Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1890-09-18
JOAQUIN Is 4 HERMIT.
The Poet of the Sierras Withdraws from
Active Life-A Home on a Height.
San francisco Chronicle

The Poet of the Sierras Withdraws from
Active Life-A Home on Height.
San Francisco Chronicle.
There was ripple of surprise mani
fest when Joaquin Miller, the poet of the
Sierras, refused to furnish the annual
Fourth of July poem for the local COM
mittee. People who know the cratic
Joaquin, however, did not marval over
his refusual, as they have known for a
long time that the poet is no longer the
public character, the man of the world,
and the PLATFORM speaker of days gone
by, but has of recent years developed into
a veritable recluse.
Mr.. Miller is not at all charmed with
our modern civilization. There are many
material things which CRATE harshly upon
his poetic nature. and he has learned to
ignore rather than love the bustling busy
life of city and town. Not many years
ago he declared that never again would
he cross the continent, and that the
country to the east of Mount Shasta,
those rugged peaks he loved so well,
would see him no more,
High up up on the foothills, three.
miles back Of East Oakland, Miller pur-
chased ffty-acre tract of land two years
ago, and here he has built his home.
From the doorway of his cottage he views
the Golden Gate and the cities of San
Francisco and Oakland. They are enough
to him, he says, from that distance, and
he has so far followed his life as hermit
that he scarcely ever comes to the city.
During the past year his visits have been
growing more infrequent, and he even
refused to see the city people who climb
the mountain side to pay their respects to
him.
A long, winding, marrow path, just
climb, leads to the home Of the poet recIuse.
Once upon the summit, joaquin MilIer's
place is pointed out to the visitors by a
rancher's child. There is scarcely foot
of level land on the poets tract of fifty
acres. Shade and fruit trees, young but
strudy, plants, flowers ana struggling
stone wall, cling to the mountain side as
if fastened there and held in place by in
visible strings. The home" consists of
three cottages, fifty feet apart, strange,
odd and fanciful bui 'dings, designed after
some weired genius of an architect. Mil
Ter lives in one. his mother in another
and the other members of the household
in the third.
When a reporter climbed the dizzy
height yesterday he found the door of
the poets cottage open. In the center
of the room was cot, luxurious in rugs
and furs, ard On the cot reclined the poet
busy with pen and sper, pausing in his
work only long enough TO glance through
the open door way at the city below and
the blue expanse of ocean far beyond
This is as the poet claims, is his only in
spiration-the view of what man has made
and the work of God as the background
of the picture.
Joaquin remains in bed until high noon.
Awaking at an early hour he takes light
repast and smokes a cigar, and then he
writes and works necessarily until noon.
When his days task is done he gets up
like other men, roam about his acres.
trains his vines, or nurse the young trees
growing upon the hillside. His trees
are passion with him. Even while COM
posing verses, and while enjoying his
morning labor In night-cap and dressing
gown, he thinks of his trees. He had
gathered them from the uttermost parts of
the earth, has imported spring, spray
and sprout from every known part of the
civilized world.
Mrs. Miller and her daughter recently
arrived frem New York city, and are now
the guests of Joaquin at The Heights.
Obeying the poets dictate, they live apart,
as does the mother of this cratic man.
Each has her own dewelilng-place, which
is sacred to the occupant.
Il believe in personal seclusion,' says
the poet. "A man should not be familiar
even with the members of his own family
There are times in the life of every one
when solitude is an absolute necessity.
Men enjoy their own society the best, and
doubtless, women are the same. Every day
men and women introude too much upon
erch other. When | walk over to mother s
cottage | stand without her door, hat in
hand, and knock for permission to enter.
The same is true when she calls at my
door. We meet in common only at table
Ny house is my castle, and even my
mother would not break in on my solitude
without first asking permission.
A game hen died died on R. w. Gam
ble's place, at Cuthbert' Ga, few days
ago. This hen had reached the age OF
fourteen years. lacking on Y few weeks.
She continued to lay eggs until year be-
fore she died For several months she had
been totally blind, but was fed and watered
regularly by Miss Mary Gamble, In 1886.
when Mr.. Gamble moved to Macon. this
hen was carried there, and brought back
when he returned to Cuthbert. In the
spring OF 1882, when the cyclone struck
Mr.. Gamble's place and tore things up, this
old hen was setting in a box on the Kitchen
hearth. The kitchen was blown away. the
chimney was missing, but the hearth re-
manned, and there sat the old hen in her
box. as composed as though nothing had
happened.
\ family reunion was held at Lancaster,
Mass. on the 10Th instant, which was
somwhat remarkable. Mr. and Mrs.
John W. Barnes were married there in
May. 1885, and have been blessed with
eight children, four girls and four BOYS.
The entire family were gathered under tie
parental roof on the above date for the
first time in eighteen years. Instances of
ffty-fve years years of married life. with
out break in so large a number of
children, are certainly very rare, and the
Barnes family of Lancaster ought to be
desirable risks for life insurance com
panies. The average age of the whole
family was found to be sos years, rang
ing from eighty-fve to thirty-fve, and
the average weight 1913 pounds