By Mark J. Carter 1995
I was born January twenty sixth, nineteen hundred and
twenty-two. I am sure it was a cold wintry day because all my birthdays
that I can member have been. On my birth certificate in the Logan courthouse
I am called Mark James Carter. My church
records show that I was christened Mark Johnson Carter. As a youngster
my schoolmates called me Corky. Now I am known as Mark J. Carter.
My first memories of the fishing trips with Dad are vague.
Fishing and hunting with Dad
made the weekends like holidays for me. Friday afternoon when Dad got
out of school I would have the worms dug and the big cane poles ready
to be tied along the side of the car. We would go up Cub
River and stay over night. In the winter we would go rabbit hunting
on Saturdays. I always got a box of twenty gauge shotgun shells for
Christmas. Grandpa
Johnson beamed when I could bring him a snowshoe rabbit to eat.
Dad had a farm in Preston, Idaho that my Uncle
Myrin farmed for him. Next to the outdoor trips I loved to go to
the farm. When I was eight I spent two weeks there herding a small band
of sheep on the dry farm while my uncle's family were putting up hay.
I pumped the trough full of water for the horses and cows then turned
the separator and fed the pigs the skim milk. After Uncle Myrin had
finished milking the cows the girls had breakfast ready. I remember
the cooked cracked wheat cereal with cream and a bowl full of raspberries
almost every morning. They had an old gentle saddle horse for me to
ride. Taking my lunch and my .22 cal. rifle I rode up to the dry farm
where the sheep were corralled. My job was to let them out and keep
them from getting into the neighbors' fields. It kept me busy until
they filled up and hunted for shade and lay down. Then I could shoot
squirrels for awhile and eat my lunch. The sheep would feed out again
in the afternoon and I could put them in the corral again when the sun
went down. I would get pretty lonesome. It was the first time I had
been away from home for any length of time. I would look down toward
the south end of the valley and get tears in my eyes. I was paid twenty-five
cents a day and got enough money to buy myself an official Boy
Scout Hatchet. It was my prized possession. I slept with it under
my pillow for years.
The next few years I spent more and more of my summer
vacation on the farm in Preston. Also a lot of weekends helping with
the sheep. Dad and my uncles had bought a band of sheep out of Montana
when they had a severe drought there. I tied fleeces, tromped wool,
docked lambs and helped paint brand. Sometimes I got to stay in the
sheep wagon that I thought was neat.
When I was eleven I worked for my Uncle
Myrin all summer and also the next. In the fall of the second summer
Uncle Myrin brought me home to Logan. For my summers wages he gave me
five dollars and a colt .22 revolver he had. He told my Dad I was the
best kid he ever had around. The six shooter became a part of me. With
the exception of school I carried it with me most of the time. I became
an excellent shot with it. Once the neighbors complained to my Dad about
me having the gun. Dad said to me, "I think it's illegal to carry that
gun around town". I went down to the Chief of Police Carl Poulter and
said I want a permit to carry a six-shooter. He asked why I wanted to
carry a gun and I said I don't know I just like it. He said, "there's
no law against it just don't shoot anybody". Looking back I can see
why some of the neighbors thought it was strange a twelve year-old boy
would have a gun.
Once in that summer my cousin Don Carter and I were left
with a band of sheep to take care until the sheepherder arrived. We
were moving off the summer range and when he didn't show up we trailed
them until dark and slept overnight out in the sagebrush. We then trailed
them until ten o'clock the next morning when help arrived. By this time
I was homesick. Uncle
Noel picked us up and brought up to Preston. From there I hitched
home. I had on a black cowboy hat, boots, and my colt revolver. Nobody
would give me a ride; finally a truck pulling a trailer stopped and
let me ride on the trailer. When I got to Logan I walked up 5th north
to our house and knocked on the door. Mother
answered and I said, "where in the hell is the old man". She picked
me up, put me over her knee and gave me a good spanking. She said I
know your tough but not that tough.
Horses have always been a part of my life. When I was ten I received
a black and white pinto gelding for Christmas. He was very gentle and
I learned to be a good rider on him. I used to ride him from Logan to
Preston each summer and back again in the fall. After a couple of years
I wanted a horse with more life so Dad traded the pinto for a two year-old
strawberry roan that I called Turk.
I broke him to ride and from then on he was almost my constant companion.
One time when I was 13 Grover
and I stayed up on the mountain range and batched by ourselves. We fixed
fence and looked after some sheep. The summer that I was 14 I rode my
horse from the mountain range in the North end of the valley down Logan
Canyon. It took me three days and was a little over a hundred miles.
The next few years I worked for my Uncle Myrin. I pitched
hay, irrigated, threshed grain, and did whatever there was to do which
kept everyone very busy.
During the school year I raised bum calves on skim milk
and broke several horses. When I was nineteen I had a small bunch of
cattle and would drive to Preston on Saturday and feed them enough hay
to last all week. One time when I was up there my Uncle Myrin stopped
me and said why don't you buy me out. He had twenty acres of irrigated
land with a house, barn, and machine shed on it. He wanted $6,000.00
for it all. Dad signed a note at the First National Bank in Logan with
me so I borrowed the money and bought Uncle Myrin's farm. Dad had 90
acres that was right behind it, which I rented. Then up the road Dad
had another 80 acres, half of which was irrigated farmland. He told
me he would either see me threw school or give me the eighty acres.
That's how I got my start in farming and ranching.
The next two years I took care of the farmland. I had
a few head of stock cattle and a bunch of pigs. I raised hay and grain.
The first year I had a sixteen year-old boy help me. The next year a
grown man from Cub River helped me. I had by then bought Chris Miller's
farm of twenty acres with a house on it and flock of two thousand laying
hens. The hired man and his wife lived in the house, took care of the
chickens and helped me on the farm. I batched both years. We farmed
with horses, as I didn't have a tractor. Rubber tired tractors were
just starting to replace horses.
At Christmas time 1942 I first dated Beth.
Her brother Gerald asked me to take her to a dance. She was a senior
in High School at the time. She was quite vivacious but reserved, extra
nice and polite and the prettiest girl I had every seen. I took her
to Logan to see my parents the latter part of January. I told them she
was the girl I was going to marry even though I had never even talked
to Beth about it. A short time after in February Dad died so that was
the only time he got to see her. I have always thought there was some
kind of providence involved in him seeing my future wife before he died.
