My Uncle wrote this around the turn of the century: I had lent my sturdy mountain horse to a farmer who had come up to the logging camp. He said his mother was dying and he did not...

Coos Bay Tom Loc: coos bay oregon

I had lent my sturdy mountain horse to a farmer who had come up to the logging camp. He said his mother was dying and he did not think his little worn out mare could make the trip. I traded mounts with him because I knew his mother and him very well and I figured I could get by for a week. The fall rains had arrived and didn't seem to let up before the next storm rolled in. I had to go and get the camps mail and send off the letters that the men had written. I waited for a break and took the 10 mile journey to the post office. It started raining as I pushed the hesitant little mare into the creek across from the post office. The Indian post master greeted me and was happy for the company which I was happy to oblige. We played checkers and ate a lunch of bacon and beans with hot black coffee. The rains had kept up and the creek was steadily rising so I knew I had to go or be forced to wait it out and I was needed back at the operation as we were getting ready to send our logs down the Clearwater river. I put on my slicker and loaded the mail into my saddle bags and pushed the poor old mare into the creek which was now quite high on the banks and had a swift flow. If I had been on my strong mountain horse it would have been no problem but the little mare did not have the strength to carry myself and the mail across and she slipped and fell and was unable to stand back up. I had caught my foot in the stirrup under her and could not break free. As she struggled she kept my head under water and I was going to drown. I did the only thing I could and reached up and grabbed her head and pulled it down and drowned her. When she stopped struggling her body bobbed up out of the water and I was able to get my mouth and my chin up far enough to grab a desperate breath and we floated down stream to the other side. The Indian postmaster watched the whole thing from the other side and poled a boat over to get me. My leg was twisted leg would not support me so he half carried me into his cabin and stoked the fire up and got me out of my soaked woolen clothes. He kept helping me drink cups of hot coffee laced with whiskey and my teeth were chattering so hard that I dented the tin cup that I was drinking from till it was bent and nearly had holes worn through around the rim. It took forever to get warm again and we dried out the mail by the stove. I stayed there for two days and the postmaster lent me his horse and I made it back to camp.

slatten49 Loc: Lake Whitney, Texas

I enjoyed this fascinating true story, Tom. Your uncle seems to have had a flair for writing.

Coos Bay Tom Loc: coos bay oregon

slatten49 wrote:

I enjoyed this fascinating true story, Tom. Your uncle seems to have had a flair for writing.

His writings are preserved in the University of Oregon library Some times his writings are featured in Forestry magazines. William Keller Dyche.

slatten49 Loc: Lake Whitney, Texas

Coos Bay Tom wrote:

His writings are preserved in the University of Oregon library Some times his writings are featured in Forestry magazines. William Keller Dyche.

"Dyche," huh

Was/is that pronounced 'Duck

'

PaulPisces Loc: San Francisco

Coos Bay Tom wrote:

I had lent my sturdy mountain horse to a farmer who had come up to the logging camp. He said his mother was dying and he did not think his little worn out mare could make the trip. I traded mounts with him because I knew his mother and him very well and I figured I could get by for a week. The fall rains had arrived and didn't seem to let up before the next storm rolled in. I had to go and get the camps mail and send off the letters that the men had written. I waited for a break and took the 10 mile journey to the post office. It started raining as I pushed the hesitant little mare into the creek across from the post office. The Indian post master greeted me and was happy for the company which I was happy to oblige. We played checkers and ate a lunch of bacon and beans with hot black coffee. The rains had kept up and the creek was steadily rising so I knew I had to go or be forced to wait it out and I was needed back at the operation as we were getting ready to send our logs down the Clearwater river. I put on my slicker and loaded the mail into my saddle bags and pushed the poor old mare into the creek which was now quite high on the banks and had a swift flow. If I had been on my strong mountain horse it would have been no problem but the little mare did not have the strength to carry myself and the mail across and she slipped and fell and was unable to stand back up. I had caught my foot in the stirrup under her and could not break free. As she struggled she kept my head under water and I was going to drown. I did the only thing I could and reached up and grabbed her head and pulled it down and drowned her. When she stopped struggling her body bobbed up out of the water and I was able to get my mouth and my chin up far enough to grab a desperate breath and we floated down stream to the other side. The Indian postmaster watched the whole thing from the other side and poled a boat over to get me. My leg was twisted leg would not support me so he half carried me into his cabin and stoked the fire up and got me out of my soaked woolen clothes. He kept helping me drink cups of hot coffee laced with whiskey and my teeth were chattering so hard that I dented the tin cup that I was drinking from till it was bent and nearly had holes worn through around the rim. It took forever to get warm again and we dried out the mail by the stove. I stayed there for two days and the postmaster lent me his horse and I made it back to camp.

I had lent my sturdy mountain horse to a farmer wh... (show quote)

Thank you for sharing. Slat is right...a great flair for writing in your uncle!

Michael Rich Loc: Lapine Oregon

Coos Bay Tom wrote:

I had lent my sturdy mountain horse to a farmer who had come up to the logging camp. He said his mother was dying and he did not think his little worn out mare could make the trip. I traded mounts with him because I knew his mother and him very well and I figured I could get by for a week. The fall rains had arrived and didn't seem to let up before the next storm rolled in. I had to go and get the camps mail and send off the letters that the men had written. I waited for a break and took the 10 mile journey to the post office. It started raining as I pushed the hesitant little mare into the creek across from the post office. The Indian post master greeted me and was happy for the company which I was happy to oblige. We played checkers and ate a lunch of bacon and beans with hot black coffee. The rains had kept up and the creek was steadily rising so I knew I had to go or be forced to wait it out and I was needed back at the operation as we were getting ready to send our logs down the Clearwater river. I put on my slicker and loaded the mail into my saddle bags and pushed the poor old mare into the creek which was now quite high on the banks and had a swift flow. If I had been on my strong mountain horse it would have been no problem but the little mare did not have the strength to carry myself and the mail across and she slipped and fell and was unable to stand back up. I had caught my foot in the stirrup under her and could not break free. As she struggled she kept my head under water and I was going to drown. I did the only thing I could and reached up and grabbed her head and pulled it down and drowned her. When she stopped struggling her body bobbed up out of the water and I was able to get my mouth and my chin up far enough to grab a desperate breath and we floated down stream to the other side. The Indian postmaster watched the whole thing from the other side and poled a boat over to get me. My leg was twisted leg would not support me so he half carried me into his cabin and stoked the fire up and got me out of my soaked woolen clothes. He kept helping me drink cups of hot coffee laced with whiskey and my teeth were chattering so hard that I dented the tin cup that I was drinking from till it was bent and nearly had holes worn through around the rim. It took forever to get warm again and we dried out the mail by the stove. I stayed there for two days and the postmaster lent me his horse and I made it back to camp.

I had lent my sturdy mountain horse to a farmer wh... (show quote)

I agree with his having a flair for putting a reader on the scene, lots of color.

To me it seemed that I was there watching with the postmaster.

The pioneers who paved our way, are too often unappreciated in our world of convenience in traveling and overall living conditions.

Lonewolf

Coos Bay Tom wrote:

I had lent my sturdy mountain horse to a farmer who had come up to the logging camp. He said his mother was dying and he did not think his little worn out mare could make the trip. I traded mounts with him because I knew his mother and him very well and I figured I could get by for a week. The fall rains had arrived and didn't seem to let up before the next storm rolled in. I had to go and get the camps mail and send off the letters that the men had written. I waited for a break and took the 10 mile journey to the post office. It started raining as I pushed the hesitant little mare into the creek across from the post office. The Indian post master greeted me and was happy for the company which I was happy to oblige. We played checkers and ate a lunch of bacon and beans with hot black coffee. The rains had kept up and the creek was steadily rising so I knew I had to go or be forced to wait it out and I was needed back at the operation as we were getting ready to send our logs down the Clearwater river. I put on my slicker and loaded the mail into my saddle bags and pushed the poor old mare into the creek which was now quite high on the banks and had a swift flow. If I had been on my strong mountain horse it would have been no problem but the little mare did not have the strength to carry myself and the mail across and she slipped and fell and was unable to stand back up. I had caught my foot in the stirrup under her and could not break free. As she struggled she kept my head under water and I was going to drown. I did the only thing I could and reached up and grabbed her head and pulled it down and drowned her. When she stopped struggling her body bobbed up out of the water and I was able to get my mouth and my chin up far enough to grab a desperate breath and we floated down stream to the other side. The Indian postmaster watched the whole thing from the other side and poled a boat over to get me. My leg was twisted leg would not support me so he half carried me into his cabin and stoked the fire up and got me out of my soaked woolen clothes. He kept helping me drink cups of hot coffee laced with whiskey and my teeth were chattering so hard that I dented the tin cup that I was drinking from till it was bent and nearly had holes worn through around the rim. It took forever to get warm again and we dried out the mail by the stove. I stayed there for two days and the postmaster lent me his horse and I made it back to camp.

I had lent my sturdy mountain horse to a farmer wh... (show quote)

Wow thanks for sharing

bggamers Loc: georgia

Coos Bay Tom wrote:

His writings are preserved in the University of Oregon library Some times his writings are featured in Forestry magazines. William Keller Dyche.

It's always interesting to get a glimpse of an older time and their every day lives.I dought we would survive as well as they did. They were truly a tough breed and to be admired. Thanks for the post

Coos Bay Tom Loc: coos bay oregon

slatten49 wrote:

"Dyche," huh

Was/is that pronounced 'Duck

'

Pronounced Dike. He was known in the early days as the Bull of the Woods.

Big dog

Coos Bay Tom wrote:

I had lent my sturdy mountain horse to a farmer who had come up to the logging camp. He said his mother was dying and he did not think his little worn out mare could make the trip. I traded mounts with him because I knew his mother and him very well and I figured I could get by for a week. The fall rains had arrived and didn't seem to let up before the next storm rolled in. I had to go and get the camps mail and send off the letters that the men had written. I waited for a break and took the 10 mile journey to the post office. It started raining as I pushed the hesitant little mare into the creek across from the post office. The Indian post master greeted me and was happy for the company which I was happy to oblige. We played checkers and ate a lunch of bacon and beans with hot black coffee. The rains had kept up and the creek was steadily rising so I knew I had to go or be forced to wait it out and I was needed back at the operation as we were getting ready to send our logs down the Clearwater river. I put on my slicker and loaded the mail into my saddle bags and pushed the poor old mare into the creek which was now quite high on the banks and had a swift flow. If I had been on my strong mountain horse it would have been no problem but the little mare did not have the strength to carry myself and the mail across and she slipped and fell and was unable to stand back up. I had caught my foot in the stirrup under her and could not break free. As she struggled she kept my head under water and I was going to drown. I did the only thing I could and reached up and grabbed her head and pulled it down and drowned her. When she stopped struggling her body bobbed up out of the water and I was able to get my mouth and my chin up far enough to grab a desperate breath and we floated down stream to the other side. The Indian postmaster watched the whole thing from the other side and poled a boat over to get me. My leg was twisted leg would not support me so he half carried me into his cabin and stoked the fire up and got me out of my soaked woolen clothes. He kept helping me drink cups of hot coffee laced with whiskey and my teeth were chattering so hard that I dented the tin cup that I was drinking from till it was bent and nearly had holes worn through around the rim. It took forever to get warm again and we dried out the mail by the stove. I stayed there for two days and the postmaster lent me his horse and I made it back to camp.

I had lent my sturdy mountain horse to a farmer wh... (show quote)

Different times indeed.

Hug

PRICELESS!

Armageddun Loc: The show me state

Coos Bay Tom wrote:

I had lent my sturdy mountain horse to a farmer who had come up to the logging camp. He said his mother was dying and he did not think his little worn out mare could make the trip. I traded mounts with him because I knew his mother and him very well and I figured I could get by for a week. The fall rains had arrived and didn't seem to let up before the next storm rolled in. I had to go and get the camps mail and send off the letters that the men had written. I waited for a break and took the 10 mile journey to the post office. It started raining as I pushed the hesitant little mare into the creek across from the post office. The Indian post master greeted me and was happy for the company which I was happy to oblige. We played checkers and ate a lunch of bacon and beans with hot black coffee. The rains had kept up and the creek was steadily rising so I knew I had to go or be forced to wait it out and I was needed back at the operation as we were getting ready to send our logs down the Clearwater river. I put on my slicker and loaded the mail into my saddle bags and pushed the poor old mare into the creek which was now quite high on the banks and had a swift flow. If I had been on my strong mountain horse it would have been no problem but the little mare did not have the strength to carry myself and the mail across and she slipped and fell and was unable to stand back up. I had caught my foot in the stirrup under her and could not break free. As she struggled she kept my head under water and I was going to drown. I did the only thing I could and reached up and grabbed her head and pulled it down and drowned her. When she stopped struggling her body bobbed up out of the water and I was able to get my mouth and my chin up far enough to grab a desperate breath and we floated down stream to the other side. The Indian postmaster watched the whole thing from the other side and poled a boat over to get me. My leg was twisted leg would not support me so he half carried me into his cabin and stoked the fire up and got me out of my soaked woolen clothes. He kept helping me drink cups of hot coffee laced with whiskey and my teeth were chattering so hard that I dented the tin cup that I was drinking from till it was bent and nearly had holes worn through around the rim. It took forever to get warm again and we dried out the mail by the stove. I stayed there for two days and the postmaster lent me his horse and I made it back to camp.

I had lent my sturdy mountain horse to a farmer wh... (show quote)

wow, I love stories of days gone by. Thanks for sharing this.