Time is short, but applying is still possible. This is a scholarship for the flight students, in the area, such as at Big Bend. If you are reading this for the first time, don't delay, but hurry to the website and apply. Read on.

Daedalian Flight 41 offers flight scholarship

The Spokane chapter, Flight 41, of Daedalians is sponsoring a $1,000 scholarship for deserving high school seniors or college students that intend to pursue a career in military aviation. Applicants must complete the application found at www.flight41.org and email to Matt Bowers at austinbowers135@gmail.com or Frank Conderfer at fcbum@aol.com or the webmaster@flight41.org no later than 30 April 2012. If you have questions, call me at 762-5158.

The Rev. David H. Crawford compiled and published a history of families in and surrounding Wilson Creek titled, "Family Memories of Wilson Creek Area." The book was printed in 1978, which was the 75th anniversary of the town. David's son, John Crawford, has given permission for those memories to be a part of this column.

Today we backtrack a bit and continue the story of Raymond William Kelby:

I hauled horses from Montana and various other things to try to make the best living we could. I would not accept welfare from anyone. I might chisel someone out of something though.

When we lived on Slater Street I often wondered why Audrey stayed with me because when Bill, Chet, Bob and Herb would come to the house which was often, we always sat in the kitchen, so it was impossible for Audrey to fix supper, and of course we hoisted a few and as a result Herb Riley loved to argue and fight so a battle would follow and we had some good ones.

One time Bill Lane picked up Herb Riley and sat him on the old cook stove and held him there until we could pull him off. I might add, Bill was a mean SOB. We managed to knock over the stove one night during a battle, but as usual, the next night they were all back again.

I had lots of angles to help feed us, like I knew a guy who made cheese, so I would go to help him and naturally I would come home with a wheel of cheese. I also knew a guy who made wine so I would stop in to talk to him and taste his wine and before you knew it we were hoisting a few and I would leave with a few gallons of wine which I would then sell and would be able to buy a gunny sack full of fresh oysters for a buck.

Then we would set on the back porch with pliers and eat oysters raw with salt, pepper and vinegar. We would probably eat half a sack that way and then Audrey would fry the rest. Those were the good times.

In 1940 I went to work at Boeings and in 1942 I went to work for the Lake Washington Shipyard and we had moved to Northup. We had five acres and raised pigs and boarded horses.

The money I made at the shipyard was good but I still angled as ever and in 1945 I angled some extra money to help Chet Ashley get started in the wrecking yard business and he later went on to cattle buying and selling in Ellensburg, but he never forgot.

It seemed that he thought he still owed me something which he didn't, but he was always trying to do something for me and my family. He had repaid me both by money and being a true friend until the day he bumped off.

We moved back to Wilson Creek in July 1946 and we lived in a large tent for a year while we built our present house which was built out of pumice stone blocks. I hauled mail from the post office to the depot and back, drove school bus, started a dray line and, with Horace Biggs, started a garbage collection service plus a few other things to make a living, of course I was always angling an extra buck or two.

The worst experience of my life was in January 1950 blizzard. My sister Joye came from Portland to visit and wanted to go to Coulee City to visit with brother Frank and his family.

It was snowing and very cold and it was starting to blow. Of course everyone tried to talk me out of taking her to Coulee City this particular day, but you know "little Ray," we took off and got to Frank's OK, visited a little, hoisted a few and since Joye was going to stay at Frank's, I took off.

Once again they tried to talk me out of it, nobody talks "little Ray" out of anything. I took off and got about three miles out of town on the Hartline road, at least I was smart enough, I thought, not to take the back road to Wilson Creek, and it was really blowing and I couldn't see a thing so I went off the road and immediately got stuck, me, "Little Ray" stuck like a dog. I kept the motor running until I ran out of gas. Naturally I had a jug, but for once I listened to myself, and didn't touch a drop, because I knew alcohol would thin my blood and in the freezing weather I would bump off like a dog.

After a while it was so cold I figured I may as well try for the faint light I could see off to my right because I would probably freeze like a dog sitting here. I took off and although it wasn't that far, I later learned that I had walked and then crawled through 10-foot high drifts because I couldn't see well enough to go around them, it took me quite a while to reach the farm house and I fell exhausted on the porch and could only try to pound my arms on the porch floor.

Eventually the lady came to the door and called her husband and they pulled me inside and revived me after a while. I only suffered slight frostbite of my hands and feet. It had to be the luck of the Irish.

In the morning the blizzard stopped and I went back to my pickup, but could not get it out of the ditch so the farmer took me back to Frank's and they thought I was a ghost because a report had come in that a guy in a pickup had frozen to death between Coulee City and Hartline. I figured "little Ray" had just angled the biggest deal of my life.

The Grant County Historical Society has compiled several volumes of Grant County history. The books are available for purchase at the Historical Society Museum gift shop in Ephrata.

I bought the series in 2009 and secured permission to relay some of the history through this column.

Memories of Grant County, compiled from taped interviews by the Grant County Historical Society.

Today we continue the story of Hartline, by Kathryn (Kay) Evans, recorded May 9, 1978:

My folks also adopted a daughter. She was 6 years old when she came to us, Roberta Anne. She now lives in Cherry Valley, California. They always had room in their home and their hearts for many young people and I just couldn't count on one hand, or two hands or three hands how many people they did for and gave a home to. Both were tireless workers in the community holding about every office there was to be held.

They went through tough, hard times-recalling those bleak days of 1929. Mother often said that if there had been any place to go they probably would have gone, but fortunately stayed and acquired land as times got better, the land, all of which, we farm now.

My Dad continued farming until 1945 and was forced to retire because of a heart attack. In those tough days if it hadn't been for the garden, eggs, cream cans, the beef and the pork, we probably would not have survived, like a lot of other people.

We were happy that in later years they were able to enjoy the fruits of their labor and do some traveling. The big thrill was a trip to Wales. My Dad laughingly said that my mother kicked over every tombstone in Wales looking for a relative. She was quite successful. I have a cousin with whom I correspond and Gala and Herb Jenkins were fortunate enough to visit this family in Wales. I am still hoping.

Hartline has been home to my family for five generations. My daughter and her family and husband live there now. When I was a freshman at the University of Puget Sound in my English and speech class I wished I could remember some of those yarns my grandmother, this was my mother's mother, used to tell about.

She, at the time, was living with her daughter, who was a widow, in Winlock. So I wrote to Grandma asking her if she could tell me something, and she wrote me a 27-page manuscript. I won't go through it all but I do want to highlight it. To me it is a real prize. I have given copies of this letter to the Smithsonian Institution and every significant place in the United States.

My grandmother, Kate Williams Roberts, was Herb Jenkins' aunt, a sister of his mother, Bess. Believe me my grandmother wasn't a fashion plate; she couldn't have cared less. As long as the safety pins held out she was off and going. Maybe many of you knew her.

She was known as Aunt Kate throughout the county. She taught in Wilson Creek and Pinto Ridge and many other communities. I stayed with her the year I was in third grade and to this day I don't like sardines and Jello. She fed me up. And I can remember, speaking of hats, one day she came to church and had on this nice little hat with a flower on it, but she had it on backwards. My mother reached over to her and said, "Mom, your hat is on backwards." She turned around and said, "If you hadn't said anything no one would have ever known it." So that is just the way she was. We loved her and she had a mind that wouldn't quit.