A rube arrives in Trout Creek
I had been eyeballing a piece of property in Trout Creek for about a year. It was cheap enough, I had the money, why not? So, I bought it.
It was what around here people generously call a stump farm —stripped of timber, and in this particular case, filled with 2-foot-deep ruts from logging equipment. A strip of land that could only generously be called a road led a half-mile to the property from the county road.
When the seller’s son heard his mother was putting it up for sale, he and a friend hustled over to take the timber. They logged in the spring, they were in that much of a hurry, hence the ruts. The access road was more of a canal because they had used a D-8 Cat to pull the loaded log trucks to the gravel road that led to the mill, and whatever ground had been in the original road was up where the borrow pit would usually be.
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