Farming & Livestock in the Valley
First Silo Built in Hunstville by Francis Bingham
Note: This article and photo were taken from Chapter 29 of “Remember My Valley: A history of Ogden Canyon, Huntsville, Liberty, and Eden, Utah from 1825 to 1976” by LaVerna Burnett Newey.
Farming was a way of life for the majority of Valley settles in the early days. The late John Fuller of Eden, born in 1866, said in an interview:
“As a child I used to go up on the foothills where I could look over the Valley. The whole picture before me would wave in the breeze as the vegetation was so thick. The first settlers used oxen for work animals. The plows were forks of trees which merely scratched the ground. Plows were made later with wooden beams and iron shears.
“Most any crop could be grown in this virgin soil, but the main crops were hay, grain, and potatoes. These could be harvested before the early frosts.
“Every family had a garden which supplied them with sufficient vegetables for their own use., but they had little to sell. Nearly every settler had a few chickens and a few cows.”
Historian Andrew Jensen states that during those pioneer times, a wheat grass, now called orchard grass, was abundant. It grew five feet tall and when cut, made good hay.
It is reported that Robert Burns planted the first lucerne, now called alfalfa, in Eden. He got his seed from a missionary. It is also said that Elisha and Ellen Wilber brought the first watercress to the Valley.
A member of President McKay’s family said that some of the older sons used to gather the watercress from Spring Creek and sell it for 5 cents a bunch.
Some autobiographies say that sagebrush never appeared in great abundance on the Valley slopes until the advent of sheep which scattered the seeds. The tall grass was eventually killed out by overgrazing and sagebrush took its place.
“The hardest job I ever did while helping my father farm,” continued John Fuller of Eden, “was to clear new land. There was sagebrush higher than our heads. As it was plowed up, we boys would follow along, pull it out of the dirt, and pile it up ready to burn. We worked from 4 o’clock in the morning until we couldn’t see any longer at night.”
David Chard remembers his father giving the kids a bag of peanuts if they would pull the weeds called cockleburs out of the farm.
D. D. McKay wrote:
“The land at the bottom of the Valley that could be easily plowed was devoted to the production of crops necessary to sustain life. Each individual had his own patch of land. The boundary lines between individual holdings were frequently a simple furrow or an irrigation ditch.”
They were unfenced because of lack of materials, of the expense, and of the large area to be enclosed. Land was homesteaded by squatting a claim and putting improvements on the land.
For the first few years of the Valley, the climate supported excellent forage crops for a thriving livestock industry. It was the job of early-day Valley boys to herd the cattle off the planted fields until the crop could be harvested.
In Eden and Liberty, cattle were herded by boys on unclaimed land, or on rented land, preferably on a hillside, for 15 cents a head. In Huntsville, the herding was done on either the “South or the North Fields.” The town had a fence up between the two fields.
From the biography of Leamon Douglas Bronson by Sarah Bronson Boden, we learn that sometimes this simple task of herding could be hazardous:
“With his best pal Drawdie Wright, Leamon had many boyhood experiences hauling straw and hay, and herding cows. While crossing a stream of water in the spring of the year to get to the cow pasture, the horses would have to swim. Taking a lunch, they would often stay all day.
“One day Leamon tied his horse to the skeleton head of a dead cow. The animal became frightened and ran home, leaving the boys. The question then was how to get across the stream to go home.
“Finally, Leamon said, ‘We’ll drive the cows into the water and catch hold of the last cow’s tail.’ This they did. But the boys were too much for one cow and Bessie and the boys nearly drowned. Happily, they returned home safely. They had learned a good lesson.”
There was an early period in Huntsville that they boys’ responsibilities were lightened by the appearance in town of a likable old gentleman known only as “Old Man Backman.” He lived at the present 520 South 7700 East. Research by this author discovered his name was Oliver Backman and his wife’s name was Angelina Johansen Bachman. He died July 1902 and she died April 19, 1911. Mary Doman Hislop informed me that this couple left considerable posterity in Huntsville, including Carlyle Doman, whom we all knew.
The late D. D. McKay describes very graphically this man’s impact on the town:
“In the tranquil hours of every summer morning, Old Man Backman’s horn could be heard progressively in various parts of the town, giving notice to one and all that he was about to gather up the town’s milk stock to take them to the hill to graze for the day.
“Men, women, and children hurried reluctant animals toward the nearest point on the regular route. If for any reason they arrived at the proper place late, they either had to catch up with the moving herd before it crossed the first river, or they would mind their own cows for that day. Neither of these alternatives was easy to do.
“The general commotion caused by hurrying hoofs and impatient humans soon subsided and the quiet, which was serene and peaceful, pervaded the scene.
“By the time the dust appeared in the morning sunlight above the oaks on the south hills, marking the progress of the cow herd towards its destination for the day, everyone in town had had his breakfast and was in the fields, straining and sweating, producing food and forage and the things necessary to make life possible.
“Toward evening, above the oaks on the south hills, but now in the light of the setting sun, there appeared the tell-tale dust, announcing the fact that the cow herd was now on its way home. The dust disappeared off the oaks and shortly thereafter the vanguard of the herd would be seen moving slowly, like a huge reptile, up Winter’s Hill while the rear guard was back at the second river.
“Shortly the herd broke into small bunches and scattered into every street, cropping grass along the ditch banks as they moved in the general direction of their own corrals.
“Simultaneously with the arrival of the cow herd in town, teams heading home from the fields could be seen on every road and lane. Humans and horses alike were tired and sweaty. The dust they kicked up rose slowly in the evening air, spreading out and settling in the adjacent fields.
“As the teams with their human cargo followed the street leading most directly to their own home, the driver, meanwhile, kept his eyes open to see if his cows were dawdling somewhere, like children returning from school. If they were, someone from the wagon must hustle them home. Horses must be unharnessed, watered, and fed; cows milked and calves and pigs fed before supper. Everyone was tired and hungry, and the sun was already behind the western hills.
“’Old Man Backman” appeared with his old brass horn at the proper time in the Valley history. He did his job well and quietly passed from the picture when the scene changed and the need ended.”
The late Orson Newey told this author that once in the early days as a young man, he and Joe Bingham were herding cattle in the South Fork area. They were sleeping in a little shack. It was cold in the morning, and as Joe got up and threw back the covers, he noticed a big rattlesnake lying almost under Orson’s armpit. Quickly going around to the other side of the bed, he yanked Orson to the floor.
“Don’t get your dander up,” said Joe. “See who your bed companion was? A 14-button rattler!”
David Berlin, born in 1882, told his grandson Bill Wangsgard that as a young man, he herded cattle with his brothers on the homestead land near Cobble Creek. They would pitch a tent by putting poles to the square and covering them with willows and then old quilts. Once one of the little boys gave a frightened cry. Searching for the cause, they discovered a rattlesnake crawling out from the willow beneath the bed. Toward late summer, when the spring dried up, they often had to scout around for clear water. Young David remembered seeing balls of snakes during the mating season. Because there was no way to go around them, he jumped from one rock to another over them.
The following anecdote is told by the famous tall-tale-teller of Huntsville, Roy Stoker.
At one time a family homesteaded near the present Snowbasin road. It seems the area was alive with rattlesnakes. Especially in August, the snakes made their way from the upper dry elevations to the lower streams for water. This particular pioneer family was at a loss on how to combat them, so they bought a large herd of pigs and turned them loose on the hillside. The pigs with thick hides and thick skulls blissfully rooted for feed, but invariably disturbed the rattlesnakes who attempted in vain with their poisonous fangs to discourage this new tough enemy. The unflinching pigs merely grabbed the reptiles by their tails, gave them a firm flip, and the snake was defunct.
It was impossible for “old Man Backman” and the boys to separate the unbroken horses, beef stock and yearling calves from the cows at milking time. Bishop Hammond devised a solution for that problem. A short stretch of fence with bars for the passage of wagons was built between two ledges in the South Fork Canyon near the mouth of Magpie. All animals were individually branded by their owners then driven in the spring by townsmen and placed behind the bars to be sure that none came back down and destroyed the growing crops. They were left there until feed was gone in the fall. For weeks during the early part of each summer, a bunch of cattle could be seen above the bars looking for a careless traveler who might give them an opportunity to return home.
Irrigation Water
In 1861 an irrigation company was organized in Huntsville under the supervision of Jefferson Hunt and a water ditch tapping the South Fork about two and a half miles above the present center of Huntsville was made, bringing the water onto the top of the bench where the town now stands. This same pioneer irrigation ditch still meanders from east to west through Huntsville, 115 years later. It was surveyed by Charles Grow with the improvised square, a plumb, and two sticks. It was dug by hand labor and extended piece by piece as the town developed. Later, all of the first irrigation ditches in the Valley were plowed in the most convenient places.
Walter and William Lindsey, as young men, according to Mrs. Jennie Neil, were the first to take water from the North Fork. Mr. Riddle irrigated from Spring Creek in Liberty.
Richard Ballantyne’s farm, previously owned by a Mr. Mitchell, was the first in Eden to take water out of Wolf Creek. Later, the Lindsey ditch on the east of Eden was brought into the center of town. Still later, a ditch was provided from the North Fork of the Ogden River. In 1871 the Eden Irrigation Company was organized. The first trustees were John Farrell, Richard Ballantyne, John Riddle, James Burt, and Josiah M. Ferrin. Armstead Moffat was chosen treasurer and Edmund Burke Fuller, secretary.
There were more contentions and bitterness over water and fencing rights in the early days than anything else. Before the days of civil courts, water troubles were often taken to the ward bishop to solve. This put the bishop in a serious predicament. Whichever ruling he made, he was bound to lose face with a member of this congregation. Sometimes it involved members of his own bishopric, and then it was doubly hard to make a decision.
In one case, a watermaster told a farmer he wasn’t getting his share of water and he should put some rocks in the ditch to equal it out. The farmer was then hauled by another farmer into bishop’s court for doing this. When confronted, the watermaster denied his involvement in it. Who was to believe whom? “To be or not to be” was a dilemma church courts were confronted with. Gradually, civil courts took over.
“The year 1889 was a season of universal drought in the territory of Utah. In June of that year, the Plain City Irrigation Company obtained through the District Court an injunction restraining the settlers of Ogden Valley from using the waters of Ogden River for irrigation purposes. They had filed on rights to it. In consequence of this injunction, one-half of the grain in Ogden Valley failed to mature and the potato crop and vegetables were practically burned up” (From a 1917 Huntsville booklet).
The Standard Examiner, 1974, covering three articles by D.D. McKay, stated, “In 1904 the Plain City Irrigation Company filed a second suit—this time against the Eden Irrigation Company. It was an injunction against Eden users on the ground that their right was junior to that of Plain City’s. The case was tried in District Court and went to the State-Supreme Court.
“The ruling was that when the Eden people used the water on the land and then allowed it to seep gradually underground and then follow its natural channel below, the lower valley residents received more water from the North Fork than they would get if the water were permitted to flow down the natural channel of the creek and be subject to evaporation and leakage. This happened especially during time of scarcity or drought. Studies subsequently were made and data collected that proved this theory.”
Alec Hogge of Eden once wrote:
“The pioneers who surveyed our irrigation system upon this bench can be congratulated, as every acre can be irrigated from different ditches and so divided that it takes care of all land under cultivation. When a farmer has a large amount of acreage, he is entitled to a larger headgate, and his water is measured out by the hours he is permitted to use the water each week.
We take our turns with no watermaster, trusting every man to take his turn, and when through, his neighbors take over. We have a board of directors, three men chosen from a company and a secretary to oversee the needs of the canal such as cleaning, repairing as necessary, and making assessments to cover the necessary expense for the year’s operation. No better system can be found in irrigation now.”
This was after the early days when they had so much trouble over water right in bishops’ courts and early civil courts.
Farming was a way of life for the majority of Valley settles in the early days. The late John Fuller of Eden, born in 1866, said in an interview:
“As a child I used to go up on the foothills where I could look over the Valley. The whole picture before me would wave in the breeze as the vegetation was so thick. The first settlers used oxen for work animals. The plows were forks of trees which merely scratched the ground. Plows were made later with wooden beams and iron shears.
“Most any crop could be grown in this virgin soil, but the main crops were hay, grain, and potatoes. These could be harvested before the early frosts.
“Every family had a garden which supplied them with sufficient vegetables for their own use., but they had little to sell. Nearly every settler had a few chickens and a few cows.”
Historian Andrew Jensen states that during those pioneer times, a wheat grass, now called orchard grass, was abundant. It grew five feet tall and when cut, made good hay.
It is reported that Robert Burns planted the first lucerne, now called alfalfa, in Eden. He got his seed from a missionary. It is also said that Elisha and Ellen Wilber brought the first watercress to the Valley.
A member of President McKay’s family said that some of the older sons used to gather the watercress from Spring Creek and sell it for 5 cents a bunch.
Some autobiographies say that sagebrush never appeared in great abundance on the Valley slopes until the advent of sheep which scattered the seeds. The tall grass was eventually killed out by overgrazing and sagebrush took its place.
“The hardest job I ever did while helping my father farm,” continued John Fuller of Eden, “was to clear new land. There was sagebrush higher than our heads. As it was plowed up, we boys would follow along, pull it out of the dirt, and pile it up ready to burn. We worked from 4 o’clock in the morning until we couldn’t see any longer at night.”
David Chard remembers his father giving the kids a bag of peanuts if they would pull the weeds called cockleburs out of the farm.
D. D. McKay wrote:
“The land at the bottom of the Valley that could be easily plowed was devoted to the production of crops necessary to sustain life. Each individual had his own patch of land. The boundary lines between individual holdings were frequently a simple furrow or an irrigation ditch.”
They were unfenced because of lack of materials, of the expense, and of the large area to be enclosed. Land was homesteaded by squatting a claim and putting improvements on the land.
For the first few years of the Valley, the climate supported excellent forage crops for a thriving livestock industry. It was the job of early-day Valley boys to herd the cattle off the planted fields until the crop could be harvested.
In Eden and Liberty, cattle were herded by boys on unclaimed land, or on rented land, preferably on a hillside, for 15 cents a head. In Huntsville, the herding was done on either the “South or the North Fields.” The town had a fence up between the two fields.
From the biography of Leamon Douglas Bronson by Sarah Bronson Boden, we learn that sometimes this simple task of herding could be hazardous:
“With his best pal Drawdie Wright, Leamon had many boyhood experiences hauling straw and hay, and herding cows. While crossing a stream of water in the spring of the year to get to the cow pasture, the horses would have to swim. Taking a lunch, they would often stay all day.
“One day Leamon tied his horse to the skeleton head of a dead cow. The animal became frightened and ran home, leaving the boys. The question then was how to get across the stream to go home.
“Finally, Leamon said, ‘We’ll drive the cows into the water and catch hold of the last cow’s tail.’ This they did. But the boys were too much for one cow and Bessie and the boys nearly drowned. Happily, they returned home safely. They had learned a good lesson.”
There was an early period in Huntsville that they boys’ responsibilities were lightened by the appearance in town of a likable old gentleman known only as “Old Man Backman.” He lived at the present 520 South 7700 East. Research by this author discovered his name was Oliver Backman and his wife’s name was Angelina Johansen Bachman. He died July 1902 and she died April 19, 1911. Mary Doman Hislop informed me that this couple left considerable posterity in Huntsville, including Carlyle Doman, whom we all knew.
The late D. D. McKay describes very graphically this man’s impact on the town:
“In the tranquil hours of every summer morning, Old Man Backman’s horn could be heard progressively in various parts of the town, giving notice to one and all that he was about to gather up the town’s milk stock to take them to the hill to graze for the day.
“Men, women, and children hurried reluctant animals toward the nearest point on the regular route. If for any reason they arrived at the proper place late, they either had to catch up with the moving herd before it crossed the first river, or they would mind their own cows for that day. Neither of these alternatives was easy to do.
“The general commotion caused by hurrying hoofs and impatient humans soon subsided and the quiet, which was serene and peaceful, pervaded the scene.
“By the time the dust appeared in the morning sunlight above the oaks on the south hills, marking the progress of the cow herd towards its destination for the day, everyone in town had had his breakfast and was in the fields, straining and sweating, producing food and forage and the things necessary to make life possible.
“Toward evening, above the oaks on the south hills, but now in the light of the setting sun, there appeared the tell-tale dust, announcing the fact that the cow herd was now on its way home. The dust disappeared off the oaks and shortly thereafter the vanguard of the herd would be seen moving slowly, like a huge reptile, up Winter’s Hill while the rear guard was back at the second river.
“Shortly the herd broke into small bunches and scattered into every street, cropping grass along the ditch banks as they moved in the general direction of their own corrals.
“Simultaneously with the arrival of the cow herd in town, teams heading home from the fields could be seen on every road and lane. Humans and horses alike were tired and sweaty. The dust they kicked up rose slowly in the evening air, spreading out and settling in the adjacent fields.
“As the teams with their human cargo followed the street leading most directly to their own home, the driver, meanwhile, kept his eyes open to see if his cows were dawdling somewhere, like children returning from school. If they were, someone from the wagon must hustle them home. Horses must be unharnessed, watered, and fed; cows milked and calves and pigs fed before supper. Everyone was tired and hungry, and the sun was already behind the western hills.
“’Old Man Backman” appeared with his old brass horn at the proper time in the Valley history. He did his job well and quietly passed from the picture when the scene changed and the need ended.”
The late Orson Newey told this author that once in the early days as a young man, he and Joe Bingham were herding cattle in the South Fork area. They were sleeping in a little shack. It was cold in the morning, and as Joe got up and threw back the covers, he noticed a big rattlesnake lying almost under Orson’s armpit. Quickly going around to the other side of the bed, he yanked Orson to the floor.
“Don’t get your dander up,” said Joe. “See who your bed companion was? A 14-button rattler!”
David Berlin, born in 1882, told his grandson Bill Wangsgard that as a young man, he herded cattle with his brothers on the homestead land near Cobble Creek. They would pitch a tent by putting poles to the square and covering them with willows and then old quilts. Once one of the little boys gave a frightened cry. Searching for the cause, they discovered a rattlesnake crawling out from the willow beneath the bed. Toward late summer, when the spring dried up, they often had to scout around for clear water. Young David remembered seeing balls of snakes during the mating season. Because there was no way to go around them, he jumped from one rock to another over them.
The following anecdote is told by the famous tall-tale-teller of Huntsville, Roy Stoker.
At one time a family homesteaded near the present Snowbasin road. It seems the area was alive with rattlesnakes. Especially in August, the snakes made their way from the upper dry elevations to the lower streams for water. This particular pioneer family was at a loss on how to combat them, so they bought a large herd of pigs and turned them loose on the hillside. The pigs with thick hides and thick skulls blissfully rooted for feed, but invariably disturbed the rattlesnakes who attempted in vain with their poisonous fangs to discourage this new tough enemy. The unflinching pigs merely grabbed the reptiles by their tails, gave them a firm flip, and the snake was defunct.
It was impossible for “old Man Backman” and the boys to separate the unbroken horses, beef stock and yearling calves from the cows at milking time. Bishop Hammond devised a solution for that problem. A short stretch of fence with bars for the passage of wagons was built between two ledges in the South Fork Canyon near the mouth of Magpie. All animals were individually branded by their owners then driven in the spring by townsmen and placed behind the bars to be sure that none came back down and destroyed the growing crops. They were left there until feed was gone in the fall. For weeks during the early part of each summer, a bunch of cattle could be seen above the bars looking for a careless traveler who might give them an opportunity to return home.
Irrigation Water
In 1861 an irrigation company was organized in Huntsville under the supervision of Jefferson Hunt and a water ditch tapping the South Fork about two and a half miles above the present center of Huntsville was made, bringing the water onto the top of the bench where the town now stands. This same pioneer irrigation ditch still meanders from east to west through Huntsville, 115 years later. It was surveyed by Charles Grow with the improvised square, a plumb, and two sticks. It was dug by hand labor and extended piece by piece as the town developed. Later, all of the first irrigation ditches in the Valley were plowed in the most convenient places.
Walter and William Lindsey, as young men, according to Mrs. Jennie Neil, were the first to take water from the North Fork. Mr. Riddle irrigated from Spring Creek in Liberty.
Richard Ballantyne’s farm, previously owned by a Mr. Mitchell, was the first in Eden to take water out of Wolf Creek. Later, the Lindsey ditch on the east of Eden was brought into the center of town. Still later, a ditch was provided from the North Fork of the Ogden River. In 1871 the Eden Irrigation Company was organized. The first trustees were John Farrell, Richard Ballantyne, John Riddle, James Burt, and Josiah M. Ferrin. Armstead Moffat was chosen treasurer and Edmund Burke Fuller, secretary.
There were more contentions and bitterness over water and fencing rights in the early days than anything else. Before the days of civil courts, water troubles were often taken to the ward bishop to solve. This put the bishop in a serious predicament. Whichever ruling he made, he was bound to lose face with a member of this congregation. Sometimes it involved members of his own bishopric, and then it was doubly hard to make a decision.
In one case, a watermaster told a farmer he wasn’t getting his share of water and he should put some rocks in the ditch to equal it out. The farmer was then hauled by another farmer into bishop’s court for doing this. When confronted, the watermaster denied his involvement in it. Who was to believe whom? “To be or not to be” was a dilemma church courts were confronted with. Gradually, civil courts took over.
“The year 1889 was a season of universal drought in the territory of Utah. In June of that year, the Plain City Irrigation Company obtained through the District Court an injunction restraining the settlers of Ogden Valley from using the waters of Ogden River for irrigation purposes. They had filed on rights to it. In consequence of this injunction, one-half of the grain in Ogden Valley failed to mature and the potato crop and vegetables were practically burned up” (From a 1917 Huntsville booklet).
The Standard Examiner, 1974, covering three articles by D.D. McKay, stated, “In 1904 the Plain City Irrigation Company filed a second suit—this time against the Eden Irrigation Company. It was an injunction against Eden users on the ground that their right was junior to that of Plain City’s. The case was tried in District Court and went to the State-Supreme Court.
“The ruling was that when the Eden people used the water on the land and then allowed it to seep gradually underground and then follow its natural channel below, the lower valley residents received more water from the North Fork than they would get if the water were permitted to flow down the natural channel of the creek and be subject to evaporation and leakage. This happened especially during time of scarcity or drought. Studies subsequently were made and data collected that proved this theory.”
Alec Hogge of Eden once wrote:
“The pioneers who surveyed our irrigation system upon this bench can be congratulated, as every acre can be irrigated from different ditches and so divided that it takes care of all land under cultivation. When a farmer has a large amount of acreage, he is entitled to a larger headgate, and his water is measured out by the hours he is permitted to use the water each week.
We take our turns with no watermaster, trusting every man to take his turn, and when through, his neighbors take over. We have a board of directors, three men chosen from a company and a secretary to oversee the needs of the canal such as cleaning, repairing as necessary, and making assessments to cover the necessary expense for the year’s operation. No better system can be found in irrigation now.”
This was after the early days when they had so much trouble over water right in bishops’ courts and early civil courts.
