The Journey to Oregon: 1934

By Jean Braden

The Journey to Oregon in 1934 is a true story of eight family members who travel from the drought and dust storms of Nebraska to the promise of Oregon in search of a better life. John and Helen have been married six months when they decide to go to Oregon with John's family. The group is concerned they may not have enough money to make the trip and each time one of the vehicles needs repair or a flat tire is fixed, the stress of survival increases. When they arrive in Pratum, Oregon, they immediately experience the abundance Oregon offers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jean Braden
• Release date: Nov 6, 2015

Book preview

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The Journey to Oregon – 1934

The true story of eight family members who move

from Nebraska to Oregon

in August 1934

in search of a better life.

A Novella

By

Jean Braden

The Journey to Oregon – 1934 is based on actual events. I dramatized the interactions and conversations to tell the story.

Copyright © 2006 by Jean Braden

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for the quotation of brief passages in reviews, or for non-profit educational use, without prior written permission from the copyright holder. Write to Jean Braden, 18711 SE Giese Rd, Gresham, OR, 97080. [e-mail]

Cover design by Will Bruno

Interior design by Erika Wong

Dedicated to my mother

Helen Marie Schafer

and my aunts

Helen Gesina Maria Lichty

and

Ella Scharff Schafer

Acknowledgements

I was raised with the oral history of my family’s move to Oregon in 1934. The written story started taking shape in a memoir class taught by Ariel Gore at The Attic in Portland, Oregon. Ariel helped me with the structure and flow of the story.

Along with his love and encouragement Gary, my husband, drove me hundreds of miles to help with my research. We drove all over Nebraska following the old Highway 30 from Nebraska to Oregon. He also drove me up and down the Historic Columbia River Scenic Highway several different times.

My daughter, Sarah, had faith that I would be able to complete this project and her support and encouragement included reading, scanning, and printing the manuscript, as well as walking the Twin Tunnels with me.

The members of the Out of the Attic writing group--Asha, Linda, Liv, Lori, Jackie, Jan, Lainie, Margaret, Sarah and Tiffany--provided input and support throughout the entire project.

Thanks to all of you!

Jean

Left to Right: George, John, Harmon, Helen, Ella, Mary, Bill, Gesina – in Oregon, 1935

The Journey to Oregon - 1934

Family members making the trip to Oregon include:

John Schafer (age 24)

Helen Fiedler Schafer (17), John’s wife of six months.

John’s parents

Harmon Schafer (51)

Mary Varwig Schafer (43)

John’s siblings

Bill Schafer (21)

Ella Scharff Schafer (21), Bill’s wife of one year

George Schafer (16)

Gesina Schafer (12)

MAY 1, 2005

Helen leaned heavily on her walker as she moved across the floor of her studio apartment and slowly settled into her recliner. Jean followed her into the room. What a nice eighty-eighth birthday party, Mom, but I bet you’re tired.

Now, how many people were there? Helen asked as she pulled up the footrest on her chair.

Well, let’s see, you have three children, eight grandchildren, twelve great grandchildren, and five great-great grandchildren. They all came, so that’s twenty-eight. Plus everyone’s spouses or significant others, and other family and friends. It was quite a large gathering. What are you grinning about?

Helen’s smile was soft and happy. Your Dad always used to say to me, ‘Mom, look what we started.’

Yes, I remember, Jean chuckled as she leaned over and tucked an afghan around her mother’s legs. I’ll leave your gifts here on the counter with a list of who gave you what. You just go ahead and take a rest.

Helen leaned her head back on the chair and closed her eyes. She loved her family, but it was draining when everyone was around. She felt Jean lean over and give her a light kiss. Love you, Mom. I’ll talk to you later.

Love you, too, Helen muttered as she drifted off, feeling light and airy. She felt her body begin to float into the air and slowly drift above the clouds. She was high in the sky, but she could also see everything on earth below her. She drifted by the house on 48th Avenue in Salem where she and Johnny had lived after they sold the farm. She floated over the farm on Schafer Avenue where they had raised their children. She moved east across the country, over the Cascades, Salt Lake, and the Rocky Mountains, and finally back to the plains of Nebraska. She drifted closer to the ground and when she squinted her eyes, she could see the house in Lexington where she’d grown up. A little farther to the east she could see the city of Kearney, and below her, the farmhouse where she and Johnny lived for the first six months of their marriage.

She seemed to hover over the farm. Grasshoppers chirped as they ate the dead corn stalks. The earth was dry and cracked, and in the distance she could see dirt as it whirled into dust clouds. As she drifted closer to the farm, she could see a few cottonwood trees around the house. Their tops were brown and it looked like they were dying.

As she floated still closer to the earth, she saw three people in the yard of the farmhouse and, on the road headed to the house, a car with dust flying behind it.

That looks like Johnny and me. Who’s that with us? Helen rubbed her eyes to get a better look. Why, it’s George. Looks like we’re getting ready to eat lunch. The table is set up under the tree in the yard. She slowly slipped into the body of the seventeen-year-old woman in the yard.

AUGUST 7, 1934

John, Helen, and John’s younger brother, George, were just sitting down to eat at the table in the sparse shade of the tree when they heard a car approach. As the dust cloud moved toward them, Helen grabbed a tablecloth from the clothesline and spread it over the food to keep the dust off their lunch.

Thank goodness I have enough food for another person, Helen thought as the car pulled into the yard. Luckily she had baked bread and made noodles, and she had gravy from the canned beef she was serving. She had taken cottage cheese from the bag that hung on the clothesline and there was fresh buttermilk and butter made from their cow’s milk.

Even though she still watered the garden a couple times a day, it had shriveled because of the drought and the extreme heat. She carried a bucket of water and dipped into it using a large ladle. The well was deep and gave enough water for the house, the garden and the large watering trough for the cow and goat. She had canned several quarts of pickles and later this fall they would dig potatoes and pick squash. She was worried about having enough food to last through the winter. It’s so hot Helen thought. Her dress stuck to her body and sweat ran down her back and between her breasts.

John stood up, frowning, as the 1928 Oldsmobile Whippet came to a stop. Why, it’s Bill. What’s he doin’ driving this far in the middle of the week? Helen just shrugged.

Pal, the six-month-old St. Bernard, barked and ran to the car, his big paws stirring up the dust. The car door slammed and Bill bent down and patted Pal, then walked toward the trio at the table, wiping his head with his handkerchief. Man, it’s hot. When I went through town it was already over 102 degrees and they guessed it would get to 108 today!

John met him halfway and slapped his younger brother on the back. You’re just in time for lunch – the folks okay?

Yes, everyone’s fine, but I want to talk to you about something.

Hi, Bill. Come and sit down, let me get another plate, Helen said.

After a friendly punch to Bill’s shoulder, George headed to the house. I’ll get a chair.

Helen observed the three brothers as she carried a plate for Bill. They all had dark hair combed straight back over their heads and they were all very thin. When they talked they used the same words and vocal pitches. Even their laughter sounded alike. They were all within an inch or two in height, but Bill was the tallest. George, who was sixteen, had been boarding with them for the last six weeks while working for a farmer down the road.

What brings you here on a Tuesday? John asked Bill as they started eating. Pal lay quietly under the table waiting for the leftovers. The cottonwood tree the table sat under was slowly dying because of the drought, but it provided shade and it was a little cooler than being in the direct sun or in the house. At night, they brought their mattresses outside to sleep under it.

"I wrote to Aunt Dora and Uncle Mick in Oregon a few weeks ago