Sacramento daily record-union., 1890-07-27
II The sIEaRAs.
GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION OF A WANDER.
ERs BIRTHPLACE.
How the Ranchers In the Mountains
Have Fun Fighting Forest Fires
The Desorter's Cabin.


The Deserter's Cabin.
My holiday. which was at first intended
as a temporary affair, now threatens to pro-
long itself indefinitely, and, as far as my
association with the great dailies of Nevada
City is concerned, to become permanent
The fact is, am not yet as plump and
tender and full of new fire and spirit as
thought | should be after few weeks of
rustication in the woods. l am still able
to eat six rashers of calicoed bacon, two
pounds of fried potatoes, eight soda-and-
salerratus biscuits, four ounces of butter,
one pennyweight of jerked beef, seven PAN
cakes, five cups of coffee. two drachms of
mush, three farthings of rancid cheese,
nine grains of salt and pepper, and pint
of nigger-heel molasses for breakfast; but
the thought that have nothing else to do
makes me very sad, and do not digest
we'll when am sad Sadness is not a fat
producer, and | regret to say that l am
with all the most delightful scenes of hill
and dale, forest and stream, and other
things too numerous to mention above me,
and still my shadow and my substance
have not increased to an alarming extent.
Since | left the camp on the Yuba two
weeks ago, have been making little tours
o. inspection to those places wherein
spent the first years of my existence. AZ
ter skirmishing around over the country
for fifteen years, one naturally likes to am
BILE back to the cid home place, sit his tear
jug in the shade of tree, sit down on an
ant hill and gaze for while at his birth
place.
Ny birth place is not very striking
piece of scenery, and think the Landscape
| might get along without it. There is no
great mansion there, with haunted cham
ber; no great oaks and pines, with hooks
and whispered monodies; no old servants
who remember the black sheep; no faith
full old dog to look up and whine and die
with JOY at my return. There is nothing
there at all like the old birth places we
read about in books not even log cabin
with coon skin tackled on the door,,
There is nothing more than bare, yellow
field, with the remains of an old cellar in
the center of it, and the man who owns
the field told me that at least one COW got
into that cellar every winter and died in
the mud, and he intended having it filled
up just as soon as he had time to do it.
was born somewhere over that cellar,
and | would like to preserve it, but the
man said he would not sell the hole I'M
lass he could sell the whole ranch, and |
put my money back and sighed long,
sobbing sort of sigh as l went away.
But did find one relic Thirty years
ago my father, who was a very handy hus-
bandman, and who could make all sorts of
jimcracks craftily, made a trundle-bed, and
In it | spent several years of my early boy
hood. When had grown SO much that |
could turn the grindstone, cut kindling,
carry wood and water, wipe dishes, hunt
the cows, rake hay, pick up stones in the
field, run errands, milk the COWS, feed the
pigs, herd the calves, gather the eggs,
carry the baby and look after the other
children, and do many other little tasks of
light. and easy nature, the old trundle-
bed was given to more recent arrival,
and was given voluptuous couch in the
attic, where the hired man, and a great
many other things, were wont to pass the
night. When the old home place was de-
serted the trundle-bed was dragged out
and thrown into thicket. When | left
the owner of the cellar l ambled into the
thicket, hung my harp on buckeye bush,
and sat down to weep, and my tears
splashed down upon the only remaining
hind leg of that dear old trundle-bed. /
took it up tenderly, killed the centipede l
foupd updor ooJ hrn,cLt :.
is all that remains of my babyhood.
Pleasant valley, where was born, is a
pleasant place in summer 1t is in the
foothills of the Sierra Nevada mountains,
below the pine timber belt, but in the
citrus belt, the quartz belt, the turkey belt
! and the polecat belt There are more pole
cats in Pleasant valley than in any other
section of Nevada county, and it keeps the
ranchers busy raising chickens to satisfy
the voracious appetites of those amusing
little insects.
The polecat is another product of nature
for which | can see no use. He is very or
namental and adds greatly to the beauty
of landscape at a distance of few fur
longs; but he is too familiar, investigative
and benefcent. as well as distinctive, when
viewed more closely As a pet, he is
failure. Society may worship the poodle but
1t Will never tolerate the polecat, and the
sooner this great truth is recognized the
better. And yet there are polecats in So
ciety.
Pleasant valley is essentially settle
ment of ranchers, who raise hay. cattle.
children and other live stock. Some of
the residents have been in Pleasant valley
since 1S49, and are enormously rich,
having managed to acquire several
sections of land, around which they have
placed several huudred thousand miles of
barbed wire fence, which the same is a
pastime to climb. Getting on the ragged
edge in politics is nothing like getting on
the ragged edge of barbed wire fence.
In Pleasant valley there is a man who
once boldly asserted, and even swore, that
he would never marry. because he hated
children. But he was mistaken in him.
self. He has been a married man for ten
years, and has had two wives. He is still
vigorous, although he is the father of four
teen children. He was married with
musket to begin with, and now, when he
wishes to ascertain the identity of his
youngest child, he stands them all UP
against the wall in the kitchen and uses a
spirit level.
There is another father in Pleasant
valley who was rather doubtful of the re-
suit of marriage. When Cupid came to
him one day and jabbed his spear into his
heart, lights and liver, and then went away
humming a verse from little Annie Rooney,
the poor young bachelor was sore dis
tressed. Like Mr.. Fiske of Fresno, he
was fond of shekels, and he was afraid that
marriage would lessen his hoard. He loved
the girl, but he also loved his gold, and for
a long time he pondered over the problem
until his head ached. He would think
and think about it, and, going into the
room where his treasure, was:
zone cautious glance around he stole,
One awful wink he wunk;
And then a terrible smile he smole
And his bags OF chiuk he chunk
An idea at last entered his weary brain,
and he hit upon plan. He lived alone,
and cooked his own food. When he sat
down to his lonely meals he placed two
plates upon his table. One was for him.
self. The other was for her. When he
helped himself to piece of bread, ladle
of beans or hunk of salt, fat pork, he
placed an equal quantity upon the other
plate for her. In this way did he decide
the question, and to-day he is happy
father H,c ,,f, la, hao,, looJ .o.-.'.1