In August 1953, Uncle Buzz, my mother’s brother, came unexpectedly to our house in Davis. He was on his way to Oregon to visit their dad, my Grandpa Irving, for two weeks at his cabin on the Rogue River. He stopped by to see if I might like to join him on his trip. My folks said, “Yes” and I hurried to pack. It was an eight-hour drive, but that didn’t bother me. I was heading to Oregon to see Grandpa and my cousins Irene and Joann.
Grandpa Irving took my cousins and various friends every summer to his Rogue River home to experience lots of fresh air, sunshine and outdoor activities. I didn’t get to see my cousins often, so I treasured this opportunity. I was also excited to have the chance to see Grandpa’s cabin.
Uncle Buzz and I arrived that evening. Cabin was a misnomer as the place was bigger than I could have imagined. There was a large main house with an enormous kitchen. A concrete patio surrounded the back of the house with a lush green lawn beyond, overlooking the rushing blue water of the Rogue River below. There were two other housing units on the property. Grandpa had built a house for the cook/ housekeeper and her husband, which was situated to the east of the main house. Between these was a building that provided several rooms for the handyman, laundry, storage and cleaning fish.
His dock on the river was lined with motorboats, ski equipment and a diving board. West of the main house was a trampoline, chinning bars and a jungle gym. A boysenberry patch grew below the jungle gym, down the hill toward the glistening river. To the west, beyond the exercise equipment, eight horses lived luxuriously in a state-of-the-art barn.
It all seemed too good to be true, like a dream camp for kids. Little did I know that it was also a very structured environment. In retrospect, I’m sure my mother had some reservations about letting me go to Grandpa’s. She had grown up with him and knew him far better than I did. I guess she figured Uncle Buzz would watch over me and keep me out of harm’s way.
After I toured the property, Irene and Joann gave me a bedroll and fold-up cot, and showed me where we were to sleep on the patio. What fun, sleeping outside! What I didn’t realize was how cold it would be in the mountains at night. At age ten, I didn’t think much about the weather. By the following morning, my hands and feet were like blocks of ice.
At six o’clock a bell clanged on the patio. The girls said, “Come on, time to get up and get dressed! We have to get to the patio for exercises.” It was still a little dark and cold, but we quickly dressed and marched to the patio; Grandpa greeted us there and we began an hour of intense exercises. This mandatory activity was not consistent with the vacation I had envisioned.
After we finished the last twenty pushups, we headed to the dinning room for breakfast. Ah, warmth and food! I was feeling better. After breakfast I was led to the patio area which contained a trampoline and gym equipment. This looked like it could be fun. I was wrong! Grandpa had a check-off list of activities we needed to complete. We had to chin ourselves on the bar x number of times, do x number of flips on the trampoline, etc. I had always wanted a trampoline. After two weeks at Grandpa’s cabin, I never had any interest in trampolines again. With all the structure, the fun seemed to disappear.
After working on the gym equipment, we were escorted to the barns. I had never ridden a horse before. I was given a white horse named “Silver”; she didn’t like me and I didn’t like her. She and I spent a portion of every day riding with Grandpa and the girls up the hillsides and down into the river. Silver loved to buck me off, so I spend about half my riding time on the ground or in the river. Dark purple bruises soon covered my body.
After horse time, we had lunch and naptime. Naptime turned out to be my favorite activity of the vacation. After nap, we went to the river and, sure enough, Grandpa had lists of activities for the water too. So many dives and so many trips skiing down the river. I had never water skied before. Skiing in a river with rapids was not my idea of fun.
After the water tortures, we had dinner, then headed to the boysenberry patch to pick berries. The thorny bushes were planted too close together, and we had more scratches than berries when we finished.
I was most grateful to head home with my Uncle after those two weeks. Little did I know that, for the next five years, I would be heading to the Rogue River for two weeks each summer with my family. What I once thought would be a dream vacation had become a recurring nightmare!
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