A Scandinavian in the Woods
A First-Generation American’s Tale of Growing Up on a Pacific Northwest Logging Camp
Written by Abi Hoodenpyle
Evelyn sat comfortably on the white fabric couch. Her cyan, ankle-length dress cascaded down the cushions like a waterfall. Her white hair was neatly pinned up in a twist, and her piercing blue eyes shimmered as she got the opportunity to share her story.
She raised her pale arms in a Y-shape, then lowered them down as she described how to hang up a dead rabbit. She moved her fingers directly down the imaginary rabbit, signifying a slice down the center. Evelyn proceeded to explain how one must allow the rabbit’s blood to completely drain before starting the skinning process.. Her soft voice did not waver as she explained once it was dry, she would reach into the rabbit’s shell of fur to remove the insides — leaving a perfectly hollow rabbit to skin.
Skinning a rabbit was one of the least shocking details about Evelyn’s life and what it was like growing up in Deep River, Washington.
Evelyn Naimo grew up in the early 1940s in the Deep River logging camp. This historical site was once a successful location in the Pacific Northwest logging industry.
“We moved from Vancouver, Washington, from the city where the ice cream truck and the milk truck came. The doughnuts and everything came by in a truck, out to the country, out to the woods,” Evelyn said.
Evelyn said the transition was not a big deal at her age. She moved in the first grade and was familiar with the luxuries of city life, but was excited to be in the woods. The logging camp was 8 miles from the closest town. The long, gravel road winded through the dense forest leading to the quaint town.
The transition from Vancouver to Deep River, Washington, was shocking. Moving from a large city with access to everything to an underdeveloped logging camp was muddling for a 6-year-old. Evelyn describes when they first moved into their house, the sight was tough to digest.
“There was a kitchen and a living room,” Evelyn said. “They were in the process of putting in two bedrooms and a bathroom and the walls were not insulated. In the winter it would be very very cold — ice on the windows, that kind of thing, but we had a wooden stove.”
Her fragmented house in Deep River was not unusual — the logging camp seemed to always be under construction. New houses were being built and renovations were constant; the logging camp was never complete.
Evelyn had an array of books, flyers and various documentation of the Deep River logging camp. The stacks were neatly aligned and she was eager to flip through the pages. Though she hasn’t lived there in over 60 years, she remains an active pseudo-historian of her childhood home.
Evelyn’s aquamarine eyes gazed down on a large, glassy coffee table book. It was titled, “When Logging Was Logging: 100 Years of Big Timber in Southwest Washington”.
She grabbed a bright pink sticky note that was intentionally slipped between the pages of the book.
“That’s my dad,” Evelyn said, pointing to a photo.
The image was a black-and-white shot of four men, including Evelyn’s father Eric Johnson. Covered in dirt and soot, the men stood tall with straight faces in the camera’s frame.
Eric was a Swedish immigrant. He left Sweden in 1929 when he was 27 years old to follow his siblings to the Pacific Northwest. He is the middle child of six.
Eric was a blacksmith at the camp — a vital role in the accumulation and transportation of lumber. His top-notch work was praised in the Deep River community. As a talented blacksmith, his repairing skills were mentioned as saving the community an abundance of money during frugal times.
Evelyn closed the book and carefully placed it back in the stack on the coffee table. She reclined on the couch and adjusted her dress as she explained more of her life in the camp.
With her parents working hard to keep the camp running most of the day, Evelyn shared that they didn’t have the opportunity to go grocery shopping. The trip was too long for a quick run after a hard day’s work. Instead, the Johnson family became self-sustainable.
Evelyn described a 15 feet by 15 feet garden her mother, Ila, tended to. She recalls beans, peas, carrots, corn, radishes and more all being grown with the intention to eat or pickle. Ila’s garden was not to be touched by Evelyn or her sister Diana. It was imperative for feeding the family and became Ila’s focus when not working in the cookhouse.
“She wasn’t much of a flower person,” Evelyn said. “She was the kind of person who grew it and ate it.”
Preparing their own meat was also standard practice in the Johnson home. Besides skinning rabbits, her family raised chickens. The eggs were bountiful and they could be prepared at a moment’s notice.
Outside of food self-sufficiency, Evelyn described camp life as an independent lifestyle.
“You were on your own,” Evelyn said. “While the adults were out working on the camp, the kids in the area were left to their own devices to entertain themselves.”
There were only 11 kids growing up together at Deep River. Evelyn considers herself lucky to have had kids her own age.
There was a lot for a young kid to do in the woods. Without parental supervision, Evelyn became close to a girl her age named Hilda Mae, but everyone called her “Bunny.”
One of Evelyn’s cherished memories with Bunny is their attempt to make their own ‘witches’ brew’ out of local plants.
“We’d go looking at the trees, bushes, picking huckleberries,” Evelyn said. “ We were 10 and we’d pick the salmon berries and the leaves and wild cucumbers to make our witches’ brew.”
Her imagination never dwindled in Deep River. When the strenuous chores became too much, Evelyn and Bunny would dream of life in a city. They would pretend to be secretaries and bookkeepers to encapsulate their image of what a working woman looks like. Their make-believe temporarily subsided their frustrations of living in the woods.
With little parental control, kids were left to their own devices. Where Evelyn stuck around playing with Bunny, others ventured into the wilderness. With the freedom of seclusion, there also came adversity.
“It was really sad,” Evelyn said, looking toward the white carpeting. “Four boys all went swimming when they weren’t supposed to. They had apparently just eaten or something, and Butchie got cramps. They tried to save him, but couldn’t. He ended up drowning.”
This tragedy swept across the camp. The Deep River ran through the town, and many folks living in the area were comfortable with it. The following year, another tragedy struck the same group of young boys.
“One of them had appendicitis and was in the hospital,” Evelyn said. “He was in the hospital, but someone had left the window open. He got pneumonia and he died.”
The sequence of terrible events occurring with this group of kids lead some of them to be housebound. Evelyn shifted on the couch as she described the summer after.
“The two boys that were left all stayed in the house all day long,” Evelyn said. “They did not go anywhere.”
Despite the dangers that accompany life in the woods, Evelyn remained adventurous — with caution in the back of her mind. She explains that you can’t be caught up with sadness, but rather be wary of your surroundings.
Evelyn took a deep breath, and then proceeded to share the more positive side of life again.
She sat up straight on the white couch, like a cherub resting on a cloud, as she described her most cherished memory of Deep River.
Evelyn’s favorite part of growing up in the woods was always spring. There was something magical after a cold, dark winter seeing the first break of sun through the trees. This was a reassuring sign that the warmth of summer was not far behind.
Evelyn described that behind Bunny’s grandfather’s house was a large grassy area. The area spanned around 75 feet until it reached the river.
She shared that in the spring, the grass would disappear. The once rolling hills transformed into a bright yellow carpet. Daffodils appeared out of nowhere, eclipsing the green grass to display that spring was here. Her eyes became teary as she shared the daffodil image. Evelyn has not experienced something quite as beautiful as this since.
The resurgence of daffodils was a gentle reminder of the good in life. Winter was cold and dreary in the camp. But just as the darkness seemed too much to bear, the sun would peak through the trees. Like clockwork, the daffodils emerged to bring a breath of fresh air.
Gloom will always be a part of life, but for Evelyn, seeing flowers slowly uncover themselves in the new season meant that joy was still out there. Though it may lay dormant, life will always have spring — sometimes, you just need to wait until the first sun.
Editor’s Note: The author of this story has a personal connection to the source, Evelyn Naimo. Despite knowing the source prior to reporting, I view this story as necessary to share on early Washington State history. All quotes came directly from the source, with research to back up her tales. All parts of this story are accurate to Evelyn’s retelling of life in Deep River.