Freedom depends on the recognition of an authority devoted to the defense of Freedom

Freedom is not the result of anarchy and chaos. Freedom requires commitment, investment and order.  History has proven that the unity and very survival of our Nation depend on a strong central government.  Freeing the United States of America from the scrutiny, authority, and assistance of our federal government would be analogous to removing the school teacher from a classroom full of kindergartners; only, unlike some politically active groups in our Country today, kindergartners recognize truth and respond to reason.  STC

Boomin or Bustin!

Hangtown, aka Placerville

The early 1850s found ol’ Hangtown up one minute and down the next, but always hanging tough!  The irrepressible ravine city was forever boomin’ or bustin’!  In 1852 the little metropolis was thriving, and rapidly gaining renown as the bustling hub of activity in the heart of the mother lode.  The picturesque structures along Main Street were in a constant state of metamorphosis.  The tinder dry buildings were forever burning down, abandoned, or completely renovated. Main Street itself, for whatever reason, never seemed to change.  The real estate changed hands, and the ramshackle, rough-sawn facades were gradually replaced by brick and iron, but the dusty, rut-riddled boulevard held tenaciously to its steady, time-honored course; passed the courthouse, down the grade, and widening for its familiar promenade at the bellower, before narrowing at the Round Tent and making a beeline passed the cozy inns and dimly lit saloons.

   The already infamous settlement gradually spread northward into Bedford’s tent city and eastward up Hangtown Creek. Eventually referred to as upper and lower town, the long narrow settlement was bisected by a crossing near Blair’s Lumber Yard where upper town proceeded eastward along the creek until gradually petering out just short of Smith Flat, home of Three Mile House and the Blue Lead Mine. 

   By June of 1852 Hangtown was bone-dry and cactus thirsty!  The higher elevations held a deep luxurious snow pack and the creeks were running high, but below three thousand feet, the purple vetch was drying up, the roads were dusty, and the creeks were choked with mud. “Obie’s Quest”

A mighty Leisurely Pace!

Seasons are a wondrous thing!  As I grew older, time seemed to speed up, and I gradually became more observant.  As time sailed by, life’s cycles became more apparent.  As a young man I tended to envision time as a vast, unlimited resource; time it seemed was an inexhaustible sea.  Now in the autumn of my life, each hour is increasingly precious, and I thirst for each minute as it drips away from an alarmingly finite pool. 

   The 1870s found ol’ Hangtown completing another cycle of its own.  Following completion of the Transcontinental Railroad, much of the freight that had previously gone through Placerville by wagon, now circumvented the ravine city by rail.  Hangtown’s traffic took another nosedive, and our freight service took on a mighty leisurely pace!  Simultaneously, our fortuitous investment in railroad stock began paying some pretty good dividends!  Lidge and I were able to cut back to eight-hour days, with weekends off.  With most of our route now consisting of local trips, we were home most evenings and beginning to live the good life.  With dividends coming in regularly, our finances perked up considerably, and we began indulging in a few luxuries.  One weekend I found a good buy at auction, and surprised Mariah with a piano.  We put the oak veneered upright against the east wall of the parlor, and following some practice, Mariah and Eliza both got pretty good!  Quite often on Fridays, the Kinneys would come for dinner and spend the evening.  The girls would play the piano, Lidge would accompany on his concertina, all of us would sing, and the entire house would ring with music and laughter.

   We made a number of home improvements during these years, and achieved an unprecedented level of sophistication by closing in a portion of the back porch for use as a water closet.  These state of the art facilities boasted shiny, new porcelain fixtures, complete with a claw foot bathtub, pedestal sink, and a remarkable flush toilet.  These advancements, besides being lavishly convenient, proved to be quite a novelty here on Reservoir Hill, and drew fascinated children from all over the community, requiring the procurement of extravagant amounts of derriere-grooming supplies, and necessitating copious quantities of time, spent in the grooming of the facilities themselves, as our aim was to keep the facilities immaculate, but the children’s’ aim was atrocious! “Obie’s Quest” 

The Storied Metropolis of Hangtown

Hangtown, California, aka, ol' Dry Diggins

The long hard day had assured a good night sleep, and when finally I came to and looked around the following morning, Lidge and Unk were still sound asleep, dead to the world, and snoring to beat the band!  It was almost noon by the time we got under way.  The sun was high, the humidity low, and the air hung heavy with the scent of Manzanita, the drone of insects, and the obnoxious screech of valley jays. We trudged on with determination all day long and right at dusk we reached the crest of a pine-covered ridge. “Over the mountains of the moon, down the valley of the shadow, ride, boldly ride, the shade replied, if you seek for El Dorado.”  So says ol’ Edgar Allan, and Lord knows Poe is well acquainted with shadows. There below, basking in the last red rays of the rapidly setting sun lay the storied metropolis of Hangtown. A small tormented creek meandered through a series of deep, pine-lined ravines, and clinging tenaciously to each bank, at close intervals and in no apparent order, squatted several dozen shake roofed structures reminiscent of the clapboard shanties that graced the Irish community back home. In addition to the rustic, wooden framed structures were numerous log cabins, and on the periphery of the settlement and lining Main Street on either side, an endless sea of tents glowed hospitably from the lamplight within.  The oak scented smoke of countless campfires hung thick in the motionless evening air, and the entire hollow twinkled in the light of countless lamps and flickering candles.  Laughter and jocularity rose spasmodically from a number of well lit gatherings down below, and a melancholy rendition of “Little Annie Laurie” scratched out hesitantly on a pair of slightly flat fiddles, rose plaintively from a massive canvas covered structure in the center of the scene. We eventually found access to the main street and proceeded slowly and deliberately in the waning light, until we reached a large open area in front of the crowded tent.  This was evidently the heart of downtown. Main Street, lined on each side with false storefronts, dropped in a gentle grade from the east; widening and splitting as it approached a long row of canvas covered shops.  At the east end of this row of shops stood a bell tower as high as any building in town.  Main Street proceeded west, past a number of dimly lit, but well patronized saloons and Center Street lead quickly toward a row of barns and stables, which faced the rear of the shops to their south and hung precariously over the banks of scenic Hangtown Creek to the north. Among the storefronts facing the bell tower from the north, was a well lit eating establishment, and observing our approach from this vantage point stood an elderly man and the very first woman that we’d laid eyes on since leaving San Francisco. "Obie's Quest"

Ageless Rendezvous

Photo by S. T. Casebeer

Oh how sweet that summer rain,
That stays but brief, then fades away in mist.
Oh how refreshed those graying fields,
That for a time forgot their grief as Heaven kissed them.
Oh how deeply must that interlude be felt,
When from the barren vastness where they knelt,
The grasses and the woodlands may renew,
However brief that ageless rendezvous,
To bathe our very souls in summer rain,

To be alive, and feel life’s worth again.

STC

The blizzard of '49

Old Hangtown, Long Ago

Not long after, I was badly startled by a holler and a frantic banging at the door.  I removed the bolt; the door flew open, and there, white with snow, stood Lidge.  “Have you ever seen anything like this?” He inquired excitedly.  “I bet not even Jim Bridger hisself would venture out in a hellacious blizzard like this!”  Lidge slapped his pants to remove the snow as he entered our humble refuge, “Why ain’t ya lit the lamp by now?  It’s dark as it can be!” I lit the lamp and Lidge inspected the stove.  The old Ben Franklin fireplace was loaded with ashes and darn near choked with soot.  Lidge banged on the pipes and cleaned ‘er up best he could.  I busted up some kindling while Lidge searched for coal oil, then we opened the dampers and fired the ol’ gal up.  That heater sucked wind till she chattered and rattled her doors!  It wasn’t long till we had a roarin’ fire.  As darkness fell, we were inundated with snow; drifted, blowing, and falling like powder from the ample cracks of our drafty shelter’s roof.  We hunkered by the Franklin warming our hands and listening to the howling wind, and we prayed that Griz was safe in town cause there ain’t no way that ol’ mule will come home in this!  Twilight arrived early that evening.  The storm abated, and despite occasional flurries, the moon shone down at intervals through a partly cloudy sky, lending an eerie translucence to the scene, and casting curious shadows on the glimmering snow.  I stood in the shelter of the woodshed for a long time that evening, shivering and staring awestruck across the snow-covered Sierras.  I’ve never experienced air fresher, shadows deeper, or a scene so extraordinarily quiet and pristine!  You’ll laugh and think I’m crazy, but it seemed as though I could almost hear the stars.  “Obie’s Quest” 

Crossroads Crap!

THE SUNSHINE BOYS
Enjoying their roles as puppet masters.
Undoubtedly having a laugh at our expense.
Probably discussing their Halliburton stocks.
According to my reading of the Bible, 

The prospects for these two extremely well fed gentleman 

Arriving eventually in Heaven, 

Are highly dubious!

  Pray for them.
If we could find a photo of these two jokers with Bernie Madoff,
We'd have three of a kind: All Aces!
Any one of them is undoubtedly holding five!
Did you vote for this man?
Are you any wiser now than then?
Who do you suppose they will support in the next election?
Will you help them again?