We in Warhaven remember the settlers who came in 1872, Rayland and Rowena Lindley. They were fine folk, strong pioneer spirits. They prospered. While they may be remembered for good deeds, fine hams and brave hearts, what often is retold to those interested in early Warhaven history is this couple’s robust feminine progeny, five lively girls: Lavender, Lilac, Larkspur, Lupine, and Violet.
Rayland farmed a section up the West Hills, west of Lyon Run. Today that land is known as the Lindley Compound, the whole perimeter of which is enclosed by 8-foot deer fence on black locust posts. Now that 360 acres is split informally into 18 parcels. While all the land is farmed collectively, these pieces are all held in trust by direct descendants of Rayland and Rowena, who wagoned from southern Ohio with hopes of fertile ground ahead.
The old homestead abode is gone, abandoned for more modern housing. In 1891 the roof began to leak, then the ridge beam swayed and rotted, and then there were the blackberries. It doesn’t take many years for blackberry canes to eat a house!
The Lindley homestead pretty much sat dead center on that section of land. To retain as much farmland as possible for the clan, as the girls married, Rayland and the in-laws built homes on half acre lots along the fence line. Now spread close to equidistant from one another, these 18 three-storied clapboards resembled something made by the security-minded, but this was merely for efficiency. To some, yes, the scene resembled Roman or East German garrison towers, so the compound moniker took root.
The five girls’ births spanned eight years. Each raised sizable families. Mostly the Lindley girls were Presbyterian, so this fertility brought great joy to the Sunday school superintendent.
At one point, Warhaven High School boasted the attendance of 12 first cousins. One year at the elementary school, 26 children had Rayland and Rowena Lindley as grandparents. They made a name for themselves in the region as purveyors of smoked cured hams, raised from Chester White pigs. They also sold a finely sliced product tasting somewhere between Serrano and Prosciutto hams — oh, and smoked ham hocks coveted by soup makers throughout the West. The perimeter of the farm remains in oak, chestnut, and honey locust groves, which fed the pigs. They also grew corn, rye, wheat, oats, and sorghum.
While there was the occasional black eye and bruised arm, the girls got along well. They respected each other’s privacy and avoided the worst that jealousy and envy might bring to a family. They were all blue-eyed brunettes, all comely, all full of spirit.
The notion of a farming cooperative was actually Lilac’s idea, that as the family grew, the land should stay intact. This may be difficult for the modern reader to comprehend, but the idea of this was fully accepted. Harder to believe may be the natures of all these sons-in-law, who were all enthusiastic about residing on the Lindley land, which may sound as if these men were low on ambition. Remember that this was the turn of the 19th to the 20th centuries. We were still a nation of agronomists, of small family farmers who may be cash poor but who were able to provide their families a bounty from the land and waters of the neighborhood. Life was simpler.
We were not the consumerholics we are today. Everyone had chores. Everyone realized survival took responsibility and risk of life and limb.
As the grandchildren began to arrive, Rayland and Rowena realized something needed to change for the celebration of holidays and family feasts. Rayland rode out to Quaish Ishseek and met with Tsoneseek or Golden Bear to ask for a tour of the Quaish longhouse. Rayland shared his idea with him and soon an offer came from Tsoneseek that he and a few of his relatives would show up after the salmon run to help build the Lindley longhouse, large enough to accommodate the future.
That structure still stands along the bank of Lyon Run, albeit with new brown metal on the 12 rise by 18 run roof. Granite river rock chimneys rise on both ends of the building, shake sided in cedar on a mortise and tenon jointed structure of oak post and beam bents. Thirty-two feet wide and 64 long, it comfortably accommodates the whole clan at Christmas, Easter, the Fourth of July, Thanksgiving, and all those birthdays, baptisms, confirmations, and graduations, on which occasions the gates of the Lindley Compound are open to all comers.
•••
The City Council is a work of fiction, written by Jim Tindall, appearing every other week in Columbia Gorge News.
Commented