End Of Era In Redmond?

EASTSIDE residents came to T & D Feed yesterday to mourn the closure of a longtime resource for farmers and a symbol of a declining agrarian lifestyle.

REDMOND - Suzy Moery, 67, and Alix Trewin, 71, are neighbors on what was once called Siler Road and now is Northeast 204th Street. Thursa Hall Ormberg, 70, also lived in Redmond for many years but now makes her home in Enumclaw.

The three women met in an aisle at T & D Feed Store yesterday, and though much time had passed, their memories were still clear.

None seemed to have forgotten Douglass Drugs, which had the best sodas for miles around, or how you could drive up Fall City Highway to visit someone and never see another car roar past. Or how the most exciting time in Redmond was during the weekends, when loggers would come down from the hills to spend their paychecks.

"It all comes back like a flood," Ormberg said, blinking back tears. "People living here now don't have a clue. They don't have a clue of how beautiful it used to be."

The women came to T & D Feed Store yesterday to bid their last farewell. After a final day of sales and goodbyes, the downtown mainstay closed permanently.

Lowell DeYoung, who started the business with the late Buzz Thompson, said he wouldn't talk about his reasons for closing the store until later. Most of the store's customers, however, said they saw it as a sign that the old Redmond is gone for good.

The original building, at 16355 Cleveland St., was erected in 1918. The "Co-op," as it was known, served as a cooperative grange, where a group of farmers acted like an investment group, working together to mill, sell and market feed and other goods.

The present-day building, erected in 1930, maintained the same flavor, operating as a feed store under the name Western Farmers and then Nordquist Feed Mills. The DeYoung family purchased the store in the early 1970s and renamed it T & D Feed.

Tom Bauer was 23 when he was hired at Western Farmers in 1967. Since then, the store has become his life.

Bauer, now the store manager, has come to know his customers like family and has made his own family a part of the store. When his son, Tom Bauer Jr., turned 13, he gave him a job sweeping the floor. When his son reached the ninth grade, Bauer let him move up to hauling 50-pound bags of feed.

Yesterday, Bauer wondered out loud whether the feed store's closing will mark a lifestyle change for many of the Eastside residents who run hobby farms. Fewer residents of the surrounding valley will be inclined to buy chicks in the spring or to keep a horse, since they'll have to drive farther - to either Woodinville or Issaquah - to pick up feed.

"You don't see many businesses like this up here," he said. "It's a shame."

All day, loyal customers and friends streamed into the store, bearing cakes, cookies and warm memories. Michael McCrea, 36, has come to the store since he was a kid. Now he thinks of opening up his own feed store. He sees value in this way of life.

"Even though you can't stop progress, I think the sad thing is that future children are going to think eggs come from a brown carton in a grocery store," said McCrea, who owns a hobby farm. "I think it's a sad day for Redmond."

Nick Fletcher, an employee of 10 years, spent the last day ringing up sales. He called the feed store the last vestige of what once was.

"I didn't know I would be this upset and I think it's more because the store is going to be gone," he said. "I suppose it's different when you leave on your own terms."

Jack Larson, 76, worked at Western Farmers and T & D Feed for half a century. After he retired, Larson still came to work every Saturday to sit behind the counter on his favorite stool, mostly to cause mischief.

Larson's family moved to Issaquah in 1936, when he was 13. He had three brothers, worked on a dairy farm, fought in the war, and once saved up enough money to buy an old Model A, with a white ragtop, that he would drive to the Honeysuckle to buy homemade ice cream.

These are stories he tells at the feed store.

"I hate to see this go," Larson said, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his pinstripe overalls, an old ball cap slightly tilted on his head.

With that, Larson turned and headed for the back exit, his gait stiffened by time. Slowly, he walked past rows of garden tools and bird feed and 50 years of memories until he finally hit the door, never once looking back.

Monica Soto's phone message number is 206-515-5632. Her e-mail address is msoto@seattletimes.com