A South Fork Indian

charlie two crows said...
I wonder what it was like to be a native american on the south fork in the 1800's. Charlie two crows.

Charlie Two Crows. First, I want to thank-you for all of the fine contributions that you have made to this blog. Then I will try to answer your question.

I want to say that I am no expert. The things that I know about the Indian people are only things that I can scratch up from my childhood memories. Tales that I’ve heard, that were related by the Indian people to the early whites, and history that has been gleaned by surmising. Some that I have learned through this blog.

The 1800’s were a period of great change for the South Fork of the Eel Indian. The Indians started off as people that had maybe only heard rumors about the white man, to being almost completely exterminated by the white man. The 1800’s completely changed the life of the local Native American.

The early 1800’s had tribes that were not yet exposed to the new world diseases. Their culture was intact and functioning. They hunted, fished, dug roots, picked plants, and gathered nuts and berries. They truly “lived off the land”. They moved about within their tribal spaces, hunting and gathering. In the summer the coastal tribes lived along the seashore. In the winter they lived inland in the coastal valleys, like the South Fork of the Eel River.

As all American Indians were, they were highly spiritual people. They believed that animals were directly connected to the people and the land. Many of their stories related how people and animals could change shapes and become the other person or animal. Many of the stories that I heard as a kid were about “Whiptali”, who was a deer-human. Whiptali was very smart, and very evil. He liked to kill men with his horns if he could. The stories goes that Whiptali didn’t like noise or water. And, the big one… he could be invisible! When Whiptali was after you, the only thing that you could do to ward him off is make a lot of noise or scare him off with water.

My Uncle tells a hunting story about when he was a kid. He and a local Indian kid were hunting deer out near Covelo, My uncle said that he heard all kinds of yelling and screaming. As he watched the Indian kid came running down the hill, making as much noise as he could, yelling and beating the brush with a stick. He ran down the hill and out into the creek. My uncle caught up with him and asked him what was wrong. He proclaimed, “Whiptali is after me!”. My uncle jumped in the creek after him and asked: “Where!!!”

I often thought about my uncle's close association with the Indian kids. When he was growing up he believed a lot of the old Indian Spirit stories, much as other children being raised in any other religion or culture, he adopted the culture of the people he was closely associated with. I viewed the Indian Spirits and the Biblical myths as much the same, something to ponder, and wonder where these stories came from. But, I never really believed in them.

Another Indian Spirit story that my uncle talked about was ChinHaHa. He was a bear/man spirit, and just like all of the other spirits he could be invisible. All of the Newcomers tell me that I have my tales mixed up, and this is entirely possible, but I remember ChinHaHa as being a bear. The newcomers tell me that the spirit ChinHaHa should be “the trickster”, the Coyote. The Bear Spirit was “The Grandfather Spirit”. But, I’m used to being told that I’m wrong, so I will tell it they way I remember it, and you can twist it however you will. ChinHaHa was the one that takes things right out from under your nose while you are using them. Sometimes they disappear forever and sometimes he puts them back. That bear follows me everywhere. He hides my keys, the wrenches that I’m using, and sometimes even takes my glasses. Sometimes he returns them as a bigger joke. He is a very funny bear!

So, the Indian people were very spiritual, before the white man came along to tell them that they were wrong. They put the Indian people in school, taught them the white mans language and religion. The whites even beat the Indian kids that tried to stick to their religion or practice their culture. I think that the way they treated the Indian religion, and language, has a lot to do with why I resent the practice of Christianity. Christianity leaves no room for spirit or wonder, they claim that all of the answers are it their Bible. I don’t see how anyone with a truly open mind could believe totally in the Bible. I really think that any religion would have to include respect and wonder for the world around us, much as the local South Fork Indians did.

As the white man’s diseases came, the Indians died off. Many died of diphtheria and smallpox. The Indians would die from as simple a disease as the flu. So many of the Indians died of white man diseases before they even saw a white man. The Indian tribes were almost decimated from disease. The remaining were killed off when the white man showed up. The first of the whites came for the gold. The rest came for the land and the timber. The Indians tried to fight back, but they never had a chance. Some of the white people protected them. Proof of that is that some Indians remain. That would never be true if someone hadn’t protected them.

The Indians of the South Fork were well known for fighting amongst themselves. There is a “Great Battleground” up on the ridge just north of Bell Springs. There were many legends about Indian battles up there. There were many artifacts that had to do with fighting recovered there, so the legends must be true. As with many stories that I heard as a child, a lot of things went unanswered. I don’t know what they fought about. The best explanation that I got was that “they were bitter enemies, and enemies fight”. What they fought about I can’t began to say, but they fought to the death over what appeared to be a “sport”.

Another battleground was on the Valley in Laytonville. My uncle used to tell a story about a great Indian battle that the Indian people fought. Many people were killed. When one side ran out of arrows they would stand out in the open and dodge the enemy’s arrows until they had enough to shoot back. It sound like great sport and bravery to me. Maybe the fighting was to prove their prowess as a fighter or to prove their bravery. I don’t know. I asked my uncle who won. I got the impression that it really didn’t make any difference who won, it was more about the fact that they fought and proved themselves in battle. He said that if rained they would just go home. “You can’t fight in the rain”.

I’ve heard many stories of the things that the Indian tribes would do to provoke a battle with another tribe of Indians. They would taunt them by killing one of the elders of the tribe that they were trying to pick a fight with, and play with the severed head in front of them. Strangely, as civilized as we think that we are today, we can still see the same sort of things go on. The gangs, drug culture and turf battles today are much the same.

But, of course the white man did show up and ruin everything for the Indian, and much is known about history from that time forward. The thing that still bothers me, is how little we really understand about the motivation of people back then. Jack Farley of Laytonville killed many Indians. It is claimed that he said, “A white man’s life is worth twenty Indians.” He had a string of scalps to prove it. Yet, he was revered and protected by the local Indian tribe. He said, when asked what he credited his long life to, that it was the care from the Indian people, and their medicine that gave him his long life. He killed them, and they treated him like a God! Go figure.

So, such was the life of The South Fork Indian in the 1800's. Do you think that you would have liked to have been to be one???

Happy Thanksgiving

Better late than never! I've been having trouble with "malware again".

Our good friend Olmanriver sent me some information pointing out the fallacy of the “Thanksgiving” event, and the relationship between the white man and the Indian. I don’t think that he intended for it to be a controversy, so I will not include it here unless he wants to. I found it very interesting. He also wished me a happy Thanksgiving.

I was going to reply to him, but it got so long I thought that I would just put it here as a post!
Olmanriver
Happy thanksgiving to you also! Thank-you.

You forget that I know that there are usually many stories that lead away from a historical event. I usually say "at least five". Seldom will we be able to know the real truth of any event.

As to the fairness of the conduct between the Indian and the white guy, I think that I will plead "Human Nature". I don't think that "white guy" and "Indian" had much to do with anything. I sincerely think that what happened was simply human nature applying itself. You need look no further than Northern Ireland fighting England, the Protestants fighting the Catholics, the Muslims fighting the Jews, and the latest; North Korea and South Korea, to find that it is within human nature to be treacherous. Seldom does wars have to do with race… with a few rather remarkable exceptions.

If we refuse to take blame for what happened in the past, it becomes incumbent upon us to conduct ourselves in a civilized manner toward each other today. Therefore I sincerely wish each and everyone a peaceful and joyous thanksgiving in the manner that we have come to accept the day, and be truly thankful for our friends and relationships.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!

Bullshistory fish stories.

Okay, I’m way too busy for this, but I can’t resist a good fish story. Fish stories and my family go hand in hand. When we were all kids we were raised on lots of fish, deer and wild game. Some of it was even legal. All of these stories have origins before 1935.

Olmarnriver said... (paraphrase)
Ed Downing said the largest salmon he'd heard tell of was a ninety pounder ["caught by an Indian" ] out of Jackson Valley who promptly traded it for a sack of flour.

Oregon said:
Most likely a small sack of flour for a 90 lb. downstreamer.
who promptly traded it...

Then here’s the story I told:
Oregon
Don't knock downstreamers, That's how we ended up in Garberville.

Seeing as how we are now telling fish stories, the Branscomb’s have a story about my, and Oregon's, great grandfather Ed Branscomb catching a fish in Ten Mile Creek in Laytonville. The creek ran by his house, about a hundred yards away. They used slip point spears to catch fish back then. NO, it wasn't legal, but the creek ran through the family ranch for miles in both directions, so it was hard to tell an old-timer that he couldn't fish in his own creek.

The spear has a barb that is attached to a rope, that barb slips off when stabbed into a fish. Typically you tie the other end of the rope around your wrist, so as you are fumbling to put down the spear shaft on the river bank, the fish doesn't get away.

Grampa saw a big fresh fish so he stabbed it. As he was putting the spear shaft away, the fish came to the end of the rope. They say that the rope came tight so hard and fast that it lifted grampa clear off his feet and into the water. The fish drug him through the pool and out the lower end. My grandfather Roy caught grampa Ed bumping through the riffle, and heading into the next hole.

They say that it took three of them to land it, and that Grampa was lucky that he had someone fishing with him or he might have ended up in the ocean.

The typical ironic ending to the story is that they didn't weight the damn fish, and weight is the first question that anybody asks. They do say that when they cut the head off, it completely fit a peach lug! The guess is about 60 lbs!

I don't know what is wrong with my family, but they never have an ending to their stories. My uncle Ben tells a story about a great Indian battle in the Laytonville valley. When asked who won... (Drumroll) Nobody won, they went home because it rained! Just don't expect big endings from my families history stories.

Then… as a I often do, I fact-checked my facts with my mother. She is a great source of facts about history, but, just like all of us, her memory adds her own twists to things. She is good on the things that were important to her, but crummy on the things that she wasn’t really involved in. I also remember that she traumatized my childhood by pointing out a different rock as “Black Bart Rock” every time we went to Ukiah. Laugh, but ALL the kids in the fifties had outlaw heroes. My was “Black Bart, the Gentleman Bandit, and PO8”. A really cool outlaw, but it frustrated me to no end to not really know which rock that he hid behind! Crap! I did not know where the “REAL black Bart rock was. Woe was me! The good news is that the new freeway took it out. It doesn’t bother me anymore!

Now back to my fact checking… Mom says that she remembers Grampa Roy using both hands to hold up a fish. It came up to his chin, but the tail was laying fully flat on the ground “laid out in front of him”. She said that “the fish was wider than he was”. She said that they did weight it, but the scale only went to 50 pounds and it hit the end with a thud when they tried to weigh it. She doesn’t remember the peach lug story, but she did say that a lug of peaches was much larger then, than now.

She went on to say that the fish might have been caught down by Leggett, but she is not really sure who or where it was caught. She said that she thought that grampa Roy caught the fish and that is was around 1935, he was fishing alone and almost got pulled in. She said that maybe it was two different fish, there were MANY large fish back in the 30's. The good news is that she distinctly remembers the fish.

Like I have often said, every South Fork of the Eel history stories have at least 5 versions.

I should also say that nobody ever tells a Laytonville fish story without invoking the name "Ed Downing" so there you have it. A South Fork of the Eel story with a beginning a middle and an end.

Philosphy kindergarten

I have often wondered why I like the old English authors and philosophers. It finally came to me that it was because they project the wisdom of the past in a language that I can understand. (Understand, with a little struggling.)

When reading things written in Old English, I like to take one line at a time and try to completely understand it, then I read the whole paragraph in place, then I read the whole story in context. That is the only way that I can understand Old English. If I don’t read it that way, I will often scan through it, think of it as gibberish, and move on, often missing valuable understanding.

In the post about “Indigenousity” I referred to the passing of the baton from one group of people to the next. I made reference to how I know that many people have been replaced by a new group. I mentioned the different languages, and where they came from as proof. I also mentioned different artifacts from Clovis being the same as found in a cave in France, more proof that people moved around and supplanted groups of people with their own people.

I gave anecdotal evidence that there were various races of people in America before the Indian people. I don’t see that as good or bad, simply that the indigenous people were replaced untold many times. There is much evidence that this is correct.

As a 5^th generation resident of the South Fork of the Eel River, I know the pain of being replaced and supplanted by newcomers. I also know that it is the way of things. One generation of people replace the previous. Or, one kind of people replace the last kind. The last takeover was the Back-To-The-Landers that moved here and displaced, or at least took the place of the logger and rancher. I know that it is the natural way of human nature to do so. I’m not sure that an apology is even necessary, or in order… By either side. Such is life. We move past the things that we can’t change.

Now, what brings me to this philosophy, is that, as often happens when I’m writing, I get the feeling that this has all happened before. Not really a Déjà vu feeling, but more of a “knowing”.

John Doane (1572-1624) was on his death bed and contemplating the order of things. As he pondered his passing, in his need to understand, he came up with the following thoughts. In his writing he said; “any mans death diminishes me”. At my age, I know the truth in that. I have had so many people, that knew so much history, die, and leave me knowing that much of my source of history and knowledge died with that person. The dying takes away knowledge, and diminishes us all.

I have often said “I’m not a historian, but I know where the bodies are buried”. That is my reflection of the history that we have lost in the passing of the good-and-the-bad, the people and the stories. Plus, it has the obvious double-entendre of murder most foul to cover the truth, and hide the evidence. A deliciously deceptive phrase, much in the nature of the Eel River Valley. But “any mans death diminishes me”, as it diminishes us all.

“All mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated…”

Meaning that as painful as one mans passing may be, it is the nature of things to move on, and the old is replaced with the new. The “new” writes it’s own story, and somehow seems to reject the old, much to the agony of the old. However, we accept it, much as our children reject our standards and they form their own, somehow not worse than ours, but different. We turn the page, move forward, and leave the past in history.

“As therefore the bell that rings to a sermon, calls not upon the preacher only, but upon the congregation to come: so this bell calls us all”

The “Bell” calls not ONLY the preacher, but ALL of us... If there is anything that I ever meant this blog to be, is that it is for EVERYONE. I enjoy each and every comment made on this blog, because it adds to our collective consciousness. I don’t delete comments that should be deleted, because I think that It helps people see the world around them, and who lives in it. The thing that I have noticed, is that most everyone seems to “get it” when there is unfairness afoot.

The “Bell” that this blog rings is for everyone! I know myself, and many others, have gained an interest in history, and learned about history far beyond what a group of “non-historians” could have ever gained without it. Sadly, there are people out there with great history stories that don’t comment because they are too embarrassed to comment, or they are afraid that somebody will say they are wrong. That saddens me, because I never allow criticism on language, spelling, or concept on this blog. I will delete criticism of colloquial language instantly. I have seen too many good stories blown away by somebody correcting another’s language. Let me be an inspiration to you! As bad as I am, I still tell stories, and I am often wrong, but I tell the story the way I know it. I think that I’m even getting better because of it. (Not!) You could even start your story with “Here’s a new lie for you to pass on”.

We all gain from this blog, and to paraphrase a friend of mine. “You get out of this blog as much as you put into it. Participate”.

Now read the following Quote from John Doane, and see if it also reminds you of why we need each other:

This is a quotation from John Donne (1572-1631). It appears in Devotions upon emergent occasions and seuerall steps in my sicknes - Meditation XVII, 1624:

"All mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated...As therefore the bell that rings to a sermon, calls not upon the preacher only, but upon the congregation to come: so this bell calls us all: but how much more me, who am brought so near the door by this sickness....No man is an island, entire of itself...any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."

Uncle Ben the fisherman.

Photo from Robin Shelley. Clipped from the (Laytonville) Leger.

This is what kind of fish were in the upper South Fork of the Eel River 31 years ago, almost to the day. My uncle Ben loved to fish, and he caught his share. This is not the largest fish he ever caught, but this was a large fish. The Sacramento River Pike Minnow have decimated the salmon. That and the late winter rainfall that we had in the past.

With the heavy and early rains that we have been having the last few years, I expect the salmon runs to come back. The early rains get the salmon up the river and past the sea lions that eat them in the mouth of the river. Good wet years produce abundant salmon.

Now if we could get permission from the fish and game to channel gravel mine the river, and plant willow and other riparian shrubs we could have a healthy river again.

Getting back to my uncle Ben, he was the repository of a great amount of old Laytonville history stories, some were even true!

Indigenousity.

In the last post, Olmanriver hinted at the fact that the white man might be wrong in his name for the “pepperwood”. The indigenous people that preceded the white man called the tree an “Aantcin.” Also in the last post, Spyrock related a tale about a tribe of white people that lived here before the darker skinned Indian people. The white people were called the Wa-Gas. They “left going north saying that they would return someday.”

What I’m getting at, is that there is so much about history that we don’t know, that it is hard to say, definitively, what anything might be called. Names change as people change. The latest wave of newcomers, "the-back-to-the-landers”, is evidence of what I say. They have their own names for everything. Some brought the names with them, from the place that they departed, and other names they have made up, because they can’t, or won’t, accept the local names. Such is life.

There has been wave, after wave, after wave of “newcomers” on the north coast. Change and conquest has always been a part of the Human Condition. Who’s to say who really belongs here, and who’s to say what things should really be called.

The other day I made the comment to a friend of mine, who came with the first wave of the-back-to-the-landers, that I hoped he didn’t take my banter about the “dratted newcomers” too seriously, that it was just my sense of humor about the situation, and to make it clear that I understood that the times are a changing’, and it was as unstoppable as time or tide. He said that he “fully got the humor” and understood that it was just a sign of my frustration at having to change. So if you are still offended that I curse the Dratted Newcomer… Gotcha!

I know, as most students of history know, that there has been many conquests, and name changes on the north coast. Ray Raphael and Freeman House made note in their book, “Two Peoples, One Place” that there was a tribe of people that lived here before the current Wiyot tribe. The Wiyots claimed that the indigenous people were not a very smart tribe of people. The story goes that they drove them off by dropping poop down the smoke holes of their dwellings. “They got mad and left.” I often wondered where they went.

The fact that the Wiyots didn’t think that the people that came before them were very smart was probably because they didn’t speak the same language. And, they called everything by the wrong names. They probably called the Aantcin tree an Ooohwho tree. Who knows what happened in pre-history. The only thing that we know for sure is what archeology tells us.

The cupuals, little holes chipped in rocks about 2.5 inches around, and 1.5 inches deep, are found all over the world. So, did they come from one common tribe, or is it just a natural instinct to make them?

The Clovis Point, made by knapping chert, obsidian, or flint, is found in Clovis New Mexico. The points are about 13,500 years old. They were used for spear points. The same identical points are found in the Solutre Cave in France. Not only are they similarly made points, but all of the other tools are the same as found in the Solutre Cave in France.

The Athabascan languge that the local Wailaki tribe speaks originates in upper central Canada. So we know that any Athabaskin language speaker is a “newcomer”. Also, at least 36 words are identical to the same words used in the Basque language, from the region north of France. How could that be a coincidence?

Many connections can be made to European ancestry. I feel that it is only fair to warn you that when you start trying to research ancient ancestry, most of the sites that you go to will be white supremacy crap. They are trying to prove that the white man was here first, therefore the Indian people should just go away. I don’t advocate the kind of thinking, in fact I find it highly objectionable. I don’t think that research trying to prove who is right, and who is wrong, is productive. The white people may very well have been first in America, and they were killed and driven off by the Indian people. Remember, the fact that the Indian people weren’t resistant to our diseases, and the fact that we had them seriously outnumbered, and outgunned, is the only reason we were able to take land away from them the last time that the whites showed up. The Indians were very skilled fighters.

The carvings on the rocks in Laytonville are the same as found in England and Ireland. There is much evidence that the American natives came from Europe. The north coast and Inuit tribes probably came from Asia, some say the South Pacific. The rock carvings in central America depict the round head, broad nose, and full lips of the African natives. At any rate, we would be hard pressed to say who belongs here now.
I was born poor and have been completely broke twice in my life. I can fairly say that my wife and I worked for everything that we have, (which isn’t much). It kind of bothers me when people say that this land belongs to the Indian people. The old Indians used to say that nobody owns the land any more than you own your mother or your father. The land is what we came from, and back to which we will go. Ownership is not that important. And...call things whatever you need to... to get your point across.

pepperwood

I was over at Eric Kirks blog nosing around, and he has just done another “Food Post”. I've been wanting to tell him that my wife and I had lunch at Patrona's in Ukiah. (Located across the street from the north west corner of the Mendocino courthouse.) It was every bit as good as he and Ed Denson said it was. I had a grilled Ahi Tuna sandwich with aioli sauce and bib lettuce, with a side of spring salad. My wife had something that she said was delicious, I didn’t pay much attention because it was all veggies. The food was outstanding, the service was good, and, compared to Garberville,… swiftly delivered.

But, the thing that popped right out at me was their handcrafted furniture. I noticed immediately that it was pepperwood. Pepperwood is one of the prettiest grained woods that you will ever see. It is a light ginger colored wood with dark brown to charcoal streaks in it. The only problem with pepperwood is that it can never truly be tamed. It can be cured for years, then as soon as it is made into something it warps and curls and almost crawls away. If you try to brace or contain it, it will only crack and end check.

Pepperwood is so truly beautiful that I have always made things out of it with a high gloss, clear finish, to show off the wood. I’ve never tried to make anything large like a table, because I knew that it would only warp. It makes great bowls, jewelry boxes, and any SMALL item that won’t show the warpage.

As soon as I walked in, and recognized the wood, I also recognized the genius of the person that made the tables. Instead of trying to make a perfect, and flat finish, he went with the crude beauty of the wood. The wood appears to still have circular saw-blade cut marks in the wood. He made cross hatch marks across the blade marks so it appears that the back side of the saw blade cross hatched the lumber. It appeared to have been done with a sander rather than a saw blade because the wood ended up smooth, rather than slivered. The cross hatch marks are very subtle, but still highly visible. Then the whole table was sanded to a very smooth finish, lumps bumps warps and all. He oiled it with a light oil that sealed the wood with a light satin sheen. WOW! Why didn’t I think of that? Genius.

The above is a piece of pepperwood that I made a plaque for my wife from. I had such good cooperation from the club members, the year that I was president of Rotary, that I made them all plaques. I believe that most of them probably ended up as firewood, but I still see a few around. I made my wife one just for putting up with me. The wood is deep root-beer colored. The bottom looks to me like a sun and the rays away from it look like fire. The top looks like a brilliant sunset. It is very three dimensional in real life. The photo really doesn’t do it justice. But maybe I’m just prejudiced because I like pepperwood so much. I cut the pepperwood tree for firewood, but it had such beauty that I couldn’t bring myself to simply burn it.

I asked the owner of Patrona's what Kind of wood it was… but of course, I already knew. He said that it “is Pepperwood”. I knew instantly that he was a “Homey”. Only people that were raised on the north coast call it “Pepperwood”. The newcomers call it “Bay, Laurel, Oak, or Myrtlewood”. Cripes folks… The north coast of the United States is the only place in the whole wide world that this stuff grows... called what it has been called by the locals for years! Pepperwood! (It’s even more rare than Redwood) (but don’t let that get out or we will have Idiots trying to have it declared an endangered species.)

I digress… anyway, when he called one of my favorite trees “Pepperwood” I had to fight back the tears. I asked him how he came across the wood. He said that he had cut it for firewood, but couldn't bring himself to burn it… Well now I’m really choking back the tears. I complimented him on his knowledge of north coast timber, and his excellent taste. And, I thanked him for showing me how to let my wood be free and still be beautiful.

I hope this rain lasts long enough to build a butterflied Pepperwood coffee table. I have had the wood curing in my garage for thirty years, now I finally know what to do with it!

Laytonville Middletons and the Arizona Middletons are connected again.

So many of the old family stories keep popping up on this blogsite. When I was a small child, in Laytonville California about 1951, my great Grandmother Laura (Lockhart) Middleton lived on my Grandmother Ruby (Middleton) Branscomb’s ranch in a small house by the highway. Her husband, Lafayette Middleton, had already died. There was a man by the name of Fred Grimes lived in the same house. I often wondered who “Fred Grimes” was. I just assumed that it was one of those questions that little kids weren’t supposed to ask. Now, I began to hear stories about how the Grimes and the Middletons have long history together.

The thing that I remember about Fred grimes, is that he had a cleft pallet and a slightly deformed upper lip. Not so bad as to be a deformation, but enough that it was noticeable. He pronounced his name as “Thread”, which I would repeat, and not be able to understand his frustration. I would pronounce it as carefully as I could, but he would only get more frustrated. My mother had to drag me aside and tell me that, “no matter what he said his name is, just call him Fred, and nothing else.” I thought that must be another one of those things that kids just don’t understand.

I just asked my mother a few minutes ago about Fred, and she told me he had a brother called “Doc” Grimes, he also had a Cleft Pallet. She thinks that one was a “Cicero” and there was another Grimes that didn’t have a cleft pallet. The three brothers lived in Laytonville.

Now, the stories that I am starting to hear about the Middletons and the Grimes are starting to sound like Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid. I also understand that there are many old stories about Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid being around Laytonville and especially the Covelo area. However, I'm not making a connection to that history, but just pointing out the "outlaw" similarities here.

From Robert Flowers:
I too have heard the "Lafayette/crazy" family legend, but it refered to family inlaws (outlaws?) Lafayette and Royal (Cicero) Grimes, who robbed the packtrain carrying the Mack Mine payroll at "the Big Rock" at 14 mile Wash on Sunday, August 20, 1882. Unfortunately, they also killed Andy Hall (who was with Powell at the Grand Canyon Expedition) and the only doctor of medicine in Miami, Dr Vail (who had just donated a foot pumped reed Organ to the local church (--ha, he was an organ donar back in 1882!). Lafayette Grimes and Hawley were lynched at gunpoint by an angry mob and hanged from a Sycamore tree growing in the middle of Main Street in Beautiful downtown Globe (at that time Main Street was mostly in an arroyo, and everything tended to wash away every time it rained). It was Cicero Grimes, nicknamed "Royal" who was sentenced to 21 years in the Yuma Territorial prison, but was sent to a Mental Institution in San Francisco after telling the Warden he "heard voices in his head". From San Francisco, he escaped from an unlocked upper story window by sliding down bed sheets tied together (which he obtained while working in the facility laundry). He is said to have made his way to Oregon and rejoined his Family, using the name Lafayette Middleton for the rest of his life, to the possible discredit of the real person of that name. Read story here
Bob Flowers
My mother tells a story about a Middleton, "who she thinks was "Granville", that might have killed somebody and he hid out in the hills of Laytonville. He also pretended that he was crazy. Connection???

Do you suppose that those "dratted Grimes" all changed into "Middletons". (Just more romantic speculation, and wild assumptions)

I know that my Great Grandfather Layfayette Middleton was a varifiable life-long local resident and worked at running a redwood split-stuff camp his whole life. So he must have been the "real Layfayette Middleton." I had never heard about the "Cicero 'Royal' Grimes Layfayette Middleton", but I think that My mother might know more than I do.

Now, onto more Arizona Middleton History,
From Robert A. Flowers:
Enjoyed the Middleton history website, especially since William and Miriam are my GGGgrandparents also.  I own a few acres of horse pasture in Young, Az about 7.5 miles West as the crow flys over Gentry Mesa from the old family cabin at Middleton Mesa on Wilson Creek, a tributary of Canyon Creek & literally bordering the White Mountain Apache Reservation within several hundred feet.  The Middleton cabin site is still accessible today, but exists only as a ruin, having burned in the 1920's.  Its visible ground layout nonetheless conforms to the stories exactly.  The stone fireplace is a work of art, having used no mortar, and the deep hand-dug stone-lined well on the flat by the creek says much about the profitability of the family butter business, as it was paid for by the proceeds of Miriam's butter, dug by miners at full wages.  There is a road to within a quarter mile of the ruins,  which are about 2 miles from the Nail Ranch and 1-1/2 miles from the Flying V (formerly Vosberg).  I have taken photos (film) of the area, which is quite green for Arizona, and I have stood where Uncle Henry (William Henry Middleton) was standing when he was shot by the Apaches. I wish to add that he was later killed during the Pleasant Valley Range War, while he was riding for the Grahams, though the rest of the family indeed did not take sides or talk about it much.  He is buried in the Young community Cemetery between 2 Grahams shot within 30 days of himself, during the most violent month of the feud.  The decayed wood marker was replaced in the 1920's with the present stone tablet paid for by a ladies historical society in Globe, which gives his name as "Harry Midleton", but with correct dates, and he is locally honored every year during "Pioneer days" events.  The Henry in the "middletonfrank" obituary attachment is presumably Frank's brother-in-law, Henry Price, although it probably helped calm the water during the feud by placing "Henry Middleton" out of Arizona Territory altogether.
Despite it never being mentioned in the Range War History, I have always pondered whether the Middleton cattle were at the heart of the Pleasant Valley Range War.  When Stinson's ranch boss John Gilleland drew on the Tewksbury's at the Middleton ranch a year after they sold to Mr. Vosberg (who by then was partnered with Edwin Tewksbury), it is generally agreed Gilleland had just come past the corral, and what he saw was what set him off.  Cowboys are apt to do most anything, seldom have cool heads, and the ranch boss got to be boss by beating every man at the ranch in a fist fight!  Plus he had been drinking from a flask all morning.  The Middletons had driven 50 head of Scottish highland red cows (Devons, the premier milk cow of their day) from San Francisco to Arizona, selling one troublesome young bull to a rancher in San Bernardino, California and arriving with the rest.  They bred reliably, and when the family sold the ranch, the Stinson's, the Grahams, and the Tewksbury's all maintained they owned Scottish reds along with their other cattle.  They probably did, but all Scottish highland reds look pretty much alike, especially when they are all branded with a Middleton brand...  As they say, the rest is history, and tales of over-branding.  For good reason the Middleton's certainly wouldn't be the ones to bring it up..  For a fact, every cow brand in Arizona Territory registered up to the feud could be overbranded on a Stinson, including the "tumbled" Hashknife, newly arrived from Texas!, and for years the opposing factions shot first and asked questions later (and it was a very small valley!)  The postmistress changed that years later, telling everyone that if they expected their mail, they had better wave instead of shoot. (To this day, every car passing by in the opposite direction on the road in Young, Arizona will wave at you as you go by, and we could all learn from that.)
Respectfully Yours
Bob FlowersPhotos By Robert A. Flowers

The Obituary of Frank Middleton:
Frank Middleton
Arizona Silver Belt
May 14, 1896

The distressing news was received by telegram last Saturday
that Frank Middleton had been killed that day, May 9, by a
saw at the saw mill owned and operated by the deceased and
his brohter Henry, at Chiwankum Kittitas County, Wash. 
Particulars of the dreadful accident are expected by letter
written a few days.  The announcement was a severe shock to the
relatives in Globe and Mrs. Miram Middleton, mother of the
deceased, is prostrated with grief.

Frank Middleton was the eldest of nine children, all of whom,
except Henry, reside here. He was 43 years of age.  Frank was
for many years a resident of Globe and was married here to the
eldest daughter of Mr. and Mrs. N.H. Price, who, with four
children, survives him.  The family left Globe in 1883 and
went to Flagstaff where they remained four or five years,
going thence to Washington where they have since resided.

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on the internet, data may be used by non-commercial entities, as
long as this message remains on all copied material. These
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Persons or organizations desiring to use this material, must
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submitted by burns@asu.edu

Arizona State University



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Alabama Indian artifact

Sometimes it pays for me to have my email address on this blogsite. The other day I got the following photos and email from a man that has some property in Alabama. I asked for his permission to post them here and he gave me his okay.

Ernie,
I saw on your website as I was browsing today your email to send any pics to.

I found this years ago and wondered what it was. Tool of sorts? I came across your website and remembered I had some pics of my finding on my PC from years ago. I can get better pictures of it, but from these you can see the groove that runs don the entire piece. The other side is like a bowl and there is a notch on one side. Also there are what looks like cut marks to the right of the groove. Along with the picture I have some arrowheads I found along with it. I found these in Lay Lake in Shelby county Alabama. Any explanation on what this is would be greatly appreciated.

Thanks-Brian

I replied:
Brian

Can I make your letter and photos into a post? The little tool is very unique, but I'm sure that some of my friends will have and explanation of what it was used for.


Thank-you for sharing this with me!
Ernie

Sure thing Ernie. I took some pictures and put them in a compressed Zip file. I took these pictures yesterday. Not the most clear still but I think it is good enough. I sure hope someone has an idea. Thanks for the help


--Brian

The first photos were the best, so I posted them below.
Some of the things that the Indian people did with what nature provided them is just amazing to me.

What is it???

Sailing Ships

Anybody that reads this blog, on a steady basis, knows that I like wonders of science and technology. I especially like big machines. I also love to hear tales about history, and mans struggle to adapt and survive. The icing on the cake is stories about man using his technology to advance his condition, to satisfy his curiosity, or fulfill his sense of adventure. Nothing meets all of the above named conditions like the hand-crafted sailing ship.

The story of the sailing ship reads like an adventure story. “Once upon a time a person dared to dream of adventure aboard a sailing ship“. In the age of the sailing ship, a person was born in his village, lived in his village and died in his village. The only thing that the person might know about the outside world was from a traveling minstrel that moved from town to town and told his tales of high adventure. Most people could only dream of travel, or of seeing other places. Access to a sailing ship changed all of that. The lure of adventure aboard a sailing ship stole away many a young mans heart. There are many poignant stories of a woman watching her man sail off into the sunset, sometimes never to return, and sometimes to come home filled with wealth and adventure.

In the age of the sailing ship, the ship was the fastest means of transportation. There were no jet aircraft that could transport the average man at almost supersonic speeds. There were no high speed railways. There were no cars or buses. Indeed, there was not even bicycles. Other than a ship, the fastest means of travel was a horse, or an oxcart. Also, it wasn’t safe to travel, unless you traveled in a group for safety.

The swift moving sailing ships sailed groups of people to almost anywhere in the world. The ships traveled day and night, day after day, week after week. The ships didn’t tire and need rest and food like animals. All the ships needed to travel was movement of the wind, then they could move in any direction.

The sailing ship was man's finest technological achievement for many years. From the invention of the first sail, to the industrial revolution; the sailing ship was a machine of the ages. No wonder a ship was built with such perfection. Owning a ship was a high-status symbol. Nothing freed mankind from his boundaries like the sailing ship. Ships were the fastest moving machine for centuries. Both men and women worked to build the fine ships. Men used their brawn, and women used their dexterity, but they both used their intellect.

I think the thing that I like the most about ships is that they weren’t designed and tested by some computing machine. They were designed, built, and sailed by man’s own intellect, skill, and hard work, by the sweat of their brow, the bend of their knees and the strain of their backs.

The ships that the old ship-rights built couldn’t be built today. The material that they built ships from doesn’t exist in abundance today like it did in the days of the clipper ships. The wood used in ships was hand selected and cut in the forests adjoining the shipyards. Often the shipyards were moved next to a forest where the trees could be cut and hand-hewed into the pieces that they needed to build the ship. The laying of the keel was the first and most important step in building a ship. The keel is the foundation that the ship is built upon.

The keel was made out of the strongest and most defect free wood that they could find. In addition to that, the keel needed to have the exact curve to form the bow. Then the ships ribs were fastened and blocked onto the keel. The ribs came up the sides of the ship. The deck was fastened to the ribs to form a circular-strength tube-like structure, the full length of the ship. The deck was fasten to the ribs by “ships knees”. The ships knees are made from pieces of a tree that form a right angle, or “ell shape”. Not many trees have that fitting in nature. Oaks provided most of the “knees”, because they were the strongest and the most likely to provide that shape. Strong ships knees were one of the most critical fittings on the ship.
Tall straight trees formed the masts and spars, trees like fir, spruce, and hemlock. The ships decks and side planking had to be made out of clear, straight boards. The decks and shiplap provided the lateral strength of the ship, much like the fuselage of a modern aircraft.

The sails were woven on hand-made looms, then pieced and sewn together. The ropes were hand spun and twisted together. I have often speculated that sail making was done by women. Women have traditionally been the makers of textiles and cloth. Most sails for the Galleons were made in the Philippines from the local cotton.

From Manila Times, (Philippines): “Ilocos from historic times has been a weaving center with every other house possessing a loom. In the days of the Spanish galleons they supplied the sails made from the cotton they grew and exported. Modern times with their cheap fabrics and disappeared galleons have altered weaving markets. Now abel (also known as inabel), the Ilocano woven stuff, is used in households as bed linen, furniture covers, clothing.”

The iron fittings were hand forged over hot fires and hand hammered to the right shapes. The pulleys were made from pine knots with holes drilled through them. The newer fancier ships had steel sheaves in their blocks and tackle.

Enough with the boredom (or, to me, excitement) of building a ship. The sailing ship opened the door for mankind to explore the rest of his world... he was no longer confined to the village of his birth.

As I was writing this, the words from Whitesnake's "Sailing Ships" kept humming through my mind, just in case you would like to listen to it, I included it below. It's a beautiful tune, but listen carefully to the words. The ache for love and adventure is in the song, but it's more about life than sailing.



And... But, of course, no story about sailing ships can be complete without - John Masefield's
    "I must go down to the Sea"
I must go down to the sea again,
to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star
to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.
I must go down to the sea again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the sea again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
--------------------------------------------------------------

Wouldn't it be great if we had an adventure, today, like stepping onto the deck of a sailing ship of yore...




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Mud season is upon us.

As anybody that lives in the Eel River canyon knows, we only have two significant seasons... Dust and Mud. As of yesterday about noon, we sunk swiftly into “Mud Season”. It has rained 4.75” so far, the East Branch of the South Fork of the Eel River is up to the boat dock log in the Benbow R.V. park. That usually means that we had a pretty good storm. Just in case somebody slept through it, I did. There was NO wind. Wind and sleep are incompatible features of my life.

It’s strange, a few days ago we had those high wispy clouds that the old timers called “mare’s tails”. They said that was a cold front passing by, usually followed by a rain within three days at this time of year. The Totter-asses were in the fields and crying at night. That’s was another sign of impending rain to the old-timers. The pyracantha and madrone berries are just starting to turn. So far they have about the same blush as a new bride. Do brides still blush, I have noticed any new brides lately.

The robins are in the lawns and the wild pigeons are early this year. I haven’t seen Al Gore to check for sure but we are showing all of the signs that an “Old-Timer would say means that we are going to have a wet winter.

Time will tell, won’t it?

I’m doing another “windy” post about Sailing Ships. But, it’s dragging. This will be a fun post until I get it together

The bear lady

Click on link.
http://theava.com/archives/8385

Sometimes life just ain't fair...




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Overkill

Anybody who has ever been a mechanic can appreciate this. You don’t always use the “best right tool'. Often you just use the "closest and fastest right tool" that you have within arms reach. This itsy-bitsy ball bearing needed to come off this armature. I tried the old two-screwdriver pry bar trick, levered across each jaw of the vice. Nope! So I grabbed the puller that I’ve used for years. It was on the shelf just above where I was working. As I set it up with all of the right bolts and fittings I stared looking around me, hoping nobody would notice how over-kill I was being, using my huge pulley extractor.

I’ve had the puller since I was a kid. I paid a fortune for the bearing clasp. I couldn’t afford the two or three hundred dollars that they wanted for the whole puller, so I made the rest of it with material that I had laying around. Sometimes it just pays to be a good scrounger.

The puller was something that I used every day on the old belt drive refrigeration units. The clasp fits over the motor pulley. Then the right bolts are used for proper pull length. A bar is used to keep the shaft from turning. Then the puller bolt is turned in with a wrench. The pulley either comes off, or the shaft pulls in two. The puller has served me well. I think that it is every bit as good as anything boughten, even today.

After about a half turn on the puller bolt, the bearing wheezed and popped with a snap, then just slipped off. I got to laughing so hard to myself about my “over-kill” that I decided to take some pictures, and share.

The armature is out of our store vacuum. The vacuum started making a noise like a dry whisping squeal. The rumor was started the vacuum was broken. I assured everybody that the vacuum wasn’t broken, that it was just noisy. I even showed them that it wasn’t broken by vacuuming the store a couple of times. That was just counter productive. They all decided that they didn’t want to be blamed for breaking the vacuum, but if I was willing to vacuum it was okay with them. The “Broken Vacuum” story persisted and it got to the point that we were able to rake and shovel the store, but nobody would run the “broken vacuum”.

Okay, I stopped fighting it. I took the vacuum in the back, took it apart and put new bearings in it, and started a rumor that the vacuum is fixed. I have a whole drawer full of vacuum ball-bearings. It only takes just a little bit longer to change the bearings than it takes to change the bag. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. I started a rumor that it was so quite now that you can hardly hear it. Now everybody has to try it just to see how it works, now that it’s “fixed“. I just have to shake my head and wonder what people think.

Dime Novel???

The closing comment on the last thread about Fox Burns was By Robin Shelly. "Shhhh!We're writing a dime novel here!"

I thought that the comment was very appropriate here, especially coming from a once-upon-a-time newspaper reporter. Reporters seem to soak up literary knowledge, and know little tid-bits about arcane things. But, haaa.. She didn’t get me, because I know about Dime Novels. Dime Novels were all the rage in the 1860’s, about the time Fox Burns was being born. The books were the entertainment of the 1860’s clear up until Television was invented. They were very sensationalized books about adventure and intrigue.

Most of the dime novels had two titles like “The Bradys and the Fire Marshall” or “Hot Work in Hornersville”. Most of them had a “Damsel in distress” that needed a hero to save her. Some of the novels were quite lurid and they talked about how she bared her ankle or something equally wicked.

A lot of the Dime novels were about the Wild, Wild West, like Buffalo Bill. Some were about Jessie James, or Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, or other less savory “scumbags”, as one of our fair readers pointed out. There wasn’t much law and order around Laytonville back in the days of the Dime Novel. Butch Cassidy and the Scumbag Kid probably wouldn't have sold that good. Every Dime Novel needed a "Hero". (capital "H")

It’s a little known fact, but true, that Butch Cassidy hung out in Covelo, just over the hill from Laytonville. I had to laugh at the characterization of “scumbag”. As times and mores change, I wonder how many of us will be “scumbgs” 150 years from now. I can almost bet that anybody who eats meat today will horrify the people 150 years away from us. That is, unless the world economy collapses, and we are eating each other. I would bet if you got hungry enough, even that would be okay. Then sometime in the future they will be judged for eating people. But, that has happened before hasn’t it? The Donner party became quite famous for that back in the mid 1800’s. About the timeframe of the “Scumbag”. Maybe a little before the Dime Novel, but I’d bet that it was a subject of at least one of the “Dime Novels”.

If you are interested in reading a few Dime Novels on-line click the blue link below. My fave is “Deadwood Dick’s Doom” or “Calamity Jane’s Last Adventure”.

There was an amazing amount of stories about frontiersmen, and battles with the “wild Indians”. The white guy was always the hero, and the Indian was always the villain. Some times a white guy would have a wild savage buddy, much like the buddy movies that you see today, trying to prove that a white guy can have an Indian or a black friend, like that proves something. “The Lone Ranger and Tonto” comes to mind. Or today, Danny Glover and Mel Gibson. We really haven’t changed that much have we.

The hero was always saving white women from the ravages of the Indian Warriors. Some white guys would take Indian princess wives, that was okay as long as they were princesses. But, the Dime Novels expressed the mores of the day.

Dime Novels or Penny Dreadfuls Before you read any of these Dime Novels, they are very racist by today's standards. By our standards today, it's hard to believe how little respect that they had for other people. I think that Suzy is right, there were a lot of "scumbags" back then. It's strange when juged by today's standards, to believe that this stuff was the entertainment medium of the day.


On a lighter note: I made more pies. See if you can guess what they are.

Fox Burns

Our friend, "Olmanriver", became interested in the early history of the Eel River by reading this blog. I seem to have kept him busy clearing up my mistakes and lack of knowledge. When I would make a statement like “Fox Burns was a survivor of the battle of Bloody Run”, he would check my facts. He found out that there are more “facts” out there than you can shake a stick at.


When people ask me what happened at a certain historical happening, I usually reply with “It all depends on who’s story that you want to believe. In most cases I've heard at least five different versions.” in the case of Fox Burns, I’ve heard at least twenty-five versions of his story.


I often used to get the old story tellers to tell their stories by telling them about somebody else’s version of what happened. They would usually start by saying something like “well that’s Frank’s (made-up name) version of the story’. That Frank is a damn liar, you can’t believe a word he says”. Then they would go about correcting Franks damn lies. It was better than television.


After my telling of a few Fox Burns tales on this blog, Olmanriver found this Obituary in the Ukiah Daily Journal.

I told Olmanriver that the obituary couldn't be right, they had fox much too old, and I thought that he was a survivor of the Battle of Bloody Run in Mendocino County. The Battle of bloody run happened in about 1861(?) The story goes that a marauding band of Modoc Indians came through Long Valley (Laytonville) some of the local Indians joined with them, they stole some horses, took them to Dos Rios, killed them, and were caught by the local whites butchering the horses. The whites killed most of the Indians except for a few that they took to the Covelo Indian reservation. The surviving Indian children were taken back to Laytonville and raised by the local people. My 3G grandfather Robert Poe being one of the whites to raise the orphans. He was also probably involved in the killing of the Indian People.


Olmanriver agreed that the obit probably had some flaws, and he started researching Fox. He found some interesting history that I had not heard before. So, now I'm up to about twenty eight stories that I've heard about Fox Burns. The story that is the consensus of all of the stories that I've heard, is that he was brought home in a gunny sack from the battle of bloody run at Dos Rios by Benjamin Burns. Burns gave fox to his wife to raise. The Burns raised and educated fox. That is my twice told tale of Fox Burns. That story fits all that I've heard.




 The following was transcribed intact from the original Willits News Article. [sic]'s included.
"WILLITS NEWS OCTOBER 19, 1977 By Rena Lynn

FOX BURN – FAMOUS INDIAN RAISED WITHIN WILSON FAMILY
“…Like many Indians at that time, Fox took the last name of the family which raised him.
There were a number of different Burns families in those days, and not much is known about the one which raised Fox except that it was the same family that produced the sisters Sina and Bertha who married Marion Wilson.
In the very early days, when the land of Northern California were first being invaded and settled by the white men, there were frequent clashes with the Indians whose traditional hunting grounds were being cleared and fenced.
The troubles were particularly acute in Humboldt County where the burnings of cabins, stealing of horses and murdering of settlers resulted in retaliation by the whites with frequent raids on Indian villages. From time to time word would be sent down to Mendocino County that help was needed and several of the men would pack up and ride north to join the avenging parties.
It was on one of these raids up in Humboldt county that three Indian children were taken alive after their parents had been killed. Among the men on that raid were Andy Bowman, famous early day woodsman, Jonathon Wilson and Benjamin Burns, the father of the Burns girls.
The story that was later passed down in the Wilson family was that Andy Bowman brought back two baby girls, strapped into boxes on his horse, while Jonathon rough tack a six-month old baby boy strapped to his.
Once back home in Laytonville, it was decided that the Burns family would keep the boy. The named the child Fox and kept him until he was in his teens and on his own, although in later years Fox would frequently tell people that he had lived for ’45 years with the Burns and Wilson families.’
Bud Patton first saw Fox Burns when Bud was four years old and attended a rodeo at Rancho
Primero with his mother and grandfather Billy Wilson.
Fox became famed as a bareback rider and rodeo performer, but on that particular day Bud says he was just riding up and down the arena on his beautiful jet black horse and the word being whispered around among the spectators was ‘There’s Fox Burns!’ as though he were a great celebrity.
Which, evidently, he was. Everyone still alive who ever knew the man remembers him as an outstanding, unforgettable personality, admired and respected by both his Indian and adopted brothers.
Mark Walker knew Fox when Mark was a child and Fox was a young man working in the woods for Mark’s father.
‘He was one of the finest men I ever knew,’ Mark says today, ‘honest, hard working, a happy man, friendly to everyone.’
Mark also remembers seeing Fox perform bareback in a horse race in Cahto when Mark was a small, wide-eyed boy.
Donald and Lee Wilson both remember Fox as an old, but still friendly and happy man when they were children.
‘He was different from the other Indians,’ Lee Wilson remembers. ‘All the kids used to follow him around and beg for stories, and he always carried a bag of rock candy just for passing out to the children who trailed around after him.’
Unaccountably, Fox Burns murdered a man when he was in his 50’s and was sent to San Quentin. Mark is not sure of the complete story, except that Fox was working in the hopfields in Ukiah at the time.
In the evenings, the Indians would gather around the campfire to play their favorite gambling games and one evening a white boy made the mistake of trying to break into the game.
A scuffle followed and something considered unforgivable by the Indian was shouted at him by the white boy. Fox, who had never been known to harm anyone up to that time, pulled out a pistol and shot the boy between the eyes.
He was sentenced to three years, but after serving only one was paroled to work on the road gang building Highway 101 north of Laytonville.
Mark also worked on that road gang and he and Fox renewed their old friendship and spend many free hours hunting and tracking in the wooded hills.
‘He always called me “Boy”’ Mark recounts, ‘and when the nights began to grow cool, he said ‘Boy, it’s going to be a hard winter—I’m going home.’
According the Mark, “home” was San Quentin which the old man had come to consider a good, warm place to be.
When he was finally released, he came back to live in the Reservation at Laytonville” END OF PART 1

THE WILLITS NEWS OCTOBER 26, 1977 Pg 5
THE BILLY WILSON FAMILY AND EARLY RANCHO PRIMERO
In the last years of his life, Fox Burns lived in the Laytonville Rancheria.
Bud Patton recalls a visit he made to the old man when he was in his 80’s and was laid up with a broken leg sustained when he jumped out of a moving truck to open a pasture gate.
Bud says he was still a striking looking man with jet black hair and all his own teeth, and with a mind still sharp and clear, full of memories of the early days of the founding Cahto and Laytonville.
‘We must have talked for over three hours that day,’ Bud recalls, ‘while he rambled on about his childhood, his early years working in the woods, how good the Wilsons and Burns had been to him and how much he had always especially admired Billy Wilson, and how he missed the days of the old time rodeos at Rancho Primero. How I wish now that I had taken notes of everything he said!’
Mark Walker also remembers the later years of the famous old Indian.
‘Nearly every time I’d go into Laytonville for something, I’d run into Fox and he always wanted to stop and talk over old times. He’d usually end up by asking me to drive him home, which I always did, except for one time.’
On that day, Mark says, he was in a hurry, on his way to meet someone somewhere, when Fox stopped him and said ‘Boy, I’m not feeling very good. How about a ride home?’
Mark explained he didn’t have the time right then, and Fox good naturedly said, ‘OK, Boy. You come see me soon.’
The next time Mark came to town, it was to learn that Fox had died only a day or two following their last meeting.”

The following mug shot is from Fox Burns' trip though the prison system.
The following is transcibed by Olmanriver as faithfully as can be done. All of the periods and capital letters, the misspellings, and other mistakes are the way that it was written. The transcript was supposedly penned by Fox Burns himself. There is no solid evidence one way or the other about the authenticity of the handwriting. It is very possibly Foxes handwriting. Remember, the Burns family sent Fox to school. 

Foxes own story: 
Start: 9:45 A.M. June.21.
Fox Burns.- full blooded Indian of Trinity County-but came to Laytonville when 1 ½ years old-parents were killed by soldiers in Trinity Co. Lived with Kai-poma family at Laytonville since. 1862.
(handwriting changes)
"Race Burn tuck me to his Farther and Sad and toll his Farther that he Brought this BaBy for his Farther. From Trinity Co. to Laytonville and the first town was Kato. and now its colld Laytonville and this town was Mane after Water. Manes of Warter. By two Langgs. one is mane as Ka and the northern's colld .To and the Indians lived South of Kato is maned the CalloPoma and now the White Peoples collds them the Sherwood Indians. and I Ben with the Race Burns family for .18.-years. How I came to Be with Race Burns family. Race Burns tuck me When the Soldiers come and Killed My Morther and Farther. this was in the year of .1860. this hapins in Trinity Co. and I was raised By the Burns family. and When I was a Boy I work for them for my colse (clothes) and my Bord fed Hogs and milk Cows and took care of all of them things for them. and I get wipping ever day for .3. years By the Burns family. I have that coming to me for being I was So Mini and I stade with Burns family for .18. years and then I went out and work for My Self from there on. The frist Place I went to work after I left the Burns family was. Divil Best on a Pack trune with the orther Indians. And this Pack trunes gos from Shellder Cove to Noyo. up and down coast. And there was no town in Fort Braggs them days. Just a Soldiers home them days. What they called the train them days they have mules, 20 mules.and three mans to ever 20 mules, and one to Call the Bill Boy. and he Help Pack also. and also the mules gos 12 miles per days.and they also have a stop in Place. Any Place on the Rode. And the way they have it is this way. they have a post one each side of the Rode and they have a Rope across the Rode So When the frost mule comes there that he’ll haft to stop there and also the next ones also.and this is their relly Stopping Place.and When they all got there they take off all the lodes from the Mules and Stop there over Nights or over day. Just as they go 12, or. 10 miles a day that’s all they go.and the Bill Boy he do the coocking for this to mans. And this to orther mans they do the Packing.and they never feed them mules Koun Hay them days. We Just let the mules eat grass or any think that they can eat. Or. When they havint got much lode We have .3. .4. Sack of gran for the mules. To feed. The mules.this mules don’t get this feed every day. Koun.once in a week. or once a months is the Best We can do them days.this Mules Pack lodes Just like the turcks and Trains now days. And there was Koun Mailes to Be Packt them days and them days We work.for$1.00 a day and work every day. END.12.45.AM
Start at.1.30.P.M. and We never had Koun Relief them day like it on the work work Sundays and all never Koun Sundays them days. I have Ben on the Job 2 years. And Friend of Mine. Tom Bell was still on the Job when I left. Tom Bell and I was working on the Same Job.he was Still there When I went away and left.the Job on the Pack trains. I didint like the Pack trains and I work there.So long I didn’t care.to work on it Koun Man So I lefts and I went and work on dairy Ranch at Bar Harber and I Milk Cows and Ranck work all the work to Be taking care off I was there to do it and also Making Butter also. We had 60 cous to milk. I had to Milk .20. Cous MySelfs and the others had to Milk .40. Cous also this Ranch was on the Coast.15.-Miles down Below SHELLdEr COVE .this Ranck is.the Boss. Name is Mr. Matta Chiqer Kaiser Ranch and I was on this Ranch .3. years and My Pay was $ 100 a day that was the Best Pay that We can get them do and lot off us Indians work for northing Just for and food. and ever thing was good them days. themn days We can By Sack of flour for .90. oo Sack all the things was cheep them times. And the the close was cheep them days.and all this Places I work I Borde there all the times I work.and I never was married them days But I had a girl Friend that’s all.and this is this Ranch wor I rode Wild Mules for .3. years. Broking for riding mules. and there 3 off us Indians and one white he was the Bosss.his Name was diKe.is the Bosss.and We had all the eats that we went and When we work. We work.and We went hard and we never had Koun limint to your working times We Never had Koun times to work work from Sun to Sun every day Just think Just for $.100. ($1) a day.and Now days the Peoples work just right up to the moment When they work Now days. And all the Places that I work I was well liking By the People. Around the Whit Peoples and also the Indians What little Indians there was. Now from here on I Can Say this much about the Indians there wasint very much Indian. Them days around up Shellder Cover. Three or four here and there in Places.and When I work on this Ranch I was one off the Cow Boy on the Ranch and anything in line of Cow Boys work to Be done I was there to do it for the Ranch. Riding them Wild Mules all day.long and I have done lot off roping Cows and Wy ell Mules this is My work that I do all the time.)END .4.45. P.M.

Some notes in closing:
I owe a huge dept of gratitude to Olmanriver. His research has been valuable, but as always, no matter what historical stories I hear, I carry a great amount of skepticism. I have found that no matter what, there always seems to be flaws in personal historical accounts. I don’t say this to be critical of Olmanriver’s research. Everything that is printed here is as factual as he could pass it on. His research was immaculate, but the historical accounts that he found are flawed.
Olmanriver pointed out some of the following suspicions that he himself has. The raid on the Bowman Place at Camp Grant on the main Eel river is the raid that they are talking about. That raid supposedly caused the retaliation on the Indians in Humboldt county. That Indian raid on the Bowman's happened on March 25th 1869 (March 25th is my birthday!) Andy Bowman was 10 years old in 1869. Fox was a baby in 1862. By very crude calculations based on supposed fact, would make Andy Bowman about six or seven years old!


Many legends have Andy Bowman as tough as nails mountain man, but killing Indians at six years old and bringing two Indian baby girls strapped to his saddle is unusual. Many stories passed down through the generations get mixed together, and many mistakes are made. I’m guilty of it myself, stories get confused. I’m also very sure that truth can also be found in these old stories.


Fox Burns own story doesn’t make sense to me, first I question if it was really his handwriting. It could be, but it is not verified. I think that he is truly a survivor of the battle of Bloody Run. He could have very well been told the wrong story about himself. He was too young to really know. Most ALL of the Long Valley legends have him as a survivor of bloody run. For some strange reason I want to believe the things that I was told, growing up with these stories. So who do you believe? This is the most talked about Indian man in all of Laytonville’s history. It would seem that somebody would have all of the facts, wouldn’t it. So far I’m up to about twenty-eight versions of “The Life and Times of Fox Burns.” 


History by "Olmanriver"
Bullshistory by Ernie Branscomb

Seekers of American Indian Spirituality.

Fred "Coyote" Downing, Photo by Kim Sallaway

Because I am so deeply interested in the early history of the north coast, and in particular, the Eel River canyon, I get a lot of questions about the Indian people, their culture, and mostly their spirituality. I often just answer privately that I’m not an expert on Indian culture, and I’m definitely not the one to ask about religion.

We have covered many Indian stories here, that could be interesting to some seekers, but mostly I have not rendered any expert opinion. I am the one that only believes in tangibles, remember? However, I’ve often said that the beliefs of the north coast Indians come the closest to something that I could believe in. Their beliefs seem to me to be more real than anything else. The Indian people see the world around them, they see the seasons, the mountains, the fish and the animals, these real things of the Earth are included in their beliefs. They pray for renewal and restoration, as in The White Deer Dance of the Hupa Indians of The Klamath.

In the past, the Indians sought renewal in their everyday actions. The burning of the north coast brush was a way of renewing the brush and reeds that they used in basket making. The burning renewed their food supply by ridding the acorn oak trees of bugs and competing brush. Their every spiritual focus seemed to be in a circular cycle, like in what goes around comes around. The Ghost Dance was a prayer ceremony that the Indians used to pray that things would come around the circle and there would be no more white man on their land in the coming seasons. So, their religion seemed to be in a circular path.

The Christian religion is linear, you are born, God gives you a spirit, you live your life on this Earth in Gods service, then your reward is to die and get to go to heaven for ever and ever. I think they call it “eternity”.

I have recently received some mail from some people seeking spiritual answer, and I know that there are people more qualified than I in giving these answers. When I think of the North Coast Indian Spiritual leaders I think of people like Fred “Coyote” Downing, who does the opening ceremonial blessing of some of the festivals of the north coast. As I watch the blessings, I often wonder how much is original "north coast", and how much is simply American Indian culture blended into a modern ceremony. For instance, the dream catcher is Chipawa Indian, but all indians make one now.

What I am going to do is post some of my correspondence, and hopefully some of you will have advice for these “Spiritual Seekers”:

Dear Ernie,
Hi; my name is Delphine, I am a 37 year old French girl and I got your email while surfing on the net .

To make a long story short, I went to California the 1st time as a foreign exchange student when I was 17, coming back ever since whenever I could, having met some wonderful people I call my 'other' family.

The first time I went, well ... I had to. I don't know how to explain it but I had to!

NB: I am 1/4 Spanish on my father's side and a few years ago discovered that one of the missionaries who founded the several Californian missions was from my island, Mallorca: Juniperro Serra. I guess that is what drove me there .

But today, I am writing you this mail because, OF COURSE, I am coming back to visit my family (in July 2011)!

I am taking my 10 year old son with me for them to meet. I am trying to think ahead (yes, I know ... but time just flies you know!!) about things and sights that might be of any interest to him ... and natural parks and places will mostly do it.

As for my own interets, I would like to go to places where there is a lot of spiritual energy, mainly from ancient Indian tribes ... and that is why I am writing you this mail.

While surfing, I have discovered there are a lot of tribes, ancient territories, museums, etc. But that is not what I am interested in .

I will be living in Penn Valley and was wondering if there was any place in that area you can point out for me, that I could go to, respectful of Mother Nature and the Indian Past (healing places or centers of energy, you know: that kind of place), that you know of/or have heard of, even if it is just walking among trees in a small forest.

And if you are not familiar with what I am interested in, maybe you know someone who knows someone, ...

Thank you very much for your time and the interest you will put in answering my question.
Delphine .

Answer:
Dear Delphine


I am a member of the local Rotary Club and we have sponsored many exchange students. Many students and hosts form permanent bonds that last through the years. I’m glad to hear that you are traveling back stateside, and I hope that you enjoy your visit here. As you already know the student exchange program is the very best hope in this world for peace and understanding.

Now that I’ve done my Rotary commercial, I will try to answer your questions. If there is a God, he lives in the Redwood forests of northern California. My favorite redwood grove is The Founders Grove located on highway 101, @100 miles north of Ukiah. It is simple to get there from Penn Valley. Simply drive west on highway 20, Penn Valley's main highway, until you come to hwy 101, go north to Dyerville, and you are there. (About 4 to 5 hours) The best time to visit is May, because everything is in full green foliage and bloom, but not to discourage you, any experience in a redwood forest is memorable. It is one of the most deeply spiritual experiences that you will ever have. Rain or shine. But stay out of a redwood forest in the wind. The falling limbs will kill you.

My favorite Indian tribe lives right here in southern Humboldt, the "Wailaki". They are my favorite tribe for a lot of reasons that I will leave for later. The Indian people of Southern California were steeped in the Catholic culture for years before the northern California Indians even saw a white man. Your countryman, Father Juniperro Serra started the California Missions in 1768, the Franciscans had a stifling influence on the Indian culture. However, the Northern California Indians lost much of their culture, later, from the California Gold Rush influence, (1849) but much of their history, culture, and spirit remains.

What I hope you will do is give me permission to post your letter with some others similar to yours and let my blog readers make recommendations to you.

Thank-you for writing me!
Ernie

Her reply:

Dear Ernie,
Well, THANK YOU very much for that quick reponse to my mail: it was so nice of you to take the time !

... And thanks for the Rotary commercial talk because from my own experience, everything you wrote is right: going away that first time just opened my eyes, discovering that no country was better or worse than the other, its people just being ... wait for it: DIFFERENT, that's all.

... But knowing also that we are mainly all a piece of God.

I am really into Indian 'things' right now:

- I am reading "1000 white women" from Jim FERGUS and what you wrote about the history of Indians in California made sense to me;

- I am doing a healing session next Saturday (all day long) with a chaman and there will be Indian songs, dances and drums- I can't wait !

- I am also making my very own "dream catcher": I have been taking clay classes for the past 3 years and I am used to model my own stuff (little stars, hearts, Christmas stuffing, etc); also, last summer, I met a lady in Mallorca who taught how to make rope out off palm leaves ... and I am in a desesperate need to touch, feel, be in the presence of and therefore will be buying very soon some rock crystal stones, don't ask me why! So it will be my very own special unique dream catcher made with these things !

Thank you for all the detailed directions ... now I have to study the map and see if I can make it there !

But I am sure my son will also be delighted to go to that spiritual place .

Yes, of course you can post my letter on your blog; I will be more than happy to get more recommendations .
Take care!
Delphine :-).

Then I also got this letter from another person:
Dear Ernie
Hi, i came across your blog when looking up pictures on eel river, and i saw somewhere you said the people who live on eel river have great wisdom.


What do you know about the indians or who ever it is that live there? I was always curious if there were spiritually enlightened groups in the humboldt area, but it seems all the natives here are all modernized and know nothing of the ancient knowledge their ancestors must have had. They just live easy on the government checks and get lost in western science like the elite want them too.
Tommy Hadley

I replied to him:
Tommy


Can I make your letter into a post? I think that you will find some amazing answers to your questions. But, to make it short, many Indian people have lost their culture, but not all are satisfied to "Live easy on their government checks". I think that you will find that not many of them "get lost".

Are you any relation to the Eel River Hadleys?
Ernie

His reply:
Sure you can post it.


I have always loved ancient groups with spiritual knowledge. Like the Javanese people of indonesia. I just find it hard to believe the natives here are spiritual. But i don't know much about the native history here in humboldt county.

I'm in search of an enlightened master. Doesn't sound like much, but finding an enlightened master is very hard. Many think they are enlightened but 98% aren't. The only way you can tell is if their aura is golden.

Sadly, most of the world population don't even see other peoples auras because they have be blind by material things like western science.

And my last name is hadley indeed, but what do you mean by the eel river hadleys? I know of 1 other hadley family here, but i always thought my last name was unique, and somewhat rare with a great history.

Tom

So that's it... I think that these people are honest seekers of a spiritaul path, but I would be less than honest to say that I would be the best to guide them, unless they are seeking the deep spiritual feeling that I get from living in the Eel River Canyon, but that is beyond my ability to expain.
 
So, all you wise people out there that are looking for fresh minds to guide and mold, this is your chance.

Some very interesting links:
Ghost Dance
Major Ervin A. Hadley
Current Two-Rivers Tribune
Wailaki tribe
Seeking Native American Spirituality? Read This First!

Local Indian Petroglyphs, Photo by Robin Shelley

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