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Old 13 Aug 16, 10:21
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Real Name: Jim
Join Date: Jul 2013
Location: Wild West
Posts: 9,223
Urban hermit is a glorious beacon of light [700]
Urban hermit is a glorious beacon of light [700] Urban hermit is a glorious beacon of light [700] Urban hermit is a glorious beacon of light [700] Urban hermit is a glorious beacon of light [700] Urban hermit is a glorious beacon of light [700] Urban hermit is a glorious beacon of light [700] Urban hermit is a glorious beacon of light [700] Urban hermit is a glorious beacon of light [700] Urban hermit is a glorious beacon of light [700] Urban hermit is a glorious beacon of light [700] Urban hermit is a glorious beacon of light [700] Urban hermit is a glorious beacon of light [700] Urban hermit is a glorious beacon of light [700] Urban hermit is a glorious beacon of light [700]
I have been reading the posts on this thread with great appreciation and anticipation. It is a snap shot into what life was like for most Americans just a century ago. My family shared this same life style having come west on the Oregon Trail late in the 1800s to find a new start in Oregon settling in the South Coastal mountains near Gravel Ford where they operated dairies and egg farms.
Reading the posts brings back memories of sitting with my grandparents and hearing their stories about those days, they were both born in the 1800s. Carl in 1881 Emma in 1894. They moved to the east county of San Diego in the 1920s following a epidemic of TB that swept through the area they lived in Oregon, Emma spent two years in a isolation ward having come down with TB, they didn't have the medicines we now take for granted, the doctors told Carl he had to find a dry climate for Emma, so he followed his parents to San Diego County, they had moved there in 1917.
My dad was born in '24, the last generation to grow up on a homestead style ranch three miles north of the Mexican border on a cattle ranch. By the time I was born in '50, Carl had sold off all but 180 acres of the 1,900 he once owned.
I spent every summer with Carl and Emma helping out on the little operation, mostly substance farming, selling eggs and baked goods Emma made at a small country store in Campo.
When I was 12 I watched Carl die as my father and medics tried to revive him, he was 82 and suffering from the damage done from years of tobacco use. Emma slow faded into her our mind becoming almost childlike, we took her off the ranch in 1966.
She passed in 1971. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of them and the life they lived, so uncomplicated by today's standard. It was a hard life, but they had what they needed and never owed a dime to anyone.
We could all take a lesson from that generation, what my dad called the last pioneers.
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