Some history and my time

Many moons ago we lived for a spell in the old Mount Emily railroad logging camp near Starkey, Ore., not far from Ukiah.

Anyway, I was cutt'n timber up the Grande Ronde River. It paid 57 cents a log – we had to hustle. We ended up near an old gold mine. The lumber from the camp had long been packed away. Except for one. It was the house of ill repute. I guess no one wanted to admit whatever they rebuilt with it where the lumber came from.

The road was maintained by the Forest Service. Every truck load of logs that came out of the job paid so much a load. Them was the glory days of logg'n.

At any rate, that road com'n down the river was perty steep and the ground was hard shale. You could see this big groove along the banks worn into the rock. The old logger who lived next to us in the camp filled me in. Sez Mr. Benson, "When that road was first put in we logged up there with D7 cats. Big timber and the trucks com'n down that grade in them there days didn't have no engine brakes. So the drivers crowded the banks and let the bunks drag into the rocks. If they didn't their brakes would catch fire."

Down near the main road was a little store. I used to stop there on the way home from my toil and get a Coke. It was owned by Mrs. Able – who was more than able to handle most anything life throwed at her. How do I know you ask? Because she was a crusty ol' cowgirl who chewed snuff.

Grandpa and Grandma Benson (as our kids called them) came to La Grande Ore. in covered wagons when young. Born in a soddy over in eastern Montana, their only son was killed when a log fell off a truck. The pain was still there on their faces. Life in log'n country sometimes left its own trail of tears.