Editor's note: The Leader welcomes essays from readers about their experiences living in Jefferson County. Essays should be no longer than 700 words. We are looking for voices of people who remember the past as well as those who are looking to improve the communities in which they live. Send prospective essays to aarthur@ptleader.com and note “Essay” in the subject line. Essays should not be about issues but about lifestyles and what it's like to live here.

Ray Hunter

I first came to the Uncas Valley in June 1946. My father, Guy Hunter, had purchased the old Ida Williams place along Salmon Creek. It was 4 acres, with garage, woodshed, barn, chicken house and a pig pen, besides the old farm house, with three bedrooms upstairs.

Now, as one can understand, this new wilderness was the most exciting place ever, and I could roam about as free as any youngster could. It took me about two years to figure out who my neighbors were and what they did.

Starting at the Discovery Bay store, up the road at the top of the hill was Mr. and Mrs. John Kish. She was reported to be a survivor of the Titanic disaster. Then there was another farm. Jack Johnson ran that farm with daughters Moose (Beverly) and Blimp (Evelyn). It had the oldest barn in the valley. Then, next door, was the old Charlie Brown place, where sons Ham, Lorenzo (Wren) and Stanley lived. Next to our house were the Newsteds, then our place, then Ed Browns’ farm, the Tjemlends, Bill Frazier’s place. Across the road and up in the woods was Carrie Fletcher and son Ernie.

So it was that when I was 9 years old or so, I asked Mr. Johnson if I could help with milking the cows in the afternoon. I started with much enthusiasm, not knowing anything about milking cows, etc. I remember so much I learned for the first time that summer.

Cows have a hierarchy. They have a pecking order: queen to lowest. Each one has a personality, and some are touchy about having their udders washed, while others are busy eating grain and hay. First time I heard classical music, the cows let their milk down easier listening to it. Not so with rock ‘n’ roll.

Never saw so many cats around the barn. And they would all come running out of the sheds and field. Asked why so many cats? They keep the mice and rats from eating up the place.

I whimsically can recall Jack standing at the middle barn window, calling his collie, Fritz, “Way back, Fritz, way back.”

You see the dog rounding up the cows a half mile away next to the Bowmans’ property. And slowly the herd regrouped and headed for the barn. I had to scoop the grain into each trough and then put a parcel of hay up and down the line.

Carrying the heavy milk cans to the milk house was the hardest. After we were done and the barn cleaned up and the manure dumped and washed down, I got a gallon of milk to take home and $5 at the end of the week. Later in my teens, we would hire out as “haying crews” and go around the county putting up hay for the local farmers.

No one is left on the county road now who was there then ’cept yours truly.

All my mentors are gone now. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson were gone by the mid-1960s. Moose and Blimp have passed away. Several owners have come and gone.

Wally Bowman was the best rancher the place had over the years. But sadly, he is gone, and now the farm is owned by the state fish and game.

But back in March one day this year was the saddest day of all. They tore the barn down. Nothing remains but the memories from 1948, almost 69 years ago. There is a large empty space where the barn was, and a huge hole in the hearts of the folks who lived there.

(Ray Hunter has lived at 510 West Uncas Road in Discovery Bay for as long as he can remember.)