A Western Pioneer

(This narrative was written by Grace Pate Heaton, daughter of David Pate and Susan Mary Lassiter Pate. It has been typed, retyped with carbon paper, copied and passed among the members of the family for many years. It was probably written in the 1920's or 1930's. Since Susan Mary lived with Grace for the last 24 years of her life, it was probably written from recollections of Susan Mary. Obvious typing and spelling errors have been corrected.)

CHAPTER ONE - CHILDHOOD DAYS

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, a little girl was born upon a Tennessee plantation. This was before the war with Mexico or the California gold rush or the War Between the States was ever thought of, to be exact the time was September 23rd, in the year 1837. The little girl was christened Susan Mary Lassiter and she grew and thrived, as all healthy children should. She played with her little brothers and sisters and with the plantation Negro children of like age. She walked to school on the winding path under her father's cherry and peach trees and across the grassy meadow and over the wooded hill to the schoolhouse. There she learned her ABC's and to make pothooks and do sums.

At home she was taught to sew fine seams and to knit stockings. Her mother wisely told her that she would, no doubt, some day have a home of her own and must know how these tasks are done, for even if she had many Negroes they were like children and must be taught. How she disliked mixing soda and cream of tartar with flour for biscuits and disliked the smell of salt rising bread, but because her father insisted, she learned to do these things very well and in after years was very thankful that she was able to do so.

As Susan Mary grew up, plantation life was very happy. There was much neighborly visiting with many parties in winter and picnics in summer. When company came in numbers the housemaid could help in the kitchen and a ham brought from the storeroom or chickens dressed and cakes baked. Company came to stay overnight and often stayed or could be persuaded to stay for a week or so. Saddle horses or driving teams were stabled and cared for by the Negro boys - for no gentleman bridled his own horse or drove the carriage team.

CHAPTER TWO - YOUTH DAYS

Susan Mary's older sister Martha married a Mr. Jacobs who was thrifty and industrious, but not a southerner and the family considered him an outsider. The sister Margaret had a schoolteacher beau, whom she later married, and her brother, Albert, not wanting to be a farmer, went to Cincinnati to learn banking. There were grandparents and aunts and uncles and dozens of cousins, so life went on merrily.

As children they played around the mill race and when older were allowed to have a boat on the millpond. There Susan Mary almost lost her life when the boat upset but was rescued by a neighbor boy who was one of the party.

One incident that all thought funny was when a big Negro who had been out Saturday night courting and worn his master's dress coat (handed down) and thought the long coat flapping at his heels was a "Haunt" and ran terrified to Susan's father who explained.

There was always much sickness in the fall of the year and especially among the slaves. One year her grandfather lost seventy slaves with what he called spotted fever, and at the end, his own life for he visited all the sick and gave the medicine as they refused to take the vile tasting stuff from anybody but "Massr."

CHAPTER THREE - FIRST MARRIED DAYS

When Susan was about twenty years old she met David Pate who came from "up North" near Chicago to visit an aunt. David's people had migrated to Illinois from Virginia. David and Susan were married and went to Louisiana where there was much construction work but the venture was not profitable for the Negroes were becoming restless from the influence of northern abolitionists. Susan lived there long enough to bury her little son of six weeks and David to dispose of his equipment, then they decided to go to California where the sun always shone and gold was to be had for the picking up. The young couple went back to Susan's home for a visit before departing. The plan was to sail from New Orleans as they had no desire to cross the plains. But yellow fever was prevalent there and due to the quarantine they decided to go to New York for sailing. After a short visit at the family home they went to Chicago by boat and train, crossed into Canada and came down to New York where they had no trouble to engage passage on the Gray Feather, a large sailing vessel. They had three weeks of sightseeing before leaving and later Susan was to tell her children about the sights of the city.

The boat trip from New York was uneventful but slow and tiresome. Crossing at Panama was not allowed that year because of the dreaded yellow fever. There were many stops on the South American coast for fresh water, fruits, vegetables and other supplies. Rounding the "horn" and crossing into the Pacific was one of the highlights of the voyage. Their Captain, a very able seaman, brought his vessel through without accident and all, even the seasoned sailors, rejoiced and shouted when safely through. One incident, soon after, was worthy of note when they rescued the crew and valuables from a burning ship that was loaded with silk and flax and fired by combustion in the hold. When at last they landed at San Francisco, Susan felt pangs of homesickness for the promised sunshine was not in evidence. The town of crude buildings was cold and bleak with fog and wind and streets unpaved. David saw no chance for mining but much construction in Suisun and Fairfax* so soon established a home across the bay.

CHAPTER FOUR - CALIFORNIA DAYS

Susan immediately began to save money to go "back home." Though she lived sixty years in California, Tennessee was always home to her. Their first calamity was the burning of their little house with all the contents. It burned so quickly that she was able to save only her baby girl, Laura, and her can of silver dollars. They found rooms for housekeeping in a hotel and David went to Washoe, Nevada, because of reports of the great silver strike, but was soon disillusioned. Susan learned to do the family washing and make sourdough bread, etc. She had lost all jewelry and marriage certificate when her house burned.**

CHAPTER FIVE - DAYS OF WAR

It has been said that the guns of Fort Sumpter echoed around the world. This brought sorrow to Susan who still thought of the South as home. The War Between the States was very real to her for feeling ran high and California was the melting pot for North and South. Northern friends unfurled the Stars and Stripes and rebels floated the Confederate flag. She had no letter for months and when the first one came she learned of the death of her father and eldest brother Albert and that her brother Alexander was off to the war leaving her mother and two younger brothers alone. Many of the darkies followed the Union Army and the few remaining were a burden and care. Susan never planned to go "back home" again. She now had a little boy named Joel. When she heard, a year later, how her mother and two little brothers were driven from their home and everything burned it seem the end of the world. Army horses were turned into the little family cemetery and all traces of graves destroyed.

Letters were very irregular and often opened and censored but at last the cruel war was over and thoughts of kinfolk, home and old friends were often in Susan's mind. Exciting reports were circulated about wonderful opportunities in Lake County where Borax mines were being opened, so once again the family moved, going to Lakeport.

The mines were a disappointment, but there was building going on. There Susan learned to plant a vegetable garden. There, also, they met some cousins of David's, the John Cheney family. In the 60's Tennessee Cheney married John Pinckney Andrews and came to San Luis Obispo County to live. Two more children were added to Susan's family in Lake County, Emma and Mary.

Indians were almost as numerous as whites but they were not warlike but lived without working and begged or demanded food or any article they fancied from the settlers. Susan Mary often found a silent squaw and retinue of grimy children beside her in her kitchen pointing to the dinner cooking on the stove and not willing to leave until the last spoonful was ladled out into grubby hands. One day when driving to town with the family they saw a buck Indian mounted on a roadside stump clad only in a loin cloth and opera hat. David said "There wife, you always admire top hats, how do you like that one?" The family was never really molested but Susan was often terrified when bands of roving warriors went past in the dead of night crooning their weird chants and tramp, tramping to their camp.

CHAPTER SIX - HAPPY DAYS

David heard of a wonderful opportunity for free land in the San Joaquin Valley. A covered wagon was made ready and suitable horses secured and once more the family went forth to make its fortune.

This time they were accompanied by a young Dr. Walker. Susan was glad for this company as with four children there was often someone ailing. She loved the valley and thought it much like home in Tennessee. They found settlers who had lived there long enough to have bearing fruit trees and grapevines. Fruit was shared generously with the newcomers. Game was plentiful and in the fall ducks and geese come by the thousands. As David enjoyed the sport, he kept the family well supplied and Susan made feather pillows and beds until well furnished.

The valley was lush and green and Susan's chickens almost raised themselves, as the climate was warm and favorable. Hogs were turned loose on the river islands to thrive and grow. Owners crossed in small boats to butcher when they needed meat. Friendships were formed that lasted through life.

Always Susan and David practiced the hospitality of the South. Visitors were cordially invited to stay for meals or overnight. Neighbor boys sometimes stayed a week and it was not unusual for David to invite a whole family to Sunday dinner when coming home Saturday night, regardless of the lack of kitchen help or reserve supplies. But some way Susan managed fried chicken or chicken and dumplings with hot biscuits and honey or fresh cake and plum preserves.

In the spring the crows came in huge flocks and Joel was stationed on the fence to scare them away as they would eat the corn or wheat as fast as David planted; and how he hated that task! Little Emma loved the birds and flowers and would sit on the steps to listen to the meadowlarks' plaintive cry and to watch swallows circle around in the evening.

Malaria was prevalent and people did not then know mosquitoes carried it. Swamps and sloughs were numerous from the river overflow and little was used for irrigation at that time so the land was not drained.

The stork brought another baby boy and he was named Robert Lee*** after the great and good general that all southerners loved. He was born on the homestead near what is now Porterville.

CHAPTER SEVEN - DAYS OF SORROW

The happy days were not to continue for the dreaded black diphtheria swept through the land and little Emma was the first stricken. She lived only a few hours and was laid to rest among the flowers she loved so well.

Indians here were of a very low type and as a rule not warlike but one family near the foothills must have angered them in some way for when the husband came home from town one day he found his whole family massacred and scalped. After that the children were often reminded of it by cautious parents. It is said that Mr. Bonsell, the husband, never missed an opportunity to shoot down an Indian on sight and the settlers never reported him.

CHAPTER EIGHT - MOVING, ADVENTUROUS DAYS

Cheering letter came from the Andrews' family asking them to come to San Luis Obispo where the cool sea breezes cleared the air and sickness was almost unknown. Mr. Andrews was doing well financially to and would gladly help David to get established. Once more the family made ready to move and again the good doctor was to accompany them. They never knew why he was here in a strange land or why he had no family contact but David suspected some "Nigger" trouble after the war. He was a southern gentleman of the old school and a very skillful surgeon and a good doctor.

Susan was forced to say good-bye to well-loved friends and pack to move to a new home. Once more she left a little grave of a loved one among the flowers and birds and butterflies.

Kindly neighbors advised them to stay for the railroad was coming through and there would be a market for all produce. The railroad was surely coming for the government promised it every alternate section of land as an inducement to build. Of course the settlers said the improved land would not be given, but David had doubts. He knew of some things the government had done in reconstructing the south after the war!

The Mussel Sloughs slaughter, as told by Frank Norris in his book called "The Octopus" was later to take place but farmers went on improving homes and planting orchards in good faith.

David was warned to beware of roving bands of Indians on the plains, of wild horses and in case of sandstorms to let Joey's little Indian pony lead as he would keep to the road and find water. They were not molested by Indians and fortunately did not encounter sandstorms and Joey and Dr. Walker were successful in warding off the wild horses. After a weary trip the family at last reached San Luis Obispo. The climate there did not agree with Susan as she was subject to bronchitis so they crossed the mountain for warmer weather but Dr. Walker decided to stay in the village of Cambria, some miles north of San Luis Obispo on the coast.

CHAPTER NINE - SETTLER'S DAYS

David found a vacant quarter section of land with water and shade trees in abundance and even enough pine trees for a log house. He built a log house of two large rooms and a lean-to shed and then he helped to build a log schoolhouse. Every family with children was welcome to help form a school district, which was done.

David soon found work building in San Miguel and being a man of education and intelligence was elected Constable and appointed Deputy Sheriff for the San Miguel Township. Susan traded horses for cows and soon established a home with garden and domestic animals. She was busy from sunup to sundown and at night always had sewing or knitting for flying fingers. Once again the stork came and this time left a little girl. They named he Grace Ellen and called her "Sunbeam" because of yellow curling hair. This was February 1st 1872.

Daughter Laura had a beau named Francis Young. He was a young man from a Yankee family but one of the most highly respected in the neighborhood. One evening, when coming to take he to a party, he had "words" with a fiery southerner named John Chestney and made the mistake of drawing his pistol, a little derringer that looked like a toy. John beat him to the draw and gave him a scalp wound with a six shooter that sent him hurrying on his way. There was no dancing that night for the young couple and Susan Mary promptly put him to bed with cold compresses and soon had him comfortable and the bleeding stopped. Laura and Francis (he was called Frank) were married when she was only sixteen; the date was December 24th 1875 (Christmas Eve).

Once upon a time the little sister Grace Ellen was very, very sick with a croupy sore throat and Susan, remembering Emma's fatal sickness, sent Joey on his pony for Dr. Walker. It was a long ride for a boy of fourteen; up through Dover Canyon and over Jack Mountain and down the long grade into Cambria, the young man rode. He found the doctor who made ready to come at once. Night had settled down before they reach the mountain home and the child was very, very ill. Doctor Walker gave medicine and watched by the bedside for hours and then sadly shaking his head said, "I am sorry Mrs. Pate, but I can do no more, she not last until morning, I may as well be going back to town." He did not know Susan Mary for she was not through fighting. She started a kettle of steam and said to the kind neighbor helping, "I have heard of alum and egg white being given to cut phlegm, let's try it." They prepared and gave the severe remedy for it was their last hope. Sure enough, after getting it down the gasping throat, the baby vomited a great quantity of choking membrane and breathed easily and by morning was sleeping peacefully.

Some of the neighbors had heard wonderful reports of land in Oregon being opened for settlement for homestead where the Indians by been moved back on their reservation. Three families, the Jacksons, the Illingworths, and the Hilligosses moved up there and sent glowing reports of a fine valley, good water and big timber to be had for the taking. David, whose income was from building and hard riding deputy sheriff work, decided to go and see what prospects were to be found. This time Susan said, "You go and find a suitable place and send for us if you think we should come." David resigned as Deputy Sheriff, settled his business affairs and made several bills available for Susan to collect for living expenses. And one sunny morning in July 1877, he mounted his big roan horse that had proven his worth in hard riding sheriff work and with the sturdy little brown as a pack horse for his bedroll and extra clothing he was ready to start the long ride to Oregon, the land of opportunity for settlers.

He had buckled on his brace of pistols and placed valuable papers in his saddlebags, leaning down he bade farewell to Susan. He said, "Do not expect a letter for ten days or two weeks, but I will write you as soon as I arrive at Jackson's and see what the country is like." Susan waited in vain for a letter that never came.

Summer drifted into fall and funds were running low as Susan could collect very little of the accounts left with her. At long last came a letter in a stranger's hand saying that we fear your husband lost his life at the uprising of the Indians who went on the war path and attacked the white settlers. A body was found beside a campfire with all clothing and valuables missing. Mr. Jackson was sure it was Mr. Pate from the description, though he did not see the body himself. Later he saw the roan horse and some fine pistols in the possession of the Indians and your husband has not been seen since. Jackson said Mr. Pate had stayed all night at his place and gone up the river to locate a homestead.

Susan was shocked and grieved but knew stark terror when she thought of winter so near and funds exhausted and with four dependent children. Some of her best hens were sent to market where they sold for fifty cents each and only bare necessities were bought. Christmas that year had only honey spice cakes and popcorn for special treat - they had raised the popcorn and honey was free from trees where wild bees were settled.

The next summer Joel worked outside in harvest, Robert Lee got a job doing chores for a farmer and Mary worked for hire for a woman who had small children. Susan and the little sister Grace were alone to look after the home place. There were cows to milk and butter to pack for winter, pigs to fatten for the fall butchering, fruit and corn dried, potatoes dug and Katie, the gentle old mare, the only means of transportation. Little sister was allowed to ride her and one day, to her sorrow, was scraped off Katie's back by a willow branch and has a hazy memory of being carried to the house and laid on the couch and told to be quiet until Mother could go for Auntie Smith. Auntie Smith lived half a mile away and was a practical nurse. It was Susan's capable and strong fingers that set the broken collarbone and bathed the dizzy head.

Like relatives after report of missing in battle, the family hoped to hear from David but when Dit Jackson came back to the county for his old parents a year later, Susan was convinced by his description of the battle that the first report was true. Well meaning friends offered to adopt two of the younger children but Susan said, "No, where there is a will, there is a way, I will manage," and she did.

A Doctor Smiley stayed all night one night and the children loved his stories and hoped he would stay many nights for he had been everywhere, well, almost everywhere, and he had experienced many adventures. But when the sun rose over the green oat hills and the ranch life awoke, Dr. Smiley prepared to travel on. Little sister hoped for another story but was too timid to ask, so when Joey brought up the bay mare and shiny buggy she had a happy thought and said "Ma, can't I ride a piece with Dr. Smiley?" There was no answer at first but when she repeated the request many times, Susan's resistance was worn down until at last she said, "Well, you may ride as far as the big rock." That was half way to Auntie Smith's! Proudly she sat beside the elderly doctor and when they reached the big rock she said, "Oh, I just as well go on to Auntie Smith's." The good doctor was reluctant but sister said, "Ma won't care, I go there lots of times" so on they jogged. Auntie Smith was just ready to mount her pony Dollie and go to visit a neighbor. She gave little sister a fried cake and a blossom from her passion vine and said, "You must run home to Mother." She trudged home and put the passionflower in Mary's bouquet of maidenhair fern but Mother said, "I told you as far as the big rock and you went on to Auntie Smith's place." Alas, Mother deftly turned sister over her knee and gave a sound spanking where it hurt the worst and did the least harm. "How did you know," sobbed the culprit. "Oh," said Mother, "a little bird told me." "Which bird," wailed the child? Mary giggled and said, "Don't you know passion flowers don't grow on the big rock?"

CHAPTER TEN - HARD DAYS

Then the dry year came and no grass grew and sheep and cattle died like flies in winter weather. Through her cows grew thin and staggered from weakness, Susan had mossy branches cut and kept them alive. One dainty little Jersey two year old came to the door and looked so pleading that Susan exclaimed, "Why didn't I think of it before!" - the boy's camp bed was stuffed with hay so she cut it open and fed sparingly to the hungry cow and she lived too.

Brighter days were to follow for the next winter was "wet", grass came but money was almost unknown among ranchers. Farmers were grinding wheat in their coffee mills for bread but Susan decided to ask Mr. Blackburn to sell her some flour. Joey was horrified but she said "back home rich people always helped the poor and I can ask." Mr. Blackburn treated her with much courtesy and when she told him, "I can't pay you until I sell my cattle in the spring," he answered, "at your convenience madam." To the storekeeper Frank he said, "give the lady as much as she requires." And he did!

There was a wonderful celebration at the schoolhouse on July 4th in the late 70's. Riders with trained horses put on a square dance, which was much admired. Susan had stacks of blackberry pies and platters of fried chicken. The young folks danced in the afternoon and evening but Susan was forty years old and thus past middle age! - though her hair was golden brown and her smiling blue eyes bright and gay. She and the other married women wore dark colors and made the coffee and served the food.

Two outlaws from the Mussell Slough slaughter came to Uncle Billie Smith's for a short stay but after resting horses and practicing pistol shooting they, like ship that pass in the night, drifted on to ports unknown.

At last a cattle buyer came and Susan's cattle were sold. She was paid in gold coin and the princely sum of $80.00 couldn't have made a Gould or Vanderbilt feel richer.

There was money to pay Mr. Blackburn and more. Susan would go to town next day and pay him. That night she was wakened by a strange noise and saw a crouching man in the room. Thinking of her sleeping children and cattle money she cried out, "Joe, get your gun, there's a man in the house!" She saw a slinking form pass out the back door before Joey could be aroused and so saved her precious money.

The creek was menace and fear for the watchful mother but not so the children, they loved it. In winter, when racing from bank to bank, it was exciting. Interesting things floated down, board from a neighbor's fence, a dead calf, uprooted trees and flocks of tame ducks went floating by. Once Susan's cows had to swim home, that was fun, - and crossing on the foot-log too. In summer there were swimming holes for all sizes, from shallow ripples where little sister could wade to the deep blue green pond under the bluff where the boys learned to dive and swim. There were myriads of pollywogs, minnows and mud turtles and on the banks grew vines with luscious blackberries and later big clusters of elderberries. Birds' nests from the tiny hummingbird and mud daubers to the hawks nest in the snag of the old pine tree.

With the wet years came late spring rains, clover grew rank on the flats and cows were in danger of bloat. Uncle Billie Smith had told Susan what to do in case her cows were taken sick and one evening Robert hurried to tell mother that old Boss was sick. There was old Boss and her daughters young Boss and Bossy down. The children gathered around much concerned for old Boss was a pet and practically one of the family. They could ride her and she led the herd to and from the pasture. "Let's give her soda Ma, like we did Brindle, said one," but Susan shook her head saying, "She's too sick to get anything down and there's no time to send for Mr. Smith, but I'll do what he told me, I'll stick her and let the gas out. Susan whetted the five-inch blade of her paring knife, counted the ribs and measured with her hand the distance from the flank, located what seemed to be the right spot, shut her eyes and stabbed. Escaping gas sounded like a distant siren and soon Boss slowly and painfully got to her feet. Divine powers must have guided the hand for Susan didn't know much about anatomy but it worked and once again she saved the valuable cow. Supper was late that night for Susan had to make biscuits and cook the last of the sugar cured ham of her own making. She had learned this too from Uncle Billie Smith.

She worried some about meatless days ahead but next morning one of Mr. Blackburn's Basque sheep herders appeared carrying a full half of a nice fat mutton. When Susan protested "too Much" the herder said "Mr. Jim, he say give you" and so it could be accepted with thanks.

One afternoon in spring a group of neighbor women were assembled at Auntie Smith's. It must have been a quilting party or something of the kind. Little sister was, of course, present and having a wonderful time. A cattleman who Susan had known since Lakeport days came in. He was somewhat unsavory of reputation but a pleasing rascal. He offered to tell fortunes with cards and produced a deck of cards and told fortunes for several, of course finding something pleasant for each. There were little squeals of delight over the usual travel trips and money to be inherited but Susan took no interest so he asked her to let him read the cards for her. She said very shortly "No, I know the past and don't want to know the future." He said, "Well, I will tell you one thing anyway, that little girl will be stolen and taken to some strange city to beg on the streets." "If that child is stolen, you will be the first man arrested," snapped Susan. She was not so confident as she pretended, for a long time to come little sister was not allowed to go anyplace alone.

One winter evening when the family was grouped around the glowing fireplace, Snip, the family dog, began barking and then as children's voices were heard, he yelped with delight. That meant company coming and all became almost as excited as the dog. It was a neighbor, a Mr. Richardson and five children, and the children could stay all night. That was a special treat, but Susan put on a bonnet and shawl and prepared to go home with Mr. Richardson. After many cautions about the care of the younger ones and banking the fire, Susan left both families in care of the two older girls. It was a happy occasion for all and the night passed without mishap. In early morning Susan came home and prepared breakfast for the two broods, telling the eldest girl that they had a new baby sister at home. She told them to hurry home before the rain began and the creek came up so they could not cross.

One day in June a spirited team drawing a shining wagon came to the house and even the children recognized Mr. Hudson, their rich neighbor, whose ranch was about three miles down the creek but eight miles by wagon road. He promptly stated his business that he would like Susan to come and nurse his wife. He said, "I will pay you well." But Susan said, "Mr. Hudson, I was never paid for nursing a sick neighbor in my life," "But Madam", he said, "you do not understand, I want you to take complete charge of the household, we have harvesters and I do not want my wife to be worried by anything." Susan could go as the married daughter was home for the summer while her husband was away harvesting and as Mr. Hudson needed Susan at once and promised her a riding horse to go home when necessary, she returned with him.

She found Mrs. Hudson quite ill but mostly in need of rest and quiet and the kitchen help an untrained Irish Girl fresh from the old country. This was the beginning of a lifelong friendship for the two women. They grew to love each other as sisters.

True to promise Susan rode home on Sunday to see how the family was getting along and there was rejoicing. Even Snip, the shepherd dog, yelped with delight.

"Have you had your baths?" asked Mother, "and your hair washed?" "Yes, yes Ma, all but Robert and he swam two hours with Eddie Morehouse and said he didn't need a bath." "Well then, you may have this horse to ride to Sabbath School if you know your Bible verses," was the reply.

"Did you read a chapter for the other children every night, Mary?" "Yes, Yes Ma," chorused the excited youngsters. "Can Robert Lee ride Brownie alone?" This was thrilling for most children rode in the farm wagon or walked to Sunday School.

The day was perfect for there was chicken and dumplings and custard pie for dinner, but alas, all too soon it was time for Susan to return to her work.

"Mother, how do you manage, with a patient, a family and a crew of harvesters?" asked Laura. "Oh," said Susan, "Mrs. Hudson is sweet and the children good as gold to mind me and Irish Mary neat and willing, though she loiters in the barn yard if I send her for eggs. She says it smells natural like. We give the men meat sandwiches and coffee at 10 in the morning and only pie and cold drinks for the afternoon; to save on bread baking we have hot biscuits for breakfast and the men like them. Mr. Hudson provides abundantly, even a man to keep us supplied with stove wood."

Little sister sat on the stone steps and hugged her knees and batted her eyes to keep the pine trees on the ridge from looking wobbly and swallowed hard on the big lump in her throat. She wasn't going to cry, no sir! She was too big, to cry, six going on seven! To Laura, Susan said, "Of course Mrs. Misenheimer can borrow my quilting frame, sorry I can't be here to help." "Mary, see that the ducks come to their pen at night, I saw coon tracks right down by the crossing." "Robert, don't forget to mend the fence so you can turn the calves in the barley field, they aren't growing as they should."

Susan turned to little sister and taking the rosy face between her two hands said, "Now be a good girl and mind Laura and I will come home Sunday, perhaps to stay." Sunday was a long, long time, almost like waiting for Christmas, and then clop, clop she rode away and was soon out of sight behind the willows.

"Yeah! Yeah!" jibed Robert, "Be a good little girl and mind Laura, Curly Top."

"You shut up, you big boob and quit calling me Curly Top. I want to be called by my name and not Ellen either. I like my first name, Grace best, so there!" Who knows, perhaps Robert wanted this response.

Susan came home the next Sunday to stay and reported Mrs. Hudson up and about, the family well, harvesters through and Irish Mary had learned to make biscuits and apple pie.

Both Susan and Auntie Smith made soap. Susan's became hard when cold but Auntie's was about the color and consistency of brown roast gravy. Both would take the skin off hands as well as grass stains out of white muslin panties.

Joe came home from haying to tell Susan of an opportunity to buy a "quit claim" deed to 160 acres of land where there were several hundred acres of government land for grazing which would, perhaps, never be settled for want of water. This land was near enough to the home claim for horses and cattle to graze. Susan always said "quick claim" and embarrassed the boys by calling manila rope "vanilla rope" but she knew the values of rope and always insisted on that kind.

After much discussion the family decided to move. Oh joy, the children thought, what fun to move. When moving day came Auntie Smith said, "I just can't tell Mrs. Pate goodbye." In the end she didn't have to.

Joe was started early across the hills with the herd of cows, accompanied by the faithful shepherd dog. Robert Lee and Gracie were stowed on the high seat of the farm wagon beside the driver. The household goods were piled high and a crate of squawking hens stored at the rear. Then Susan mounted the faithful Brownie and followed Joe and the herd to see that her cows were not driven too fast and were allowed to eat and drink on the way.

Oh, the joy of moving to a new place but how the children missed the beloved creek. Things were different and the cows grazed on oat hills but there was no cool log house and no fireplace. Just a stove and the only swimming pool was Mother's big wash tub in the shed.

The next summer there was an epidemic of scarlet fever and of this Susan was plainly afraid for the two eldest children had suffered from this disease and it left Joe with impaired hearing and Laura with weak eyes. School was closed and the family told to stay home. Even the Hudsons were stricken and a rumor reached the children that the next door neighbors, the Gillis family, were down. For once Susan did not go to offer assistance, but when Mr. Clay, a Gillis relative, came and said, "I think the father will die. Can you come, Mrs. Pate?" Susan immediately prepared to go. She took a change of clothing, a pail of milk (knowing the family had no cows), her bottle of "Golden Seal" and a bar of laundry soap. She walked the "short cut" to the neighbor's farm, leaving her change of clothing, soap and towel by the spring that bubbled up among the dogwood. She found the family in a pitiful state with parents and children all ill. She set to work to swab sore throats, and that swab, how it did scrape off membrane, to bathe and oil feverish little bodies and coax cool milk or venison broth down for nourishment. She went daily for three weeks taking milk and eggs and always stopped by the spring to bathe and change clothes before going home. At last all were out of danger and no member of Susan's family had the dread disease.

At that time there was no specific remedy and preventive measures unknown. Even doctors just treated symptoms as they developed.

Wild honey was plentiful. Bee trees were common property to finders and Susan always "took the honey" after the boys cut the tree. A smudge was used to dull the bees and with a pillowcase on over her head and gloves on her hands she scooped out buckets full of the amber comb. One time something happened that scattered the bees and everybody got some stings. Little sister danced a Highland fling while a whole handful of bees under her dress buzzed but Susan stolidly kept to her job and landed four brimming pails full of good honey.

The time went on peacefully. The children grew and liked the new school. There they had for two years the best teacher they ever knew. She taught so many things not printed in textbooks at that time. She taught how to see the beauty of sunsets, to arrange flowers, to read poems with understanding, the care of nails and teeth, derivation of words and., above all, an intelligent understanding of the three R's.

In the 80's Mr. Blackburn fenced his ranch known as the "Grant" and soon rumors followed of the coming of the railroad and subdivision and laying out of the towns of Templeton and Paso Robles.

Settlers did come for the dry land, formerly used for grazing only. Susan saw the end of free government range and had to sell her cows. Of course the choicest were the first to go.

Mary married Wm. Gillis. Robert went to Templeton and established a meat market. Grace went away to school and Joe decided to take over the management of the Templeton Hotel. Susan gave up ranching and went to help Joe with the housekeeping of the hotel.

Gracie went at the mature age of 18 years to teach a country school east of Pozo (Avenales) where several of the pupils were older than she.

Susan could never tolerate the kitchen waste but received praises from the real estate promoters for the clean house and good meals.

Ranching days were over for Susan. She came to California in a sailing vessel, taking three months to make the trip to an unpaved San Francisco. A time of Indian raids, covered wagons, wood stoves and kerosene lamps and welcomed the coming of the railroad, electricity and later the automobiles.

When Grace married Rollin Heaton and came to Paso Robles to live, Susan came also and for 24 years made her home with them. When she first came to the district her home was a log house and her last years were spent in the former Blackburn home, a mansion of 16 rooms.

Susan's fine sewing made shrouds as well as wedding dresses though all her life she regretted that she had not been trained for some special work, though teaching and dress making were about the only opportunities and after all she became a farmer, cattle expert, nurse and housekeeper. She never visited her old home in Tennessee but it would have been heartbreaking to see the devastated country after her family was gone and her lot, though hard, was no worse than for women who went on living in the path of the war. 70 years later only the old mill and mill race were left to mark the Tennessee plantation when viewed by her daughter Grace and her granddaughter, Lenore Heaton Brush.

*I'm almost sure that this is meant to be Fairfield, which is side by side with Suisun.
**This clears up, or rather, muddies, something else. I'd always been told that David made this chair and brought it from Tennessee, but given that the first baby died, and that their house burned down, I can't see them toting it, and it doesn't seem it would have survived the fire. I wonder how old it is. Maybe David made it after they settled in Paso Robles. My mom and aunt sat in it at the table as babies (it's a high chair for table use) and I and all my cousins and siblings sat in it, and my nieces sat in it, and now it's in my kitchen, and I wish I had kids to sit in it, but I will find babies in the family to pass it down to somehow.
***My great-grandfather, who taught my mom how to shell pine nuts, and whom she loved. - Mary

If you've got other information about members of this family, especially descendants of Robert Lee Pate, feel free to email me: my first name at wrexham.net