Published as it appeared on May 25, 1917, in the Corvallis Gazette-Times, Page 1, Column 4 and Page 4, Column 5.
GRANDMA RAY-
BURN, PIONEER
AND HER STORY
———
HERE WHEN CORVALLIS WAS
BUT A SITE WITH A SIN-
GLE DWELLING
———
CAME ACROSS PLAINS WHEN
MOTHER OF 20 AND TO UN-
KNOWN COUNTRY
———
CONTRAST OF CONDITIONS THEN
AND NOW, AND WHAT SUCH
TRIP MEANT
———
(E.L. Sharpe.)
Thinking perhaps that a short sketch of Grandmother Rayburn, the remarkable Philomath woman who has just left us, would be of interest to pioneers, as well as to the younger generation not so well acquainted with the development of the great State of Oregon, I have undertaken to give you her story as she so often told it to me. She, as is well known, was one among our first settlers, having come to the then Territory of Oregon in the year 1847, just 70 years ago.
In the month of May, 1847, she, with husband, George W. Bethers and a company composed of her father, Abiather Newton, his family, the Belnaps, the Hawleys and many others, started with their ox teams for the land of the setting sun. In fancy we can see them, as they bade adieu to home and kindred, to all that was near and dear, and turn their faces toward an unknown land,—toward a land which, though rich in natural resources, was wholly undeveloped and unknown.
Required Courage.
Who knows the amount of courage it required to start on this long and toilsome journey, beset with privations and dangers which we of later generations so little to know. Today, as you speed over the rolling prairie in your sumptuous palace car, little do you know what crossing the plains meant in 1847. In our mind’s eye we can see this long, slow-moving, emigrant train, toiling wearily along the unbeaten trail, ever alert for the redman, who disputed the every advance of civilization. We can see them in the still hours of the night, sleeping upon their couches of prairie grass, the starry sky for their covering. We can hear the footfall of the ever-vigilant sentry as he walks slowly back and forth, guarding the wives, mothers and sweethearts as they slumbered. We see them as they arise in the morning, as they gather around their fire of buffalo chips, cooking their frugal meal, getting things in readiness to resume the weary journey. We see them as they stand by the lonely prairie grave of some loved one whom they must leave behind, to see no more until that great morn when we shall all again awake. We see them fording the rivers, winding around the mountain bluff, where the slightest misstep means destruction. We are with them when the news is brought back by their advance scout that the Indians are gathering to attack. Do we see the faces blanched with terror? No. We see these brave pioneers, hurrying to draw their wagons into a circle, getting the little children under cover; wives, mothers and sweethearts taking their places by the side of their husbands, sons and brothers, with powder and bullets at hand ready to reload the trusty rifles when empty. We watch these brave women, as they mold bullets, while the men hold the redman at bay. Surely no place for weaklings or cowards.
Of such sturdy stuff were the old pioneers composed. No wonder that Oregon is today the grandest State in the Union, with such people to lay the foundation for us. We see these pioneers, as they reach the Willamette Valley. We see them gaze in rapturous delight on the wondrous beauty of this new found Eden, carpeted with waving grass, abounding in all kinds of game. We go with them as they follow up the winding shores of the silvery Willamette, until they reach the fairest portion of the fairest State of the fairest land on earth. We hear their leader say, this is surely the promised land — here we will stay; here we will build our homes; here we will rear our children.
One Home Only.
Eighteen hundred and forty-seven! Any Corvallis here? Any stores, any of the conveniences with which we of today are so richly blessed? No, the Corvallis of that day was one little log cabin, the home of Mr. Avery. The point where they must get their provisions was Oregon City. Think of what it meant in those days to go to market! A six-day’s journey with old Buck and Bright, the faithful oxen, fording the streams sleeping ‘neath the stars, in order to bring provisions to the loved ones at home. We of today sit in our parlor, step to the telephone, call up our grocer, order our stuff, and the delivery man brings it to our door. Yet we are prone to complain if it is delayed. I wonder if we would have borne the privations of the pioneer with the heroic fortitude which they displayed.
And the hospitality of the old pioneer! Grandma Rayburn so often said to me, “I cannot understand why people are so different nowadays. Why, in those days our latchstring was always out. No matter what time of day or night, no matter stranger or friend, we always bade them welcome. There was always a warm word of greeting to the weary traveler, always a place to spread their blankets and share in our humble fare.” She often spoke of the development of this country, a development in which she played so important a part. She would grieve as she watched the ever lessening ranks of her friends, the old pioneers and, finally crowned with nearly 90 years, surrounded by her children, whom she ever fondly loved, this nobly good old woman quietly fell asleep, to wake on that other shore — where in fancy we see her again greeting those old friends who helped to build the great State of Oregon for us, their children. May we, too, leave as honorable a record when we are called to the great unknown.