Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays! And Happy New Year! I hope all is well with you and your families after the recent government shutdown and any domino effects from that . . . May God bless you wherever you are, whatever your personal highs and lows might be. As part of the Rawles Family, we come from strong and hardy stock, and we have many blessings to count every single day.
We had a lovely Rawles Reunion in August, with roughly 26 attendees (about half what we had last year). We were happy to receive any and all who could come, and we sure hope for more next year! We met at the Rawles Ranch (of Tom and Kathy Rawles), where we enjoyed abundant shade, good food (of our own bringing), and wonderful company.
*Funny note about the group photo: My brother Ryan Snider set up his phone to take the photo, which included setting up a 10 second timer so he would have time to run over and join us before the shutter clicked. He was sure he had set up the timer, but in fact, the camera clicked before he even started the dash! So in the group photo, mostly everyone is poised and ready with a smile, but there might be the occasional wonky face, ha ha, as we all thought we had a few more seconds to prepare. Ryan's spot was supposed to be next to me - there was a nice opening for him there. But darn it, he's not in the photo at all. (*Click photo to enlarge)
From L to R: Mia (Hanson) Bean and her two younger boys Holden and Paul, Bill Anstead (tan hat next to his granddaughter Mia), Michelle Snider (John's wife), Avery Bean, Me - Michele Harmon (navy blue & white), Keli (Anstead) and Tim Hanson, Kathy Rawles, Barbara and Jeff Vargen (brother and sister), Lynn (McCulloch) Randall, Tom Rawles (pink shirt), Abraham Rawles, Melissa Randall, Ralph Randall, Darren Wilson, Mike McCulloch and wife Teresa, Amanda McCulloch (green dress) - with her two children Noemi and Ezekiel. Seated in front are Barbara Rawles McCulloch and John Snider.
The goats and sheep trotted by while family members were rolling in. The bells on their necks had a nostalgic peal, and I thought it very fitting that they made such a grand appearance as we gathered to celebrate our ancestors who had raised herds of 3,000 sheep or more in Boonville, CA during the late 1800's.
Video #1 of Tom and Kathy's sheep and goats: (9 seconds)
Video #2 of their sheep and goats: (15 seconds)
We miss some very special family members whom we lost this year, and we hope that there is healing in the hearts of those left behind. While our numbers were fewer at the Rawles Reunion this year, there were other celebratory reunions taking place in heaven, with hugs and singing and smiles galore.
You are who you are because of them . . .
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The Jess Rawles Branch
Born: Jesse Alexander Rawles, on 18 April 1917 in Calpella, CA (Everyone called him "Jess")
Married: Barbara Ann Ford, on 19 December 1938 in Santa Rosa, CA
Died: 7 December 1995 in Ukiah, CA
Photo of Jess Rawles, taken in 1934
Contributions from:
~ Jess Rawles himself (from letters he wrote to family)
~ Daphne Martyn (Jess' daughter)
~ Angela Martyn-Barrett (Jess' granddaughter)
~ Valorie Sappingfield (Jess' niece)
~ Photos from Loreena Hester
From Jess: The Mule Story (click on photos below to enlarge the story)
From Jess: The Sack Sewer Story
Sunday, Barbara and I took a ride up the Boonville Road and I couldn't help remembering Nick Cocking's wheat field as it used to be. In the spring time, from the little knoll north of our house on the hill and on the Nick Cocking side of the fence, one could hear Nick getting after his two plow horses as he tilled the field getting ready for the seeding. "Pete - - Belle - - Up There - - Gee - - Whoa!" could be heard clear up there if the wind was right.
During Harvest time, Jack Sweet from Bell Valley would come over with the threshing crew and spend a couple of weeks down there in the hot sun cutting the strings on the bundles and feeding the big machine. Sometimes they let me fetch water and watch the wheat sacks fill up at the recovery point. My orders were, "Call me before it runs over - I'm having a smoke". They would show me how to make an ear on a full sack and sew it up for stacking. My reward for doing it right was a pat on the head and an admonishment to do it faster.
The chaff down your neck stuck to your sweaty body, and made a dip in a waterhole - near the cabin at the foot of the hill - on my walk home at night feel mighty good. Those days, money was not the reward. Little people were after experience. Do you know anybody that needs a sack sewer on a 1926 Threshing machine? I can almost do it right. [I believe "Little people" refers to the Little Neighbor Ranch in Boonville, and their friends within the community - MSH]
From Daphne:
My dad has been gone for a long time, but he lives on in memories and what he taught us.
He taught how to live by example.
He taught right from wrong, to always do my best, the value of money and "it's the little things in life that are important."
He loved local history, wildflowers, native plants and streams.
He was a story teller and an avid reader.
He loved poetry, reading it aloud and challenging me to memorize it.
As a child, I remember him reading Uncle Remus stories to us in the original dialect. The book was inscribed to "Janet and Daphne, from Pop," given to us at a very young age from my Dad's father. [E.C. "Bob" Rawles]
He enjoyed writing of their travel adventures, family history and life experiences, letters to me throughout my college years, poems for family celebration, and always post cards.
He had a way of seeing where we needed a redirection in our life choices and corrected us in positive ways.
He loved his siblings and their families, he was always ready for a visit.
Every summer he took us for a ten day vacation to various states, which included capitals, museums, state parks, and special points of interest.
We often went to the Bay Area for sporting events, ice follies, Fisherman's Wharf, etc. He always gifted us with a gardenia from a local street vendor.
He had a great sense of humor and many of his sayings remain with us.
I miss his wisdom.
After retirement, he enjoyed time in the garden. He always planted zinnias and said they reminded him of his mother's love of them. Today they are favorites of ours too.
He spent time learning computer skills, beautification of the Redwood Tree Museum, R.V. travel, bowling, more writing, and grandchildren adventures.
I miss him.
E.C. "Bob" Rawles, with his sons Gene (middle) and Jess (right) . . . taken just prior to Gene leaving for Boot Camp during WWII.
From Angela:
Growing up in Ukiah [CA] from age 4-17, I am grateful to have many memories of life with Grandpa Jess. I spent many nights with he and Grandma Barbara, as well as most holidays.
If he wasn't at the house, he could be found at the Stump (his nickname for the Redwood Tree Service Station), in the garden, reading, or at the bowling alley. Grandpa modeled hard work, strong family support, and a love of sports - as both a participant and a spectator.
Books were a staple in the house, his chair was surrounded with reading material and newspapers. On Pine Street, there was always a Chronicle at the breakfast table, the green section - for sports coverage -front and center. He followed Bay Area sports teams, especially the Giants. He could also be found watching his grandchildren on the diamond, field, or in a pool.
Traveling was another passion of his. I heard my mom, Daphne, and her sister, Janet, on when they were young. For us grandkids, he and Grandma drove us to the coast in the Winnebago. Surf fishing was usually on the agenda, along with seaweed people, and a campfire. Oh, and don't forget the eight-tracks we loved to sing on the way over to the coast. Green Alligators and Long Neck Geese was my favorite.
As I grew, Grandma and Grandpa traveled more. When I was in college, they visited me in Boston and again in San Luis Obispo a few years later. They loved to travel together. Their home displayed treasured art pieces from various places they had traveled.
My Grandpa shared his wisdom, advice, and stories. He loved to write and was one of the first people I knew to have a computer with word processing in his home. Most of all, he was a model of hard work, creativity, love of learning and devotion to family. I learned so much from my Grandpa.
Love you Grandpa.
Photo of Jess (back left), his brother Gene (back right), and his sisters Zola (front left) and Norma (front right) . . .
Link to a short article about "The Stump", or World's Largest Redwood Tree Service Station in Ukiah:
From Valorie:
When I think of my mother Mary's older brother, Jess, I have many happy memories . . . of his broad smile and a teasing twinkle in his eye.
To me, he seemed larger than life, making his mark and his Rawles name on the corner of Hwy. 101 and Low Gap Road, with "The World's Largest Redwood Tree Service Station." Across the street, there was a miniature golf course, "manned" by his two teenage daughters, Daphne and Janet. It drew other young people in town for a fun sport, some jukebox music, or ice cold soda pop from the large cooler in the front. The golf course also drew the teenage boys, but with their father's watchful eye across the street, his girls and *this* teenage niece had a fun time in the summers.
Uncle Jess also had his own sport - bowling. He and his brother Gene spent much time and travel competing in bowling competitions across the country. (Those Boonville boys were not only straight shooters, but straight bowlers. :)
He was a devoted family man who loved his sweet, bashful wife Barbara and his two girls. He was not ashamed to say that he was a "mama's boy", or that he often had difficulties with his father.
But it seems we (I) never really knew Ye Jess.
Only recently I had the chance to read many letters written by Jess to his older sister Norma (a.k.a. Polly). What a wonderful treasure those letters are. (Thank you to Norma's family for saving them.) He was an excellent writer. (Writing is in the Rawles genes, as we know) So descriptive, so colorful, so personal, and so real. He transported me back in time - his time - and his life.
I especially enjoyed his description of a "barn-storming" event, in some fields near where the Ukiah golf course was later on, and the excitement of a possible ride in an airplane - for $5 - which sadly he did not have. These letters are a recommended read for a real treat. (Contact Michele Harmon for copies or details)
Speaking of a real treat, I will always remember his signature peach ice cream, cranked by his strong arm in an ice-filled bucket with a metal cylinder inside, while we watched and waited for the final crank and a first taste.
Happy Memories. Thanks, Uncle Jess.
~ Valorie Sappingfield, 83 1/2 years
Photo taken at Rawles Reunion (1980s?) - L to R: Siblings Jess, Mary (standing), Gene, and Norma Rawles
Cousin Corner . . .
I asked our cousin, Jeff Vargen, if he could contribute a story about someone in his branch of the Rawles Family. He graciously shared some very interesting background from Beryl Rawles, our cousin through the Joseph W. Rawles Jr. line. Beryl is Jeff's Great Uncle.
First, let me give you a visual on how we are related to Beryl . . .
Beryl J. Rawles > Joseph W. Rawles III > Joseph W. Rawles Jr. > Joseph William Rawles
I'm sure you will find SOMEONE whom you are related to above, most likely through Joseph William Rawles, Sr. He and Synthia Bilderback had several children, including Robert Henry Rawles and Thomas Edward Rawles.
Memories of Beryl Rawles - by Jeff Vargen:
The Uncle Who Looked Like Jimmy Durante
When I was little, I thought Jimmy Durante was my uncle. If you don’t remember him, he was
the old man who “kicked the bucket” at the beginning of It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World and
narrated the old Frosty the Snowman cartoon.
Durante was a vaudeville entertainer who sang (not very well), danced (not very well), and told
jokes that weren’t always funny. But he was a fixture on the TV variety shows of the 1960s and
’70s—and he looked just like my Uncle Beryl.
The same Beryl whose story we share here.
The Rawles Family
Beryl was my grandfather’s brother, one of eight children—six of whom survived childhood.
Each one had their share of stories, some so extraordinary you’d think they were fiction if we
didn’t know them to be true.
Life on the Road
Beryl and his wife, Maude, were an interesting couple. In their early years, they were
show people of a kind. Beryl performed a dog act in a traveling circus, while Maude played the
piano during performances.
They crisscrossed America, playing small towns and county fairs through the years after
World War I and into the Great Depression.
Later, Beryl settled into more stable work—he worked as a cook in the county jail at
Ukiah, ran for office in local government among many other things. Through it all, he loved a
good story—both hearing and telling them—and often blurred the lines between fact and
imagination.
Once, he told me he and Maude had seen a UFO land in a field beside a country road.
Was it true? Who knows? But it was real for Beryl.
The Story of Baby Sue
When Maude gave birth to her daughter in Oakland, times were hard. She had little
money and few prospects. A kind neighbor, who was childless, offered to take the baby, and in a
moment of desperation, Maude agreed. She called Beryl—who was in Santa Rosa caring for
their two young children—and told him the baby had died at birth.
Within days, the truth came to light. Maude had given her newborn to the neighbor.
There’s no record that money was involved, and it’s unclear whether Beryl knew what had
happened, though some believe he did.
The story quickly spread, appearing in newspapers across the country—from small
California valley papers to the Los Angeles Times and even New York publications.
In the end, Baby Sue was returned to Maude and Beryl. She grew up to be part of the
family’s circus act, performing as a talented aerialist—a remarkable ending to a story that began
in such difficult circumstances.
A Heartbreaking Choice
Throughout U.S. history, Native American families and Indigenous people of Canada had
their children taken from them—often without consent—and placed in white families. The intent
was to erase their culture and heritage.
In my own extended family, Beryl and Maude—two of the kindest, most gentle souls I
remember, though a bit eccentric—faced a similar, deeply painful decision. When they gave their
daughter away, it must have broken their hearts.
Some parents of that era truly believed that by giving up a child, they were offering them
a better life. During the Depression, when survival itself was uncertain, choices that seem
unthinkable today were made out of love and desperation.
I can only imagine the long, tearful nights Beryl and Maude endured as they wrestled
with what to do. And knowing what we do now about Beryl—his empathy, his compassion, and
the depth of his character—how can we judge him?
People are complicated. They can be kind, flawed, and brave all at once. Do you find that
people can be more than one thing? Perhaps we should simply buy a ticket to the show and leave
the judgment at home and see what lives at the end of the road.
And now . . . a fascinating read . . . (With some of Jeff's thoughts first)
These days, traveling through the wilderness for any distance is almost always a choice. Maybe you’re out for a hike or backpacking trip. Maybe your car broke down and you’re walking to find help. Even getting lost—well, that’s sort of a choice too.
But for hundreds of years, crossing wilderness areas wasn’t about recreation—it was survival. Wild animals, thieves, and the weather made travel genuinely life-threatening. Imagine knocking on a stranger’s door today, asking for a meal and a place to sleep. Unthinkable now, but once it wasn’t so strange at all.
This is a story that I found in some family archives. It was typed and had the name Beryl Rawles written in ink on top of the pages. The assumption is that Beryl wrote it. I can’t verify that. I ran it through a web-based plagiarism software program, and it came out clean and original.
This is the story that could have been written by any Rawles relatives that were living in the Anderson Valley.
That brings us to a remarkable family story from Beryl Rawles -
“A Stranger in the Night.”
I could look across the sage fields, and I saw a dim light in the distance and the outline of a barn and corrals. My horse was pretty well used up, and it had lost a hind shoe which I had tied to my saddle. Had left the home ranch in Big Valley three days before, looking for some stray horses and a few mules.
I'd picked up their tracks and kept following till the day before, when a rain came and washed away all signs of them. I'd made camp in a deserted homesteader’s cabin. I was able to get my horse inside the cabin, and we put in a miserable night. We had no blankets, only my slicker and a saddle blanket. I was glad when daytime came.
I ate the rest of my cold meat and had a little coffee, which I made in the old fireplace in a rusty can. Never tasted a better drink in my travels. The day started drearily and cloudy and a bit on the chilly side. I had to let my horse graze on what spare grass he could find. But finally, we started across the flats and draws.
I rode along thinking, where in the hell am I? I was only 18 years old, and I guess I was a bit bewildered and lost. I must have ridden 20 miles without seeing any sign of man or beast, and when it started to get dark, I thought, I will sure have to make a dry camp tonight under the stars.
But I finally crossed a gully and around a low ridge. And then I saw a light. I kept slowly on till I came to the yard fence and a cheerful voice called out. Get down off that old, tired horse, stranger, and come in. Ma has your supper hot on the stove. It was the most welcome sound I had ever heard.
He came out of the gate and said, we saw you a long way off, and we're sure glad to see you. Why, you're only a button. I'll take your horse to the corral and throw on some hay. He looks like he could use some. I went into the house, and the woman told me I would find water and a bar of soap and a towel in the back porch.
She was a tall, friendly person with gray hair combed back and a tight little knot on the back of her head. I washed off most of the dirt and dried and comb my hair with a beat-up comb that was tied by a string, and I went on into the kitchen. There was a stove table, two benches, and a red oilcloth on the rough table.
She put a plate, a roast venison, brown beans and brown gravy before me. It didn't take me long to clean up my plate, and she filled it again. I ate it a little bit slower and she started to talk. She was just lonely for someone to talk to. After a while, her husband came in from the barn and he said, I got that shoe tacked on and tightened up the others. They were a bit loosened. This lava rock is tough on horses’ feet, but probably will take you home. I thanked him and we settled down for an evening of talk.
They seemed so happy with someone being there to just take care of. They said they hadn't been in town for a month and were hungry for news. They had a small spread of cattle and a bunch of saddle horses.
He said after I told them what I was doing in their country, We'll go out back in the breaks tomorrow where we run our horses. Maybe they just might have strayed out that way and we'll look them over. I haven't rounded up our broom tales all summer. I must have looked sleepy. He finally said, Ma, this boy sure needs some shut-eye.
Should I put him in Jimmy's room? I tried to tell him that I would bed down right on the floor, but they soon convinced me they wanted me in their boy's room. I went to sleep in a big old fashioned feather bed covered with a homemade quilt. I hurriedly shut my eyes when the old man was shaking me awake and said, Ma's got breakfast on the table.
He lit an oil lamp that was on a homemade dresser near the bed. I was soon washed and sat down to home-cured ham, eggs, biscuits, jam and black coffee. We really stored away the food. Mom and I washed the dishes. She had a pair of men's Levi's, a wool shirt and boots with spurs on. We went out to the corral and there were 8 to 10 saddle horses.
The old man would rope one and tie him up and grab another till he had six head tied. He said, Son, take that little sorrel with the white star. He's tough, but he'll quiet down after a few crow hops. We'll let your horse rest today. We'll be back this evening. I put my saddle on him. He sort of humped up and walked light.
I climbed up and he did a frog walk, only he was off the ground. But I dug in and managed to hang on till he decided we were going on this expedition together. The old man had a good laugh, and Ma said, you shouldn't have done that to that nice boy. But I could see she was pleased, and we each led a horse.
The old man said, where we're going, we might need a change. If not, we'll turn them loose for the summer. They all need a rest. We wrote about ten miles when the old man said, Here's mule's tracks. We soon came on to about 40 horses and my mules. We rounded them up and he said, Ma, you hold them here in the valley, and the boy and I will take a look-see at some cattle I haven't seen for a while.
We moved out and soon came about 200 head of mixed bunch of white face stuff. We looked them over and then rode back to Ma. She was off her horse under a juniper tree. She soon got out the lunch. She put in her saddlebags, and we sat around on the ground while the horses grazed. We finished our lunch and soon rounded up the loose horses and mules.
Then we had to cut out my bunch, which took some maneuvering, but that little sorrel was a real cutting horse. I had to really sit tight and just show him which one I wanted. He gave me a nickel change every time he turned on a dime. After we had cut my bunch out, we turned loose the ones we'd led.
Only I changed to a larger buckskin with a black line down his back. A real road horse, but not such a cutting horse as Little Sorrel, which I had named him after General Stonewall Jackson's favorite horse. I bid Sorrel goodbye with a lot of regrets. We started the bunch back to the home place, which we reached when it was almost dark.
We put the stock in the corral and fed them hay and filled the watering trough from a hand pump direct into the trough. By that time Ma called, Come and get it. We really did justice to that stew and beans and biscuits with a dish of dried prunes and coffee to boot. We cleaned up the dishes and set out on the front porch, looking across the sage flats.
It was a beautiful moonlit night. You could almost reach out and touch the stars if you'd let your imagination wander. We talked of this and that. Ma said, I guess you wonder about our Jimmy. He was about your size and age when it happened. Pa said, now, Ma, don't go and get yourself started again. What's done is done.We can't help it. This boy don't want to hear our heartaches.
I figured I owed him that much, and I could at least listen to them tell of their boy. I asked politely, what happened to Jimmy? Pa took a deep breath and stoked and lit his pipe. He finally said with a choke in his voice, A horse fell on him out back in the breaks.
I was laid up with a broken leg and Ma didn't find him till the second day. She tied him on a horse and brought him home. We put him on that little knoll. You can see over to your right with a white picket fence. You see, that's why we can't ever leave here. Part of us is over on that knoll.
Now I could hear Ma sobbing softly in the dark. What could I say? It was the saddest experience I ever had. We just sat looking at the stars, each one with his own thoughts. I guess they felt better talking about it. And I reminded them of their Jim. We finally got up and started into the house and Ma said, can I kiss you, Beryl?
I took her into my arms, and we both cried and she kissed me like I was little. Said good night boy, and Pa said, thanks boy for coming our way. After a hearty breakfast I thank them, and they made me promise that I would be back in the fall for a mule deer hunt in October, which I did.
I came back and brought my brother. We stayed ten days. What wonderful memories came crowding back as I sit here and write this letter. It's been 50 years since I rode up on their home as a tired, cold, scared, lost kid. But it just seems like yesterday that I got home with my horses and mules. The next spring was 1917, when my brother and I enlisted in the Army, and we didn't get back until 1919.
We went to see the old folks, but they were both gone. I'm sure wherever they are, they're loved. And God, in his wisdom will have them all three together, welcoming pilgrims who got lost in life's journey.
**Post Note: In Beryl's obituary, dated December 1973, it states that he was a veteran of both WWI and WWII.
Stay tuned for information about the 2026 Rawles Reunion gathering. All are welcome and we hope to get together with you for a visit real soon. 😊
May God bless you in the upcoming year!!
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