THE SECOND CABIN

 

He is honest, hardworking, ambitious, independent, public-spirited. Wanted to carve his own way and not work for someone else, wanted his sons to do likewise, and never wanted his daughters to work for others. He’s always been strictly decent, does not believe in “filthy communication.” – Ina Dobson on her husband Jack, 1934

Jack and Ina Dobson were so proud to have obtained a homestead of their own in 1895. And Jack did work hard on his land. He worked until he was worn out and could work no more, and then he died. His story is not unique. The small farm was subsistence living. They had no extra money to put by for the future, and they couldn’t sell the land for enough to take care of themselves in old age. Say what you will about the government’s generosity in handing out land, if the homesteaders stayed on the farm for the rest of their lives, they were eventually stuck there. 

The Original Cabin

We have established that Jack built the original cabin “down on the flat,” the northern edge of the property, in November and December of 1895. Ina and the three children moved there in the spring of 1896 after Irl was born. And then Jack located a better spot to establish the farmyard, including house, barn, woodshed, henhouse, and other buildings to accommodate a home and farm operation, including livestock.

According to Ina’s story, the family moved into the second cabin (the top photo) in December 1896, so they didn’t stay long in the original cabin. Ethel was born in this cabin in 1898, my dad (Vance) in 1904, and Shirley in 1910. The present farmhouse was built in 1917, and eventually this cabin -- the family home for 20 years -- became my dad’s machine shop. I don’t remember much about it except that it was small and would have been cramped quarters for a family with six growing children. It had an upstairs bedroom for the children’s sleeping quarters, and I only ventured up there once or twice. My dad burned it down in 1971. KW

I submitted the photo of Ina and her children to the Lewiston Tribune for their "Blast from the Past" feature. It was published on October 8, 2025. My grandmother, Ina Dobson, is seated in the foreground with her children -- Myrtle (Lynn), Ethel, Pearl, and Irl. The woman seated behind is Ida Chandler Dickson, who was married to James Benjamin (Ben) Dickson, Ina's brother. And to the right behind is my grandfather, Julian (Jack) Dobson.

It was 36 when Mike and I arose this morning, and I couldn't help but give thanks for our creature comforts. KW

A SUDDEN CHILL IN THE AIR

Pine trees reflected on June's field

So – We’ve gone from unseasonably warm temps to a sudden need for warmer garments. Last night I turned on the electric blanket for the first time this season and pulled the bedspread out of storage. Mike has built fires in the fireplaces at both houses and even lit the pilot on the wall furnace at the farmhouse. I guess he had an inkling that colder temps were on the way because last week he brought our space heaters in from the shed. This morning, he turned them on.

We went to the farm Thursday (Oct. 9). Afternoon highs Thursday and Friday were 82, but Friday the wind picked up and by evening it was raining. We need the rain. We’ve even prayed for rain, and all the while other regions of our country are inundated – storm after storm with wind and flooding. The glow cast by the evening sun as the storm approached was spectacular. The photos here (taken with my phone because I forgot the camera) just don’t do those “magnificent effects” justice.

So, it’s time to prepare for winter. It will surely come. The garden is finished. I picked two dozen (or more) ripe tomatoes and two heaping Cool Whip containers of green ones. (A Cool Whip container is a standard measurement at my house. At approximately three cups, it’s approximate but gives a mental picture nevertheless, sorta like the obsolete bushel and peck.) I picked a few strawberries but tossed them. And I picked three summer squash, but only two were edible. I did not pull the plants out. I’ll do it next trip – or next spring. (I’m tempted to say whichever comes first.)

Thursday afternoon, Mike and I transplanted “blanket flowers” and mint from the town garden in the orchard. These may not take but perhaps the seeds will spread and plant themselves. I can always dream.

The pears we picked last trip gradually ripened on the counter, so I sliced and dried two trays of them. We were surprised to find eight more decent pears on the tree, which Mike picked for us.

And I made a batch of haw jelly, baked an apple blueberry pie and cookies. Mike took the big chimes down and stored them. He also cleaned the eavestroughs. It all sounds so easy, doesn’t it? But it was work. And we brought the lawnmower back to town for winter service and storage. KW

 

INFLATION WOES

 Listen, the hard candy cost 9 cents a pound, cream 15 cents a pint, nuts two pounds for 35 cents. Some change! – Ina Dobson to son Vance, December 1932

We can laugh today at the inflation noted by Ina during the Great Depression, but in the days when every penny counted, I guess those were terrible prices. Strictly speaking, she didn’t need hard candy and nuts, but she wanted them as treats to serve at her annual Christmas party. She said that others were unable to contribute, so it fell to her to provide for everyone. She added that the store gave her an extra pound of hard candy, and she was grateful.

Previously I have said that we can afford to have whatever we want from the grocery store. I now say, “We can, but do we want to?” Food items keep going up. For 30 years, I have mixed myself a cup of hot chocolate with a touch of instant coffee every morning, but given the price of chocolate and coffee, I’m about to let it go. We have a stash of tea in the cupboard, so if I don’t find an outlet for affordable hot chocolate, I’ll switch to tea. What happens if you drink bedtime tea first thing in the morning?

But – we have to eat. The question is, what are we going to eat? I think Mike and I will stick to the basics – produce, dairy, bread, and meat. Maybe we’ll eat foods that are better for us. Relatively speaking, processed food has always been expensive.

What about other shopping? I might not buy 30 dolls this year. Maybe I’ll only buy two. I thought about buying a Maplelea Girl, the Canadian answer to the American Girl, but I don’t need another doll. In fact, I don’t need much – hardly anything at all. My stashes will hold me for a while. It’s just that something new now and then boosts the morale.

Here’s a small project I just finished – two Halloween quilt-as-you-go mug rugs, kits from the Fat Quarter Shop. They were quick to make and added to my enjoyment of the season. And the pineapple upside-down-cake that Mike ordered turned out well, too. (Not everything turns out well these days.) KW

 

THE ORIGINAL CABIN

 

In examining this photo of the first bean harvest on the Julian (Jack) Dobson homestead (see post of Sept. 20), Mike and son Murray discovered an obscure image of the “original" cabin, the first cabin that Grandpa Jack built here. Look closely, and you’ll see it just over the head of the man farthest left. (See enlargement.)

This one-room cabin was rough and rustic but served as their home base while they cleared the land and began their farming operation.

The "original" cabin, 1912

My aunt, Ethel Dobson Robinson, said that the cabin was built in November and December 1895 and was the first cabin in the Gilbert community. The Gilbert post office closed in 1920, but the general area on Russell Ridge is still known as Gilbert.

I don’t know when the cabin was demolished, but according to Aunt Ethel, her sister Myrtle Dobson (known to me as Aunt Lynn) took the picture in 1912. The family was living in the new cabin by 1900, and the present farmhouse was built in 1917. KW 

THE AUTUMNAL EQUINOX

Our north field in the foreground; planting on the neighbor's field

 I thought I had my semi-annual dental appointment on the 24^th, but I discovered that I had it all wrong. It’s not until November. So, we loaded the Jeep and headed to the farm.

The seasonal change was obvious as we drove along. It was a beautiful sunny day, but the tilt of the autumn sun often put the highway in shade. Autumn just has a look all its own. I suppose all seasons do, but with autumn, it seems more pronounced. It’s still early yet for the leaves to change color, but I saw a hint of fall color here and there.

While I dream of autumn, we’re still having 80-degree afternoons here at the farm. That sun is hot!

I left Jingles the Elf in town. He’s a stupid project, but I’ll finish him and we can all laugh. I’ve been saving patterns for other stuffed elves and Santas that I want to try, but first things first. Jingles must be finished.

I brought the Halloween quilt with me but left the instructions in town. C’est la vie! It’s always something. And I took one sewing machine back to town with the last trip and brought the other one back to the farmhouse. “Is this the same sewing machine we carried to town,” asks Mike. I was glad to be able to say no, but for all the good it does me, I shouldn’t have bothered. I just have to have some things with me or my life feels wrong!

Over the last couple of days, we have watched as the farmer planted the neighbor’s place. There’s just something comforting about the sound of distant farm machinery on a quiet autumn day. Our fields are stubble and won’t be planted until spring.

Son Murray came for dinner last night and spent several hours stargazing with the aid of an app. He identified the International Space Station, various satellites, etc.

Mike and I picked two gallons of pears from the old tree the other day, and I dried the ripest ones. Very good! (If I remember my grade school education, I think pears and apples should be measured in bushels and pecks, but apparently those measurements are obsolete now.)

I suspect that our garden is about finished. A few strawberry plants have blossoms, but none of the summer squash plants are in bloom. I picked a dozen tomatoes and will pick more before the next trip to town. I also picked many “Sweet 100” cherry tomatoes and might try making jam. I watered well this morning, and then Mike put the hoses away. I also pulled all the honey crisp apples off the tree and tossed most of them. What few I salvaged I managed to scorch in an effort to make applesauce. It happens – more and more. KW 

BEAN HARVEST, 1897

This photo, taken in 1897, is of the first bean harvest on my grandfather Julian Dobson's homestead. I submitted it to the Lewiston Tribune for the "Blast from the Past" section, where it was published on Thursday, Sept. 18.

My aunt, Ethel Dobson Robinson, identified the photo as follows: Ross Pratt, Junius Dobson, Julian Dobson, Frank Dickson, Perry Chandler, Charley Boehm, John Boehm, Clarence Chandler, and Marshall Brooks. 

Aunt Ethel adds: "No machinery was used on this bean crop. The beans were pulled by hand and later threshed on the barn floor with 'flails.'" 

Mike and I think the location is the field north of the house. KW

TACKLING A BUFFALO

On Dec. 10, 2023, as I attempted to digest the information that our son Milo had been murdered, so much went through my mind – shock, grief, anger, hurt, and dread -- dread because I knew this wrongful death would be disruptive to my daily life for a long time. “No!” I screamed into the phone. I felt the muses slipping away, and I knew they would be gone indefinitely. Mike and I now had work to do. Hallie soon took over much of it, but we are involved in the details. And so, we have worked diligently according to our leadings, and it’s not over yet. Life finally feels more normal, and the muses have returned despite the underlying sadness.

Anyway, that work in Milo’s name is not the buffalo. The buffalo is “Jingles the Elf,” a crochet project in process. The other day, as I tried to start yet another crocheted doll sweater, I realized that I should just retrieve Jingles from the shed and finish him. His face is finished, so he looks at me ruefully every time I go to the shed. My memory was that my work had just been interrupted, but I had forgotten that he was indeed a buffalo of the first magnitude.

It was his hair – the next step in his construction. The instructions ask me to crochet a strip of double loops into a chain, and this is just so difficult to do. I hate to say I can’t, but in some cases, it just isn’t practical in terms of time and stress. (And besides – the pattern is just someone’s idea, and who’s to say that my idea isn’t just as good?) With yarn and a needle, I think that I can come up with the same result – perhaps even better. So, I skipped his hair for now and moved on to his tunic.

We have a few friends among the prison inmates now, and one of them crochets stuffed toys. He says his grandmother taught him to crochet, and with time on his hands, he has perfected his craft. He uses worsted weight yarn ordered from Herrschners and a size F bamboo crochet hook. Inmates can ship things out of prison, so he takes orders from other inmates and makes stuffed toys for their children. 

His work is an inspiration to me. Just look how tightly he makes that fabric. I hope to emulate that work. KW