Back when Heber was a young town, someone decided to dig two cow tanks for watering cows and other livestock. Those tanks no longer exist but they were a place where I spent lots of time. The tanks were located just about a hundred yards from our front door. The main street of Heber used to fun right in front of the rock house and past the tanks to the bridge across Buckskin Creek. The tanks were on the north side of the road. They were about one hundred feet east of the little house across the road from the rock house. The tanks had been dug with a bulldozer and they would fill up when it rained hard and the ditches would run. The tanks were probably seventy or eighty yards long and probably thirty or forty yards across. There was a small hill of dirt fifteen to twenty feet high between the two tanks. The one on next to the main road was the one that usually had the most water. The back tank would have water in the rainy season but was dry most of the rest of the year. The water level in the front tank varied from three to five feet in depth depending on the time of year. In the winter the tank froze over and we had to go and break holes in the ice to water the animals. At that time in Heber, the milk cows and some other animals roamed free. They would drink from the tank since it was always available.

Because it was available and because it was wet, and maybe because it was somewhat forbidden, it attracted kids like flies to honey. Mom didn’t particularly like us to play by the tank. She was afraid we could drown. I suppose someone could drown in the tank but it was more likely that they would get stuck in the mud that was about a foot deep and starve to death.

The tank was a constant source of entertainment. One of our favorite pass times was skipping rocks on the tank. There were lots of rocks so you could skip rocks for hours. The other pass time was to throw something in the tank that would float at least for a little while and try to hit it with rocks until it sank. Needless to say, the bottom of the tank was covered with broken bottles, empty cans and all types of other debris. One of the hazards associated with playing in the water or wading in the tank was getting you foot cut on broken glass that littered the bottom of the tank. If you didn’t get stuck in the mud and starve to death, you might get gangreen and have to have a leg or foot amputated.

The tank was a pretty good place to play in the water except for one other thing. There was green slime growing all around the edge of the tank. To enjoy the water you needed to get past the slime. When it rained, the water level in the tank rose and the slime was not so bad or at least it was submerged a little more. In the summer time the tanks presented a constant temptation to boys to go swimming. Most of the time because of the slime, the broken glass hazard or because we were “most obedient children”, we resisted the temptation.

Someone built two rafts made out of 12X12’s with boards nailed on top. The rafts were about 6×6 ft in size. We had lots of poles from the sawmill so it was a past time for the older kids to pole vault out to the rafts (missing the slime) and then pole the rafts around the tank with the long poles, much like the boatmen of Venice. If two people or two groups got on the two different rafts, it was likely that eventually there would be a “battle of the rafts”. The idea was to knock the people off the raft by either ramming it or by upsetting the raft so that the passengers  fell off. Since everyone secretly  wanted to get wet (deep down in their hearts), it was usually not too long before someone was in the water. I was to little to do much rafting but it was fun to watch.

The other common trick was to get a group on the raft and then have everyone run to one side of the raft so that the other end came almost out of the water, then quickly run to the other end. If you did this a few times, one end of the raft would eventually come so far out of the water that it was impossible to maintain you balance or footing on the raft and you just “accidently” fell into the water. Once in the water, it made sense to take advantage of the opportunity to do a little swimming as well or just splashing around since the tank really wasn’t deep enough to do much swimming in unless it was after the rainy season.

If we got wet, someone had to sneak into the house to get everyone dry clothes. Quite often that job fell to me because I was too little to ride on the rafts, but sometimes I was involved. We changed in the garage and Mom was none the wiser until she found a pile of wet clothes in the garage.

In winter we would ice skate on the tank. It was always a trick to know when the ice was thick enough for skating. Most of us didn’t have ice skates so we played our version of hockey in our regular boots or shoes. We had lots of fun until we would hear the ice crack and then everyone had to get off the ice. I guess we lived dangerously a few times! Playing hockey was always a challenge because people liked to throw things on the ice. Playing hockey was like an obstacle course but we had fun doing it. If there was lots of snow, we would also sometimes take our sleds and sled down the hill between the tanks and out onto the ice or just sled on the ice itself. The tanks were ultimately leveled and the area was made into a ball field.

 

One of my memories of home is the hunting for and cutting down of the family Christmas tree. One advantage of living in Heber and having a father who worked for the Forest Service was that Dad knew a lot of the places where nice Christmas trees could be found. In all my growing up years, we always had a live Christmas tree. Almost no one in those days had artificial trees. Most families in Heber cut their own trees. There were no Christmas tree lots where you could go and buy one.

To cut a Christmas tree we had to have a Christmas tree tag. The tag was usually Christmas red in color and essentially stated that it was a permit to cut one tree. There were no restrictions on where to find a tree. That was a matter of your knowledge of where good trees were to be found or in our case, Dad’s knowledge.

Usually about 2 weeks before Christmas, Mom would mention that we needed to get a tree. The whole family usually went with Dad to select and cut the tree. Sometimes Dad would cut trees for our extended family in the valley as well.

There were different types of trees that could be used for Christmas trees. Those closest to Heber were Pinion trees. We never liked them for Christmas trees because they were not as pretty and did not smell as good as fir trees. As you went up in elevation the next type of trees were Douglas Fir’s. If there was a lot of snow on the mountain, we sometimes settled for a Douglas Fir tree. The very best and most popular type trees we liked for Christmas trees were the White Fir. They were the prettiest and they smelled the best and the branches were in layers so that it was easy to decorate them.

We would take axe and saw in hand and drive up Black Canyon until we got to a place where Dad knew there were lots of trees. Then the hunt was on for the perfect tree. The boys would scatter out looking for just the perfect one. The perfect one had the right Christmas tree shape and had equally spaced branches. There were lots of OK Christmas trees but we were searching for the “Perfect Tree” for our family. It usually took at least half an hour for someone to fine one they thought was the best. Mom was usually the final judge. Dad did not like to cut the top out of larger trees so we had to find one that could be cut off at the ground. We usually had a tree that was six or seven feet tall when mounted in the Christmas Tree stand. Usually the best trees were located on rather steep slopes. When there was snow on the ground and there usually was, it was fun trying to stand up while cutting the trees. Dad usually let us cut the trees if we were big enough. If we had to much trouble, he would cut them for us.

After cutting the tree or trees, we had to drag them back to the car. Since the trees were quite wide at the bottom, we would bag them. We always had gunny sacks left over from the feed we bought for our cow. We would cut open the seam on the bottom of the bag and just slip the bag over the tree from the bottom. The sack would hold the branches in so that we could get several trees into the trunk of the car. Then it was off home where we cut the bottom of the tree trunk off square with a saw and mounted the tree in the Christmas tree stand.

Mom liked to decorate our tree with little pieces of brightly wrapped candy as well as the traditional ornaments. When people visited us or when she had her primary class at our house, everyone got to pick a piece of candy from the tree before leaving. By Christmas Day, the tree was mostly bare of the candy. She also liked to hang the little candy canes on the tree. For most of my life we always had an “edible tree”. A lot of people in town and especially the kids thought our tree was the “best one in town”.

One year our scout troop decided to cut Christmas trees as a money making project. We made arrangements with a troop in Mesa to sell the trees we would cut. We cut about two hundred Christmas trees that year and delivered them to the troop in Mesa. They paid us a flat fee per tree and then sold them for whatever they could get for them. Both troops probably came out OK on the deal. I know our troop did.

 

 

 

I can truthfully say that the piano has changed over time from being my enemy to being my friend. It has been a long process and it did not occur without a lot of tears and frustration, but it has occurred. This may bring some hope to members of my family who embark on the quest to see this same thing happen to their children.

I began piano lessons when I was quite young. I don’t remember exactly how old I was when I started but lets just say it was “in my gentle youth” and well before I got anywhere close to being 12 years old. I would guess it was closer to when I was 6 years old or so. I guess I had to know how to read to play the piano or I would have started even earlier. I believe my first piano teacher must have been Terry. He was assisted by Mom who was the one who made sure I practiced my piano each day for at least a half hour. At first it was great fun. I think that probably lasted for a week of so. After that, it was pure “compulsion over the heart and life of one young boy”. My Mom was very diligent. She had already been through the same process three times before I started to learn. I didn’t realize it at the time but I was lost before I got started. Mom didn’t give up and she wouldn’t let me give up.

I became the proud owner of John Schaum piano book number one, followed by number 2, then number 3 and so on. I can’t remember just how far I got. I had lots of different teachers. Mom would arrange with anyone she thought could teach me and I would continue to progress, no matter how slowly. Some of the teachers were motivating and some were not. It didn’t matter. I got to practice almost every day on the piano.

When I was almost 12 years old, Mom decided that Aunt Vera would be my piano teacher. That was a serious problem for me because Aunt Vera was one of Mom’s best friends and I knew that if I didn’t progress as expected, Mom would hear about it. Dutifully I marched across the street for my piano lesson.

Aunt Vera took a different approach. She asked me if I would play the piano for Priesthood Meeting when I turned 12 and received the priesthood. At that time she was the ward organist. I told her I didn’t know how to play the hymns and she said we could remedy that situation. Instead of opening the John Schaum book, she opened the hymn book. She knew all the hymns and she selected one for me to practice. It was “God Speed the Right”. I could play most of it with one finger on each hand that played similar notes an octive apart. I could play half of the song  within a day or two. It took a little longer to learn the second half because it too playing chords with both hands but I finally got it right. I got to where I could almost play it in my sleep. Once I had it down pretty well, she picked another hymn. I think it was “Do What is Right”. It took a while to learn that one but I finally learned it too. The Priesthood was glad because they were getting tired of singing “God Speed the Right” every Sunday morning. With two songs we could alternate.

After that I kind of took off. I eventually learned a lot of the hymns and branched out into some more popular songs as well. I began to enjoy playing the piano because it was songs I could “sing-a-long” with and I liked to do that.

Mom used to say that all she wanted to do was to “get me over the hump where I enjoyed playing” and I guess she finally accomplished that. To keep me interested, Aunt Vera also gave me a few basic organ lessons on the church organ. I never thought it would happen but today I am the “prelude organist” for the Plainview Branch. I guess I am the only one who knows anything about how to play an organ so I got the job. I’m glad Mom persevered and I’m glad I finally “ got over the hump”.

I learned to read quite well when I was in elementary school and I enjoyed reading books. The Heber School had some books we could check out to read and we had reading time in school but that was about the only opportunity we had to visit anything like a library.

At that time in Arizona, there was a “Bookmobile” that was like a bus filled with shelves full of books and it would visit the small towns like Heber about every month or so for a few hours. People could get in the Bookmobile and look through the books and check them out to read and to be returned the next time the Bookmobile came to town. We took advantage of that when we could.

I am not quite sure how it came about but Mom decided that we needed to have access to reference books like encyclopedia’s and dictionaries and atlases so she visited with the Bookmobile person who explained that the Bookmobile could provide the books if there was a library in the town. Mom decided that our house would become the public library for Heber-Overgaard or at least one bookcase in our house would become the library. It meant that people could come at any time to look through the book case and select books. We became the librarians and checked out the books to people. Each month or so when the Bookmobile came to town, we could exchange most of the books in our bookcase for a completely new set of books except for the reference books which stayed in the bookcase. If we wanted books more often we could box up some books and send them to Phoenix and they would send back a box of books they had selected. Some of them weren’t too good so Mom preferred to pick the books herself from the ones on the Bookmobile.

Our bookcase got filled every month with fresh books and we had new books to read. Many of the people in Heber and Overgaard took advantage of the library and checked out books to read from our library. We often came home to find people looking through the bookcase in the corner of the dining room for something to read.

True to their word, the Bookmobile provided a set of Encyclopedia’s and other reference books which we used a lot over the years. I mention in another section that Charlie Reidhead loved to come and sit and read the encyclopedia’s. He also enjoyed the other books.

I can’t remember just how long our house served as the library. It was several years. Finally Mom decided to end the agreement and the Bookmobile picked up all the books except for the encyclopedia’s. I think they thought they were too old to be useful to anyone else so they left them with us. It was probably after I left for college that the “Heber Library” closed.

A few years later someone fixed up the house across from the store to be the “New Heber Library”. I don’t know if they put the word “New” on it but those of us who lived in town in the “good old days” knew that the “Original” library was in the rock house on main street.

I read a lot of books in those years that the library was in our house. My Mom was pretty sly and by having the library in our home she encouraged us to read. We all learned to read well and we learned to read for entertainment. Dad read to us aloud a lot and some of the books he read were from the Bookmobile. In addition we provided some service to the community. I guess it was a good deal all around. I don’t know whether the Bookmobile even exists today but I would not be surprised to see it driving down the road or parked in the center of some small Arizona town.

Some of the fun and interesting experiences of my life are ones  that my children and grandchildren will likely never have. They  involved the butchering of various animals for food  for our family.

A common practice when I was growing up was for families to raise animals for slaughtering each year. Almost every family raised a beef, a pig or chickens for food. Many of the men also hunted deer or elk or wild turkey each year to supplement the family food supply. Our family was no different from other families in Heber. We raised a pig and had chickens as well. Dad was never a hunter but Ted did kill a deer a couple of times as I recall.

Each year we also killed a beef. Dad had made an agreement with Uncle Laurald for a beef each year. Our milk cows were always bred to a beef bull. The resulting calves were half dairy cow and half beef cow. Uncle Laurald would take our yearling calf each year and put it with his other calves on the range. He especially liked it if the calf was a heifer because it would grow up to be a cow that gave more milk and raised larger and heavier calves for sale than his other range cows. In exchange for our yearling calf, he would provide Dad with a yearling steer that we would butcher for meat.

 Butchering took place in the fall of the year when the weather was cold. We had a place in our garage where the slaughtered beef carcass could be hung for skinning and gutting. The animal was shot between the eyes with a rifle to kill it. After shooting it, the animals throat was cut so that  all the blood could drain out when the animal was hung up. The animal was then  hung upside down (head down) and it was skinned and the guts taken out. Usually a large wash tub was placed right under the head on the floor and as the guts were removed, they fell into the tub. Only the heart and liver were saved from the enthrails. After the slaughter, the carcass was allowed to hang in the cold garage for a few days. The skin and the carcass had to be inspected by the sheriff or one of his deputies to be sure the animal was not “rustled”. If the brand on the hide was OK (matched the bill of sale) and the carcass was OK(free of disease or parasites) , the sheriff would stamp both the skin and the carcass in several places with a stamp using indelible purple  ink. Once that was done, the carcass could be cut up and packaged for freezing or family  use.

First the carcass was cut in half. We had a meat saw and Dad would use the saw to cut right down the middle of the spine to make two equal halves. This made it easier to handle them when processing the meat.  Each half weighed about 100 lbs or more. Theses halves were then usually cut into a front quarter and a hind quarter and those were the pieces we took into the kitchen for further cutting up. In the kitchen the quarters were cut into steaks or roasts, wrapped in freezer paper and put in the deep freeze for later use. Some of the meat was ground up to make ground beef or hamburger and packaged and frozen. By the time we had a full beef in the deep freeze, it was pretty full. Often meat was shared with friends or relatives. The frozen beef was expected to last the family for a full year or until another beef could be slaughtered. One beef alone was not enough for a year so most families also had a pig.

Most families in town raised at least one pig each year. The piglets were purchases when they were very small (about 1 ft tall) for about $10 each. Dad seemed to know who had piglets for sale and we always got one. Most of them were probably Durock or a similar breed and most were red or brown in color. Later we had a few that were white.

Slaughtering a pig was very different from slaughtering a beef. Before killing the pig, a special form was constructed. It consisted of a slanted ramp about 3 ft. wide. At the high end of the ramp was a barrel full of hot water. The water was heated by putting the barrel about half full of water over a fire until the water was boiling hot. Once the water was hot, the pig was lured close to the slaughter site by putting feed there and then it was shot and killed. It’s throat was cut to drain out the blood for a few minutes. Then the pig was lifted up on the ramp and slid into the barrel full of  boiling water then pulled back out onto the ramp. The water somehow released the hair and made it possible to scrape  the pigs hair from the skin. Several men worked together to scrape off the hair. Every so often they would dip the pigs carcass back into the hot water then pull it out and continue scrapping off the hair. Once the pigs body was completely bald (white color) , the pig was hung  upside down in the garage for gutting. Very few of the pig enthrails were ever saved as I recall. Once gutted, the pig was also allowed to hang in the cool garage. I think this was to cool the meat for easier processing.  I don’t think there was any requirement for inspection of pig carcasses, but I am not sure of that. Once the carcass was cool, it was cut in half like the beef. The difference was that it was possible for a man to handle a full half carcass. These were taken into the kitchen for cutting up. Most of the time our pigs had about 1-2 inches of fat just under the skin. This fat was removed and” rendered” or cooked  to get the grease for soap making (to be covered in another section) . The skins were made into “fried pig skins” that some people liked to eat. I wasn’t one of them. The meat was cut into pork chops, bacon, hams and roasts and some of it was made into sausage as well. Again it went into the freezer for future use.

Besides a beef and a pig, many families,  including ours,  also slaughtered chickens. At that time it was possible to order baby chicks through the Sears or Mongemery Ward catalogue and they came by U.S. Parcel Post. The chicks came in a box with lots of holes in it and with either 25 or 50 chicks per box.  I don’t remember exactly which. I do remember picking up the boxes of chicks at the post office. The chicks were put into “brooders” which were like cages that had light bulbs for heat.  They had  watering and feed troughs around the sides. I don’t remember exactly how many chicks we got each year but I would guess it was at least 50. A few would die but most would survive. Once they got feathers on them, they could be taken out of the “brooders” and put in the chicken coop. They were fed wheat or other grains and food scraps. Within a few months, they grew to be full sized chickens. The slaughtering of chickens usually fell to Mom and us kids or Mom and Grandma and us kids. To slaughter chickens, we would cut off their heads using an axe and let them hop around like “chickens with their heads cut off” and when they quit jumping around, the carcasses  were  dunked in boiling hot water which allowed us to pull out the feathers. This is called “plucking chickens” and we got to be pretty good at it. Once the chickens were “plucked” naked, they were taken into the house where Mom or Mom and Grandma would cut them open and pull the enthrails out. This was called “cleaning” the chickens.  Sometimes there were partially formed eggs inside the chickens and these were kept for making noodles. The chicken livers and gizzards were kept as well.  The “cleaned”  chickens were put in bags whole for freezing. It usually took several hours to slaughter all the chickens but it was an easier job that the butchering of the pigs or beef.

Mom and Dad were very thrifty. Whether by necessity or choice, they tried to be as self reliant as possible. Part of that was raising animals to provide food for the family. That is not possible in most places now but I remember well those times. The process may sound rather gory but it was very routine and  familiar to us at the time and we did not view it as being “gory”. Often neighbors helped neighbors when they were slaughtering an animal and we kids would stand around and watch. It was quite an adventure. Through the year that I was growing up, we didn’t go to the store much for meat. We went to the freezer instead. I don’t think we ate more meat than others but we did usually have some type of meat to eat at least once a day and it was very good meat.

 The butchering of animals by families  is something that is in the past for the most part. Now the slaughtering is done in very sanitized slaughter houses. I don’t think the meat tastes any better now  than it did when we did it ourselves. It’s an experience my family will probably never have. Maybe this description will be sufficient to give you some feel for the process. I hope it doesn’t result in my family becoming vegetarians overnight.