Jacob Corwin Blumer (1872 - 1948)

Born 4 Dec 1872 in Engi, Canton Glarus, Switzerland

Ancestors

Died 17 Nov 1948 at age 75 in Clinton, Bigstone Co., Minnesota

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Biography

Notes

Jacob C. Blumer received his bachelor's degree from Iowa State College and his Master's degree in botany from the University of Michigan. Much of his published work in botany was done from Carnegie Desert Botanical Laboratory in Tucson, AZ, starting about 1907 and continuing there until about 1913. From that time until 1917, he was employed by the Canadian Government in forest studies in Alberta and Saskatchewan. His work includes the discovery of at least one new species of plant (Lupinus blumeri--Blumer's lupine) and the publication of a number of botanical papers. His scientific contributions are still highly regarded today. A monograph on his botanical work was published in 1983 in Brittonia, a botanical journal. The bibliographic reference and abstract are as follows:

"Jacob Corwin Blumer, Arizona Botanist by Janice E. Bowers, Brittonia, 35(3), 1983, pp. 197-203, Copyright 1983, by the New York Botanical Garden, Bronx, NY 10458.

"Bowers, Janice E. (3949 E. Paseo Dorado, Tucson, AZ 85711).

Jacob Corwin Blumer, a Swiss-born botanist, collected several thousand plants in southern Arizona, concentrating on the Chiricahua Mountains, Cochise County, and the Rincon Mountains, Pima County. At least 28 of these collections were later designated as type specimens. He published 23 papers on a variety of topics, including plant ecology and plant geography. His botanical career was brief, lasting from 1906 to 1917. He spent the latter half of his life as a farmer in Minnesota.".

[We have a copy of the complete article. PKB].

News item, Sierra Vista Herald (AZ) 10 Aug 1999-- Abuquerque, N.M. (AP) The federal government says it is unnecessary to list a plant found in Arizona, New Mexico, and Mexico as an endangered species.

In withdrawing its proposal to add the plant to the list, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service said on Monday that biologists recently located numerous new areas in which Chiricahua dock, also known as Bloomer's [sic] dock, is growing. [Note: The spelling of Bloomer was later corrected to "Blumer."].

April 1998, when the agency proposed placing the plant under the Endangered Species Act, scientists verified only 10 groups of the plant in Arizona's Chiricahua, Pinaleno, Huachuca, [and] Sierra Ancha mountains.".

John E. Blumer has given us a copy of a high school or college composition that Jacob wrote. I am repeating it here not only because it is interesting as a sample of his writing, but also for the glimpses it gives of life on an Iowa farm in 1889. Jacob was 17 when this incident occurred. He had been in the United States for only 9 years.

Narration and Description.

A FOURTH OF JULY REMINISCENCE.

[By Jacob Corwin Blumer].

It was the Fourth of July, 1889. My father had bought a tract of prairie land that spring. We had considerable breaking to do on it, and when the Fourth came around, we had quite of number of acres left to turn over. As it happened that no celebrations were held for quite a distance around us, and as it was getting late in the season for breaking prairie, we resolved to celebrate in the field.

It was one of those summer mornings on which during the hours of the growth of a new day, the earth lies enshrouded in a dense veil of mist, which is indicative of thunder showers in the afternoon. Before we started to our work, however, 'the lord of day had begun his state,' and every vestige of mist had fled before his imperious eye.

My brother [John], two years my junior, had charge of our small herd of cattle, numbering about twenty-five head, which he daily drove to our prairie to feed off the grass before it was turned under. Father's work was to excavate stone for the foundation of a future house, for we intended to move to our new farm, and my office was to drive my three-horse team and wield the breaking-plow.

Arriving at the scene of our labors, which lay a strong mile to the southeast of what was then our home, we were soon engaged in our several vocations. Viewing our prospective farm from a knoll just within its western border, which we intended for the site of our house, one could see our barn, erected for temporary purposes, on its southeast slope; this was covered by a board roof inclined to the south, and afforded ample room for ourselves and our horses. A few rods to one side, a mound of fresh clay marked the location of our primitive, hand-dug well, perhaps ten feet in depth. Stretching away to the east lay the alternate belts of black and green, the turned and the unturned sod; hemmed in on the north by the beaming face of a large lake-like pond; and skirted on the south by low bluffs, below which, marked here and there by a few willow bushes, Prairie Creek pursued its winding course.

The morning had been very warm, as is usual on such days, the slight breeze which had helped the sun to dispel the fog had died away, and 'Old Sol,' with every step that he rose toward the zenith, sent his burning rays upon the earth with increased power, as though he were determined to set it on fire. The mist of the morning seemed to have found its way to the sky, giving its otherwise spotless blue a whitish tinge; the atmosphere grew more and more oppressive as the hours of the forenoon dragged heavily by; my team seemed to turn the furrow at scarcely half their usual gait; and when the hour for nooning at last arrived, the heat became almost unbearable.

I unhitched my horses, led them to the well, and watered them. Having drunk their unusually large fill, I put them into the barn, unbridled, and fed them. My younger brother Henry, then eight years old, had arrived with our dinner, which he was in the habit of carrying to us. John, leaving his herd lying in the field at its noonday rest, and father, had come in by this time, and we proceeded to dine. Having finished our meal, we listlessly gave ourselves up to the atmosphere, against which we had battled the better part of the forenoon.

Father had fallen into his customary noontide nap; Henry, who seemed to be as lively as ever, had started on his homeward way; when, after some little time, we aroused ourselves from our stupor: John, to take a drowsy look after his charge, and I, to carry out the resolve formed during the forenoon, of taking a bath in Prairie Creek.

On reaching the bluff I was startled by a sound as of muffled thunder. I stopped and looked about. The tinge of the forenoon in the sky had developed into a white veil, through which the sun beat down with stinging severity , as though he apprehended that he was soon to be shut off, and tried to compress all the heat due that afternoon into that one short half-hour. Not a blade stirred; not a sound, whether of bird, or of squirrel, or of insect, was heard; all life seemed to have vanished, save a solitary mosquito, whose odious notes rang about my ears, and which were seconded by the low, ominous rumbling of thunder in the distance. Turning in that direction, I beheld, stretched along the northwestern horizon, a long line of inky blackness. As I stood, the white veil overhead thickened into a darkening curtain, which soon hid the glaring face of the great luminary, and enveloped the earth in a somber shadow. The stifling air began to grow perceptibly cooler; the black belt in the northwest began to widen; a protruding line of gray surmounting it began to develop; this rapidly rose and grew in proportions, closely followed by the leaden black; fiery bolts shot hither and thither, the rumbling changed to a roar; the gray mass advancing, working, changing, bulging, towering, with every increasing rapidity and direful grandeur. The storm would be upon us in a moment.

Of course I had now given up all thought of a bath; which we were all to have without effort on our part, retraced my steps with alacrity, and reached the shelter just as the gale struck us. Father and John were waiting for me.

We gathered in the dryest corner and fancied ourselves safe. But after the first volumes of rain had beaten against the walls for about ten minutes, the force of the even now powerful wind began to increase, until our building shivered and creaked from top to bottom. We deemed it advisable to forsake our shelter, lest it should prove disastrous to us. Accordingly we each untied a horse, and pulled the unwilling animals out into the merciless storm, out of the way of the barn should it fail to stand, and stationed ourselves across a furrow, the horses side by side. This furrow afforded us a fair foothold, and enabled us, by clinging to the bridles, and stemming our backs against the furious gale, to hold our own, although with great difficulty. Had it not been for the fact that we were behind the hill, we never could have weathered the gale. Hardly two minutes after we had gained this position, we heard a crash.

Looking up, we beheld the entire roof of our edifice flying through space and settling to the ground like a huge bird a full thirty rods away. Not a stick was left standing to mark the site of our late abode, walls and posts alike being scattered along the ground for a considerable distance.

Although battling with the elements, and already thoroughly drenched by the driving mass of water whipped into spray by the relentless wind, we entertained a feeling as of security, at having so happily escaped the wreck. But the storm gave no signs of abating, it rather seemed to increase its fury. By pulling at the horse's bits all that our arms would hold, and continually speaking to them in an affected quieting tone, we managed to hold the frantic animals, which were more than disposed to fly before the storm's stinging lash.

At times it seemed that we must give them up, but still we struggled on. It resembled a wintry blizzard, all enveloped in black, its snow turned to spray, and driving with almost double speed. To us it felt like one long [time] before it showed any signs of exhaustion.

At last, after fully two hours of raving, the storm began to spend itself. The rain ceased, and the wind gradually, but very slowly, lost its power. The dark curtain withdrew and disclosed our surroundings once more. No cattle could be seen. They had fled with the storm. Nearly exhausted, dripping wet, shivering with cold, and in anything but a hopeful frame of mind, we decided to leave our bovine tribe to its fate for the day, and to see if we could find a home. We slowly picked ourselves together, hitched [our horses] to the wagon, which, fortunately had been driven but a few rods, and started against the still strong and very chilly breeze homeward. Father expressed no little anxiety for Henry, who could not have reached home before the hurricane was upon him.

Plodding wearily through the mud, we, quite benumbed with the cold, finally came in sight of home. The now western sun looked out once more with a cold and ghastly smile, and showed it to us in a rather dilapidated condition, but still there. The house was minus the chimney, the barn partly unroofed, and full half of the yard fences either leveled or toppling over. Mother was relieved of a load of anxiety when she saw us coming, but neither she nor we found Henry. Father straightway started in search of him, and fortunately, soon found him at a neighbor's house. He had been on the open field during the storm. His path lay right against the gale, and it hurled him back and rolled him over every time he rallied against it, until he was exhausted and lay in a heap until the storm was past. Otherwise he was unhurt.

He then made his way to the neighbor's. The cattle we found the next day after some search several miles in the direction of the storm. Much property was destroyed that day, and many a picnic party had fared no better than we, who were grateful that we had fared so well. It was a memorable Fourth.

Sources

• Family records, and personal knowledge and notes from my father, Philip K Blumer. Jacob Corwin Blumer was my father's "Uncle Jake".
• "United States Census, 1930," database with images, FamilySearch (https://familysearch.org/ark:/61903/1:1:XMJN-ZYJ : accessed 1 October 2021), Jacob C Blumer in household of John Blumer, Vernon, Humboldt, Iowa, United States; citing enumeration district (ED) ED 21, sheet 5B, line 56, family 139, NARA microfilm publication T626 (Washington D.C.: National Archives and Records Administration, 2002), roll 659; FHL microfilm 2,340,394.
• "United States Census, 1920", database with images, FamilySearch (https://www.familysearch.org/ark:/61903/1:1:M81W-3FS : 1 February 2021), Jacob C Blumer in entry for John Blumer, 1920.
• "Minnesota Deaths, 1887-2001," database, FamilySearch (https://familysearch.org/ark:/61903/1:1:HVTZ-Q3W2 : 8 April 2020), Jacob C Blumer, 17 Nov 1948; citing Death, Minnesota State Department of Health, St. Paul.