Ross Lindholm

ROSS LINDHOLM and REVA JENKINS LINDHOLM

By Suz Anne Ritchie Walker

Ross Lindholm was born in a small homestead on the lona hill. The cabin was located in a grove of serviceberry bushes at the north end of the hill where the Thunder Ridge water slide now stands. He was bom May 5, 1912 and was named for his mother's only brother Ross Smith. His early years were spent on the dry farm and the farm north of lona now owned by George Bitter. Ray Frandsen and others have built homes on the south 40. Reva Grace Jenkins Lindholm was bom December 1, 1913 three miles west of Rigby in a small shack where her parents lived when they moved from Utah to Idaho. At that time, the roof leaked so badly when it rained that the water would run completely through the piano. This piano was a prized posession they had brought from Utah in a wagon. The piano is still in use. Ross attended school in lona and Idaho Falls. He had various jobs on farm and ranches in this valley and in Swan Valley and Jackson. Reva attended school in Rigby and graduated from Rigby High School in 1932. Ross and Reva met June 14, 1931 in Rigby but didn't begin dating until the spring of 1932. They were married March 29, 1933 in the Salt Lake Temple. The legal age for marriage in Utah at that time was 21 and Ross lacked just 35 days of being 21 so his mother-in-law had to sign for him so they could get their marriage license. Ross and Reva lived in the farm home north of lona for 23 years. Brent and Elaine were both bom at this home; Brent on January 11, 1934 and Elaine on February 5, 1936. Neal was born in the Idaho Falls LDS Hospital December 4, 1938. LaRue was bom in the LDS Hospital on July 2, 1945 and Evra Ann on July 14, 1952 at the Rigby Maternity Home . Ross was a very good farmer. The neighbors loved to borrow his machinery after he had it all set up to cultivate beets or potatoes. He always stacked his hay with nets instead of Jackson Fork and they were the biggest and straightest haystacks in the neighborhood. He fed and fat­tened large herds of cattle, making daily trips to the sugar factory with a team and sleigh to get a load of beet pulp for cattle feed. In the coldest weather, he would walk along side the sleigh to keep warm. Harvest was the best time of year. Ross would trade work with the neighbors going from one farm to the next getting the haying and threshing done. It was always Elaine's favorite time of the year with all the cooking and preparing for up to 22 people at a time. Ross fanned with horses until 1947 when he bought his first tractor a Minneapolis Moline. Ross and the boys learned to use the tractor but Reva continued to cultivate potatoes and mow or rake hay with the horses. The tractor was also used as a derrick horse. Ross always loved his horses and had two teams as well as a saddle horse or two. He always took very good care of them. There was a time when his brother, Elmer, wanted to use the horses. Ross proceeded to tell him exactly how he wanted them tended and Elmer said, "Alright, I'll take care of them as if they were my own." Ross replied, "No, don't take care of them as if they were yours. I want them taken care of as if they were mine. Ross was getting weary of farming, he decided to sell the farm and try something else. The farm was sold to Parmer Woolf in October of 1954. They lived in the Wetzel house in lona a few months and then moved to Cocolala about 17 miles south of Sandpoint, Idaho. Ross worked on the boat docks at Bayview and at The Dalles, Oregon. While living at Bayview, Ross had an ac­cident with a gun and was in the hospital at Coeur d'Alene for two weeks. He died August 9, 1956. Reva has lived in lona, Idaho Falls and Pocatello. She recently retired from a job with the Forest Service and now lives in Idaho Falls.

This was an article published in one of the Iona History books. The picture of the family with the car was included in the article

 

MEETING ROSS 

By Annie Wiederstein

 

After graduation, I worked in the seed house sorting pea seed. It was the summer I graduated that I met Ross Lindholm. We became engaged on my birthday December 1, 1932. We were married on March 29, 1933 in the Salt Lake Temple. I’ve thought about it a lot and can’t think of much that took place while Ross and I were going together. [Want a bet? Keep reading! A.W.]

We met at a June 14th celebration at Rigby in 1932. He and Leonard Bateman were together and Altha Kinghorn (Phippen) and I were together. They took us home from the celebration and other than that, I can’t remember that we did anything. I know that we didn’t meet again for over a long time. I can’t remember where or when.

While we were going together, he had a 1926 Ford Roadster, in which we had a lot of fun. During the summer, when he wasn’t away working, he would come to see me at least twice a week. When he got about two miles from the house, he would start blowing the exhaust whistle that he had on the car and of course all the neighbors knew as well as I who it was. He got a lot of kidding about it.

I remember on Saturday evening he came and got me to go for a ride. He said he had to go see a man who lived a mile south of Ammon. So, we were riding along nicely by the sand hills just west and south of where we used to live. (South of Ammon) Suddenly there was a skunk in the road ahead of us. There wasn’t room to go around him, so we followed along behind him for almost a mile before he got out of the road.

We used to go to dances, once in a while, mostly at Riverside Gardens. I loved to dance, but Ross wasn’t crazy about it.

Ross was quite bashful around my Dad and Mother. I remember on Sunday when he came to see me, Mother had dinner just about ready so when we sat down to eat, Dad asked him to eat with us and Ross said, “Ah no, I’m not hungry.” And Dad said, “Oh, come on and eat with us. I’d rather feed a man who says he’s hungry, than one who says he’s not. They don’t eat half as much.”

         Dad really liked Ross and would trust him to do things for him, when he wouldn’t trust his own sons. I remember this, because one Saturday evening after we were married, we were at my folks and some neighbors dropped in to visit. Dad excused himself to milk the cows, and Ross offered to do it for him, so Dad could visit. It really impressed Dad and they got along really well after that.

 

ROSS, THE FARMER, FISHERMAN, DAD

By LaRue Lindholm Jones

About 1980

 I want to give my family the gift of a man they never knew.  To Barbara and Amy, I give Grandpa Lindholm, to Ralph, I give a father-in-law, Ross.  To Brent, Elaine, Neal and Annie, I give a memory.  Also, to Annie, I give the Daddy she only vaguely knew.
      I know that a child's memory selects the best  parts of early childhood, there were times that were unpleasant.  I want to remember the good times and a very special kind of man.
I knew a man who was not tall by todays standards.  A man's strength is not measured by height, but by what he is and the mark he makes on the world,  be it vast or small in scale.
He wore his hair combed straight back.  He wore the top of a nylon stocking after he washed his hair to make it lay down.  His hands were short and stubby.  They were rough, calloused, and worn, gnarled by years of farmer's work.
Dad was always very concerned about his farm.  He prided himself on planting the straightest rows when he put in his crops.  His haystack was the biggest and straightest haystack for miles around.  His haystack was one of my favorite memories.  Before bailing hay became common practice, the hay was loosely piled in big stacks.  The haystack was in the yard, near the barn.  A big derrick made of logs was used to lift the hay, a wagon-load at a time to the top of the stack.  The hay was loaded on the wagon in the field.  Field hands “pitched” the hay a fork-full at a time onto the wagon.  It was hauled to the yard where a tractor lifted the hay from the wagon.  A system of ropes and pulleys on the derrick raised the hay from the wagon to the stack.  The stack grew bigger with each wagon-load.  Dad was on the top of the stack, guiding each wagon-size bundle of hay until it was in exactly the right position.  Dad then pulled a rope and the huge bundle of hay dropped exactly where he wanted it.  As I remember, the hay-stacking ritual, I realize that it was a pretty risky business.  If something went wrong, he might have ended up under one of those loads of hay.
Dad had a horse named Topper.  Topper was a beautiful brown saddle horse.  Dad often rode Topper as he herded cattle.  He also had two big work horses.  The horses helped Dad do many heavy jobs around the farm.  They were also used to pull a sleigh in the winter.  Sometimes the horses and the sleigh were the only means of transportation in the winter.  
There was a small building near the house that was home for a variety of farm and blacksmith tools.  The little wooden building was dark inside and the walls were lined with tools for the many tasks that Dad needed to do.  There was a blacksmith’s forge and anvil as well as a variety of small hand tools.  Dressed in his work clothes and leather chaps, Dad would build a fire in the forge.  The bellows attached to the firebox heated the fiery coals.  Dad used the fire to heat horseshoes to a white and orange glow.  As he carefully handled the horseshoes with tongs, he used a blacksmith’s heavy hammer to shape the glowing horseshoes to fit the horses’ hooves.  There wasn’t another blacksmith nearby so he often shoed his own horses or those of neighbors.
The process of irrigating the crops was fascination for a child to enjoy.  Dad wore hip-boots (waders) as he waded through the fields to the irrigation ditches.  He always knew just where to set the canvas dam to get the best results.  When he opened a gap in the dike, the water rushed through to find its way to the thirsty plants.
Dad had a yellow Minneapolis Moline tractor.  I don’t know for sure, but I think he mistrusted any other kind.  I know he always kidded about  John Deer tractors.  He also kidded about farmers who “farm by the moon.”  His ideas of farming were more practical than that.
Dad was an avid fisherman I loved to watch as he cast his line out into the fast-running stream.  He’d stand for hours in the stream, not noticing the water’s depth.  There was a story that may or man not have been true.  It was said that he once caught three fish at one time on a three-prong fish hook.  True or not, it is a nice story.
Dad was sure footed.  He worked for the last few months of his life at a marina in northern Idaho He often had to climb around in boats and on the docks.  He never fell, perhaps he was like a cat, he always landed on his feet.


That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.  


I wrote this story of my “Dad” remembrance in the early 1980's.  I have always felt very blessed to have been given this bit of writing talent to be able to keep this memory of Ross Lindholm.

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