Harvey Marshall Wooden was the son of Isaac and Rebecca (Stephenson) Wooden. He married Mary Jane Smith on February 17, 1863, in Carroll County, Missouri.

[The following information is from a description written by Harvey's youngest daughter, Fannie (Wooden) Garman, in the book, Wooden Family, by Dorothy Sykes, Jennie Opal Kleitz O'Roark, Herb Wooden.]

Harvey M. Wooden—"Harve" as he like to be called—was a man of greatest integrity, honesty and well being. He was well known in the northwestern part of Benton County, Arkansas, where he was a citizen for many years.

He moved to Arkansas with his family of five boys and two girls. One daughter, Susan Ellen, married and remained in Texas. The trek from Texas to Arkansas was by wagons, one drawn by oxen and one by horses. On arrival in Arkansas, Harve bought a place consisting of 130 acres, plus a 20 acre tract of timber land about one half mile from the main body of the farm. The 20 acres furnished fuel for the house, material for fence rails, fence posts, and years later railroad ties for a Santa Fe Railroad, which was put through the country ten miles away from the farm.

For years the nearest town of any size was the county seat (Bentonville). A very small town (Maysville) with one drug store, one dry good store, and hardware combined also a Post Office which was carried on in a widow's home and a blacksmith shop.

The farm Harve bought was well grown up with Hazel Brush and Persimmon Sprouts, and was generally spoken of as "a poor flat woods place." After much hard work, the place was cleared of rubbish and was well stocked with sheep, hogs, cattle and horses. For years, Harve raised Poland China hogs, and later he raised Berkshire's. In the summer of 1901, cholera struck his bunch of hogs and only one new born pig survived. He soon stocked up again.

Harve was very daring and venturesome. On one occasion, he started from home with a load of hogs to market. As it was a rainy season the streams were swollen an deep. He drove into Spavinaw Creek and his wagon wheels got into a washed out gulch. He had to get off, make his way to the bck end , take the wagon rod out, take out the end gate and let the hogs go free. He then made his way back to the team and drove them out. He then got his hogs together, loaded them again, and went on his way to Bentonville.

Harve hauled meat, lard, potatoes, and fruit down into Indian Territory (now Oklahoma) and sold it where he could. Often he would take a load of wares up into Kansas.

The family home was a log structure with an upstairs and side room for a kitchen. A big, spacious fireplace furnished heat for the house. Regardless of room or anything else, no one in need was ever turned away. Harve would say, "I have five boys and I don't know when one of them will come to this." Tramps, bums, and all where cared for. One cold day a man, who gave his name as Mr. Fowler from Iowa, rode up on horseback, with a bunch of half starved cattle. Harve took him, his horse and cattle and kept them quite a length of time.

It was a home of prayer. The Bible was read and Prayer was offered before retiring and before beginning the day's work. Harve was Steward in the Methodist Church for years and active in everything concerning the welfare of the community. They were in church, often for the services on Sunday as well as Saturday night and midweek services.

Harve's wive, Mary Jane, although not too well in body most of her life, was right with her husband in everything he undertook. She did all his writing and helped in every way to carry on. Harve at that time was maintaining two farms beside the home, one in Texas and one in Missouri.

Harve was a droll, "not say much," fellow. If he did tell a joke, it was usually quite clever. He loved children and they loved him. When he was around the house or barn it was not unusual to see two or three boys following and chattering with him.

Harve was a strong, healthy person. The writer only remembers him having three sick spells, until the one which took him away. At one time after he had been feeling bad, he was out walking in the hog pasture and when he came to the house he said to his son, "Sam, over across the creek on the side of the hill, I've stuck down a walnut stick, where I want to be buried. I've paid enough taxes on this place that I ought have a resting place here." He lived several years after this, but finally asthma and flu took their toll and Harve was buried on the hillside as requested.

The old home, then enclosed by a hand woven wire fence made to his orders and specifications. The grave covered over with concrete will always mark the spot where a wonderful person lies. Surveyors have made a highway which runs not too many feet from the grave, and to the mind of the writer have ruined the farm by splitting it half in two.

NOTE: His obituary states that he died at his home six miles west of Gravette, Arkansas, and was buried about 250 yards from his residence.