From the writings of Henry Rinehart dictated by his mother, Elizabeth, 1893. Rewritten by James H. Rinehart
Lewis Rinehart and Elizabeth Ellis were married in Tennessee in August, 1822, by Jonathan Mulkey, a Baptist preacher. Neither had much chance for education; he learned to read and write and she to read, which was probably above the average pioneer education of their day. He was of German descent; she of English and Welch. Thirteen children resulted from this union. Three were born in Tennessee, seven in Illinois, and three in Iowa. They all crossed the plains to Oregon, excepting Mary (Polly) Ann, who married and lived all her life in Iowa. They all lived till the youngest was thirty years old.

From the writings of Henry Rinehart dictated by his mother, Elizabeth, 1893. Rewritten by James H. Rinehart
Not long after marriage, the family moved into an adjoining county in Kentucky, but they shortly returned to Tennessee and remained there till April, 1829. Three of the children, John, Mary Ann and Barbara, were born in Tennessee.

The family moved from Tennessee to Morgan county, Illinois, where they settled on a new farm and lived for two or three years, and then moved to Adams county, in the same state, locating on a claim about twelve miles from Quincy. Prior to that time, the Federal Government had issued numerous land warrants to soldiers as a reward for service. These warrants could be laid on lands without the owner living on the claim or making any improvements.

The land records were not very accurately kept in those days, and hence it was possible for a settler to live many years on a claim and then find that the land was held by a soldier's warrant prior to his settlement. After Lewis Rinehart had lived several years on his Illinois farm, he found that it was claimed by a prior entry on a soldier's warrant. Previous to this time some such contested claims had been settled by law, and the courts had decided that a residence and paying taxes on a claim for seven years offered a better ground for title than an earlier soldier claim without residence, taxes or improvements. On this decision he decided to carry the matter to the courts, and after long litigation stood a good show to win. But a third party offered $500.00 to each of the claimants, and the claim was sold, after having been the family home for nearly twelve years.

Seven children -- George w., Louisa, Emily Jane, James H., Frank M., Henry and Lewis B. were born in Illinois.

When the family moved from Tennessee to Illinois in 1829, there were no matches to be used for starting fires. They carried a large covered bread oven, and every morning they would fill this with ashes, hot embers and large live coals. This answered a double purpose. It kept their feet warm as they traveled, and when they arrived at camp in the evening, the contents of the oven would be emptied out on the ground and a fire started from the coals which, buried in the ashes, would keep alive all day. Oak, ash and hickory were usually burned. The coals from these woods will keep alive for twelve, or even as long as twenty hours, when properly buried in the ashes.

1830 Federal Census
Adams County Illinois
Lewis Rhindhart

Free white persons in household
Males:
1 aged 5 under 10 (John Rinehart)
1 aged 20 under 30 (Lewis Rinehart)
1 aged 80 under 90 (Ludwick Rinehart Sr)

Females:
2 aged under 5 (Mary Ann and Barbara Rinehart)
1 aged 20 under 30 (Elizabeth Ellis Rinehart)

Others on this page:
Samuel Carter, Marcus Stow, George Fraseir, Richard Wilhelmes, Charles Kirkpatrick, John Kirkpatrick, David Kirkpatrick, Lewis Rhindhart, Benj Cox, Francis Kirkpatrick, Frederic Mandan, B L Medley, P W Martin, James Crank, John Riddle, Elijah Pillard, Henry Painter, William Jourdan, John Jordan, Nicholas Wren, John Crawford, Daniel Harts, Ben Bradford, Hiram R Stanby, Thomas Smith, David Crow, Michael Dodd

1840 Federal Census
Quincy, Adams Co, Illinois
Lewis Rheinheart
Free white persons
Males:
2 aged under 5 (James and Francis)
1 aged 5 under 10 (George)
1 aged 10-14 (John ?? – should be age 17)
1 aged 20 under 30 (Is this John Ellis ??)
1 aged 30 under 40 (Lewis)

Females:
1 aged under 5 (Emily ?? – should be 6)
1 aged 5 under 10 (Louisa)
2 aged 10-14 (Mary Ann and Barbara)
1 aged 30 under 40 (Elizabeth)

Others on this page:
John Thompson, David Crow, Hughey Newell, Fielding McMurry, Benjamin Brown, John Brown, John Donnelly, Enos Thompson, James Iler, Selathul W. Thompson, Wesley Thompson, Lewis Rhienheart, Perez Thayer, Daniel W. Goodwin, Hezekiah Lewis, John Smith, Johm Cameron, William Simmons, Enoch M Tittan, Joseph Eubanks, Jonathan White, Horatio T Ellis, William Eubanks, Isaac Odair, John Bilen, Jabez Lovejoy, Joseph Pollock, David Bilen, Thomas White, Thomas J Jones, James White

From the writings of James H Rinehart
On the move from Illinois to Iowa the family consisted of just an even dozen, there being ten children at that time. The journey was made in December, 1845, and the weather turned extremely cold the next day after the start.

We here quote the son, James H.:

"When we arrived at Warsaw on the East bank of the Mississippi the 'mush ice' was so thick in the river that the ferryman refused to take us across with our wagons and stock. Had we been six hours earlier we would not have been delayed. We rested there for nine days, until the ice was strong enough, and we crossed on the smooth frozen waters, and thus saved expenses and cheated that ferryman.

"Father had made a trip to the 'new purchase' in Iowa about two months before we moved, and had bought a claim right to a piece of land situated five miles south east of Oskaloosa, on which there was a little fourteen by sixteen cabin. There was an attic where most of the larger children could be stored at night, and three of four of the smaller ones slept in the `trundle bed' down stairs. Father traded a horse, valued at about $65.00, for this cabin and claim. The place was something like the 'Louisiana Purchase', in that it extended away out 'West' as far as one cared to go. But few claims were located near there at that time. "These were called 'Squatters Claims' as the land had not yet been offered for sale by the government. One or two years after it was made subject to sale at not less than $1.25 per acre. These transactions were made at public sale, to the highest bidder, but no man would bid over $1.25 per acre. Each sale was for lands in certain townships, and on advertised dates, and all the settlers would e present when the sale began. They were organized for mutual protection against outside land speculators. They usually appointed one or two 'shoulder strikers', and if a land speculator made a bid on a squatter's claim he would be punched at the butt of the ear by one of these heavy weight officials, and then by another until he would find himself entirely outside the circle of bidders. In this manner they were soon schooled in the "unwritten law", and made no more bids on lands held by squatters. There were no 'homestead' or 'pre-emption' laws in those days.

"When we arrived at the new home, the snow was a foot deep and the thermometer registered away down below zero. We soon put in a 'puncheon' floor and built a shed addition to the cabin. By Christmas all were comfortable and happy.

"Besides carrying on the farm work, father ran a saw mill on Muchikinock Creek, nearly two miles distant from the farm. In 1848 he purchased the latest improved threshing outfit, consisting of a small horse power and a cylinder machine with no appliances for separating the grain from the straw, commonly called a `chaff piler'. He raised quite a large amount of hay and grain, and all the cutting was done by hand. During all the residence in Iowa he never owned a reaper or a mowing machine. The state soon became famous for its corn. There were no railroads at that time, and our nearest shipping point was Keokuk, 125 miles away, in the extreme south-eastern part of the state, where the Des Moines joins the Mississippi.

"Products of the farm were very cheap. The usual price for corn was from ten to twelve and a half cents per bushel, and in some instances it dropped as low as eight cents. Nice dressed hogs sold for $1.50 to $2.00 per hundred, and at one time as low as $1.25. The usual price for eggs was from three to five cents per dozen in summer, and from seven to eight cents during the winter. Farm labor was 50 cents by the day, or $10.00 by the month, in the working season. The price was $8.00 per month by the year. A girl's wages was 50 cents a week in the family, or $1.00 per week in hotels.

"I was large enough to drive a span of horses and haul goods from Keokuk to Oskaloosa, 125 miles, for the stores, and the usual price for such hauling was $1.00 per hundred. About half the houses along the road had the sign out: Entertainment, meals, horse-feed and lodging'. The usual price for a good family meal, was ten cents at these road houses, or taverns as we called them at that time. I well remember one famous road house which we always tried to reach at night, because the accommodations were first class in every respect. I would get supper and breakfast, a good feather bed to sleep in, my two horses in the barn with all the oats and hay they could eat and the entire bill would be fifty-five cents. If you should inquire as to the price of each of the items, you would learn that the charge for that good feather bed was just five cents.

"I visited that country twenty years after that time, when railroads were running in all directions throughout the state, and I had to pay from twenty-five to seventy-five cents for a meal. Pork was $6.00 to $8.00 per hundred, and corn from forty to fifty cents per bushel. Yet some of the old farmers were setting in their fine upholstered chairs, cursing the railroads which they said were just running the country".

1850 Federal Census
Mahaska Co, Iowa

Dwelling 349 Family 353
Edwards, Thomas, age , 24, male, farmer, real estate 800, born NJ
Edwards, Barbry, age 20, female, born IL
Edwards, Henry, age 2, male, born IA
Edwards, John S, age 9 mo, male, born IA
Brooks, Joseph, age 13, male, born IL

Dwelling 359 Family 364
Rinehart, Lews, age 49, male, farmer, real estate value 2,000, born Tenn
Rinehart, Elizabeth, age 43, female, born Tenn
Rinehart, George, age 20, male, born Ill
Rinehart, Jane, age 16, female, born Ill
Rinehart, James, age 13, male, born Ill
Rinehart, Francis M, age 11, male, born Ill
Rinehart, Henry, age 8, male, born Ill
Rinehart, Lewis, age 6, male, born Ill
Rinehart, Jasper, age 1, male, born IA
Morton, Frances, age 10, male, born IA (who is this??)
Morton, William, age 4, male, born IA (should be William Rinehart)

Dwelling 360 Family 365
Ratliff, Thomas, age 29, male, farmer, real estate 400, born PA
Ratliff, Mary A, age 24, female, born Tenn
Ratliff, Ellen, age 6, female, born Il (should be IA)
Ratliff, Margaret, age 2, female, born IA
Ratliff, James P, age 6 mo, born IA

Dwelling 361 family 366
Duncan, George, age 22, male, farmer, born IL
Duncan, Louisa, age 17, female, born IL
Duncan, Serrilda, age 1, female, born IA

Where are John and Sarah Edwards Rinehart??

1852:

• John Rinehart and wife Sarah Edwards
   
• George Rinehart and wife Martha Davis

1853:
 

• Emily Jane Rinehart and husband Peter S Morton

1854:
 

• Lewis and Elizabeth Rinehart
   
• Barbara Rinehart and husband Thomas Edwards
   
• Louisa Rinehart and husband George Duncan
   
• James H Rinehart
   
• Frank M Rinehart
   
• Henry Rinehart
   
• Lewis B Rinehart
   
• William E Rinehart
   
• Jasper N Rinehart
   
• Sarah E Rinehart

Daughter Mary "Polly" Ann Rinehart and husband Thomas Ratliff remained in Iowa

From the writings of James H Rinehart
Father and mother with the seven youngest children, James H., Frank M., Henry, Lewis B., William E., Jasper N. and Sarah E., ranging in age from one to seventeen years, started from Iowa on the long trip across the "plains" April 7, 1854. They arrived at Eugene, September 12, having been enroute five months and five days.

Our train on leaving Omaha consisted of thirty-one wagons. Twenty-five were pulled by ox teams, and six by horses. My father, Lewis Rinehart, was elected captain of the train which was hence forth known as the Rinehart train. Thomas Edwards and George Duncan, hubands of my two sisters, Barbara and Louisa, with their families were in our train.

In those days a train usually consisted of from ten to fifty wagons. The owners electing a captain and banding themselves together for mutual protection, against the Indians who often created great disturbance. Often stock would be stolen and driven away at night, and at times war was made by day and night against the weary travelers. Their raids sometimes resulted in the massacre of a part or even the whole of a train, and the bones of man and beast would be left to bleach upon the prairie.

Our principle route of travel was up the north side of the Platte River and up the Sweetwater, through the present state of Nebraska and Wyoming, past the Independence Rock, and by way of the Devils Gate", over the South Pass of the Rocky Mountains, by way of Soda Springs, where we were July 4th, across the Bear River Valley and down the Snake River, through the present state of Idaho, by the Salmon Falls and American Falls, continuing on the south side of the Snake at all times until we arrived at the Malheur River where the town of Vale now stands. Before reaching this place, our train had divided on account of dust.

There was very little sickness in our train, and we had but little trouble with the Indians. Many persons in the Ward train were massacred that year by the Snake Indians on the Snake River east of the present sit e of Boise. The last trains each year always suffered the most, as the Indians knew that these could not be reinforced from behind.

One day in the Sioux Country we made a dry camp on a level plain country to rest an hour at noon. While eating our dinners, ten large, brave-looking Sioux Indians came to our camp and made signs that they wanted two big cows as toll for allowing us to cross their country. Our train being full handed, we refused to turn the cows over to them. The braves looked desperately mad and made signs that they would shoot, but later, probably through respect to our force, they went away from the road about a hundred yards and held a council. We moved on and felt much relieved when they were out of sight. When we had traveled about three miles, a messenger came up to us at full speed and asked us to send back help to relieve his train of four wagons and eight men as the Indians had attacked them and shot down some of their loose cattle. Then and there we had our first Indian scare and prospect of battle with the redskins. The time was about three o'clock in the afternoon and as we were near a camping ground where there was water, the order was given to strike camp immediately. Our thirty-one wagons were placed in a half circle for two purposes. First, they served as a protection against possible attacks from the Indians, and, second, it served as an enclosure in which we could guard and hold our cattle at night, when there was great danger of the Indians creating a stampede by a sudden approach in the dark.

Immediately on the arrival of the messenger, ten men were detailed to go back and assist the attacked train. All others were ordered to remain in camp to protect our stock and families. Everything was excitement. Men were busy hunting their guns and ammunition. Our weapons were colt's revolvers and single barrel rifles, all muzzle loaders and many of them flint locks, and Bowie knife. We used the powder horn with the charger to measure the powder, and melted bars of lead to mould our bullets by hand.

Of the relief party, six men started on horseback and four on foot, all anxious to kill Indians. All were in disorder and confusion. The first ready started first and soon the ten men were strung out in a train half a mile long. When a mile out on the trail two of the footmen lost their enthusiasm and thirst for redman's blood and returned to camp. When about two miles from camp our six horsemen met the unfortunate train coming up the road and about a mile beyond they could see out on the broad, level prairie, the ten Indians skinning the cattle they hay killed. Three of the train men were detailed to move the wagons along to our camp, and the other five men on horse-back with our six horsemen and the two remaining footmen, now in sight, decided to give those Indians a big scare. They all started in a full run, and the Indians seeing them coming, quit their beef skinning and ran at all speed at right angles to the road, our boys after them. After running about a mile over the level prairie, and when almost in gunshot, the Indians disappeared over a bluff. When our boys arrived at the place where the redmen had disappeared, they looked down into a valley and saw a village of about one hundred "teepees" or more.

At the same time there seemed to be at least a hundred warriors issuing from their habitations. Dropping their blankets, and with guns and other weapons in hand, they started for the eleven horsemen on the bluff sending forth a deafening "war-whoop" as they went. The scale was now turned. The horsemen retreated at full speed, the Indians pursuing on foot. Our two foot soldiers, when they had seen the ten braves retreating and our cavalry giving full chase, had taken a short cut across the country that they might be in at the finish to mingle in the sport. When they saw the horsemen turn tail with at least a hundred Indians in hot chase, they, without even stopping for a council of war to decide on future plans, also made tracks toward camp. One of the horsemen on passing them took one on his horse and they easily made their escape. But the now lone footman, a boy of nineteen years, was soon over taken and surrounded by Indians.

After holding a little "pow-wow" they took the boy's coat, vest, and neck-tie and after relieving his pockets of a little cash, and all his ammunition they let him go. In his hurried flight he had dropped his old flint lock gun, but an old Indian, after him in the chase had picked it up and after firing it off, returned it to the lad.

This boy had been ordered to remain in camp on that day, and not to go on the Indian chase on account of his youth, but go he must, and go he did. After that it took very little persuasion to cause him to remain in camp when there was an Indian scare at hand.

The Sioux were not making a great deal of trouble for the immigrants at that time, but they apparently wanted to levy a little tariff for tramping on the grass in their territory.

That night all the cattle, about 250 head were guarded in the half circle formed by the wagons, and our tents were set on the outside of this circle and the horses were staked outside the tents. A double guard was placed on duty that night within the circle to guard the cattle and pickets were put outside to prevent a surprise by the Indians.

All excepting those on guard had retired by 9:30. The night was dark and rain was falling. Lightning was flashing from all points of the compass. The cattle were quiet and were lying down to rest at about 10:30. Suddenly every animal of the cow kind was on its feet and away. A regular stampede was now on, and the cry from every tent was, "Save you horses, boys, mount and follow the cattle, the Indians are upon us".

By the time a dozen of us were in our saddles, we could hear a distant rumble made by the hoofs of those 250 head of cattle. It sounded above the roar of thunder as they raced over the Platte River hills. We followed the sound and the lightning flashes helped to guide us on our way. But for the lightning the night was of the darkest kind. After speeding a few miles in the course of the rumbling sound, we passed a few head of our cattle revealed by the flashes, that had apparently gotten over their scare. We followed on, and soon we passes a small bunch that was trailing slowly. Still we raced on, guided by the noise of the fleeting hoofs of the main herd. Gradually we gained until we finally came up with the leaders that were yet pressing forward with all the power within them. Slowly we checked them and turned them back upon the trail by which they came, picking up the tired stragglers as we returned. At sunrise in the morning we arrived in camp after our long chase, and strange to relate, not an ox was missing. No Indians molested the camp that night, and to this day we do not know what caused those cattle to stampede. We presume that the scent of Indians was carried to them on the storm, or there may have been a few prowling in the near vicinity under cover of the darkness.

It often happened in the Platte River country that whole teams and even whole trains of foot-sore emigrant cattle would catch the scent of Indians and would stampede and run away even in the daytime.

The old emigrant road went from Vale to Huntington. Thence through the Powder River Valley and over the divide to the mouth of the Ladd Canyon. Then it led through the Grande Ronde Valley, by way of La Grande, on through Meacham and Pendleton. It crossed the John Day River below Rock Creek and lead thence by way of the "Foster Road" across the Cascades and down Laurel Hill and by the way of the Big Sandy River to the Willamette Valley.

We did not take this regular route. When we arrived at Vale on the Malheur, we were informed by what we called a "squaw man", that Thomas D. Edwards, my brother-in-law and a part of our original train, consisting of twenty wagons, had been met there by a man by the name of Key, who had proposed to pilot them through the Harney Valley, over the Ocheco country and down the Willamette River to Eugene. A year before, in 1853, a train had trusted a pilot to lead them by the way of the "cut-off" as it was called. On reaching the Harney Valley even the pilot, with all the train was lost and they wandered hundreds of miles over crooked ways going entirely off their intended route. They got out of provisions and lived for six weeks on blue immigrant beef without salt, finally reaching the Willamette Valley after great privation and suffering, and some loss of life. William Shaw, a pioneer of Summerville, was in that train.

The Edwards train, in 1854, decided to trust to the pilot who had met them at Vale and their journey was over an unknown country. The valleys and streams between the Malheur and Deschutes Rivers were not named at the time. Thomas D. Edwards, when he had decided to follow the pilot and "mash sage brush" for four or five hundred miles, had left a letter with the "squaw man" stating his intentions asking us to follow if we chose to do so. The letter was handed to father when our train arrived at the Malheur and we soon decided to follow the other train.

Our train, at that time, consisted of four wagons and thirteen persons, counting all ages, which is considered an unlucky number nowadays, but we were not so schooled at that time. There were father and mother and seven children of whom I, then in my eighteenth year, was the oldest, and George Duncan and wife, and two children, Surrilda and Emma, making thirteen in all.

We started on the new trail about the 20th of July, just two days behind the Edwards train. For five weeks we never saw a human being on the way, not even an Indian, and not until we arrived at the Deschutes where we over took the advance train resting after crossing a forty mile desert without water.

Our course was up the Malheur and its tributaries for several days. One day while yet along this river, about mid-day, I saw a lone covered wagon suddenly pull out from the line of our train and make for a small grove on the bank of the stream nearby. Then I noticed that the oxen were unhitched from the wagon and allowed to graze on the beautiful bunch grass. Just then father instructed us to drive on a distance of about four miles and camp for the night. He and mother then went to the lone wagon at the grove where they remained for about five hours, and during those fleeting precious moments I was captain of the advance fraction of our train, with all the rights, power and privileges pertaining thereto, and as was customary for one holding that important office, I rode on ahead to select a camping place, which I found along the banks of a beautiful mountain stream fringed with willows and alders. Just as the sun was disappearing along the western hills the one covered wagon arrived in camp and when the roll was called that evening the thirteen superstition could no longer be applicable. Number fourteen had arrived, and then and there they named him Warren Malheur Duncan.

We were traveling through the land of Indians who were unacquainted with the white man, and though we saw many moccasin and barefoot tracks in the dusty road made by the train ahead of us, we never saw an Indian between the Malheur River and the summit of the Cascade Mountains. A distance of about 400 miles. They were numerous all through that country at the time, but they as yet were unacquainted with fire-arms and were afraid of their pale-face brothers.

We followed one branch of the Malheur to its source and after crossing the divide we often had to travel long distances on lava rocks where wagon tires failed to make a mark that could be seen. Sometimes we lost our way for a while, but soon someone would call out "here it is" and again there would be sufficient marks to enable us to follow the trail of the train ahead of us.

Those ahead would often leave letters at their camps with information for those that might follow them, telling distances between watering places ahead and other facts of value to the traveler. These instructions they gained from their pilot who was quite well acquainted with the country through which they were passing. A stick would be driven into the ground near the camp-fire and the letter would be clamped in a split at the top. These letters were often of much value to me and saved us from much suffering on the dry parched prairies.

After leaving the table lands we descended into the Harney Valley and in one day's drive about ten miles, we came to the edge of the lake, which was to our left. We traveled for about six miles along the margin of the lake and in leaving it crossed a beautiful silvery stream. After this we saw no more lakes but we ascended many long and very high hills for many miles. Then we descended many steep hills where we had to chop down small trees and tie them to the wagons to hold back in the steep places. We descended to a small stream down which we traveled for many miles. Sometimes we would cross it twenty times in an hour or two sometimes we traveled in the bed of the stream for hundreds of yards only to come out on the same side as that from which we entered. I have since been told that this was the Crooked River.

We again passed over a high and hilly country for a long way. The we came to a long down-grade where again we had to tie trees to our wagons to hold them back. This time we descended into a deep canyon where a small amount of timber grew in the side gulches. I am told that this stream is what is now known as Bear Creek. We found water there and plenty of wood for camp use. We also found another letter in a "split stick" stating that it was forty miles to the next water, the Deschutes River.

Our train started from Bear Creek at seven in the morning, climbed a steep side gulch for about a mile and then traveled over a nearly level plain to the Deschutes. At midnight the train rested four hours and then started again on the weary journey, arriving at the river at eleven o'clock the next morning. The time between the two watering places was twenty-eight hours. Here we came up with the advance portion of our train resting in camp.

As we left Bear Creek one of our best horses, running loose, got strayed from the bunch, and scenting the trail of the other train two days ahead of us, started up the canyon on a run. We could hear him at intervals as he thundered up the gulch. As our train started from camp, I was detailed to try to overtake an catch the runaway. With a half gallon canteen of water secured to the horn of my saddle, and with two biscuits in my pocket, I started on the trail. I was riding a poor emigrant horse, so I doubted my ability to catch the loose animal in a short run. Accordingly, I said to mother as I started that if I could not catch the horse within a reasonable distance, I would go directly across to the Deschutes alone, and if I overtook the leading train there I would send back fresh water to them. I reached the other camp at seven o'clock in the evening after a twelve hour ride and that night at midnight three man started on the back trail with canteens full of fresh cool water from the Deschutes River, for the dry and weary people in our train.

From here the entire train followed up the Deschutes and its tributaries to the summit of the Cascade Mountains. Then we went down the Willamette River to Eugene where we arrived, without further incident worthy of mention, on September 12, 1854.

To me the whole trip across the plains was very interesting and entertaining. I was as I have mentioned in my eighteenth year, strong, healthy and full of life. Here I got my first experience in culinary work. I was detailed at the start to assist my mother in cooking on the journey. When a man has cooked for five months, often without wood and sometimes without water, he is fitted to meet any emergency in the culinary line. To eat off a table cloth spread on the ground and with nothing but ox yokes for seats, and not enough of those to go around, would seem quite unpleasant to a traveling man nowadays, who is accustomed to ride in a Pullman car and take his meals in a diner, and to being waited on by a colored gentleman of African descent.

The Rineharts settled ten miles south of Eugene on Camas Swale in 1854, according to their youngest daughter’s account. Lewis raised cattle and a few sheep, also hay and enough grain to take to the mill for the family flour. Lewis also sold enough cheese, butter, lard, eggs, bacon and other things to supply his family with food and clothing. He owned quite a herd of cattle, some sixty milk cows at one time. He lost forty of them over the hard winter of 1861-62, which was the winter of the flood all over the valley.

There were no schoolhouses near their home, so what schooling the boys got before Sarah, the youngest, was old enough to go to school, was taught by a man in an old cabin near home. The pupils were all large boys – no girls. Later on, Jim, Frank, Lew, and Henry went to college in Eugene. The college burned down the winter they were there.

In about 1859 Lewis moved to Eugene so the younger boys could attend the winter school. Sarah attended a short time as she was only six years old. The children’s next school was on the Coast Fork near her brother, George Rinehart, where the younger children stayed for three months and walked one and a half miles to school. When Sarah was eleven and twelve years old, her father again moved to Eugene for the winter schools. Only two brothers were at home then, as the older ones were off teaching or taking care of the home place. When Sarah was fourteen she again stayed with brother George for the school term. The next year there was a three-month school in an old log cabin taught by a woman; the following year it was taught by a man. The next year a new log school was built and one three-month term offered.

In the spring of 1870, Lewis rented out the old home and moved to the Grande Ronde Valley because the boys had gone there with cattle several springs before and were doing well. Jasper Rinehart was the only boy at home and he was anxious to go, so they bought some more sheep. Lewis and his son, Lewis, Jr., by this time had 1,800 head they wanted to drive east of the mountains. Jasper and some boys drove the sheep while Lewis and his wife drove a team across the mountains. They went to John Rinehart’s place by the Willamette route to Prineville, down the Deschutes River and over the John Day River and up Rock Creek five miles above where Olex now stands. They lost many sheep on the road, arriving at their final destination with only 300 head. From that point on the Rinehart family centered their operations in eastern Oregon.

From History of Union County Oregon
While the Thomas and Ruckles road was being built, a town called Winter was started about two miles northwest of the present Summerville, on land now owned by May Colt. This town had a store, hotel and blacksmith shop. At the completion of the road in 1865, a petition was circulated for a post office. However, Henry Rinehart circulated another petition for a post office nearer to the center of population. Rinehart secured the most signatures and was granted the office. Snow still lingered in the timber at Winter and it had melted away at Rinehart’s location, so it was decided to call the new office Summerville and on May 30, 1865, William Patten became the postmaster.

Henry Rinehart built the first house and had opened a meat market on May 1, 1865. Soon after the post office was located other business establishments sprang up. Within a year, there were a doctor and preacher in town, and a flour mill was being built about a mile north of the post office by Hanna and Wright. This was soon sold to three Rinehart brothers, and J. H. Rinehart continued to operate the mill for years.

From Mr. Oliver of Summerville OR
Just south of Summerville, Thomas Rinehart’s homestead was adjacent to the Summerville Cemetery on the south side. He donated a portion of the cemetery land

Jasper Rinehart’s home was north and across the road from the Summerville Cemetery in the lowland where there are busy trees and a ditch now