OUR DAILY BREAD

I am now in the sixth week of the Blood Sugar Solution Diet. For the most part I have remained on the diet, but I must admit to having a few weak moments when I had a forbidden  food. In my case 2 pieces of Wheat bread and two cookies on Willie's birthday. I also had some trouble eating enough of the good food; I would get tired of eating 5-6 meals a day and skip a meal, or sometimes forget a meal until it was almost time for another meal. But even with these missteps I lost weight, 12 pounds over five weeks so far, and a total of 25 inches from around the whole frame. I rarely had cravings but the two times I did, I finally gave in and had something on the diet, but way too much of it. So what is my bottom line? The diet works aces. But I need to do more on the exercise and meditation side of the diet. So I have decided that I am going to change this "diet" into a life style and live it permanently. After 6 weeks you can begin to test a few new foods back into the diet such as dairy and a few more fruits and see how that reflects upon your weight loss. However I think that I'll stay pretty closely to the original diet and get a lot more exercise and start using the sauna. Then we'll talk about it again after another six weeks has passed.

One thing that getting rid of sugar and salt does for you is to stimulate your taste buds and everything seems to taste sweeter and richer. I have learned to love a lot of new vegetables such as Kale and celery and cucumbers. So many experiences with the food combinations.

The art of life is to live in the present moment and that is how I am managing to change my life-style diet from eating everything I might want to eat at any instant to eating with control over my baser appetites. The biggest struggle is with my own self and I can only win if I take one moment at a time and think only for that moment. Although I can now walk to Caesar's on the Boardwalk, I want someday to be able to walk for miles along the Boardwalk and enjoy all there is to see along its length. Moment by moment it shall be done.


Tomorrow I am meeting with another author who has recently had a book published, "Boogie Days," by Albert R. Cumberbatch. It is a great and exciting story and I heartily recommend it to you. You will laugh out loud and sob hard as the pages go by of a young boy in English Guyana who struggles against amazing odds to get an education and improve his life. His will is indomitable and you can't help but root for the young boys survival against many odds. It is available through Amazon.com and Barnes and Noble, among other outlets such as Target and Walmart.

Anyway, Mr. Cumberbatch is going to help me to understand how to get my book through the same publisher as his and I am so eternally grateful to him for his time and willingness to share knowledge in this area. So I will write my blog after our meeting and tip you off on how things go in our session.
Have a great day and stay dry and warm.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

WELCOME SABBATH QUEEN

This evening at precisely 5:27 p.m., EST, in Atlantic City, New Jersey, a Sabbath miracle transforms our little home from its work-a-day toil and stresses to a haven of peace and light. As I light the Sabbath candles (2 of them) I remember my relatives, my ancestors, both current and ancient and draw their spirits into my home to celebrate this day when all is put aside except our devotion to God.

                                                                 SABBATH CANDLES

As I look into the flames
I see them reflected across the years
and all around me press
my grandparents,
my ancestors,
for many centuries.

I see their faces
reflected in the Sabbath light
and sense the peace they feel
radiating out to me.

The candle flames are threads
that move across the span of time
binding my soul to theirs.

I see my bubeleh (grandmother) glance around the room
making sure that everything is there - and kosher!
She feels the challah (braided bread)
and readjusts the cover,
centers the salt and knife,
sniffs the wine,
counts the glasses:
sees the water, bowl, and pitcher
are in place;
then rubs her hands
and smiles with lips and eyes.
They all are there;
everything is fit.

She looks at each grandchild
to see if faces, hands, and clothes are clean.
Then second looks to reminisce
on features that her parents had:
and looks within their eyes
to take a measure of their souls.
Only then, does she meet my eyes
and nod her head.
It is not her way to praise,
but she cannot hide her pride.

All the while my zayde (grandfather)
stares into the flames,
his gnarled hands rest upon his cane
his face so worn by toil and sorrow
shines with love fulfilled.
In all his life
his only dream was Torah (the first five books of the Bible) -
now his life is Torah.
He shares with me his learning -
the subtle point of law,
a delicate turn of ethics
propounded by his teachers,
Maimonides...Akiba...Jochanan ben Zakkai.

I am overwhelmed by the love and peace
that radiate from him
as he takes my hands
and chants with me
of the joy of his heart...
HaRibono Shel Olam (the Master of the Universe).

And so they spend eternity
waiting in an eternal circle.
Close enough for me to feel,
Close enough to see on Sabbath Eve.

The Sabbath candles burn into eternity
and speak the love and joy
that make us one,
my great-great-grandfather
and my little son,
parted only by a slender veil;
sealed together by the Sabbath flame;
stretching out beyond our mortal sight
into another world.

Davalene Ruth Hirsch

We spend Sabbath evening going to Synagogue or reading and studying in our home. All work is put aside and the Sabbath is a day of rest and studying scriptures, or other Jewish texts. As a writer, I take a vacation and dwell instead on what the Lord might be wanting me to do or say in the upcoming week.

An important part of Shabbat services in the Synagogue are saying the SHEMA, "Hear Oh Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One," and observing the yahrzeit anniversaries of our relatives who have passed, by reciting the Kaddish. 

The children play, but not with their electronic games or computers. At noon we have a big dinner and have a big gab-fest. Then in the evening of Saturday, at sundown, we light the Havdallah candles and sing songs and play games with the family.

It is a serious, quiet, and restful time but it gives us the strength of purpose to go out and live our lives the best way that we can and teaches us to open our hearts to all of those around us who may need a bit of love, compassion, or a simple hand. The Sabbath gives the Jewish people a time to reflect on the ways that they should live their lives, which we are taught to believe is to love our neighbor as ourselves.

Whether you celebrate a day of rest on Friday, Saturday, or Sunday, its purpose is the same and its meaning of love and compassion is found in each of the religions of all of humankind.

Have a wonderful and purposeful Sabbath, and I will be back on Monday morning talking about whatever the Lord lays on my heart over this weekend of quiet introspection.

THE WORLD OF LOVE INCLUDES YOU

As you know by now, our family is very large, and very inclusive. I wanted to take a moment and address my feelings about who is family and who is not. Pretty much, if you want to be a part of my family then you are included in our family and accepted for who you are.

I suppose that it is because I was adopted and then lost all of those family members when we all grew up and no one seemed to recognize that I was still part of the family after my parents passed away. So I created my own family, was part of a blended family when I was with Bruce, and then was blessed with grandchildren from all of the nine children that we raised. Grandchildren are such a blessing and it did not matter in the least whose child had had a child, we just loved each grandchild that came into our family. And each child was so unique and brought with them the sweetest spirits. There was Alana with her beautiful red hair and big blue eyes and Skeeta who was a little round bubble of mahogany skin, black curly hair, and big brown eyes. We had, of course, an interracial family and each new grandchild had unlimited potential in our eyes. We taught all of the children about the history of their peoples and taught them to be proud of their own color and cultures and accepting of, and rejoicing in, the cultures of their cousins. The children grew up not color-blind, but color proud. It was, and is, my most fervent dream that one day I will sit down to a Thanksgiving dinner and around the table will be people from all of the races on earth who are my grandchildren and great-grandchildren. To me, that would be the greatest honor that God could give to me; to be trusted to love, and raise with dignity, children who seemed very different on the outside, but who were all brought up to love the differences in other human beings and accept all humankind as their family.

These feelings led me to accept into my family anyone who wanted to be a part of our family. I have, besides the original nine, other people who have come into my family and become as a child of mine, and surely loved as a child of mine. My three step-children of Ed's; Julie; the husbands and wives of my children, and their families; and the husbands and wives of my grandchildren, and their families.
Then, there are the friends of my children and grandchildren who become part of the family because they are loved and supported spiritually and like the way our family accepts them and welcomes them.


Each year brings us new people to love; this year has started out with two new great-grandchildren, Milani and Alexa, who was born a week ago. The joy of having a big family is that there are so many people to love you and support you in all that you do, and who come to your aid with comfort and prayer during the tragic times of life. And, oh the celebrations that we observe. We observe the Jewish Holy Days, and all of the Christian holidays, and we learn about Wicca and even have a few atheists in the family. We are an eclectic lot and it is so much fun; you learn so much and become so much more aware of the whole world around you.

Welcome to my family, dear reader, for you have become a part of our lives with your interest in what goes on in such circumstances as we have. You are definitely one of the most important parts of my life as you support my need to write about what I am feeling and experiencing.

God bless and keep each one of you in your own families and may you be richly blessed by their love and support. Change and differences help a person to grow and develop their personalities and I hope that you have the greatest experiences of all in life and maybe reach out and gather more people into your family for the enrichment that they bring. And last, but not least, love is never static but the more you open your hearts and lives for it, the more richly you will be blessed and you will rarely, if ever, become lonely again.


Tomorrow is Friday, the starting of the Sabbath when the sun goes down, and I thought I'd share a little bit of what happens in my home during the Sabbath eve and day. Have a blessed day no matter what is going on in your life; my prayers are with each one of you.

 

THE TRAGIC END OF MOUNTAIN LIVING

For fourteen years we lived in the mountains. Fourteen Channukahs, fourteen Christmases, 3 High School graduations, 13 grandchildren born, and almost a mile long tunnel dug with some monetary success.

By 1993 all of the children had moved out on their own and we had children spread across Iowa, Michigan, California, and New Jersey. The grandchildren were visiting the mine on weekends and holidays and life seemed like nothing would ever change. But I had changed. The years on the mountain had been hard on my physical and mental health. I began to dream of leaving the mountains and going back to school to finish my degree. Problem was, Bruce was dead set against leaving the mountain and he had no intention of letting me go either. He was a very controlling man and for the last ten years I had not been allowed to drive any car, or go off of the mountain by myself. Bruce insisted because the truck was in his name only that only he could drive it. I began to rebel and push him until he would allow me to go to the Banner Store once a month, all by myself. So many times I wished that I could just drive the car to Debby's house and live there.

As Bruce observed my struggle to get free of his tyranny, he became abusive in his treatment of me. We would go to visit one of his many friends and he would leave me sitting in the truck for hours, no matter what the weather or the temperature was. I was not allowed to move. My soul rose up in rebellion.

When I went to my next Psychologist's appointment, right in front of Bruce, I began to tell the doctor of my imprisonment up in the mountains and my fear of repercussions from Bruce if I decided to make a move on my own. The Doctor told me about a Social Security P.A.S.S. Program that was in place to help people like myself, on S.S.I., get training to get a job, start up their own business, or go back to college. The program paid for what you needed to get started up, in my case it was my own car so that I could go off of the mountain and continue my education near to my daughter, Debby.

Bruce went up in smoke at the idea, but the Doctor told me the name and phone number of the P.A.S.S. program director and told Bruce that if he interfered with my getting into the program, or didn't give the help that I needed to qualify for the program, that he was going to the authorities and file a complaint against him for imprisonment against my control. Bruce capitulated and began to really worry if I was going to leave him forever, or not. I tried to reassure him, but the process was hard and the more I got into it the more I knew I had to do this program and get off of the mountain or I would die. The program, the Pathway for Achieving Self Sufficiency, was marvelous and after gathering much data about college and the car I needed to be able to get off of the mountain and go to school, I was approved for the program and was given a grant-like program where I would receive a check for X amount of dollars each month and that was to go toward paying off a used car; every cent went into buying the car. Then I was obligated to get good grades in school and go full-time until I got my degree. I moved in with Debby for the week days and then went to the mountains for the weekend. I WAS FREE!

Bruce remained on the mountain, he was not alone, but had his son with him and one of his daughter's boyfriends lived with him throughout the winter to help in the mine. When I would go up to the mountains on the week-ends I would find disaster there. Nothing had been done to the house; no dishes washed, no sweeping done, no cleaning of the cat boxes. The cats had begun to use the entire house as a cat box. Bruce allowed all of the cats to sleep with him and they had used his (our) bed as a cat box. It was gross. It took me all week-end to straighten things up again, and when I left for Debby's on Sunday nights I was exhausted and angry. I went up to the mountains less and less, but tried to keep up a relationship with Bruce with letters of encouragement.

On my last day of school, I was on my way to my last final when I saw Jared and Debby walking down the hill toward me. How surprised I was as Jared was in his military uniform. They sat me down and told me that Bruce had just been killed when he had a heart-attack while driving to Ramona from the mine. He went over the side of an embankment in order to avoid oncoming traffic as he became unconscious. He died heroically.

The BLM refused to have people live on the millsite after Bruce's death. After all, it was only he who could actually do the mining operation. So the family had to put the mine and millsite into its original condition; tear down the buildings, remove all of the equipment, and seal the mine so no one else could get into it. Today, after suffering three more forest fires to the exact area where we had lived, the millsite is invisible and the mine has caved in in sections.

It was a sad way to end the mining business, but we had met our goals: the children had been raised and learned a lot of skills; we had recovered a small amount of gold; and we had had a priceless adventure and learned how to survive in the wilderness. We still miss grandpa Bruce and we all miss the mountains, but life had to move forward and so we all went out and seized the world.


Tomorrow I am going to be talking about family love and acceptance.

WHEN YOU ACCIDENTALY SHOOT YOURSELF

The two things that worried me the most about living in the wilderness were the fear of what we would do if an emergency happened to one of the children, or us, and the fear of a fire creeping toward us and there being no way to let us know about it until we saw the fire already coming our way.

We lived 4 1/2 miles up a winding, narrow dirt and adobe road, with deep ruts and holes that you'd have to steer around and streams you had to cross. It took a heavy-duty four-wheel drive vehicle to navigate the road at all. The road was not really a road anyway, but a truck trail used by the Department of Forestry to drive their fire crews and equipment up the mountain to put out fires. The Forestry would grade the road about once every three or four years and the rest of the time Bruce would try to repair the road himself with a spade, pick, and shovel and by building a heavy drag that he pulled behind the truck.

When the road was at its best, and there was no snow, it took 45 minutes to go the one way to, or from, the cabin to the Banner Store. So every day and every night we would say a prayer to keep us safe from accidents or sudden illness. We were blessed and had only two real emergencies while on the mountain.

At night we had no lights except for the three hours that we ran the generator for doing homework and getting things ready for the next day's projects.So once the lights were turned off at bedtime, there was only flashlights to guide your way. On this particular night we had all gone to bed and asleep when I heard a mother's worst nightmare, Jared was throwing up-violently-in his bedroom. I grabbed my flashlight and ran into his room. Everywhere the flashlight hit the room there was bright, red blood. On everything in his bed and on the floor and furniture in the tiny room (although, thankfully not on his precious comic books) there was blood. I had no way to gauge how much blood he had thrown up, but it frightened me deeply. I cleaned him up, gathered some trash bags and an old coffee can, and picked him up and rushed him to the truck. Bruce had meanwhile organized the other three children and we all got in the truck and down the road within a short few minutes. Every other mile he would have to stop and throw up and it was always filled with blood. I was panicking inside because the nearest hospital was in El Cajon, about 60 miles away.

The hardest part was getting off of the mountain with all the bumping and jarring which made Jared throw up more. We stopped many times along the road that night. Well, we got him to a hospital and they observed him and told us that the blood was from when he had first thrown up, it was done so hard that he burst a blood vessel in his esophagus and that was what we were seeing. After giving him medicine to calm his stomach and stop the vomiting they allowed us to take him home. He was o.k. after a couple of days, but cleaning up after him took a little more effort than usual.

Then there was the time that Bruce and I were alone at home and he was cleaning off his gun when he accidentally dropped the weapon and it went off. Bruce stood there with a look of wonder on his face and then looked down at his left leg which had started to bleed. The weapon had shot him in the left calf and he was bleeding profusely. I had him sit down and then put a pressure bandage around his leg-an old, thick, towel-and taped it all together. Then I supported him and helped him walk out to the truck. Climbing in was hard on him. I drove the truck off of the mountain and Bruce was in such pain and all of the roughness did not help him. At the Banner Store I called the Sheriff's in Julian and by the time I had driven up the Banner Grade they had an ambulance waiting for him. It took 1 hour, rushing, to get off the mountain and up the grade to the Sheriff's office. It took him about three months to heal from the wound, but I can't say that it changed the way he handled his guns, three weeks later he was standing talking to his son who was seated in a rocking chair. He was fiddling with his gun again and it went off in his hands and shot the chair just to the left of his son's right ear. 1/4 inch closer, and his son would have been killed.

But, Thank God, we had no worse incidents and survived the rough road between the house and the Banner Grade.


I may not be up to writing a blog tomorrow (Tuesday) because I am having trouble with flue symptoms, but either tomorrow or the next day, I shall begin to talk about how we came to move off of the mountain after 14 years.

NIGHT VISITORS ON A CHRISTMAS EVE

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.

WILD ANIMALS & WILD FIRES

We lived in the middle of an area that was rich with wild life and which sat in the path of frequent wildfires. In the short time-14 years-that we lived in the mountains, on the mining claim, there were three major wildfires that swept down from Julian, down the Banner Grade, on down Highway 78 to the desert, and up the Chariot Canyon. We were surrounded by the fire twice and one time had to drive 2 miles through the fire to reach our millsite. The fire department let Bruce go up the road, even though there was a wall of fire on both sides of the road, because they knew he was crazy enough to go through when they were not watching closely anyway. Besides, the helicopters had reported that the fire was not threatening the exact area where we lived. So we started up that road with burning trees and bushes all around us and sudden flare-ups where we could see nothing but flames. The area looked like pictures of Hell and I prayed so hard that we would make it home safely. We did, and Bruce acted as if the fire was nothing (of course he had been a fireman for the California Forestry Department for 20 years of his life) and we went about getting dinner and getting ready for bed all the time watching the red glow of the fire creeping up the mountain towards us. I slept lightly that night because the window in our bedroom faced the approaching fire and I was scared out of my wits. There was no retreat possible now, we had to live with our decision, but I finally fell asleep in the middle of a prayer. When we woke up, the children got ready for school and we loaded back up in the truck and started back down the mountain to the Banner Store. The fire was about 85% contained, but there were pockets of embers still smoldering all over. The fire had come within 1/4 mile of our millsite and all around us were blackened stumps of trees and the occasional burning bush. We said a litany of prayers as we inched down the dirt road, thanking God for sparing our lives and our home.

Within a week, there was green sprouting everywhere and wildflowers that had not bloomed in years came out and began to cover the hills. It was an awesome sight watching nature repair herself.

The animals came out from where they had been hiding, and of course their population had been decimated, but it never seemed to bother the rattlesnakes which were now simply easier to see.

Bruce hated rattlesnakes and sidewinders. We would be driving down a road and Bruce would spot a rattlesnake lying by the side of the road-doing nobody any harm. He would stop the truck, take out his six-shooters and begin shooting at the defenseless snake. He would usually have to do a jig-dance to keep out of the way of the snake's striking range, because rattlesnakes are aggressive and when threatened they rattle their rattles and prepare to strike anything within their zone. Bruce was an excellent shot and it was all over in about three minutes and Bruce always triumphed. I was always praying for the snake because it was essentially helpless against a shooting giant. Bruce would cut off the snake's rattles and save them for his collection; cut off the head and throw it into the bushes far away from the road; and then turn the snake upside down and put rocks on the body to hold it upside down. His theory was that there was an Indian rumor that if you killed a rattler and turned his body upside down, it would bring big thunderstorms to the area. Only saw that theory work once-and maybe it wasn't because of the dead snake at all.

We were blessed with all manner of animals in the mountains; raccoon, possum, skunks and civet cats, rats, moths, bats, birds of all description and song, bobcats, coyotes, mountain lions, reptiles and amphibians, rabbits, hawks, golden eagles, wild turkeys (which taste delicious), and deer. None of them had been exposed to humans before and so had no fear initially. There was a deer path that was right in front of the outhouse door and it was wonderful to see a deer and her fawns coming down the draw to go to the creek. Bunnies would hop by and stop and peek inside of the outhouse...as did skunks and racoons; it was often a real experience just going up to the restroom.

One morning, very early, the sun just peeking over the hills, I got up to trek to the outhouse. It had been snowing and the path to the outhouse was icy and up a steep slant, so you had to travel very slowly and carefully. I glanced up from looking at the ground because I felt a presence close to me. There, across the driveway, was standing a mother mountain lion. A mother because her teats were heavy. I stood up straight and looked the mountain lion right into her eyes. I began to pray and remained absolutely motionless. We locked eyes for what seemed like five minutes but was probably a few seconds. Then the mountain lion slowly turned around and walked off back up the mountain. I stood still for a long time, shaking from the near encounter with death, and then went up to the outhouse as originally planned.

One night we were all in bed asleep when we heard the loudest banging in the kitchen. Bruce insisted that the back door be left open at night so that his cats and kittens could go outside to use the "sandbox." Think of the logic of that...if cats could go outside, then other animals and people could come on in also. Anyway, we both grabbed our flashlights and walked slowly into the kitchen and just as we got to the doorway, a big bobcat ran between our legs and out the back door. He had been eating the cat's food, and the kitchen was pretty much a mess.

Once we were sitting in the living room relaxing, when we kept hearing a Bang! Bang! on the front porch. Bruce jumped up and drew his weapon and then ventured out on the porch, but there was nothing to see, only the same old chairs and the barbecue with its lid closed. Bruce came back inside and sat down, but immediately the banging began again. He returned to the porch and sat down and waited for the noise to start again. When it started up again, Bruce noticed that the barbecue was shaking. He knew that something was alive and very angry inside of the barbecue. He went and got a long board and then, using the board, he slowly opened the lid of the barbecue. Out jumped a huge old raccoon, spitting and "mumbling" under its breath. It took off like a shot and we realized that we had cooked steaks last night and that someone had accidentally closed the cover without ever seeing the raccoon inside. The poor animal had been trapped for hours-overnight. It must have been so frightening for him, but at least he had had a good dinner.

We were blessed living in the canyon because we witnessed things that not many people have ever seen in person. There were other visitors that we had in the canyon; human visitors struggling to come into the freedom and opportunity of America. Tomorrow we will tell the story of a particularly close experience we had on one Christmas Eve.