The barter system was alright to a point, but how many sacks of beans could you eat or how much was needed of any number of the every day items that were often all the poor farmer had to pay for the load of lumber. There was only one problem with the lumber business, everyone was so poor, there just wasn’t any money to pay for the lumber. These trees were placed on a pair of massive wagon wheels, and taken one at a time to the family sawmill on the Little Colorado, many miles to the north east at Richville. The trees were so massive that they were hauled one tree at a time down the north slopes of Greens Peak, St Peters Dome, and the numerous volcanic cones that popped out of this portion of the White Mountains like gopher mounds in a manicured garden.
The virgin growth of trees was as good could be found. The lumber business in the North Eastern Arizona White Mountains was wonderful. The men had always worked in the woods, they were sawmill people when they were in Nevada and Southern Utah, and they would still be there if the mines hadn’t played out. These colorful, but crude comments were laughed at in the log woods, but usually were left in the woods because mom and the aunts didn’t approve of this type of crude language at home. The last one had been a crude comment about not wanting to eat his beans because it would cause the flatulistic results on him as they did on a billy goat. The men all thought it was rather humorous when Cousin Willie let loose with a string of adjectives that were everyday language in the log woods. His brothers and cousins had started about his age and the effects of this early and often rough life in the log woods soon were popping up like the mushrooms and toad stools after the mountain rains began. He was just barely old enough to go work with the men, being the youngest, his mother wasn’t too sure that it was a very good idea for her darling little boy to spend the summer in the woods with the men. It was always the same, but always different, up before the sun, a good hearty meal and then into the day. Soon the old cook would start the morning meal, there are always a lot of hungry bellies to satisfy when you’re at mountain camp, and the days are filled from sunup until well after dark. The early risers were fanning the smoldering remnants of the camp fire into life. The mountain meadow grass was glistening with the heavy morning dew. Peters Dome, its’ bright, piercing rays sliced through the early morning mountain mist. The summer sun was rising just south of St.
0 kommentar(er)
