One of my favorite local stories concerns Margaret Ross, who homesteaded in northern Pacific County along with her two adult sons. They got into a wonderfully awful feud with the neighbors.

People who don’t know any better say there’s two sides to every story. But as someone who’s been in the newspaper business in one way or another since I was 15, I can testify there are as many sides to a story as there are individuals who think they know anything about it. Maybe more.

To her enemies — pretty much the entire population of Pacific County — Margaret Ross was a hellcat, liar and claim jumper. To her friends — including state legislators for whom she worked, and members of the suffragette-leaning Monday Civic Club of Tacoma — she was a forward-thinking pioneer. A former newspaperwoman from Sioux Falls, S.D., she was determined to make it on her own.

The early 20th century was a time when ordinary people had to fight hard to make a decent life in these thick woods. In the forests along North River, which empties into Willapa Bay between Raymond and the ocean, railroads were avidly stealing all they could and selling it to George Weyerhaeuser. Local residents were peevish.

Into this settling, Ross and her two boys boldly blundered. Judging from press accounts, diplomats they were not. In May 1913 they moved next to and partially overran another homestead owned by a Mrs. Vanderpool, who previously had staked her claim and then went away to work, clouding her title. A few weeks later, Vanderpool and her son showed back up in a hurry. Fireworks commenced.

The battle royal gained steam throughout the summer. One example later recounted in court: “Mrs. Ross described how … as she toiled up the steps leading to her home with sugar, flour, lard and other staples … Mrs. Vanderpool played ‘You’re old, but You’re Awful Tough’ on a phonograph, and as the disc whirred along its dismal strain Mrs. Ross said her neighbor cranked the machine again, put in a keen needle and started the song anew.”

This in turn sparked one of the feud’s high points, as the Ross boys accidentally-on-purpose dropped a six-foot diameter fir on the Vanderpool cabin, with Mrs. Vanderpool in it.

Finally, deep in the night of Jan. 11, 1913, a dozen local men disguised in hoods — they came to be called the Night Riders — arrived at the Ross cabin, burned it and the barn to the ground and forcibly escorted Mrs. Ross and the boys to the old Chehalis (Grays Harbor) County line, with instructions never to return.

Time after time, state and federal juries found the Night Riders not guilty of any crime.

I haven’t managed to track down what happened to Mrs. Ross after her years of notoriety, but I’ll bet she remained interesting. She may have been a claim jumper. But I’m absolutely certain she was one grand woman.

Asked in court about her prior life in South Dakota, “Did you have any controversies or trouble there?” she simply responded “I was in the newspaper business six years.” The courtroom snickered.

Be curious about everything and everyone, don’t be afraid, don’t be boring, write well and true, never shy away from controversies and trouble: This is my advice to young journalists and what we endeavor to do every day at the Chinook Observer. We deeply appreciate your support.