Iowa County democrat. [volume] (Mineral Point, Wis.) 1877-1938, 1890-09-12
JOAQUIN Is \ HERMIT.
The Poet of the Sierras Withdraws from
Active Life-A Home on IA Height.
San ErhnciScn Ehrnninln

There was Il 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 marvaI 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
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 wears
ago he declared that never again would
he cross the continent, and that the
country to the east of Mount Shasta.
whose rugged peaks he loved so we'll
would see him no more.
High up up on the foothills, three.
miles back of East Oakland, Miller pur-
chased a tifty-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 Il 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
wide enough for sharp-shod horse to
climb, leads to the home of the poetreclnse.
Once upon the summit, joaquin MilIer's
place is pointed out to the visitors by a
rancher's child. There is scarcely Il foot
of level land on the poets tract of fifty
acres. Shade and fruit trees, young but
strudy. plants, flowers and a 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 buildings, 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
anu luIS. anu tt ILt Gpt lENi4ilttL LllC pttL
busy with pen and paper. 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
>piration-the view of what man has made
and the work of God as the background
If the picture.
JOAQUIN remains in bed until high noon.
Awaking at an early hour ne takes q 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 frcm New York city. and are now
ne guests Of joaquin at . The Heights
0beying the poets dictate, they live apart,
as does the 9.UJher Of this erTatIc man.
Each h. ner own dewelllng-pl 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 81 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
cottage | stand without her door, hat IN
hand, and knock for permission 70 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