IZEE: Growing Up In A Logging Camp, Chapter 2

We moved to Izee early Saturday, to the house we had never seen the inside of. Mom was following in the car, Dad commandeering a borrowed pickup with all of our earthly possessions. Robert came with us to Izee, this time. Since Mom would be explaining to him "The boardinghouse rules" for high school away from home," I rode with Dad thinking it was funny that my brother got to eat more dirt than I did, as they followed us over the miles of unpaved road. Like a filthy phantom from planet dust, Robert kept emerging from the 52 Ford, recovering anything that blew off our loosely tied down load. He looked even scarier when it started to rain.

Izee Chapter 2 continued

I rode with Dad. Cindy, our chow dog puppy, road with her head on my lap. Robert couldn't believe Izee was more "In the sticks" than Bates, our the lumber mill town we were moving out of. I can't say he liked the idea. At least, he would be away in high school most of the time when school started.

When he was there, Robert and I would share one of the two 8 x 10 bedrooms. There would be room for a double bed and a chest of drawers. The closet, on the 8 ft. wall with the door into the room, was half on our side. The other half of the closet was on our parent's side in their bedroom. The two bedrooms made up the largest part of our family's living quarters.

The rest of our living space was one 10 x 12 room, which had been configured to include the 3 ft square shower, the shower curtain of which faced the living room, and the only bathroom. The, so-called, bathroom had only a toilet stool and a small sink. It's door opened into the living room. The washing machine would have to be in, what was left of, the living room, too.

Mom was less than impressed with our part of the "Cook House." Always able to find a way to make do, she announced, "We will just have to buy a new shower curtain. The couch will fit on that wall. Boys, you can put our beds together. I'll bring you in the clean sheets."

Dad never noticed. He was too busy checking the tools and supplies that he had on hand to "Feed the coming army," on Monday.

"Mildred, that last cook didn't leave us anything but forty cans of beans and a bag of rice. No wonder they hanged him! This kitchen needs everything but the pots and pans. They don't look like they were ever used. These good knives, either. They have never even been sharpened."

"The poor man was not in his right mind, Bud. This is a beautiful kitchen. It's everything that you've always wanted. We will be fine," Mother encouraged.

"We don't have anything to feed these men, Mildred. Do you understand? Mr. Ellingson said that the supply truck wouldn't be here until Tuesday. There's nothing on it for us! That cook didn't order anything. It will cost a fortune to get what I need in here. So, what are we going to do, now?"

"Now, you relax Bud! Mr. Ellingson said you could order in everything that you need. He told you to not even worry about what it costs. Just make the men happy with some good food. Here. Take this paper and write out what you, absolutely, have to have on that supply truck, this week. Just what you need for the next week…Mr. Ellingson said that, in an emergency, he has a two-way radio. I'll take your list to him and then we can walk to the commissary and sign for what we need 'till then. When the truck comes, we'll order everything for the next month."

"Well, if I have too, I can find a nice buck to get some meat for these starving boys. I saw some fresh deer droppings on the road as we came in…"

"You'll do no such thing, Bud Miles! It is against the law to feed the men deer meat! You know, very well, that it's not deer season. Do you want to end up in jail? Now, finish up your list!"

"All right, Mildred! But, I want a half of beef to get me through the week. Potatoes, I need 200 lbs and no beans! Here, you write down what you're going to need to bake your bread. I found eight brand new bread pans. That cook must have used packaged bread," Dad said with disgust. As put his chef's hat on, a look of excitement filled his blue eyes. "Just you wait 'till these boys see how we feed them, Mildred!"

Dad and Mom completed their short list of the essentials and Mom took it to the superintendent. Then, together they went to the company store for anything they could find to get out four meals and sandwiches for the 15 man woods crew to take in their lunches. It would be the last time that the men did not have, almost, infinite choices.

Our parents spent the rest of the weekend cleaning the kitchen, the men's dining room, and the walk in cooler. Dad was happy that he would be able to hang three sides of beef in the cooler and still have the room for a hog and everything else that needed refrigeration. In the dry storage room, they found some spaghetti noodles and a couple of large cans of tomatoes. I guess you know what we ate for the next two days.

With our mother's reluctant blessing, Robert and I set out, with our dog, Cindy, to explore. We didn't tell her we were looking for the town junkyard. She made us wear our high boots. We promised to stay close and to look out for rattlesnakes.

The only time that I had ever seen a rattlesnake was when I was six years old. I thought it was interesting, almost getting to it before my favorite uncle Hugh, who I was visiting, drew his pistol, shooting it's head off. I really didn't want to see any. Robert, though, had learned all about them in the Boy Scouts handbook. We stopped to cut two, four-foot long, branches with a Y at the end. Robert said, "If we see any rattlers, we'll pin them down to the ground with our sticks. They can't bite you if you push the Y stick down on their back, just behind the head." It sounded good, anyway.

My brother was never afraid of anything. He, still, isn't. Whatever he would initiate, I would think it was a great idea. This time, however, he was a little unsure how long the prongs of our Y sticks should be. We used our pocketknives to cut sturdy branches to hold the snakes down and cut off the extra limbs to two different lengths, "Just in case…"

As beginner's luck would have it, we came upon a rattlesnake before we reached the junkyard. It was minding it's own business, eating a mouse. Cindy saw it first. She started barking. The snake's rattles made a weird noise, kind of like rustling leaves, but different. Robert stepped right up beside it and pushed his Y stick behind the snake's head. It would have worked except the prongs were too long and the surprised viper quickly crawled around the stick and up toward Robert's hand. Fortunately, its mouth was full. Robert dropped his Y stick, demanding mine. No objection was heard from his little brother. Having already, wet my pants, I was more than happy to give it over.

This time, Robert and the Y stick did the job. They pinned the rattlesnake down to the road. "Now, what do we do," I asked?

My brother thought about it for a moment. "You'll have to kill it, Rusty! Or, it will try to kill us! Find a rock and hit it in the head. I've got to hold it down…real hard…. or it will come after us!"

I had no trouble finding a rock pile. Hitting the snake with a rock, in the head, was another matter. The first rock hit the snake on the back, behind the stick. The next rock hit the stick. But, the rattlesnake never had a chance. Robert's grip on the Y stick held fast. By the time I had exhausted the rock pile, both the snake's head and the mouse were nowhere to be found.

"We did it, Rusty! Way to go, brother! We're successful rattlesnake hunters, now! You want to find some more, or shall we take this one home?"

"Are you sure it's dead? It's still moving? I gotta change my pants."

"It's dead, alright! No head, Rusty! It's the nerves that keep it wiggling. They say rattlesnakes never quit moving until after sundown. How'd you get your pants wet?"

Robert picked the rattlesnake up by its tale, to show me. It was longer than I was tall. Then we proudly returned with it to the front porch of "Cook House" with Cindy barking all of the way. I noticed several other kids watching us as we came back into camp. I Ran into the kitchen and got our parents.

"Mom! Dad! Come see what we've got!"

Mother was first outside to see. "What on earth? Robert! Put that thing down, this minute!"

"It's dead, Mom. Rusty and I killed it!"

"Merciful Mary! Put that thing down, right now! You two go wash your hands! Rusty, did you fall in the river?"

"Don't get rattled, Mildred," Dad said as he stepped outside, smiling broadly. "Let me see how many rattles it has, son."

This was one of the few times that Mom was at a loss for words.

Dad was calm. "You'll want to save these rattles, kids. Six Rattles and a button! This is a very old snake. They only grow one rattle each year. This last one is called a button. That's this year's new rattle. It'll be a long time before you'll find another one this big."

By now, everyone in the area had come over to appreciate our trophy. My brother always could please a crowd. He opened his pocketknife, to remove the rattles, asking dad where to make the cut.

What the "Cook House" lacked in living quarters, it more than made up for in its function to feed hungry lumberjacks and mill workers. While the living area was only 380 Sq. Ft., the kitchen and dining room was huge. The men made a check by their name each time they ate a meal. At the end of their pay period, the meals were deducted from their paychecks. It was the best place to eat in town. Only the men, who lived in the bunkhouses, were allowed to eat there. There were no other restaurants in Izee. The single men raved about the food.

A normal breakfast included, hot cereal, cold cereal, cream, milk, orange juice, tomato juice, bacon, ham, country sausage patties, link sausages, pancakes, French toast, home made biscuits and gravy, hash brown potatoes, scrambled and fried eggs, fresh baked cinnamon rolls and fruit. The food was served "Family style", meaning that Mom kept bringing it out, setting it on the tables. The men could eat all that they wanted. Some of the mill workers would slip food into their shirts to share with a poor family man friend, who could only dream of his wife cooking a breakfast for him.

When he finished eating, each man carried his plates to the kitchen, scraped them off, into the garbage, and stacked them on the drain board, by the sink.

There were seven eight foot long dining tables, each made of four 2 x 6 planks, fitted closely together. Seating was on eight-foot long benches. In the mornings, one of the tables was loaded with food for the men who wanted to carry a lunch into the woods. The mill workers would return for lunch at noon. It was said that, after my parents took over the cookhouse, the turnover of the single men at Izee, dropped by 90%. They had to go somewhere else to find single women, but they, always, were back, Monday morning, for breakfast.

Russ Miles is the author of the thriller/mystery novel For Sale By Owners:FSBO. Visit Russ's website http://MilesBooks.com