Snowflake

SNOW.

Text by Rose Houk * Photographs by Michael Collier (ABOVE) Jack Schneider, a former bishop of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, pauses outside Snowflake's Mormon church, where he now serves as grounds keeper. (RIGHT AND OPPOSITE PAGE, ABOVE) The descendant of a pioneer Snowflake family, John Ballard takes care of the Jesse Smith house, built in 1879. (OPPOSITE PAGE, FAR RIGHT) Farmer C.J. Sherwood knows by "the cup and curl" of a leaf if the melons he grows are ripe.

FLAKE Living the Good Life in Small Town America

WITH A TWINKLE in his eye, John Ballard swept us along. "I want to show you my favorite room," he said as he skipped across the hall, "my grandmother's."

Beside the quilt-covered feather bed sat a white cradle that Ballard had slept in as a child. Hanging on the wall above the cradle was a black-and-white photograph of a dark-eyed young beauty, Janet Smith, his grandmother, the middle wife of Jesse Nathaniel Smith.

John Ballard and Thora, his wife, were leading us through the Jesse Smith house, built by one of the first Mormons who settled the town of Snowflake in eastcentral Arizona. Ballard, 87 years old, caretakes the house, now owned by the town.

Jesse N. Smith farmer, stockman, merchant, banker, judge, legislator, and father of 44 constructed the solid twostory house at the corner of Center and Second Street West in 1879. Each upstairs bedroom is dedicated to one of his five wives, reflecting the polygamy then practiced in Latter-day Saints society. Actually only one wife lived in the house, perhaps in the interests of harmony At John Ballard's home, just two houses down the street, he took us out back to what he calls his "doghouse," a large shop and storage room. Cached away are many gallons of shelled "good sweet corn," boxes of canned fruit and relishes, two tons of wheat, and a couple hundred pounds of pinto beans.

"I'm one of those Mormons who believes hard times are coming," Ballard declared.

Town Manager Roy Hunt had directed us to John Ballard and the pioneer homes Snowflake owns or is trying to obtain. The effort to preserve the past is important, said Hunt, because "a town without history is a town without soul."

A sense of history winds through Snowflake like the waters of Silver Creek, which made the town possible. Along with that strong sense of history is pride in family. Inevitably a first-time visitor to most any home is welcomed by a showing of pictures of children, grandchildren, and often greatgrandchildren, displayed prominently on the living room wall.

Roy Hunt represents a different generation of Snowflake citizens, younger people who left but decided to return. As in many small towns, a shortage of good jobs forces high school graduates to leave to find work or get a college degree. Hunt ended up in Salt Lake City, but decided a few years ago to return to the town where both he and his wife were born. The impetus to return, he explained, was his daughter. She was about to start kindergarten, and he wasn't ready for her to go to a "big-city" school. Being city manager in the same town where his grandfather and father were raised puts Hunt on cloud nine, he said.

The virtues of small-town living have held the John Ballards in Snowflake and lured back the Roy Hunts. There is a slower pace, a sense of security. People rarely lock their doors. Schoolchildren wave to strangers. Men lean over the beds of their pickups and swap news in the parking lot at Ed's Supermarket. A blood drive was being held at the Social Hall, and the Silver Creek Symphony played Schumann in concert. One house displayed the Yard-of-theMonth sign, awarded for a gorgeous display of sweet-smelling purple petunias in the flower beds.

Agriculture is deeply rooted in Snowflake. Most folks grow a garden, and cows and horses graze in fields within the city limits. At the Silver Creek Mill on Main Street, fresh flour and cornmeal are stone ground. Should you need fly bait, sugar cure, bag balm, or pine tar, you can get them there. Often on the north entrance to town, the air is redolent with the odor of pig farms.

For some Snowflake families, notably Jim Caldwell and his sons of East Side Pigs, and Marvin Van Donselaar of MV Pigs, this has proved a worthy enterprise.

Most any day in late summer, farmer C.J. Sherwood parks at the “turnaround” in Snowflake across from the Dairy Queen. A hand-lettered sign beside his pickup advertises fresh sweet corn and melons. Sherwood and his wife, Theda, have a 17-acre field east of town, which C.J. plants in melons, pumpkins, potatoes, and corn with parsnips, carrots, and beets for variety. If all the pumpkins don't sell, hundreds of firstand second-graders are “turned loose in the punkin field” to get the rest.

Through his 83 years, Sherwood has learned a lot about farming. He knows by “the cup and curl” of a leaf whether a melon is ripe. Though this is “one of the swellest pieces of ground I've ever messed with,” said Sherwood, he is contemplating selling it because “I got old last year.” But he's only interested in selling to someone willing to learn what he has to teach about farming.

As in many small towns in the West, elevation exceeds population in Snowflake: 5,630 feet above sea level, about 3,700 residents; both are holding steady. The Stone Container paper mill 15 miles west of town is the biggest employer. Before the mill came in 1960, most people earned a living by farming, ranching, or working in the sawmills. Recently a large state-of-the-art pig farm was built north of town. Pigs for Farmer John, a California corporation, may eventually employ at least 90 workers.

Still Snowflake exhibits a self-sufficiency that seems difficult for many rural places to hold onto these days. There's a get-up-at-four-in-the-morning work ethic, which usually involves growing, producing, and making things, often in direct contact with the land. Women quilt and can fruits and vegetables. Instead of boutiques and antique stores designed to lure outsiders, small businesses make wood molding and trusses.

Every July 24, Snowflake salutes its founders with Pioneer Day. The surnames of two pioneers, William J. Flake and Erastus Snow, are honored in the town's name. (No, it was not named for the white stuff that falls in winter.) William Flake, actually, was the founder. Looking for a better place for a home and farm, he bought a ranch on Silver Creek from Irishman James Stinson in 1878. Stinson was irrigating his land with water from the creek, a tributary of the Little Colorado.

On July 21, 1878, Flake brought his family and all their worldly belongings and camped by Silver Creek. Five other families joined him, and a few months later church leader Erastus Snow entered long enough to help seal the arrangement and add his name. The town's orderly layout followed what is called the “Plan of Zion,” and the new residents drew lots for houses and orchards.

Although Snowflake has dropped from about 80 percent to 60 percent Mormon, the influence of the church remains strong. LDS member Jack Schneider related that there are a dozen wards of 400 or 500 people each in Snowflake and its next-door neighbor, the town of Taylor. During his five years as bishop of one of the Snowflake wards, Schneider said, one of his biggest jobs was interviewing every young person in his ward once a year, “just to see how they were doing.” About the only subject that comes up more often in Snowflake than church, history, or family is high school football. On a chilly Thursday afternoon in November, (BELOW, LEFT) A porker at Van Donselaar's MV pigs has plenty of company in Snowflake, which counts several pig farms.

(BELOW, RIGHT) One of the town's favorite pasttimes is football at Snowflake High School.

(OPPOSITE PAGE, ABOVE) Cottonwood-lined Silver Creek runs lazily through the town.

(OPPOSITE PAGE, BELOW) At the Shepherd Kitchen, John Stumbo and his wife, Helen, serve up friendship and free lunches.

head coach Jim Beal jogged onto the grassy field to join the boys and assistant coaches as they ran through some plays. That Thanksgiving weekend, the Lobos won the state 3AAA championship.

I asked Beal why the team is so good. Partly, he said, because they start with sports in the lower grades and continue through high school. Also “there's lots of support in the community and they expect you to win.” On a typical fall Fri-day night, it's standing room only in the stadium.

Though traditional values often characterize Snowflake, the town is neither a backwater nor a utopia. Programs in the schools discourage drug use among young people and get computer software into classrooms. The town council grapples with problems about emergency preparedness and operating a landfill that will meet modern environmental requirements. And even though he loves his town, Jack Schneider admitted, “We've got our prob-lems. We're not squeaky clean.” The longer we spent in Snowflake, the more we learned it was the people who make this town. People like Merrivonne Briggs, who teaches music in the junior

High and high schools. Each morning in her class, she accompanied the members of the seventh-grade orchestra as they rehearsed for the upcoming Christmas program in which half the school will participate.

We listened as the violins, violas, and cellos tuned up in typical cacophony, then settled down with full-est concentration to master the measures of Gesu Bambino. Briggs stopped the budding musicians occasionally to admonish gently: "We're not playing the flats," and "Are we in tune?" After everyone had played the A flat, she smiled and said, "By jove, I think you've got it."

Every weekday at lunchtime, John and Helen Stumbo can be found in a bright yellow house on Main Street, the Shepherd Kitchen. At long tables inside, a few people were silently eating a lunch of pork chops, carrots, peas, and chocolate cake. The lunches are free to anyone, and 25 to 60 people may be fed on any day. The Shepherd Kitchen is funded almost entirely from the Stumbos' personal income (mostly their social security) and, recently, a modest federal grant.

John said he inherited the tendency to help people from his parents, who never turned anyone away from their home. And Helen expresses that tendency many times over, he said, laugh-ing. Most of the food they serve at Shepherd Kitchen comes from local donations. One farmer brings in a pig once a month, and a meat packer up the road does the butch-ering. Bread, canned goods, and occasional cash come from grocery stores, schools, and individuals. Some days, people who have been fed at Shepherd Kitchen donate their time, helping to cook meals and clean up.

I expect there are not many people who still live down the street from their grand-parents' house, who can point to the cradle where they slept as a baby. It's a rare thing John Ballard and many others in Snowflake have. Clearly they value it greatly.

WHEN YOU GO

Snowflake is about 200 miles northeast of Phoenix in the east-central part of the state. The Stinson Pioneer Museum is open weekdays from 10 A.M. to 2 P.M. with extended hours in spring and summer. Admission is free, but donations are accepted.

At the museum, you can pick up a map for a self-guided walking tour of historic homes. To enter the Smith Memorial Home, ask at the museum for a tour. To arrange tours for large groups, call (520) 536-7814.

For more information on the town, call or write the Snowflake Chamber of Commerce at P.O. Box 776, Snowflake, AZ 85897; (520) 536-4331.