Medicine Dreams Cover Art by Tom McKeith
Medicine Dreams is based on my childhood. I was born in Portland, Ore., during WWII. My father and mother met in the Swan Island shipyards where he was a welder and she, a typist. After the war, Liberty Ships were no longer needed, and so my father became a diesel mechanic and moved his family from a comfortable house in Portland to a logging camp in the coastal mountains of Oregon, 27 miles by gravel road from the nearest town.
The town, now just a fork in the road, was Sitkum, and in the late 1940s and early 1950s, it was a magical place for a kid. Surrounded by mountains, along the Coquille (rhymes with ‘free meal’) River, it was dark, and rainy and mysterious. We ate venison shot out of season, and trout, as well as staples from Safeway in Myrtle Point. There was a small store at Dora with a freezer for meat. In the winter, the Coquille flooded and cut off the road to town, and frequently, the power went out.
My father on the front porch of our house in Sitkum, about 1950. Mom is in the doorway. That’s my brother Dale in the hat, and Bruce on the left.
I was the oldest, and started first grade at Sitkum school in 1951. Twenty-seven kids, grades 1-4 in one room, 5-8 in the other. An 8th grade girl was the janitor. At recess we fished, shot birds with slingshots, and climbed far up into the trees surrounding the school. In bad weather, we roller skated in the gym, which served as a community meeting place.
When we played war in the woods, my younger brother Dale was always the one who made news. A spear thrown by the enemy tore open his nose, and when local kids tipped over our outhouse on Halloween, he fell in. My mother said they buried his clothes and for a while they considered burying him as well, but got over it.
My youngest brother Bruce lived in his own world of imaginary friends, and it is from him I derived some of the color and fluid realities for Medicine Dreams.
The road between Sitkum and Roseburg in winter. That;s grandma Christine on the right with my brothers. I’m the kid with the snowballs.
Some of the incidents in Medicine Dreams are based on real events in Sitkum between 1949 and 1952. Loggers did die, and rock blasted from a quarry nearby often rained down on roofs and broke windows. Parties were raucous affairs and while as a kid I was not privy to such things, my parents hinted over the years as to some of the goings-on. As mentioned in the story, alcohol and tools don’t mix. And jokes with dynamite could often backfire. I made up names and incidents and any resemblance to real people and events is coincidental.
I loved writing Medicine Dreams, as it brought back the sounds and the smells of a unique childhood — a small isolated setting for a story that I hope you will enjoy. Click here for a sample.
Here are a few more photos of Fairview, where we first lived, and Sitkum:
Our house in Fairview, Oregon, in the winter of 1949.
A view of Sitkum about 1950. Not shown is a connected row of cabins, like an old-style motel.
Sitkum School circa 1951. Two classrooms on the left, on the right is the gym/community center.
My mother holds new sister Christy, Grandma next to her and Grandma’s sister Helen. We boys were told to squeeze in. In the back is our 1949 Chevrolet Suburban Carryall
Our swimming hole. Grandma is the lifeguard.
The Sitkum Post Office.
I lived in the Post Office house in Sitkum with my parents and siblings, from about 1969 to 1971. It was indeed a magical place and I still dream about it. All of us who lived there (there were 10 children but some had already grown up and left home) have stories that will accompany us through our whole lives. I used to climb up the hill behind the house to the cistern, and clean leaves out of the stream, and climb up on the huge boulder behind the barn and pick the tiny wild strawberries there. We skinny dipped in the river, after sneaking past the bull in the field. We visited Ivan and Daisy Laird in their home across the road. Once, a 3 foot snowfall kept us marooned for a whole week, and another time a flood did the same. I could go on and on. My father, Herbert W. Butt, was the pastor of Dora Church, in the school building where I attended fourth, fifth and sixth grade. I must go back soon.
I must find and read your book!!!
Rachel Weldon
Hi Rachel,
Was the cistern built of wood, like a huge barrel? I used to play around a cistern like that, and it appears in the story. There may be other features too, but that one stood out as a favorite place to play. You can find the book on my Amazon page: http://www.amazon.com/Mr.-Wayne-E.-Hanson/e/B00MS6CYAI/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_3?qid=1416006397&sr=1-3
Best, Wayne