The daily morning Astorian. [volume] (Astoria, Oregon) 1883-1899, 1889-03-17
GRAY's RIVER.
Its Fertile Soil and saIubriOus Climat

ASIOh1ANs
Feeling somewhat the effect OF the
timber fever that is prevailing to 6
great extent in the atmosphere neal
the mouth of the Columbia river ]
donned my hunting garb about 6
month ago, and with rife on my
shoulder and gum boots on my feet ]
took the boat at Astoria for the Gray's
river country in hopes night or two
laying out in the woods after tramp,
ing all day might check the fever
from coursing in my veins for while
until the winter was over at least, but
unfortunately after my arrival there
Oh the next morning the snow COM
menced to fall and winter had stepped
in and surprised the farmers of that
part of the country far more than it
did myself, for on the day of my arri-
val there, while passing Tom Fosse's
place I saw Tom out behind his barn
gathering into a heap a lot Of old
bones and pieces of hides and sprink.
ling salt on them. A week ago when
1 was over there with another fever
attack of the timber fever I saw Tom
hauling logs to the river with q log
ging team of oxen. For the head
yoke was fine pair of fat steers that
had filled out 80 fast that he had
pieced out their hides with an old
buffalo robe. Tom swore that they
we're the cattle I had seen him kick
ing together behind the barn while
over there before, he said all they had
eaten was some wild grass that sprung
up in his dooryard where the women
folks had thrown few tubs of soap
suds on washdays. He said that he
had learned that all that was neces-
sary to winter stock in that river bot
tom was to knock them to pieces in
the fall and set them up again in the
spring, when wanted; otherwise they
we're liable to get too fat and sound
on native grass.
When / went over there again on
the four o'clock boat in the morning
last week, Ike Bergman was going
over to his farm to start his spring
blowing, And while going past his
ranch about an hour after my ar
rival in the bottoms, it occurred to
me that 1 had forgotten to supply
myself with matches for use in the
mountains that night, so / thought 1
would stop in and procure some from
Ike. He told me to go right out into
the garden and pick all l wanted, l
did not know what he meant at first,
but he went out with me and there
was half an acre growing, Of the
finest parlor matches I ever saw,
they were as thick as hair on a blind
mole. He said he had O poor crop
the year before, because the seed
was too good for the soil. This year
he had mixed his seed matches with
toothpicks and got splendid yield
When / was over there a month
ago l stopped over night at Chris.
Sorensen's. Next morning 1 went
out, after breakfast, and saw his hired
man, Geo. Whittord, blowing up with
gunpowder some Hubbard squashes
that Chris. had grown on his mead
ow. They were too large to be moved
and he wanted the meadow cleared
so he could roll some logs from the
foot hills into the river, so as to run
them out when the spring rains raised
the stream.
Chris said when they first moved
on to his place they lived in a cabin,
with nothing but the ground for a
floor, from which they had to NOW
the grass once a day to find the baby.
Such fertility of soil has its draw
backs, and it is dangerous, over there,
to plant in the prolific phase of the
moon; so they are careful to plant at
such time that the moon will exert
its influence in holding the crop back,
as several disasters have happened as
a result from neglect of this precau-
tion. While toiling along through
the tall grass in Bergman's meadow
after the matches I before spoke of,
1 saw Baker, who lived on the other
side of the river, farther down, with
on but his suspenders, tear
ing along like mad. He stopped just
long enough to tell me what was up,
and off he went with bound for the
Skamokawa trail, in hopes to catch
the morning up boat for Portland.
He said he and his wife had looked
up the moon business and planted
their garden the evening before, but
to get hold of a last years
almanac and missed it about four
days. The result was that when he
woke up that morning the beets he
had planted forty feet from the house
had crushed in his cellar wall, and a
squash vine had taken the door off
its hinges and was just hopping the
floor with all there was left of his
boy, whom it had snatched out of
bed in the attic. He didn't know
where his wife was, but he saw some
shreds of a night gown and several
agate buttons in the front yard as he
fed. He said there were pea vines
after him with pods on them large
enough for phantom boats. And one
could see by the way he was dressed
that he had left in hurry.
By the way 1 was about to close
without mentioning the fact that
Geo. Noland, our city attorney, had
taken a homestead, since his mar
riage, on one of the forks of Gray's
river, on which fertile soil he has a
fine prospect Of salmonberry bushes
and a nice patch Of timber on the
lower left hand corner, and he ex-
poets to raise a fine body of timber.
The neighbors in that part of the
all say that if George logs
his trees right he will have timber all
over his 100 acres. For over there in
an average season the farmer can
rely on large returns and superior