Me and the Mother Tree

Me and the Mother Tree Harriett E. "Petey" Weaver Harriett “Petey” Weaver in front of the Mother Tree at Big Basin Redwoods State Park On the Cover: Drawing of Big Basin Redwoods by Harriett“ Petey” Weaver Harriett E. “Petey” Weaver California State Parks’ first woman ranger Harriett Eilene “Petey” Weaver was born June 18, 1908, in Iowa. She attended high school in California and graduated from University of California, Los Angeles in 1929. Petey had many careers including teaching for 35 years, penned 10 books, 30 years with Sunset Books, and 20 seasons as the first uniformed woman in the early state park ranger field staff. The subjects of her many books range from the redwoods and bulls to raccoons and cartooning. Petey’s state park career began just after college graduation. She first worked as a volunteer at Big Basin Redwoods State Park in 1929, and eventually was hired at $30.00 a month. She transferred to Richardson Grove State Park in 1938, to Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park in 1942, Seacliff Petey with the real-life State Beach in 1944, back to Big Basin in Frosty the Raccoon, 1945, and returned to Big Sur in 1950. She subject of her most left state parks in 1950. popular book. After her time as a ranger, Petey lived in Fortuna in Northern California. She she spent many years teaching, writing, traveling, and also worked as a part-time freelance cartoonist. In 1971, the California State Park Ranger Association chose Petey as an “Honorary Ranger.” Her name stands with other well-known honorary rangers including Walt Disney, Joseph Knowland, Laurance Rockefeller, and Ansel Adams. Petey died July 2, 1993, at age 85. A 355 foot tall coast redwood tree was dedicated in her memory at Humboldt Redwoods State Park. Petey observed, “What you’re living today will be the past tomorrow. Keep notes of observations of everyday life – that’s how things get started.” California State Parks Where “Petey” Weaver Worked 1. Richardson Grove SP, 200 Miles north of San Francisco. 2. Big Basin Redwoods SP, 60 miles south of San Francisco. 3. Seacliff Beach SP, 8 miles south of Santa Cruz. 4. Pfeiffer Big Sur SP, 30 miles south of Monterey Acknowledgments The number one person to thank for this book being published is Jennifer Reeves, who preserved and authorized the printing of Petey’s original manuscript of Me and the Mother Tree. Jennifer also provided photographs and other materials related to the project. A very special thanks also goes to State Park Interpreter Jean Rhyne who, in her research for performing living history programs as Petey, recognized the shelved manuscript’s historical value and Petey’s clear intention to have it published. She persevered in tracking down the original document and Jennifer Reeves, and made the convincing case to California State Park Ranger Association and the California State Parks Anniversary Committee to publish it. Jean also put a great deal of effort into the final proofreading of the book. Finally, a thanks to Cate Murphy, who did a tremendous amount of work proofreading and correcting the scanned version of the original manuscript, making this book possible. Michael G. Lynch, Editor Photo Credits Most of the photographs in this book were originally supplied by Petey Weaver. All the photographs are from the collection of the California State Parks Anniversary Committee. Editor: Michael G. Lynch Assistant Editor: Jean Rhyne Copy Editor: Cate Merritt Murphy © 2016 California State Parks Anniversary Committee California State Park Rangers Association ISBN 978-0-9772429-8-6 All Rights Reserved. No portions of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the California State Parks Anniversary Committee and the California State Park Rangers Association. Printed in the United States of America Me and the Mother Tree Harriett E. “Petey” Weaver Foreword Of all of Petey’s books, this may have been the most dear to her. In 1976, Petey completed the hand-written draft of “Me and the Mother Tree.” She sent a short and exuberant postcard to my grandmother Gladys Reeves saying: “11 AM Thurs 22 July Hi Yourself! Thirty-year mission this minute completed! Luv & stuff, Me” Six months later she began a new chapter in her life. My grandmother moved in with her, and they remained together until Petey’s death. They had met in the forties at Big Basin, when my grandparents, father and uncle camped there and attended the wonderful fireside programs led by a charismatic, forceful and entertaining park ranger named Petey. Petey tried for many years to have this memoir published. Growing up, I remember there was a shadow of disappointment that the work hadn’t been embraced, but also a determination that some day it would. In letters to fellow ranger Don Meadows, she wrote that publishers were rejecting it because it didn’t contain the hot topics of the ‘70s and ‘80s: “no sex, no drugs, no violence, no scandal, too regional, and no one interested in such as California’s first woman state park ranger. So I shall put it on the shelf until this mess runs its course. Meanwhile I’m happily busy.” As Petey had no children of her own, I’ve tried to hold on to her memory, as well as safeguard her remaining personal items and writings. It gives me enormous pleasure that Petey’s story of the early days and people at California’s state parks is now available for the public she loved. I only wish she could be here to celebrate with us. Jennifer Reeves Editor’s Note Petey’s manuscript for Me and the Mother Tree was completed in 1976, forty years previous to its first printing. As such, references to time frames, as well as terminology and word spelling, should be regarded in this historical context. Contents Introduction 7 1. Who? Me? 11 2. The Fire Is Lighted 30 3. My Day 51 4. Ranger, Where's the Picnic Area? 74 5. All of These and Heaven Too 97 6. The Congested Concerto 117 7. What's On Tonight? 136 8. How Come -- A Mother Tree in a Virgin Forest? 155 9. Off Season in the Redwoods 175 10. What Do Rangers Do All Winter — Sleep? 192 11. Public Relations That Went to the Dogs 213 12. Some of My Best Friends Were Wild 232 13. The Redwood Empire's Richardson Grove 258 14. The Agony and the Ecstasy — The Road 281 15. No Offense, General, Sir, But This Is the Big Sur 293 16. How to Become an Amphibian Without Webbed Feet 324 17. Fire! 354 18. Me, the Public 371 19. Pandemonium in a Pup Tent 389 Photos 397 5 Dedication To the men of the California State Park Rangers Association, who have made me Honorary Lifetime Ranger — an honor I cherish more than any accorded me in the past or any I am ever likely to receive in the future. From the warmest spot in my heart, affection and deep appreciation for having been so well accepted as one of you. Dear God, Hear and bless this earth, Thy wild ones, Thy rangers, Thy trees, And joy with all Thy lovingness Every camper, please. “Petey” Introduction Shortly after the California State Park System was first established — but almost a half-century before Women’s Lib mushroomed into a national upheaval — I became the only uniformed person of the female sex on state park ranger crews. Throughout my entire twenty years of service, the rangers of one 435-foot-long cement ship and three redwood state parks where I was stationed at various times did me the honor of going about our combined duties as if I were merely another worker like themselves, which I was. Every morning each of us scattered to his own individual tasks, whether of maintenance or operation or interpretation, according to capabilities and need. But just let the slightest emergency arise and we drew together at Headquarters like the deer in Park Center on the first day of hunting season. Humanity being what and how it is, emergencies both large and small, even in those peaceful decades, had a way of popping up on the minute every minute. Besides, any redwood park is liberally endowed with raccoons and deer and other wildlife along with all the conceivable variations of tourist, camper, and kook. On seasonal holidays and long weekends, camping and picnicking areas overflowed, spicing our lives with excitement or exasperation; sometimes with fear and prayers, constantly with laughs — or the whole works in the same twenty-four hours. Through it all we tried to look cool and calm and in control, which, come hell and loose dogs and forest fires, we had better be. The big campfire was my responsibility. Around it hundreds assembled each evening. There it behooved me to appear as relaxed as if I had been sunning myself all day on warm beach sands. But whether endeavoring to make things look easy to large audiences, abundantly loaded with unknowns, or leading a nature walk around the Redwood Trail or restraining some visitor from digging up our creekside ferns to take home, people regarded me with curiosity. Regularly someone would ask, “How come — and you — you — a woman?” Moreover, campers and tourists alike wanted to know, wasn’t this really a vacation and surely I didn’t get paid for it. 7 I assured them that I did indeed receive a paycheck, the last fifteen years or so anyway.

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