A runion of the last Mohars. Don, Ann and Norman

I could have entitled this, "THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS--- I MEAN MOHARS.
YES, Ann, my sister and Donald and I are the last of the Peoh point school that I know of. There may be a few who were younger that are yet alive but of the old school pictures, we are the last. Three of us in Peohpoint school just passed away in the last year or so---two just were buried this year.
When my mother was still alive, she would say to me, "Norman do you want this place?" and I would have to say "no" because she had already in the past signed over power of attorney and other what ever papers which were the guidline for distributing her estate. I longed to have at least the old house, but as it turned out , I am satisfied that it in the capable loving hands of the person who really is the best of owners. He has the knowledge and the skills and most likely the money to maintin the old property which will now last another 100 years or more. To me there is no more beautiful setting in the whole world than that property 'neath to face of this great big rock we call Mt Peoh. It is as if it was sculpted like Mt Rushmore--just for me. I climbed it a few times as a boy and was so fearfull I'd stumble and fall thousands of feet below. In the pristine days there were 'rock rabbit's' living in the rocks and I had good hearing ability then to be able to hear them communicating with their sharp whistles. There wasn't a chance to catch one of these small rabbits which were very close to being like the valuable fur bearing animal of South America--the Chinchilla.
I remember that it was some sort of fun to start a big rock rolling down the rocks .The rock would bounce and gain speed as it fell to the bottom crashing into the trees-. I now would call that 'vandilism'. In the early days though we would be able to hear rocks roll which might have been started by a deer or elk as they migrated across the face. It was also natural for rains to lossen rocks. In some areas it was like the Alps. There was no way you could climb those jutting rocks without the proper gear. And I was never born to be a rock climber., I am somewhat fearful of heights--I guess I can visualize being splattered on the rocks below if I fell.
So the first thing to do when arriving at the old place was to go take a view of the mountain in all it's beauty. It is as if God placed it there as an Altar under which to worship. To be so lucky to have been born there. Of course all I might write about is or will not be tales of happiness. Those days in the '20s and 30's were really rough days--.I say that from a standpoint of hunger and lack of all what kids call normal living today. We had as almost every one else a path to an outhouse. A well for water and a bucket to carry water in the house. The well finally became contaminated and so that meant hauling water on a horse drawn sled from th spring which flowed from beneath Mt. Peoh. That distance was remembered by the amount of pipe Daddy bought to try to bring water to the house. It was 2380 feet.
I should explain that the mountain was known by a different name in the early days.It might have been Cle Elum Ridge--but the story is that a lady newspaper writer who wrote the daily (weekly)times of Peoh Point. She named the farm area Peoh Point--in behalf of the Indian Chief Peoh. There was in those days quite a few Natives who lived in the area and also traveled through to the huckleberry fields near us. There were two notable Indians and one was Chief Peoh. There was another notable Indian named Indian John---you must be familiar with the rest stop on the free way that is where the Indian John Hill rest stop is now located. At the base of that hill is a grave which has long ago been desecrated by a farmer who ignored the rails around the grave. He plowed it under to farm over the grave. I remember seeing this grave from the school bus as we stopped to pick up the kids who lived now on the rented farm.

I was very anxious. Like they say, "ON pins and needles"---I made sure I was first one there on that Saturday of June 12th. My grandson, Matt, drove my pickup which was loaded down with tables and chairs and food items. I worried --yes it was worry-- that something might happen to spoil the day---I am a worrier---Hey , worriers make the world. I do my part.
The owner, John Barker, gave me permission to come anytime to visit--and to have this reunion . That was a few years ago, I mentioned it to my daughter Nancy who is a organizer of such events, and the idea spread thru-out the Mohar relatives, shirt tails and all. All of us meet at funerals and we always tell each other that we should have a Non Funeral meeting someday. I got further assurances from John that it was okay. It was a half year or more in this planning and even during the cold icy winter weather, Nancy picked out the nicest Saturday ever to have this event. The weather was absolutely perfect as if God knew we'd like to have this nice a day. Usually you can expect a wind.The rains had stopped presenting a 'window of opportunity'.
Pesonally , I didn't do a thing---I couldn't do anything but to sit and watch the progress. Pretty soon the yard was quite full of cars. It seemed everyone knew where to park--it had happened before in the days when my Mother still rocked on her rocking chair on the little patio I made for her --so she could watch Mt. Peoh. You might not believe she didn't wear glasses. One day when we were together viewing the desecration of the mountain--I mean desecration because we could see that there were homes being built up there where we hunted for deer and elk and grouse--now we moaned about the no trespassing signs all over our old hunting grounds. One day, Ma said, "Norman , see that bush up there with the white flowers?"-- Holy Cow! she could see the white flowers on a bush? Then I smart assedly answered, "Ma you mean the one with the bees buzzing in the blooms?" Heck! I could just barely see the montain.
So the reunion was very nostalgic and I kept my emotions down and I was surprised I didn't go into a bawling fit. I was as happy as I've ever been in my life to see all my family there and then to see those I only read about in Blogs . Such a beautiful bunch of young kids--I am for large families---married couples should have more than four---we are falling behind. I fear.
So with all of those happy kids running over the grounds where I grew up. Only it is better now--much better--. In my day that yard was mostly manured by sheep and Goats and cows and horses. How did we ever survive Ecoli? I remember chasing cows in bare feet--in the stubble or on the gravel--and it was hard to avoid stepping in fresh cow poop. So you just had to run on and maybe if the snow ditch was running, you'd run through the icy water.

I saw some of the pictures on Mandy's blog and Kelley's blog. Isn't this digital age wonderful? I have a few relatives( close ones too) who frown on the use of a computer. This is the 'frosting ' on my cake of life--to be able to write this story--I just let it 'flow out' and there it is for all to see. I can't possibly write it as it reaally was, but I can tell you that big families is 'where it's all at".It's not easy. We are here to propagate the races. Do it, young kids, but please do it in the old fashioned way--. Marriage is for the purpose of creation--not all recreation!! I am preaching now--.

I've offered at the first days of when John Barker bought the land. to buy back from him the old house. In that day he hadn't built his fabulous rustic home. But he said that when he saw this place "I had to have it". He had fond memories of his home place I think he said Idaho. I wouldn't have touched much of the old house, John has really saved it as I mentioned for the next 100 years--and Hey John, after I'm gone you can demolish it. But first and even now--neath the west window take a metal detector and look for that quarter or half dollar the my brother Donald dropped from the upstairs window and we could never find it--maybe it rolled out farther that we thought. Gee--wouln't that be a 'find'?

The yard had grown over alright and I love all those cotton woods and other brush. The reason all our orchard was lost was the herd of sheep and goats my Mother insisted on having--she loved sheep---as if they were family. If you want to clear brush, get goats.
Even the braying of the donkeys was music to my ears. because we had a team almost like them. Jack and Rabbit. They would only let you place the bridle in ther mouth just one time --and you had to be quick and able. Then, since they are very touchy around the ears you buckled up in a hurry--then to hitch them to one of those mowers --they'd be frightend by the clatter and the rattle of the mower and down the field you'd go Mowing all the way. You can believe that my Mother could handle that team. I always speak of my Mother but please believe me that Daddy was there too and he was the best teamster. Plowing and disking and harrowing, but MA never let Daddy 'seed' the wheat. He'd put on too much. Ma was able to seed the whole place on a bushel--that's stretching the point , but she was also able to paint the whole house with just a pint of paint--could she ever spread that paint. It was because of the cost factor--today you can afford to cover a board a half inch thick--I said that to make a point.
The 'pot luck' was enough food to go around twice or three times. I had to guard myself because I eat too much now to hinder my diabetic boundaries. I am pleased that all of this reunion was hopefully NOT a last Hurrah. Lets do it again. Can we ? Please?
I must extend again and say, how grateful I am to John Barker for sharing his facilities for our benefit. I surely hope we didn't do much damage--we did stomp down the dandelions. And John, didn't you notice --there was no smoking---.