Growing up on a farm in Hood River taught me a simple way of life: peace and solitude with a freedom to roam on the road or across the butte on the way and back from school, along the creek by the railroad track, while fishing or by the swimming hole in Neal Creek. My kids have said after our family reunion in Hood River, "now we know why Dad is the way he is and what makes him tick." Despite living in the heart of a huge city, amid the screech of the elevated trains, screams of the fire engines and police cars and the gutter like sounds in the vernacular of the lower forms of humanity that inhabit our fair City (in our family we refer to them euphemistically as the "demographically challenged.") Betty and I have carved our own little haven in a little lot a half a block from Broadway, which I feel has captured the essence of that farm in Hood River. It took me at least 20 years to realize that I had gone full circle and was back living in the Hood. (from Hood River to Hood Avenue)

Mom and Dad didn=t have much materially but there was a lot of love they shared with us. We were poor but I didn't feel poor. All I felt was warmth and security. Sharing this with my brothers and sisters made this even more warm and fuzzy. There is not one single incident that stands out but there is one big picture that I can recollect and that is of one big happy family on a small farm in the Hood River Valley. THE SAD THING WAS LEAVING IT!

Memories of Early Days

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