Continuing with Gerald Nathan Hodgson’s Northwest family narrative, with thanks to Michael Howard Hodgson:
About two years after his arrival here, Dad (I formed the habit of calling my father ‘Dad’; the older children called him ‘Papa’) spent one fall in the harvest fields near Pomeroy, Washington. Uncle Myron and perhaps others of the family went along. Myron, then nineteen, met Katherine Burns, sixteen, and they were married. Myron later took up a homestead on the opposite side of Granddad’s (east). He also moved into a crude log house about a quarter mile from Granddad’s. There was a much used woods trail between the two houses, and Grandpa, in his last years, built a road of sorts through the woods near where the country road now runs. The country road cuts through at least part of Uncle Myron’s old building site. His cellar hole is still visible. He also had a well that sometimes had water in it — which I keep planning to fill up!
Uncle Myron was not old enough to take a homestead at that time, but was by the time it was legally possible. The history of that place (which I won’t go into in detail) includes a great deal of tragedy. Five children died on the place, three of them by fire. Victor” s two stillborn children are buried in the Sandridge graveyard, along with Myron’s three children, Cecil, Vernon, and Kathleen.
Through course of human events, all of Myron’s place, one forty of Grandpa’s place, all of Dad’s place, and a small L-shaped piece comprising about five acres below our old house that Dad bought off Grandpa before his death, became mine.