Ruth Elizabeth Svinth

Raised and educated in Tieton, Ruth graduated from Highland High School in 1963. She went on to attend college in North Carolina for a short time before moving back to the Tri Cities area where she lived for about 18 years. She worked several jobs there, one of which she was most proud of, was becoming the first woman news anchor in the Tri Cities area for cable TV. This gave her the opportunity to meet President Nixon and Colonel Harland Sander (KFC).

She moved back to the Tieton area after her mother passed away to take care of her father until his passing in 1987. She then went to work for Allied Arts where she stayed for about 8 years. She then moved on to the Capitol Theater for about 8 years.

In November 1990, Ruth married Luther Svinth. They loved visiting his church in Spanaway, WA, where he had preached and did the Memorial Day Services each year until his death. Ruth continued going to the service for several years after Luke passed. She always looked forward to going.

Through small town living and Vickie’s Café in Tieton, Ruth and Luke met me, David Monroe. We all became friends. After Luke’s passing I continued to check in on Ruth. Over time, we got close and did several things together. We were life partners for over 18 years.

We had a lot of the same interests; photography, nature, animals, pets, etc., which I brought more into her life. She said she was allergic to cats. I had an indoor cat that was different than she had ever seen. Upon moving to her place, Sebastian (the cat) rode in her car, sitting on the console and never moved. Ruth made it clear it had to stay in the basement. That lasted less than 3 hours! She didn’t get sick from her allergies (she must have grown out of them). Sebastian loved burrowing under the covers finding a spot on Ruth’s stomach. That is where he slept and she was comfortable with that until his time was up.

We started a tradition of going to the beach for several days around her birthday in February. If it rained, we would just throw another log on the fire. She loved our trips to the beach to celebrate her birthday each year. We loved Long Beach and Ocean Shores. One trip we made it down to the Oregon Coast and went to the Airplane Museum and Tillamook Cheese Factory. She wouldn’t pass up a Thrift Shop or Antique Mall. She enjoyed the time we spent at the beach and our several trips to Montana.

My first trip with Ruth was a very enjoyable trip to Montana to see her sister in law Mae and her children David and Edna. They had taken to me as they had taken to Ruth when she first went with Luke (all family). We had planned to continue on our trip to make a loop and go thru Yellowstone, but that didn’t happen due to all the forest fires at the time, so we spent some time going thru Jackson Hole, Wyoming. I regret we didn’t get a chance to go back because she was so into Nature and loved Eagles, Hawkes, Wolves and Buffalo. On one trip to Kalispell, on Hwy 2, we were headed out of Sandpoint, Idaho when a large Eagle swooped down in front of our car like it was leading us down the road. She had her camera in hand and got some excellent pictures. She used several on her greeting cards, along with thousands of others her and I had taken over the years.

She was a wonderful and caring person and will be missed by everyone she touched with her cards and her being.

There is so much more that could be told. I tried to get her to write a book about herself, but didn’t due to her stint with Covid. It accelerated her arthritis mostly in her hands and fingers where the computer she loved and enjoyed was now out of her reach. I only knew very little of her life but I enjoyed the time we had together and all her family treating me as part of the family.

She Loved You All……Friends and Family

A Celebration of Life for Ruth will be held at a later date.

Interment will follow at a later date.

Thank you to all her Doctors: Dr. Emmans III, Dr. Kwon, Dr. Dill, Dr. Barge and Dr. Chowdary

Thank you to the staff of 3-East at Multi Care Memorial Hospital for your loving care and kindness through this tough time

Thank you to the staff at Cottage in the Meadow. You made her last day peaceful and comfortable

Thank you to Cornerstone Labs and Pharmacy for helping with all her needs and care

Thank you to Keith & Keith Funeral Home for handling her arrangements and for being so kind, caring and loving.

Please read this story written by Ruth's mother in the 1960's and later added to by Ruth in 1991

THEY CALLED IT HOME

By Mary F. Bernath (1917-1979)

Tieton. Washington

Written in the 1960's

As she stood looking over the valley below, a wistful sadness she could not describe enveloped her. It had been just such a day when she first stood here. So much was the same, and yet, so very much was changed.

It was early springtime then, as now….the same crisp breeze was swaying the trees and arousing the cool damp earth from its winter's sleep. So many were the memories that crowded through her somewhat tired, yet entirely content mind.

The rows of apple trees directly below her stood as sentinels on duty only slightly bent toward the east by the ever prevailing westerly wind. They appeared almost tireless now...but she could visualize the scene in only a few short weeks when with unbelievable loveliness, the buds would burst to a soft pink and open into a vantage point of a lovely carpet of beauty. In retrospect, she could almost smell the sweet apple blossom scent and see these same trees bowed by the weight of red and golden apples, after a summer of struggle with insect pests, weather, and irrigation. The valley below had the appearance of a patchwork quilt of orchards, open fields, ponds and homes for miles and miles.

She remembered the challenge she had felt as she saw the hanging wallpaper….the apple box cupboards...and the bare wood floor. A small path led from the back door to a very small building behind the apple tree. A smile crept over her face and she could almost hear once again, the small happy voices that later filled those rooms. An old black wood stove had stood on the north wall of the kitchen. A big copper wash boiler occupied much of its top on wash days or bath time, heating water. The same boiler canned rows of jars of fruits and vegetables for winter use. She would never forget the big round wash tub in front of the oven door as the farm dirt was washed from small bodies, to the tune of childish laughter and play... There had been so little money, but so much love and happiness. She looked back fondly now, and wondered if they remembered. (I do remember, mom.)

She could once again, almost feel the thrill of that first day as she took another deep breath of this wonderful, pure, crisp air. They had walked up that same road, hand in hand. They have viewed the same panoramic beauty below ... the same violets and yellow belles and buttercups had dotted the hillside.

Her mind carried her to later days when hand in hand, with small children, those steps were retraced in search of the first spring flower. She could once again, almost feel the thrill of the very young on such a day. She felt a kind of reverence for this spot. It had so often been a quiet sanctuary when their wits deep sorrow or seeming insurmountable difficulties and a need for quiet thought and prayer. It seemed almost to reverberate peace.

Times had not always been as happy as that first day, but the strange mysterious hospitality of this farm which she had felt from the first, seemed to remain a dominant asset... and young and old seemed to be captured by it and eager to return. Little by little, that old three room farmhouse had become home. The washtub in front of the oven door succumbed to a bath tub. The wash boiler and wood stove were

gone too. She remembered her reluctance at their parting. The path and small backhouse were replaced by a real bathroom.

They had both worked very hard after they finally bought the place. They always seemed to manage enough money for the necessities and the needed added room. Finances even stretched for the mountains of medical bills which seemed to pile higher and higher.

Little by little things had changed... The horses had given way to a homemade Model-A Ford Tractor, and later to a new one. She smiled as she remembered that homemade tractor, made from the same car they had been driving that first morning. It was painted a shiny red. The cement block, to apt weight for traction. Bore three sets of small hand prints. He had been so sentimental in those days. The portable horse-drawn sprayer had been replaced by a speed sprayer.

She remembered helping plant the small tree in the front yard, a gift from the children's grandfather. It grew and grew, until it housed so many dreams of small boys and a girl. Rubber tire swings offered many happy hours. Bicycle wheel pulleys transported treasures to the tree house, which found their way into its branches. The tree houses are gone now too...but the tree proudly stands, a symbol of happy times.

The year is so different now ... once only the deep bare earth...but now a grassy green carpet.

A sense of loneliness swept over her at the memory of the clutter of those days... the apple box playhouses and doll buggies...the wagons and bikes. She chuckled aloud as she thought of the billy goat, taught to pull his human cargo in a wagon, and the day it raced into an open kitchen door, turning over the food-laden table. How wise, she thought, "of the infinite to relegate such happenings to the vitalized days of youth." She felt a sense of humor and slight shame at her frustration and impatience on that occasion. She remembered the low cart which was carefully and lovingly built with the help of a devoted father, containing two seats and powered by a garden tractor...traveling about the ranch with a little boy at the controls. These thoughts seemed to come in floods. The sounds of happy voices seemed to echo and re-echo in her mind as she, looking down the long road below her, remembered the sleds that had traveled that road, turning the corner at the end of the long driveway. She shivered a little as she recalled her fear at the apple box jump-off, packed with snow, which added thrills to their speed. How glad she was now that she hadn't refused her permission.

Gradually these sounds were drowned out by other sounds. Teenage sounds of hayrides, and picnics, and automobiles. The boys had old cars to putter with and learn on. They had learned much more than how to overhaul them. Their farsighted father had insisted that they pay for them and buy their own insurance and gasoline. Many evenings they had returned very tired from a day's struggle in the orchard, but with a sense of accomplishment.

What wonderful, tiring, busy, happy days these had been. What a wonderful place to raise a family.

The memory of earlier harvest times was still fresh in her mind, and the many tired hungry young men who had joined her family around the table after a hard day's work. It was a thrill to see their hearty appetites and hear their praise for the simplest fare.

Clearly in her memory was a picture of the kindly gray haired gentleman, who had planted the older orchard. He was so honest and sincere, and reminded her of a Biblical patriarch. When his head was bowed at mealtime, he seemed to be talking directly to God, much as one talks to a very close friend. There was something almost awe-inspiring about the scene. She remembered the small cot under the living room window where he insisted on sleeping when he visited...and the little black bag which always attracted the children with its treats. They had always shared a deep mutual affection with their grandfather. His pleasures had been boundless at our decision to buy the place.

People of all kinds had been attracted here for so many years. as bees are attracted to honey - some of them for the money they earned - some of them in house cars or tents or cabins - many of them uneducated - some of them were very dirty - some unhappy - but most of them seemed to find a kind of contentment in their brief stay. Most of the children were grown before nature and circumstances had seemed to conspire against the orchardist...hail and frost...poor prices...high labor and operating costs...and a new kind of mechanized farming. It became harder and harder to make ends meet. "How badly," she thought, "we must have wanted to stay here." she remembered her short temper at the end of some tiring days. She felt a little guilty at having been absent from her youngest son so much of the time since he was small. He had missed so many of the pleasures and thrills of earlier times.

The sight of smoke rising from the fireplace chimney took her again to happier occasions. She was seeing small stockings hung at that fireplace... hearing small voices singing in unison to the music of phonograph records. She was thinking of cookie making about the kitchen table with little hands, covered with cookie dough, and little mouths painted with frosting from licking spoons.

One by one the children had scattered until once again, there was only the two of them. "He has been looking tired lately," she thought. She wondered if he had been as happy as he expected to be. The old thrill and patience was still in evidence at times, as one of his grandchildren climbed up on his lap, or asked for a ride on the orchard trailer or tractor. There was no longer a need for the struggle and the farming demands seemed as strong as ever. It was getting harder and harder to keep up the pace.

(To here it has been total truth...now, from here on I think it is based on wishful thinking. I wish it had turned out the way mom wished...but unfortunately, it didn't. - rbs) What wonderful, tiring, busy, happy days these had been. What a wonderful place to raise a family!

The memory of earlier harvest times was still fresh in her mind, and the many tired hungry young men who had joined her family around the table after a hard day's work. It was a thrill to see their hearty appetites and hear their praise for the simplest fare.

Clearly in her memory was a picture of the kindly gray haired gentleman, who had planted the older orchard. He was so honest and sincere, and reminded her of a Biblical patriarch. When his head was bowed at mealtime, he seemed to be talking directly to God, much as one talks to a very close friend. There was something almost awe-inspiring about the scene. She remembered the small cot under the living room window where he insisted on sleeping when he visited...and the little black bag which always attracted the children with its treats. They had always shared a deep mutual affection with their grandfathers His pleasures had been boundless at our decision to buy the place.

People of all kinds had been attracted here for so many years, as bees are attracted to honey - some of them for the money they earned - some of them in house cars or tents or cabins - many of them uneducated - some of them were very dirty - some unhappy - but most of them seemed to find a kind of contentment in their brief stay. Most of the children were grown before nature and circumstances had seemed to conspire against the orchardist...hail and frost...poor prices…high labor and operating costs...and a new kind of mechanized farming. It became harder and harder to make ends meet. "How badly," she thought, "we must have wanted to stay here." she remembered her short temper at the end of some tiring days. She felt a little guilty at having been absent from her youngest son so much of the time since he was small. He had missed so many of the pleasures and thrills of earlier times.

The sight of smoke rising from the fireplace chimney took her again to happier occasions. She was seeing small stockings hung at that fireplace... hearing small voices singing in unison to the music of phonograph records. She was thinking of cookie making about the kitchen table with little hands, covered with cookie dough, and little mouths painted with frosting from licking spoons.

One by one the children had scattered until once again, there was only the two of them. "He has been looking tired lately," she thought. She wondered if he had been as happy as he expected to be. The old thrill and patience was still in evidence at times, as one of his grandchildren climbed up on his lap, or asked for a ride on the orchard trailer or tractor. There was no longer a need for the struggle and the farming demands seemed as strong as every It was getting harder and harder to keep up the pace.

(To here it has been total truth...now, from here on I think it is based on wishful thinking. I wish it had turned out the way mom wished...but unfortunately, it didn't. - rbs) They had decided together...she knew it would never be the same...she knew they were going to miss everything.

A tear was in her eye now as she whispered in an almost audible voice. "Beautiful, wonderful ranch, we will have to turn you over to younger, more capable hands now.

Please be kind to these we love so much and make them happy and content as you have us. We will be back, but it will never be quite the same. We expect change as we have seen it...so will it ever be. Please keep the peace and happy atmosphere, which you have always had, forever."

She walked slowly down the hill to the waiting car, without looking back. She could see the traces of a tear on his face, as he opened the door...but in his eyes was the unmistakable pride she had seen in his eyes the day they had signed the papers to buy the ranch. She was sure he was experiencing that same pride as their son and his family waved from the window and they slowly drove away.

-Mary F. Bernath (January 10, 1917 - December 23, 1979)

But we will always remember

Grandpa, J.T. Bernath passed away in December of 1947.

Dad, Stanley Earl Bernath passed away August 13, 1987.

Mom, Mary F. (Leonard) Bernath passed away December 23, 1979.

I have written these thoughts in their loving memory.

The farm was homesteaded in 1862, Homestead Certificate No. 965.

Application 2442…by Act of Congress approved May 20. 1862. Theodore Roosevelt, President.

In early 1910, Jacob T. and Mary Ellen (Scott) Bernath purchased the approximately 54 acres.

In June, 1935, Stanley and Mary (Leonard) Bernath moved to the farm and in 1945 purchased it.

In October, 1987, Robert E. Bernath Jr. purchased the farm from his grandfather's estate.

In August, 1991, the farm was foreclosed upon.

Today it is being owned and operated by someone else. It has been replanted and modernized and seems to be prospering.

Oh me, oh my, I'm sad and overwhelmed by feelings of guilt. I was not aware of the huge disservice we had done -- not only to our children, but to other children as well -- children who have lived in our inadequate cabins, or even have camped in the shade of the trees in our orchard.

Our children are quite grown up now and I didn't even realize I was ruining their lives when I heated their bath water in a huge copper boiler on an old wood store, and washed the orchard and mud pie dirt from their small bodies in a wash tub in front of the oven door before putting them to bed each evening. I really didn't realize the impact on these small dependent persons because we didn't have an indoor bathroom, with a flush toilet, wash bowl, hot running, water and the works. They seemed to grow up in spite of these things. I really hadn't thought of our small house being that bad, even if we hadn't measured the space to be sure there was room enough, and the windows to make sure they were big enough.

Why, as I look back now, the children even had to stand on a chair to look out the window and welcome their father coming in from the orchard.

Just last year, two well-dressed young men drove into our yard in a late model car. After bringing us up to date on their families and telling us about their college Degrees and teaching jobs, we started to reminisce about the summer in their early childhood which they had spent up on this ranch, camping out in tents, and living with really no modern conveniences at all. They also remembered the summers they lived in our cabins, ate at our table, and worked in the orchard when they were in their teens. They seemed happy and like they were really enjoying themselves.

Now, I'm led to believe we were not being fair to them. We didn't have all the conveniences everyone is entitled to, and without which their lives can be ruined. What would their possibilities have been if they had all these things? Maybe one of them might have become President.

I still get a strange feeling when I see small children running about the dirty hot streets of town, or waiting outside a tavern for their parents, and I'd like to take them home and let them play in our shady yard on the swings.

But, we can't let them live in our small cabins. They don't have running water and bathrooms.

We just couldn't risk wrecking the lives of more children by this lack of adequate facilities.

I can remember taking children into our home, with parental consent, giving them a bath, washing their hair, finding them some clean clothes, giving them a glass of cold milk, and letting them play in the shade of the yard. I didn't realize it was that important how the water was heated or what they were washed in - as long as it was clean.

But, our cabins just won't do anymore and we don't have the money to wire them for ranges and to put in bathrooms and hot water - or to make the windows bigger -- and everything else that is required --so i guess we'll just have to lock them up and store ladders in them --or tear them down and hope someone will find a decent place for these families to live in the summer. Would it be too much to hope for a little grass and shade - and a speck of love for them too?

Written by Mary Bernath, Tieton, Washington, in the early 1960's in response to the comments that farm workers housing was inadequate and inhumane, so that farmworkers cabins were virtually shut down.

ADDED IN AUGUST OF 199I BY RUTH SVINTH

Re-typed on August 11, 1991, after my husband, Luke Svinth and I went up to the family farm for probably the last time. The farm has been foreclosed upon. My nephew who had purchased the farm went bankrupt. There were a lot of reasons for this happening - and some of them brought sorrow - especially when I remember that my Grandfather Bernath had carried water to the new trees on his back because they were planted before the irrigation system went in. Many memories flooded my mind as I typed this. Luke and I drove up to the pasture land which overlooks the Yakima Valley.

We saw the splendor of the view. We felt the same closeness to God that mom and dad felt in that place. Circumstances didn't allow any of my 3 brothers to take over the ranch, so my nephew purchased it from dad's estate. Much has happened in those 4 years. The bottom line is that it is no longer our family farm. I guess it really ceased to be a family farm when dad passed away. We took a chance because dad had wanted the farm to stay in the family...it just didn't work out the way we had hoped. Incentives and priorities were different. The yard was run-down... the orchard was dried up, weedy, unpruned and has not been sprayed, and will had to be taken out. Most of all, mom and dad are not there anymore. Life at 720 Noye Road will never be the same.

But when I think of it, I try to recall the wonderful memories. Many have been mentioned above...but some of my most precious memories occurred between 1983 and 1987, when I cared for my father, Stanley Bernath, prior to his death. The closeness will always be there. There is something very intimate about taking care of a parent in his last years/days. I am thankful I was in a position to be able to care for him. I am thankful too, that neither mom nor dad ... nor grandpa... lived to see the farm be lost. It was their life, and meant so very much to them - and to my brothers, Bob, Dave, and Stan, and me. I thank God for the many years it brought us.

By Ruth E. (Bernath) Svinth