far removed from the dominate culture, guidelines and rules were all
up to the people who lived there. Some interesting early experiments
are as follows from Elsa’s Story. “There was, for instance, a period
of time where everyone abandoned their tiny single family dwellings
and individual rooms to move into the main house for a season, to
subvert what was perceived as " growing factionalism." Everyone's
clothes were hung on pipe- racks in the center of the room, and
everything was free for anyone else to use. (No private property.) I
think it was during the same time that couples were disparaged as
decadently bourgeoise by a women's faction that held sway for a
season. They announced that henceforth no one could sleep with the
same person for more than two consecutive nights because that would
encourage "coupling." “ This was just the beginning of a long
adventure not only for the first Bears who lived at the ranch but the
many people who to this day called Black Bear Ranch home for a day, a
few months, or many years. To this day hundreds of people have come
and gone from Black Bear, mostly people who are looking to try
something different then the average American life style. There are
countless stories of what life has been like living off grid in the
rural mountains of California in a place where everyone has a say and
decides how things are done. Ellsa Marley is a famous artist in her
own right. She traveled to China several times to learn more about the
Chinese style of painting, which she has been practicing for many
years now. Being a true artist. She puts art into everything she does.
Her paintings have gained an audience through many exhibits
particularly in the Bay Area. Then there is mine and Wally’s dear
friend now diseased Dr. John Salter.. I never used the term Dr. when I
spoke with John, but wanted to mention somewhere that John did become
a Dr. of Anthropology through UC Santa Cruz. He got his doctorate
mainly as a result of his thesis papers , one on Black Bear
ranch,which helped him to get his Master’s degree, and then another
called “ Shadow Forks”, where all the names are changed but it is
mainly about internal regulation of a small river community (Forks of
Salmon), which helped him gain his doctoral degree. John enjoyed those
pursuits, and he enjoyed much of his life at Black Bear. I don’t think
anyone who has ever lived communally would say they loved ALL of it.
More than almost anything in his whole life, John truly loved the
Karuk people, many of whom he became close to in his time when working
in the area. I think one of John’s most precious moments of his whole
life was when he was invited to dance with the- men at a Picki -ow-
wich- white deerskin dance. <insert picture of John in dance regalia
in the men’s line > I believe at that point, John thought he was
Karuk. And in a sense, he may have been. John had a family , although
he became estranged from his wife Dot, who returned with all three of
their children, Will ,Spring, and Drew to North Carolina. Spring and
Will would return to California later , and they both still reside
there today. (2020) Dot and Drew currently live in North
Carolina.(next: Jesse Dalton) Another Black Bear graduate Malcolm
Terence is also a good friend of ours now. He is the author of a book
called Beginners Luck. Which gives a history of two things. One was a
short lived phenomena when we had a co operative tree planting company
in the area that anyone could join. Mostly hippies joined. Much of
what Malcolm told about in his book was the history of tree planting
in the area. We were called the Ents after the giant trees that come
to life in J.R.R. Tolkin’s books. Malcolm told about hardships and
friendships and all kinds of things related to tree planting and
living together in army tents for several weeks at a time. The other
thing his book is about the forest service. He traces the history of
them from about 1950 onward. One major thing Malcolm documented about
the forest service in his book was the use of herbicides in our area
and the effect they had on some people. He mentioned a very brave
Native women named Mavis McCovey, she was a nurse at the Karuk clinic
in Orleans CA. She started documenting babies who were born with
deformities and the many miscarriages that were happening in the areas
that had been sprayed with herbicides. Entire communities became
opposed to herbicide use because people could see and understand the
effect that herbicides had on people. Eventually the National Forest
Service stopped using herbicides in the Klamath National Forest. Which
was a major victory for the community. To this day the community at
large are generally committed to herbicide free methods being used in
the forest. In particular the Mid Klamath Water Shed Council and
Salmon River Restoration Council both have teams of folks who are
committed to herbicide free removal of invasive plant species. They
work year round pulling invasive plants by hand to avoid the use of
herbicides by the forest service. Malcolm did something uncommon in
this area for an individual to do. He wrote all the documentation
needed by Siskiyou county for subdividing their side of Butler Flat
into eight legal parcels, Including a full EIS or Environmental Impact
Statement. Butler Flat is divided by Butler Creek into too different
sides and was two different parcels. One side of the creek is the
Native Side where the White family has dwelt for at least fifty years.
In fact their old Auntie, Auntie Vi grew up there herself as did many
member of her family the Jacobs- Jhonny family. The other side of the
creek originally belonged to Hue and Maggie grant, they were the
grandparents of Josiphine Peters. Josephine grew up further down the
river at whats called the Maggie Grant place or The Old Home place
when she was living there. A guy named Hue Farwell had it after the
Grants. He is the person who sold it to Malcolm. Malcolm and other’s
live on the hippie side of Butler creek opposite the White family.
Three Brothers live there, Gene White his partner Tina, Hawk White,
and Nahum White. They are all good neighbors to each other.

Black Bear offered a place were people could drop out of capitalism
move anyway from the city and learn land based skills. It offered a
place to experiment with culture and learn from mistakes. It has given
many people a chance to feel the quite of the far removed back woods
and feel the beauty and the difficulties of living in community. Black
Bear Ranch has had a huge impact on the River’s community outside of
the Ranch over the decades that it has been around. Many interesting
people who likely would not have ended up in this part of the world
did because of the Ranch. Some have stayed in the area and some have
moved on. The Larger community outside of the Ranch has a verity of
opinions about the Ranch. It has contributed to an influx of white
settlers over the years. This sometimes causes problems but also many
valued community members have come out of the deal.
\chapter{Forks Families}
\label{sec:org40763a8}
\chapter{The Hog Fire}
\label{sec:org7e3ab03}
\chapter{Tobacco Use Among the Karuk}
\label{sec:orga5e5283}
\chapter{The Forest Service}
\label{sec:org2fc6883}
\chapter{The Hero of Kot-e-meen}
\label{sec:orgfb82def}
The Hero of Kot-e-meen
(pronounced kind of like “Cutty Mean”)

Kot-e-meen is the center of the universe according to the Karuk
people. It is located at the base of Auwich or Sugarloaf Mountain
where the Salmon River empties into the Klamath River . Kot-e-meen
overlooks Ishi Pishi falls by the town of Somes Bar, and is today the
place where the Karuk tribe’s World Renewal Ceremony called Pic-i-ow
wish takes place and the spiritual journey of the medicine man happens
every year on the nearby spiritual trails.. It is a very sacred place,
It was also a village site for many generations, and the first part of
the book called Land of the Grasshopper song took place there. Back in
1851, many whites in Northern California felt that genocide was the
answer for sharing the area with Indian people who had made their
homes there for many generations. Vigilante groups formed for the
purpose of eradicating Indian people. There were many meetings and
plans made during the same time period of 1851 for destroying local
tribes, including the Karuk people along the Klamath and Salmon
Rivers. The Konimihu people of Forks of Salmon had already been
completely wiped out at Forks of Salmon by a group of miners. Attacks
were happening in other nearby areas and towns. A group of miners got
together and planned an attack on Kot-e-meen.. Coordinated attacks
were happening all over the northern section of California. One of the
most brutal attack ever occurred at a site now called Indian Island
next to Eureka where an entire village of Weott people were murdered
during the night by whites who sneaked in and massacred mostly women
and children and elders. (see poster by Briann Tripp and Alme Alllen
). According to Bessie and many others, just as miners were preparing
to kill the people in the village at Kot-e-meen , a dark skinned
long-haired soldier appeared, leading other soldiers, and they stopped
the fight before it even started. The dark man said “You have killed
enough Indians.. None are to die today “. It was reported that he was
carrying a long stick with a rag on it ( a white flag, said another
source). The man’s name was Captain Francis Brazille and he was an
Abenaki Indian from Canada originally. This man’s identity has been
verified, partly due to what happened next. Nupas was so grateful to
this soldier that he gave him his younger sister who was called
Queenie or Queen to be his wife. Both Nupas and Queen were considered
to be part Shasta Indians, and maybe had some Konimihu and Karuk
ancestry. They went to live up at the Forks of Salmon, at a place now
called Brazille Field. They had 8 daughters, who became the matriarchs
of several well known families from Forks to Somes Bar including the
Bennets, Lakes , Tripps , and Judy Davis’family, the Langfords, and of
course the Grants, as well as some of the Titus family of Happy Camp .
( Patricia Ann Titus Whitman, who was the great grandmother of my 3
Watson grandkids, told me the week before she died that she was born
on Knownothing Creek at Forks of Salmon. ( this is the same
Knownothing creek where I met my husband Wally Watson, who was an
apprentice with an old hardrock miner at the Hansen Mine, 4 miles up
Knownothing Creek ,and our son Woody Watson was born at our little
miner’s cabin there at the forks of Knownothing, in 1975. Wally’s
brother Tim Watson died on Knownothing Creek in 1983 at the age of 22
when he accidently went off the road and down a big cliff into the
creek, and our hearts were broken.) )Patricia (Patty ) Whitman’s
mother was Jeannie Stors, who was the daughter of a miner with the
last name Stors, and Queen’s daughter Phoebe Brazille. Jeannie later
married Albert Titus. Patricia remembered walking from Knownothing
Creek to Happy Camp where her mother moved to in order to find work,
which she found as a cook at the mine where her husband worked. It
took her and her siblings close to a week to make the trek to Happy
camp. Six of my grandchildren trace some of their roots back to
Francis and Queen Braziile, and I find it interesting that all of
these children have on their ancestry printout from the Karuk tribe, a
notation that they are 1/64 th Abenaki Indian in addition to any Karuk
and Shasta blood that they have, and that notation refers to the Hero
of Kot-e-meen, Francis Brazille.
\chapter{Mining in Somes Bar}
\label{sec:org3bbe881}
\chapter{George Abram Somes and William Tripp}
\label{sec:orgd9be33a}
\chapter{Trails and Mule Trains and Blizards}
\label{sec:org6f286ad}
\chapter{Land of the Grasshopper Song}
\label{sec:org8a34fdf}
\chapter{Photographers}
\label{sec:org38c9d0c}
\chapter{Land Laws and Loss}
\label{sec:org5dd836f}
\chapter{Stores}
\label{sec:orgcb90ad8}
\chapter{The Tunnel}
\label{sec:orga207bf2}
\chapter{Herbert Hoover}
\label{sec:orga941bbe}
\chapter{Basket Weavers Polly Conrad and her Daughter Elizabeth Conrad Hickox}
\label{sec:org4c44c4c}
Polly Conrad and her daughter Elizabeth Conrad Hickox

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/polly-conrad-and-elizabeth-conrad-hickox/images/polly_conrad.JPG}
\caption{Conrad Steve/Polly Conrad Elizabeth Hickox’s mother, 1911. She holds the basket numbered 4004 in the Nicholson ledger.}
\end{figure}

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/polly-conrad-and-elizabeth-conrad-hickox/images/two-baskets.jpg}
\caption{Baskets by Polly Conrad Steve (left no. 3998) and Elizabeth Hickox (right, no.4312), about 1911.}
\end{figure}

O’Neale’s informants judge baskets according to appropriateness of
construction and decoration, to basket function. Baskets designed for
rougher handling required more complex construction which discouraged
elaborate declaration, which could be damaged through use, whereas
baskets designed for gentler more sociable tasks allowed for simpler
construction and more intricate declaration , or use of design..

Baskets requiring strongest construction were woven of coarser
materials reinforced with rows of Polly Conrad Steve/ Elizabeth
Hickox’s mother, 1911. She holds the basket numbered 4004 in the
Nicholson ledger.

\begin{center}
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/polly-conrad-and-elizabeth-conrad-hickox/images/basket-1.jpg}
\end{center}

\begin{center}
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/polly-conrad-and-elizabeth-conrad-hickox/images/baskets-from-around-the-world.jpg}
\end{center}

Polly Conrad was born a member of the Wiyot tribe, who lived on
Gunther Island, also known as Indian Island , near Eureka California.
She was born around 1848 and was around 12 years old at the time of
the Indian island Massacre. ( see chapter about this ) She is one of
the few known survivors. It is said that at one point she hid in a log
to survive. In 1866 or 1867 when she was about 18 years old, Polly was
encountered by Charles Conrad, a miner of German descent (1834-1879)
who had come to Eureka from Kentucky. Charles Conrad and a friend
abducted Polly and her sister either from the coastal area or from
Hoopa. Conrad brought Polly to Karuk territory. In the 1870 U.S.
Census, Charles Conrad is listed as a miner at Clear Creek and Polly
is listed as his housekeeper. Two children are recorded: Hester age 3
and Jerome, age 1. Elizabeth was not born until 1872. When Jerome grew
up he married Julia Pepper of Kot-ee-meen,, and his son was Willis
Conrad senior, the first. This is the Willis Conrad mentioned in land
of the Grasshopper song who was the father of Willis Conrad Junior or
the second. Willis the second was born in a pit house at Kot-ee-meen;
his dad built the house near the current site where the Conrads live
today. Willis Junior was the father of two boys both name Willis from
two different wives, Willis the 3rd and willis the 4th, nicknamed
Tonner. Tonner ‘s mother was Florence Kearney Conrad, who was born in
the Salmon river area. ( see more on Florence Conrad and her family )
Polly Conrad was the mother of Elizabeth Conrad (Hickox), one of the
most famous basket weavers of the area. here is a picture of Polly
Conrad with a basket she made. Obviously she influenced her daughter
and her granddaughter Louise Hickox who was also an excellent basket
maker. After the death of Charles Conrad in 1879, Polly Conrad married
a full blooded Karuk man named Reynolds Creek Steve and her name
became Polly Steve. A relative of Polly Conrad Steve, Lee Merrill,
said that Polly lived in indigenous style plank and pit houses until
her death around 1929. It was not uncommon for native women who had
been born before the Gold Rush to live in the old style plank and pit
houses with their children, in the old way with children and women in
one house and men in their own house . In the new situations,
sometimes the miner husbands lived nearby in a log cabin. While she
was still in her teens , Polly’s daughter Elizabeth married Frank
Merrill a mixed blood Karuk from Orleans who was a logger and ran a
sawmill. They had two children, a daughter named Jessie in 1891, and a
son named Bruce who died when he was a small boy .


\section{Elizabeth Conrad Hickox and Luther Hickox}
\label{sec:org84770fd}

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[angle=270,width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/polly-conrad-and-elizabeth-conrad-hickox/images/elizabeth_conrad_hickox-seated.JPG}
\caption{Elizabeth Conrad Hickox, Polly Conrad's daughter.}
\end{figure}

In 1895, Elizabeth married Luther Hickox whose father, William Hickox,
had died in 1885 leaving Luther and four younger children aged 8
to 14. Luther’s mother was a full blood Indian.. With Luther,
Elizabeth had two more children. One was her daughter Louise born in
1896 ,and their son named Louie, who never reached maturity but was
killed by a falling tree in 1917. Elizabeth’s life with Luther was
quite different from her earlier marriage, starting with their journey
to Eureka to have the marriage Germany performed by justice of the
peace. Through Luther, Elizabeth enjoyed moderate financial security
over her lifetime as well as high social status among the Karuk
people. Shortly after Luther married Elizabeth the Hickox brothers
purchased property including the hydraulic mine known as the Ten Eyck
mine on the Klamath 2 miles above its junction with the Salmon River
near the Karuk settlement of Ossipuk,.. There was a suspension bridge
connecting the Hickox property with the east side of the Klamath where
the road passed . Because the mine had originally been owned by George
Ten Eyck the area there and the road are still called Ten Eyck .
Luther was very industrious at mining and within a few years he began
taking gold by horse and train to San Francisco. This was mentioned by
Arnold and Reed in Land of the Grasshopper Song. In their book Arnold
accorded the most exceptional authority and often fearsome power to
Luther Hickox noting that Luther had “ several killings to account for
“ and recalled the faint intangible sense of menace in his manner that
“ makes one catch one’s breath”. Elizabeth’s great grandchildren also
remember him as harsh and fearsome. Frank Merrill noted in 1990 that
many people were afraid of Luther and would hide in their houses when
they saw him coming. Arnold and Reed admired the unusual abilities and
forcefulness of personality that led Karuk people to rely on Luther
Hickox for amateur medical treatments, such as pulling teeth and
setting .As Arnold said in her book the Hickox’s may be desperate
characters but we thought as we rode upriver there were no people
would rather have as neighbors. Part of the advantage that Arnold and
Reed saw in him being there neighbors was the warm generous
hospitality of Elizabeth Hickox, who is still admired today for being
as kind and reticent as Luther was indomitable and outgoing. Luther’s
position within lower Klamath society involved his economic standing
as much as his resourcefulness and menace . He is generally described
as a successful miner who took gold to the mint in San Francisco by
horse and train and later when the road was put through by car. Luther
was remembered by Josephine Peters as one of the first to bring an
automobile to the area, something Nicholson mentioned in 1916. One of
Elizabeth’s great grandchildren, M. Sears, described the mine in later
years as having a deep tunnel a mile long with railroad tracks and
pushcarts and it was lit by river generated electricity. The mine
supported Luther and his family, several other relatives, and some
Karuk laborers housed in a bunkhouse below the family residence. They
worked in shifts to maximize the operation Ms. Sears remembers the
bunkhouses having showers and Luther’s brother Charlie, the foreman,
living in a cabin nearby. Luther also ran a successful sawmill with
his nephews Willie and Clarence. The Hickox house stood high on the
riverside terrace. Ms. Sears remembers it as luxurious with a long
porch , a parlor, living room, three bedrooms and a kitchen large
enough to allow cooking for workers as well as family. Josephine
Peters who visited around 1932 , remembers acorn cooking baskets
hanging in the kitchen and Ms. Sears remembers pictures hanging on the
walls of other rooms. The house was eventually supplied with a
telephone, electrical appliances including a stove, refrigerator, and
washing machine, and a bathroom with indoor plumbing, all unusual for
the region at that time.. Ms. Sears also remembers the dining room
with its large table at the head of which Luther sat looking like a
king in his ornately carved chair. Howard Merrill another of
Elizabeth’s great grandsons, remembers Luther’s large collection of
firearms. Surrounding the house were fruit orchards a vegetable patch
and a flower garden of which Elizabeth according to her descendants
was especially proud. By being among the first Indians in the area to
acquire Euro-American signs of status such as a phonograph by 1908, in
automobile by 1916, and a radio, Luther conspicuously displayed his
wealth. The Hickox family was noteworthy both for the diversity of its
enterprises and with the household involvement in each. Mine and
sawmill operations required overseen by Luther, his brother, and his
nephews. Josephine Peters recalled that Elizabeth and her daughters,
Jessie and Louise, tended and fed the workers. Exchanging the gold for
cash required Luther’s travels to San Francisco and they became auto
excursions when family members went along. Luther also worked as a
hunting and fishing guide for sports tourists which frequently
involved Elizabeth and her daughters in feeding and entertaining his
clients.

\begin{center}
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/polly-conrad-and-elizabeth-conrad-hickox/images/basket-2.jpg}
\end{center}

\begin{center}
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/polly-conrad-and-elizabeth-conrad-hickox/images/elizabeth_conrad_hickox-standing.JPG}
\end{center}

Another household enterprise was basket production. Elizabeth Hickox
apparently learned to weave from her mother, then brought her skills
to a height that attracted the attention of notable local collectors
and the patronage of Grace Nicholson. Elizabeth’s younger daughter,
Louise, also wove; that her older daughter Jesse did not, may
exemplify the trend for residential schools’ women to abandon the
indigenous practices, largely because they were forbidden to do
cultural practices. Jesse did contribute to the enterprise by taking a
larger share of the housework and writing Elizabeth’s letters to
Nicholson. The men of the household were also involved in basket
production. Luther and later Jessie’s son Lee Merrill went on
expeditions to obtain materials including porcupine pelts for weaving
quills and wolf moss for dying them. If Nicholson did not come to
collect the Hickox is baskets Luther also took the responsibility for
sending them to her when traveling to the mint in San Francisco. A 5th
enterprise emerged when Luther progressed from settling disputes with
a gun to legal authority. In 1916 he became Justice of the Peace for
Some’s Bar, a position he held for over 30 years. (Read the chapter in
Land of the grasshopper Song called” The Baby Growl”) To make up for
his lack of education, Luther trained himself in law. Ms. Merrill
Sears remembers the children had to be quiet in the house when Luther
was home , reading law books from the large collection that lined the
walls of his study. Jesse served as his secretary. Because Luther was
not fluent in Karuk, Louise acted as his translator accompanying him
in the auto on official visits. Lee Merrill born in 1917 close to the
Hickox’s son’s death time, served Luther as constable and frequently
accompanied him on both guiding and collecting trips. Marvin Cohodas,
in his book , explores multilevel relationships between non-native,
mixed-race, and native families, He delved into the reasons the curio
trade was booming around the turn of the 20th century. As an associate
professor of fine art s at the univ. of British Columbia, he explored
broad social issues like economics, individuality, patronage ,and
issues of authenticity. He also examined rivalries and criticisms of
the Hickoxes, with much analysis of how Elizabeth and Louise were
viewed in anthropologist Lila M. O’Neale’s study called Yurok and
Karok Basket Weavers, published in 1932. Elizabeth Hickox’s weaving
career took an important turn during the first year of Arnold and
Reed’s tenure in the Karuk area when she first met her future patron
Pasadena basketry dealer Grace Nicholson. Nicholson reached the Karuk
region in 1908 on an expedition with her associate Carol Hartman.
Determined to prospect for baskets and ceremonial objects, Nicholson
claimed to have walked 70 miles up one side of the Klamath and 70
miles back down the other. The occasion of Nicholson’s first meeting
with Elizabeth Hickox there is further elaboration, both because it
marked the inception of the patronage relationship within which the
baskets were produced in because surviving accounts diverge greatly in
perspective. On July 17, 1908, Arnold and Reed met Nicholson and
Hartman at the Frame’s hotel in Somes Ba,r the non-native settlement
near their residence at Kot-ee-meen. At old Somes the field matrons
had brought a Karuk boy to be seen by the physician passing through on
his way back to Sawyers bar. In her diary Nicholson mentioned this
reason for their trip as well as information on their future plans but
her description of the matrons was not very nice. The next day
journeying from some part of Kot-e-meen where she arranged to stay
with the Nelsons and then across the Klamath where she met Hickox ,
she wrote The mighty effort we went to see Mrs. Hickox up another hill
we found the finest baskets of all ! She called upon Bernard to bring
the boat back (he had been the ferry man) and helped carry the stuff
back to Kot-ee-meen. Nicholson purchased three baskets from Elizabeth
Hickox that she had on hand and arranged for Luther to ship future
baskets to her. She also commissioned Elizabeth to search out old
baskets that women in the region would sell although Nicholson did not
visit the Karuk area again in the next two years. Luther must’ve taken
increased control of the mailing; a letter from Sam Frame to Nicholson
in early 1911 stating stated that he had seen no Hickox baskets
recently, even though Elizabeth still made them and kept sending them
to Nicholson. <insert Nicholson Home and Shop picture> Nicholson
returned to collect baskets in July 1911 taking photographs of many
weavers, including Elizabeth Hickox and Elizabeth’s mother Polly
Conrad Steve. This trip began annual series of summer collecting
business to the Karuk area lasting until at least 1917. After
returning to Pasadena, Nicholson would send Elizabeth a check for her
work. Elizabeth would reply through daughter Jessie with a letter of
thanks. When Elizabeth’s younger daughter, Louise, began to weave
around 1911 her works were also sold exclusively to Nicholson. After
the first world war increased and bridge construction made the Klamath
region more accessible. Hickox noted in a letter to Nicholson the
resulting surge in hunting tourism, a practice promoted by Theodore
Roosevelt as a means of producing strong American men in which
ironically reinforce the region’s image as primitive and remote. The
influx of sportsmen provide employment for locals who acted as hunting
and fishing guides. Luther Hickox is remembered by Mildred Donahue a
relative by marriage, as having worked for Herbert Hoover who operated
fishing club on the Salmon River. Anthropological investigation the
lower Klamath also picked up, with Thomas Waterman investigating the
Yurok and John P Harrington visiting the Karuk in 1926. Harrington,
whose researches remain largely unpublished, interviewed the Hickox’s
and collected baskets from their household. Around the same time,
Helen H Roberts made sound recordings of Elizabeth singing native
songs see laying 1991 pages nine and 10. And in 1929 Lila O’Neill , an
anthropology student of Kroeber’s, traversed the Klamath River
interviewing basket weavers for her dissertation.

<insert Lila Oneale picture>

She interviewed 50 basket weavers, and had them comment on pictures of
baskets that she showed them they also commented on each other’s
basketweaving ability. O’Neill questioned weavers about types of
baskets made procedures followed from gathering to design and
finishing. Her perceptive analysis of conventions guiding informants
judgments provide a comprehensive frame of reference within which
lower Klamath baskets have subsided subsequently been viewed to hold
us in describing Hickox is baskets emphasize physical characteristics
of construction and ornamentation rather than utilitarian functions
because in the period of the Hickox’s weaving in O’Neill’s research
production was largely for sale

Lower Klamath basketweaving came to be distinguished from that of
neighboring regions by its complexity and conventional ionization of a
wide variety of forms. O’Neill showed that each utensil came to be
characterized by a particular combination of shape materials and
weaving techniques appropriate to function O’Neill demonstrated that
modes of declaration were similarly prescribed for each basketry type
according to conventions of both visual and functional
appropriateness. Elizabeth Conrad Hickox was a master of every aspect
of basketweaving. She was a perfectionist whose weaving techniques
were considered excellent by most judgesi,ncludingng other basket
weavers and Grace Nicholson. She was a recognized expert in using
shape, designs, materials, and weaving techniques appropriate to
function. See comments in Lila O’Neale’s book and the list of basket
weavers interviewed by O’Neale. O’Neal described Elizabeth Hickox as
“One of the best, if not the best, Karok weavers in the territory. (
P.135)Oneal also said, “ Her standards are the highest”. That
statement summed up Elizabeth’e basket weaving. She knew the best way
to do things with the highest quality results. She preferred using
only the best basketry materials, and often traveled further than many
other basketweavers to find the best materials. When using porcupine
quills in her work, which she used frequently , for a beautiful yellow
color, sometimes in in contrast to the black maidenhair fern that she
also often used, she only chose the smallest quills from the sides of
the porcupine pelts,. Smaller quills were harder to work with , yet
gave a beautiful result , especially when combined with some of
Elizabeth’s other time consuming techniques she was known for. In
particular, Elizabeth’s work was known and recognized for its fineness
of weave; she often wove more than double the number of stiches per
square centimeter than what was wovwn by most Lower Klamath weavers.
At times, Elizabeth achieved more tha 130 stitches per square
centimeter ( morethan 800 per square inch) , which was finer than any
other known basketry wares from California at that time. Cohodas
states “ the dazzling texture resulting from this extreme fineness is
sufficiently removed from the normal range of variation to render her
baskets immediately recognizable.” A person can walk into the Clark
Museum in Eureka California and pick out some of Elizabeth’s baskets
without reading the catalog. Cohodas him spends quite a bit of time in
his book analyzing Elizabeth’s basketry and also analyzing the many
comments by other basket weavers of her time in Lila O’Neale’s book.
<Insert oneales list> Basket weaving techniques The largest number of
basket types was developed for use in tasks associated with food,
particularly the acorn staple. Openwork sub conical gathering or pack
baskets were worn for collecting. Three types of baskets were involved
in grinding: an open bottom hopper that fit around the rock hollowing
used as a mortar, a sifter trade two. To separate fully ground
particles from coarser ones, and a larger flower tray to collect the
finished product. A bowl shaped basketry dipper served for pouring
water over the acorn flour when it was being leached in sand. Finally
woven gathering baskets were used for seeds which had to parch before
grinding by being shaken with hot coals on a woven tray. Large
globular baskets served to store flour and seeds as well as dried
salmon berries and other foods. Cooking baskets, or most bowls also
took globular forms that through the soaking of their fibers and their
impregnation with food particles became watertight so that foods could
be cooked in them with hot stones.

Lower Klamath weavers also developed basketry techniques for making
baby carriers, lidded containers for tobacco leaves, hanging baskets,
and the basket held by men in the jumping dance. Large basket trays
have been associated with stick games or Indian cards there are also
would baskets, pack baskets fish baskets, baby baskets and cradles
spoon baskets, dippers, cooking and serving baskets of many size,
acorn soup baskets, water carrying baskets, hoppers, sifter’s, and
kneeling trays, along with stories baskets of many size. There were
also gifts baskets, fancy baskets, brushed dance baskets and jump
dance baskets. One of the most unique type of basketry in the Carew
and lower Klamath area are woven hats or caps some for work and some
for serum is.

All basketry of the Klamath River region is twined a technique which
implies sticks and twining elements whatever declaration is made in
the basket is by the overlay or facing process. Therefore we may speak
of foundation sticks, twining roots, and overlay materials. Few types
of baskets are of one material, the great majority require at least
three different materials in their making..

Some basketry forms were developed specifically for sale to non-native
peoples including globular often lidded forms called gift or trinket
baskets, or fancy baskets, thought to be an elaboration of the native
storage vessel as well as trays napkin rings and basketry covered
glass bottles.

three strand twining with one or more strong rods fastened onto the
surface in the lattice wraps twining technique. Baskets of this type
included the conical hopper and the flour sifting tray used for
processing acorns. Openwork construction such as the pack basket and
baby carrier also frequently featured a closed twined rimmed band and
monochromatic partial double element overlay. Materials Hazel sticks
are highly desirable to use and basketry. New little shoots from a
ground recently burned over are the ideal. It is wonderful that the US
Forest Service is finally recognizing the value of burning for a
wildfire comes along. Local contemporary basket weaver La Verne glaze
was instrumental in starting a program of cooperation with the US
Forest Service called follow the smoke. In this program which still
exists to this day, basket weavers shared their knowledge as well as
their needs with the Forest Service and a weekend series of workshops
benefited everyone. I attended some session’s one day and it was very
informative and enjoyable. A typical day might have someone talking
about and then demonstrating why bear grass works better after it’s
been burned. Then people might go out and collect bear grass along the
go road then they would come back traditional lunch of acorn soup and
salmon cooked on sticks. Then, an afternoon session or workshop, might
be about finding and using Hazelwood to get Hazel sticks and also
hazelnuts. The value of burning a small area where Hazel grows and
also where bear grass grows, cannot be underestimated. Luckily, the
Forest Service in our area, seems to totally support burning for
basket materials. Willow sticks are another important basketry
material. Willow is interchangeable with Hazel as a foundation
material. Myrtle sticks for foundation sticks are also favored by some
of the most skillful Karuk weavers.

Materials for twining elements this and the stick baskets are mainly
tree roots such as, sugar pine, alder, Willow, and wild grape
sometimes. These things need to be collected at the right time of year
which is usually the spring and very early summer.

Overlay materials are white grass or bear grass which also should be
burned to have any strength. By burned I mean the area where he
grosses burned and then the remaining burned plants are the strongest.
Also for overlay many people love the black stalks of maidenhair fern,
which when used with bear grass shows a lovely contrast another part
for the overlay or pattern part of the basket another plant is
Woodwardiafern or giant furnaces called sometimes and there is also
another endangered source of basketry materials that is the porcupine
whose numbers are dwindling terribly bar area. It is rumored that many
porcupines died as a result of the forest service putting out poisons
to kill rodents in their young tree plantations. I have not seen a
porcupine in over 20 years and I don’t know anyone else who has
either..…
\chapter{Nettie Ruben}
\label{sec:orgba3171d}
Nettie Ruben

\begin{center}
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/nettie-ruben/images/nettie-ruben-with-baskets.jpg}
\end{center}

Nettie Ruben is believed to have been born in the late 1870s and died
in 1957. Her mother was called "Snappy", and she taught her daughter
how to weave baskets. Nettie lived her life in the Orleans area and
had no children of her own although she had a step-daughter, Louisa,
from her marriage with Frank Ruben. Her mother-in-law was Nellie
Ruben, who also made baskets, but they did not compare with Nettie’s
baskets. While she could speak English, she preferred to speak Karuk.
She rarely, if ever, sold baskets to dealers, instead selling them
directly to both white and Indian collectors from her home.

\begin{center}
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/nettie-ruben/images/nettie-ruben-headshot.jpg}
\end{center}

<insert picture of nettie ruben basket displayed at Clarke museum>
Nettie also did crocheting, made clothes, arrows, and paper flowers.
She made everything by hand, never using a sewing machine.
Unfortunately, none of her crocheting or sewing has been located. She
was also a great storyteller. Nettie Ruben’s work is amazing in
spanning the whole range of basket types. Moreover , many people
believe that she was undoubtedly the most innovative of Karuk basket
weavers. …the beauty of her baskets and her innovations place her at
the pinnacle of Northwest California basket weaving.

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/nettie-ruben/images/elaine-garcia.jpg}
\caption{Elaine Garcia, Karuk Library technician and archivist, with a Nettie Ruben basket. Her thought , “Nettie Ruben’s amazingly beautiful basket. I have no words, just emotion, “ Photo courtesy of Elaine Garcia.}
\end{figure}
\chapter{Florence Harrie}
\label{sec:org9e852bc}
Florence Harrie

Florence Jacobs was born in 1889 near Somes Bar on the Salmon River.
Her sister was Bessie Jacobs, who married William Tripp, who later
became Bessie Tripp. Florence married Benoni Harrie of Quartz Valley
and she became Florence Harrie. It was while she was married to Benoni
that Florence perfected her Basket weaving techniques and became a
renowned basket weaver of her time period. <insert picture of Florence
harrie \#1> <Insert picture of basket cap made by Florence Harrie in
October 2019, I was visited by Florence’s granddaughter, Irma
Marshall, currently of Hoopa California. Irma’s daughter is my good
friend Teresa Cyr who brought her mom over that day to tell me about
her life’s little girl on the Salmon River. That day Irma told me a
lot about her grandmother Florence Harrie evidently when she was young
maybe around 1011 or 12 years old, Florence was taken away from the
Salmon River and sent to Phoenix, Arizona to go to an Indian Boarding
School. She was kept therefor 12 long years, completely separsted from
her family and hher culture. Those were the days when children were
punished for speaking their native language and girls had their braids
cut off at the boarding schools. ( see the chapter on Indian boarding
schools). When she was old enough to leave school she moved to L.A.
for a while and then returned to the Salmon River in her early 20s.
Her aunt arranged a marriage for her with Benoni Harrie of Quartz
Valley and off she went. That is when she really got into basket
weaving, and she made many baskets for sale which really helped the
family’s income at that time.She had 2 children, Lucille and Joseph
Melvin. Florence Harrie died in 1981 at the age of 92, 1 year before
her older sister Bessie died around the age of 107.

<, insert article frompacific western traders>
<insert all the rest of Florence harrie pictures >
\chapter{Josephine Peters and Queen Brazille}
\label{sec:orge8ebb15}
\label{sec:org87ef760}
Two Famous basket weavers from the Salmon River:
Queen Brazille and her great-granddaughter Josephine Peters



@@ 204,262 1628,650 @@ well as an incredible teacher of basketry. She was quite well known for her othe
crafts, and later in life she would showcase her things all over the state and would
 be a partner in a local shop in Hoopa.
In 1937 Josephine graduated from eighth grade at Junction school in Somes bar. She graduated with two other students, Zona Ferris, and Glenn gallop. According to Zona Ferris, their class motto was” the cutest class this side of heaven; the class of 1937.”
For a graduation present, Mary Johnnie wove Josephine a very special basket cap with the family design on it, which was triangular people sitting around a larger triangular fire. Josephine would use this design in her later pottery. (see picture of Jo with pottery; on left is “people sitting around the fire” family design.

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/josephine-peters-and-queen-brazille/images/junction_school.png}
\caption{1933–1934 Junction School class, Somes Bar, taken when Josephine was in the sixth grade. Photo courtesy Zona Ferris, who identified the children in the photograph. Originally published in graves (1934). Front row, left to right: Frederick Case (?), Loretta McNeil, Lorella Conrad, Goldie Tom, Anna McNeil, Wilfred Albers, Ernest Conrad, Margie Johnson (?), Art Case, Arnold Davis, Frederick Case (?), Loren Offield, Alfred Albers. Second row, left to right: Elsa M. Williams, Howard Shinski, Zona Ferris, Josephine Peters, Leland Donahue, Fern Grant, Maryanne Albers, Beverly Donahue (between Wilfred and Ernest), Ethel Drake Ferris (between Ernest and Margie), two unidentified girls (behind Margie and Art), Dorothy Albers (?) and Anabel, Reginald “Reggie” Grant. Back row, left to right: Lee Merrill (between Zona and Josephine), Frank Grant (behind Leland), Shane Davis (behind Fern), Vardina Donahue, Pauline Conrad (between Beverly and Ethel), Rosie Jerry Grant (slightly out of focus), Caroline Davis Brown, Wilson Donahue (slightly behind Caroline), Julius Tripp, Barbara Grant, Tommy Offield (?), Violet Johnny Super.}
\end{figure}

[check if from the book or another source] Zona Ferris would be Josephine’s friend for life. They both participated in a program called “Follow the Smoke” which was started by their friend Laverne Glaze in Orleans, a renowned basket maker and basketry teacher. “Follow the Smoke’ educated the Forest Service about basketry materials, and the need for burning them at certain times of the year to make them stronger when they are collected.

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/josephine-peters-and-queen-brazille/images/josephine_sharing_redwood_sorrel.png}
\caption{Josephine sharing redwood sorrel at following the Smoke. Photo by Beverly Ortiz.}
\end{figure}

I was fortunate enough to attend some of the workshops offered to the public at Follow the Smoke” Native basket maker’s retreat in the summer put on at Camp Creek in Orleans…. what an incredible collaboration with the Forest Service this was!\ldots{} They also educated the Forest Service about the dangers of herbicides which the Forest Service in the past had routinely used all over the forest thereby affecting anyone who came into contact with plants that had been sprayed with herbicides. There was a true understanding and cooperation by the Forest Service with the Indian basket weavers… the Forest Service actually started helping by burning bear grass and hazel for the basket weavers, and they also stopped the use of herbicides in that area where basket weavers gathered materials. This helped set the stage for continued cooperation and collaboration with the Forest Service which is now a very unique partnership that has been developed.

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[angle=90,width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/josephine-peters-and-queen-brazille/images/laverne_glaze.jpg}
\caption{Laverne Glaze}
\end{figure}

in March 2003, while Laverne Glaze describe the importance of Josephine’s knowledge of basketry to herself and other weavers and the fond memories that Josephine’s plant knowledge engenders.

“I will always be thankful to Josephine for her unselfishness in helping weavers and gatherers with any questions they may have for me, all it ever took was a brief phone call and Joe would give me a solution to my concern or problem. We did not grow up together, but it seems I’ve known her most of my life she is help me many times with our basket camp, sharing her knowledge of medicinal plants, basket materials and regalia.”

We shared stories of gathering milkweed when we were young we put the milk from the plant on an old wood stove in a container and warm it. When cooled, we use it as chewing gum. I don’t recall a lot of flavor, but made for a lot of chewing.

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/josephine-peters-and-queen-brazille/images/josephine_basketry_hat.png}
\caption{Josephine wearing basketry hat made by Ella Johnson. Photo courtesy Josephine Peters.}
\end{figure}

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/josephine-peters-and-queen-brazille/images/salve_making_josephine_zona_deborah.png}
\caption{Josephine (right) sharing salve making with Zona Ferris and Deborah E. McConnell. Photo by LaVerne Glaze.}
\end{figure}

After her eighth grade graduation, Josephine moved to Red Bluff where she attended ninth grade while living with her maternal great aunt Millie. All children from the Salmon River then and now always had to move away to go to high school because there is no high school on the Salmon River. In 1938 she returned home for a year then moved to Etna to resume her education. She graduated in 1942 and then moved to Eureka. After World War II broke out, she worked as a welder in a shipyard dry dock. She stayed there a year and ½ before moving to Arcata to care for the baby of a young mother who died in childbirth. When the war ended, Josephine returned to Eureka before moving to Fort Ord where she folded bandages. Next she relocated to Palm Springs to be near her uncle, who was in an army hospital being treated for severe injuries he received during a wartime explosion. While there, Josephine cared for patients with leg injuries. Josephine took care of children and others all the rest of her life. Josephine returned briefly to Eureka, then moved to Trinidad for a few years. She stayed there until 1949, when she came to Hoopa, where she resided all the rest of her life.

Josephine’s daughter Cheryl Gerchia Beck was born in 1943; Cheryl’s Father Thomas Gerchia (Garcia) died in World War II. Josephine later had another daughter Tamara C. Peters, who was born in 1963, three weeks after her father Charles “Slim” Peters died in a logging accident.

In 1949, living in Hoopa, Josephine began taking in foster children, 27 in all. She served as guardian for as many as five children at a time, until her large home was destroyed in the 1964 flood.

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/josephine-peters-and-queen-brazille/images/tamara_peters.png}
\caption{Tamara Peters in dance regalia made by her mother. Ella Johnson likely made the cap. Humboldt County Fair, Ferndale. Photo courtesy Josephine Peters.}
\end{figure}

On October 28, 1980, Josephine adopted Quetta Peters. In 1992 she decided to become a guardian of Jene McCovey, whom she took in as a baby. Josephine said of that, “I was getting old, it was time to retire. I turned around and got another one …I started all over again.” (Laughs)

Quetta later said of her mother: Most people who have been fortunate enough to sit and talk with her know the inner strength and wisdom she possesses. She’s a person who sees past what most people generally see, deep into one’s own soul. Her kindness and generosity are abundant. She would give the shirt off her own back to another human being if they needed it more than her. My mother has more cultural knowledge about plants, basketry, arts and crafts, language and religion, as well as general native psychology, more than any other person I know. She unselfishly shares her knowledge with others, teaching basketry, for instance, for more years than- I’ve even been alive. She continues to be a role model for many young people. Her presence at most culturally related functions is a blessing. For example, in a few days she will attend a graduation gathering of the tribal CCC’s in Hoopa, to wish the graduates of the program well, and to send good medicine their way. My mom taught us the vital importance of maintaining good health, preparing three well-balanced meals every day throughout my childhood. I might not have always liked the veggie part, but there’s lots of love and her traditional home cooking. She taught me to prepare acorn soup, as well as eels, salmon, and deer and elk meat, just to name a few. I am a skillful cook because of my mother.

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/josephine-peters-and-queen-brazille/images/quetta_peters.png}
\caption{Quetta Peters at home wearing regalia made by Josephine. Basket hat with rivers and mountain design likely made by Ella Johnson. Photo courtesy Josephine Peters.}
\end{figure}

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/josephine-peters-and-queen-brazille/images/samantha_mcdonald.png}
\caption{Josephine’s great-granddaughter Samantha McDonald in regalia and basket hat with whirlwind design, all made by Josephine. Photo by Beverly Ortiz.}
\end{figure}

Josephine’s great-granddaughter Samantha McDonald described some of her great-grandmother’s influence on her. They were talking about the dances coming up because Samantha wanted to learn about her Karuk tribal dances. Grandma Joe started giving me directions on what to do how to stand and the behavior of girl dancers plus other things. I asked her when the next dance would be held and she told me the next brush dance would be out that coming weekend and I asked her if I could stay in Hoopa for part of the summer to dance. she told me that would be fine. I had asked my mom and grandma first. I got to dance and brush dance for the very first time. I was almost jumping for joy at the same time a little scared when I look at all the Indian dresses, the basket caps and Regalia that my great grandma Joe has made. I dream of making a dress and regalia of my own. I made a few things and I have been trying but nothing will be anything like my great grandma Jo’s.

“The summers I spent with great grandma Joe she taught me so much almost by accident. She would show me in urban tell me what it could be used for and when and how to harvest it now I am at the point where people asked me who I am related to, and when I tell them they know exactly who I am talking about, and is sort of an honor to introduce myself as the great-granddaughter of Joe peters, I don’t think it can get much better than that.”

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/josephine-peters-and-queen-brazille/images/josephine_pottery.png}
\caption{Josephine Peters with some of her pottery. On left, “people sitting around fire” design. Other designs are Josephine’s own innovations. Photo courtesy Josephine Peters.}
\end{figure}

Josephine led a most incredible life. Not only was Josephine an excellent basket weaver and crafting artist, she also became a very skilled potter, and made incredibly beautiful clay with local Indian designs. She was a founding member of the Hoopa pottery guild.

Probably what Josephine is most noted for, besides her basketry, crafts, teaching, promoting education, pottery, and caring for others, is her healing with herbs. Her book, written with Beverly Ortiz, After the First Full Moon In April, not only tells more about her incredible life, it also documents her herbal remedies and techniques that she used including gathering and ethics. For more about this incredible woman read their book. That is where 99\% of my info about her came from, and I want to give them full credit. This wonderful book is quite inspiring and gives a wonderful picture of an incredibly inspiring woman from the Salmon River, Josephine Grant Peters.

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/josephine-peters-and-queen-brazille/images/josephine_cheryl_old_home_place.png}
\caption{Josephine Peters and daughter Cheryl at the Old Home Place, with Josephine’s mother Maggie Bennett holding Cheryl’s daughter Colette, 1963. Photo courtesy Josephine Peters.\\[0pt]
}
\end{figure}

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/josephine-peters-and-queen-brazille/images/josephine_manzanita.png}
\caption{Josephine standing amidst manzanita across the river from the Old Home Place, August 30, 2001. Photo by Beverly Ortiz.}
\end{figure}
\chapter{Knownothing Creek, Hearts of Gold}
\label{sec:org266505f}
For a graduation present, Mary Johnnie wove Josephine a very special basket cap with the family design on it, which was triangular people sitting around a larger triangular fire. Josephine would use this design in her later pottery. (see picture of Jo with pottery; on left is “people sitting around the fire” family design.

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/know-nothing-creek-hearts-of-gold/images/wally_and_larrey.jpg}
\caption{Wally and his kindergarten chum, Larrey Cressey.}
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/josephine-peters-and-queen-brazille/images/junction_school.png}
\caption{1933–1934 Junction School class, Somes Bar, taken when Josephine was in the sixth grade. Photo courtesy Zona Ferris, who identified the children in the photograph. Originally published in graves (1934). Front row, left to right: Frederick Case (?), Loretta McNeil, Lorella Conrad, Goldie Tom, Anna McNeil, Wilfred Albers, Ernest Conrad, Margie Johnson (?), Art Case, Arnold Davis, Frederick Case (?), Loren Offield, Alfred Albers. Second row, left to right: Elsa M. Williams, Howard Shinski, Zona Ferris, Josephine Peters, Leland Donahue, Fern Grant, Maryanne Albers, Beverly Donahue (between Wilfred and Ernest), Ethel Drake Ferris (between Ernest and Margie), two unidentified girls (behind Margie and Art), Dorothy Albers (?) and Anabel, Reginald “Reggie” Grant. Back row, left to right: Lee Merrill (between Zona and Josephine), Frank Grant (behind Leland), Shane Davis (behind Fern), Vardina Donahue, Pauline Conrad (between Beverly and Ethel), Rosie Jerry Grant (slightly out of focus), Caroline Davis Brown, Wilson Donahue (slightly behind Caroline), Julius Tripp, Barbara Grant, Tommy Offield (?), Violet Johnny Super.}
\end{figure}

Knownothing Creek is a special place, gorgeous, magical, and flowing fully with abundant water, crystal clear and delicious. It is a major tributary of the South Fork of the Salmon River, located in an extremely remote area of Siskiyou County, California. The whole area is so remote that you must travel along one lane mountain roads that follow cliffs traversing the Salmon River until you reach the tiny town of Forks of Salmon. These roads can be terrifying to some people because it is pretty scary looking over the side of the cliff down to the river on one side of you, and then looking at a blind curve on an extremely narrow one lane road on the other side of you. In fact, many people have died by accidentally going off of these cliffs in their vehicles. Over the years, I have lost many friends and 2 family members to the dangerous River roads.
[check if from the book or another source] Zona Ferris would be Josephine’s friend for life. They both participated in a program called “Follow the Smoke” which was started by their friend Laverne Glaze in Orleans, a renowned basket maker and basketry teacher. “Follow the Smoke’ educated the Forest Service about basketry materials, and the need for burning them at certain times of the year to make them stronger when they are collected.

Forks of Salmon, aka the Forks, currently has no store, but, they do have one of the country’s smallest post offices. There are no police, no churches, no stores currently, no doctor, no electric company, and only one tiny school called Forks of Salmon Elementary, which currently has about 8 to 10 students total and one teacher. The school and the U. S. Post Office are the only businesses in the entire town although the U. S. Forest Service maintains a generator shed and some outbuildings around the school and town site, since the town is located smack dab in the middle of the Klamath National Forest, and even though you don’t always see Forest Service employees, the agency is always maintaining some sort of control and supervision. (See the chapter about history of the forest service for more on this.) They are probably most evident during Forest Fires, when they direct the firefighting efforts and set up fire camps, and communicate constantly with the locals. Unfortunately, Forest Fires have become part of the way of life for folks who live in the National Forests, for a variety of reasons. (See chapter on Fires.)
\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/josephine-peters-and-queen-brazille/images/josephine_sharing_redwood_sorrel.png}
\caption{Josephine sharing redwood sorrel at following the Smoke. Photo by Beverly Ortiz.}
\end{figure}

California’s Wild and Scenic, pristine, clean and beautiful Salmon River has two main branches that come together at the Forks of Salmon, the North Fork and the South fork. Knownothing Creek is located about three miles up the road from the Forks that follows the south fork (Cecilville Rd.) which goes to the next small town called Cecilville about 17 miles from Forks of Salmon.
I was fortunate enough to attend some of the workshops offered to the public at Follow the Smoke” Native basket maker’s retreat in the summer put on at Camp Creek in Orleans…. what an incredible collaboration with the Forest Service this was!\ldots{} They also educated the Forest Service about the dangers of herbicides which the Forest Service in the past had routinely used all over the forest thereby affecting anyone who came into contact with plants that had been sprayed with herbicides. There was a true understanding and cooperation by the Forest Service with the Indian basket weavers… the Forest Service actually started helping by burning bear grass and hazel for the basket weavers, and they also stopped the use of herbicides in that area where basket weavers gathered materials. This helped set the stage for continued cooperation and collaboration with the Forest Service which is now a very unique partnership that has been developed.

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/know-nothing-creek-hearts-of-gold/images/kathy_scherzer.jpg}
\caption{Kathy Scherzer, my sister, at Lloyd's party.}
\includegraphics[angle=90,width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/josephine-peters-and-queen-brazille/images/laverne_glaze.jpg}
\caption{Laverne Glaze}
\end{figure}

About a mile up Knownothing Creek, across a strong but slightly scary bridge, built from local timber, lived one of the last of the modern day gold miners of the Salmon River area, a man with a heart of gold, Lloyd Ingle. He was a friend to many, including me and my husband Wally and all of our Knownothing Gang and all of our beloved Salmon River friends. I first met Lloyd around the summer of 1973, during a visit to the Salmon River and to Black Bear Ranch, at a time when I was part of the Hearthshire Free School and Commune, of San Francisco and Covelo, cousin clan of the Black Bears, as both communes were founded by members of the Digger family of S. F. (see notes by Peter Coyote in appendix A if interested). This was at a time when I also met my friend Bobbi, later to be Bobbi Harling, when she lived at the lower end of Knownothing at a place nicknamed the Sugar Shack with a fellow named Jesse Dalton. This was an old miner’s cabin, and like every place else in Forks of Salmon, it was off the grid, meaning no power made by outside companies was available. Bobbi’s cabin was lit by kerosene lamps, and it felt homey and warm. Bobbi had me sit at her kitchen table, while she cooked one of her famous dinners for a small crowd called Taco Skillet. She also had some of her famous lemon bars baking in the oven. Bobbi treated me as if I were an old friend, and we became friends who eventually grew old together over the years. From then on, through today, I have loved visiting Bobbi in her kitchen wherever she has lived, where she makes you feel welcome, she fills your tummy, and she fills your soul with river talk, which always includes the latest river news and gossip. Usually someone else is often visiting, so it is a great place to meet people and to get caught up on what’s happening at the Forks.
in March 2003, while Laverne Glaze describe the importance of Josephine’s knowledge of basketry to herself and other weavers and the fond memories that Josephine’s plant knowledge engenders.

This poem is from the beginning of "Bobbi's Kitchen":
“I will always be thankful to Josephine for her unselfishness in helping weavers and gatherers with any questions they may have for me, all it ever took was a brief phone call and Joe would give me a solution to my concern or problem. We did not grow up together, but it seems I’ve known her most of my life she is help me many times with our basket camp, sharing her knowledge of medicinal plants, basket materials and regalia.”

\begin{verse}
\itshape
That Kitchen Table\\[0pt]
\vspace*{1em}
Things that can be done at the kitchen table in Bobbi's house:\\[0pt]
You can have one of the best meals\\[0pt]
You can wait 4-5 minutes until she is ready\\[0pt]
The best gossip can be heard here\\[0pt]
Christmas cookies can be made\\[0pt]
Halloween candy can be sorted\\[0pt]
You can talk till all hours of the night\\[0pt]
You can hear the most sincere advice\\[0pt]
At this table you will always be welcome.\\[0pt]
\end{verse}
We shared stories of gathering milkweed when we were young we put the milk from the plant on an old wood stove in a container and warm it. When cooled, we use it as chewing gum. I don’t recall a lot of flavor, but made for a lot of chewing.

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=10cm]{./chapters/know-nothing-creek-hearts-of-gold/images/bobbis_kitchen_cover.jpg}
\caption{Cover of "Bobbi's Kitchen". From inside cover: The cover quilt pattern is one Bobbi's sister Cindy made, called "Bobbi's Kitchen". She wrote to Bobbi explaining what it meant: "Your house is a special place, filled with acceptance and warmth, and the kitchen is the centerpiece of that. The cornerstones of red represents the warmth that is the foundation of your home. Love is at the center, and is surrounded by the sunshine streaming in the windows and out of your heart. The blue represents the tranquility and acceptance found by those who are blessed to be in your presence."}
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/josephine-peters-and-queen-brazille/images/josephine_basketry_hat.png}
\caption{Josephine wearing basketry hat made by Ella Johnson. Photo courtesy Josephine Peters.}
\end{figure}

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/know-nothing-creek-hearts-of-gold/images/bobbi_with_treats.jpg}
\caption{Bobbi Harling, with treats fresh from the oven.}
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/josephine-peters-and-queen-brazille/images/salve_making_josephine_zona_deborah.png}
\caption{Josephine (right) sharing salve making with Zona Ferris and Deborah E. McConnell. Photo by LaVerne Glaze.}
\end{figure}

After her eighth grade graduation, Josephine moved to Red Bluff where she attended ninth grade while living with her maternal great aunt Millie. All children from the Salmon River then and now always had to move away to go to high school because there is no high school on the Salmon River. In 1938 she returned home for a year then moved to Etna to resume her education. She graduated in 1942 and then moved to Eureka. After World War II broke out, she worked as a welder in a shipyard dry dock. She stayed there a year and ½ before moving to Arcata to care for the baby of a young mother who died in childbirth. When the war ended, Josephine returned to Eureka before moving to Fort Ord where she folded bandages. Next she relocated to Palm Springs to be near her uncle, who was in an army hospital being treated for severe injuries he received during a wartime explosion. While there, Josephine cared for patients with leg injuries. Josephine took care of children and others all the rest of her life. Josephine returned briefly to Eureka, then moved to Trinidad for a few years. She stayed there until 1949, when she came to Hoopa, where she resided all the rest of her life.

Josephine’s daughter Cheryl Gerchia Beck was born in 1943; Cheryl’s Father Thomas Gerchia (Garcia) died in World War II. Josephine later had another daughter Tamara C. Peters, who was born in 1963, three weeks after her father Charles “Slim” Peters died in a logging accident.

This was the beginning of a magical journey for me, seeing a place of unimaginable beauty, with people as incredible as the surroundings. After experiencing Bobbi’s well known hospitality, my friends then introduced me to Lloyd, a little further up the creek. His hospitality matched Bobbi’s, and we ended up camping there, after an evening of great talks loosened up with shots of tequila. I was amazed at the kindness and openness of this man who would look at you full in the face and would speak so enthusiastically about so many topics, and would laugh and smile so freely. Lloyd shared whatever he had with his visitors, including canned cherries from his favorite cherry tree, and rice and beans or whatever he had for dinner. In the years to come, I played a lot of dominoes and poker at Lloyd’s house, and also drank a bit of tequila in my younger days. I would later become Lloyd’s neighbor further up the creek and our “Knownothing Gang” took shape from all the time all of us spent together, mostly at Lloyd’s cabin, where the wood stove and the hospitality were always full and warm, and the gold shone from his heart. Lloyd died in 2016 at age 64 of pancreatic cancer, after fighting desperately to live for many months. By his side the whole time was his beloved soul mate Nancy Thatcher, who was and still is another dear friend of mine, another one with a heart of gold. When I left Knownothing after that brief visit in 1973, I knew I would be back, searching for another heart of gold.
In 1949, living in Hoopa, Josephine began taking in foster children, 27 in all. She served as guardian for as many as five children at a time, until her large home was destroyed in the 1964 flood.

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/know-nothing-creek-hearts-of-gold/images/more_knownothing_gang.jpg}
\caption{More of the Knownothing gang: Anne and Mel Berry, and Lloyd and Mike Defaria at a party at Lloyd's.}
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/josephine-peters-and-queen-brazille/images/tamara_peters.png}
\caption{Tamara Peters in dance regalia made by her mother. Ella Johnson likely made the cap. Humboldt County Fair, Ferndale. Photo courtesy Josephine Peters.}
\end{figure}

About 6 months later, I returned to the River with my 6 yr. old son Ricky, looking for a home, wanting to live in this most remarkable place I had ever experienced. My boyfriend at the time, Tommy Truck, dumped me at Knownothing Creek at Lloyd’s cabin, when he said we would be parting company because he had decided to mine gold with Lloyd and I would not fit in the mining picture. I was crushed and felt devastated and used (I had a truck that had hauled Tommy’s tools and other things for mining up from the city. Hmm.) The only other place I knew to go to was Black Bear Ranch.
It was February, and the road to the ranch was blocked with snow. I was told there was a 5 mile trail going up Black Bear Creek that people traveled in the winter that could get us there I was basically still a naïve city girl, with more hutzpah than common sense. I dressed my poor kid in heavy snow-pants, and ended up half carrying and half dragging him those 5 miles. As dark descended upon us, I was literally terrified for our lives, but I then saw a meadow and a light, and I was at the ranch.
I saw a house nearby with a big front porch, with lights on and I could tell there were people there. I helped Ricky to get up the steps. I opened the door and a sea of people stared at me. I did not see one familiar face. On this cold winter night, the vibe at the ranch was as cold as the weather. The hospitality of the River was not present that week at the Ranch. Two welcoming and friendly people I had met previously at Black Bear, Richard Marley, the owner, and Geba Greenberg, (she was the heart of the Ranch) were not there that week and I was among unfriendly strangers. They asked who I was and I told them I was Edna from Hearthshire School in San Francisco. I had expected communal friendship and hospitality, since the two communes were cousin clans and there was a lot of travel by people of both clans between Black Bear Ranch, the Hearthshire free Land in Covelo CA, and the San Francisco communal houses belonging to Hearthshire and Black Bear. The women in particular were not very welcoming, although I was told by Elsa Marley that I could stay for up to 2 weeks in the Main House. They did feed me and Ricky and directed us where to find dry bedding for the night, but no smiles, no camaraderie. I desperately missed Richard Marley, Elsa’s husband, who had played his guitar and sang songs by Woody Guthrie when I was there in 73, and told stories about his Longshoreman days and his mother’s experiences as a communist in England, along with stories of how he and others including Malcolm Terence had traveled to Hollywood to get money from movie stars to help buy the ranch a few years previous to my arrival. Richard and Elsa were the original owners of the Ranch. (see Elsa’s Story excerpt in appendix section.) Ironically, about 25 years later, my name and that of my son Ricky were added to a list of the first trustees for Black Bear Ranch, which consisted of many of the children who grew up at the ranch as well as others with some sort of close association with the Ranch. Both Rick and I declined the responsibility, with a little chuckle inside.
On October 28, 1980, Josephine adopted Quetta Peters. In 1992 she decided to become a guardian of Jene McCovey, whom she took in as a baby. Josephine said of that, “I was getting old, it was time to retire. I turned around and got another one …I started all over again.” (Laughs)

Quetta later said of her mother: Most people who have been fortunate enough to sit and talk with her know the inner strength and wisdom she possesses. She’s a person who sees past what most people generally see, deep into one’s own soul. Her kindness and generosity are abundant. She would give the shirt off her own back to another human being if they needed it more than her. My mother has more cultural knowledge about plants, basketry, arts and crafts, language and religion, as well as general native psychology, more than any other person I know. She unselfishly shares her knowledge with others, teaching basketry, for instance, for more years than- I’ve even been alive. She continues to be a role model for many young people. Her presence at most culturally related functions is a blessing. For example, in a few days she will attend a graduation gathering of the tribal CCC’s in Hoopa, to wish the graduates of the program well, and to send good medicine their way. My mom taught us the vital importance of maintaining good health, preparing three well-balanced meals every day throughout my childhood. I might not have always liked the veggie part, but there’s lots of love and her traditional home cooking. She taught me to prepare acorn soup, as well as eels, salmon, and deer and elk meat, just to name a few. I am a skillful cook because of my mother.

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/know-nothing-creek-hearts-of-gold/images/mike_defaria.jpg}
\caption{Mike DeFaria, my closest neighbor, one mile up the road from me and Wally at the Hansen mine.}
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/josephine-peters-and-queen-brazille/images/quetta_peters.png}
\caption{Quetta Peters at home wearing regalia made by Josephine. Basket hat with rivers and mountain design likely made by Ella Johnson. Photo courtesy Josephine Peters.}
\end{figure}

I left the next day and headed back to Knownothing Creek, via the Forks. It was February 14, 1974. Ricky and I caught a ride down the mountain in an old army truck with some hippies who said they were going on a food run. After about an hour of bumpy dirt roads, we made it down to the town of Forks of Salmon which consisted of tiny post office, a small little general store, and a field with a big tree with a picnic table across from the store. There was a small crowd of about 20 people milling around the picnic table under the big tree. I found out that this base of operations was called “the Beer Tree” and was and still is a major hub of communication for folks at Forks of Salmon. Anyway the big news that day was that a dance was being held for Valentine’s day that evening at the old Forks of Salmon school which was right down the road. In 1974, the old historic school building was still used as a classroom for some of the kids on some days, although the first building of the new school had been completed in 1972. The old school was in transition from classroom to community club building, which is it s function today. At the dance that night, there was no admission price and kids were welcome. It sounded good to me so I headed on down the road towards the old school.

When I got there the band for the evening, called the Salmon River Snipers, was just starting to warm up. Ricky and I walked around outside looking for a familiar face. I saw Tommy and Lloyd and went over and talked to them. Tommy introduced me to his ex-girlfriend, Liz Nix who was the mother of his son, a three-year-old named Toz, whose name is a combination of the names Tom and Liz. Toz was there and immediately started playing with Ricky showing him where the other kids were and how they played together at those dances, which was to run around all evening all over the place. You could actually easily observe them and it was all safe, so I was glad Ricky was set up to have a good time, now that he had a new friend.

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/know-nothing-creek-hearts-of-gold/images/lloyd_looking_up_something.jpg}
\caption{Lloyd looking up something.}
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/josephine-peters-and-queen-brazille/images/samantha_mcdonald.png}
\caption{Josephine’s great-granddaughter Samantha McDonald in regalia and basket hat with whirlwind design, all made by Josephine. Photo by Beverly Ortiz.}
\end{figure}

Lloyd and Tommy were standing near a bonfire and there was one guy laying on the ground near the bonfire, seemingly asleep. I asked Lloyd who the guy sleeping guy was, and he said to me, “ That’s Wally the Walrus. He’s not really sleeping, he is actually temporarily passed out. We had a pre-dance run to the bar at Cecilville earlier today, and the Walrus started drinking kind of early. I couldn’t join him since I am the designated driver for the evening. I’m guessing he might wake up in a few hours for round 2. “ Lloyd then said to Wally “Hey Walrus, this here is Edna the gal I told you about that Tommy dumped at my place the other day.” Wally sort of looked up at me but eyes rolled around in his head shut again. I looked down at him and I thought he was kind of cute, but then thought no more about him. Little did I know I was to be married to this man within a few years and we were destined to be together for almost 50 years.

I went inside the old one room schoolhouse and started listening to the music and watching folks dance. The band was an old time family band, the McBrooms, with the mom, Earline, at the piano, the dad Hank nicknamed Wook, on the fiddle, and their son Dean on guitar and banjo. Other family members as well as other children of theirs played other fiddles, guitars and banjo, in sort of an old-school style of bluegrass, swing, square dancing and rock and roll. The most popular dances of the evening were the two step and the Salmon River stomp, as well as much improvised hippie dancing and the Virginia Reel. Overall, I had a blast, dancing, meeting people, checking on Ricky and his many new friends, and finding out more about this incredibly unique community that was called “ The Forks “.

Some people who lived along the River I had met at the dance took me and Ricky home for a few days, John Albion and his wife Inga. Their kindness and warm hospitality help to make up for being dumped by Tommy, and also for my cold reception at Black Bear Ranch. After getting my head together some, Ricky and I said our thank you’s and goodbyes and then went to the home of my old friend Bobbi and her husband to be, Les Harling. Bobbi had 2 children at that time, Karen and Tim Murray. Tim was Ricky’s age, and they became good friends for life, just like me and Bobbi. I stayed with them for about a week, as I tried to formulate a plan for surviving. Also, it was Ricky’s 6th birthday that week, so Bobbi made him a delicious chocolate cake and found him some give away toys from her children, and he was quite happy, which made me quite happy.
Josephine’s great-granddaughter Samantha McDonald described some of her great-grandmother’s influence on her. They were talking about the dances coming up because Samantha wanted to learn about her Karuk tribal dances. Grandma Joe started giving me directions on what to do how to stand and the behavior of girl dancers plus other things. I asked her when the next dance would be held and she told me the next brush dance would be out that coming weekend and I asked her if I could stay in Hoopa for part of the summer to dance. she told me that would be fine. I had asked my mom and grandma first. I got to dance and brush dance for the very first time. I was almost jumping for joy at the same time a little scared when I look at all the Indian dresses, the basket caps and Regalia that my great grandma Joe has made. I dream of making a dress and regalia of my own. I made a few things and I have been trying but nothing will be anything like my great grandma Jo’s.

I still was not sure of how to find a place to live at the Forks. There were no rentals, and I had no clue of how to find an empty place. Just about everyone lived on a mining claim, and you were supposed to be a gold miner to live on a mining claim Lloyd had an idea of how to help me, and took me up to meet the mentor of Knownothing, Mike Defaria, an older hard rock miner who lived way up at the top of Knownothing Creek, about 4 miles up a very narrow dirt road with steep cliffs along the creek, at the Hansen Mine, an active hard rock mine owned by Eleanor Hendricks, the legendary founder and owner of Siskiyou Telephone Co., and operated by Mike with her blessing, as they were old friends from the Valley (Scott Valley) where his Portuguese family had homesteaded. (See author’s disclosure about Mike Defaria at the bottom of page.)
“The summers I spent with great grandma Joe she taught me so much almost by accident. She would show me in urban tell me what it could be used for and when and how to harvest it now I am at the point where people asked me who I am related to, and when I tell them they know exactly who I am talking about, and is sort of an honor to introduce myself as the great-granddaughter of Joe peters, I don’t think it can get much better than that.”

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/know-nothing-creek-hearts-of-gold/images/nixie_and_larrey.jpg}
\caption{Nixie Fritz and Larrey Cressey, part of our Knownothing gang.}
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/josephine-peters-and-queen-brazille/images/josephine_pottery.png}
\caption{Josephine Peters with some of her pottery. On left, “people sitting around fire” design. Other designs are Josephine’s own innovations. Photo courtesy Josephine Peters.}
\end{figure}

Mike was an interesting old guy, who was teaching 2 young guys from San Francisco how to mine gold, using the old hard rock method. Each of the guys had a tiny room at the mine. One of the guys was Larry Cressey, the other guy’s name was Wally Watson. Larry lived at the mine with his girlfriend at the time, a woman named Nixie Fritz. They would later be married and have 2 beautiful daughters, Lyra and Iris. Mike, Wally, Larry and Nixie generally had a good time up at the mine, and they loved it when company visited. Everyone pitched in to do cooking, cleaning and gold mining, all pretty much at Mike’s direction, as they were learning the ropes. Mike taught those guys everything they needed to know about living on the mountain. He taught them all about firewood, shooting and guns, and things like how to render bear fat, and how to raise chickens and goats, and especially how to be self sufficient. The city boys had become mountain men.
Josephine led a most incredible life. Not only was Josephine an excellent basket weaver and crafting artist, she also became a very skilled potter, and made incredibly beautiful clay with local Indian designs. She was a founding member of the Hoopa pottery guild.

Every evening after dinner, Mike would start up a game of dominoes. That evening that Lloyd took me up to meet Mike, he and Wally and Larry were just dealing out the bones, when Lloyd and I walked in the door. Women were a welcome novelty at the mine in those days, and I was no exception. The guys paused their game for a bit and Mike asked me if I would like a cup of coffee, which I accepted, and then Wally the Walrus said to me, “Little girl what brings you up our road?”
Lloyd spoke up for me and said,” This here is Edna. She needs a place to live for her and her little boy Ricky, who is 6 years old. I told her about Packy Kramer’s vacant cabin down the road. She would like to meet Packy and ask him if she can live in his cabin. What do you think Mike? “
Mike thought for about a minute and then he said,” Well, I think it might be nice to have a young lady down the road, if she can handle living in an old cabin where you have to cross the creek on a log to get there. What you think of that Miss Edna?” I said, “ it sounds like fun to me and I’m sure Ricky would like it so if it’s safe enough we would love to live there.”
Probably what Josephine is most noted for, besides her basketry, crafts, teaching, promoting education, pottery, and caring for others, is her healing with herbs. Her book, written with Beverly Ortiz, After the First Full Moon In April, not only tells more about her incredible life, it also documents her herbal remedies and techniques that she used including gathering and ethics. For more about this incredible woman read their book. That is where 99\% of my info about her came from, and I want to give them full credit. This wonderful book is quite inspiring and gives a wonderful picture of an incredibly inspiring woman from the Salmon River, Josephine Grant Peters.

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/know-nothing-creek-hearts-of-gold/images/ron_frate.jpg}
\caption{The king of the miners, Ron Frate.}
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/josephine-peters-and-queen-brazille/images/josephine_cheryl_old_home_place.png}
\caption{Josephine Peters and daughter Cheryl at the Old Home Place, with Josephine’s mother Maggie Bennett holding Cheryl’s daughter Colette, 1963. Photo courtesy Josephine Peters.\\[0pt]
}
\end{figure}

I had spoken without seeing the log across the raging creek. It was a bit intimidating when I viewed it the next day before I rode out in an old jeep with Wally and Larry to meet Packy Kramer over in Scott Valley, where I had never been before. Bobbi had offered to watch Ricky and to let him play with her son Tim, who was Ricky’s age and they had become great friends. I was then free to go on the expedition to Scott Valley with the 2 young guys I had found to be nice and also very polite to me. And I have to admit I was eyeballing 22 year old Wally, who was being awfully sweet to me. Anyway, I will make a long story short and tell you that Packy was as nice as everyone on the River, and when I told him how I longed to leave city life and live in the mountains he seemed like he really understood that sentiment, and gave me permission to settle in his cabin, with no rent needed. I was overjoyed, and flabbergasted once again at the kindness of River people. I felt then that I had a real home to go to, in an amazing community, with great neighbors near by.

The best neighbor of all turned out to Wally the Walrus Watson. My first day there he came by with a string of fish he had caught in know nothing Creek. He taught me how to cook them on the old wood cook stove in Packy’s cabin. While we were cooking, I asked him how he got the nickname Walrus. He told me it came from some of his old surfing buddies in San Francisco, because he could handle the cold water so well. The next day he came by he showed me how to adjust the wick on the Alladin kerosene lamp in the cabin and he also helped me to get rid of the civet cat that was running around at night in my cabin, which was scaring the hell out of me. Every day I learned something new from him about how to live in the mountains, which really is not easy. He helped me was so many things I couldn’t help but fall in love with him. He was the sweetest guy I had ever met. For several months I would walk the mile up the hill to the Hansen mine to go see him when he didn’t walk the mile down the hill to come see me. Finally, instead of walking back and forth a mile we decided to move in together. I had found my heart of gold, on Knownothing Creek.

Shortly after we moved in together, my little cabin burned to the ground, with all of my few belongings. It had been an accident probably caused by a friend that had stayed over at my house who did not operate the wood heat stove properly. I learned a valuable lesson then about material things not being as important as non-tangible things, like love.

I acquired a teepee from a friend and Wally and Ricky and I moved into that. It was not all that I had hoped for, and I quickly figured out why Northern California Indian people did not live in teepees. They are not very comfortable in areas of lots and lots of rain.
We were fortunate that Wally was a skilled carpenter. There was an old chicken coop at Packy’s house site, and Wally was able to turn that into a tiny 2 room cabin, with a sleeping loft for Ricky. Wally got the job done just in the nick of time, because harsher weather was on its way, and I was pregnant, with our baby due at the end of November. We moved into the cabin that we had nicknamed the “chicken shit shed “. We were pretty content there, and Ricky had started attending Forks of Salmon Elementary school, with his many new friends. With the baby on the way, we were a happy family, even though making a living was challenging.

Geba from Black Bear Ranch had offered to be midwife for our baby’s birth. It was a bit of a long distance to our place from to Black Bear, about 2 hrs away, but we had CB radios that we used for communications in those days, so we were confident that we would reach Geba in time for the baby’s delivery. But, just in case, Geba gave Wally some “special delivery “ instructions, on how to deliver a baby himself if she did not get to us in time. I do know that he was dreading having to follow those instructions.

Well, the night of Nov 24th, I went into labor around midnight. I woke up Wally and I could tell he was a little nervous. We tried calling Geba on the Cb radio and got NO ANSWER. Now Wally was really nervous. Luckily, I remembered that Geba was meeting someone at Geba and Petey’s new house at Godfrey Ranch the day before Thanksgiving, so I realized why she was not answering the radio at Black Bear. The good news was that Godfrey ranch was an hour closer to us than black bear ranch. The bad news was someone was going to have to go get her. Once again, we were in luck. It just so happened that a friend of ours named Frank Yokum had come by to see us that evening, and was asleep outside in a camper. I said to Wally,” send Frank to go get Geba.” Wally jumped right up went outside and woke up Frank, who came in and asked if I really was in labor. I said to him,” Trust me on this Frank, and please go get Geba.” Frank ran out the door and hopped in his truck and was on his way to Godfrey ranch.

I woke up Ricky and told him “The baby is coming, son. What ever happens, don’t be afraid; it’s all natural and normal.” Ricky was peering down at us from his sleeping loft. I think he fell back asleep for a little while.

In the meantime I could tell Wally was still a little bit nervous. I asked him to time the intervals between my contractions. At that time they were about 10 minutes apart, but it wasn’t long until they were only five minutes and then three minutes apart. I told Wally to find his birthing kit, which consisted of rubber gloves, a clean towel, a shoelace, and some scissors. At that point I really could not talk anymore. I was having to do some serious panting in order to deal with pain. I think that really made Wally nervous. In between pains, I told Wally to get his gloves and the towel ready, and he said,” Do I have to?”

All of a sudden, out the window, we saw headlights, and a few seconds later Geba came in the door. Wally heaved a huge sigh of relief, and said to her,”Thank goodness you made it ; I was starting to get nervous !”

At that point, Geba stepped in and took control of the situation. She checked my progress and said,” looks like I got here just in time. It is time to push. The baby is crowning and you need to push as hard as you can. “ I followed her instructions even though it hurt like hell. I let out a horrible blood curdling, and Geba said, “Good job, the baby’s head is out now. A few more pushes and we’ll be done.” Of course she was right, and out popped a little boy baby. Wally and I both shed a few tears of joy, although Wally’s were also of relief.

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/know-nothing-creek-hearts-of-gold/images/wally_and_larrey_and_iris.jpg}
\caption{Wally, Larrey, and Larrey's daughter, Iris.}
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/josephine-peters-and-queen-brazille/images/josephine_manzanita.png}
\caption{Josephine standing amidst manzanita across the river from the Old Home Place, August 30, 2001. Photo by Beverly Ortiz.}
\end{figure}

We named our son Woody Orion Watson; Woody because of Wally’s love for working with wood, and we were both fans of Woody Guthrie music; and Orion because the constellation of Orion was prominent in the night sky above our cabin all during the month of November, and that night it was so huge it was like it was guarding us. I said to Geba “ Thank you for coming “, and she said something like, “I would not have missed it for the world.”
Then I looked at Wally and I said,” you are my hero, now and forever. “
And to this day, and forever, he is still my hero.

We lived on Knownothing Creek for the next 3 years, and a lot happened in that time period. The most challenging thing was how to make a living. We tried gold mining for a short while, using a sluice box and sometimes a little 2 inch dredge. It was exciting to get a little bit of gold but it was hard work and not much return. Wally and I both got really tired of pinto beans every night for dinner, and oatmeal every morning, We were so broke sometimes we had t choose between gasoline or a food luxury, like a loaf of bread. Luckily we had a milk goat and a vegetable garden. Wally got a job logging, as a choker setter for Croman, a helicopter logging outfit. The work was hard, but the pay was good. Wally got up every day at 3:30and then traveled almost 2 hours to the job. He was dog tired when he got home every evening. Because the work was seasonal Wally was laid off that winter. He had to find another job, in a place with very little employment.


\chapter{Local Basket Weavers}
\label{sec:org7a7cced}
Local Basket Weavers

One of the greatest joys of my life on the Rivers was getting to know
basket weavers and their art of basketmaking. Karuk ,Shasta, Yurok ,
Hupa and Wyott women have developed a high degree of skill in their
basketweaving…their techniques produce extraordinary baskets with a
weave tight enough to hold water, as in their cooking baskets. The
local baskets have both functionality and great beauty, as in their
basket hats, for example. I feel very fortunate to have met several of
the areas most renowned weavers, and I enjoyed learning from them. The
ones I met in my time on the Rivers were Grace and Madeline Davis, (
the two sisters had married two brothers with the last name of Davis,
who were related to Dora Davis , of Ti-Bar, another well known basket
weaver who was the mother of Norm Goodwin, before my time, ) and
Madeline’s daughter, Marge Houston, who became my good friend before
her death in the early 2000’s. I learned much about collecting
materials with Marge by accompanying her and assisting on a few
collection excursions. <insert picture of verna reece> <INSERT PICTURE
OF LAVERNE GLAZE >




 I also was acquainted with Josephine Peters, Verna Reece, and Laverne
Glaze, and I had the pleasure of meeting some other basket weavers of
the time period but did not get to know them , like Nancy Richardson,
and Susan “Tweet” Burdick, as well as Paula McCarthy of Happy Camp. I
have two young friends who have become excellent basket weavers, Holly
Hensher and Molli Myers and of course they learned some things from
some of the women mentioned here, as it always has been and always
will be. There ae several other names mentioned with reverence, Ella
Johnson , of Hupa is a woman whom I was told taught many others of
today’s generation of basket weavers, and she along with Josephine
Peters is held in high regard. Nettie Ruben, who was way before my
time , is considered by many to be one of the finest basket weavers
ever. And then of course there were Elizabeth Conrad Hickox and her
daughter Louise Hickox, who put Somes Bar “on the map” through their
association with a famous collector , Grace Nicholson, early in the
20th century. I will tell more about Elizabeth and her family later. <
insert picture of grace davis> The first basket weaver I met on the
River was Grace Davis, at Ti-Bar, in 1982. I stopped at her place to
invite her and her sister Madeline to visit my classroom , and to show
the children some of their baskets and materials. Grace Davis and
Madeline Davis were the grand dames of basketweaving in Somes Bar at
that time. On that day and at future visits, I learned a lot from
Grace, as she was easy to talk with and did not mind my questions too
much, although she taught me that it was sometimes not appropriate to
ask questions about a person’s deceased family members, and especially
not to say their names out loud. She was very understanding of my
stupidity when I asked her her mother’s name; that is when she
informed me that many people of her generation considered it to be bad
luck to say the name of a deceased loved one. She also told me that
not everyone honored that custom anymore, that many things had changed
since she was a girl. As I was leaving her that first day, she gave me
a beautifully crafted miniature baby basket, and she joked that a tiny
one was almost as hard to make as the life sized ones.. I was very
moved by her gift, and I was very happy to begin my journey of
learning about baskets. Grace and Madeline did visit my first
classroom of my teaching career , at Junction Elementary School in
Somes Bar. We celebrated Native American Day on the last Friday in
September, and the two sisters were our honored guests. I know that
everyone who listened learned something from them that day, as they
taught us about gathering materials and showed us several of their
finished pieces, including some basket caps.(see pictures), <insert
picture of grace and madeline>

Basket caps are very difficult to make , and they have been
immortalized along with some of the best weavers from the Rivers , in
a book by Ron Johnson of Humboldt State University (HSU, my alma
mater)and Coleen Kelley Marks about an exhibition of basket caps they
organized in the Spring of 1997,, along with interviews of the weavers
, called Her Mind Made UP …….WEAVING CAPS THE INDIAN WAY. Brian D.
Tripp , probably the most highly respected artist in the Karuk world,
thought up the title and did a classic BDT illustration on the cover.
<insert BDT cap cover picture, “ her mind made UP… “>

<Insert Basket cap pictures by grace and madeline >



<insert picture of madeline davis>

<insert paragraph about madeline , then a paragraph about Marge
\chapter{Willis Conrad's Story}
\label{sec:org7ff5168}
\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/know-nothing-creek-hearts-of-gold/images/lloyd_with_kids.jpg}
\caption{Lloyd with a gaggle of kids.}
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/willis-conrad/images/willis_conrad_and_daughters.JPG}
\caption{Willis Conrad and some of his daughters.}
\end{figure}

Other people in the area were in the same boat. The fairly recent influx of hippies to the area, a new phenomenon actually, due to so many people wanting to “ get back to the land”, brought with it many new challenges, including how were all these people going to support themselves ? A new tree-planting/forestry work cooperative was being formed, called Ent Forestry, named after the giant trees that came to life in J. R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy. Creek Hanauer had put his name on the original sole proprietorship papers to get it going, and with the help of /David Jacques and Bobo Schultz, and then, soon joined by others, jobs within the National forests were bid on and some bids were won, and work happened, primarily planting trees.

Malcolm Terrence, in his book entitled Beginners Luck, tells a lot about the ups and downs of planting trees for a living. On one hand it was very ideal, helping to replace trees that had been wiped out by over- logging the forests. On the other hand it was difficult working in a cold climate and living with a lot of other people in a large army tent. It was not communal living at its finest, more the opposite actually. For me, the work was so hard that I made up my mind to continue my pursuit of a teaching credential, that I had begun several years back in Washington, D. C., at D. C. Teachers College. I had dropped out because it was very difficult trying to take care of a baby and go to college at the same time, with no financial aid at all. The physical and psychological difficulties that existed in the world of tree-planting for me made it obvious to me that I needed to pursue my lifelong dream of becoming a teacher.

I enrolled at Humboldt State University in Arcata, CA in the fall of 1979. We moved for 3 years to McKinleyville, where Rick started 6th grade at Dow’s prairie School and Woody was enrolled in pre-school at HSU. I graduated in June of 1982, and by the fall of that year I had secured a job as the Upper Grade teacher at Junction Elementary in Somes Bar, following in the footsteps of Kristy Hibbs, an excellent teacher who was getting married to Peter Sturges, the owner of Otter Bar Lodge, which Kristy and Peter turned into a world-class Kayaking School. Wally was already employed as a steelhead fishing guide at the Somes Bar Lodge, which at that time was owned and operated by Stanley and Wilma Throgmorton. Boy, was I ever going to get an education then!


I learned so many lessons during my time living within the Salmon River watershed. I learned a lot about taking care of myself and my family, and how to be as self sufficient as possible. I had learned how to milk a goat, grow vegetables, mine gold, plant trees, split firewood, butcher a deer, and cook beans. I had pulled green chain at Jim Hensher’s saw mill, and I had worked as a Special Ed aide with little Sam George, a boy who had Down’s Syndrome AND a Heart of pure gold.

I learned some things about the history of Forks of Salmon, like who the first people were, the Konimihu, and what had happened to them, genocide by gold miners. I learned about the gold rush and how much it upsets the balance of things for the native people of all of California. I got to know and love folks from just about every “local “ family on the River and some of their histories, like the McBrooms, the Bennetts, and the Georges.

More than anything else, I had learned the meaning of community.
Willis’s story
3/14/2005 and rev. 12.5.2012
Malcolm Terence


The smell of smoke still gets me. Not smoke from a woodstove or a
campfire. That smells like comfort and coffee in the morning. It’s
drift smoke that stirs me up. It’s smoke from a fire in the forest.
Memories tattooed into the brain by adrenalin seem to be the
strongest. We had gotten grabbed off the timber crew for the fire. You
never knew whether it was a little spot fire or the start of something
big. Either way we were buzzed. It was a change. The money was good.
If we were a little scared, we didn’t even admit it to ourselves. This
time we went way back into the mountains behind Orleans on roads I’d
never been on before. It was a little burn right then, near the bottom
of a logging unit. “Doesn’t look too bad from here,” I suggested to
one of the veteran firemen on the crew. He looked me over and said,
“You got plans somewhere else for the afternoon?” The other firemen
all started laughing at my naiveté. One of them handed me a McCloud, a
cross between a rake and a hoe. The second crewman, a tall muscled
woman in standard issue yellow shirt and green pants, gave me a sack
lunch and a banjo canteen. She looked down at the fire and passed me a
second lunch and a second canteen. Willis Conrad, a rakish Karuk
Indian man was crew boss and I’d known him since he befriended us
hippies in the early days of the Black Bear commune. Willis led us
down the flank of the clear-cut so we could approach the fire from the
side. So far we saw no flames, only a growing column of smoke, but one
of the never-break-them rules of firefighting was to never approach a
fire from directly above. As we neared the bottom, the brush towered
over our heads and grew thicker. We could hear the crackle and rush of
the flames and see them a little. A few of the crew started to push
through the brush to engage but Willis called them back. “We need to
cut a path in there,” he yelled, “so we can get out when it blows up.”
“You mean, if it blows up,” I corrected him. Willis had known me since
I moved into the country 15 or 20 years earlier. He gave me his best
grin and said, “It’s gonna blow. Look at all that old logging slash
and brush up slope. We just need to get safe when it does.” By then
two chain saw operators were cutting open a six-foot corridor through
the brush and the rest of us started cradling out the hacked
vegetation so the path was passable. In 30 minutes, the first crew
members started building fire line around the burn area, still less
than an acre but building in heat. The cutters with chain saws
continued in the lead, followed by a five men and women swinging
pulaskis, the unforgiving hybrid between an axe and a mattock which
was most firefighters’ favorite. Behind them came me and two others
scraping the path down to nonflammable mineral dirt with our McClouds.
I heard Willis on the radio asking for another crew and for aircraft
that could deliver a retardant drop. It seemed to me that we would
have the fire circled in an hour and be headed home by dinner.
Willis’s call for help and aircraft seemed overkill but I said
nothing. I was a timber cruiser who’d been more-or-less drafted to
work with these regular firefighters. Soon my part of the line was
right up against the blaze. I started to reconsider. I was glad that
we had the green and yellow fire-proof clothes but they were not
heat-proof. They grew so hot that they stung our skin wherever the
fabric touched us. I remembered one of the women rambling on the day
before about what tee-shirt best protected her nipples from the heat.
Another woman teased, “You just like to boast about those nipples,”
and I had discounted it all to titillation. Not anymore. It was hot.
Just then the breeze shifted up-slope and I saw that the brush on what
should have been the cool side of our line was starting to smolder. Up
ahead the saws stopped running and the cutters came down toward us,
with Willis behind them. “Move back out, over into those woods,” he
ordered, pointing toward the relative safety of the unlogged forest
alongside the clear-cut. No one needed to hear it twice. The air was
fresher under the canopy of the unlogged patch when we got there. The
sweat-soaked crew collapsed on the ground and began guzzling water.
Soon a small aircraft, a spotter plane, buzzed over head and Willis
began a radio conversation about where a drop of fire retardant would
work best. Minutes later we heard the rumble of the retardant bomber
lumber overhead. Willis’s radio crackled with instructions. The old
bomber took a trial pass and then circled again for a drop. I stood to
watch as it disgorged a huge plume of thick red liquid from its belly.
“Goddamn!” yelled the woman with the nipples. The load drifted
dreamlike away from the burn and into the tall tree tops over us. The
fire fighters dropped face down on the ground and covered their tools
with their bodies. Willis yelled for me to do the same. “Stop looking
up!” he ordered. I dropped and heard the shiny sticky retardant fall
around us like a sudden rain shower. When it stopped, I opened my eyes
and the ground all around me was red. The backs of the crew were red.
The back of my arms and most of my tool handle was red. A ripple of
profanity grumbled through the crew. The radio crackled again as the
pilot asked Willis if he was on target. “Pretty good,” Willis
answered. “But we can use another or maybe two, a little further
west.” “No problem,” the radio answered. “Let’s move up out of this
stuff,” Willis ordered and we moved further into the old growth forest
where there was little brush or other down fuel. Many of the giant
trees showed the signs of fires over the years but their thick bark
had protected them and they had survived. I began to hear birds,
alarmed by the smoke and our presence. We settled down in the shade
for an extended break. I think I may have slept. When I awoke the
radio was blaring out for Willis. He may have been asleep himself.
Before he answered, he ordered one of the cutters to start up his saw.
When it was running, he answered. “Headquarters, this is Willis. Just
a minute. Shut off that goddamn saw. I’m trying to talk on the radio.”
His crew, scattered all around him on the ground, all broke into
smiles. I need to say that I met Willis a long time before I got
drafted by the fire crew. Somewhere between the births of his kids
Tonner and Shawnna was when we hippies met Willis and and his wife
Florence. They were camping near us on the North Fork Salmon. We
hippies had been picking blackberries all day and had car troubles
when it was time to head home. Michael Tierra led us over to the
Indians’ campsite where Willis was roasting deer over the fire. Willis
shared the cooked venison without hesitation. The hippies offered
blackberries in return. If Willis and Florence thought it wasn’t much
of a trade to offer blackberries when you’re stuck in a black berry
patch they didn’t show it. They just offered the Conrad hospitality
that so many of us enjoyed over the years.

After that Willis became a regular visitor at the commune. He’d bring
up friends from Somes Bar, sensing correctly that we had few friends.
He took us dipping salmon at the falls and eeling and hunting. He
often would come to the commune with a truckload of salmon, thinking,
probably, that it wasn’t good to just live on blackberries and beans
and brown rice. Once, when I was gushing thanks for all the fish he
said, “It’s no big deal. Anyway, I just won a big bet. I bet those
guys who came with me that we’d find hippies working naked in the
garden.”

Beyond Willis, it was not a friendly place here for hippies in those
years. I’m not sure why Willis reached out the way he did. Maybe, it
was because Willis grew up in a world where Indians were badly
treated. Maybe he was fascinated by White people like us hippies who
were lower on the Siskiyou County pecking order than Indians. I
figured Willis was determined to treat us better than he’d been
treated growing up. It was just a bonus that most hippies thought the
best thing they could be in the whole world was to be like an Indian.

One day a few years later, I was working some kind of woods job
running saw up in Happy Camp and I made what I thought would be a
short stop at the Somes Bar Store. The store, which has had a few
locations over the years, has, for decades, sat at an auspicious
space. It sat at the foot of a rocky knoll just above where the Salmon
River poured into the larger and much muddier Klamath. Just above it
was a jumble of boulders so huge that even the vast flow of the
Klamath was bent and wrapped into a riffle, a grey, grinding flood
that had run there since the retreat of the last Ice Age and before.
The spot had so much power that even the runs of many kinds of salmon,
as they returned to spawn in their natal streams, needed to slow there
in what backwaters and eddies they could find. For millennia, and
maybe forever, native people would fish there with small nets strung
on long poles. A village had developed just above there that the Karuk
people called Katimiin. The arrival of the white miners had decimated
the village just the same as it had ruined so many others. The great
fish runs reduced in number from the sediments dumped by mining and by
the generations of too much development that followed. Much of the
Karuk culture was trampled but it was not forgotten.

Willis Conrad was the first person to take me there to the falls. His
family had had a fishing spot there for countless generations and he
was justifiably proud of his skill maneuvering the net and poles. He
had to do this perched on a wet boulder over the churning river and
the danger was not lost on him. He told me stories of people who had
fallen in the water and were rescued by a fellow fisherman. In one of
the stories the person was swept away and his body was found days
later along the bank 30 or 40 miles downriver in Weitchpec, being
eaten by feral pigs. If the stories were to make me cautious, they
certainly worked.

I should offer a caveat, a warning, here about the information I offer
about local Indians. I am only half certain if it is right. Some of it
I’ve been told by people I know. Some of it, I’ve read here or there.
People on the river tell stories of academic ethnographers prowling
around a hundred years ago and offering money to elders for stories.
Elders are inventive by their nature and money is an extra spur to
invention. So my sources are suspect, I guess. You are warned
accordingly.

Willis had a certain kind of charisma. His charisma went beyond his
ability to lead a fire crew although he was certainly adept at that.
Charisma, the way I define it, includes the ability to coax people
into something they might not ordinarily do. Different people
accomplish it in different ways. Some brow beat you. Others guilt trip
you or intimidate you. Willis’ particular gift was to make you feel
that it was something you always wanted to do.

Charlie Thom, who is a Indian doctor and a ceremonial leader among the
Karuk, told me a story about Willis. It goes back some years to when
the Karuk were trying to win official recognition from the Feds.
Charlie decided it would be useful to rebuild a dance pit at Katimiin.
He says he recruited Willis to the project because he knew Willis
would know how to talk people into it. Willis must have told his
friends, “You know how you’ve always wished there was a dance pit
here…” The pit got built.

So there I was at the store and Willis came in. We exchanged
greetings. To make small talk, I asked him when the next Brush Dance
would be. “It starts tomorrow,” he said. I nodded appreciatively and
he added, “They’re playing cards down there at Katimiin tonight. Let’s
go.” Then as I arranged my excuses in my mind, he added, “You always
like that sort of stuff.” “Indian cards, with the sticks?” I asked,
stalling. “No. Regular cards. They’re playing Katimiin Schmidt. You’ve
played it, huh?” Minutes later we were down at the ceremonial grounds
even though I’d protested that, after a day running saw, there was
nothing I wanted more than a shower to wash off the fine film of bar
oil and wood chips that caked my skin and my clothes. “I don’t have
any money so I can’t gamble,” I said. This was not quite true. “You
don’t need money,” Willis said. “I have money.” Several other Indians
were already sitting at the table when we arrived and they greeted
Willis enthusiastically. “Hah, now we’ll get some of that Conrad
ishpuk,” one of the gamblers said. I didn’t know many Karuk words but
everybody knew ishpuk meant money. One of them offered me a beer from
under the table and then made a show of not offering any to Willis. He
teased back and soon had a beer. “Put your money out, Willis,” the
dealer said. “I’m not playing. Just deal to my friend” he answered and
dumped a handful of quarters on the table in front of me. The dealer
shuffled a fat deck—it must have been more than one set of cards—and
dealt a small hand to each of us. I turned to Willis and mouthed, “I
don’t know how to play.” Willis only grinned, motioned my attention
back into the game and slid a few of his quarters into the pot.
Players laid out cards and when my turn came, Willis made a gesture
that I should play whatever card I wanted. It continued through the
hand. “Well, look at that. Hippie-dude has won the whole thing. Who’s
this card shark you brought here, Mr. Conrad?” The dealer pushed the
entire pot over into Willis’s pile of quarters. I took a
congratulatory sip of the beer and wondered how I’d won. Also how this
might be a clever hustle to get hold of my money. Then another sip of
the beer. Over the next few hands I won frequently, but not every
hand. I started to think I understood the rules but then something
else would happen. It was like the game was really three games
overlaid, each with it’s own set of rules. As my pile of quarters
grew, Willis pocketed a handful. No problem. It was his money. An hour
went by. A few of the players, the biggest losers, started to seem
annoyed and that just made them the target of more intense teasing. I
was, by then, in my second beer, my usual limit, but the under the
table stash had run out. A young Karuk woman, very pretty, had been
sitting on the periphery and one of the men instructed her to bring
more from his pickup. When it arrived, he set one in front of me, even
though mine was far from finished. I made a show of guzzling that one
down and opened the new one. The game continued. At some point, an
Indian woman of great age and great dignity approached our table. All
of the men slipped their beers out of sight and Willis nudged me to do
the same. “Hello, Willis,” she said. “Hello, Elizabeth,” he replied.
All of the other players nodded with great respect and so did I.
“Who’s she?” I asked when she moved past us and they said she was an
important medicine woman, come to join the Brush Dance ceremonies.
Another said she’d been in declining health. It was a good sign that
she’d come. Beers surfaced again and I was passed another. I didn’t
rush to open it. I still needed to drive home. The sun had dropped
below the ridge and one of the people near the dance pit preparing for
the dances was looking around for a lamp. One of card players said his
wife would be pissed by his absence and he left the table, in a shower
of good natured teasing. I turned to Willis, who still had not joined
the game himself, and said I needed to leave too. Other players
overheard me and sour expressions crossed their faces. “They’re not
gonna like it if you leave,” Willis said. “That guy left. Why not me?
“That guy hadn’t won all their money. They want a chance to win it
back.” So I played many more hands, winning some and losing others.
Whenever my pile swelled with quarters, Willis would scoop up some and
dump them into one pocket or another. Finally, I announced that I had
to leave. Most the players just broke into good natured laughter but
one spoke in an angry tone, not to me but to Willis. He spoke in a mix
of English and Karuk so I was uncertain what he said. Willis answered
in kind and one of the other players leaned over to me and said, “If
you’re gonna go, you better go now.” The rest of them, even the angry
one, all broke into more laughing and louder teasing at that. I
slipped away and could hear their voices as I wandered off into the
approaching darkness, trying to remember where I’d left my truck.

Several weeks passed before I saw Willis again. He had a place not far
from the ceremonial grounds at Katimiin and I found him there. The
house and its surroundings always fascinated me. A steep road
descended to it from the main highway and it was built on a bench in
what I guessed was a very old landslide. There was a long line of
abandoned cars in one direction and a full woodshed in the other. The
cars were swallowed in blackberry canes and further away there was a
small deserted cabin disappearing into the thickets of small conifers
and more thorny brambles. When I stared hard, I could see signs of
what I took to be another even older cabin, slowly sinking into the
vegetation. That was just what I could see. I sensed that people had
always lived at that place, so close to the dip net fishing places at
the Ishi Pishi falls. Even with the wrecked cars, it seemed as
hallowed as an old country church. But Willis’ house was not so old.
He had built a big add-on as his family grew. The new room was a
source of personal pride. He told me the story. He had worked lots of
different jobs over the years and eventually ended up with the US
Forest Service. He was not exactly in love with the agency. Lots of
its employees felt that way, especially people who were local to the
area, and this was even truer of Karuk people. All of the land that
had once been theirs was now labeled National Forest. They were
ticketed for cutting fire wood, penalized for hunting deer for their
families and harassed for catching salmon, with the exception of the
dip-netting at Ishi Pishi Falls, where the game wardens looked the
other way. Eventually, when the tribe got federal recognition, there
was much lip service paid by the government agencies to the new Karuk
sovereignty. In this flush of “government-to-government” relations, it
was agreed that the US Forest Service installation at Somes Bar should
go to the tribe. Some of the structures were left for the tribe and
others were dismantled. One in the tear-down category was what had
been the main office of the Ukonom District. Willis made the winning
bid for the demolition and then hauled the materials he could reuse to
his own place, a half-mile away. I could tell that he took great
pleasure in tearing down a building that had been the location of so
much aggravation over the years. He even re-used the office doors or
propped them up in his yard like a hunter might hang a trophy head on
his wall. Willis was working under the hood of a car when I showed up
but he invited me into the house to visit. I began by thanking him for
taking me to the card game and he laughed. “You thought you wouldn’t
do very good,” he said. “I still don’t think I’m very good.” “Well,
all those guys who lost money thought you did okay,” and he laughed
again. “But really,” I said. “How come I won so often?” “Well, if you
really didn’t get the game, then maybe you were just lucky.” “Lucky?
Nobody’s lucky that much of the time.” I could tell when Willis was
being evasive. He’d get this sly smile and you knew. He scratched his
head and said, “I’ve been watching cards a long time and luck plays a
part. People don’t give it enough credit. And beginners’ luck is
especially strong sometimes. Maybe you were having beginners’ luck.”
It was not a very satisfying explanation for me, and I finally said,
“I have a couple of other questions.” “Fire away,” he said. He was
happy to change the subject. “Is Katimiin Schmidt what people call
Indian Cards? I’ve always heard about Indian Cards.” “Indian cards is
different,” he said, reaching across to the shelf behind them. He
grasped a small bundle of sticks, untied the short deerskin lace that
held them and passed them to me. “You never seen Indian cards?” They
were a little thicker than matchsticks and of sturdier wood, maybe
hazel that’s also used for baskets. They looked to be nine or 10
inches long and there were more than a dozen of them. I squeezed them
in my hand to get the feel of them and Willis nodded approvingly. I
returned them to him and he showed me that there was a small black
mark around the center of one of the sticks. Then he put them behind
his back and divided them into both hands. He held them out and said,
“Which hand has the marked stick?” I picked a hand and was right. Next
turn I was wrong. He passed me the sticks and I tried, although I was
really not certain how I’d divided them myself. Then he explained to
me a long web of complex thinking that he used to outwit other
players. My mouth may have hung open to hear such a maze of feint and
deception for, what seemed to me, little more complex than flipping a
coin heads or tails. On top of that, sometimes bystanders are beating
a drum and others may be singing or chanting with other people placing
side bets or teasing or just generally making a racket. More than coin
tossing, I agreed. He wrapped the sticks together again with the
deerskin lace and handed the bundle to me. “These are for you,” he
said. I was touched by the gift and thanked him. Then I thanked him
another time for the way we befriended us back when we lived at the
commune. He pursed his lips and finally said, “You know what I think
of White people. When I met you, you didn’t seem White. Sometimes I
watch you now with a job and a good truck and a big house and I wonder
if you’re becoming too White.” I was unsure what to say. Everything
that came into my head was too glib or too defensive. So I didn’t say
anything and just stared down at the bundle of sticks he’d given me.
After a while Willis said, “You said you had two questions. You only
asked one.” “Yeah,” I said, happy to stop reflecting on whether I was
backsliding into cultural banality. “What I want to know is what that
guy said. The one who growled at you when I said I was gonna leave the
Katimiin Schmidt game. He mostly spoke in Karuk.” Willis thought back
for a minute and then another big smile crossed his face. “You don’t
wanna know,” he said.
\chapter{Indian Boarding Schools}
\label{sec:orgb9d88f1}
Indian Boarding Schools

Indian boarding schools were created by the white man in order to make
the red man more like the white man. The first Indian boarding school
was set up by Capt. Richard Henry Pratt who was a former Indian
fighter on the prairie. In 1789, he founded Carlisle Industrial School
for Indians in Carlisle, Pennsylvania. He firmly believed that in
order to solve what some at that time called the “Indian Problem”,
Indian people needed to be removed from their local environment to
unlearn their Indian ways , and he also believed that they would do
best if relocated to places very far away from where they lived in
order to be influenced only by the school and not by their native
people or culture, and especially not by their families. The sooner
all tribal relations were broken up and the sooner the Indians lost
all their old ways, even their language, Capt. Pratt believed, the
better their lives would be. On the edge of Carlisle, Pennsylvania sat
an old army post built by the British 130 years earlier. It had also
been used during the Civil War by Union soldiers during the battle of
Gettysburg . It sat unused after that until Captain Pratt persuaded
the Army to let him turn the old building and barracks into the
federal government’s first native American boarding school. The 23
acre campus consisted of several barracks several outbuildings. Indian
boys help carpenters fix up to barracks for dormitories and 1/3 for
classroom they converted the outbuildings to workshop where different
trades were taught such as printing, wagon making, shoemaking,
carpentry and other trades. Even though the government funded Carlisle
and other Indian schools that were soon established, students
contributed by cleaning, cooking, gardening, and doing all of the
routine jobs normally performed by paid staff at other boarding
schools. They would have classes in the morning and spend the
afternoons doing work. The Bureau of Indian affairs ran the schools.
There were about 30 schools set up around the country as boarding
schools. The closest one to our area was founded in 1893 in Hupa and
was open there until 1932.There was one called Chemawa in eastern
Oregon another one called Sherman in Riverside California. These 3
seem to be the main ones that children from Somes Bar were sent to,
although sometimes local children did get sent to Carlisle, or to
other very far away schools. The BIA sent out authorities and trucks
to gather up the children whether they wanted to go or not, and even
if their families objected. Willis Conrad told me that he was rounded
up at about age seven and sent way up in Oregon to the Chemawa Indian
School. He and his brother Warren were not allowed to return home at
all until he was 13, not even during breaks or summer. That whole
time, he did not see his family. He told me that his brother Warren
had some particularly cruel teachers and that Warren suffered badly at
the school. Warren was affected for the rest of his life, as were
many. At all of the boarding schools, children were not allowed to
practice any Indian ways. They were punished if they spoke their
language. This made life really hard, especially for the first
generation of students who had not yet learned English and only knew
their tribal languages. At some of the schools, children had to use
sign language and gestures until they learned English. Everything was
new and very different to the children, including things like dinner
plates, forks, spoons and butter knives. It was very traumatic for the
children to be ripped away from their parents and other family members
and sent far away to a place that forbade them to be themselves. Years
later, many of the former students wrote about their experiences at
Carlisle and other government boarding schools. Even though their
papers showed mixed feelings about school and the white man’s ways,
they all shared a common regret: the loss of their Indian heritage.
During their first days at the new but foreign feeling boarding
school, students were stripped of their hair , their clothes, and
their names. At some schools, older girls were allowed their braids,
but smaller girls had their hair trimmed, and the boys all had their
hair cut short. This was especially terrifying to many of them because
to males having long hair was an important part of their culture;
girls too. Many students would run and fight trying to keep their hair
long. They could be beaten if they tried to run away. Of course their
Indian clothing was thrown out, and they had to wear trousers with odd
front buttons, dresses with many undergarments and lots of buttons,
and hard shoes. The whites had a hard time pronouncing Indian names,
so the students were given white names like Polly and George. Some
were given odd names like Rip van Winkle and Julius Caesar and even
Rutherford B. Hayes, the name of a former president. Last names were
often distorted or changed all together. Some children became so
unhappy that they eventually died .The profound sadness caused by
homesickness weakened students and made them susceptible to deadly
diseases such as tuberculosis and influenza, and other diseases new to
Native people that often proved to be deadly, like measles and scarlet
fever. Most BIA schools had so many deaths that the schools had their
own cemeteries. Many parents were afraid their children might die
while away at boarding schools. (Insert pictures)

This was another hard period in Native American history. Native
children and adults were not only stripped of their culture, they were
also taught that anything Indian was shameful , inferior, and
“savage”. ( What could have been more savage than the white men, who
took what they wanted, including Native women, homes and land, while
greedily pursuing gold, and murdering countless Native people because
they were Native? ) Several generations of Native people experienced
these traumatic events, and the psyche of Native People was affected
deeply. It was very similar to trauma experienced by other people in
the world; for example, In the book called “Cry, the Beloved Country”,
Alan Paton, wrote about the effects of the destruction of the culture
of black South African people, and how without their cultural strength
many people fell into poverty, alcohol and drug abuse, suicide,
domestic violence, and so on, as a direct result of having had their
minds brainwashed by being told over and over that their culture was”
no good”.The same thing happened to the aborigines of Australia, and
to the Maori people of New Zealand. Native people in the United States
are still recovering from those dark days of trauma that did permanent
damage to many Native people of several generations.
\chapter{People and Places}
\label{sec:orgf1258cd}
\chapter{Working at Junction School}
\label{sec:orga83c483}
\label{sec:orgce2758e}
In June, 1982, I graduated from Humboldt State University with my teaching credential for California elementary schools. In July, I interviewed in the town of Somes Bar, where my husband Wally was working as a steelhead fishing guide at the Somes Bar Lodge for the Throgmorton family. By August, I was hired to teach at Junction Elementary School, grades four through eight. I taught there for nineteen years. A very nice fellow named Steve Robinson taught the lower grades – kindergarten through third. My predecessor was named Kristy Hibbs. That summer, Ms. Hibbs married a fellow up the Salmon River named Peter Sturgis. She became his partner in an endeavor they called Otter Bar, which was and still is a world-class kayaking school. <insert pictures of Kristy and Peter, and Francine Fischl>

Ms. Hibbs had done an excellent job so all I had to do was step into what she had already set up. I was very fortunate that I was blessed with a crackerjack aide named Francine Fischl, who had been the aide for Ms. Hibbs. There was no need to reinvent the wheel, so I used Ms. Hibbs' tried and true teaching techniques, as shared with me by Francine. After she worked with me for a year, Francine went on to become a most excellent teacher herself. She taught at the International Schools in Peru, Africa, Burma, (Myanmar), China and other exotic places. She currently resides on Ishi Pishi Road in Somes Bar and is retired. However, she continues to be an inspiration to me and to others. Today, in 2020 she is one of the shining stars in our local Book Club. Recently she gave us a list for raising consciousness about racism, proper use of plastic, about Covid19, and global warming.


@@ 472,7 2284,7 @@ At the Holocaust Museum, we followed a group of children who had been sent to
Auschwitz. The museum had many photos of children and family members innocently waiting in line for a shower, hoping to get clean, only to actually die when poison gas came out instead of water. I found myself asking “How did this happen?” It also left one saying “Never let it happen again”

\section{A typical day at Junction}
\label{sec:orge6252e2}
\label{sec:org551d675}

Throughout the morning, students went in and out of the class for music, including lessons for all instruments as well as band. The school was blessed with a good music program, because we had one of the best music teachers ever, Tina Marier
Tina was definitely as “old school” music teacher, (strict, with high expectations), but in addition to her instruments, band, and classroom music, she also had the students perform many types of dances and different kinds of holiday celebrations, such as Chinese ribbon dancing with a dragon parade for Chinese New Year, German folk dances with dirndls and lederhosen for Oktoberfest, and 1920s Charleston dancing complete with flapper dresses.


@@ 498,7 2310,7 @@ Starting in the late 90s, Denise agreed to be my regular sub for almost two year
Within a couple of years, though, Sawyers Bar School closed due to low enrollment and merged with Forks of Salmon. Denise, in her first year of teaching, taught at Sawyers Bar. She also had the duty of helping at the last River Olympics where the original three schools competed with each other: Junction, Forks, and Sawyers Bar, in a Grand Field day event complete with trophies/plaques, and ribbons for every kid there. Forks always hosted the games on Bennett field. Every year Creek Hanauer visited from the Forks school and would demonstrate many of the different events such as high jump, broad jump, ball kick, rock putt, sit ups and pull ups. We would go over the rules to all the events and then we would practice for about six weeks. The Olympics was held close to Memorial Day. Since not all the children enjoyed competitive races, we added things in the afternoon such as a new game station where we had parachute play and water play. Every student received a ribbon. In addition to all the ribbons, a best boy athlete and a best girl athlete, most inspiring athletes, and most improved athlete would all receive plaques. I remember my son Woody was the best boy athlete three years in a row, even though he was small for his age. Running was good for all, since they could run a mile easily, jump and kick. The old Sawyers Bar school is now the home of the Salmon River Restoration Council, SRRC. About six or seven years into my Special Ed. Route, I dropped Klamath River school as the driving was too grueling. I had almost fallen asleep at the wheel one night coming home from the school The two hour drive was just too hard on me.

\section{Teachers and Aides}
\label{sec:orgbd411fe}
\label{sec:orgd86e4d2}

The first person I worked with was Steve Robinson. He taught grades K thru 3rd along with being the Principal/Superintendent. He left the teaching profession shortly after my first year, due to health issues. One thing he was famous for were the summer camping trips in the wilderness areas around Somes Bar. Through this, he shared his love of the outdoors. < insert camping trip picture>



@@ 535,7 2347,7 @@ My good friend Eileen Kurtzman was also an aide at Junction at different times, 
Tina is one of the strongest people I know. She does not fear telling people the hard truth when they need to hear it; she does not fear helping people into an ambulance and getting them to help when they need it; she does not fear parents of the children at school, who need to hear something that may improve their lives. She has nerves of steel being the bus driver on a narrow mountainous road. She has also been a teachers aide at the Forks School for over 20 years. She grew up in the Forks, her mother was Lillian Bennett and father was Les Bennett. She was one of many siblings, yet she always stood out as a leader no matter what the situation. She is also the captain of the Salmon River Fire and Rescue, a group of people dedicated to help save lives on the Salmon River. Many of them remember the event that got the ball rolling for the fire and rescue service. There was a young father named Phil Brucker who lived at Godfrey Ranch. He had a serious motorcycle accident and he laid for hours, with assistance from people, but waiting for emergency transport.. The closest ambulance was two hours away in Etna but it was on a call already. Phil died from his injuries. From his death, the Salmon River Volunteer Fire and Rescue, SRVFR, was born. Because Forks of Salmon has such a small population, under 100, the tiny community must pull together to raise funds for training, equipment and insurance every year. So they have lots of fundraisers, including bingo nights, dances, dinners and other events like firewood raffles.

\section{Cooks, Secretaries and Custodians}
\label{sec:orgc224536}
\label{sec:org2274230}

Valerie Kunz was the cook when I began teaching at Junction. She was a good, hard working, sensitive person. Barbara Short took over for her and also did a tremendous job. She went on to receive her doctorate and was a teacher, principal and superintendent at other schools.



@@ 556,7 2368,7 @@ Liz Pullen was the ultimate secretary. She would go to bat for the school with t
Glenna Atwood was a safe and dedicated bus driver, as well as an aide. She was never involved in an accident and has nerves of steel, driving mountain roads for many years. She also drove for the field trips all over northern California and southern Oregon. She had two children who attended Junction: Brenda and Susan. She always had interest in all the students, then and now.

\section{SHOW AT SOMES BAR WILL DRAW HUNDREDS}
\label{sec:org13a140f}
\label{sec:org0ab7ce6}

(STORY BY MARY ANN CAMPBELL FOR THE MAIL TRIBUNE WEDNESDAY APRIL 23, 1986)



@@ 611,124 2423,622 @@ Others on the faculty who assist with the variety show production are Edna Watso
The school's other major fundraiser is an arts and crafts fair and an auction sponsored annually in November. Past auctions have raised money to buy an upright Yamaha piano and a public address system, which will be used for this spring's variety show. Items to be auctioned are always welcome, Marier adds.

Admission to the variety show is \$2.50 for adults and 50 cents for children over the age of 6. Tickets are available at the door and refreshments are served at intermission.
\chapter{The White Man Cometh}
\label{sec:orgd39c9b0}
The first white people in the Klamath/ Salmon River area were most likely Hudson Bay trappers looking  for beaver.  In 1826 Devon Peter Ogden was on an expedition that traveled down the Klamath River from Klamath Lake all the way to the ocean. Other beaver trappers like Jedediah Smith followed close behind traveling down the Trinity River through Hoopa and on down the Klamath  River to the ocean and then up to Crescent City. Smith’s expedition was quite a spectacle to the native people, as described in the book called “Two People One Place”. Journals and oral history tell that the Indians were not only surprised by the white man’s garb and gear, it was also the first time many of them had seen horses, mules, metal knives, and rifles. Big changes were on the way. Stephen Meek was a well-known Hudson Bay trapper who worked the Trinity River and ended up in Scott Valley. The trappers decimated most of the beaver population along the rivers, in order to supply fur for fancy men’s hats.

Besides taking away the beaver the trappers also brought something to the area; smallpox and other diseases of the white man. John Harrington quotes Phoebe Maddox as stating that a smallpox epidemic occurred when her mother was still little a girl around 1840, some years before the coming of the gold miners.

In 1848 gold was discovered on the American River. By 1849, hundreds of 49ers flocked to the Trinity River, and by 1850 every major watershed within the Klamath and Trinity basin had been prospected. More and more miners came and many of them were unprepared for the winter.

The starvation winter of 1850 along the Salmon River was described by Bessie Tripp who heard the story from her grandfather. The winter came in harsh and heavy, and some of the miners were starving. Many were helped and led by Indians along the Salmon River. There was no store established there yet, and no place for the miners to go for supplies. They relied completely on the kindness and generosity of the Indian people along the river to help them survive the winter.

By 1851, there were several thousand miners along the Salmon and Klamath rivers. 1500 were reported at the Salmon River in the spring of 1851. Miners arrived by ship to Trinidad Bay and traveled overland to “ the diggings “.
The miners were clueless about any balance of resources in the area established by the native tribes; centuries old hunting, fishing, and gathering boundaries and rules were completely ignored, and any ground desired by the miners was taken over by them, no matter how long any Indian family might have lived there. Laws were passed to support the thieving of Indian land. On April 22, 1850, the state legislature passed the law called “An Act for the Governing and Protection of Indians.” That law should have been called “an act for the governance of Indians and the protection of white men “, because the act made into law such things as any white person could apply to a justice of the peace for the removal of Indians from any land that the white man claimed as his own. Also, the act utilized the indenture of Indian children, thereby creating a new form of slavery. Another law forbade Indians, Blacks, or mulattos testifying against white people.

The Gold Rush devastated and changed  life  forever  for the native inhabitants of the rivers, as well as changing history for all native people of California.  The clash of cultures was as profound as any ever in history. The miners valued money and possessions and most of them treated the native people as inferior beings, showing no respect for established homes, village sites, family structure and customs. The white man generally acted entitled to get what he wanted, by whatever means necessary, especially when it came to the lust for gold. Many former Indian home and village sites became mining claims and, later on, homesteads. Also, miners stole, lived with, or sometimes married Native women, creating the beginnings of a new way of life in the area along the rivers, especially in the area that would come to be called Somes Bar.

The following passage is an excerpt titled "An Indigenous
Perspective," from the Indian Teacher and Educational Personnel
Program.

\begin{quote}
Lonyx Landry interviewed Julian Lang about the impact of the Gold Rush
as told by his family elders and his research into the tribal history
of the period. Lang is a member of the Karuk tribe, a published author
and Karuk tribal scholar, who with his partner, Lyn Risling, have
helped revive certain Karuk ceremonies.

There were little garrisons up and down the Klamath River-I don't know
if they had one at Orleans. In 1849, that's when the miners first
discovered gold in northern California, and then, instantly, White men
started coming into our country. They were from everywhere, from all
over the world. The first wave came and they stripped out the gold,
they took as much as they could. A law was made that allowed the
"miners" to make indentured slaves out of women, young, like 14 years
old. They would just take them, just go into their houses and take
them-they were in a territory with no women. Overnight, tent cities
and white people jammed the river bars along the Klamath. I imagine
there were a bunch of cut-throats, too. These were people who wanted
money bad, willing to do anything to get it. [Referring to a sketched
map:] We [the Karuk tribal people] start at Bluff Creek [7-8 miles
upstream of the confluence of the Klamath and Trinity Rivers].

There were some little placer mining that went on over here-Red Cap is
here-and Orleans is over here, and then the Klamath goes on
up[stream]. [Above Orleans] there are all of these little places,
villages, Pearch Creek, Ameekyaaraam. There wasn't too much gold in
there though, very little easy gold.

There were trail systems everywhere, the Indian highways. You could go
to Happy Camp, to the Forks of the Salmon, and over the mountains to
Weitchpec. All of the village-sites, nearly all of the village sites
were 'flats', open meadows that sat above the river called benches.
Nowadays, many of those benches, the site of the actual villages, are
gone. After the first wave of miners in 1849-1850, the second wave
were more determined to strip away all the earth with hydraulics, so
that, today, the old villages are bedrock. The meadows are gone,
everything.

[Referring to the map-sketch again:] Then end result was that up here
at Katimiin and Somes Bar (they were separate places in the old days),
the Salmon River runs this direction, every village was wiped out. The
mid- and upper-stretches of the Salmon River were the site of much
mining. Black Bear Mine was the most famous mine, established in the
late 1860s-era. It turned out to be one of the richest gold mines in
the world. There are reports that Black Bear was bringing in millions
of dollars per week, I don't recall the figures. The first 49-ers,
though, were not interested in long-term mining, unless they struck it
rich. Nearly all of the first wave were looking to 'strike it rich'.

Remember there were no 'whiteman towns' prior to 1849-1850. The
country was all Indian, there were the Karuk Peoples and the Konomihu
Shasta and the Klamath River Shasta, zvith the Yurok and Hupa further
downstream and southwest. The Chimariko were over the mountains south
of us. In 1850, the Indian village that became Happy Camp was,
relatively speaking a big village area. There was a World Renewal
Ceremony there at Clear Creek. Overnight this area was inundated.
There were 60 thoussand people [today Happy Camp's population is about
1,500 souls] roaming through the surrounding hills and river bars
looking for gold. The impact was devastating for them, the Happy Camp
Indians.

There were skirmishes and even what was called "Indian Wars," Indians
repelling the white miners from taking their wives and daughters. In
1850-1851 the whites living around Orleans announced that there was to
be a war, all the Indian villages were to be burned unless certain
named men, my great-great-grandfather was one of them, were turned
over for 'killing a cow'. The vigilante group burned many of the
houses at Panamniik (today's town of Orleans) and continued on up to
the village-center called Katimiin. When they were scheduled to
attack, a second group of white men, led by a man named Brazille, a
Frenchman, interceded, and so, the houses in and around Katimiin were
not destroyed as they had been both upriver and downriver.

There's many, many stories of this time\ldots{}
\end{quote}

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/white-man-cometh/images/Stephen_Meek_photo.jpg}
\caption{Stephen Meek}
\end{figure}
\chapter{Willis Conrad}
\label{sec:org0138122}
\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/willis-conrad/images/willis_conrad_and_daughters.JPG}
\caption{Willis Conrad and some of his daughters.}
\end{figure}
\chapter{Polly Conrad}
\label{sec:org010d498}
\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[angle=270,width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/polly-conrad/images/polly_conrad.JPG}
\caption{Polly Conrad}
\end{figure}

\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[angle=270,width=.9\linewidth]{./chapters/polly-conrad/images/elizabeth_conrad_hickox.JPG}
\caption{Elizabeth Conrad Hickox, Polly Conrad's daughter.}
\end{figure}
\chapter{Transportation}
\label{sec:orgbaec2df}
\chapter{Communication}
\label{sec:orgb022a3d}
\chapter{Mable Neichke}
\label{sec:orgbea341e}
\chapter{The Karuk language and WM Brigh}
\label{sec:orga9ed465}
\chapter{Mail Routes and Carriers}
\label{sec:org4a9347a}
\chapter{Local Remedies}
\label{sec:orga293bb0}
\chapter{This and That and Tidbits}
\label{sec:org7d85144}
\chapter{The Seventh Day Adventists}
\label{sec:orge904597}
\chapter{The Old Logger}
\label{sec:org4b1e969}
\chapter{The Mighty Klamath River}
\label{sec:org3621533}
\chapter{Forks School}
\label{sec:orgf3f6c70}
\chapter{Salmon River Sam and the George Family}
\label{sec:org32cf10f}
Salmon River Sam and the George family

The first George on the river was my great great grandpa, who was
married to Ella Jordan on the South fork of the Salmon River His name
was Thomas Henry George. He was a miner from Europe and she was a
Native. They had lots of children, among them was Clarence George, who
was the father of Samuel George, my mother’s father and my
grandfather. Sam was born at Wings Gulch, close to ShadowCcreek, on
the East Fork of the Salmon River. Samuel George’s nickname was Salmon
River Sam because when he was drafted into the army he wouldn't stop
talking about the Salmon River. He actually has a song written about
him named Salmon River Sam, it was played in some of the old bars
spread out across the area.  Samuel later married Ramona Enders an
Alaskan Native, they had nine children together. One of those children
is my mother Mitzi George now Mitzi Wickman. My mother has told me a
story about her dad Sam. Grandpa Sam loved backpacking into the
wilderness and brought his kids with him, it was quite a sight seeing
him carry a toddler, a baby and a huge backpack up a steep cliff. Even
though he lived in the remote town of Cecilville,  he loved going into
the high country. It was the only place he drank coffee and he would
have all his kids pack up lots of heavy delicious fresh foods. Grandpa
Sam and Grandma Ramona’s love of the high country was something they
passed down to their kids and their grandkids.        Grandpa Sam’s
wisdom about the River was something I loved hearing about and I’m
pretty sure he loved talking about it as well. My Grandpa Sam was one
of my favorite people to talk and listen to his amazing stories. I
admired his wisdom, grit, work ethic, and kindness. He was the kind of
person to not stop working until the job was done and he always gave
it his all.

He grew up with his siblings, David, Tom, Hoop ( My mom doesn't know
his real name), Robin, Claire, and his parents, Kate George AND
Pop.(Clarence George). He was 3rd Oldest.
\chapter{Norman Goodwin and T-bar}
\label{sec:org7a39827}
Interview with Cheryl Beck, regarding her father Norman Goodwin,
February 16, 2019.

Norman Goodwin was the medicine man at Some Bar ( Kot-ee-meen) and
Clear Creek (Inam) most of the time during my life at Somes Bar. Every
year he would stack the rocks at INAM, WHICH ANNOUNCED THE BEGINNING
OF World Renewal ceremonies. In august , he would lead the ceremonies
at Inam (Clear Creek ) and in September he wold fast and prepare for
Pic\textsubscript{i}[ Ow ich., which is the Karuk New Year , celebrated at
Kot-ee-meen, the center of the Karuk universe, a ceremonial grounds
and old village site located at the base of Auwich, otherwise known as
Sugarloaf mountain, the very sacred mountain at the confluence of the
Salmon River where it meets the Klamath River,or the junction of those
two incredible rivers , and right next to Ishi Pishi Falls, also part
of the sacred area, where the Karuk people have practiced traditional
dip netting of salmon for many generations. Up the hill from
kot-ee-meeen is the arrow shooting are, where men and boys do a
traditional contest that involved bow and arrow shooting skills, at
certain spotswhich happens at the start of pic-i ow-ich. His mother
was Alice Davis, who was the daughter of Shan Davis Sr. and Dora Jerry
, of Ti-Bar. Alice grew up at Ti-Bar and later on lived for many years
at what we now call the Allie Davis place , just upriver from Junction
school. Allie ( Putzie ) was Alice’s brother. Norman’s father was
Benjamin Franklin Goodwin Jr., who was the son of Benjamin Franklin
Goodwin Sr. of Cottage Grove and Mary Ann Lane from Happy Camp,
California. Norman had several siblings, including sisters Blanche,
Norma , and … He married “Jimmy” , snd their 2 children were Cheryl
Goodwin Camerena Beck and Robert “Bobby”Goodwin. Bob;s children are
Daniel , David , and big Jesse Goodwin and Bobbi Sue . Chery’s
children are Shelly Camerena and the late Ben Camerena, and Pauli
Beck. Through them Norman has many grandchildren. Norman has many
other children and grandchildren as well. I had the pleasure of
working with his 2 youngest daughters, Summer and Sammi Jo when I was
a teacher at Junction School. At that time he was married to Kristy
Aubrey of the Aubrey Ranch, which is located next to Cottage Geove.
They had 2 other children as well , Janey and Beau. All of them are
grown now. Some of Norman’s male descendants who were instructed by
Norman, are carrying on with medicine man duties, as the role is
hereditary, passed on through male lineage. Norman was taught by his
uncle. Shan Davis.

Ti-Bar is a very large river bar right alongside of Ti Creek, one of
the very important tributary creeks to the Klamath River. Today there
is a no fee Forest service Campground located on what’s left of the
old river bar at the mouth of Ti – Creek. Near mile-marker 12 on Hwy
96 in Siskiyou County. Ti-Bar was the site of an old Indian village.
It was also the home of grace Davis and her sister Medline Davis whom
I met when I first started teaching at Junction school. They were both
highly respected elders who were also renowned basket weavers. I
remember both Grace and Madeline coming to my classroom and teaching
the kids about local basket materials. They were also the matriarchs
of their families at that time, including the Reeds, Arwoods ,
Polmateeers, and numerous branches of the Davis family including
Goodwins. I later became friends with Marge Houston who was Madeline’s
daughter and also a renowned basket weaver..I learned a lot from
Marge, especially when I gathered materials with her . Michael David
Fellows, who lives at her house at Tti Bar today, (Feb, 2019) was her
caregiver for several years before she died. From her he learned and
did so many things, like gathering materials and making baskets,
utilizing deer skins for ceremonial items like drums, and practical
items as well, making jerky and dried and canned salmon, and of course
what is taboo , like women not being allowed to use the mens’ carved
spoons, and other local customs. She is featured in a book called “She
Made up her mind….” About basketweaving. Every year the Davis/ Reed /
Arwwood and Polmateer families ( the dance family ) host the ti-bar
war dance, which is a dance that belongs to their family and has for
many generations. It is one of my favorite ceremonial dances to
attend, not only because one of my grandsons, Virusur Watson , is
invited to dance, but also because everyone there is caring and
friendly and the food, served after the dance is superb, with much of
it cooked by my friend Stormie Polmateer, who lives with her husband
Mike and their youngest child Mikaila, at Ti Bar today , at the same
site where I met Grace Davis almost 40 years ago. I’ve noticed during
the past couple of years that Toz Soto, a former student of mine who
is currently the head of the Karuk Tribe’s Fisheries Department , has
done a most excellent job of cooking of salmon (ah mah) on redwood
sticks over a bed of coals , as he was taught to do in the traditional
way, even though he is not of Karuk ancestry. He is one of the
neighbors old at Ti-Bar that has a close connection to the dance
family. Every year a spokeman for the extended family, like David
Arwwood Sr. or Ron Reed SR., greets people and tells s little about
the war dance, and how today it is meant to bring people and community
together, which it definitely does. I always leave the war dance
feeling happy and hopeful, ( and with my stomach full ) with a deep
sense of belonging to a larger family and community.. Ti=Bar today is
an extended community that starts at the bottom of ti bar rd. and
extends uo the road and out carter dreek rd aways. My friends c chris
and ahans live the urthest away, and then you have the stoussese ,
gary anddd mria and dtan and lynn and then chhRHKES ////////WICKMAN
AND FAMILY, /FURTHER DOWN IS RETIRED FORST BOTANIST AND A RAFTING
GUIDE OF GRAT EXPERTOSE ,Mas=x creasy and his wonderful wife Nena, who
iss known for many things including her Art and her very famous and
delicious chocolates. Further on down you have the toz sootto family
and then near the bottom is i=the usfs ti-bar guard station, where
currently Lawrence Williams is the cpatin of our local firefighting
group located there at /ti-bar. And on hwy 96 you will find family
members of the mIke Polmateeer family andand hinirary family members
mDf and Aj.
\chapter{Beginner's Luck}
\label{sec:org7bda566}
Beginner’s Luck

I was running saw on a job up in Happy Camp, and headed home I made
what I thought would be a short stop at the Somes Bar Store. The store
sits just above where the rivers join. Just above that is a jumble of
boulders in the Klamath so huge that even its vast flow is bent and
wrapped into a riffle, a gray, grinding flood that has run there since
the retreat of the last Ice Age and before. These rapids are called
Ishi Pishi Falls, and the river has so much power that even the runs
of many kinds of salmonids, as they return to spawn in their natal
streams, need to slow in what backwaters and eddies they can find. For
millennia, and maybe forever, Native people have fished at the falls
with small nets strung between long poles. There was a village just
above there that the Karuk people called Ka’tim’îin. That’s the
phonetic spelling offered by William Bright’s brilliant Karuk
Dictionary. The arrival of the white miners decimated the village just
the same as it ruined so many others. The great fish runs were reduced
in number from the sediments dumped by mining and by the generations
of too many haul roads and too much logging that followed. Much of the
Karuk culture was trampled in those years, but it is not forgotten.
Willis Conrad was the first person to take me to the falls. His family
had had rights to a fishing spot there on the west side of the Klamath
for countless generations, and he was justifiably proud of his skill
maneuvering the net and poles. He had to do this perched on a wet
boulder over the churning river, and the danger was not lost on him.
He told me stories of people who had fallen in the water and were
rescued by fellow fishermen. In one of the stories the person was
swept away, and his body was found days later along the bank thirty or
forty miles downriver in Weitchpec, being eaten by feral pigs. If the
stories were to make me cautious, they certainly worked. <<Insert
Figure 20 about here.>> I should warn about the information I offer
about local Natives. I am only half certain if it is right. Some of it
I’ve been told by people I know. Some of it, I’ve read here or there.
People on the river tell stories of academic ethnographers prowling
around a hundred years ago and offering money to elders for stories.
Elders are inventive by their nature, and money is an extra spur to
invention. So my sources are suspect, I guess. You are warned
accordingly. But this I know: Willis had a certain kind of charisma.
His charisma went beyond his ability to lead a fire crew, although he
was certainly adept at that. Charisma, the way I define it, includes
the ability to coax people into something they might not ordinarily
do. Different people accomplish persuasion in different ways. Some
browbeat you. Others guilt trip you or intimidate you. Willis’s
particular gift was to make you feel that some task was something you
always wanted to do. Charlie Thom, who was a Native doctor and a
ceremonial leader among the Karuk, told me a story about Willis. It
goes back some years to when the Karuk were trying to win official
recognition from the feds. Charlie decided it would be useful,
politically as much as culturally, to rebuild the ceremonial dance pit
at Ka’tim’îin. He says he recruited Willis to the project because he
knew Willis would know how to talk people into it. Willis must have
told his friends, “You know how you’ve always wished there was a dance
pit here again . . . .” The pit got built. So there I was at the
store, and Willis came in. Neither of us was still working for the
Forest Service, and we exchanged greetings. To make small talk, I
asked him when the next tribal Brush Dance would be. “It starts
tomorrow,” he said. I nodded appreciatively, and he added, “They’re
playing cards down there at Ka’tim’îin tonight. Let’s go.” Then, as I
arranged my excuses in my mind, he added, “You always like that sort
of stuff.” “Indian cards, with the sticks?” I asked, stalling. “No.
Regular cards. They’re playing Ka’tim’îin Schmidt. You’ve played it,
huh?” Minutes later we were down at the ceremonial grounds even though
I’d protested that, after a day running chain saw, there was nothing I
wanted more at that moment than a shower. A summer day spent running
saw coats your skin and your clothes with a fine film of bar oil and
wood chips. “I don’t have any money, so I can’t gamble,” I said. This
was not quite true. “You don’t need money,” Willis said. “I have
money.” Several other Native men were already sitting at the table
when we arrived, and they greeted Willis enthusiastically. “Hah, now
we’ll get some of that Conrad ishpuk,” one of the gamblers said. I
didn’t know many Karuk words, but everybody knew ishpuk meant money.
One of them offered me a beer from under the table and then made a
show of not offering any to Willis. He teased back and soon had a
beer. “Put your money out, Willis,” the dealer said. “I’m not playing.
Just deal to my friend,” he answered and dumped a handful of quarters
on the table in front of me. The dealer shuffled a fat deck—it must
have been more than one set of cards—and dealt a small hand to each of
us. I turned to Willis and mouthed, “I don’t know how to play.” Willis
only grinned, motioned my attention back into the game and slid a few
of his quarters into the pot for me. Players laid out cards, and when
my turn came, Willis made a gesture that I should play whatever card I
wanted. It continued through the hand. “Well, look at that.
Hippie-dude has won the whole thing. Who’s this card shark you brought
here, Mr. Conrad?” The dealer pushed the entire pot over into Willis’s
pile of quarters. I took a congratulatory sip of the beer and wondered
how I’d won. Also whether this might be a clever hustle to get hold of
any money I might have. Then another sip of the beer. Over the next
few hands I won frequently, but not every hand. I started to think I
understood the rules, but then something else would happen. It was as
though the game was really three games overlaid, each with its own set
of rules. As my pile of quarters grew, Willis pocketed a handful. No
problem. It was his money. An hour went by. A few of the players, the
biggest losers, started to seem annoyed, and that just made them the
target of more intense teasing. I was, by then, in my second beer, my
usual limit, but the under-the-table stash had run out. A young Karuk
woman, very pretty, had been sitting on the periphery, and one of the
men instructed her to bring more from his pickup. When it arrived, he
set one in front of me, even though mine was far from finished. I made
a show of guzzling that one down and opened the new one. The game
continued. At some point, a Native woman of great age and great
dignity approached our table. All of the men slipped their beers out
of sight, and Willis nudged me to do the same. “Hello, Willis,” she
said. “Hello, Elizabeth,” he replied. All of the other players nodded
with great respect, and so did I. “Who’s she?” I asked when she moved
past us, and one card player said she was Elizabeth Case, an important
medicine woman, come to join the Brush Dance ceremonies. Another said
she’d been in declining health. It was a good sign that she’d come.
Beers surfaced again, and I was passed another. I didn’t rush to open
it. I still needed to drive home. The sun had dropped below the ridge,
and one of the people near the dance pit preparing for the dances was
looking around for a lamp. One of the card players said his wife would
be pissed by his absence, and he left the table, in a shower of
good-natured teasing. I turned to Willis, who still had not joined the
game himself, and said I needed to leave too. Other players overheard
me, and sour expressions crossed their faces. “They’re not gonna like
it if you leave,” Willis said. “That guy left. Why not me? “That guy
hadn’t won all their money. They want a chance to win it back.” So I
played many more hands, winning some and losing others. Whenever my
pile swelled with quarters, Willis would scoop up some and dump them
into one of his pockets or another. Finally, I announced that I had to
leave. Most of the players just broke into good-natured laughter, but
one spoke in an angry tone, not to me but to Willis. He spoke in a mix
of English and Karuk, so I was uncertain what he said. Willis answered
in kind, and one of the other players leaned over to me and said, “If
you’re gonna go, you better go now.” The rest of them, even the angry
one, all broke into more laughing and louder teasing at that. I
slipped away and could hear their voices as I wandered off into the
approaching darkness, trying to remember where I’d left my truck.
Several weeks passed after the card game before I saw Willis Conrad
again. He had a home not far from the ceremonial grounds at
Ka’tim’îin, and I found him there. The house and its surroundings
always fascinated me. A steep road descended to it from the main
highway, and it was built on a forested bench, part of what I guessed
was a very old landslide. There was a long line of abandoned cars in
one direction and a full woodshed in the other. The cars were
swallowed in blackberry canes, and further away there was a small
deserted cabin disappearing into the thickets of small conifers and
more thorny brambles. When I stared hard, I could see signs of what I
took to be another even older cabin, slowly sinking into the
vegetation. That was just what I could see. I sensed that people had
always lived at that place, close to the dip-net fishing places at the
Ishi Pishi Falls. Even with the wrecked cars, it seemed as hallowed as
an old country church. But Willis’s house was not so old. He had built
a big add-on as his family grew. The new room was a source of personal
pride; he told me the story. He had worked lots of different jobs over
the years and eventually ended up with the US Forest Service. That was
the period when I was assigned to his fire crew. He was not exactly in
love with the agency. Lots of its employees felt that way, especially
people who were local to the area, and this was even truer of Karuk
people. All of the land that had once been theirs was now labeled
National Forest. They were ticketed for cutting firewood, penalized
for hunting deer for their families, and harassed for catching salmon,
with the exception of the dip-netting at Ishi Pishi Falls, where the
game wardens looked the other way. Eventually, when the tribe got
federal recognition, there was much lip service paid by the government
agencies to the new Karuk sovereignty. In this flush of
“government-to-government” relations, it was agreed that the US Forest
Service installation at Somes Bar should go to the tribe. Some of the
structures were left for the tribe, and others were dismantled. One in
the teardown category was what had been the main office of the Ukonom
District. Willis made the winning bid for the demolition and then
hauled the materials he could reuse to his own place, a half mile
away. I could tell that he took great pleasure in tearing down a
building that had been the source of so much aggravation over the
years. He even reused the office doors, prominently labeled United
States Forest Service, or propped them up in his yard like a hunter
might hang a trophy head on his wall. Willis was working under the
hood of a car when I showed up, but he invited me into the house to
visit. I wanted to tell him a story about my daughter, Erica Kate, who
was then ten years old. When she was just a baby, Willis had given her
a name in Karuk language, the word for mountain lion. Years earlier,
Willis had named Slate, Erica Kate’s big brother, vírusur, the Karuk
word for bear. That made sense. Even as a child, Slate seemed
bear-sized. I always have trouble pronouncing the word for mountain
lion, which is yupthűkirar. Try pronouncing that. Anyway, I told
Willis that Erica Kate and a young friend had seen a mountain lion in
the brush while walking home from the swimming hole at Grant Creek.
Erica Kate and her friend had carefully backed away, and, as soon as
they were out of its sight, they ran like crazy to get home. Willis
shook his head and said they shouldn’t be afraid. “The mountain lion
will protect Kate,” he said. He called her Kate in those days.
Everybody called her Kate. He offered a beer, and I declined, but I
thanked him for taking me to the card game. He laughed and said, “You
thought you wouldn’t do very good.” “I still don’t think I’m very
good.” “Well, all those guys who lost money thought you did okay,” and
he laughed again. “But really,” I said. “How come I won so often?”
“Well, if you really didn’t get the game, then maybe you were just
lucky.” “Lucky? Nobody’s lucky that much of the time.” I could tell
when Willis was being evasive. He’d get this sly smile and you knew.
He scratched his head and said, “I’ve been watching cards a long time,
and luck plays a part. People don’t give it enough credit. And
beginner’s luck is especially strong sometimes. Maybe you were having
beginner’s luck.” It was not a very satisfying explanation for me, but
I finally said, “I have a couple of other questions.” “Fire away,” he
said. He was happy to change the subject. “Is Ka’tim’îin Schmidt what
people call Indian cards? I’ve always heard about Indian cards.”
“Indian cards is different,” he said, reaching across to the shelf
behind him. He grasped a small bundle of sticks, untied the short
deerskin lace that held them, and passed them to me. “You never seen
Indian cards?” They were a little thicker than matchsticks and of
sturdier wood, maybe hazel that’s also used for baskets. They looked
to be nine or ten inches long, and there were more than a dozen of
them. I squeezed them in my hand to get the feel of them, and Willis
nodded approvingly. I returned them to him, and he showed me that
there was a small black mark around the center of one of the sticks.
Then he put them behind his back and divided them into both hands. He
held both hands out and said, “Which hand has the marked stick?” I
picked a hand and was right. Next turn I was wrong. He passed me the
sticks, and I tried, although I was really not certain myself how I’d
divided them. Then he explained to me a long web of complex thinking
that he used to outwit other players. My mouth may have hung open to
hear such a maze of feint and deception for, what seemed to me, little
more complex than flipping a coin heads or tails. On top of that,
sometimes bystanders in real games were beating a drum and others
might be singing or chanting with other people placing side bets or
teasing or just generally making a racket. More than coin tossing, I
agreed. He wrapped the sticks together again with the deerskin lace
and handed the bundle to me. “These are for you,” he said. I was
touched by the gift and thanked him. Then I thanked him another time
for the way he befriended us back when we lived at the commune. He
pursed his lips and finally said, “You know what I think of white
people. When I met you, you didn’t seem white. Sometimes I watch you
now with a job and a good truck and a big house, and I wonder if
you’re becoming too white.” I was unsure of what to say. Everything
that came into my head was too glib or too defensive. So I didn’t say
anything and just stared down at the bundle of sticks he’d given me.
After a while Willis said, “You said you had two questions. You only
asked one.” “Yeah,” I said, happy to stop reflecting on whether I was
backsliding into some white-people cultural destiny. “What I want to
know is what that guy said. The one who growled at you when I said I
was gonna leave the Ka’tim’îin Schmidt game. He mostly spoke in
Karuk.” Willis thought back for a minute and then another big smile
crossed his face. “You don’t wanna know,” he said.
\chapter{Creek's Story}
\label{sec:orgbb4dc44}
Communications Before The Internet

It is hard to imagine a time before the internet because we are
growing so dependent on it. There were times before the internet when
people had other means of communicating with one another. These means
were slightly different then many other places in the US due to the
remoteness and rough terrain of the area. One person who is a very
good writer is Terry “Creek” Hanauer. Creek had lived at Black Bear
and he now lives on the Salmon at the bottom of Knownothing creek. He
had a local news column called The Mouth OF The River. For many years
it was reproduced in the Pioneer Press out of Etna CA and The Kalamity
Currier out of Willow Creek CA. Creek was one of the people who helped
round up money from people in Holly Wood to buy Black Bear Ranch.
Creek originally came from San Francisco from New York City he was in
a group called the Mother Fuckers which was a predecessor of The
Diggers. Emmet Grogan was in the Mother Fuckers and was often thought
of as the originator of the Diggers. There is a book about him called
Ringolevio. Anyway Creek has been around a while, for the last ten
years he has been writing a column of sort or other about life on the
Salmon River. He didn’t write just for fun, he wrote to keep people
informed about what was going on in the near by communities. He
sometimes added a photo to these articles. Just like people love to
read their San Francisco Chronicle daily people love to read Creeks
column. He would talk about life and death on the Salmon River. He
would often write about natural occurrences that happened near him
enough to interest the people of at least three towns Forks of Salmon,
Somes Bar and Orleans. The following is an example of one of his
columns.

Creek Hanauer 2010

Bikes and Poetry Last Saturday I jumped on my road bike and beat my
feet for Orleans and a poetry reading.  Though not exactly walking
meditation, long rides along the Salmon River are solitary experiences
with lots of time for the mind and soul to wander… especially now when
there’s no one on the road, except when you need a “nature break.”
Picking a time on any day to be outside is a little sketchy this year
because we’re seeing the wettest fall since the early ‘80s.  Recent
falls and early winters have been too wet to be dry, but too dry to be
much in the way of measurable rain.  With no snow up top to distract,
a cold unsettling gray pervaded the river inducing early onsets of
cabin fever.  We all had the same thought, “if it’s gonna be this dark
and gray it should be freaking raining!”  No such luck for an awful
long time. But this year, we've already had over sixteen inches of
rain on the SoFo (South Fork of the Salmon river) and the gray equals
rain this year.  We even see the sun, but here on the SoFo the sun
offers more distant hope than any real warmth. Riding along I got to
thinking back on big rainy years. Ya know 1964 had a big ol snowpack
up there from a lovely wet fall.  But, when it comes to big rainy
years I don’t immediately remember the flood years of ’75, ’83, ’97,
but early December of 1984.  November of 1984 saw over eighteen inches
of rain and that night in early December we hovered on the cusp of
another drencher.  Betty Ann and I were dining that evening at the
restaurant/bar that Billy Harling and Vicki Arnett had going briefly
back behind the store, in Dave and Marge George’s old living area.  We
were watching a Monday night football game on the store’s satellite
dish (one of only two in the community in those days).  It had already
started raining, but that year we weren’t really noticing that
anymore.  Tim Watson blew in the door while we were waiting for our
food and plunked down with us.  I remember Tim always “blew-in” any
place he entered.  He was a terminally happy, carefree kinda young
goofy guy.  He was Wally’s little brother and had planted himself on a
mining claim up Knownothing Creek (You could do that in those days). 
Tim was adventure-prone.  Relatively simple trips for others were
grand escapades with Tim.  You know, like parking his rig on its side
on the side of the road at Indian Crossing on the SoFo and walking up
to our place and falling asleep on our couch downstairs.  We
breakfasted with Tim on several occasions due to travel complications
such as that.  By the way, we drove back down to his rig that morning
and pushed it back over on its wheels and he drove off.  He was like
that. I dodged in and out, mostly out, of sunny notches in the sea of
shadow, with only small part of my face exposed to the frigid
afternoon, the sky, always looking so bright in the distance, seemed
dark above me, making the canyon’s cold crannies deep along with my
thoughts. Tim was flush with money for the first time ever and he left
the store that night with food and a healthy resupply of beer, driving
off into the growing storm. The storm lasted for three days unabated. 
It really dumped.  Three inches a day was kinda an unrelenting
downpour.  The creeks and river were really, really high, but not
threatening.  On the third day as the storm’s energy eased back and
the creeks and rivers were dropping, Jerry Vasels came down from his
claim two miles up Knownothing Creek.  He needed the phone; he had
just spotted Tim’s pickup over the bank, at the edge of the creek
about a mile and a half up.  We organized searches starting at the
wreck site and moving down the creek and eventually down the SoFo and
the main stem of the Salmon.  Peter Sturges and I kayaked the SoFo
down to Forks, getting out and crawling on big driftwood jams and
searching exposed river bars to no avail.  On the fifth day we rode
down river from Forks through the Main Canyon on Bill Wing’s raft, my
first and only raft trip down the Salmon River.  We crawled long
stretches of shore, but found nothing and had to admit eventual
defeat. Tim Watson was finally found the next spring just above Crapo
Creek by a miner that was working with Kuno Schutes at Nordheimer
Creek.  When things didn’t look like they could get any worse we
learned that Brian Bundy had left the bar in Forks heading for his
home in Sawyers Bar and driven over the side at the two mile up the
NoFo.  That’s pretty steep and high off the river there and it was a
day or so before he was found in the wreck.  Rich Reynolds was one of
the first on the scene.  There was nothing to do but feel the chasm
crack wider.  Brian Bundy, now there was a Salmon River natural born
character.  Brian had this old army deuce and a half truck that he’d
drive from his place to the old bar there is Sawyers Bar across from
Les and Lois Adams store, a quarter mile and then drive it home again
after a hard, happy night.  Don’t think he ever shifted the thing,
just three or four miles an hour unsteadily back home.  Brian Bundy
was one of the few people in the Salmon River that just plain took to
the fools up the mountain at Black Bear Ranch back in the late 60’s. 
I remember when Black Bear was trying to figure out old fangled
electricity production with a Pelton wheel and Brian had a big-ass
plan for hydro power for all of Sawyers Bar.  He made a bet with
Malcolm, I think, that he’d have his hydro scheme up and running
before Black Bear got their act together.  A hardly fought draw.  Home
was just too damn far from the bar that day.  People’s hearts matched
the dark gray days.  I remember riding my bike through Forks on an
afternoon in the midst of all this and finding Inga Troutman sitting
alone on the bench in front of the store.  She had just gotten off the
pay phone with her daughter, Eva, and learned her first granddaughter,
Lauren, had been born that day.  I remember being so conflicted.  I
was crushed by the loss of two friends, yet here was this obvious ray
of life and hope.  No easy choices that year. My ride ended in the
bright warmth of the Panamnik Building in beautiful downtown Orleans. 
Malcolm Terence was the impresario for the evening, preparing us for
our night’s readers and preparing warm soups (along with an array of
breads and wines) to nourish us after our cultural experience.  Local
poets Will Harling and Brian Tripp were joined by regional poets Jerry
Martien and Joanna Reichhold.  Several of Jerry’s pieces were
accompanied by Rex Richardson.  Shades of a coffeehouse in North
Beach. It’s a long drive home at night from Orleans.  Good to spare a
little extra energy for dodging deer in the headlights, mountain
lions, black bears, bobcats, ringtails and rock slides.  All my rigs
have flatted in the last two weeks including the bike. Hey Malcolm,
speaking of Marge George, remember how she used to fluff a person’s
aura as they walked in the old Forks Store?  We’re all fluffing yours
like mad, brother.

This Story not only illustrates how the news was passed up and down the river it also shows how people come together in a crisis.
\chapter{About the Book}
\label{sec:orgce886a6}
Follow the school marm as she walks a path fallowing others who came
before, finding history everywhere she went. She started out from
Washington D.C. and worked her way to California she was searching for
clean air and clean water. She was 23 years old (young), and already a
school marm. She did not have her degree but she had her teaching
ability, which she had always had ever since she was young. She was
known as the school marm where ever she went. When she got to the
Salmon River in California she felt she had found the Promise Land.
There she met Bessie Tripp a wise Karuk Elder. From Bessie she learned
many things about the area including who the first people of the area
were and the old ways of the Karuk culture. The school marm found her
clean water and clean air and a lot more. She was to get her first
teaching job at Junction Elementary School in the town of Somes Bar,
right down river from Bessie’s house. It was there that she learned
about the two field matrons who the government sent to Somes Bar to
assimilate the native people and have them learn the ways of the
whites. This was all chronicled in a book called The Land Of The
Grasshopper Song by Mary Ellicott Arnald and Mabel Reed. This book
told about the two matrons lives and how the native people changed
them. It was written in 1910 and it is some of the only historical
documentation about early Somes Bar. The school marm started learning
her lessons there at the confluence of the Salmon and Klamath Rivers.
\chapter{Acknowledgements}
\label{sec:org443c165}
I really needed help to finish my forty year project. It had started
in my mind around 1982, when I started working at Junction Elementary
School in  Somes Bar  California, as a brand new teacher of grades
four through eight. Since then, my life got much harder during the
last ten year, during the time that I started putting pen to paper,
when I was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. Luckily, I was able to
finish the writing, before my Parkinson’s disease slowed down my
progress greatly, to the point now where I know that without the help
I have received from others, my book would never be published. I want
to express my gratitude to everyone that has helped me especially on
this parkinsons path. I would first like to thank Malcolm Terence for
being a mentor and a role model of good writing for me. I need to
thank Chris Magarian who was one of the first people who helped me
edit my book. Also Ramona Taylor who edited it as well. I need to give
a special thanks to Tina Marier for the hard work she did helping me
to revise and edit my Junction school chapter. Along the way several
people helped me deal with my parkin sons disease particularly at book
club, again Chirs Magarian helped me and so did Eileen Kurtzman,
Denise Bearding, and Francine Fischl. Francine is one of the people
who helped me with my book as well. I also wish to thank Paula Maas
and her son Joseph Turner for encouraging me to stick with it and
coming by house several times each to make sure that I had the help
that I needed. Then out of the blue Herriet Bienfield came to my
rescue and the books rescue by offering to help finance my project
along with Yeshi Newman. Also thank you to everyone who contributed
funds through Herriet and Yeshi’s efforts. I have several good
neighbors who would help in any way they could who were recruited to
work with me by Herriet and this assured that my book would get
published. Those recruits are MaryRose Anuskiwicz, her partner Fern
and Joseph Turner who continued to help. These young people have
great energy and great computer skills for formatting my book the
correct way without them it would have been dead in the water. They
too are very kind I have been blessed with many kind people along the
way. Other people who I would like to thank for moral support are
Bobbi Harling, Suzanne Cardiff, Tina Bennett and my friend Rob
Pitagora who lives in Arizona who has always believed in my writing.
Id like to thank Cathy Graves of the Syisykyou County Historical
Society, she always supported and encouraged me in my research. . The
SCHS publishes The Sysqyou Pioneers about local history which was
helpful in my research. I would also like to thank three librarians
Edie Butler, Jone Bernam and Adrienne Storey(Harling). Also Sussy
VanKirk even though she is deseast now she was a remarkable women who
did incredible research on Hubert Hoovers cabin and the Fawler cabin,
she also encouraged me in my research when I was working on my book at
HSU special collection library. I would like to thank Sherrill Moore
for loving history as much as I do and sharing that with me
particularly on our trip to Washington DC together. I would also like
to thank some local author’s for their works which inspired me to keep
going. Including Ray Raphael and Jerry Rohde and his wife Gisela
Rohde. Also Beverly Ortiz and Josphine Peters for their wonderful work
on the First Full Moon in April. I want to thank Peggy Goshgarian and
Bill Robert for their inspiration. Also the McBroom family for their
wonderful music over the years which I find to be inspiring as well as
their story. Id like to thank all the local visual artist who
contributed to this book, and those who simply inspire me. With a
special thank you to Sarah Hugdahl who’s beautiful picture I used for
this book cover. Brian Tripp who had inspired me in many ways who has
taught me about local culture and for his kindness. Thanks to Julian
lang and his wife Lynn Risling for many things but in particularly for
helping me understand more about the local history epically their
family the Tripp family which is also my family now. I need to thank
my husband Wally who try's to support me in whatever I do.
\end{document}
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