Deer Hunter's Dream

This fall the wildlife have been coming into the yard at the ranch house. The cow dogs treed a raccoon one morning. A group of deer, including a 4 point buck started grazing on the lawn. The cow dogs are locked up a night to keep them out of mischief. So the deer felt pretty safe. The deer probably don't feel so safe now. Hunting season opened. Dad went out the door to do chores. He saw the 4 point buck grazing on the lawn. He went back in the house, grabbed his rifle from next to the door, and shot the 4 point buck. Venison is on the menu. Yum.

Panaca Stories

Grandma Lee and the Indians

Francis Lee arrived at what was to become Panaca 4 May 1864. He arrived with his wife, Mary, 5 unmarried sons, one married son, Samuel and his family and nephew, Samuel F and his family. They built dugouts to live in and proceeded to pioneer.

There was a camp of Piute Indians 10 miles from where the Lee family had settled. One day when all the men were gone, Grandma Lee was alone in her dugout. Two young Indians came to the dugout. They saw a gun in the dugout and demanded that Grandma give them the gun. Grandma Lee refused. The Indian tried to snatch the gun and run out the door, but Grandma Lee whacked him with a piece of fire wood and he fell to the floor. He jumped up, grabbed his bow and arrow and aimed an arrow at Grandma Lee. She whacked him with a second piece of firewood which broke his bow and arrow. Meanwhile the second Indian had stood by watching the fight. The arrival of the Lee men sent the Indians whooping into the distance. Thus ended the first battle of Panaca.¹

The Fifty Dollar Turn Around

Panaca is located 11 mile south of Pioche Nevada. When the silver mines were going many families in Panca made a living raising truck gardens and selling produce in Pioche. As a boy John N Hollingshead accompanied his father to Pioche to sell produce. A drunken miner bet $50 young John couldn't turn the team and wagon around on Pioche's main street which to this day is narrow and steep. John's father handed him the lines, climbed off the wagon and told him to turn it around. John turned the wagon around. The drunken miner paid off his bet and John and father went home $50 richer.²

The Sorry Farm

Nephi John Wadsworth freighted and ranched. In his time he acquired several pastures and meadows in and around Panaca. He named his fields after the people from whom he purchased them. He owned one field south of Panaca that almost everyone considered worthless. One year Nephi John decided to plant rye there. All his neighbors told him he would be “sorry”. That year Nephi John harvested and enormous crop of grain from the field

. Today that field is still called the Sorry Farm.³

Nephi John and the Outlaw

Nephi John Wadsworth owned and worked a freighting company. He hauled the first lumber from Salt Lake into Pioche. He hauled the first load of freight into the mining camp of Delamar.

Nephi John was a friendly man. He had many friends. One of his friends was a notorious outlaw whose hang out was near Desert Springs where the freighters watered their teams. This outlaw robbed many a freighter of his freight and cattle. But he told Nephi John, “ Now don't you worry, Nephi, I'll take care of your cattle and horses, and whatever you have in your wagon, especially the jockey box will be safe.” So it was the outlaw was a man of his word.⁴

A Full-Time Job

Joseph Adelbert (Bert) Price worked as freighter, miner, and cowboy. Bert had a sense of humor and he exercised it regularly. He went to work for a rancher one week and then was home the next week. When one of his friends asked about the job. Bert replied that the he had worked for the rancher from 4 in the morning until midnight, but there were four hours when there was no work so Bert had quit, because the rancher had promised Bert a “full-time job”.

1Take from “A Century in Meadow Valley”

2Personal remenice of Garland Hollingshead

3Taken from “A Century in Meadow Valley”

4Taken from “A Century in Meadow Valley”

Clemetine

In my time I've driven a 57 Chevy Two Ten, a 67 Pontiac Catalina, a 1979
Chrysler LeBaron, a 1979 Chevy Impala, 1985 Buick LeSabre. Next to the 1957
Chevy known as PJ, I was very fond of the 1967 Pontiac known a Clementine.

My father bought Clementine in 1971. In a former life she had been a deputy
sheriff's car. She was the family car until 1976 when she quit in the
middle of town. There was water in the oil and my father fearing he had
put a rod through the block bought another car, a 1974 Pontiac. The
salesman wouldn't give anything in trade on Clementine so my father towed
her to his brother's house. Later he towed her the 40 miles home and parked
her in the "bone pile". She rested there until my sister and I were in
college. After hauling me home after my first year of college my father
decided that my sister and I could haul ourselves in the 74 Pontiac and he
would resurrect Clementine as the family car. When he tore into her he
discovered that the water in the oil was the result of a crack in the cover
of the water pump not the rod through the block he had feared. He fixed the
problem and Clementine was the family car until my second year at the
university. My father had hauled me down and back my first year. When it
was time to leave for the second year he handed me the keys and told me to
take myself. I drove her until I bought the 1979 Chrysler my second year of
graduate school,

She quit me once at the Flying J in Snowville UT. Luckily my cousin lived
down the block and her husband gave me a jump and I drove the remaining 50
miles to the ranch. The voltage regulator has quit working. My most
frustrating mechanical adventure involved changing the oil. My father had
told me the change the oil and given instructions on how to proceed. I
gathered what I needed, borrowed my sister's tools and proceeded to change
the oil. All went well until I tried to remove the old filter. I couldn't
unscrew the old filter. I had a filter wrench and still couldn't get it
undone. I went in search of masculine help. The university I attended was
a private religious institution that was long on girls and short on men with
any mechanical know-how. I couldn't find a man strong enough to get the
filter off. In frustration I called home to consult. My sisters happened
to be at the ranch that weekend so my father sent me his filter wrench with
them.

Monday I called Justin, a farm boy we knew. Justin had dated our cousin
Laura. Our folks knew his folks. Justin would drop by our apartment from
time to time when he wanted to visit with home folks and we invited him to
dinner a few times. Justin was glad to help and I am happy to report that
he made short work of the stubborn oil filter.

After I bought the Chrysler my younger brothers drove Clementine to high
school. Being teenagers they usually drove at sub warp speed. One morning
they hit a deer which caved in the front fender. When he arrived at school
my brother took it to the high school shop. He pounded out the dent during
shop class that day and Clementine was none the worse for wear. There
something to be said for making cars out of steel.

The transmission gave out so today Clementine rests in my father's bone pile
awaiting another resurrection. If he runs across another transmission he
just might.

Smith

Mendacious Smith came into this world as the result of a chance meeting between an intergalatic ladies apparel salesman and the farmer's daughter. Smith's maternal grandmother named him Mendacious after his mother died giving birth still believing that her salesman would return. Grandmother had a strong streak of puritan in her psyke.

Mendacious was a long handle and was soon shortened to Mend. Mend lived with his grandparents on the farm during his growing up years. Farming didn't appeal much to Mend, it was too much like work. At school Mend discovered the world of words and he was entranced. Spoken or written it didn't matter Mend became a master of words. He wasn't always particular about the truth, but his words always had a ring to them. They served him well. Mend didn't have to work very hard for what he wanted.

Christmas tree Hunting

Christmas tree hunting is an old and time honored family tradition. There are those who do their tree hunting at the hardware or department store. I am of the old fashioned live tree hunt it in the wild yourself.



I went tree hunting with my husband's family a couple of times before we were married. Grandma went tree hunting the day after Thanksgiving. The whole family would pack into the pickup with a camper shell on the back; 8 children, 2 parents and any cousins or other strays who wanted to tag along and head out the back road to where the pine trees grow. Part of the tradition was to sing Christmas carols while bouncing along in the truck. Whoever was driving would cruise down the road while everyone looked at trees. When a likely candidate was spotted the truck stopped, everyone piled out and the fun began. When I talk about pine trees I'm talking about pinyon pine (Pinus monophylla) the state tree of Nevada. Pinyon pines have a hard time deciding if they are trees or shrubs. They can have a single stem or 2 or 3 stems. Two stems are common so when one encounters a likely candidate you check to make sure it is a single stem. Grandma's ideal tree was fir or spruce but they were unavailable so she would settle for the least bushy pinyon she could find. Pinyon trees are naturally bushy so it took some time and some hiking to find a scraggly one. Each year one was eventually found and carried in triumph home to be set in the living room in front of the sliding glass door to be decorated.



Growing up on the ranch, tree hunting was a casual affair. Most years we had a pinyon, but occasionally we had a fir. There were 2 hills within walking distance of the house that were covered with pinyon pines. My father did the tree hunting. Sometimes we went as a family, but it was optional. Years when the snow was deep before Christmas and he had started feeding cattle he would take an ax with him when he went feeding, After feeding the cattle he would walk on the hill and choose a tree to bring back with him. While I was in College, my sisters and I would take a tree back to school with us after Thanksgiving. I would grab an ax walk over to the hill and choose a tree or trees and drag them to the house. Christmas tree hunting was a simple casual affair.

These two different tree hunting traditions met and married. Tree hunting was more complicated, the trees were no longer within walking distance. My husband makes a big show of playing Scrooge and dragging his feet when its time to go tree hunting. When the children were small we would go tree hunting as a family. My husband saw tree hunting as a opportunity to do his best to get stuck or lost all in the name of exploring new country and garnering a pick-up load of juniper fence posts. In the outback of Nevada washes are used as roads. The most memorable tree hunt was when my husband decided to follow the wash from Rabbit Springs to Sheep Springs. We had bagged our tree and were on our way home the long way. Someone, a deer hunter had been down the wash before us leaving a two track trail. We followed this faithfully since the snow made it hard to see the main wash. the Pinyons and the junipers were thick and their branches reached across the wash and brushed the sides and top of the pickup. The thicker branches pushed the door mirrors in. Occasionally our passing snapped off a limb. It was a long ride with 4 small children. At any minute I expected to be stuck and I had no assurance we were on the right track. I had no desire to be stranded in the wilderness with 4 small children all night in a pick-up truck. I was mighty relieved when we emerged from the PJ at Sheep Spring. Other adventures include the year after an all day expedition scouting new country the tree blew out of the back of the pickup on the way home. We retraced our route but the tree was never found. This year I tried to talk the kids into taking their horses and going on their own to get a tree, but I didn't get much traction. We took the pick-up and had our tree bagged and back home in hour and half. This is my kind of tree hunting.

Louis L'Amour once said, "Adventure is just a romantic name for trouble". The longer I live the more inclined I am to agree with him. But without adventure I would have nothing to write about to amuse my friends.