Alaska Homesteading 1959 - 'Little Critter' Style

See that fella up there? The one posing in front of the DC3? That's my father! That photograph was taken somewhere in the wilderness of Alaska probably in 1959 or 1960.
My Ole Man was a flyer in the navy, WWII and the Korean conflict too. He was a tail gunner on a Curtis SB2C Helldiver and the radio/radar operator too. He knew Morse Code, and sailed on the USS Boxer. I still have his old log book. One entry records the time he and his pilot crash-landed in the desert somewhere near Tucumcari, New Mexico. He told me that Tuverson, his pilot, contacted him over the aircraft intercom and told him to release the canopy and eject because the engine had malfunctioned and he couldn't hold altitude.
My dad didn't have his parachute straps buckled and they were losing altitude fast so he elected to stay with his pilot and aircraft. He tightened his seatbelt and held on for the ride!
When the airplane came to a stop, my dad was able to drag Tuverson free of the wreckage and they were rescued by some local folks who transported them to a hospital. Tuverson was knocked unconscious and had a few lacerations, my dad walked away without a scratch but he thought perhaps his back trouble in later life was related.

My mom, that's her, right there, tending the fire at a campsite somewhere between Anchorage Alaska and Homer, Alaska, was an RN. It's a good thing too, because she brought a steady income to this large family my dad and she created. Her father, my grandfather, insisted that all his daughters had a profession. They all became nurses except for one, she's my Aunt Bea, she became a nun.

My father was a dreamer, never content with a thing after the novelty wore off. He went from one occupation to another his entire life. It was fun, a bit hectic, on account of we lived in no less than seven different places by the time I was 12.

My mom was his anchor, her work ethic matched no one, I have never met a soul that ever surpassed her in this. I suppose she finally put her foot down, and insisted that my dad settle in one place, because in 1969 we moved to a large farm where the family stayed put.
When I was two years old my dad read a book called Go North Young Man by Courtney Ryley Cooper. It inspired him, so he did!
My mom indulged him and took us along.

My mother wrote home often. She was always writing letters home, to her family or to my father's family, she wrote, and wrote a lot! My Aunt Letaine saved every letter that my mother wrote to her and gave them back to my mother decades later.

My Aunt Letaine saved things! That's her on the right.
She had this big barn full of the things a person collects over a lifetime. She never threw things away. If a body needed a thing, my Aunt Letaine had it. She might not know exactly where she had it, but I guarantee, she had it. My sister Debbie takes after her.

My mother read a lot. She read to us too. I usually got to sit in her lap while my older sisters gathered around. She read books and magazines and newspapers my Aunt Letaine sent her from home.

My Aunt Letaine was good about that. She and my father were orphans. My grandfather died before my dad was born and their mother, my grandmother, died of tuberculosis when my father was only 6. She told me once that if it hadn't been for the kindness of their Aunt Tish and Uncle Addis, that they could have been placed in an orphanage and split up.
An orphanage in the 1930's was probably a very bad place.

She was always sympathetic toward any child that faced some trouble, on account of her own plight. She could tell the story of her mama passing that would make a grown man cry. I loved her.
I don't exactly know how my paternal grandfather died. They told me it was from lead poisoning. They said he was a house painter. It seems suspicious to me, because his folks back home in Wolfe City Texas always referred to him as 'The Louisiana Gambler'. I suspect somebody may have shot him, but that's a family secret that anyone who knew the truth is long since dead. I don't suppose it really matters now, I could probably find out if I dug deep enough.

I'll just leave him to rest in his grave. My Uncle James always told me he was a fine young man and he hated that he had died.

My dad had all sorts of jobs while in Alaska. The first thing I know of him doing was working at a place called Quick Log. This was a prefabricated log cabin manufacturer. I remember going to his work with him once, and watching the Sockeye Salmon holding their position in the stream out back. They were large and pink and Papa said they were past the point that they were good to catch and eat and would die soon. They swayed back and forth in the current waiting for death. I was sad.
My sister Lindy, thats her up there, took these letters mom had written, and wrote a book about our experiences as homesteaders. It's a good book too, from the perspective of my mom's view of the adventure, and nicely narrated by my sister. You can get it on amazon right here Coffee-Drunk or Blind.
In Anchorage, my mom took shifts at the hospital and my sisters were in school mostly. A nice lady took care of me during the day. She had a grandchild named Elizabeth, she was my buddy.
My parents made life-long friends in Alaska. One of these was a gentleman named Chuck Van Keuren. He owned the trailer park in Spenard Acres where we first lived. It isn't there anymore, I think the big earthquake of 1964 wiped it out. "Chuck" as he had everyone call him, even kids, visited my family after we moved back to Louisiana many times, until his death in 1996. He left me his fishing gear in his will.
My father and Chuck did many things together. They helped build a ski lodge called Alyeska.
It is still there today Alyeska. Here's a picture of my dad looking down on the clouds in the valleys while they built the resort.

Not too long after they got to Alaska, my father found a place to stake a claim for a homestead. He was a veteran and veterans got a break on the amount of time they had to live on a piece of land and improve it. The average guy had to stay for five years to get his 160 acres. I don't remember how long my dad had to stay but he "proved up" before we left.

We moved to our new home near Homer, Alaska. That piece of land has always been referred to as The Homestead when we talk among ourselves at family gatherings.
We, as children, had a great time there. There wasn't any electricity, we didn't have running water. We had to go to a spring and get our water. My dad thrashed me once, for running ahead and muddying the water before he could fill the cans. He packed these back to the house on a back pack.

Life was hard on my mom, but we didn't know that. She never complained.

My father had a job in Anchorage and was gone for a week at a time. He always brought us candy and dry goods when he returned. He brought comic books for me, on account of I was too young to read but I liked looking at the pictures. My favorites were Hot Stuff , Casper the Friendly Ghost, and Scrooge McDuck!
My sisters would take turns reading them to me. They liked them too!
My mom took photographs of places that were beautiful to her. Here are a couple, I think they are between Anchorage and Homer.

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We had chickens and ducks and my dad always had something growing, when it was warm enough.
We had an outhouse, and my parents dug a well. That's hard work! I remember my mom pulling up buckets of muck on a rope and looking down a deep hole at my father shoveling in the bottom. He had to break through the permafrost before he could find a good water source.

Once, my dad shot a Lynx that was stalking my sister, Naomi! You can see it down there. It was illegal to do that, so he burned the carcass. My mom wanted the fur but she couldn't have it.

We, ate spruce chickens. These were easy to get. My dad used to carry a 22 pistol every where he went and when he saw a few, he would shoot them out of the trees. They were like tame birds and wouldn't fly off.
Once, we didn't have any meat left in the lean-to, so my dad went out one morning and killed a cow moose. There was a lot of blood on the snow where he butchered it. It was out of season, but he managed to pack two quarters of it home before dark. It snowed that night and covered his tracks. He was worried about the game wardens that flew around looking for fresh kills. But the snow covered his tracks. They didn't care if you needed the meat, at least that's what he told me.

When he finally got back to the kill a few days later, the wolves had gotten to it and there was nothing left to bring home.

I used to curl up with my mom and dad and watch the pot bellied stove glow red in the dark. I always woke up in my own bed though.
We used to drive down to the Spit, a sort of peninsula, and pick up coal that washed up on the black sand beach. This coal came from undersea outcroppings. We burned this in our stoves.

I had a dog named Licker, that's him chasing me right there! He grew into a very large Husky. I think my dad gave him away when we moved back to Louisiana.

Life was very hard for my parents. We didn't realize this as children. Sometimes it was so bitter cold it was life threatening.

If you ever visit Homer you will be amazed at the beauty of the place.

My sisters and I shared a unique experience, not many can claim to have lived like the first settlers. We did have our modern conveniences. Propane tanks and such. We had a large battery powered AM radio.
I remember my mom holding me ,and singing along to Rambling Rose , or The Banana Boat Song while she danced around and around. I laughed. I felt safe in her arms.

Here's a picture of my mom with all of us. The only one missing here is my dad and my little sister, Tish, who was born in Homer. I suppose my dad was the cameraman and my mom was hiding her baby bump behind me!

I hoped you liked this post, if it reads like Little Critter wrote it, that's the effect I was shooting for! I have many more stories to tell of this adventure but I think my sister says it better. Pick up a copy of her book Coffee-Drunk or Blind by Ell Knowles!

And, CARRY ON!