| Remembrances of Pioneer Days in Alaska
|
Forward by Virginia Smallwood
Forward
In approximately 1986, Ann Sholin wrote the following wonderful and moving memoir to her family and friends. She was eighty-five years "young," as she called it. For the sake of disclosure, this is not about my own family line. I descended from Olaf's brother, Charles. But the romance of Sholin Alaskan adventures has run high in our line, too. My father liked to talk about his uncles, especially Andrew and Edward, who were "fox farmers in Alaska". Much later I visited Alaska's Pratt Museum in Homer. The curator generously let me plow through the vertical files searching for Sholin information, and even let me use a somewhat cranky copy machine as much as I wanted, provided I could keep it going! Among the my finds was a tantalizingly empty file folder for Ann Sholin's "Remembrances." Unfortunately, the actual document was missing and nowhere to be found. Several years went by. Finally, thanks to the generosity of Mrs. Shirley Guse, its pages were in my hands. And what a story it was! Reading it again at this time, I'm still filled with emotion and awe of those larger-than-life times.
Ann died in April of 1998. She had become quite ill by the time I found her daughter, and communication with Ann was impossible. If I could speak to her now, I'd tell her this: Ann, you have no idea how many people you have touched through your story and how much it means to them! I wish I could have known you. But you know, your story has made me feel as though I have! Thank you so very much.
Virginia Sholin Smallwood,
February, 2006
REMEMBRANCES OF PIONEER DAYS
In Alaska - 1925-1969
By Ann Sholin
Dear Friends and Family,
I have been sitting here, reminiscing about the many years our family lived in Homer, Alaska; actually over forty years. Somewhat longer than the five years we had planned to stay. I will share some of my memories of these early days in the Alaska wilderness.
I was twenty-four years old when I said good-bye to family and friends in Tacoma, Washington, heading north to be married to the young man Carl Sholin. He had gone to Homer with his uncle Andrew six months earlier. Andrew had come down to Seattle with several crates of live silver foxes and some bundles of beautiful fox pelts, which he was shipping to fur buyers in New York. It didn't take much persuading to convince Carl that Alaska was where to go to seek his fortune. In the early twenties furs were in high fashion and very expensive. Andrew and another uncle, Ed, had been in Alaska since 1912, having signed up in Seattle to work on a sheep ranch in the Aleutians. Neither of them knew a thing about sheep shearing, so were glad when that was over. They liked Alaska and decided to travel to the Kenai peninsula, where they tried prospecting for gold. Some two years later they journeyed by foot into the Sheep Mountain country. It was here that they noticed many silver foxes. Proceeding on, not knowing just where they were, they decided to mark some trees as they kept moving down to lower levels; thinking there surely must be natives or settlers somewhere. By sheer accident they came into the small village of Homer. It was here that the young men decided to settle. For some time they told no one about the foxes. Eventually sharing their secret with Ero Walli of Stariski, the three built several wooden crates and set off to try to capture some foxes from out of their dens. They were fortunate to get a great many pups. This was the beginning of the fox ranching business than soon spread all over Alaska. A fortune from furs was a short lived dream. The bottom fell out of that business as the Great Depression neared in the late nineteen-twenties.
Carl wanted me to leave with him (with three days notice). His uncle told us that we could be married by a justice of the peace in Seldovia. I was sure my family wouldn't hear of this. Six months later, much to the dismay of my parents, I sailed north on the steamship Evans, on the twenty-fifth day of August, 1925. This trip was pleasant. We stopped at all the towns enroute to Seldovia. There were many adventuresome young people on board, several headed for Seldovia. I was the only passenger going to Homer. I can remember how excited I was when the captain announced that Seldovia was just around the bend. I had told the girls about Carl, how tall and handsome he was. They were all curious to have a look at him. Finally we were at the dock. What a quaint little town, with its boardwalk running along the water front. I became bewildered and upset. A grizzly, rough looking man with a peg leg came up to me saying he was John Soderberg from Homer. Carl had asked him to meet me and escort me to Shortley's Hotel, the only one in town, with. He recognized me from a picture Cal had shown him. For some reason Carl, his brother and wife Mikie, Andrew, and some other friends coming for our wedding, couldn't get over on a gas boat until the following day. By this time I was a nervous wreck. I didn't want anything to do with this man, he had obviously been drinking. A kind gentleman off the boat came to my rescue, helped carry my suitcases, and walked me to the hotel. Up in my room I spent some time in tears, wondering what I was doing there.
September third, 1925, our intended wedding day turned into a nightmare. I became sicker and sicker. Pain in my right side was becoming unbearable, along with awful nausea and vomiting. This is the way Carl found me. No one knew what to do, no hospital or doctor in town. The fishermen were all out herring fishing that fall after salmon season was over. You can be sure we were getting desperate. A big fishing boat loaded down with herring pulled into the dock late that afternoon. They were scheduled to leave shortly for La Touche. The captain, upon hearing of my plight, consented to take Carl and I aboard, to the Kennecot Copper Mine Hospital located in that town. Some of the men made a stretcher to hoist me onto the boat. I was so sick I wanted to die. I didn't know or care what was going on. Someone put a blanket over me and we were on our way across the Gulf of Alaska. Except for the smell of fish and gas, memory of the trip is non-existent. Twenty-seven hours later I was in the operating room, with a ruptured appendix. Truly a miracle, my survival. A month later I was well enough to leave the hospital. It was back to Seldovia on a big freighter, the Northwestern, happy to be alive. Happy also that my family in Tacoma didn't have to know of my close call until it was over. While I was in the hospital Carl had found a job on a fishing boat. He had good food, a bunk to sleep in, and a small paycheck to help pay the medical expenses.
After recuperating about a week in Homer, we returned to Seldovia and were married on Oct. 15th, 1925. My mother had given me a lovely wedding gown, but I wore a simple dress, which seemed more appropriate in the rough hewn office. I hadn't given much thought as to housing arrangements, other than the fact that we would stay at Andrew's house for awhile. What a houseful! There was John, Mickie, their four year old son, Billy, and Orma Long (the new homer teacher). She had nowhere to stay so big hearted Andrew took her in. Orma and I shared a room, with me on a small cot. Andrew built his own cabin a short distance from the house; with an extra bunk for who ever happened along. The main house was large; a coal burning cook stove, and a heating stove were back to back. A large coal bin took up one corner of the living room. Everyone passing by could look right in, as there were no frills as curtains. It didn't take long for me to make curtains, from sheets - very fashionable today I hear! After Carl and I were married, the living room became our bedroom. A bukly homemade bed took up one corner. I made the mattress out of gunny sacks filled with hay (nicely covered however, with sheets). Actually it was very comfortable. Family and friends had given me many sheets, bedding and pillowslips. My dad had made a cedar chest which was filled with linens. This chest later became a crib for Shirley, our first born child.
Beginning a new life certainly started out with unexpected events! It didn't take long to realize that those who stayed in Alaska were a different breed. Hardships were taken in stride. Making do with what we had and living from scratch made us a creative and strong people. Electricity, running water, stores, mail service - not to mention doctors or dentists - were for city folk. No use for cars; they don't run on trails through the woods. Washboards worked fine. Stiffly frozen clothes taken from the clothesline in winter smelled so good as they thawed. The worst thing was having to dash to the two-seater outhouse after dark. Bats would swoop down at me, and hoot owls terrified me. Glen and Phina Bowers had the first bathroom. What a treat to just look at such luxury. Phina invited us to take a bath in a real tub anytime. Homer did have something that other villages did not. A house to house, crank telephone system the local men had put up. Every time the phone rang, up went all the receivers. Believe me, there were some hilarious conversations. Everyone in town knew everyone else's business. Andrew's ring was two short and one long ring. The emergency ring was a real long ring. Fires, injuries, even a shooting or two were reported to the townspeople with that system.
In times of sickness we had to depend on our own common sense to know what to do. Fortunately, people didn't get sick very often. Plenty of walking, pure food and clean air had something to do with that. J There was no depending on specialists of any kind. Maybe that was good, for all twenty-five original families truly depended on one another in time of need.
In the fall of 1926 a herring company began operating at the end of Homer spit. J Some local men were needed to put up cabins and cook house for the crew. Carl hired on to work on these buildings. When the workers arrived from Seattle, Squeaky Anderson, the boss, asked me if I was interested in being the cooks helper. I became a working lady. Local men caught the herring and this saultry crew packed the fish in salt in big barrels, to be shipped to the States. Squeaky liked my cooking and hired me to go to Halibut Cove with Carl and nine other men, where a second herring saultry was begun. A big tent, boarded up five feet, was the cook house and our living quarters. The nights were getting chilly. Snow was falling on higher elevations. I recall getting awfully tired of cleaning and cooking fish. The men, mostly Scandinavians, would lay fish on the steps nearly every day. They could eat fish for every meal. The cook house was full of good food. How could anyone eat so much fish, I wondered? One morning while I was frying hotcakes, I fainted. Carl picked me up and put me on the bed. In a few minutes I felt alright and went back to cooking breakfast. Those poor guys looked so worried! They thought I had a heart attack. Right then it dawned on me, I must be pregnant! When the camp closed, Squeaky gave Carl and I all the remaining groceries, a wagon load. Best of all, when he learned I was expecting, he gave me boat fare for a trip home to Tacoma. I went out on the old steamer Watson, seasick most of the way. This was in March of 1927. Shirely was born at St. Joseph's Hospital June fifth. After three months at Grandma's we returned to Homer. Carl had homesteaded on acreage adjoining Andrews. Our one room log cabin was finished. He and Alfred Anderson dug a well and readied a garden spot, with a horse and plow. On the next homestead was the Gus Anderson family, having arrived a few months before we did. They had built a sod house; warm as toast in winter and cool in summer. On the flat roof, pink fireweeds blossomed merrily - in season. What a picture that made! They too were busy working on their big log house. Another neighbor was the Nels Svedlund family, settling about the same time as the Gus Andersons. Both had school age children.
The first school was a one room log cabin on the Harrington land, near the beach. Jean Flindahl was the first teacher, with six pupils. She contracted tuberculosis and had to return to the States. Orma Long replaced her. A second school on the East side, on the old Neilson farm near Millers Landing, had a few more pupils. The teacher was Nellie McCullough.
Events of forty years ago are sometimes hard to pinpoint. Around 1936, Ero and Lilly Walli opened a large general store. Prior to that time, people who could afford to kept extra groceries on hand for those who ran short of necessary food. Fishermen brought groceries and mail over from Seldovia. There were times during fishing season and during stormy winters when we would wait a month for boats to come in. Wallies store had a big oil burning stove for the men to sit around and chat. Such comfort and congeniality. The upstairs was a big dance hall. Pa Svendlund played a fiddle. That was music enough for the polka, schottische, two-step, fox trot and a waltz or two. Children were brought by their parents. Little ones slept on coats on benches, and older ones soon danced along with their parents and friends. Such fun! I'll never forget the school Christmas plays, presented to applauding parents and friends. These were real productions. Memorization and practice took at least a month. No cue cards, no reading the script, only a whispered reminder by the teacher to those who occasionally forgot a line. The whole community went all out for holidays. When movies began showing in Seldovia we were quite envious. A truly memorable event was when Seldovia people brought an occasional movie over to be shown in Wallies upstairs hall.
Snowfalls were heavier in those days. In the winter whenever we went anywhere, Carl would hitch Nancy, our horse, to the sleigh filled with hay. We would snuggle down in the hay and warm blankets, all tingling with excitement.
There were no such luxuries as school buses. In winter, the children sometimes had a hay ride in a dog sled, or they skied; when it was icy they crunched down the road with creepers on their boots. At times in the deep snow, snow shoes were necessary. Other times the children took their sleds, riding down the hills and taking turns pushing one another on flat ground. Rarely did they miss a day of school.
Homer's first post office was at the end of Homer spit. Folks walked, rode horseback, or rode in a wagon for four miles each way. There were times when the scheduled mail boat wouldn't arrive, and the long distance traveled was for nothing. In a few years Tom and Lydia Sheford had the post office in their home; much handier, especially in winter. When a post office was built, Mrs. Arlene Kranich became post mistress. A position she held for many years.
Very slowly Homer grew. Our two boys were born, both in Uncle Andrews upstairs. Nellie Munson was a self taught midwife. She helped deliver Bob in March 1929, and Dale in July 1933. J Our second daughter, Lois, was born in Seldovia in December 1939. A doctor delivered her. This was a difficult birth and I nearly didn't survive.
School teachers were looked upon with deep respect. Many of the early day teachers were single young women. Fondly remembered by our family are the Richardson sister. Margaret arrived in 1929. She taught at the one room west side school for a year. In 1930 her sister Marion, who was twenty-four, took her place. Alfred Anderson, a young bachelor who was our close friend from the time we arrived, began courting her. They shared a love of books, politics, walking in the woods, and enjoying the beauty and quietness of that lush country. In 1931 they married. Sister Margaret returned to teach again, while Marion stayed at home enjoying being a housewife. Their first child, a sweet spirited little girl nicknamed Missy, was born in the summer of 1932. Two years later in July, a second baby girl was delivered in Cordova. In those days, without local facilities, expectant mothers who did not relish the thought of home birthing, traveled to larger towns. Since most had no pre-natal care, they had to use their best judgement as to when they though birth was imminent. Marion chose Cordova, where good friends had urged her to stay with them. Many times it was months away from home, first waiting, then recuperating. Then days hospitalization was the norm in those times. Margaret, who had been teaching at Chignik, was again going Stateside. The S. S. Starr, which she was serving on, was due to stop in Seldovia. Marion, who was homesick, decided to take the two little girls to Seldovia to stay with Alfreds sister, Mrs. Lippincot, and await Margarets arrival. This was October, when storms blew in, making the Inlet a dangerous place for small boats. The S. S. Starr was damaged, and beached; making it necessary for Margaret to leave on a different ship which did not stop at Seldovia. Marion waited for two weeks, not knowing what had happened. Communication was by letter (very unreliable) and she had no word. Finally, deciding to return home, the mother and babies boarded a small gas boat for Homer. There was a big tide running that day. The sea was rough. The men in charge of the boat had a dory in tow, loaded with lumber. Boats were docked in the Slough, and the tide was an important element. If the tide was swiftly going out, and the weather unfavorable, piloting a small boat in was a hazardous proposition. The boat lurched when hit by a big wave, and swamped in minutes. Marion, Missy and baby Aileen were drowned. The two men, Fred Munson and Ed Anderson (no relation to Alfred) were saved. Ed hung on to the mast and was saved by Alfred and Tom Shelford. Fred somehow made it to shore, and had to be packed home. When the tide went out, Missys' body was found in the engine room, and Marions' on the beach towards Homer spit. She was still clutching baby's blanket in her hand. The babys body was never found. Alfred had been home that morning, glancing every little while across the bay to see if he could sight the boat. When he saw the little speck across the inlet, he began walking towards the beach. The horror of what had happened and the inability to do anything, was almost too much for him to bear. Ignoring the dangerous sea, he and Tom Shelford pushed out in a dory and made it to the boat. Reaching down through a skylight, he touched Marion's hair, but rescue was impossible. Shirley recalls that day, as she sat at her desk in school. The windows faced the water and Munsons son was watching the boats progress. Suddenly, he jumped up, running for the door, shouting, "the boat swamped." Teacher and students all ran to the beach. The one long ring on the telephone alerted the townspeople, and soon the whole community gathered and grieved together. When Marion's body was found the next day, Mrs. Groth (who had some knowledge of nursing), Phina Bowers, myself and several other women, washed and prepared Marion's body for burial. Nothing could have prepared us for such an ordeal. Dick Gray was asked to make the funeral arrangements. The caskets were lovingly crafted by Pa Svendlund. Women of the community made wreaths decorated with homemade, artificial flowers. Three men dug a grave under a giant spruce tree. Mother and daughter were placed to rest in separate white painted caskets. Friends rallied around to comfort Alfred, who was devastated at the loss of his bride and darling babies. He nevera again lived in his and Marion's cabin, but moved to Margarets place. Many years later, he remarried, to Carl's sister, Esther, who also was a Homer teacher. Both have since passed away in Portland, Oregon.
I remember many of the bachelors who lived in their little cabins around Homer. Dick Grey, with his shelves of books, settled about twenty miles up the beach near Anchor Point. To get to his house, one had to climb hundreds of feet up a rope ladder, which stretched up a sheer cliff from the beach. There was Dad Shafer, a most kind gentleman, so good to our children. Shirley remembers a beautiful light blue organdy dress that he ordered from Sears for her 12th birthday. Also, one Christmas he gave her a treasured Mickey Mouse wrist watch. Charlie Miller lived on the East side, with his unmistakable fondness for garlic. Ernest Bird was a jeweler, a quiet man with a photographic memory. "Cat man" Larson, so called because of his hordes of cats, didn't need blankets. Cats covered him at night. If anyone came to the door, cats literally flew in every direction; they were terrified of strangers. He must have spent a fortune on cases of canned milk. J "Old man" Holmes was another unique fellow, who lived with his sister on the east side. These people were rarely seen. Their cabin was completely filled with cardboard boxes, leaving only narrow alley ways to walk through.
Until Carl and I left Homer in 1969, his work was with the Alaska Road Commission, now the Bureau of Public Roads. Gravel roads were built through town in the thirties. I believe it was Jim Waddell who had the first automobile. Everyone in town had a ride. We lived about six years in Andrew's house. When we moved to our cabin with our growing family, Carl added on a living room, bedroom and bath downstairs, with two bedrooms upstairs.
Since we were centrally located, the road bosses from Anchorage asked me if I would fix their meals. Mr. McCroskey, the first foreman, lived in our rental cabin. He and his wife planted a garden which they enjoyed immensely. Donald McDonald, later known as the Father of the Alcan Highway, was one of our boarders. When McCroskeys left, Carl became foreman; a position he loved for twenty some years.
How I worked! We had a huge vegetable garden, strawberries and raspberries. I made cottage cheese, churned butter, made all my own bread and pastries. Carl always got his moose, and that had to be canned. It was several years later that we had a refrigerator and freezer. Our root cellar, dug into a hillside was filled to capacity every fall. Bins heaped high with potatoes, carrots, turnips, rhutabagas and cabbage. Shelves were loaded down with jars of berries, canned salmon, moose steaks, meat balls, and mince meat. Wooden barrels held salt fish. No wonder the men I fed gained weight! We always ha d a cow or two, chickens, a pig and horse. Besides everything else, there was haying to be done in late summer. Carl built a huge log barn, with its fragrant smelling hay loft where the kids liked to play - jumping from the rafters into the soft hay.
Shirley left home at age 15 to go to Seldovia for her senior year in high school. She lived with Jack and Susan English. She too had ruptured appendix. This happened in February 1943. Dr. Ralph McKenzie and family had come to Seldovia where they had charge of the new, small hospital. The good doctor had gone by boat to visit some of the native villages along Cook Inlet. A storm kept him away for two days, while Shirley, packed with ice bags, waited in the hospital. She didn't realize the seriousness of the situation, but I did; remembering my own frightening experience years earlier. This episode became a blessing in disguise, as the McKenzies invited her to spend the remaining months of school with them. Shirley helped with their two children and worked in the hospital doing small jobs. When the doctor made his rounds of home visits, she trudged along with him. He enjoyed teaching medical facts and never forgot to quiz her later. When they left to practice in Anchorage, they took her along and got her a job at the old Providence Hospital. The following year she was accepted in the Cadet Nurse Corps training program at St. Josephs Hospital in Tacoma; right back where she was born. Nurses who graduated from this program during World War II were obligated to serve in the military. Fortunately, the war ended before she graduated. How sad we were to learn of Dr. McKenzie's death in a small plane crash in Seldovia Bay. After many years in Colorado, he had returned on a vacation to see Seldovia again. Here where he had begun his medical practice, it also ended.
During the Korean War, in 1950, our Bob was drafted into the Army. He was stationed at Fort Richardson in Anchorage. In June of 1951, Shirley and her husband Dick, with their two small children, came home for a family reunion. Bob was given a weeks leave. What a Joyous time we had! Our joy turned to unbelievable sorrow upon receiving a telegram from the Army, informing us that Bob was missing and presumed drowned. On the weekend of his return to base, he and Eugene Kranich went fishing at Big Lake. No one witnessed the boating mishap, but the young men didn't return to the dock. The empty boat was located far out on the lake. Carl chartered a small plane and circled around and around the lake, hoping that the boys were safe somewhere along the uninhabited shore. It was two months before Bob's body surfaced. Carl's hair turned white almost overnight. During that time I recall standing in our living room one night, looking out of the window into the blackness. I uttered a little prayer, "Oh God, let me know if Bob is safe." At that moment the full harvest moon suddenly appeared in an opening in the clouds. It was brilliant; coloring the billowing clouds around it a soft gold. In a few seconds that gorgeous sight was gone. My prayer was answered. It seemed as if God were telling me that Bob was safe in His care. My terrible grief began to ease.
Dale married the former Helen Elias, from Chinook, Montana in February 1958. Shortly after they moved to Soldotna, where Dale was transferred with the Bureau of Public Roads. He later became foreman there, until he retired in December of 1984. This past June, 1985 I received the heart-breaking news that he too had drowned. He had taken a friend to their beach place across the bay from Homer. During the night he rowed out to his big boat, to anchor it out further at tide change. As he jumped back in the skiff to return to shore, something happened; again, we will never know what. Alaska waters claimed another son. He leaves his wife Helen and two children, Steven, age eighteen and Shelley, sixteen. How difficult it is to accept the loss of loved ones before their time. At times like these we learn how fragile life can be, and how important it is that we value our family relationships.
Lois, the last to leave the nest, also went to Tacoma, where she became a nurse. She and her husband Dale lived for many years in his home town of Duluth, Minnesota, where he was on the police force. The Pacific Northwest beckoned them back. Lois now works in a doctors office in Fife. Their oldest daughter, Teri, is Mrs. Ken Ereth, Diane is in college, and Michael is an eighth grader.
Shirley's two daughters each have three children. Donna and husband Michael Yarbrough live in Fife. Sherry is Mrs. Michael Pasinetti. They live in Milton. Greg, the youngest son, will soon be finished with his training to be a journeyman electrician. J He is married to Jan, and has a son. David, Shiley and Dick's oldest son, is the only family member with a full-blown spirit of adventure. He visited Europe, England, the Scandinavian countries, and taught school in Sweden and Guam. For the past three years he has been an English teacher at a university in Japan. His wife, Kazue, helps with private English classes, when she isn't busy with their three children.
At last count, I have nine grandchildren and ten great grandchildren. Life in Alaska, as a pioneer and sour dough, was good. True, there were hardships and tragedies, but that is part of living that we all share. Love of that land, with its fine people and its unrivaled beauty and peace will always remain with me. Our old home was demolished this past summer to make way for a business. I like to remember how beautiful it was, with gardens and flowers, and mostly when family and friends sat around the big table eating, talking, laughing and enjoying one anothers company.
Alaskans stop by now and then. Ermel Cjosund has made several visits. Lillian Walli Miller spent a few days with Shirley last winter. They grew up like the Bobbsey twins. K How good it is to talk about bygone days with old friends. Vilma Matheson, another old timer visited a few weeks ago. Harry and Wilda Hegdahl, who had the first theater in Homer, live in Ashland, Oregon. It has been awhile since they have gotten up here, but we keep in touch.
I am almost eighty-five years young. Carl passed away, unexpectedly, at home in September, 1982. Blessed with quite good health, I keep busy with my flwoers and keeping my comfortable home. My girls keep watch over me. Shirley has retired from nursing, now spending much time in Christian education for the Methodist Church. I'm content and happy. We raised a good family, doing our best under primative conditions, in those early days. Looking back, I'm thankful for every year that our family spent in that last frontier land. There are still areas where the air is pure, the oceans and streams teem with fish and the hectic pace of todays civilization has not yet touched. May "progress" be slow!
SINCERELY,
ANN
To return to CarlSholin Family page.
To read about modern Homer, Alaska click these links:
http://www.homernews.com/exploring/homer.shtml
http://www.kenaipeninsula.com/pics/maps/homer_map.html