Without a Doubt

Submitted by: Betty (Radford) Puddicombe

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I grew up in the small town of Amesdale, Ontario. There was a CN station where my Dad worked, a one room school house, six or seven other families, and a pond that you swam in in the summer, and skated on in the winter.

The year I turned eleven, my parents separated, and the decision was made that my older brother, my baby sister and I would stay living with Dad -- the best desicion that was ever made. But, life wasn't bad; and as a child, you accept what you are given.

As Christmas approached, my sister, who was five, asked lots of questions. "Would we have Christmas this year?" "What would Christmas be like without Mom?" and of course, "Would Santa still come to our house?". I told her that everything would be okay, then i prayed really hard, because I too had doubts.

Dad worked very hard on the railroad and looking after us; and often at night we would hear him up puttering around; but after all he had been through, it didn't surprise us. Christmas Eve, we were invited out, and as we walked home, I prayed again because my heart was heavy, and it was like an angel touched me and said --"Don't Doubt".

Christmas morning we woke up to the smell of turkey cooking and Dad shouting "Merry Christmas Girls!". That Christmas, my sister and I got new coats and shiny new skates. After breakfast and listening to the Queen's message on the radio ( Dad was from England, and that was important), Dad told us to go try out our new skates. That was great, but it meant shovelling off the pond first. But, off we went - only to find that somewhere between late Christmas Eve and early Christmas morning, our big brother and our Dad had cleaned off the pond.

After skating for a couple of hours, we headed home. As we walked in the door, we were so surprised -- the table was set beautifully and we sat down to turkey, dressing and all the trimmings; including Christmas cake and mincemeat pie -- all homemade by our Dad.

As I looked across the table at my Dad, I knew without a doubt, that my Dad was the most amazing and loving Dad in the world. As I gave him a hug and said thank-you, he just smiled and said "Didn't I always tell you all that I loved you as big as the world?"

That, without a doubt, was my most memorable Christmas!!!!

Queeny and Bessy

Queeny and Bessy belonged to George and Bill, the inseparable Radford brothers who owned one of the few teams in Amesdale. Although purchased to haul wood out of the bush for loading onto railway cars and shipment to Winnipeg, they served the community as ambulance, hearse, and taxi.

When Ote Thompson and Edward Radford passed away in the winters of 1943 and 1946 respectively, the sleigh carried their coffins to the Amesdale Cemetery. The team served as taxi, carrying the wedding party to Wick Cliff Lodge for Jim Radford and Mary Stouffer’s wedding in December, 1947. On a another winter in the 1950's, Ella Nelson suffered her first stroke and the team was used to rush her from the Nelson home at the airport to the store to meet a waiting taxi. At Christmastime, grandparents were ferried to the Radford home, and in the summer the team pulled a wagon loaded with kids, parents, and food to the Dominion Day picnics. Then there were the hay rides enjoyed by all.

First Car in Amesdale

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During the late 1920's Gordon proudly traveled about Amesdale by dog team. His team consisted of two dogs, one being a beautiful white Husky named Prince. With his small team Gordon was able to travel the whole area for pleasure as veil as hauling groceries and mail.

In 1930 Gordon's dog team gave way to a new form of transport­ation, the automobile. His car was a 1924 four cylinder Chevrolet Series F, a thinly disguised offshoot of the Chevrolet 490. This was the first car in Amesdale. Despite the inconvenience of having to lift the car over railway tracks, it was an enormous success.

Later Gordon bought a 1929 Chevrolet International AC 4 Door Sedan. Besides facilitating transport of people and goods between the Amesdale General Store and Dryden, while courting his future wife, Beatrice Radford it carried them to Dryden for the occasional movie.

Gordon later purchased a black 1948 Chevrolet truck which was better suited for hauling groceries from Dryden . . . . . . .




. . . . and occasionally one of Fred's moose out of the bush.

The Radio

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Entertainment was simple and generally homemade in the then isolated community of Amesdale. Dances, Christmas concerts, and picnics relied entirely upon home-grown talent. Imported talent arrived direct, over the airwaves to Gordon Ames’ new battery operated radio. The radio was kept in the store, where it became the focal point of regular evening community entertainment.

Phrases like, "Fibber McGee's closet" and "I gotta get that closet cleaned out one of these days", soon became part of the local vernacular as the community tapped into mainstream entertainment. These phrases were immortalised by McGee’s opening of “The Closet”, out of which would tumble an avalanche of clutter. Amid the despair and struggle of the 1930’s, such recurring gags, on the “Fibber McGee and Molly” comic drama, touched a nerve with the local audience, as blowhard McGee’s hare-brained get rich quick schemes were perennially frustrated. Perhaps, in a Depression weary world, McGee’s desperate strivings, and Molly’s loving patience, were a humorous parody on their own lives.

Another popular radio sitcom was the nightly Amos ‘N Andy show in which the then archetypes of African-Americans were humorously portrayed. Although, perhaps racially offensive to some by today's standards, beneath the dialect and racial imagery, the series humorously celebrated the virtues of friendship, persistence, hard work, and common sense, so fundamental in the audience’s daily life.

On June 22, 1938, together with an estimated audience of 70 million around the world, there in Gordon’s store, the men of Amesdale clustered around the radio to listen to “The Fight of the Century”. In a rematch, Joe Louis, the Brown Bomber faced the German Max Schmeling. Victorious over Louis in 1936 with his “right over the top”, Hitler touted Schmeling as perfect specimen of the Arian superiority, over an inherently inferior black race. In March 1938, German troops had entered Austria to enforce the Anschluss, or annexation of Austria. Keenly aware of the events in Europe, the men of Amesdale were riveted to radio as Louis and Schmeling met in what was as much “The Fight of the Century” between Heavyweights, as a match between political ideology and race. With a series of “one-two punches”, Joe Louis lifted the spirits of the Empire, defeating the German at the two minute four second mark of Round One. Imagine the scene in the store that night!

If not already enlisted, in a more sombre mood, before Gordon’s radio these same men again huddled about the radio to catch the news from “The Front”. Known as “The Voice of Doom”, chief CBC radio announcer Lorne Greene, read the news at the height of Canada's darkest days of World War II. Following the desperate evacuation of the British Expeditionary Force from the beaches of Dunkirk in May 1940, they would have been inspired by Churchill’s promise:

"We will not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end, we shall fight in France, we shall fight in the seas and the oceans…we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, was shall never surrender, and even if, which I do not for a moment believe, this island or a large port of it were subjugated and starving, then our Empire beyond the seas, armed and guarded by the British Fleet, would carry on the struggles until, in God’s good time, the new world, with all its power and might, steps forth to the rescue and liberation of the old.”

And so they did. In total 15 boys from Amesdale enlisted to rescue and liberate the old world.

Together with that radio, through Depression and War their spirits were raised, and their burdens lightened by Kate Smith’s cheerful "Hello, everybody!" as she greeted audiences, and "Thanks for listenin'”, as she signed off the long running “Kate Smith Show”. With Kate they hummed or sang along with her theme song "When the Moon Comes Over the Mountain", and would have been cheered by her singing of “Just Whistle and Blow Your Cares Away”:

Here’s how to make everything OK!
Just Whistle and Blow your Cares Away
You’ll swing along through the day.
If you Whistle and Blow your Cares Away
You’re bound to loose your troubles and every care.

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Amesdale Cemetery Preservation Project

A committee has been formed for upkeep of the Amesdale Cemetery. A work party is planned for the end of September, and a bank account for the "AMESDALE CEMETERY" has been set up for funds donated for maintenance.

For more information on how to volunteer or donate contact Joanne Brown at: terry056@drytel.net

Donations for the cemetery should be made payable to the "AMESDALE CEMETERY" and sent to:

Joanne Brown
Box 98
Eagle River, Ontario
P0V 1S0

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I Could Whap Them All Up To Here!

What had left Gordon Ames handicapped from childhood wasn’t well understood. The story was that shortly after his birth, a lady left to look after him had pressed some “milk” out of his wee breasts, which later became infected and cause him severe curvature of the spine.
The true cause was likely tuberculosis of the spine, commonly known as Potts disease, or more correctly as kyphosis. Once prevalent among children, this disease, which attacks the inter-vertebral cartilages causing the spine to curve into a bow and a distinctive hump, is now rare in the developed world.

Understood or not, in a world less accommodating to those with handicaps, “spunk” was a valuable attribute, and Gordon certainly had “spunk”. Observing himself, photographed as the shortest in his grade one photo, Gordon would comment with some satisfaction that he could “whap them all up to here”, pointing to a position well beyond the mid-point of the row of boys. The innocent cruelty of children is something Gordon learned to manage with his fists.

Later, he surpassed others with his intellect. He nurtured a sharp mind that was quick with figures, and sharp comment. In part, his clever mind compensated for his physical limitations. As Amesdale’s general merchant, he received gasoline in 45 gallon drums, and with pride would comment that through careful planning he could do what “real men” were unable to do, and stand them on end.

A glimpse of how Gordon dealt with his handicap is provided by his good friend Clarence Tillenius:

“I must tell you I had both sympathy and deep admiration for Gordon - in contrast to all his brothers and sisters who were all tall and good looking, Gordon with his hunchback suffered many indignities what he largely - and usually successfully - hid from the world.

To give you an example: one morning early I was alone in his store with Gordon when a man walked in - someone I had not met but I think was probably some distant relative of Gordon's - and his opening greeting was: "Haven't yet gotten your head up off your shoulders, Ames?" Gordon, quick witted as always, came back with: "If your head was so full of brains as mine is, ya' wouldn't care where it was!!"

I, myself, had been deeply disgusted at such a comment being directed to Gordon - who can help such a disfigurement caused by no fault of his own? And I sensed then - as I did many times after - that Gordon's constant high spirits and public merriment disguised a sensitive nature often and deeply hurt by these supposed joking references to his handicap.

What I admired in him then, as I do to this day, was his ability to make the best of his handicap and try his best to provide the good life for your mother and you in spite of those lapses when the black moods would overcome him, and alcohol to drown his handicap would - though rarely enough - take over.”

Though imperfect, as we are all imperfect, I too admire him, and appreciate his example. If I ever have challenges as great as his, I hope to be able to do so well.

George's Deer

George and his Deer

George Radford was known to be a good hunter. He shot absolutely everything, year round and provided food for everyone. In the early summer of 1948 or 1949, while out on one of his woodland trips he came across a fawn on its own. The mother had presumably been killed leaving this fawn, still young enough to have its spots, an orphan. Knowing the fawn wouldn’t survive on its own, George brought it back to his homestead which was called “farm”, took it in, and cared for it. Initially he feed it with a bottle, and everybody including Jean, and cousins Billy and Betty ages six, five, and four respectively, pitched in taking turns feeding the baby white-tailed deer until they had successfully nursed him into a healthy independent young buck.

With everyone caring for the animal, he soon established himself as a permanent member of the Radford family. He was even given a name; Bucky. Although this new member of the family grew up side by side with the kids, he was definitely George’s deer and George’s friend. Relative to the other animals on the farm, he enjoyed a rather privileged position, even invited into the house to enjoy Christmas dinner with the family. In addition to the more traditional deer diet of leafy material, twigs, buds and grasses, supplemented with such delicacies as mushrooms and blueberries, he was fed just like one of the family, having a particular fondness porridge. However, his weakness was tobacco. Knowing this, George and brother Bill would save their cigarette butts for him. These succulent morsels were then placed in their shirt pockets, and Bucky was allowed to forage for the special treat.

A “deer shed” was constructed to protect him from the elements, and he was permitted too play within the safety of a fenced pasture, which he shared with the cattle. As the years passed, Bucky happily grew into a full grown deer, compete with antlers. However, as he matured, he became more restless and at time vicious. His wilder disposition was more apparent in springtime, when he was working at removing the velvet which covered his antlers. At these times George kept him tied up more often, and the kids didn’t go near him as much.

Periodically, he would be allowed to run loose. On these occasions he run down the path though the bush to meet the kids as they returned from school. One winter day, while out on one of his romps down the path, he met Grandma Radford, and in his exuberance bumped her right off the path and into the snow bank. The incident seemed quite hilarious to the on looking grandchildren. However, to Harriet it certainly wasn’t a laughing matter. She normally enjoyed to joke, but being the object of public amusement perpetrated by a deer, was going a bit too far and she became quite upset.. To be sure, for a lady in her seventies, a brush with a rambunctious deer, and a tumble into a snow bank, isn’t something to be taken lightly by anyone…except innocent grandchildren.

Bucky the Deer was also quite picky about his friends, and there was a certain person that on several occasions he wouldn’t let on George’s property. Years later, on a road crew in 1977 Fred Radford’s son John came across that man. When Oscar Goulette, John’s boss on the project, learned that John was Fred Radford from Amesdale, he exclaimed “that sonna of a .......,( with his strong French accent) they had a pet deer that would not let me on the Radford property.” In the minds of many, Bucky had an enduring reputation.

George had his friend "Bucky" for five to six years, but when George passed away in 1954, Bucky became unmanageable for anyone else. One day, he broke his chain and left to go back into the woods nearby.

Bill Radford with Bucky

Details contributed by Fred Radford, Jean Radford Martel, and Betty Radford Puddicombe

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Protein-on-the-Hoof

or "Dinnertime at the Sam and Annie Ames Home"
By Andrew Clement

To be included in the blessings of nature to which the farmers fell heir were those mobile units of succulent protein-on-the-hoof, which came with the bush, the moose and deer. These were fair game to be had on sight at any time, dawn, dusk, or high noon from June to June.

It is now June of '32 and a field of clover nodding in the wind and sun extends away from a white house behind which is a hip roofed barn.

The potatoes have been lifted and carried, still steaming, to the centre of the table on which is placed a platter of salt pork. Pa and the three kids direct eight arms toward something to eat before the others get it.

Ma on her way from the stove cast a quick glance toward the south clearing as a matter of habit. She stops for another look and says in a loud whisper, "There's one Pa!" A commotion follows as everyone rushes to the window to see what that "one" may be, sometimes a moose black against the green.

Now Pa pushed his plate in, his chair back the other way, takes a rifle off the wall, and slips out the back door, all in one motion as perfected by habit. Ma and the three kids from ten on down crowd the window for a glimpse of the drama soon to be enacted.

The deer, which it is, hidden below the body by the clover and a slight hump in the field, moves nervously wagging its ears from the pestering flies, faces toward the house making a narrow target. At that distance of two hundred yards it would be easy to miss. But why the delay, the watchers wonder. Now the animal decided to change pastures. First it raises its head to full alert upon the farmhouse and turns broadside. This is the end. With the explosion the animal disappears. The youngsters burst from the door and tear across the meadow, howling with delight. As a tribute to beauty in death they remain silent a moment then tear back to the house screaming with excitement.

Mrs. Ames' Rhubarb Patch

Photo Copyrighted. Posted with permission of Clarence Tillenius

Story from the Autobiography of Clarence Tillenius

After being “willingly commandeered” to fight a big fire on the road to Dryden in the late spring, then “reluctantly commandeered” by Old Sam Ames to do some sheep-shearing, I felt I had a vacation coming. I was more than anxious to get back to MacDonald Lake and finish the cabin I was building with my partner Harold. However, I had reckoned without Old Sam, who waylaid me in the store when I was packing some comestibles into a packsack in preparation for heading towards MacDonald Lake.

Old Sam lost no time in coming to the point. "Mrs. Ames has always wanted some rhubarb in the garden" he said," and she tells me you know all about planting rhubarb. Why is it so hard to grow rhubarb? If you do know how, I want you as a favor to Mrs. Ames, to see that she gets some in the garden."

"Rhubarb isn't hard to grow", I said, "It's just that to get a good crop of rhubarb with big juicy stems instead of little spindly ones, you've got to prepare a rhubarb trench, and in this white clay soil which is just like concrete, that's a hell of a job!"

"But you know how to make a rhubarb trench, hey?" said Old Sam "Well, I'll give you Don here (his 15-year old son who had become one of my devoted followers) to help you if you'll contract to do it?" "Well,” I said, "it's going to mean digging a trench anywhere up to 4 feet deep and 2 feet wide and about 30 feet long, and in this ground that could take more time than I would propose to put in."

"Four foot trench, hey?" said Old Sam. "Well, now 'pears to me that that's a job that calls for a little blasting powder. Now, if you'll mark out where the trench ought to be, we'll just get a post-hole auger and sink a few holes down 4 feet and ol' dynamite will do the rest."

So Sam's conviction that I would do the job carried the day. Don and I, using narrow-bladed shovels, a pick and crowbars, dug the first pilot shaft 4 feet deep, 2 feet wide and about the same long. This was to mark the beginning of the trench, which Old Sam, true to his word, blasted out in a sort of irregular ditch, which we smoothed off, sides and bottom, to approximate the desired trench. "What now?” said Don. “Now we'll fill the trench," I said: "with alternate layers of manure and this white clay we've been throwing out. When that is well mixed, we should have a trench to the King's - or rather, the rhubarb's taste." Which we did, surprising Old Sam, who had made the journey to Dryden - or maybe Kenora - and brought back a dozen or so rhubarb roots to begin the long desired 'rhubarb garden'.

The Cemetery

Home becomes an imprecise concept, as we scatter across the country and around the world. Regardless of how scattered we have become, if “home” is determined relative to the geographic location on this planet where our roots are deepest and dearest, for many Amesdale would be most accurately described as home.

Yet, except for the memories, stories, and feelings that we hold dear, little remains of our Amesdale home. For the most part, our homesteading ancestors have departed this realm. The works of their hands: the homes, hall, school, and store have been removed, and nature has reclaimed their field, roads, and pathways. Even so, in that place where the cemetery is the only tangible remnant of their existence and their labours, our memories still flow warm and alive with sweet recollections of their will, sacrifice, and love.

In the summer heat, as I step through that gate, and walk among the pines to the sound of dry moss and pine needles crushing beneath my feet, I feel at home. Standing on the knoll by the graves of my loved ones, in a sweet silence broken only by the breeze through jack pine boughs and the singing of a grasshopper in the grass, I feel my roots reaching deep into that soil, and sense the influence of those I so dearly remember. I gladly recall the smile, the laugh, the song, and the tease, then give thanks for the reassuring love I felt in their presence. Notwithstanding their simple lives of perseverance in the face of untold hardship and personal challenge, they each left their mark.

I have no personal memory of “the happy wanderer” named George McKay. He died before I was born, but I know a portion of his story. I know that his family is intertwined with mine, not just as relatives but as friends, as they were with other pioneering friends from the sister communities of Amesdale and Richan. In the spring of 1928, following a tragic spring storm, George McKay was the first to be laid to rest in the Amesdale cemetery. His brother-in-law Samuel George Ames and his friend Jack Nelson were instrumental in securing permission for the cemetery where he was laid.

Others followed. Years later Gordon Ames drove from Dryden with Bruce’s infant body beside him on the bench seat of his pickup. Jack Nelson fashioned a tiny wooden casket and Clarence Tilleneus painted the concrete headstone. The sad journey of the previous year was repeated in the summer of 1940, as Gordon retraced the route to bring his infant daughter Katherine home to rest alongside her brother.

On a cold wintry day in January 1943, Gordon sat with Ote Thompson, Amesdale’s original pioneer, as he passed on. He closed the eyes and placed coppers on them, straightened the body, and expressed his condolences to Phoebe and Joyce. The task of digging the grave fell on George and Bill Radford and Jack Nelson. Lucky for them, twenty-five years earlier, the deceased had selected a sandy spot for the cemetery. George Radford supplied the team and sleigh. Then amid the pines, sheltered by the horses standing near the mound of earth by the open grave, the heavily clothed mourners paid their last respects.

A generation later, I too was privileged to stand amid the pines, by an open grave, and in the pattern of men like Gordon, Jack, Clarence, George, and Bill provide a small measure of service to family and friends. Now, just beyond the once bustling frontier village of Amesdale, in that small plot where they once laboured in the service of their friends, many of these men lie at rest, with their parents, wives and children, among friends and neighbours:

ALVERSON, Allan
ALVERSON, Rosa
AMES, Annie Eliza
AMES, Beverly
AMES, Bruce (baby)
AMES, Donald
AMES, Katherine (baby)
AMES, Samuel George
AMES, Gordon
AMES, Beatrice

BAKALA, Nick
BREAU, Ed

CARLSON, Arthur
CARLSON, Katherine
CARLSON, Donald
CRANDELL, William

DAHL, Carl
DAHL, Ellen

GEVANOLE, Pete

HANSON, Mark (baby)
HEWITSON, Amy
HEWITSON, Jack
HEWITSON, Violet
HEWITSON, Wilfered

LaFORREST, David
LYNCH, Olive

McKAY, George
McKAY, Joseph
McKAY, Mary Eva
MEREDITH, George
MONCRIEF, Hugh
MONCRIEF, Katherine (baby)
MURDICK, Virginia
MURDICK, Chuck

NELSON, Don
NELSON, Ella
NELSON, John
NELSON, Margaret (baby)

OLLIS, Roy

PATON, William

RADFORD, Edward
RADFORD, George
RAMSTEAD, Agda
RAMSTEAD, Mormor
RAMSTEAD, Lorne

THOMPSON, Iotis
THOMPSON, Myron
THOMPSON, Roy

WILSON, Andrew
WILSON, Glenn
WILSON, Dorothy
WRIGHT, Joyce
WRIGHT, Donald

The Little Cemetery at Amesdale

Andrew Clement
Posted with the kind permission of

Jessie Howarth Clement

The little cemetery at Amesdale is one of many scattered about the North. It is typical of those to be found, if indeed they can be located, in small homestead settlements which began dying as soon as they started.

Every five or six years Jessie and I, while visiting in the area on a pleasant summer day, have been able to stop for a few moments of quiet contemplation on that spot where the pines are growing ever more stately, and the fragrance of the woods drifts through them.

A pretence of a fence with a little gate, barely seen among the brushes and the grass as you drive by, remains one of the vain hopes that herds of cows might some day be wandering the road.

Nature alone takes care of this burial ground. Pine needles have formed a cover over the soft carpet of moss on which only a few stunted weed can grow. The lurid devil’s paint brush adds the only touch of brightness to be found among the gravestones.

It is so quiet you can hear the crushing of the moss and needles under your feet, quiet enough to hear the long, soft sigh of the winds.

Here and there the remains of wreaths indicates that someone has come back, though perhaps five years ago, and thought haunts you that this someone, who has been spoken about in your presence with lonely heart by one of these who rest here, is himself gone, and that you too will follow and be forgotten in the awful processes of nature.

As you step over the fence and search the names – the McKays, the Ames, the Radfords, the Nelsons, Olive Lynch, Ote Thompson, Ed Brough – the terrible reality of death overwhelms the poor heart. Here beneath your feet lies dust once vibrant with life and for a moment you hear its laughter and catch the bright glance from its eye.

And we ask ourselves, “Was the life of these worth living?”

When we see the hard-won earth going back to nature, trees growing in the roads which had been made by a team and scraper in the flies and heat, and the crumbling homes soon to be hidden behind a new forest, we must surely say, “No, ‘Twas all in vain!”

Such is not the case. The weak and disenchanted had come and soon left. The precious few who remained and who are interred in this little plot had their share of happiness. One should not mourn the lives of the pioneer as being in vain, because they worked hard and died poor. Indeed at the hour of death we are all poor. The homesteader had an advantage in that everything he did from his prayers to his labour touched close upon his family and himself. Their expectations were few and humble and they learned to find joy in the simple things.

Clement, Andrew D. 1987. The Bell and The Book. Highway Book Shop, Cobalt, Ontario, p212-213

Dominion Day Picnic

Everyone turned out to celebrate July 1st, Dominion Day. It was a pleasant time of the year when the heat of the summer settled over the community, and the woodlands once again became clothed with green, and the meadows were arrayed with wildflowers. Annually, on this day the citizens of Amesdale gathered at the airport to celebrate the nation’s birthday with fun and games, and a picnic.

Since the proclamation issued to all Her Majesty’s loving subjects by Governor General, Lord Monck on June 20, 1868, the celebration of the anniversary of the Act of Confederation, and the formation of the Dominion of Canada was a national holiday. Unlike Britain, the United States, France and Germany, which achieved nationhood in war, Canada demonstrated a new way of achieving nationhood, through peace.

With another long winter behind them, Dominion Day was a time for every man, woman and child to have a good time. The men who laboured on the section gangs and in the bush enjoyed a well deserved day-off. There weren’t any flags or speeches, it was simply good fun. However, the celebration reflected the optimism of a nation and its people emerging from the bleak conditions of the Great Depression which had driven many of them from dry impoverished prairies to seek refuge in the bush.

The optimism was reborn in later years, after the war when Dominion Day had taken a back-seat to news from the front. All the “boys” had returned from overseas, having won Canada’s greatest test and proven themselves and their nation by fighting in WWII beneath their own flag, the Red Ensign. Having seen a portion of the world, they returned with new skills, and renewed optimism to establish families in the place they themselves had been raised by the first generation of Amesdale pioneers.

During the early years the celebrations had been held anywhere there was room in this community carved out of the bush. Space was first found alongside the store during the 1920s, then in the school yard beside the newly constructed school during the early 1930s. The later Depression years saw it moved to the Relief Camp, built for the construction of the airport, and there it remained even after the airport was completed and the five bunkhouses were removed. The remaining sheds and the airport custodian’s home remained the centre of the festivities with Jack Nelson, the airport custodian, together with his wife Ella hosting the event often organised by Beatrice Ames and Laurie Ames.

Through the years, the ice cream was always the highlight for the kids. In this era before modern refrigeration which never did arrive in the community, ice cream was a rare treat. In the heat of the summer, the manufacture of ice-cream relied upon ice was removed from the icehouse and mixed with salt to lower the temperature. Then after much cranking of the ice-cream tub, the prized frozen delicacy was extracted to the delight of the children. Later, Gordon Ames in his truck would deliver store bought ice-cream all the way from Dryden, packed securely in dry ice for the trip. As if for Santa Claus, the kids waited anxiously for ice-cream’s annual visit.

Regardless of the location, the games were the same year after year. Sack races, three-legged races, and tug of war were the favourites, not only for the youngsters, but also for the adults. Jean and Irene Paridis, young sisters now married to the Thompson brothers, would practice for the event and consequently always won the ladies events. Siblings, Beatrice Ames and Fred Radford enjoyed the softball games, often taking the position of pitcher in the tournaments, as would Myron and Roy Thompson. Undoubtedly, there would have been a game of horseshoes, and much visiting in the shade of the trees, interrupted only by a dip in the cool water of spring-fed Airport Lake, lying just over brow of the hill upon which the airport was built.

Being a family event, drinking reportedly wasn’t normally a part of the event, but eating was. Sandwiches, potato salad, pies, cakes and Irene Thompson’s baked beans were standard fare.

One year, during the late 1940s, lightning struck with an explosion like a bomb going off. Jack Nelson, standing beside a car was knocked to the ground, landing on his backside as the lightning bolt struck a tree not five feet from him. In the tree, standing alongside an outhouse, the lightening ploughed a three inch deep strip down the trunk, from top to bottom ripping the wood into splinters like toothpicks as the big white streak tore through the tree. Fortunately for the pregnant lady visiting from Dryden, and at that the very moment comfortably seated upon the outhouse throne, the bolt bypassed the outhouse and proceeded to strike a nearby shed. The shed, storing jute gunny sacks in the attic, immediately burst into flames, while the bolt bifurcated sending a ball of fire tumbling through the door of a nearby building.

Like a volunteer fire brigade, Fred Radford standing within ten feet of the strike, together with the other men, grabbed jute sacks now strewn about the yard, and beat out the fire. Fortunately, the event left only memories and no injuries. Everyone returned home happily from the annual event, after a particularly memorable day of games, socialising, and of course…ice-cream. Such was life at Amesdale, long days of work punctuated by rich and memorable events with family and friends.

Bear Cubs - 1948

We had sheep, about sixty of them. During the war, the government gave grants to people who wanted to raise sheep for wool, which was used for uniforms. In 1948, we still had the sheep, and on a spring day, I looked down and there was this big bear down there with the sheep. Well, I took the rifle and shot it.

The next day, I was down at the store, and we were talking about this bear that I shot amongst the sheep. Well, the next day, there was a ‘fella’ come to see me. He came with Glen Parsons, and he was an artist. He wanted to know the different colours of the bear, especially up around her eyes and her nose. So we went back to look at it, and there lays the old big mother bear that was killed, and three little cubs curled up on top of her.

So between us we caught them, but one went up a big black spruce tree about two feet in diameter at the base. Well, I went up after him, about 20 or 30 feet, climbing the limbs of the tree like a ladder. Then he went out on a limb, and jumped into a creek near the base. He jumped through some tag alders that broke his fall, and landed in the water. Glen grabbed him out of the water, and we took the three of them home and tried to find places for them.

We gave two of them to the tourist camp. Myron Thompson was at the store, and he took the one that jumped from the tree. He drilled a hole by his house, with an auger, put a post in the hole, and tied the bear to it.. Myron Thompson and I took that bear and raised it all summer. It was a real pet. We kept it till fall, then we got a hold of the game warden and told him about it, and he says, “Well why don’t you try and get rid of it”. He says, “I think they need a bear in the Winnipeg Zoo”. So we contacted the Winnipeg Zoo, and yes they wanted one, so we had to get permission to ship it out of the province, which we did. Myron and I went into Winnipeg a couple of months later, and as soon as we showed up by that pen he was right there. That was the last time we saw that little bear.

I don’t know what happened to the other two bears we gave to Walter and Winnie Cromp, owners of the Wick Cliff Lodge. I think they gave one to the Americans. I don’t know what happened to the other one. However, it may have escaped and while running along the "South Road", was shot by one of the homesteaders.

Today, on account of this bear that I got, is why I’m fully against the hunting of bears in the spring. Bear cubs are born in the early spring, but aren’t weaned until the late summer. They only become independent from their mothers when they are a year and a half old, so these little bear cubs, that only weighed two to three pounds, never had a chance of survival.

Story by Fred Radford

photo: Fred Radford and Myron Thompson with their bear

Josef Artur Karlsson

Josef Artur Karlsson or as he later changed it to the Canadian spelling of Joseph Arthur Carlson was born on November 28 1904 to Karl August Svensson and Selma Elise Jonsson at Torras Sweden. He was baptised in the Swedish Lutheran Church on December 27 1904 by Pastor O Svenssen.

Art as he became known grew up on the small family farm in Torras along with nine brothers and sisters. His father Karl would come to Canada to work for the Canadian National Railway for two years and return to Sweden for two years. I guess that is why there was two years between each child. Of coarse this would supplement the family income and improve the farm.. Art soon became his mothers pet, and sitting beside her on the long winter evenings she would teach him to spin, weave and knit. He became a very good cook. He attended school in Torras finishing grade ten.

After finishing school Art worked as a farm labourer for a year. At that time it was compulsory that you join the Army, which he did for about six or seven years. As he was very interested in horses he joined the cavalry division. After his stint in the army and as there was very little employment at that time he decided to apply to the King for permission to go to Canada. This was granted on April 2nd 1928 and soon after Art and his younger brother Oscar left for Canada. They made their way to Sioux Lookout Ont. Where they had a cousin by the name of Charlie Ronstrom who was a roadmaster for the C.N.R. and was able to give them work as section men. I think the first station the worked at was Colins, a little place between Sioux Lookout and Thunder Bay.

Some time later Art moved to Amesdale and was boarding at Sam and Annie Ames. When Annie became ill their daughter Kate returned frm hairdressing in Regina to look after her mother. There was Art helping out al he could. This sure impressed Kate as none of her brothers did house work or cooked. Soon they fell in love and were married in Dryden on May 7th 1932, with her sister Hazel and brother Gordon standing up for them. A year later Kate came down with TB and went to the sanatorium.

Their son Donald Arthur was born in Winnipeg on Jan 11th 1937 and a daughter Elvera Anne was born in Dryden on May 10th 1939. As Kate had to return to the san many times this was all the family they had.

Art started employment with the C.N.R. on April 24th 1928 and took retirement on May 31st 1960. Upon retirement they moved into a house in Dryden at 81 Elizabeth Avenue. Art and Kate had travelled to Red Lake to attend their son Donald’s daughter Cathy’s wedding where Kate had a heart attack the night before the wedding and passed away on Nov. 30th 1980. Art moved in with Elvera but was lost without Kate and passed away on Dec. 14th 1980. So ended the life of Art and Kate Carlson just two weeks apart. Needless to say it was a sad Christmas.

A few years later Elvera retired and moved back to the Dryden area. Donald passed away on Feb. 29th 2004.

Written by Elvera Carlson Moncrief

Pascal Moon

While you were in bed this morning of March 20, 2008, at 05:48 the Vernal (Spring) Equinox occurred, before your very closed eyes.

Men since the Middle Ages, my father among them, have said that "Easter would be observed on the Sunday after the first full moon on or after the day of the vernal equinox". This statement was true in 325 AD, when it was established by the Council of Nicea.

Reconciliation of the Lunar calendar of the Bible and the Hebrews, with the Julian and then Gregorian solar calendars of the Romans and the Western Europeans left us with the determination Easter date, by the lunisolar calendar. Apart from and ecclesiastical definition of the “Pascal Moon”, the formula remains.

Every year about this time, I recite the phrase; “Easter falls on the Sunday after the first full moon after the spring equinox", and I think of my Dad, Joseph Gordon Ames.

On clear mid-winter nights in Amesdale, the moon didn’t go unnoticed. The glow that "Pascal Moon" over a frozen landscape, feeling first affects of lengthening days, was a harbinger of respite from a long winter. In the dark of night, waiting by the tracks for the early morning mail dispatch and pickup from a passing train, which happened to be running late that night, Gordon surely rehearsed that formula, with thoughts of warmer nights.

Or perhaps, the formula was rehearsed as he walked the half mile homeward from a evening of improvised entertainment at the hall. He surely paused with Beatrice by his side, to catch a breath and gaze at the moonlit sky on their return from an excitement charged night of Gordon’s violin playing for the a dance, so popular in the community. The night may have been cold crisp sky with northern lights in the sky, prolonging their dance into the sky above.

For us, those who now live in towns or cities, beneath skies awash with urban lights, we seldom notice the beauty of night sky, the revolving stars, nor the phases of the moon which mark the passage of time. Yet the memories of such evenings, imbedded in our minds and hearts, are sweet reminders of days when we and folks we loved spent precious moments along the pathway home, sharing the priceless view of a moon bathing the earth with its glow, or standing in awe beneath a heavenly panorama of an aurora of green and red, blue and violet dancing in the cold night sky.

Today, Thursday, March 20th is the Vernal Equinox. Tomorrow, Friday, March 21 will be the first full moon after the Vernal Equinox. Sunday, March 23rd is Easter Sunday. In your life time, you will never again experience an Easter so early in the year.

The Ames’ First Homestead, Store and Post Office

S 1/2, Lot 9, Con. 4 Rowell Township

On a scouting trip in the summer of 1924 Samuel George Ames filed on a homestead at a place called Freda. He acquired two hundred, forty acres of land at Freda; one hundred, sixty as a homestead and eighty acres as a pre-emption. On the pre-emption there was already a log cabin, which the former owner had abandoned when his wife and family had refused to join him for a life in the bush. Sam was lucky to get a place so close to the station with a cabin of sorts, and a small clearing.

The homestead, straddled the tracks and the road between Richan and Amesdale. It was also situated just north of Twenty-Mile Creek, a swift navigable muskeg creek that ran on a west-south-westerly course from Good Lake to Pelican Lake, now renamed Rugby Lake.

Sam established a general store in the log house, and immediately put his son Gordon to work managing the store. On June 1, 1926 Gordon established a post office in the corner of the store, and became Amesdale’s first postmaster. A position he held for thirty-two years.

In June of 1927, a geologist named F.J. Pettijohn, and his travelling companion spent the night in the Ames’ home. His first view of the homestead, as they scrambled up the path from “swampy landing on Twenty Mile Creek to Amesdale”, to their destination for the night was:

“We heard a train whistle and surmised that we were indeed close to our destination. A scramble up the path disclosed an open field. We walked across, through a small patch of woods, and emerged in another, on the far side of which was the railroad track and Amesdale. All we could see was a one-story log house and outbuilding, which proved to be the residence, store, and post office combined of Mr. and Mrs. Ames.”

In 1931, with lumber from the local saw mill, a new store was built near the crossing one and a half miles to the west, and the store and post office were moved. A year later the Ames family, also moved from their first Amesdale homestead to a large new home they had build adjacent to the new store.

In 1932, Edward and Harriet Radford bought the quarter section homestead from S.G. Ames, and moved themselves and three children to the homestead. From here the children would walk a mile along the tracks to the newly constructed Rowell school house.

In 1934 the Radford moved on to an 80 acre lot north of the store and moved. I don’t know if anyone lived on the property after that, but it appears that the homestead eventually became the property of Fred Radford.

From “Memoirs of an Unrepentant Field Geologist” By F. J. Pettijohn

F.J. Pettijohn, a young graduate geologist from the University of Minnesota. In 1927 he took a canoe trip into the North. Of which he says “The canoe trip proved to be the turning point in my career.” On the shores of Abram Lake, Ontario he found an outcrop of Archean conglomerates that became the subject of his doctorate thesis. His thesis, subsequent career, and the publication of his classic text book, Sedimentary Geology earned him the highest honours of geological societies around the world.

He also spent a night spent in the home of Samuel George and Annie Eliza Ames.

Saturday, July , 1927: To Amesdale

The rain had stopped; the sun and blue sky were a welcome sight. We carried our packs and canoe back to the Wabigoon and were soon afloat, and carried by the swift current to the mouth of Pelican Creek (now called Rugby Creek). In an hour or two we reached the falls at the outlet of Pelican Lake (Rugby Lake). A short portage and a short paddle brought us to Spurgeon's cabin, on the west shore, so we stopped for lunch and spread the tent out to dry. The cabin was new, made of peeled cedar logs chinked with sphagnum moss, with a roof of asphalt shingles. The inside was neat and tidy; Jack Spurgeon was indeed a meticulous person. We left the key as instructed, and after a paddle of six or seven miles we came to the place where Twenty-Mile Creek entered the lake. Then began a slow paddle up the twists and turns of the surprisingly swift muskeg stream. It was late afternoon when we came to a half-submerged rowboat tied up at a path. This must be the trail to Amesdale. As we were getting out to reconnoiter, we heard a train whistle and surmised that we were indeed close to our destination. A scramble up the path disclosed an open field. We walked across, through a small patch of woods, and emerged in another field, on the far side of which was the railroad track and Amesdale. All we could see was a one-story log house and outbuilding, which proved to be the residence, store, and post office combined of Mr. and Mrs. Ames. As it was now late and there was no good campsite in view, we entered the store/post office section and asked Mrs. Ames about the prospect of supper and staying overnight. We struck a bargain, then hurried back to our canoe and began to portage all our rig from the swampy landing to the Ameses'. It was rapidly getting dark, and we wanted to complete the carry before the evening onslaught of mosquitoes.

After a dinner of fried potatoes and bacon and what else I don't remember, we were shown out to the bunkhouse—a log building with no door. There were double-deck bunks filled with straw. Wynne took the upper, I had the lower. We spread our blankets and soon fell asleep. The night was clear and cold, and during the night I awoke to feel something warm and furry at my feet. It was one of the large dogs I had seen wandering about. I gave the dog a shove with my foot and told him to take his fleas elsewhere.

Pettijohn, F. J. 1984. Memoirs of an Unrepentant Field Geologists, p69-70, The University of Chicago Press. Chicago.

Amesdale Schooling: The School Car 1936 - 1946

During the 1935-36, school year enrollment at the Rowell School dropped to six pupils and the school was closed at the end of the school year due to the lack of pupils. The children then had the options; either the government school car, or correspondence.

The railway school car had a four community circuit, spending one week in each, then moving on to the next community along the rail line. While it was out of town, under the direction of their parents the students presumably worked diligently on assignments. The teacher, Mr. Henry Antoniak, was the oldest child in a large family, and is described as a man well versed in the art of manipulating the young ones in a sugar-coated way.

Some students were able to make arrangements such that they could attend more continuously. In the 1936-37 school year, Mary Stouffer attended school in both Amesdale and Richan. In 1938-39 school year, Gordon Fradsham went east for one week where attended in Richan while staying with his Aunt Eva, then spent a week at home while attending in Amesdale, then followed the car west to Niddrie where he stayed with his Aunt Kate while the school car was stopped in Niddrie.

In September of 1943 the school car rolled into town with a new teacher. Henry Antoniak who had decided to switch to the south line of the CNR so he could spend more time in his hometown of the Lakehead. The new teacher was a personable, thirty-six year old. A quite, lonely, and still unmarried teacher named Andy Clement. He rolled into Amesdale in mid-September 1943 and earned a place for himself in the hearts of students and residents alike. He was a welcome part of the community for the next four years, developing many lasting friendships with residents like Gordon Ames and others.

In the 1940's attendance began to increase. From an enrollement of eight in September 1942, enrollment rose to sixteen by the spring of 1946. This justified reopening of the Rowell School. Andy Clement had already identified a teacher. Earlier in the year he had met Olive Lynch, the widowed daughter of Sam and Annie Ames. With Andy Clement's recommendation as an excellent and well qualified teacher, she assumed teaching duties in the Rowell School. In the fall of 1946 the Rowell School reopened with twenty-three students enrolled in grades one through ten.

Photo: Andy Clement

Requests:

1) If you can identify the students in the photo please provide "The Society" with their names.

2) If you have any stories or simple memories of the school car, please email them to "The Society"

When I say "The Society", that is just a fancy way to say email me at: ames.brian@gmail.com

Alternatively, if you have an Gmail address you can add a comment to this Blog.

Thanks,

Brian

Sources:

Clement, Andrew. 1987. The Bell and the Book. Highway Book Shop, Cobalt, Ontario. 204-216

Fradsham, Gordon. personal communications

William Albert Fradsham

William Albert Fradsham was born on September 28th 1901 in Coley’s Point Newfoundland which is now a part of Bay Roberts, about an hour from St. Johns. The area was settled in the 1600 hundreds.

At the time Albert was born the area was regarded as a wholesale and distribution centre for Conception Bay and Trinity Bay. The major businesses were cooperage and shipbuilding, and of course fishing. At the age of fourteen Albert went to sea, sailing on Barques and Barquenteens, three masted ships that were used for hauling freight such as salt, molasses and fish. He sailed to such places as Spain, Portugal and South America. As this was during the First World war it was considered to be the Merchant Marine which was finally recognised by the Canadian Government long after the second World War.

After sailing the Atlantic for a few years Albert left the seafaring life and went to Canada. Newfoundland wasn’t to become a Province until 1949. He worked out west on the threshing gangs for a while before heading east arriving at Amesdale and got a job on the section gang on the CNR where he was engaged in track maintenance and patrolling the rail line on a motor car.

While working in Amesdale Albert met a young girl by the name of Margaret Ames who was the daughter of Sam and Annie Ames. She had just returned from Melfort Saskatchewan where she had attended school as there was no school in Amesdale at that time. She stayed with her older sister Olive who was teaching there. While working in her older brother Bert’s pulp wood camp as a cook she met Albert.. In 1930 they were married at the United Church manse in Dryden with her cousin Bertha McKay and Jack Durocher as attendants.

They acquired a homestead just north of the railway about three quarters of a mile east of Amesdale. Albert built a small log cabin on the property where in 1931 their first son Gordon was born and was the first child born in Amesdale. Margaret’s mother Annie was the midwife. Albert walked to Dryden the next day to get the Doctor to make sure everything was all right.. In 1934 Albert acquired a second homestead approximately one mile south-east of Amesale and moved his family into another log cabin he had built. Two years later they built a storey and a half house of squared timbers on this property.

In July1937 a son Ron was born in the Dryden hospital. Albert borrowed a Jersey cow from his brother in law Art Carlson, which he didn’t have use for at the time, so Ron could have fresh milk. Gordon became of school age at this time and as there was no school his Mom tutored him with the aid of government correspondence courses for the first two years, until the school car began coming to Amesdale. The school car made it possible for the students to be instructed by a full time teacher, however the school was only in a community for a week at a time. For most this meant they worked at home on assignments while the school car was visiting other communities.The Fradsham’s made special arrangements such that their son could attend almost continuously. During the 1938-39 school year Gordon went east to Richan for one week, staying with his Mother’s Aunt, Eva McKay, Then spending a week at Amesdale, then traveling west to Morgan where he stayed with his Aunt and Uncle Kate and Art Carlson, then home for a week of assignments.

In the autumn of 1941 the family moved to Halifax where they lived in a suite of rooms at the home of Margaret’s sister Olive Lynch. While there Albert visited his family in Newfoundland for the first time since he had left home. He was going to take Gordon with him but with U boats on the prowl he decided against it, probably a good thing as he had to sleep on deck with his suitcase on top of him as it was so crowded. Albert secured a job in a fertilizer plant (?) But became dissatisfied and moved the family back to Amesdale in the spring of 1942. Shortly after the move back to Amesdale Albert joined the Army along with his Brother-in-law Sam Ames. When Albert and Sam left for the army, Margaret stayed for a short time with Sam’s wife Lorraine. In the summer of 1942 Margaret and Ron went to visit Albert who was stationed in Val Cartier, just north of Quebec City. Gordon had been left in the care of Gordon and Beatrice Ames. On returning home Margaret moved the Family into an apartment in Dryden in time for Gordon to start the fifth grade. In October 1942 Albert and Sam were posted overseas to Scotland with the Forestry Corp. Margaret next moved the family to a house on Machin Avenue , next door to her cousin Bertha Durocher.

Albert returned home from overseas in 1945 and got a job at the Dryden Paper Company, and they bought a home of their own at 55 David Avenue. In 1947 they purchased a home at 58 Machin Avenue from Margaret’s cousin Joe McKay which had been built by Margaret’s brother Bert Ames. A few years later Albert gave up his job at the mill for health reasons and got a job at the Royal Canadian Legion in Dryden as a steward. In 1958 Albert acquired the Rawleigh dealership for Dryden and area from a neighbour John Morton and operated this business until he retired in 1964.

Albert died on October 27,1966 at the age of 65.

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Biography written and edited by Gordon and Ronald Fradsham.

“ALBERT”

by Marjorie (Pard) McKay

Like an older brother he was to me,
He often held me on his knee.
He would tell me stories and sing his songs
Of sailors and girls and their rights and wrongs.

*****
I thought he was great and so much fun,
Although he kept me on the run.
How he would tease me and I’d be so mad,
And then they’s laugh, both him and Dad.

*****
On his sholders he’d carry me for miles,
To swim at the lake and I’d be all smiles.
We were all together, so happy and gay;
That was before Dad was taken away.

*****
Then came sadder days and it was nice to know,
He was still around with Bill and Joe.
Just one of the family he seemed to be;
Sort of a comfort for Mom and me.

*****
Then the Ames girls came and we all could see,
He would not much longer belong to me.
Jealously came into my life,
I knew he’d take one of them for his wife.

*****
The years rolled by and I became nine.
I gave him up, this boyfriend of mine.
As I grew older, we drifed apart.
But he always kept that warm spot in my heart

*****
When my family and I go home for a trip,
As we have for the last few years
With all our folks and Albert and Marg
We’d go out for a couple of beers.

*****
We’d talk of things as they used to be.
On the homestead years ago.
It bought back so many memories.
I loved those visits so.

*****
Now when we go back Albert won’t be there.
For all good things must end;
But we’ll think of him always just as he was
A DEAR AND LOYAL FRIEND.

Poem written to the Fradsham Family by Pard McKay at the time of Albert's passing.

The Amesdale Lath and Supply Company

W 1/2 of N 1/2, Lot 10, Con. 3 Rowell Twp.

In 1927 Samuel George Ames, J.B. Nelson, and J.W. Stouffer organised the Amesdale Lath and Supply Company. One hundred and five shares were sold within the community at fifty dollars per share and the company was incorporated May 17, 1927.

A lath and saw mill was then purchased in Winnipeg, and was set up on the north-east corner of Bert Ames’ homestead, N1/2 Lot 10 Concession 3, just east of the swift creek. Sam Ames, who had experience as a sawyer, was the sawyer on the mill. J.W. Stouffer did a lot of the paperwork for the mill since he had a good education. Bert, Sam Ames' second son learned the trade from his father and took over the mill.

The economic value of the mill was in the lath that was cut and shipped to Winnipeg. Lumber which was for local consumption, supplied by the mill for the building of every frame home in Amesdale. Bert built a home across the creek from the saw mill. In November 3, 1930, school opened in Amesdale in a new frame school building built of dimensional lumber from that mill. The Ames family used lumber from the saw mill to build the new store in 1931, and a large new home in 1932. From squared timbers, Albert Fradsham built a two-story home just west Bert’s place. The squared timbers were from balsam logs, which when wet are very heavy. However, once dried the porous nature of the wood becomes an excellent insulator.

Lath, the main product produced, and was cut and shipped to Winnipeg, however with the advent of plywood, the demand for lath fell and the lath mill was sold. Thereafter, the mill was only run for about three weeks a year to meet local needs. Only one railroad car load of lumber was ever shipped out of the community, but the car became lost in transport and the company was never paid for the lumber.

Besides providing lumber for the community, the community enjoyed a sense of pride as dwellings were converted from log cabins to modern frame construction. It was also a place of entertainment, watched by youth like Gordon Fradsham who “could stand and watch that steam engine work all day, and watch them sawing lumber. To a young boy it was awesome”. By the 1940’s the mill was inoperative. Nevertheless, Bert’s girls enjoyed playing on the old steam engine and mill, until they moved with their parents to Dryden in 1945.

Some years later the lath mill was forfeited and in 1946 the saw mill was sold to Norman McMillan. The mill was not the financial success it was hoped to be but it was however of enormous value in supplying the building materials essential to the development of the isolated community.

In about 1947 or 1948, Mike Premack set up another saw mill on a 5 acre lot behind the store. It was by the road leading down to the spring.

.

(photos provided by Joanne Laforest Brown, Bert Ames' granddaughter)