I come now to a period of my life, as one might say, on the border
land between pioneer days of the old Oregon country and of the later
development of the younger territory and this giant State bearing the
great name of the father of our country.
An account of these ventures follows in the order of their occurrence.
MY HOP VENTURE.
The public, generally, give me the credit of introducing hop culture
into the Northwest.
As this business created such a stir in the world's market, and made
the Puyallup Valley famous, and as my name has become so prominently
connected with hop culture, I can hardly pass this episode of my life
by without notice. As I say elsewhere, this should not properly be
called a venture, although the violent fluctuations of prices made it
hazardous. But I can truly say, that for twenty-two years' successive
crops, I did not raise a single crop upon which I lost money, and that
for that many years I added each year some acreage to my holdings. But
few hop-growers, however, can say so much as to losses incurred.
A history of the establishment and destruction of the business follows:
About the fifteenth of March, 1865, Chas. Wood, of Olympia, sent about
three pecks of hop roots to Steilacoom for my father, Jacob R. Meeker,
who then lived on his claim nearby where Sumner was afterwards built
in the Puyallup Valley. John V. Meeker, my brother, carried this sack
of roots on his back from Steilacoom to my father's home, a distance
of about twenty miles, passing by my cabin (the remains of which are
still standing in Pioneer Park, Puyallup) with his precious burden. I
fingered out of the sack roots sufficient to plant six hills of hops,
and so far as I know those were the first hops planted in the Puyallup
Valley. My father planted the remainder in four rows of about six rods
in length, and in the following September harvested the equivalent of
one bale of hops, 180 pounds, and sold them to Mr. Wood for 85 cents
per pound, receiving a little over $150.00.
[Illustration: One Group of Five of Ezra Meeker's Hop Houses.]
This was the beginning of the hop business in the Puyallup Valley, and
the Territory of Washington.
This was more money than had been received by any settler in the
Puyallup Valley, excepting perhaps two, from the products of their farm
for that year. My father's nearby neighbors, Messrs. E. C. Mead and L.
F. Thompson, obtained a barrel of hop roots from California the next
year, and planted them the following spring—four acres. I obtained
what roots I could get that year, but not enough to plant an acre.
The following year (1867) I planted four acres, and for twenty-six
successive years thereafter added to this plantation until our holdings
reached past the five-hundred-acre mark, and our production over four
hundred tons a year.
After having produced his third crop my father died (1869), but not
until after he had shipped his hops to Portland, Oregon. In settling up
his affairs I found it necessary for me to go to Portland, and there
met Henry Winehard, who had purchased some of the hops. Mr. Winehard,
was the largest brewer in Oregon. After closing up the business with
Mr. Winehard, he abruptly said, "I want your hops next year." I
answered that I did not know what the price would be. He said, "I will
pay you as much as anybody else," and then frankly told me of their
value. He said they were the finest hops he had ever used, and that
with them he had no need to use either foreign or New York hops, but
with the hops raised in the hotter climate of California, he could not
use them alone. I told him he should have them, and the result was
that for fourteen years, with the exception of one year, Mr. Winehard
used the hops grown on my place, some years 200 bales, some years
more. My meeting with him gave me such confidence in the business that
I did not hesitate to add to my yards as rapidly as I could get the
land cleared, for I had at first planted right among the stumps. There
came a depression in this business in 1869 and 1870, and my neighbors,
Messrs. Mead and Thompson, made the mistake of shipping their hops to
Australia, and finally lost their entire crop—not selling for much, if
anything, above the cost of the freight, while Mr. Winehard paid me
25 cents a pound for my crop. Under the discouragement of the loss of
their crop, Messrs. Mead and Thompson concluded to plow up a part of
their plantation—two acres and a half—whereupon I leased that portion
of their yard for a year, paying them $10.00 an acre in advance, and
harvested from those two acres and a half over four thousand pounds of
hops, and sold them to Henry Winehard for 50 cents a pound. This was
for the crop of 1871.
None of us knew anything about the hop business, and it was totally
accidental that we engaged in it, but seeing that there were
possibilities of great gain, I took extra pains to study up the
question, and found that by allowing our hops to mature thoroughly and
curing them at a low temperature, and baling them while hot, we could
produce a hop that would compete with any product in the world. Others
of my neighbors planted, and also many in Oregon, until there soon
became a field for purchasing and shipping hops.
But the fluctuations were so great that in a few years many became
discouraged and lost their holdings, until finally, during the world's
hop crop failure of the year 1882, there came to be unheard-of prices
for hops, and fully one-third of the crop of the Puyallup Valley was
sold for $1.00 per pound. I had that year nearly 100,000 pounds, which
averaged me 70 cents per pound.
About this time I had come to realize that the important market for
hops was in England, and began sending trial shipments, first, seven
bales, then the following year 500 bales, then 1,500 bales, until
finally our annual shipments reached 11,000 bales a year, or the
equivalent in value of £100,000—half million dollars—said to be at that
time the largest export hop trade by any one concern in the United
States.
This business could not properly be called a venture; it was simply
a growth. The conditions were favorable in that we could produce the
choicest hops in the world's market at the lowest price of any kind,
and we actually did press the English growers so closely that over
fifteen thousand acres of hops were destroyed in that country.
My first hop house was built in 1868—a log house—and stands in Pioneer
Park, Puyallup, to this day, and is carefully preserved by the city
authorities and doubtless will be until it perishes by the hand of
time. We frequently employed from a thousand to twelve hundred people
during the harvest time. Until the beginning of the decline of the
business, the result of that little start of hop roots had brought over
twenty million dollars into the Territory of Washington.
I spent four winters in London on the hop market, and became acquainted
with all the leading hop men of the metropolis.
One evening as I stepped out of my office, and cast my eyes towards one
group of our hop houses, I thought I could see that the hop foliage
of a field nearby was off color—did not look natural. Calling one of
my clerks from the office he said the same thing—they did not look
natural. I walked down to the yards, a quarter of a mile distant, and
there first saw the hop-louse. The yard was literally alive with lice,
and were destroying—at least the quality. At that time I issued a hop
circular, sending it to over 600 correspondents all along the coast in
California, Oregon, Washington, and British Columbia, and before the
week was out. I began to receive samples and letters from them, and
inquiries asking what was the matter with the hops.
It transpired that the attack of lice was simultaneous in Oregon,
Washington and British Columbia, extending over a distance coastwise of
more than 500 miles, and even inland up the Skagit River, where there
was an isolated yard.
It came like a clap of thunder out of a clear sky, so unexpected was it.
I sent my second son, Fred Meeker, to London to study the question
and to get their methods of fighting the pest, and to import some
spraying machinery. We found, however, in the lapse of years, to our
cost, that the conditions here were different, that while we could
kill the louse, the foliage was so dense that we had to use so much
spraying material that, in killing the louse, we virtually destroyed
the hops, and instead of being able to sell our hops at the top price
of the market, our product fell to the foot of the list, the last crop
I raised costing me eleven cents per pound, and selling for three under
the hammer at sheriff's sale.
At that time I had more than $100,000.00 advanced to my neighbors and
others upon their hop crops, which was lost. These people simply could
not pay, and I forgave the debt, taking no judgments against them, and
have never regretted the action.
All of my accumulations were swept away, and I quit the business, or,
rather, the business quit me.
The result was that finally, after a long struggle, nearly all of the
hops were plowed up and the land used for dairy, fruit and general
crops and is actually now of a higher value than when bearing hops.
A curious episode occurred during the height of our struggle to save
the hop business from impending destruction. The Post-Intelligencer of
Seattle published the following self-explanatory correspondence on the
date shown and while the Methodist conferences were yet in session:
THE CURSE ON THE HOPS.
Puyallup, Sept. 6, 1895.
To the Editor:
In this morning's report of the Methodist conference I notice
under the heading "A Curse on the Hop Crop", that Preacher
Hanson, of Puyallup, reported he had some good news from that
great hop country—the hop crop, the main support of the people,
was a failure; the crop had been cursed by God. Whereupon Bishop
Bowman said "Good" and from all over the room voices could be
heard giving utterance to the fervent ejaculation, "Thank God."
For the edification of the reverend fathers and fervent brethren
I wish to publish to them and to the world that I have beat God,
for I have 500 acres of hops at Puyallup and Kent that are free
from lice, the "curse of God," and that I believe it was the
work of an emulsion of whale oil soap and quassie sprayed on the
vines that thwarted God's purpose to "curse" me and others who
exterminated the lice.
One is almost ready to ask if this is indeed the nineteenth
century of enlightenment, to hear such utterances gravely made by
men supposed to be expounders of that great religion of love as
promulgated by the Great Teacher.
I want to recall to the memory of the Rev. Mr. Hanson that the
church in which he has been preaching for a year past was built
in great part by money contributed from gains of this business
"cursed by God." For myself I can inform him that, as a citizen
of Puyallup, I contributed $400, to buy the ground upon which
that church edifice is built, every cent of which came from this
same hop business "cursed by God." I would "thank God" if they
would return the money and thus ease their guilty consciences.
E. MEEKER.
When this letter appeared, vigorous protests came thick and fast and
compelled the good fathers to give Mr. Hanson another charge. But my
vainglorious boasting was not justified as the sequel shows; our hops
were finally destroyed—whether under a curse or not must be decided by
the reader, each for himself or herself. But I never got my $400.00
back, and, in fact, did not want it, and doubtless wrote the letter in
a pettish mood.