A cable was strung through pulleys up the king pole, along the upper end of the boom pole, then fastened to an oversized fork called a Jackson or Johnson fork (one was wooden, the other all iron) which swung freely. The other end of the cable was hitched to a derrick horse. By moving the horse, the hay fork was raised or lowered. The slip was driven to a point near the derrick and between two posts. A pole was then placed between the posts and just behind the horses. When the horses were driven ahead the pole held the hay in place while the slip moved out from under it. For several years they used huge nets. They were wooden crossbars held together with chains, like a ladder, that lay on top of the slips, and the entire load was lifted to the top of the stack in one movement. The hay fork, was heavy, awkward and took strength and skill to op- erate. Uless or Grant usually handled it. They lowered the fork into the hay and locked it into place. At a signal, the derrick horse, "0l' Duke," was led forward and the cable lifted the forked hay high enough to clear the rising haystack. Then the boom pole swung freely over the stack held only by a trip- rope attached to the hay fork and held by the fork-man. It was maneuvered into place by a man called the 'stacker', almost always Paul. He shouted, "Hit 'er!", the forkload of hay was released, and the operation was complete. The ingenuity of the Danish-derrick had to do with the placement of the chain which tied the boom-pole to the cross- beam. By moving the location of the chain on the cross-beam, the location of the top end of the boom-pole, at rest, was changed. By making the "at-rest" position at the end of the haystack farthest from the slip, then as soon as the cable pulled the Johnson fork clear of the top of the stack the boom swung gracefully to its normal position. The fork man simply pulled on the rope to return it to his position. All day long, day after day, the wooden derrick creaked and groaned under the load of the hayfork. You always wondered if the boom pole would crack under the strain, but it never did. The three pulleys screamed. You could always tell how heavy the load was by the pulley noise. It was a hot, dirty, isolated job for the stacker, and always he faced the possibility of falling from the stack. A neighbor was killed in that manner. It de- manded skill for him to put up a stack that would not tip over. It was a physically tiring and equally dirty job for the hayfork man, handling a hayfork hot from the sun, hot enough to burn you, and at- tempting to ignore the shower of dry hay leaves that fell from every forkload of hay. It was a tiresome task for the derrick horse boy, maybe nine or ten years old, and graduated from slip driver, who led the horse forward to raise the fork, and coaxed him backward when the fork was empty. He faced the very real danger of getting his toes stepped on, or having the horse's spittle shower him, or the wrath of a tired stacker or forkman if he did not stop the fork at the right height. By the mid-thirties they changed from slips to large wagons. Now the hay was piled onto the wagons as high as a man could pitch it, always LaMar and someone else. But it also took another boy, usually in his early teens, acting as a "tromper", a kind of wagon-sized stacker, to keep the sides and corners straight, else the danger of a lost load of hay on the way to the stackyard. All these were dirty jobs. Pitchers needed physical strength to pitch the hay, and fortitude to withstand his little shower of hayleaves falling from every loaded pitchfork. The tromper walked in the hay all day, being blamed if the hay fell off the wagon, and carefully avoiding pitchforks that were likely to hit his legs or hands before the season was over. Even the wagon driver had his problems, driving too close to the haycocks, driving the horses too fast for a pitcher who got behind, or missing the dirt crossing temporarily shoveled over an irrigation ditch and tipping the entire load to the ground. Slip-driver, derrick-horse boy, tromper, pitcher - these were the jobs that the older grandsons, D.A., Brent, Jack, Vie, passed through. During the time of the second tier of grandsons, Richard and Mondell, the der- rick-horse was replaced by a tractor. The field crew of driver, tromper, pitcher stayed that way until approximately 1950 and the arrival of hay- baling machines. There was a camaraderie and a certain satisfaction that came with such a group effort. It was always reassuring to see Dave sitting in the shade of the poplar trees when he could no longer work, watching and offering advice. The boys seemed to understand they were important, that the older men could not do it without their assistance. There was small talk and stories at the stackyard or in the field as they waited for a wagon to come, or an after-work swim in the canal, made necessary by the sweaty, dirty job. Men and boys came together for a huge dinner fixed by Ida, or by Ruby, Wanda, Sabina, Gwen or Norma. Dinnertime was a manda- tory two hours, in order to rest the horses. The sounds of the slip and derrick, and the memories of being part of a team still linger.
The farm and farming methods underwent major changes in the Twenties and Thirties, and so did the Nash family. In 1921 Ariel left on an LDS mission in West Virginia. By 1924 he had married Ruby Smith, and was pre- paring to move a mile south to a farm Ike and Dave had purchased from Andrew Jensen. In 1927 Vendla married Joseph Havertz, and a year later Paul married Wanda Bingham and Uless married Sabina Hart. During those years the farm belonged jointly to Ike and Dave, but for many of those years Ike was living in Boise, part of the time serving as State Land Commissioner. Ike's boys often spent the summers on the farm. A house had been built for Ike and Amanda, Aunt Polly to most, but for most of the Twenties the farm was Dave's handiwork. In 1927 Ike and Dave drew up a statement of their farm and property values, and it shows they had come a long way from 1914. In livestock they had several horses, forty range cattle, six milk cows, 1621 ewes, 29 rams, and 15 hogs. In land, they held 385 acres of hay, 140 acres of beets, and 75 acres of potatoes. Nevertheless, conditions were changing. Dave's boys were getting married and Ike and Amanda were preparing to return permanently to Linrose. Dave wanted his boys involved in a live- stock partnership arrangement, but they could get no range right unless they owned their own property. Accordingly, Ike and Dave agreed to divide the farm It happened in the fall of 1928. If it were a day like most fall days in Cache Valley then the ground near their home would have been covered with fallen leaves from the partially grown box-elder and cottonwood trees. There was no lawn. The men came together, Ike and his boys in one group, Dave and his boys in another. They agreed to a main property line straight east and west between Ike's and Dave's houses. That meant the barn and potato cellar went to Ike. Most of the sheds, including the third house, went to Dave. Yet there were still several parcels of land, all the machinery and all of the livestock to be divided. They made the division in the simplest and most direct manner. They flipped a coin to the ground between them for the first choice, and then they made alternate choices until the land parcels were all gone. The Jensen property went first to Dave, then the remainder in forty-acre lots. All the land south of the main line went to Dave, plus a sixty-acre parcel on the northeast corner that became Paul's home. The division line left most of the lambing sheds for Dave, and the reservoir in Ike's parcel. By the same procedure they divided the horses and machinery. Ike got the blacksmith tools, potato equipment, mowing machine, an old Chevrolet truck and some wagons. Dave got the sheep camp and equip- ment, some sleighs and some wagons with beet racks. Dave's share was valued at $33,827. (I have a copy of the division of property agreement). It was amicably done, but with a certain sense of loss as favorite horses now went across the line, or as they all realized that farming habits and patterns must change. When a board fence was finally built between the two houses, which were barely fifty feet apart, and later a wire fence, the division became visual. Changes came rapidly now. In the fall of 1929 Ariel moved perma- nently to the Jensen property, which he purchased from Dave. Paul purchased the northeast sixty acres and Uless forty acres on the southeast corner, all from Dave. Thus Dave's acreage was suddenly and dramatically reduced. Unfortunately the reduction came just in time for the Depression. Livestock prices plummeted and Dave lost thousands of dollars on his sheep. At one point he was able to get less than $2.50 a head. By 1932 it was necessary to sell the pretty brick home in Logan. Besides, it had served its primary purpose, providing an away-at-school-home for the older children. Economic circumstances for Dave and Ida remained harsh. By 1934 he was having difficulty meeting the semi-annual payments to the Federal Land Bank. His payments fell behind, forcing him to pay eight per cent interest during the period of delinquency. According to a 1937 tax col- lection notice, his livestock holdings had shrunk to four horses, nine cows, thirty sheep and one pig. In spite of this setback a more serious blow came during the same time period, in 1931. Dave was nearly fifty-five and had a life full of hard work. He had always had a bad heart valve that gave him a very slow heart beat, and now it worsened. A number of other factors con- tributed to it. That summer he irrigated for two days and two nights without rest, and that brought on a heart attack. He also had a hard fall on some ice that winter that affected his health. Finally, Dr. States told him that he would have to quit work entirely and take it easy the remainder of his life. Aunt Net says the doctor's orders made an old man of Dave. Dave refused Dr. State's warning. He had worked exceptionally hard all his life and he was not prepared to stop so quickly. For a time he tried hoeing a few weeds in the beet fields each morning, but he had to quit. He tried caring for a few hundred chickens, but the slightest exertion put a visible strain on him. He kept the chickens anyway. One day Dave was carrying some feed to the pigs and Uless became impatient with him for working. Dave's emotional response was, "Boy, I have worked hard all my life since I was this high, and I just can't quit!" Additional changes came. Hazel married Halvor Berrett in 1932, and a year later Grant married Gwen Davis. In 1937, LaMar married Norma Elwell. By then Grant and LaMar had taken charge of all the farm work, but the farm was very small to support three families. They purchased all machinery by shares with Paul and Uless, and much of the group work of haying and harvesting was done together. Ariel did not participate in the group machinery purchases or harvesting, except for sugar beets. He lived farther away and had two older boys of his own to help him. As the 1930's wore on, grandchildren began to appear, nine by 1935 and fifteen by 1940. Then Ida's home and yard became the center of attention. By now the beautiful shade trees were mature and the orchard was producing all kinds of fruit. There was also a lawn and a beautiful flower and rose garden at the northeast corner of the house. The home became the place for family gatherings. Every winter Ida held a gala Christmas party for the grandchildren, complete with Santa Claus coming down the lane, and a gift for everyone. And if the grandchildren happened to be skiing or sleighing on the hill, she made certain there were cookies or fresh bread and jam for all of them. Ida was devoted to Dave, but she was also devoted to her church. During the winter of 1931-32 Dave and Ida did the temple work for more than one hundred Nash ancestors. She spent years teaching the young girls in M.I.A., and by the mid-1930's she was working in the Relief Society. By 1942 she was president in the Linrose Ward. They began holding annual bazaars and Ida spent weeks and weeks each year plan- ning and sewing for the event. The Linrose people remember the bazaars and Ida's, contributions. They also remember that Ida was the first to help any of the families when they became ill. These were Ida's graceful years. Though Dave was unable to work during the 1930's, everyone knew he was around, offering advice during haying time, concerned how the boys were treating the horses, or noting that the newly planted beet rows were crooked. He was also an enthusiastic sportsman, and whenever any of the boys took a few days for a fishing trip, Dave went with them. Short trips, a day or two, took them to Blackfoot River or Tin Cup Creek near Star Valley. Longer trips, three or four days, took them to Lost River where they always used the same campground. When he returned from a trip he immediately began planning the next. The salmon fishing trip was the summer's hiatus. They went to various parts of the Salmon River, to Yankee Fork or Meyer's Cove, and there they fished and hunted for Chinook salmon. Dave seldom moved far from the camp because of his heart, but he almost always caught his share. Just the summer before he died he was with Grant and some of the grand- sons, including me, at Meyer's Cove. The boys thought it necessary to go several miles downstream where it was presumably better fishing. When they returned to camp with their fish or two, there was Dave with a huge grin on his face and two salmon strung up in the shade of a tree. He caught them within a few yards of the camp, and had to perform a prodigious feat jumping over some logs to do it. He could never remem- ber how he accomplished it, and he never failed to remind the boys of it. When they went deer hunting it was the same. Dave stayed near the car, perhaps on a knoll, and the rest tromped through miles of timber. In the end, Dave had his deer. Each summer Dave took Ida to Salt Lake City for a week or two. They stayed at Hotel Temple Square and he took her shopping and to the movies. Dave and Ida grew old gracefully and peacefully. They were completely devoted to each other, and several people have commented that they never heard Dave and Ida quarrel or even say an unkind word to each other. That has to be the outstanding part of their lives. They were, as Vendla remembers, sweethearts all their lives. Dave sounded gruff at times, but it was mostly just Dave. There was not an ounce of anger in it. He had a very personal nickname for Ida. He called her Topser, and no one else called her that. Many times when Dave was in the yard and he wanted Ida, he would shout, "Topser! Ohhh Topser!" Dave's heart finally gave out September 17, 1947, when he was sev- enty-one years old. It happened in a Preston barbershop and so very quickly that he was probably not aware. Ida was deeply, deeply grieved and it showed over the next two years. Finally, in the summer of 1949, she went to Canada where she went through the Cardston Temple. By that fall she was ill with cancer. She died December 3, 1949, when she was sixty-seven. Things have changed a great deal since 1949. The old school house has been torn down, and so have many of the homes on the flat, including Paul's and Uless' home. Things have also changed at the farm. The old sagebrush bowery has long since disappeared, and so have the sheepsheds. The old barn has burned and so has the house that held hired men, and then the sons as they married. Even the orchard has been uprooted, and most of the beautiful shade trees as well. Ida's flower garden is gone. The old home at the edge of the hill is still there, yet it is jaded and lonely. It lived its golden years with Dave and Ida.
THEIR LATER YEARS