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"Steady girls!" my mom yelled back over her shoulder, as she carefully guided the little 7-horse Ski-Doo down and around the snowdrifts.
Our job was to hold the 50-gallon barrel of fresh water steady on the upside down hood of an old Ford pickup. It was a balmy -5 F and mom was eager to get home before sunset, which in Alaska in winter is about 3 p.m. The little Ski-Doo always made it back from the creek, pulling as much drinking water as mom could fit on the converted makeshift sled.
We named our snowmobiles by the horsepower and the little 7-horse was always my favorite. It was the little train that could.
Homesteading might sound romantic to some but the reality is it's a lot of hard work and requires equal parts of ingenuity. Dad and Mom (Bob and Margaret Rehus) moved the family from Ohio to Alaska in 1960 with Dad driving a small dump truck pulling a pink house trailer and Mom following in a 1957 DeSoto. Their dream was to homestead in Alaska and they had already driven the Alcan once before to check things out. So it was goodbye to the relatives, friends and the comforts of electricity and running water, and hello to roughing it in the Alaskan wilderness.
We moved onto the homestead site in the Matanuska Valley in 1962 and had quite a few vehicles fall victim to the spring break-up mud, the deep ruts in summer or the heavy winter snowdrifts. My sisters and I would close our eyes and pray we would get to wherever we were headed when the mud was a foot deep or the wind had blown the snow into drifts more than 6 ft. high. I saw Dad and Mom pull the homesteaders jack out many times and just as many times we left the vehicle and walked home. One of my clearest memories is my older sister holding her prom dress over her head, walking in mud that was up and over her rubber boots to the bus.
Our road was 2½ miles from the main gravel road into Palmer and it was maintained by the few families on it. So it wasn't unusual to be unable to get "out" for a few days until Dad got the D8 Cat started and out to plow. When there was a patch of road that was impassable we would park the vehicles and walk the rest of the way home, carrying groceries, goods and a baby sister or two.
In 1966 Dad became a Ski-Doo dealer and life on the homestead became easier. The trusty '48 Willys Jeep got a bit of help and rest. Dad demanded a lot out of his machines so they not only were used in the winter but during break-up and sometimes even in summer. It wasn't unusual to see the 10-horse grinding up the dirt driveway with supplies and a kid or two on the truck hood.
When Ski-Doo came out with a double track, hauling water became a breeze. Mom was still waiting for her running water, so the stability factor of the double track made it her favorite machine, because she could fit a couple more cans on the sides. We didn't miss much school anymore, so unless there was a nasty snowstorm, we would be flying over the snow to the bus stop most mornings and back home again in the afternoons. We ran the 7- and 10-horses all over the homestead. We would use anything we could tie behind the machine, even burlap sacks to pull each other on. I think all of us have a scar or two from those adventures.
Dad raced snowmobiles back then. He liked to see how far and fast he could push them, and himself. He was in the Anchorage to Fairbanks, Fairbanks to Nome races, and all the little races in between. It was a great family time. We were his pit crew, carrying food, his favorite candy bars and little jiggers of blackberry brandy to warm him up.
My younger sisters and I would help him brush bleach on the tracks for better traction when he was racing laps on Big Lake. When the races followed the highway, we would drive alongside trying to catch a camera shot of Dad flying over a huge burm or try to get his attention by hanging out the car windows and screaming "GO DAD GO!" We always were his biggest and loudest fans.
In a National Geographic book about Alaska, published in 1969, there's a picture spread on p. 12 that shows the home-style racing that was the norm back then. My Dad's machine is among those pictured.
In the early 1970's Dad switched to selling the Roll-O-Flex snowmobiles and having others race for him. Plus, life had changed significantly on the homestead. There was running water, electricity and the state maintained the road. The bus stop had changed from 2½ miles away to just up the driveway. We were past the old days of roughing it, but those experiences molded us into adults that like the little 7-horse, could and would make it.
Rebecca A. Rehus lives and works in the lower 48 now, having settled in Idaho. She was daughter No. 2 and sends us this tale of homesteading with her parents and three sisters, Chris (the oldest), Emily and Amy, in Alaska and the accompanying photos. Older brother Barry was in the service.