This happened on Paiute Mountain when Joanne was about five years old. Call it 1939. At the time Sid was up on the mountain and working at or had some connection with the sawmill. Possibly Norwin, Esther's brother, was there as well along with his daughter Beverly. Audrey and Bev were probably thirteen at the time.
At the time the cook at the sawmill was a girl in her middle to late teens. Audrey and Bev used to go up to the sawmill because it was another girl, some company. After breakfast was served the cook persuaded Audrey and Bev to go for a walk with her. So off they went for a walk. The girls didn't know that their friend the cook was running away.
In due course the three of them were missed and somehow Esther got word of it. She grabbed Joanne and Fritz, loaded them into the family flivver and went to Nick Williams. Nick asked Esther to wait for a little bit. They had some lunch. Then they drove to where a canyon emptied into Walker Basin. “Now, call to them,” asked Nick.
Audrey adds a few things to this account since she was an actual participant in the adventure. “I was the most timid and didn't want to leave (the sawmill) in the first place, but Beverly wanted to go and they chided me for being a coward, which I was. …
“Beverly always felt that no one wanted her and I think that was why she was so adventurous. She told me later that she was just showing off when she climbed one hundred feet up a big pine tree and swung the top of the tree back and forth... . She needed someone to take notice of her. The other girl was simply bored. I just wanted to go home and be safe.
“The canyon was shaped like a funnel. About halfway down the canyon it was so narrow it was hard to find a place to put our feet...At one spot there were a lot of rocks with the water running down and between them. We had to slide twenty feet down these rocks, which were very steep, once down we could not go back up. Fortunately there were leaves all over the rocks so we slid, not scraped, our way down, but the men following us were not so lucky and they had torn clothes and scratched bottoms from the slide.
“They were very angry and threatened us with having an axe handle broken over our butts.
“When it was nearly dark and we were coming to the desert, I wanted to build a bed by the river so we could sleep near water. We built a little shelter and then the mountain lion started screaming. Then they (Bev and the other girl) finally became scared too, and so we ran down to the desert floor where we met the biggest rattlesnake I have ever seen. By that time the men were close behind us and killed the snake just before Mother called us to the truck, which was parked on a dirt road nearby.”
Joanne adds that Esther called to the girls and they answered. Soon, they materialized out of the brush. Williams knew from the trail they had taken where they would have to come out in Walker Basin, and he didn't even need a global positioning device. Ranching all of your life and seeing the land from the back of a horse gives you a pretty good sense of the lay of the land.
Sid. And possibly Norwin, came out soon after the girls. He had found the tracks of a mountain lion following them. Probably the cat was curious about who was trespassing on his range.
Audrey adds, “I got to see Nick's place and one thing I remember was a huge service area with a long table and on it were large metal bowls with cream and butter in them.They looked so rich to me.
“Driving back to the mountain it was dark and cold. The headlights of the pickup brightened the bottoms of the trees and rocks, the wind blew our hair and faces, and it was silent except for the sound of the car, and the stars were bright and the feeling was eerie to be safe in the dark as the car struggled up the hill. We did not speak.”
Friday, December 11, 2009
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Scuttle
Joanne's parents lived in East Los Angeles during World War II. A number of cats and dogs came into their lives. Joanne was fond of them all, but she established a special rapport with a female cat named Scuttle. Joanne was Scuttle's special person. That's not always comfortable.
Scuttle turned up pregnant, as female cats often do, and chose the family linen closet as her place to deliver. Joanne was attracted to the closet by Scuttles noises. She found the cat in mid-delivery and Scuttle promptly grabbed her hand with both paws. She took a forefinger in her mouth, but didn't bite hard, just held it. When Joanne tried to withdraw, Scuttle bit down a little harder. The cat just wanted the girl there in her time of need.
Scuttle delivered a litter of kittens. A little time passed and the family decided to visit their mining claim on Paiute Mountain. With the gasoline rationing during the war, trips to the mountain were very rare, only twice a year.
The cabin had been shut up for quite a while. Whatever the mice could get into, they had gotten into it. Fortunately, the Heysers had brought along fresh provisions. They got the cabin opened up, a fire going in the fire place to take the chill off, and eventually the entire family went to bed.
That's when Scuttle came into her own. There were mice all over the cabin. They had multiplied during the war years. As far as Scuttle was concerned, it was a kitty cat heaven. All night long she busied herself. People heard her. Scramble-scratch-scramble-scratch-squeak-squeak-THUMP!
The next morning all of Scuttle's babies lay on their backs, their kitten bellies distended and stretched to the fullest. They were so full of mice they couldn't eat. Not only that, every member of the family had a dead mouse on their pillow. Once her babies had enough and she was full, she didn't see why she shouldn't share the bounty. Everyone had a mouse on their pillow, except Joanne. She had three.
It isn't always comfortable being a cat's special person.
Scuttle turned up pregnant, as female cats often do, and chose the family linen closet as her place to deliver. Joanne was attracted to the closet by Scuttles noises. She found the cat in mid-delivery and Scuttle promptly grabbed her hand with both paws. She took a forefinger in her mouth, but didn't bite hard, just held it. When Joanne tried to withdraw, Scuttle bit down a little harder. The cat just wanted the girl there in her time of need.
Scuttle delivered a litter of kittens. A little time passed and the family decided to visit their mining claim on Paiute Mountain. With the gasoline rationing during the war, trips to the mountain were very rare, only twice a year.
The cabin had been shut up for quite a while. Whatever the mice could get into, they had gotten into it. Fortunately, the Heysers had brought along fresh provisions. They got the cabin opened up, a fire going in the fire place to take the chill off, and eventually the entire family went to bed.
That's when Scuttle came into her own. There were mice all over the cabin. They had multiplied during the war years. As far as Scuttle was concerned, it was a kitty cat heaven. All night long she busied herself. People heard her. Scramble-scratch-scramble-scratch-squeak-squeak-THUMP!
The next morning all of Scuttle's babies lay on their backs, their kitten bellies distended and stretched to the fullest. They were so full of mice they couldn't eat. Not only that, every member of the family had a dead mouse on their pillow. Once her babies had enough and she was full, she didn't see why she shouldn't share the bounty. Everyone had a mouse on their pillow, except Joanne. She had three.
It isn't always comfortable being a cat's special person.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Life's Mysteries
Joanne and I were married by a Unitarian minister in June, 1956. After the ceremony we borrowed her parents' GMC 3/4-ton and their poodle, Bobo, and set off to the cabin for our honeymoon. I think her parents insisted we take Bobo because they wanted someone on the expedition who had some sense.
Everything went according to plan except we forgot Bobo's dog food. He had to settle for leftovers. He liked the stew and the spaghetti, but he drew the line at beans. One night we put spaghetti and beans in a big mixing bowl. He ate all the spaghetti and licked the bowl clean – but he left every bean. But he had licked each bean dry. I still don't know how he did that. One of life's mysteries.
Another great mystery is some peoples' sense of timing. What was it that could prompt Joanne's first cousin Bill to show up with a friend to do some hunting while we were on our honeymoon? Alternatively, what could have prompted us to have our honeymoon just when he and his friend wanted to go hunting?
Bill and his friend hiked around for a while and stayed the night. They left early next morning. And it was OK. It was fine. Joanne and I have been married 53 years and counting, and I reckon that we have spent almost 18 of those years in bed together. From that standpoint, one night out of 18 years isn't that big of a deal. Besides, we really needed someone to help us eat those beans.
Everything went according to plan except we forgot Bobo's dog food. He had to settle for leftovers. He liked the stew and the spaghetti, but he drew the line at beans. One night we put spaghetti and beans in a big mixing bowl. He ate all the spaghetti and licked the bowl clean – but he left every bean. But he had licked each bean dry. I still don't know how he did that. One of life's mysteries.
Another great mystery is some peoples' sense of timing. What was it that could prompt Joanne's first cousin Bill to show up with a friend to do some hunting while we were on our honeymoon? Alternatively, what could have prompted us to have our honeymoon just when he and his friend wanted to go hunting?
Bill and his friend hiked around for a while and stayed the night. They left early next morning. And it was OK. It was fine. Joanne and I have been married 53 years and counting, and I reckon that we have spent almost 18 of those years in bed together. From that standpoint, one night out of 18 years isn't that big of a deal. Besides, we really needed someone to help us eat those beans.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Vaca Mexicana
Vaca Mexicana
©Ken Harris, 2008
In 1956 or 57 my wife and I lived in a Hollywood apartment and attended universities. We were both working very hard and welcomed the opportunity to take a brief vacation whenever we could. Usually we went to Joanne’s the cabin. Usually we took Bobo, a poodle, with us. He was supposed to keep us out of trouble.
Bobo was very intelligent and could learn anything in five minutes. However, he could forget anything he wanted in ten minutes. He also put his own spin on his orders of the day. “Don’t get on the couch” meant “Don't let anyone see you on the coucn." But he was pleasant company even with his faults.
On this particular occasion we had finished supper in the cabin and the three of us went for a walk to the meadow several hundred yards to the north. We gingerly crawled through a rusty barbed wire fence surrounding the pasture and noted the sign of many cattle. The meadow was part of the Bureau of Land Management domain and overgrazing seemed to be a part of their policy.
We came across the herd. There were a lot of them. Mexican cows, some with twisty horns, all of them lean. A few had extravagant brands on their hips. None of them looked like Elsie, the Bordens cow. The herd bull stood to the far side of the herd and ignored us. He didn’t look like Elmer, either. His disinterest in us was his only redeeming trait that I could see.
We stayed clear of the herd and tried to keep within running distance of the fence. It was just as well we had, for Bobo found a calf. He immediately tried to play a game with the calf, something named “I chase you around.” The calf cried, “Mama!”
The old lady showed up immediately. As soon as she saw Bobo and us her expression changed from exasperation to menace. She was a strawberry road cow, so lean you could count her ribs, and she had long, twisty, glinting horns. The right horn would have gone in my navel and out my nose.
We called for Bobo, quietly. “Bobo.” Then firmly. “Bobo!” Then desperately. “BOBO!!!”
By this time the cow had decided which of us she wanted to gore first and she began to move. So did we. I beat Joanne to the fence by several yards at once demonstrating speed and lack of gallantry. Bobo, delighted that we had joined in the game, yapped and barked even harder. He never understood the danger we all faced. And so long as he could outrun us, I guess he didn't face any real danger.
The calf ran away from all the noise and confusion and the cow followed. And that’s all of the story. Nothing bad really happened. Except I remember thinking the next morning as I shaved, “This is ridiculous. I shouldn't get grey at 23.”
©Ken Harris, 2008
In 1956 or 57 my wife and I lived in a Hollywood apartment and attended universities. We were both working very hard and welcomed the opportunity to take a brief vacation whenever we could. Usually we went to Joanne’s the cabin. Usually we took Bobo, a poodle, with us. He was supposed to keep us out of trouble.
Bobo was very intelligent and could learn anything in five minutes. However, he could forget anything he wanted in ten minutes. He also put his own spin on his orders of the day. “Don’t get on the couch” meant “Don't let anyone see you on the coucn." But he was pleasant company even with his faults.
On this particular occasion we had finished supper in the cabin and the three of us went for a walk to the meadow several hundred yards to the north. We gingerly crawled through a rusty barbed wire fence surrounding the pasture and noted the sign of many cattle. The meadow was part of the Bureau of Land Management domain and overgrazing seemed to be a part of their policy.
We came across the herd. There were a lot of them. Mexican cows, some with twisty horns, all of them lean. A few had extravagant brands on their hips. None of them looked like Elsie, the Bordens cow. The herd bull stood to the far side of the herd and ignored us. He didn’t look like Elmer, either. His disinterest in us was his only redeeming trait that I could see.
We stayed clear of the herd and tried to keep within running distance of the fence. It was just as well we had, for Bobo found a calf. He immediately tried to play a game with the calf, something named “I chase you around.” The calf cried, “Mama!”
The old lady showed up immediately. As soon as she saw Bobo and us her expression changed from exasperation to menace. She was a strawberry road cow, so lean you could count her ribs, and she had long, twisty, glinting horns. The right horn would have gone in my navel and out my nose.
We called for Bobo, quietly. “Bobo.” Then firmly. “Bobo!” Then desperately. “BOBO!!!”
By this time the cow had decided which of us she wanted to gore first and she began to move. So did we. I beat Joanne to the fence by several yards at once demonstrating speed and lack of gallantry. Bobo, delighted that we had joined in the game, yapped and barked even harder. He never understood the danger we all faced. And so long as he could outrun us, I guess he didn't face any real danger.
The calf ran away from all the noise and confusion and the cow followed. And that’s all of the story. Nothing bad really happened. Except I remember thinking the next morning as I shaved, “This is ridiculous. I shouldn't get grey at 23.”
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