They had traveled overland across the pararie the had crossed the Continental divide,
braved the scorching desert in the summer. Entered the mountains, following the
water slowly up through the valleys to arrive here at the foot of at least on hundred
yards of steep slope. The only way for them to get to Sutter's Fort before winter
was up and over.
Multiple heavy wagons, prairie schooners, in the meadow wait their turn. The children
run around gathering pine cones. Playing with their friends or helping mom with
the chores. Months and months of 'car camping' had left their clothing tattered
and torn. They were not going to look like a bunch of vagrant vagabonds when they
got to town if mom had anything to say about it. So she worked to keep them
in clothes, to keep them fed and healthy.
Meanwhile the men took one wagon at a time and hitched multiple yoke of oxen to
them. Using ropes, pullys and rollers they slowly pulled each wagon up and over
the steepest 'road' they had ever seen. It was this pass that the Donner party missed
when they headed up the wrong valley and gave a lake and a pass their name by eating
each other to stay alive.
It is quiet and serene here now without a sound of anything man made except perhaps
the far off roar of a jet passing over head taking busy people to busy places to
conduct business. Here this valley site quiet and alive with all the buzzing and
chirping and chattering that belong to God's green earth. A beautiful place, that
for a time held the future if California and the spirit of the pioneers that would
establish American civilization on the west coast. A toast of fresh snow melt water
to those hearty souls who have so much to become Californians!
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