ID: Emily (Fairfield) Duncan autobiography, page 10

during the night. During one severe blizzard, there was no hay to be had and the domestic cattle suffered severely. Our old cow was turned out to shift for herself and would come to the window of the house where we were all "storm stayed," lowing pitifully for food. Brother Will could not bear to hear her and gradually fed her, through the window, all the contents of our straw bed ticks so that we slept without mattresses until the storm abated and a fresh supply could be obtained for both man and beast.

"Snow sports" as they would now be called, were enjoyed by all the grown-ups on the hills. The men made crude toboggans, one was long enough to hold, I should think, as many as twenty people seated closely one behind another. The long slope of the hill and the "flat" beyond made a natural slide and what excitement to watch them go dashing down, one after another, sometimes to continue far out over the "flat," sometimes to strike an obstruction or "slew" sidewise and all take a grand spill in a snow-bank. "Snowshoes" were used by the more agile ones and were of the same type as now called "skis." But it was not though[t] possible for women and girls to use them. For one thing, the heavy skirts worn by members of the "weaker" sex would have made it most difficult, and surely no female would have considered wearing anything resembling "pants."

My father's mine, in which other members of the family, Uncle Will [McDonnell] and his sons Charley and Henry especially were also interested, was called the "Don't Care Mine." It was located on a very rich vein of ore from which the adjoining company (I can not remember the name of that mine) had taken an enormous amount of gold. The vein continued through the "Don't Care Mine" claim and for a time the working paid well. The family were all highly elated. My father, on a visit to Napa, drove a "team of spanking blacks" attached to a light buggy, received the congratulations of former friends and acquaintances and considered his financial worries over. Soon after his return, however, the men encountered a break in the vein. Ore did not yield enough to pay expenses. New shafts were sunk, new tunnels dug, all available resources were used in a vain attempt to find the pay streak, but to no avail. Finally, they gave it up and once more loading family and goods into the wagon we returned to Napa, sadder and poorer than when we left. This must have been in 1881, when I was six years old. I have just two memories of that "trek.” One was that the chicken pies provided for lunch on the first day proved to have been made of tainted meat and, to my great disappointment, were thrown away. The other was a game Albert and I played when we were camped by the roadside. Putting an oar against the side of an old fashioned square telegraph pole and pounding a fist on the opposite side, produced a deliciously terrifying roar and, shouting, "Bears, Bears," we ran, pretending to be terribly frightened.

Flowers were scarce on "the hill" and I had forgotten how beautiful they could be. When red roses appeared, I was so excited I almost fell out of the wagon. Albert was equally entranced with the sight of wonderful windmills going round.