THE MORRIS RANCH

Some Dreams Come True

 

February 12, 2020

Jane Stanfel

Her Dream Ranch

The clamor and bustle of Highway 93, a multi-lane artery connecting Whitefish and Kalispell, reached inside and belied the soft, quiet visions the little lady spun in her living room. She made it seem to be still a two-room log cabin.

Helen had been one of millions of victims of the deadly world-wide influenza epidemic following World War I. Her parents, the Belvederes, had married in Tacoma when he, born in Italy, was just 19, she, 14. Just twenty-two months old, Helen was one of four orphans the pestilence made of her family. She and a brother were adopted locally, while the other brother and sister were raised in different parts of the country, but as adults the four preserved their family through reunions as frequent as they could arrange. By the time she related her melancholy history to us, she was the lone survivor.

In 1904 her adopted grandparents had bought their dairy farm on Highway 40, and that was where Helen grew up with her new parents, although today nothing remains of it beyond a hay shed. Each day when she walked the ten-mile roundtrip to school, she passed a ranch with a log cabin directly facing Highway 93. There was a picturesque barn and another, miniature log house tucked behind a magnificent tree. The little girl dreamed of owning that ranch.

When she was just eight, the Morris family moved to a farm across the river, and, in need of milk, they sent twelve-year-old David to purchase some. The children became instant friends, and by the time they finished playing, and he moseyed home, his mother was furious! She knew the milk had soured in the delay.

Apparently, it had not, and neither did the new relationship. Inseparable through both elementary and secondary schools, they became engaged in her senior year and married on their common birthday, 24 November 1935, when she was nineteen, he, twenty-three. Both thought it fitting that their anniversary often fell on Thanksgiving, because both were thankful for their mutual love.

Their charming story continued, as, when still newly married, Helen's dream ranch was offered for sale, and they moved to snatch it up.

If two lovers' lives are without dark moments, it must be that they are very short, and the Morrises learned quickly that Helen's dream was not without defects. The owner, an elderly, uncongenial, reclusive man, had a talking parrot. It was more friendly than its master, and when they rang the bell, the bird answered it.

They learned that the one-room cabin was the original homestead construction. The owner and his mother had occupied it until 1904, when he built them one double in size! – two rooms, plus a kitchen, attached but outside. It was in this made-over cabin that we sat and talked with Mrs. Morris.

The parrot had made a much better doorman that it had been a housekeeper, and its body's excretions had defiled a good deal of the interior. As a consequence of the bird's incontinence, a good portion of Helen's model home had to be gutted and replaced. The owner negotiated strenuously to throw Polly into the deal, but Dave and Helen had seen enough of it.

At the time of our visit, theirs was the largest ranch within Whitefish's city limits, and the Morrises raised Black Angus cattle and Tennessee Walking Horses, the latter of which livestock were vitally important to their professional lives.

In addition to the usual ranch labor, Dave worked otherwise to support his family. He cut timber and helped maintain the roads and ski slopes on the big mountain. At times, when storms encompassed several days, he toiled through twenty-four-hour shifts clearing the roads. Sleep was a luxury to be enjoyed after the snow subsided.

He loved hiking and riding in the wilderness, particularly in the Silvertip Basin, a rugged, steep area that became his sanctuary. People aware of his expertise asked him to take them hunting for mountain goats, deer, bear, and primarily elk. Gladly, he fulfilled their requests and never asked payment for his services.

When someone pointed out that there were individuals willing to pay large sums for such guidance, he realized the economic potential of his friendly arrangements, and thus commenced David Morris's lifelong career as an outfitter.

On each of three trips per season he took ten hunters up into the Basin, where they lived in stove-heated tents for ten days. No small operations these expeditions, his crew included Helen, his brother, and other relatives. They all worked hard to assure that each customer had an enjoyable time, got his elk, and arrived back down safely, which was a challenging trip on steep, slippery trails, through snow, and in river beds, as the painting illustrates.

The effort began long before a guest arrived. The campsite, the trail up to it, and the basecamp had to be cleared and developed; adequate supplies for both hunters and horses had to be hauled up the Basin on horseback and made secure from bears. The list to support 15 or so people for 10 days seems endless: sleeping tents, the kitchen-dining tent, stoves, and the wood needed for heat and cooking, for a few examples. To pack all the gear without injury to the horses, Dave used portable scales to weigh everything and to ensure the loads were balanced and not excessively heavy.

To guarantee he did not introduce alien plants into the area, he grew on his ranch the wild grasses found in the Basin and packed them up for horse feed. The Tennessee Walking Horse seems an odd breed for this work, but they proved to be an excellent choice.

Helen fetched all the sportsmen from the train station and airport and transported them home for a hearty meal before their adventure began. All the grocery shopping and the cooking that was best done in a real kitchen were her assignments.

The hunting destination was a 12-mile ride up the mountain, so a prerequisite for the hunt was the ability to sit a horse that distance up and back. At times snow made necessary the crew's shoveling the track up the mountain, so that guests reached their objective safely. Another of Dave's safety rules was the prohibition of alcohol.

Knowing the size of the elk herds in the target area, he set his limit on the number of hunters so as never to deplete the animal population.

Jane Stanfel

The Outfitter

He cared for the environment, the game, and his customers and proved his dedication by hard, intelligent work. To honor him the Forest Service named his hunting region after him. Helen was quietly proud to show us a plaque inscribed to "Dave Morris, the Boss of the Silvertip Basin," but there is no question that the petite lady had been the supporting force behind the boss and indispensable in the operations.

Alzheimer's Disease curtailed the idyll of their marriage. As long as she was able, Helen cared for him at home, but when the task became too great for her to manage, he lived in a Kalispell nursing home. In order to visit him daily, she begged rides and rarely missed a day.

After 73 years of marriage they were finally sundered by his death at age 96 on Christmas Day, 2008, Two years after our meeting, Helen passed away at age 97 in 2014, and their story seems to span more than the interval of those years they had together.

 

Reader Comments(0)

 
 

Powered by ROAR Online Publication Software from Lions Light Corporation
© Copyright 2024