Compton Anniversary

In 1909 - 101 years ago this past September 4th — on the windswept plains of Saskatchewan, Canada, two children of homesteaders had reached adulthood amid the raging blizzards, searing summers, and other challenges of trying to tame the wilds of the North American west. However, ever the optimists, they displayed their faith in conquering all by being married.

The families of Henry Stimson Compton and Leafy Genevieve Emmerson had traveled parallel histories. Immigrating from Europe during the earliest years of settlement on this continent, their paths worked westward with the expansion. Over a couple of centuries, they would go through Pennsylvania, stop a while in Wisconsin, and finally settle in Grove Lake Minnesota.

Life there was tough for share-croppers. A family would work their tails off, first clearing the land of trees. A back – and often - the heartbreaking task of cutting and trimming the trees before dragging them off. Then “stumping”, digging out the root system – a job for several men and a couple of teams of horses. Following that, cultivating and trying to eke out a crop from the thin, rocky soil. All for a share of the crop.

Of course, this once-a-year paycheck made money pretty scarce during the rest of the year, so additional work was the order of the day. In the Compton case, it meant forming a thrashing crew and moving through Minnesota, North Dakota, and up into Canada as the crops ripened in the fall. Going from a small farm to another, they would pull the threshing machine, wagons, and living wagon along. After two years of this, the story goes that Henry told his Pa that he was not going to spend his life working another man’s land. He was going back to Canada to homestead. The rest of the family followed his lead and trekked to the vicinity of Eyebrow Canada.

There they met Will Emmerson, a neighbor from Grove Lake who talked them into picking land near him. Over the next decade, they tamed the land, build nice buildings (the house still stands), and helped build a community complete with schools, a church, a small town, even a railroad spur. And then the big event. At age 21 Henry told his Pa, “I have worked for you all my life. And you got every dime I earned. Now I am going to work for myself.” So, he claimed a homestead of his own – and married the daughter of their neighbor – Leafy Emmerson.

Three years later, in one of those unexplainable occurrences, the three families decided to leave an established, successful farming operations in a developed community to move a couple of hundred miles southeast and start all over again – homesteading one mile south of the Canadian/US border. Will Emmerson went first in the spring, picking his plot and building a small (12’ x 14’?) tar-paper shack. A thin wooden frame covered by paper soaked in oil or tar. Henry, Leafy, and new son Ward followed in the late fall - in itself not a smart thing to do. Driving covered wagons and herding a few heads of cattle and horses that far in November was a high-risk operation. In those days, winter came early and often hard. But they made it.

On arrival, they took the boxes off the wagons. The first was placed outside the Northwest wall for a windbreak and storage. The second butted up against another wall with a door cut between. In these two small rooms, the six people (Will and wife, Henry and Leafy, Ward, and a hired man who helped drive the herds) spent the winter. Pretty tough stuff.

The following spring, Henry and Leafy picked their plot and started to work, first building a house and barn. The story goes that Henry loved his horses so much that the barn went up before the house. However, the sod house took shape. A 14” plow would turn over a 4 to 6” deep swath of tight prairie grassroots. These would be cut into 8’ lengths and drug back to the building site. A double-wide base would start the walls, followed by a crosswise layer, then another lengthwise row – a little narrower than those below, and so on. Some eight feet later the wall would be narrowed down to a single 14’ width. Doors and windows would be framed and the walls covered by clay mud. The results were a water and windproof building that was pretty warm in the winter and cool in summer. The temporary houses (to get title to the land, you had to “prove up” by building a house and harvest a crop within three years) were pretty flimsy and had sod for a roof also. The plan was to, if you survived, to replace it with a nicer one at that time. Henry’s, however, stood the test of time. They lived in it from 1916 until about 1950!

It was a real classic. Hardwood floors. A cellar to keep food cool. A dumb waiter to move food from the cellar too and from the kitchen. A hand water pump in the kitchen – the water was not good to drink but worked for washing. A see-through china cupboard between the living room and the dining area. And wonder of all, an underground vat outside where you would drop in blocks of carbon, pour in carbolic acid, then screw the top on tight. The resulting carbide gas was piped to lamps in the house! I remember being there when I was three and asking Dad why our house was not as nice. We enjoyed one of the better houses in the area, but it wasn’t as neat in a three-year-old’s eyes.

When homesteading opened up a person could claim an adjacent “quarter” or ½ mile square, 160 acres, a quarter section (A section is a one-mile square) after “proving up.” So, there were two families on each square mile. But the homestead dream was a tough one to realize. It was called dryland farming for a reason – the emphasis was dry. Shielded from the Pacific Ocean by the Rocky Mountains and wide open to the North Pole – dry and cold was normal – expect for winter when cold reigned. Many, actually most, of those who tried failed. They would head “back home” leaving their dreams, and often family members, buried under the sod.

However, through hard work, a little luck, and perhaps a touch of larceny in his soul, Henry and Leafy not only stuck it out but picked up the land from those who did not. Duane and Fern (my mother) came along. They started a school and post office in their house. And the country slowly developed. The First Creek School and then the Lawraine School opened. The railroad came through some 15 miles south and little Loring sprang up, complete with a high school, a store, a bar (after probation of course), a depot, a grain elevator, and a loading pen for cattle. There would also be a church and a community hall.

Henry and Leafy had family around. First were both sets of parents. Then a brother and sister filed. Finally, all three children and families lived there. So work was a family affair for the big tasks. Branding was a classic western event. Henry and his boys were true horsemen – so cattle were worked from the mounts. Roping claves, dragging them to the fire where they were wrestled to the ground and held while being worked over was a dirty job but lots of fun for we kids who watched – and sometimes participated.

Leafy was from tough stock. She worked the fields alongside the men. And rode to Malta, some 50 miles away (a three-day trip), starting on News Year Day 1920, about 7 ½ months pregnant in a team and buggy to have her third child in a hospital. Plus, she put up with Henry for all those years. But in 1949, she got really sick. The doctors were amazed that she survived the trip to Malta. But they couldn’t do anything for her so they took off to Great Falls. Again the docs were amazed she survived the trip but couldn’t do the required surgery so they flew her to Rochester, not believing she would make it. But she did – and recovered. Her health was damaged and she suffered for the next nine years, but hung on until 1959.

Henry would outlive her by some 21 years, living in Malta. He was a true man of the soil. He ran a small hay farm next to Malta for many years. And, as member of the Saddle Club, he was always in, and often led, the parades horseback. Then he bought and refurbished a steam engine which would also come down front street during parades.

Henry was the inveterate storyteller (most of his stories had at least a kernel of truth in them) – and a real character. I suppose a book could - maybe should be written, just about these two.

A quite pair, maybe with some rough spots. But they were conquers. They took what life on the frontier had to offer – good and bad. They built the foundation for our part of this great nation. We were lucky to have both of them as neighbors. And I was especially blessed to have them as grandparents.