One Very Scary Night

One day, when I was about thirteen, possibly about 1945, we had all been in Burley and arrived home around dark.  At bedtime, I went upstairs to bed, I slept in the south bedroom.

I had been laying there for some time, when I heard someone moving in the East bedroom.  I knew that there was no one sleeping in that room. There were some doors that opened up into storage areas back in the eaves.  I became more than just a little nervous, especially when I heard footsteps coming down the hall.  It was a bright moonlight night.  I reached down very carefully and picked up a shoe, then I lay very still and watched.  I saw two figures go by my door and start down the stairs.  My heart was beating so hard, that I could hear it pounding in my head.  I was sure that whoever was going down the stairs could hear it also.  I heard the clock in the kitchen strike eleven.  I counted the stairs as they went down, the perspiration was rolling off of my body and face.  I had never been so terrified in all my life.  I heard the clock in the kitchen strike twelve. 

There were no electric lights to turn on and if there had been, who knows what would have happened.  I heard the squeaky stair at the bottom, the clock struck the half hour, I heard the door at the bottom of the stairs open.  According to my calculations it took an hour and a half for them to go down the stairs.  I still lay there very quietly for what seemed almost a complete eternity, then got out of bed, closed my door very quietly and
locked it. 

Needless to say I didn't sleep much the rest of the night.  When morning came and it got light enough to see a little, I went down stairs and woke up Dad and Mother.  When I told them of the happenings of the night, Dad got out of bed, took his rifle and went looking in the basement.  We never found anything to be missing.  Needless to say, I didn't sleep well for a long time after that.

Later on we found out the rest of the story was.  Two men had escaped from the Cassia County jail in Burley, Idaho.  The Sheriff had followed them to Moulton and the Utah line.  Then, Sheriff Warren Hyde, the Box Elder County Sheriff, took up the search.  He followed them for several days before he caught them.  After he caught them, they told about coming to our place, the doors were not locked so they went in and hid until after dark and then left.  To write about this sixty-five years later still raises goose pimples and makes cold chills run up and down my back.

Nikken

There is an old story in the Lind family, that has been passed down through the generations of children.  It is from the old Scandinavian folktale called “The Three Billy Goats Gruff,” that was printed in 1841.  When John and Emma Lind moved to the Junction Valley in 1884, there were several streams of fast running water and later ponds and reservoirs that were built.  John and Emma, who had grown up in Sweden, told the old story of the old water troll, Nikken, that lived in the water and pulled little children in.  This helped keep the children away from the water when they were young.  This story was passed on and retold to the next generation of Lind children.  We were very careful to stay away from the creek as much as possible, even while fishing.

In the 1940's, the pipe broke that was turned to open the valve on the reservoir so they could get water for irrigating.  They had no way to open the valve, without getting someone to dive down the twenty feet or so, and place a charge of explosives on the valve and blow it open.  They found a young man from Burley, Idaho, who was willing to do this.  The kids sat on the hillside while Jake Hodge performed this feat.  Jake had been trained as a Frogman by the U.S. Navy during World War II.  When  Jake surfaced and came out of the water, the fuse was lit and we waited.  After what seemed an eternity, there was an explosion and water flew many feet into the air.  Water started going through the outlet into the headgate and out into the ditches.  All that Dad and his brothers could do was irrigate until the water in the reservoir was gone.  After the reservoir was empty, they had to put in a new valve.  A bunch of us kids were up to the reservoir one day while the men were working on the new valve.  We were playing down by the headgate, all at once this loud booming voice came through the outlet pipe it said, “This is Nikken, get away from the headgate or I will come and get you.”  We dispersed very quickly and stayed away from there so Nikken would not get us.  Nikken’s voice that day we learned later was Uncle Raymond.

I can remember as a youngster going out into the field and running as fast as I could to get over the bridge that crossed the creek.  I was sure that Nikken would grab me.  I believe that if grandchildren of John and Emma could be asked today, most of them would remember the story of Nikken.  I also believe that the story may have been passed on to the third generation and maybe even farther.

As a note of interest, Jake Hodge’s daughter Patsy married my brother Dwain’s son Jeffrey, they have been blessed with four children two girls and two boys.

Philbert acts as "Historical Consultant"

In the early 1970's, Dad acted as a historical consultant for several newspaper reporters in the Burley (Idaho) area.  Al Dawson and Arvetta Savage wrote for the South Idaho Press and would write articles about the history of the local area.  As they had questions about events or people, they would often call or make a trip to View and visit with Dad about his memories, the people in Lynn and the surrounding areas.  Dad enjoyed sharing his experiences and was able to date and document different events by referring to his journals.  As they'd visit, the questions would trigger other memories for Dad.  He started writing short articles and stories that he'd share with Al, Arvetta, the Oakley (ID) Herald and others (or just for his own enjoyment).  We've added a new section on the right side of the page under the "Other Writings" area to house these articles and short stories.  One of these writings was about the dry farmers in the northern end of the Junction Valley along the Utah/Idaho border.  You can view the story by clicking here.

The name of Al Dawson's column in the South Idaho Press was "Western Sagas" and around the time that Dad died, Al left Burley and moved to Boise.  He went on to publish articles in the Idaho Heritage Magazine and wrote a book called "Western Saga Guide Book" using some of Dad's writings as a reference.  This really pleased Dad that he was able to contribute.

A new addition - "The Black Hills"

On the right side of the page, under the "Other Writings" section is a new addition called "The Black Hills."  Dad (Philbert) wrote this about 1963 - 1965.  Most of this information is from his memory.  For other of his writings, he'd go up to the college library in Logan and check out books,  he'd come home to read, research and check the facts. Then he would write the manuscript in longhand and Mother would type it for him.  Basically, it is the story of the schools in the Junction Valley (including Lynn) and stories of the early settlers.  I typed the book into the computer and then we added some photos of the people and places that are mentioned in the book.  I hope you read and enjoy it.  You can also read a copy by clicking here.

Christmas in Lynn

L-R: Philbert holding Virgene, Aunt Julia, Ellen, Aunt Otilia, & Uncle Lawrence

Christmas was always an exciting time in the Lynn Valley.  I don’t remember as much as I probably should, but none the less we always had a good time.  One of the things we liked to do was to go caroling, we would get on a bob-sleigh and go from house to house and sing Christmas Carols.  We enjoyed doing this and the people whose houses we went to seemed to enjoy it also.  When Laurel Hill was teaching we took Dad’s horses and bob-sleigh, sleigh bells were fastened on to the harnesses.  Simon Baker Jr. was driving the horses.  We had quite a caravan, we had a big sheet of iron hooked behind the sleigh, it was about four feet wide and eight feet long, the front of it was curved up so that it would ride over the snow.  We also had some individual sleds tied on behind and we took turns riding on them.  When we got up by the reservoir, Laurel, tipped her little sled over and hit her forehead on the edge of the big metal slide and when her head started to bleed, we were sure she was going to die.  Needless to say, this stopped our fun afternoon.

The ward met in the school to hold church activities so it was kind of hard to remember which activities were church and which were school.  We used to always have a Santa Clause party and Santa would come with presents for the kids.  We would always try to guess who Santa’s helper was, Aunt Julia was always a dead give away because of her thumbnails which were short and squatty.  We didn’t have electricity, so everyone would bring a lantern or a lamp, or both, to light the school.

We had grades one through eight in the school and everyone would help decorate the room.  Mostly it was paper chains that went crosswise from corner to corner, pulled up in the center and a large bell hung in the center.  The chains would also loop from window to window.  The school program would consist mostly of stories or poems given by the children.  Some years we would put on a one act play.

The folks would generally make their last trip to town to get supplies for the winter sometime before Thanksgiving, then we would be snowed in until some time in April when they would plow the snow out of the road.  One year not long before Christmas, Douglas and I had gone upstairs to bed.  There was a knock on the door and Dad went to see who it was, it was Clement Simper, he said that he was going to Burley tomorrow and wondered if Dad needed any thing.  Dad told him that he had a coaster wagon layed away at Western Auto and he wondered if Clement would bring it home for him.  The next night we had gone to bed and there was a knock on the door.  It was Clement with the wagon.  A few days later the road was still open, so Dad and Mother decided they would go to Burley.  Doug and I stayed home, after the folks were gone, we decided we would find the wagon.  We hunted in the basement, in the garage, the granary, the sheds at the corrals and all the small building, but we couldn’t find any wagon.  Christmas morning when we went down stairs to see what Santa had brought, the wagon was under the tree.  Years later, I asked Dad where he had hid the wagon.  He said he knew we would be looking for it, so he had carried it up to some tall sage brush between our place and Uncle Raymond’s and hid it.

As I mentioned, we didn’t have electricity, so when we, Uncle Raymond and us, decorated our Christmas Trees, we put candle holders on them with candles.  We only put about six or so candles on ours, and when we lit the candles, Dad would have a big bucket of water handy, to put out the fire if one started.  Uncle Raymond had a lot more candles on his.  They were the most beautiful sight I had ever seen when they were lit.  We had our tree up from December 15 to January 6.  Santa’s helpers would come again New Year’s Eve and leave candy and nuts again.

Our Pet Deer

Having grown up in Junction Valley on the ranch, we were surrounded by the high mountains with the large reservoir, mountain streams and broad blue skies.  We enjoyed a country lifestyle with our cousins close by.  We had many adventures with wild animals, many varieties of birds, and fishing was a favorite pastime.  We liked to catch the crawdads at the creek and make willow whistles.  We had trap lines in the winter and in the spring we waited for the eggs in the magpie nests to hatch, for the bounty was better on the little birds.  It was a great childhood.

The folks first home was a little three room house near Grandma Lind at the Lind homestead.  The joy of having a pet deer began early in life, probably even with Dad and his brothers and sisters.  When Oscar was only about two years old, he liked to feed the bottle of milk to his pet fawn and walk around holding on to it’s tail.  They were friends.  Mother said that she always knew when Tom Sherry was in the neighborhood, because the hair on the pet deer’s back would stand straight up and then the dog would start barking.  For some reason the deer didn’t like Tom.

I remember us having several pet deer that we loved, one about every year.  Dad would go out riding and find a little spotted fawn laying under the bushes and bring it home. We would feed them on the bottle and they would follow us around and live around in the yard and pastures.  As they grew up they would take off to live in the wild of the hills.

One Sunday in the fall when I was about seven years old, we were on our way home from church at the school house and as we got up by Uncle Alex’s place we spied a buck deer with horns standing in the pasture by the side of the road.  We called for Dad to stop the car so we could get out to see him.  We were sure he was one of our pets.  Dad stopped, but warned us to stay back away from him because he was a wild animal and not one of ours.  But we were sure he was as we all hurried out of the car in our Sunday clothes and started toward him.  He stood still watching us and we were able to walked right up to him and pet him.  He remembered us!  We were so excited to see him all grown up.  We didn’t want to leave, but the folks finally convinced us to go home for dinner.

We always worried that our pet deer would get shot with the wild deer at deer season time.  We had one that we raised that had four prongs on each side of his horns and we wanted to protect him.  When deer season came along that fall, Dad got a big piece of red cotton cloth and tied around his horns so he had a big red bonnet.  It saved his live for that year, at least.

The habit of having a pet deer continued down through Virgene’s teen age years as well.

George Bronson Family Memories

In the Deseret News on November 4, 2010, we ran across the obituary of Mary Lou Bronson Salter Galer.  It included the following paragraph of her birth and younger years: “Mary Lou was born April 30, 1926 at the E. Y. Ranch near Almo, Idaho to George William Bronson and Luella Jones She was the third of seven children.  She grew up in a log cabin and endured many hardships as a child with her family in the mountains of Southern Idaho.  Through this difficulty she learned to be courageous and was loyal to the end.” 

It went on to tell of her accomplishments in life after moving with her family to Salt Lake in 1940.  Our thoughts turned back to the years that the family lived in Moulton, on the north corner of the road next to the school and were our friends.  Dwain, Doug and I reminisced yesterday of those days long ago.  Dwain remembered the day of his baptism at the Lynn Reservoir as he was joined for baptism by cousin Lucille, Mary Lou Bronson and her cousin Patty Lee Updike.  The Bronson family attended church with us at the Junction School.  George was a counselor in the Bishopric with Uncle Laurence as Bishop and Uncle Vance the other counselor.

I recalled the summer that the older Bronson girls decided that the Lind boys needed some “culture” in their lives.  Mother would drive Eldon and I down to the Lynn School.  Mary Lou taught us tumbling, bringing the mattresses from their beds to serve as mats.  Georgie Gay taught us tap dancing.  Doug doesn’t remember the dance lessons, but told of often attending the dances at the Moulton school and recalled that the Bronson girls could really dance.  Sometimes the dances were held at the Junction School.  We talked of the little local group who furnished the music.  The musicians included the Lloyds, George Bronson playing the violin and Chester Bullers who was known as the left handed fiddle player. Mother and Laura Pearl Bronson played the piano with the group.  Their music was great to dance to.  Laura Pearl always said her goal was to play the Tabernacle organ in Salt Lake City some day.

The Bronson Family were all girls and our family was mostly boys and we “ kind’a got paired up”.  VaLois was the oldest then Laura Pearl and Oscar, Mary Lou and Dwain.  Georgie Gay was paired with Doug and I “inherited” Ethel May.  George mentioned to Dad one day about the possibility of the union of the two families in marriage and Dad commented that that should be left up to the kids themselves, and it was.  One son was born on the end of the Bronson family and they named him Simon William Brennon Bronson.  We called him “SWBB” for short.

Mother was the postmistress and had the little post office on our back porch.  George Bronson was the mail carrier.  The mail was delivered three times a week.  George would ride his saddle horse to Oakley to get the mail and return home the first day. The next day he would ride up the valley to Lynn and deliver the mail to Mother, usually arriving “conveniently” just in time for dinner.  In the winter it was a long hard ride in the snow.  He would come into the kitchen and walk across the room and pick up our family hair brush and pull it through his tousled hair.  A thin leather held the wire bristles in place, but they layed down under the pressure of your hand.  Doug told that one winter day we decided that we needed to fix the brush “so it would get his attention.”  We set about to fix it by replacing the thin leather with a heavy piece that would hold the metal bristles erect.  We then waited for George to arrive on his next visit and to do his customary hair brushing.  He picked up the brush and brought it down applying the customary pressure which suddenly brought tears to his eyes.  The next time he used it he put it on his head very gingerly.  It became known as "George’s brush" after that. 

Doug remembered the Bronson family was having trouble with a leaky roof.  So they put a thin layer of cement on the shingles and that fixed the leaking problem.

The Bronson family left Moulton in 1940 and we lost track of them.  I remember Luella Bronson payed us a visit one time with her daughter, Ethel who had married.