Hans Berthusen came to Whatcom County at the age of 23 when it was just a sprawling wilderness.
He was born in Norway on January 20th 1860 and Berthusen's father brought the family to Marshall, County, Iowa in 1864. At the age of 19, Berthusen began trekking his way west, eventually settling in Whatcom county in 1863 with his friend Mark Stone.
Together they homesteaded the one hundred sixty acres of land covered with a dense growth of timber and brush. Berthusen personally cleared one hundred acres and constructed a log cabin.
In 1890 he purchased an additional 80 acres, and cleared 40 of those acres in order to be sold. While living on this land Berthusen ran a successful dairy, but then eventually turned to cultivating the land. His improvements included the building of two barns, one of them considered to be the largest in Whatcom County at the time.
Berthusen kept about twenty acres of pristine virgin timber untouched by the axe as a visible testament to what the country looked like when he arrived. Despite timbers immense worth, Berthusen refused to cut these acres, saying the money couldn't compensate the pride and pleasure derived from living among his trees.
On December 25, 1889, Berthusen married Miss Leda Hawley. She was an avid lover of flowers and her green thumbs added to the charm of the Berthusen Farm. They lived a joyous life on their farm until her death in November 19, 1943. Hans died a few months later on February 7, 1944. Upon his death, he bestowed his homestead of 263 acres to the city of Lynden.
For more information contact The City of Lynden Park Office at 360-354-6717
(Information provided by the Lynden Parks Department.)
Linden Tree Poem
The Lynden area was originally known as Squahalish but was renamed to "Lynden" in 1873 by Phoebe Judson when the town got a post office. The name comes from Judson's favorite poem, the Linden Tree, but she preferred the more graceful "y" in place of the "i".
by Thomas Campbell
- On Linden, when the sun was low,
- All bloodless lay the untrodden snow,
- And dark as winter was the flow
- Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
- But Linden saw another sight
- When the drum beat at dead of night,
- Commanding fires of death to light
- The darkness of her scenery.
- By torch and trumpet fast arrayed,
- Each horseman drew his battle blade,
- And furious every charger neighed
- To join the dreadful revelry.
- Then shook the hills with thunder riven,
- Then rushed the steed to battle driven,
- And louder than the bolts of heaven
- Far flashed the red artillery.
- But redder yet that light shall glow
- On Linden's hills of stainèd snow,
- And bloodier yet the torrent flow
- Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
- 'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun
- Can pierce the war clouds, rolling dun,
- Where furious Frank and fiery Hun
- Shout in their sulphurous canopy.
- The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
- Who rush to glory, or the grave!
- Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave,
- And charge with all thy chivalry!
- Few, few shall part where many meet!
- The snow shall be their winding-sheet,
- And every turf beneath their feet
- Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.