Chapter 2 - HOP VALLEY

Dad built three homes in our mountain valley. One for my mother, her sister, who was Dad's first wife and his third wife. They were built in kind of a triangle in the valley, which we called Hop Valley and the Mexicans called Colonia Hernandez. It was located about five miles, as I remember, southeast of Pacheco, which was one of the prominent Colonies in Mexico.

Laying west of Hop Valley, about eight miles, was Colonia Garcia. On farther up, about thirty miles, was Colonia Chuchupa, and that consisted of the three colonies built in the mountains. The other colonies being Colonia Dublan, which is forty miles down out of the mountains towards El Paso, and on down about another thirty miles was Colonia Diaz, near the Mexican town of Ascencion.

The houses were separated by two rivers, and they were about three quarters of a mile apart. Aunt Orpha's house being across the river from our house, and Aunt Lizzie's home was in the forks of the two rivers on the other side of the valley.
My first remembrance is that those three houses were the only ones. Up the valley, say two miles, there were a few houses for Mexicans Dad used to hire to help take care of the farm. As the boys grew up and got married houses were added. Heber, my next to the oldest brother built his house close to Mother's house.

One of the houses was two stories and the others were single story houses with, I'd say, probably four rooms. One of them had a basement, which Dad had converted into a store, where he supplied the ranchers around, and kept a little supplies for the Mexican people that worked for him and for the people passing through.

Two of the original houses were made of burned brick and the other of adobe. In 1968 I made my first trip back to Hop Valley, and one of the houses was still in use, being used as a store. (We also saw it in 1972 on a subsequent trip) The other two houses were completely gone, no sign of them. As I remember, we had three orchards, a small one at each house and a large one out in between the three houses. This was a large experimental orchard Dad had planted, being interested in all kinds of berries and fruits.

At one time he sent back to Ohio and got forty different kinds of potatoes in one year and planted them and kept them separated and then, as the years went by, he kept the best ones. The first year he cut down to about five kinds of potatoes, the second year he kept only three kinds - the ones that did the best there on the ranch. It turned out to be a very profitable crop, raising very good potatoes.

We used wood for fuel. It was cut right there from the forest. We always kept milk cows, hogs and horses. Dad constructed a dam up one of the rivers. He laid out logs filled with rock and it was there for years. The colonies needed wood and logs down below so we finally got in the business of cleaning all the rocks out of the river leading down to Dublan. Then in the springtime, when the floods would come up they would have the river loaded with logs blocked off behind a big cable. As the flood came up they would cut the cables and let the logs go on down to Dublan and get caught by another cable down there. Then the logs were snaked out onto the bank and made into lumber and sold for wood to the valley people because there wasn't any wood down on the desert. It was about fifty miles to Dublan by road but it was probably seventy or eighty miles by the river. They went with the logs until they got down. They had to ride them and keep them steered down the river and keep them from jamming up. They floated these logs in place of hauling them down.
Later on, they built a sawmill down at the foot of one of the mountains, close to Dublan and Dad constructed what's called a skidway down this mountain. The logs were skidded up to the top of the mountain to this flume or ditch like contraption they built down on this mountain. The logs were put in there and they'd go down the chute off the mountain. This was the same sawmill where Dad worked and was killed.

Father was killed in April of 1908, so that would make me ten years old when Dad was killed. It seems like it was time for Dad to come to Hop Valley for the weekend. He came up by where my brothers were shooting logs down the mountain. They had to get a signal from the lower end of the chute before they turned the logs loose at the top. Dad signaled for them to turn the logs loose and they put a log in and started it down. They came down like greased lightning. After the log got started, there was a Mexican on the other side of this chute that attempted to come over where Dad was. Dad went down to the chute to prevent him from getting hit by this log and the log turned sideways in the chute and struck them both. I think Wallace Gurr lived at the sawmill at the time that Dad was killed and he said that the Mexican was deaf.
At the time we heard about the accident us kids were all up about a mile from the house swimming. My sister came running up and told us that Father had an accident and was killed. It was just coming sundown and we rushea back to the house. All of us got ready and hooked up the team on the wagon and loaded in and started down the mountain to the sawmill after night - pitch dark. It was nearly morning when we reached the sawmill. Some if us boys immediately walked up to where the accident happened. Dad was still on a stretcher. A person being accidentally killed in Mexico wasn't to be moved until the Mexican authorities came out and the coroner held an inquest and found the cause of death. They were in no hurry to do that. They came to the sawmill but they waited until about noon before they ventured on up a half mile from the sawmill to hold this inquest before we could move Dad down to the house. The Mexican was killed outright, but Dad lived a few minutes, long enough for them to get him on a stretcher and in the shade.

SOME COMMENTS BY REX JAMES

Robert James, my father, and my family and I (Rex James) visited Colonia Juarez and the surrounding area including Hop Valley in November of 1972. Just as Dad mentioned about his visit in 1968, everyone remembered Joe James and especially his humor.

Dad told me about the following incident. When he and Uncle Abe visited Mexico in 1968 one thing they could not resolve was where their Dad's grave was. On our visit we arrived in Colonia Juarez on Saturday night and stayed at the home of some friends, Gilbert and Michelle Sandburg, who were temporarily living at the home of Michelle's father, Dr. Hatch. Dad related this to me. He got up very early Sunday morning and prayed for help in finding Grandfather's grave. He then walked to the cemetery which was about 2 miles away. To reach the cemetery he had to cross a gully and go up a hill. During this crossing and climb you loose sight of the cemetery. Since he lost sight of the cemetery he actually walked on up the hill past it. After going a ways up the hill he could see it below him. This meant that he was entering from the top entrance instead of the bottom entrance which is the one used now. He said as soon as he entered from this direction he was able to walk directly to Grandfather's grave and was assured that was it.

Later in the day we went with another Brother Hatch who said he knew where the grave was. The cemetery records have been lost but one day he was with his other, who kept the records and an old Mexican lady who was familiar with the cemetery. He remembers the Mexican lady pointing up to the top of the graveyard and saying, "There is no need to go up there, the only grave up there is Joe James'." This spot that Brother Hatch remembers is the identical one Dad felt impressed about.  rlj