"Once my husband was taken very sick right after butchering a sheep. I needed help on the place. The river was running high, and only an expert canoeman would undertake to cross it. I knew that a couple of young men were hunting and staying in a cabin about a mile up river. I went to get them, but they were out. There was a light skiff of snow on the ground, so I took a stick and wrote in the snow. "Come down to Murhard's". They soon responded and gave me the assistance I needed.
Just before Christmas in 1892, six feet of snow fell in less than twenty-four hours. Gust and Newt Brittain had gone to Hoquiam on business, and found there was a smallpox scare. Fearing quarantine, they got a room in the swanky Hoquiam hotel where no one would think of looking for a couple of loggers. After transacting their business they retired early, then got up at three in the morning and walked out of town.
It was well they did so, for if Gust hadn't come home when he did, I wouldn't have been able to cope with the situation. Snow fell all that night and the next day. First we shoveled it off the roof of the house. Our barn was quite a distance away, and it took us both all day to shovel a path to it, and another from the barn to the creek, so we could feed and water our stock.
Gust saw that the barn roof was spread slightly apart on the ridge. Afraid to go inside for fear the weight would cave it in, he stood in the stable and raked hay from the barn into the manger. By this time we had built a six-foot picket fence around an acre of garden beside the house. it was completely hidden by snow. Gust made himself a pair of snow shoes out of vine maple bent into an oval and laced with elk-hide thongs."