Our millsite was located on the Pacific Crest Trail, and every once in a while we would see the backpackers go past and usually they would stop in for water and end up eating a meal with us and telling us of their journey so far. We were the first round of their trip that would land them in Canada. They would tell us that this was one of the hardest parts of the trail (which starts in Tecate, Mexico) because there was so little water to be found and because of the roughness of the trail itself. Lots of narrow little paths with loose rocks that made you trip up and sometimes fall; the underbrush that tore at your clothes and any of your exposed skin, the sheer steepness of the trail when you almost felt like you were walking on your head and were very nearly going to tip over; the insects that swarmed around you trying to get fluid from your lips and sweat; the wild animals that would be stirred up on your passage; and always the snakes-the hundreds of snakes that would pop up when you least expected it. And on top of that, when they would meet a Border Patrol, they would have to go through a first degree about why they were traveling alone in such dangerous country; after all, they would say, there are thousands of illegal aliens who were usually armed and out to steal all of your supplies so they could get across the mountains themselves. The hikers were just another problem to the Border Patrol.
We lived in the canyon for 14 years and did see hundreds of immigrants stagger by. We would give them water and a chance to rest for awhile. We would also warn them that the Border Patrol were usually staked out at the bottom of the Truck Trail-usually behind our mailbox. We would set out packages of food, water, and a can-opener at various points along the immigrant's route, with a pole marking the spot so that they could find the stash. We rooted for the immigrants because we saw these poor, worn-out families walk past our millsite and we felt that anyone who could travel this trail had paid their dues and should have a chance at citizenship. Unless you have traveled this trail you cannot believe the level of suffering that these poor folks went through just for a chance at becoming a part of America's opportunity. It was easily the greatest passion of their lives, outside of their love for their families. Families are number one in the immigrant culture.
One negative experience we had with the Border Patrol. One day we had fed a group of about 12 immigrants and warned them to be careful walking down the rest of the hill, because the Border Patrol (BP) was swarming around the Banner Store just waiting for the next round of immigrants to come through; the BP seemed to be very happy with their jobs and what they were required to do.
On this particular day we had to go to town, and so after the immigrants had gone on down the road, we packed up and started down the canyon ourselves. As we neared the bottom of the mountain, across from the Banner Store, we noticed that our immigrants were hiding behind trees and bushes just about 1000 feet from where the BP was having a little impromptu picnic and talking very loudly.
We had this feeling and wished that we could warn the immigrants to hide better, or get away from this area right now, but they were waiting for a car to pick them up and they did not want to miss it; it was their ride to Los Angeles where they could blend in better and start their new lives.
We were hidden from the BP because we were just around the last bend in the road and we decided to wait and see what developed. We had not long to wait. One of the immigrants moved suddenly, diving behind a larger bush. Immediately, one of the BP had seen the motion and aroused the troops that a group of immigrants might be hiding back in the bushes. All the BP gathered their semi-automatic weapons and service revolvers and started at a run into the little area where the one immigrant had been spotted. On seeing the BP rushing at them, the immigrants lost their nerve and started running to hide behind some rocks. Many officers began shooting at the fleeing immigrants and we saw many of the men get hit in the back and fall down. The other immigrants put up a white hankie and the BP stopped firing and gathered up the immigrants that were not hurt and put them in one of their vans, then they called for ambulances to pick up the wounded men. We were never sure if any of the immigrants were killed, but their fate lay with being put on a bus and returned to Mexico. All of that struggle for nothing; but they would try it again and again, and never stop until they could finally make it to freedom. They are an incredibly strong and determined people who suffer physically and mentally for their great dream...American citizenship.
It was Christmas Eve and all of us were wide awake, telling Christmas stories, when we heard a very faint, "Ola! Ola!" (hello, hello) coming from the road in front of our home. Bruce spoke a little Spanish and so he took his shotgun and went outside to see if there was someone in trouble. On the road were three men of various ages, huddled against the evening's cold (about 25 degrees and a wind chill factor making it feel like, about 17 degrees). Bruce could also see a larger group of what appeared to be women and children standing to the side of the men. "Agua? Agua? senior?" said the three men.
Bruce immediately put his shotgun up and invited them to come onto the millsite and get some water and food. The little group very cautiously walked up the driveway and came fairly close to the cabin. Bruce had turned on the big outside light and we could immediately see that they had very little warm clothing or coats on, and that some of the children had no shoes. Our hearts were immediately concerned for a pregnant woman-very pregnant-an elderly woman, and five other children. Bruce talked the men into letting the women and children come into the house and get warmed up. Then we gave everyone water, milk, or juice and fixed up plates of food for them all. The men insisted on staying outside, even to eat and drink, as they were protecting the lives of their family members and did not want to let down their guard.
I sat quietly, I don't speak much Spanish, but I searched the house and came up with warm coats for the children, and also some of our children's shoes that they were no longer wearing. I fixed up a huge parcel of food and two gallon jugs of water for them to take with them. Then I studied the women. The pregnant lady was having back cramps-try walking 50 miles through our mountains and backcountry and you'd have back pains also. She looked so stressed out, but her dream was to have the child be born in America, and she was willing to go through a living hell to get her greatest desire. The elderly lady could hardly move at all. She had struggled every inch of the way and had fallen a few times because of the slick, rocky pathways. I gave her medicine to put on her cuts and scrapes. The other women were young and outside of starving, being thirsty, and walking up-hill most of the fifty miles, they were excited about being in America and had high hopes for their future and the future of their babies. I took our children off to the side and asked if they would sacrifice one present for each of the little children. They all were very happy to do so, and so one by one they would take a present from the tree and hand it to one of the immigrant children. The little immigrant faces looked like the sun had just risen on them.
Meantime, the men were pressing the woman to finish up their meal as they had to get right back onto the road again. It took about half of an hour before we could finish our good-byes and send the immigrants on down the road again. There was no BP out that night, in our immediate area, and so we believe that our immigrant friends made it to the waiting truck. It was the greatest Christmas Eve of our lives.
Now, to be fair to the BP, there was a purpose in enforcing the laws of the land. Not all of the immigrants were as nice as our visitors; some came for very different reasons.
One day when we were working on cleaning up the millsite, we heard the sound of a lot of people tramping down the trail. They passed directly in front of us and never looked to the right or to the left; their eyes were pointed straight ahead of them. They were all (about 200 men) dressed in camouflage with big back-packs on their backs and they were carrying big automatic weapons on their shoulders. We did not act as if we saw them at all; we just went on working with our eyes concentrated on the ground. After an hour had passed, we got into the truck and went to the phone at the Banner Store and called in a report about the incident. No one ever heard about anything happening to the small little army that walked through the canyon, but it did put our guards up and kept our eyes peeled for another group of alien soldiers.
On Monday we take a look at our solution for handling emergencies in the canyon. We were pretty much the only persons alive in the canyon and help was at least an hour away to the nearest telephone.
We lived in the canyon for 14 years and did see hundreds of immigrants stagger by. We would give them water and a chance to rest for awhile. We would also warn them that the Border Patrol were usually staked out at the bottom of the Truck Trail-usually behind our mailbox. We would set out packages of food, water, and a can-opener at various points along the immigrant's route, with a pole marking the spot so that they could find the stash. We rooted for the immigrants because we saw these poor, worn-out families walk past our millsite and we felt that anyone who could travel this trail had paid their dues and should have a chance at citizenship. Unless you have traveled this trail you cannot believe the level of suffering that these poor folks went through just for a chance at becoming a part of America's opportunity. It was easily the greatest passion of their lives, outside of their love for their families. Families are number one in the immigrant culture.
One negative experience we had with the Border Patrol. One day we had fed a group of about 12 immigrants and warned them to be careful walking down the rest of the hill, because the Border Patrol (BP) was swarming around the Banner Store just waiting for the next round of immigrants to come through; the BP seemed to be very happy with their jobs and what they were required to do.
On this particular day we had to go to town, and so after the immigrants had gone on down the road, we packed up and started down the canyon ourselves. As we neared the bottom of the mountain, across from the Banner Store, we noticed that our immigrants were hiding behind trees and bushes just about 1000 feet from where the BP was having a little impromptu picnic and talking very loudly.
We had this feeling and wished that we could warn the immigrants to hide better, or get away from this area right now, but they were waiting for a car to pick them up and they did not want to miss it; it was their ride to Los Angeles where they could blend in better and start their new lives.
We were hidden from the BP because we were just around the last bend in the road and we decided to wait and see what developed. We had not long to wait. One of the immigrants moved suddenly, diving behind a larger bush. Immediately, one of the BP had seen the motion and aroused the troops that a group of immigrants might be hiding back in the bushes. All the BP gathered their semi-automatic weapons and service revolvers and started at a run into the little area where the one immigrant had been spotted. On seeing the BP rushing at them, the immigrants lost their nerve and started running to hide behind some rocks. Many officers began shooting at the fleeing immigrants and we saw many of the men get hit in the back and fall down. The other immigrants put up a white hankie and the BP stopped firing and gathered up the immigrants that were not hurt and put them in one of their vans, then they called for ambulances to pick up the wounded men. We were never sure if any of the immigrants were killed, but their fate lay with being put on a bus and returned to Mexico. All of that struggle for nothing; but they would try it again and again, and never stop until they could finally make it to freedom. They are an incredibly strong and determined people who suffer physically and mentally for their great dream...American citizenship.
It was Christmas Eve and all of us were wide awake, telling Christmas stories, when we heard a very faint, "Ola! Ola!" (hello, hello) coming from the road in front of our home. Bruce spoke a little Spanish and so he took his shotgun and went outside to see if there was someone in trouble. On the road were three men of various ages, huddled against the evening's cold (about 25 degrees and a wind chill factor making it feel like, about 17 degrees). Bruce could also see a larger group of what appeared to be women and children standing to the side of the men. "Agua? Agua? senior?" said the three men.
Bruce immediately put his shotgun up and invited them to come onto the millsite and get some water and food. The little group very cautiously walked up the driveway and came fairly close to the cabin. Bruce had turned on the big outside light and we could immediately see that they had very little warm clothing or coats on, and that some of the children had no shoes. Our hearts were immediately concerned for a pregnant woman-very pregnant-an elderly woman, and five other children. Bruce talked the men into letting the women and children come into the house and get warmed up. Then we gave everyone water, milk, or juice and fixed up plates of food for them all. The men insisted on staying outside, even to eat and drink, as they were protecting the lives of their family members and did not want to let down their guard.
I sat quietly, I don't speak much Spanish, but I searched the house and came up with warm coats for the children, and also some of our children's shoes that they were no longer wearing. I fixed up a huge parcel of food and two gallon jugs of water for them to take with them. Then I studied the women. The pregnant lady was having back cramps-try walking 50 miles through our mountains and backcountry and you'd have back pains also. She looked so stressed out, but her dream was to have the child be born in America, and she was willing to go through a living hell to get her greatest desire. The elderly lady could hardly move at all. She had struggled every inch of the way and had fallen a few times because of the slick, rocky pathways. I gave her medicine to put on her cuts and scrapes. The other women were young and outside of starving, being thirsty, and walking up-hill most of the fifty miles, they were excited about being in America and had high hopes for their future and the future of their babies. I took our children off to the side and asked if they would sacrifice one present for each of the little children. They all were very happy to do so, and so one by one they would take a present from the tree and hand it to one of the immigrant children. The little immigrant faces looked like the sun had just risen on them.
Meantime, the men were pressing the woman to finish up their meal as they had to get right back onto the road again. It took about half of an hour before we could finish our good-byes and send the immigrants on down the road again. There was no BP out that night, in our immediate area, and so we believe that our immigrant friends made it to the waiting truck. It was the greatest Christmas Eve of our lives.
Now, to be fair to the BP, there was a purpose in enforcing the laws of the land. Not all of the immigrants were as nice as our visitors; some came for very different reasons.
One day when we were working on cleaning up the millsite, we heard the sound of a lot of people tramping down the trail. They passed directly in front of us and never looked to the right or to the left; their eyes were pointed straight ahead of them. They were all (about 200 men) dressed in camouflage with big back-packs on their backs and they were carrying big automatic weapons on their shoulders. We did not act as if we saw them at all; we just went on working with our eyes concentrated on the ground. After an hour had passed, we got into the truck and went to the phone at the Banner Store and called in a report about the incident. No one ever heard about anything happening to the small little army that walked through the canyon, but it did put our guards up and kept our eyes peeled for another group of alien soldiers.
On Monday we take a look at our solution for handling emergencies in the canyon. We were pretty much the only persons alive in the canyon and help was at least an hour away to the nearest telephone.
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