"People forget things," Lawton said, "but I remember when the Bear Creek bridge washed out and you could swim a horse clear to the Hospital hill. I remember, too, when water would come down from Griffin Creek and Jacksonville and flood the west end of Medford. They used to have to dismiss school at the old Washington School, where the courthouse is now, because of the water."
Medford News, January 5, 1934, page 1



    ED. ENTERPRISE:--I promised you when I left Iowa that I would give you a few lines about my trip and the country in general. On our way we visited Wm. Miller at Center City, Nebraska. We were delayed 15 hours on account of the burning of [the] snow shed 8 miles west of Rock Creek in Wyoming. The shed was one-half mile long, and all had to burn before we could leave [before the train could pass through the ruins]. We soon reached Sisson [now Mount Shasta City], 3,000 [feet] above the sea level on Mt. Chasty [Shasta]. This mountain is 14,000 ft. high and covered with snow the year round. The timber belt is about one mile below the top, above this line nothing can grow as the ground there, if there be any, never thaws out. We then passed down into Chasty Valley. Good wheat is raised here and where water can be let on they raise timothy, clover, or anything else, but the good country is very limited. At 4 o'clock we reached the summit of the Ciseque [Siskiyou] Mountain. To get down we had to run down the side of the mountain, turn back, form a loop passing through a tunnel, then threble the track, making three tracks within 200 yards of each other. Now we get down into Rogue River Valley and find Ashland, population 1,500; 8 miles further on we find Phoenix, a small but old town; 4 miles further we come to Medford, the haven of rest. Here we are dumped off at the hind end of the train on the ground, our goods to be carried 100 yards to the depot or anywhere one thought best. The railroad company is done with you now. This is the nice treatment you will receive after traveling over the Great (on paper) Overland Route. It is now 6:15 p.m. We pinched ourselves to see if we were alive, called the roll of workmen, picked up our rags and bedding which we had used to keep our hipbones from hurting the bed slats, and carried them 100 rods to a house selected for us by one who went ahead to prepare a place that we might come. There we found venison for supper. I will not say we ate--you can imagine what you would have done.
    The next morning at 9 o'clock we were brought to light, not by removing the mountain, but by the sun rising above it. That night it rained and kept it up until the roads got passable--I mean downwards as far as the wheels could go and bringing up a black gumbo or doby [adobe] soil that had not seen the light of day since last spring. Do not understand that this is all doby land, for there is a greater variety of land here than in any country I ever saw. First, all these towns stand on a strip of gravelly desert land from one-half to a mile and one-half wide, in some places so poor that tickle grass and chaparral brush refuse to grow; with small potholes all over it where water will stand till the sun, if it ever shines, draws it up; for it cannot get down as this is underlaid (I should say top-laid except about 4 in.) with a hardpan, or granite substance, in which, if you should dig a hole 6 feet deep, you would not have to set any sprig or mark the place in any manner so the place might be known, should future occasion ever require it, for it would stay just as you left it. But should you live after digging this hole and conclude to dig a well, you would proceed as before with a pick and shovel to go down gradually to a depth of 18 to 20 feet, where you will find plenty of water. The other hole can be used for burial, should you fall a victim to the typhoid fever which is raging here.
    This strip of desert is bounded on the west by a great variety of land, consisting of gravel, knolls of timber and stony land that cannot be farmed. Passing through a strip of timber we came into nice, level farms. Walking through this, which is no small job by reason of the sticky soil, you find an entirely different variety. First a good deep black free soil where wheat, corn, oats, or anything will grow equally as well as in any other country. Here you find yourself getting happy and even start to sing, "The happy land of Canaan!"--but before you get to the Canaan part you look down and find your feet covered with putty or black mud. You stop to clean your feet, but fail. Your first thought is to swear; but on second thought--what is best when all attempts fail? The answer comes, Pray. You then proceed to perform that devotion standing, as you dare not kneel--if you could have held out a few steps farther you would have found a nice gravel bed free from dirt. In Iowa you have someone to pray for you; here you must pray for yourself. This sticky land if you succeed in getting it plowed will generally yield a good crop. The more general way of farming here is to raise one crop in three years. I mean farming one-third--letting one-third come up from the old seed and cutting that for hay; then leaving that part to grow up to a weed that looks like mustard, but no good on earth. The next year this part in wheat and so on.
    The crops here last season were the best known for years, fruit not excepted. The fruit sunburns considerably here, as it gets very hot--rising to 118 last season in some localities. Potatoes cook in the ground if not dug early and covered deep. West of this strip of good land at the foot of the mountain stands Jacksonville, an old mining town. In this town Elasha [sic] Hammer of Iowa started the first store in Jackson County and sold goods in a tent. Back of these mountains there are farms and orchards on every patch of roller or side hill that can be worked. Some haul their produce 40 miles to Medford, passing through Jacksonville. The railroad missed Jacksonville 5 miles to the east, so it looks rather dead.
    On the east side of Medford runs Bear Creek, passing just at the edge of town. Crossing the creek we find a strip of good land ½ mile in width, then widening as we go. Two miles west it is one mile wide. Then we come to the great desert, which divides the valley and leaves a narrow strip at the foot of the mountain and one along the creek. This desert is the playground of the wild goose. What they can want there I can't see, as there is neither water nor grass. On the east in the mountains there are farms on all that can be worked and on each and every one there are young orchards ranging from ½ acre to 300 acres. The fruit will be immense here in a few years. As it is cheap and plenty now, the future can only say what will become of it when the new orchards increase it ten times.
    I have now been here nearly one month and shall start home soon. In conclusion I will say that there are more Iowa people here than of any 3 other states. So when you meet a man it is not necessary to ask what state he is from, just inquire what county. These men have sold all they possessed on earth to come to this foggy, web-footed country, where clouds, mist, and typhoid fever prevail, and invested all they have left after paying the exorbitant freight bill for carrying their scant supplies to their new home. After making the first payment (which is always small) they mortgage themselves, wives and children, and in some cases their dogs for the back payment on a few acres of poor desert land. In behalf of these people, when I cross the river at Omaha, I am authorized to give three whoops for Iowa, the land that will bless, clothe, feed and warm and give you a chance to work in fine weather to carry you through the storm--and not be compelled to plow in the rain to eke out a miserable existence in the fine climate of Rogue River and Willamette valleys, where, should you attempt to buy a farm, you would have to pay $100 per acre. You ask, how can they charge such a big price for such poor land? The man will remark that this is a good fruit country, and we have a most excellent climate. You ask, how is it divided? He will make it something like this: $60 for the climate; $39.75, fruit, and $0.25 for the land. This would be very cheap so far as the land is concerned--if you wished to secure a small plot, say 6 feet east and west, where you could dig a hole 6 feet deep to bury some of your family if they fell a victim to the typhoid fever. You could select a dandy place on a high, dry knoll, where the ground is so hard that no wild animals could penetrate. But the writer, not being of a dying nature, although the temptation was ever so great to secure so cheap an inheritance forever, would most humbly ask to be excused and pass out at the east gate, which I will do now.
Kellogg (Iowa) Enterprise, December 14, 1888, page 3




    In rolling along down the valley don't fail to note the beautiful mountain scenery on either side.
    Phoenix--[Eight miles]. Is a thrifty hamlet of 325 souls, with a flouring mill and a good record for shipping cattle, sheep, hogs, wool, grain, flour, fruit, etc.
    The next station is a regular meal station.
    Medford--[Pop. 1,500; from Ashland, 13 miles]. Is a new town in Jackson County; is incorporated and very prosperous. Its Board of Trade has nearly 100 members, all of whom "pull together" in an effort to make their pet town, at an early day, the principal one in Southern Oregon. The shipments from Medford for 1887 were 1,000 tons of fruit--100 by express. Livestock, potatoes, wheat, oats and other grain, and the products of its reduction works, saw and planing mills, sash, door and blind factory, broom factory, flour mill, etc., were items of shipments requiring a great many cars to transport.
    The hotels are the Riddle (eating house at depot), the Empire and Central. The Transcript is a live weekly paper, several fine churches and schools are here to do you good, a bank to hold your surplus funds, while the Medford (amusement hall) will seat your uncles, aunts, cousins and friends to the number of 450.
    From the fruit shipments one will readily conclude that Medford is in the midst of a great fruit belt--such is the case. The peach, pear, apple, prune, etc., raised in Jackson County have a reputation which commands the highest price of any raised in the State of Oregon; yet in this county fruit raising has only just commenced.
    As the demand for fine fruit is practically unlimited (with the present advantages of market by rail), the opportunities to engage in fruit raising in this vicinity are only limited by the acreage. The price for which suitable fruit land can be bought at this time, in this county, ranges from $15 to $35 per acre.
    Stages leave Medford as follows: Jacksonville, double daily, fare 50c., for Sterlingville, 16 miles, $1.50; and Uniontown, 20 miles, fare $2.00. Monday, Wednesday, Friday, for Eagle Point, 12 miles, fare $1.00; Brownsboro, 20 miles, $2.00. Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Crater Lake, not regular, 80 miles.
Crofutt's Overland Tours (travel guide), by George A. Crofutt, 1888, page 161