DEER HUNTING AND FOREST FIRE - VARGA STORY NUMBER 3

My late mother's half-brother, Bob, continues to relate some of the stories about the times my sister and I lived with them in Mt. Shasta, California. This was the last time we were there. I was 12-years old (almost 13), Jean and Evelyn were 10, and Bob must have been about 8 or 9. He has wonderful memories of growing up in California, but now lives in Texas. I love his stories and told him I think he is a great storyteller. I'll bet his grandchildren feel the same way.

When my sister Jean and I lived there for a few months in 1952, I have memories of going up on a mountain (maybe Mt Etna?) deer hunting. The only time in my life I had such an experience, and it is vivid in my memory...especially when they shot the first deer from the truck as we were driving up. We all jumped out of the truck to watch when they went to get the fallen deer. As I approached, they (your dad or James Vernon) had slit the stomach open. The ghastly memory of seeing the stomach and all contents in the abdomen -- and all of it moving, including the heart I can still picture. I thought the deer was still alive, and of course, I cried. (And immediately got sent back to the truck!)

Most of that trip was fun, although I got all of us in a lot of trouble for wandering off "exploring". (I was the oldest and  "leader" of our little pack, and I loved to boss the younger ones around.) I remember the adults put pine branches on the dirt floors of our tents, which we slept on in our sleeping bags. I think that was the first time I ever wore insulated underwear as well!!

Uncle Bobby answered me with the following story. His memory is much better than mine. 

"The mountain was Mt. Eddy and we went up Dale Creek, a tributary of the Shasta River. We camped at 'Dale Meadows', which is a beautiful green meadow with Dale Creek running through the middle of it. It’s about one mile long and a quarter mile wide. Fir and pine trees surround the meadow and grow half way up the slopes on both sides. The elevation is about 8000 ft. and it gets cold at night. You needed long underwear!" 

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"In 1961 James and I spent four days on a small lightning fire near the same spot that your Granddaddy had set up deer camp back in 1952, when you and Jean were with us. The U.S. Forest Service drove us up there in a little military jeep and dumped us out with our two days of K-rations, sleeping bags and all of our fire fighting gear. Forest Ranger Chitwood told us to get the fire out and he would be back in a day or two. He said there were lightning fires all over and he had to get back to Headquarters. He had planned on staying and helping, but the fire was too big and he couldn’t stay the time it would take to put it out! He figured it would take about four days for James and I to get the fire out completely. He left us with the rations that he had brought and he took off down the mountain in his little jeep.

"James and I had a fire line around the fire before dark and we took turns the rest of the night keeping a watch on the trees that were burning inside the fire line. The next morning we used chain saws to cut down all the trees that were still burning. We put them out after they were on the ground, cleaned up our tools and then went fishing. We had roasted trout for lunch! We saved the K-rations for a special occasion!

"After lunch, James and I talked a lot about you and Jean and our family deer hunting trip back in 1952. We had a good laugh about us four kids getting a whipping for wandering so far from camp that we couldn’t hear Mom hollering for us. My whipping didn’t hurt that much. Did yours? I guess Mom got pretty scared when she couldn’t find us."

It must not have hurt me very much, as I don't even remember the "whipping". I do remember how scared and angry your mom was. My dad probably would have killed me! I was probably thankful we only got her whippings.

"We also laughed about the deer killing that took place. We were on our way home, not going up to camp. As I remember it, we were about a mile from where we had camped when we all saw that big five-point buck about the same time. Mom told us kids to be quiet and to stay in the truck! James was the first one to jump out

James Vernon Varga
Ca. 1952

with his gun, while the truck was still moving! Your Granddaddy got the truck stopped, grabbed his gun, jumped out and saw that James was about to shoot the buck before your Granddaddy could even take aim. Your Granddaddy started hollering, 'Don't shoot James!', Don't shoot James!, Don't shoot!', then BOOM! Your Granddaddy shot and broke the deer’s back. James had to shoot the buck in the head. Your Granddaddy and James started dressing the deer out, while quarreling over what your Granddaddy had just done. James said to Granddaddy,  'I had a good bead on his neck, but I didn’t shoot because of all the hollering that you were doing. I thought there must be a good reason for me not to shoot. Like, if I did I would kill somebody!' Your Granddaddy said, 'I figured you would miss and I couldn’t get a bead on his neck, that tree was in the way, so I decided to break his back. I knew you could finish him off!' About that time they were rolling the guts out and you showed up and started screaming. Your Granddaddy was upset and a little ashamed of himself and he was a little harsh telling you to get back to the truck. You probably had never seen so much killing with blood and guts before. You know your Granddaddy, and know he felt bad about the way he spoke to you, even if he never told you. 

"We all had a good time most of the time on that deer hunt and camping trip!"

Uncle Bobby, the description of what you told me happened is so gruesome I almost get sick reading it. I know that's why I have never wanted to hunt or go with anyone to do so. The trauma of that scene stays with me to this day. Because of it, I don't even remember Granddaddy scolding me.

"Back to the Forest Fire! James and I spent the rest of the day just fishing and playing. We did cut a bunch of fir boughs for our beds that night. Sure better than sleeping on the cold hard ground. About sundown a Forest Service plane flew over us and dropped out a big box by parachute. James and I got really excited and ran out into the meadow where it had landed. We dragged it and the parachute over by our campfire and opened the box up. We could hardly believe what was in it. A bunch of insulated containers with four steaks about a pound apiece, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, dinner rolls and enough sweet rolls and donuts to kill the two of us. All of it was still hot! There was also ice cold butter, milk, and jelly. We ate good those four days we were there at Dale Meadows. We also used the parachute as a tent at night and for shade during the heat of the day while we were resting. They did finally come and picked us up."

I'm glad you remember some of the same things I do... only better! Scary that you and James were all alone fighting that fire. Bet they don't do things like that anymore. Must not have been the horrific drought back then as we've had in recent years. Glad you two made it okay!

"Just so you know, about 95% of forest fires are started by lightning and are not dangerous. The only danger involved in that 95% is to the people fighting the fires and them making stupid mistakes. The other 5% become dangerous because they are started by people at lower elevations or the environmentalists have had a hand in, or 'Let it burn. It's natural', governmental policies. James and I weren't ever in any danger. We worked hard for a few hours, then played the next few days until we were picked up. James was a great brother. He always found ways to make whatever the situation was fun and memorable."

You know what what, Uncle Bobby? I'll bet you always made every situation fun and memorable, too!

Here's to good memories,
Marilyn

Calf Branding and Horse Breaking - Varga Story Number 2

Having reconnected with my "Uncle" Bobby, I have had the opportunity to share my memories of the times my sister Jean and I went to live with his dad, my Granddaddy, in our childhood. Bobby, his sister Evelyn, and older brother James Vernon were my mother's half-siblings. I told Bobby that I remembered very little about Granddaddy other than he was very good-natured, and I really loved him.

The first time we went to live with them was in early 1945, during World War II. My mother was having a hard time taking care of us while working and it was very difficult to find a place to live that would take children as well. When my dad was stationed at Fort Chaffee in Arkansas, Mother went to work in Little Rock. A young woman also married to a soldier was living with us to share expenses. Children were not allowed in the apartment we lived in, but this young woman took care of me and my sister during the day while Mother was at work. We had to be very quiet and never go out of the apartment. Of course, we were eventually discovered and Mother was given a 60-day eviction notice. That may have been the reason we were taken to Granddaddy Varga's in Mount Shasta, California. Uncle Bobby answered the questions I had about not only the events I recalled, but gave me a fascinating look at my grandfather and the life they lived. These were some of our written conversations.

My strongest memory from that time was of going to a roundup of cattle. We ate food from what was known at one time as a "chuck wagon". I was watching cowboys throw a calf they had roped to the ground, then brand it with a hot branding iron. I was horrified and started crying because I could hear the calf's cries, and I knew it must have been hurting. An adult pulled me away. There were lots of people there, not just our family. I have no idea who's cattle they were.

That must have been the first time we lived with you, as I was only about 6-years old. I also remember around that time watching Granddaddy through a wooden rail fence as he rode on a bucking horse. One story I heard was that he once broke horses for the Forest Rangers. True?

"Your Granddaddy was a cowboy at heart and he loved working cattle. The ranch you remember was the Robinson Ranch in Shasta Valley near Edgewood, California. Your Granddaddy and your Great-Aunt Babalou’s husband (Shorty) went to work there in the 30’s (The Depression). Your Granddaddy didn’t have a job there at the time you were there, but always volunteered his services during branding time. He and Mother always loaded us kids up and we always got to go, too. At one time or another I think someone from the Varga family worked there until 1968. I even worked there for about four months. It was a great ranch for kids with ponds and creeks and hills to climb. There were ducks, fish, deer and cottontail rabbits to hunt. The women folk kind of turned us kids loose.

(Pinterest)

"Anyway, the 'chuck wagon' you remember was there to ensure there were plenty of supplies to feed everybody. There were usually 4-8 families plus numerous single cowboys that would show up, knowing if they worked hard they would get a free meal. All the women brought salads and desserts. The Chuck wagon furnished the tables, benches, pots and pans, beans, flour, salt, pepper and lard to fry up the meat for lunch and supper that night.

(Public Domain)

"The cowboys would round up some of cows and calves on horseback. Then a cowboy, on a cutting horse, would cut out a calf, rope it by the neck and drag it over by the branding fire where he would jump off his cutting horse, throw the calf to the ground, tie a piggin’ string around three legs and hold the calf to the ground. Then, another cowboy would run over from the fire with a hot branding iron, two buckets and his pocket knife. He would brand the calf, and if it was a bull, cut off its testicles, throw those in one of the buckets, reach in the other bucket, that was filled with antiseptic (It smelled and looked like creosote to me!), take out a brush and doctor the calf’s little injured area. The cowboy holding the calf would take the noose off its neck, untie the piggin’ and let the calf run back to its mommy. The cowboy would coil up his rope, get on his horse and go cut out another calf and the process would start all over again. The cowboys all switched jobs with one of the other boys when they got bored with doing the job they had. It always looked to me like every cowboy enjoyed it all, especially your Granddaddy. There was always a lot of bawling from the calves, mooing from their mothers, and yelling and hollering from the cowboys. I would think a little girl of six years would find all this exciting!! You might have helped the women prepare the meat for lunch and dinner.

"While all this was going on the women were cleaning and cutting up the meat, putting it in a seasoned batter of milk and eggs, then rolling it in seasoned flour, frying it in lard until it was golden and crispy, like Colonel Sanders' golden chicken tenders. They were also setting up the tables and benches, putting the salads and desserts on the table, setting individual places at the table with a plate, a glass, a knife and fork. When everything was ready one of them would ring the big triangle dinner bell. The kids came running from the ponds and creeks and hills and fields.

"The men came running from the pastures and corrals and barns and sheds. What a wonderful meal with family and friends and your Granddaddy. By the way Marilyn, that one bucket was completely empty by then! And you thought you were eating 'chicken nuggets'! (Smile)

(Paul Vernon Varga)

"Your Granddaddy did break horses for the U.S. Forest Service. In fact I have a picture, somewhere, (see above) of him on a bucking horse in the Shasta National stock corral there in Mount Shasta. He worked steady for the Forest Service from the late 30’s to around 1950. He also planted fish in most of the lakes in northern California. Most of the high mountain lakes were barren of any fish. Now they are brimming with Eastern Brook, German Brown, and Rainbow trout. The environmentalists are now trying to get the government to poison all of these lakes because fish were not native. (Stupid!)"

I have more recollections to come of the time we all lived together again in 1951. It's a wonder we survived some of these escapades! Stay tuned.

Peace,
Marilyn