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Show Morgan Pioneer History Binds Us 'Together Another interesting quotation is taken from the journal of my father, Charles G. Porter: "During the summer of 1862 Father had all the material on the ground for a big barn. The next year all the material for a house. He had dozens of loads of rock hauled. I remember Father kept one carpenter about six months and two men all winter working on the house and barn. The doors, window sash, floors, stairs, in fact, all the lumber was sawed in Hardscrabble Canyon, and handworked by the carpenters. The brick was made by Thomas Brough at his brick yard in West Porterville. The total cost was between $2500 and $3000. In the fall of 1865 as I remember, we moved in." Grandfather loved the comfortable, roomy new home. The kitchen was large and sunny, and in a comer near the west window, stood an old fashioned, cane-bottom rocking chair where Grandfather loved to sit after the days work was done. On a nail in the wall near his chair hung a slate with its wooden frame all bound in bright red cloth. The cloth was attached to the frame with a black cord which passed through the next hole, and so on. A pencil attached to a string hung on the same nail, and with this slate and pencil. Grandfather figured out all of his expenses, transferring only the final figures to paper, thus cutting down the expense of his bookkeeping operations. Grandfather was a good provider. He kept part of his Centerville farm and had a peach orchard. He also grew a patch of sugar there. In the fall Grandfather would take part of his family to Centerville and harvest the peaches and cane. The cane was taken to Brother Forde's mill where it was ground, and the juice made into molasses. A forty gallon barrel of this molasses was brought home to supply the family with sweets for the year. A half a barrel of peach preserves made with molasses was also brought home. Large quantities of the peaches were dried, to be stored away for winter use. Grandfather was very fond of honey, and several hives of bees were always kept near his home. It was not an unusual sight to see Grandfather put his mosquito bar netting over his head, and fasten it tight around his neck with his shirt collar, pin his gloves tight around his wrists and go out before sun-up to rob the bees and get a supply of fresh honey to eat with Grandmother's hot soda biscuits for breakfast. Beef and pork were produced on the farm to furnish the family meat supply. And at butchering time it was cured in big barrels of brine "strong enough to float an egg." Part of the meat would also be smoked in the homemade smoke house out in the back yard. Although Grandfather owned and operated his farm, at heart he was always a miner, and as soon as his boys were old enough to take over the farm work, he spent more and more time prospecting in the Hardscrabble hills. He felt so sure these hills were full of valuable ores, that he spent every cent that could be spared from the family income, trying to uncover rich veins that were always only a few feet away. This continued as long as Grandfather lived. The last work he ever did was in the mines. A deep shaft had been sunk in on one of the Hardscrabble mountains and from all indications, as Grandfather understood them, a rich vein of gold was just out of sight. He was all excited and promised his wife and daughters gold buttons for their coats that winter. One morning when he returned to work, he found several feet of water in the bottom of the shaft. They tried to bail it out, but it ran in faster than they could bail. A pumping system was badly needed, but was too expensive to be considered unless they could be sure the gold was there. Grandfather decided to drive a pipe deep into the shaft, believing that when the pipe was drawn out, enough ore would be clinging to it to convince his doubting family, that the gold was there. The pipe was driven in, but when they attempted to bring it out, it broke off a few inches under the ground. Grandfather gave up. He sank down on the ground and said, "This is the end." They took him home in the old lumber wagon, over the rocky, bumpy road, a tired broken old man, and tucked him into his good old feather bed. When he arose the next morning, the family saw a white stricken face. They put him into bed again. He was suffering with a severe ailment and needed expert medical care and hospitalization which, of course, was impossible. Ten days later he passed away, May 28, 1895 at the age of seventy-seven. And the gold in the old shaft is still "just a little way away." ©9- |