Growing up at Simpson's Camp 3

This is the conclusion of Jim Howell's memoirs of growing up at Simpson's Camp 3 between 1934 and 1946.

We were poor and so were most others. I got two pairs of shoes each year. Ninety-eight-cent tennis shoes for summer - they usually lasted for a month or so and then I went barefoot. When school started I got a new pair of sturdy shoes. For supper our main, and sometimes only course was cornmeal mush. Pork was our main meat staple, except when an old hen quit laying and then we had chicken and noodles.

My dad worked very hard to support Mom and us three kids. He had only one arm - he'd lost his left arm in a shooting back in Arkansas when he was a young man. With one arm he did jobs that were difficult for most men to do with both arms, including bucker and whistle punk for Simpson. He always had a good garden - he would manipulate the wheelbarrow by tying a loop of gunny sack cloth onto the left handle of the wheelbarrow and placing it over his shoulder. He was always ready and willing to tackle any task that needed his attention. I think he took pride in knowing he was sufficient in providing for his family and in working hard for Simpson Logging Co. Mother was devoted to our family, cooking good meals from a meager supply of food. She baked a lot and used what Dad's garden would provide. She canned fruit in late summer, and made apple and prune butter, which was like a very thick jam. She did a lot of sewing, making and mending my school clothes, including coats made of used material that had been given to her.

These were the days when most everything used to harvest timber was steam-powered. The donkeys, the loaders, the locomotives were all steam-powered. Oh, how those steam locomotives made a lasting impression on me. All these years later, I love to hear a steam whistle, even if it's only on television. Us kids would stand alongside the tracks to wave at the fireman and the engineer, and they would release a stream of steam from the engine at about ground level to spray us. It was not harmful - only warm, not scalding hot.

Some of the things us kids did varied from spectacular to downright dumb. There was a time when the older kids devised ways to keep the younger ones from following them, including digging a hole in the trail and covering it with twigs and leaves to hide it. Some of us were victims of our own devices. I thought this was a real neat trick, so I dug and covered a hole outside our back gate. I wasn't sure who I wanted to fall into the hole, but I knew it better not be my dad.

Before I could decide who I would invite to come visit by way of the back gate, here came Bertha Vaughn down the railroad tracks to get her mail. She stepped in the trap with one foot and fell down with her other leg in the air. Just as she went down, my mother opened the back door to welcome her, but instead yelled "JIMMIE HOWELL! What have you done to Bertha?" But Bertha thought Mom was part of the plot and the two weren't on speaking terms for a long time.

Simpson Logging was respected by the men working for them. They attempted to provide steady employment even during bad economic times, and they also gave each family household a turkey at Thanksgiving. The size of the bird depended on the size of the family. We usually got a 12-pound turkey - it was a very much appreciated gift, and for many Thanksgivings a very needed one.

By 1946, when I was a senior at Irene S. Reed High School, my parents had had enough of camp life and we moved into Shelton. The addition to our house was removed and the main house was taken to Shelton by rail and then hauled on a flat-bed truck to its present location on Mountain View.

I think of that time as the good old days, even though it was hard times for most. Us kids weren't ignorant of the struggles our parents were going through, but we still enjoyed growing up in a logging camp. Today, after 50 to 60 years, we are still almost like sisters and brothers.

■ Jan Parker is a researcher for the Mason County Historical Museum. She can be reached at [email protected]. Membership in the Mason County Historical Society is $25 per year. For a limited time, new members will receive a free copy of the book "Shelton, the First Century Plus Ten."