Yolo County CA Archives History - Books .....Chapter XIV. 1904
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Peggy Perazzo pbperazzo@comcast.net February 13, 2006, 5:06 pm

Book Title: Recollections Of A Busy Life

California - Westward Ho!

It has been as a dream or a desired possibility for some years past that I 
might yet see California. And it has seemed nearer till in the summer of 1902, 
I, with the good will of my family, arranged to go. On October 29th, with grips 
packed and in company with the Doctor and wife, Harry and wife and Lena, we 
went to the Northwestern Depot in Chicago, and after waiting in line for a long 
time, and it being decidedly cold, we finally were admitted to the car and 
shown to my number of seat and berth. And now I have bidden and kissed good-bye 
to those who came with me, as also those left at home, and I am in a cold car, 
curtains all along the bunks drawn, for it is time for sleep to those who can 
find it; but outside is plenty of noise and tumult. Soon as the porter can fix 
my bunk I got under cover in search of some warmth, and here and then I thought 
of my children on their way home to warm rooms and my wife at home in her warm 
bed, and here I am in this cold car and not a soul near that I ever saw. Yes, I 
was petty near homesick, and not yet started. But at last the cars are moving 
and I go to sleep. I awake at early dawn, raise my curtain, bolster up with 
both pillows, and in the twilight see farms, barns, houses, cattle, sheep, 
swine, and now they are coming out to milk, and it is a fine morning of 
sunshine, and the car is now warm, and I am just having a good time.

Everybody in the car is up, curtains all out of sight, and really, here is a 
car full of pretty good looking people. Some are children, and just opposite my 
seat is a family of six. They give me a cup of tea as we take our breakfast, 
and I give the children some bananas; that pleases them.

Farm scenes follow each other as we cross this beautiful prairie country, till 
we come to Council Bluffs and Omaha, and as these names are called out, I begin 
to think of the letters that used to come to our old farm home from Lyman and 
Fernando, after they had been a long time on their journey to California in 
1850. Then our letters cost 25 cents each, and took weeks to reach us. And now 
I begin to see what I have only heard before. Some miles of barren plain, 
sagebrush, gophers, prairie dogs, skeletons here and there, one of horse or ox 
of the years gone by.

We are approaching the mountains, but the grade upward is so gradual we do not 
perceive it. And now I begin to see where our cattle, sheep and hogs come from 
by the train loads. For here, as I look out on either side, I see the rancher 
with teams and gang plows, and here is a genuine cowboy on his pony with a coil 
of rope hanging over the horn of his saddle. Two or three dogs are in 
attendance, and with his wide wool hat it is all true to picture. Here we are 
at Denver, to remain for all the afternoon. We all leave the cars to see 
Denver. Go through and to the top of the courthouse, where I have a fine view 
of the Rocky Mountains. Then to the State Capitol, and at the top from the 
observatory we have a fine view of the city, the Rockies, Pike’s Peak, seventy 
miles away; then down to earth again, where an observation car takes us all 
around the city, and a guide tells us all places of note. Back to our car and 
about dark we start again on our journey. We passengers are getting quite well 
acquainted now and all enjoy the journey, except one lady, who has to worry 
about her pet dog that is in the baggage car. She tells the conductor and the 
superintendent of the train and the porter all about her pet dog Fannie. She 
has paid the baggage master to feed and water that poor dog. Oh, how that poor 
dog will cry with loneliness! I believe I can hear her cry now. She never was 
away from home before, and now to be away from her bed and where all are 
strangers. Oh, dear, I fear poor Fannie will die. Some of the passengers who 
have been over this road before are saying this evening that during the night 
we will pass through some of the finest scenery in this mountain gap. With a 
good night’s sleep, I feel as well as when I started.

At early dawn I raise the curtain to see, but I must be short-sighted, for only 
a short distance away I can see but a black wall. But when it is full day, I 
have to repeat what I hear said all around me. “Isn’t that grand?” I get close 
to the window and look up and up at those massive rocks, great and grand and 
sublime. 

Then to look down to the rushing, raging, foaming river, as we have to follow 
its winding way. Sometimes we are nearly on a level with the river; then again 
we are far above. it. Again here is a little town - a health resort. Isn’t the 
scenery fine? The wagon road leading back into little circular park, with neat 
cottages facing the central circle and railroad, and there is their country 
schoolhouse. But where do they come from or how can any one get here, only on 
the railroad? This day has been full of wonder scenes, and as night is with us 
again, I get to my rest of pleasant dreams. Early in the morning I am using my 
eyes again to view new and grand scenes that it may never again be my privilege 
and delight to behold. Each mile of the way is different from any other mile. 
And I say, “Oh, isn’t that grand?” and say it till I am tired of looking and 
wondering. Here we are on top of the Rocky Mountains, at the highest point of 
the railroad, and yet on either side the mountain peaks rise much higher, and 
we appear as in a valley or ravine, with a forest of small trees all round us, 
and the snow is gently falling. The train stops for fifteen minutes. The boys 
swarm out of the cars and have great sport snowballing.

We passed through Salt Lake City at earliest dawn, the street lamps lighting up 
the wide streets, bordered with their shade trees, many of which were the ------
- popple. In full day we rounded Salt Lake (the railroad now goes through it), 
then we pass over scenes of desolate land and rock, and here we are more on a 
level with our surroundings.

And this is my birthday, November 2d, and age sixty-nine. And I so informed 
some of my neighbors, and we were then having our noon lunch. One good lady 
said, “Why didn’t you tell that before, and I should have invited you to our 
table?

It is a long and elevated birthday ride up in the mountains. But night has 
succeeded the day and the new day is a change from any other; our train is 
running swiftly, and the outlook is improving for one who cares for the 
agricultural part of life, as is my nature. We stop at a station and out all 
hands go and we get grapes, apples, oranges - yes, some fruits that I was 
stranger to. As on we go, seemingly flying light, we pass such cozy little 
cottages, and each one surrounded with fruit and vines and flowers. Isn’t that 
cozy and neat? No dust, no dirt, nothing old or decayed, but all in fresh young 
life, in virgin soil.

Yes, I begin to comprehend, we are going down the western slope from the 
mountains and are nearing California. The train stops and we are in Sacramento.


Sacramento Los Angeles.

Familiar sounds greet the ear of busy humanity all round - engines passing, 
screeching, screaming, and our train signals all aboard, and we see but little 
of this city from which Lyman and Fernando used from forty to fifty years ago 
mail us their letters.

It was just at evening as we entered this city, so we see but little of it. Now 
on to Los Angeles, and the ride all night has been, I judge, over a level 
country. First morning light reveals here and there a rancher with a cheap 
house and plenty of stables for horses and pigs and chickens, two dogs, fruit 
trees and vines; so I do not pity him; he is monarch of all he surveys. His 
rights there are none to dispute. But here our train stops and they fasten one 
more engine in front and another in the rear. And now my bump of wonder begins 
to expand, for I supposed we were through with the mountains, till my return. 
But not so. Right in front of us are lofty mountains, and we begin to climb. We 
are following up the very winding ways of some creek, and often we pass cattle 
that here find both food and water. But the train is often going so very slow - 
a good walker could keep even time or beat it. And now beauty is everywhere. 
This is a rare treat - more than I bargained for in my ticket. At times we are 
quite shut in by the massive rocks that tower above us; then again, on our left 
we look far away over the fertile fields of California, the garden of the 
world. But how is this? And my bump of wonder expands to solve this problem. 
Another train is ahead of us on this same track running north, while we run 
south, and they so much higher than we. I see, I see now. This track is cut in 
the side of this circle basin mountain, makes an entire circle, crosses itself 
at a greater height, and thus we climb this mountain. And now look out on our 
right and behold where we are. Our track dug away up in the side of a mountain 
and away, away down lies a long zigzag lake; our train has turned many a 
horseshoe curve and just ahead is a snow shed or tunnel, and we pass through 
many of them. Now we pass over Blue canon, that lies fathoms below, and is a 
beautiful blue and green.

Some time in the evening we arrive in Los Angeles and go to the Palm Hotel. 
Next day was in the park, where were plenty of men, women and children, with 
nothing to do but to sit in some shaded place, chat, read the papers or stretch 
themselves on the lawn, or play hide and seek with children. But, restful as it 
is, I must see what I can see.

Take electric car to Santa Monica. Not much town, but a few boarding houses for 
tourists. And now, as I stand on the bluff, the broad Pacific lies before me, 
and I think of the weeks that my daughter Myrtie was crossing it to China with 
her husband, Mr. House.

But down the long flights of steps or stairs I go till I stand at the water’s 
edge to pick pebbles, and as my back was to the waters a larger wave rolls in 
and I am wet nearly to my knees. Well, good-bye, old ocean, if you are to treat 
me that way.

I return by another line that takes me by the foothills. All the land I have 
seen to-day is in farming or fruit or vine or flower. And these palms, aren’t 
they grand? This five acres all to peas. Some just planting, some growing in 
all stages to the peas that are being picked for market. Next I go to Pasadena, 
that paradise on earth, where kings live, attended by the nobility.

And now, as I have seen something of Los Angeles and its surroundings, I will 
away to the place of my destination, and arrive in Hanford, and inquire for one 
J. W. Young; my winter and with sister and relatives near Hanford.

“The old gentleman, isn’t it, you mean?”

Well, that took me back some, for in my mind he was yet a young man. Yes, 
perhaps he is getting old. “Is this the residence of J. W. Young?”

“Yes, sir, and you are Mr. Ruggles, are you not? They are expecting you. Walk 
in.”

Yes, and here is J. W. Young, sure, and I guess they were right in saying the 
old man.

“And my sister Louie, where is she?”

“Oh, she is up to Ed’s; they have a little boy; but Merle, Art Young’s wife, 
will hitch Dot to the buggy,” and in a jiffy she is in my presence - yes, 
immediate personal presence.

Well, we did hug just a little to part make up for what we hadn’t done for the 
past twenty-two years. But she is just as jolly as ever, and says there is the 
room all ready for you, and you are to occupy it all winter.

“You will remember that, won’t you Eli?”

Well, that seems homelike to be called Eli. It is always Mr. Ruggles or Brother 
Ruggles ever since I left the old farm. Now I am a boy again, and can go or 
come as the boy Eli.

Every few days Dot is to draw us to town or out in the country - or my good 
niece Mollie comes and takes me or us home with her; or I often go to Ed’s 
pleasant home, where I can sit by the fire and read from his fine library or 
play with Yvonne, a bright little girl of three, or rock the baby to sleep, or 
go with Inez to the piano for a little music feast. Across the way from Ed’s 
lives Jo Dopking and his brother and sisters are near here and at Woodland. 
This family lived in Keeler Township, joining Hartford, and we were in the same 
school district. Days and weeks pass too swiftly by, and I must again pack my 
grips, and so have to say good-bye to those I have learned to love - the 
Gallops, the Farmers, Clarence, Birdie and Sister - and away I go for Woodland.


My Visit at Woodland.

Here Cousin Amander meets me with horse and buggy and takes me to his house, 
where I found a warm welcome in a very pleasant home of his own for two weeks, 
and I was escorted around the country by my cousin and others, to my great 
delight. Cousin’s family are all married, and I have met all of them, and found 
them to be intelligent and agreeable.


At the Ranch Home of My Niece, Molly Cox, and Husband.

From Woodland I was taken to the home of Eben Cox, ten miles away, through a 
rich farming country, without a foot of waste land. Here I remained two weeks, 
being taken to the many relatives in this vicinity. My niece Molly and Mr. Cox 
have a valuable and pleasant home.


At Winter’s, Cal.

But time is up, and Mr. Cox takes me to Winter’s to my nephew Jesse Ruggles’ 
home, and again I repeat my stay of two weeks, and I have had two additions to 
mountain scenery, and I have been taken up one canon to the northwest, and 
another most beautiful and romantic of all - the winding, circling up and down 
ways, fruit of every kind, lemon trees, hanging full and fairly yellow with 
ripe lemons, grapes in abundance.

Then south and east for many miles and all the way is fruit, fruit, fruit. I 
have become quite attached to this large family of Jesse’s, for though not 
rich, they take more pleasure in each other than most families, though in 
riches abundant. Here I met some twenty of my relatives. But now I am off again 
and arrive safe at my Cousin Byron Jackson’s office, 411 Market street, San 
Francisco.


In San Francisco.

He takes me in his automobile to his residence, where I met his amiable wife 
and son Byron of nine years. My room looks out on San Francisco Bay and waters 
of the Golden Gate. How nice it is that again I can spend two weeks in this 
interesting city. I go to the Presidio with cousin in his auto and he takes me 
through the soldiers’ camp grounds, with its clean, winding roads, closely 
filled with slim saplings about 25 feet high, and so thick you could hardly 
crawl through them. Then to the Forts, where cannon are ready to defend the 
Golden Gate pass. Four times I visited Golden Gate Park, and then was reluctant 
to leave it. Here in San Francisco and Oakland I found Cousin Amander’s 
daughters. Then at the Cliff House, where is a fine view of the ocean and seals 
on Seal Rock.

And now I board an ocean coast vessel for Seattle. The first part of the ocean 
ride is very pleasant, the passing through the Golden Gate (the only one I know 
of on earth), keeping in sight of shore most of the way, but finally many of us 
passengers seemed to be attracted to the side of the boat and most of us 
contributed to the feeding of shark or whatnot we neither knew or cared. But I 
knew I was glad when the whistle blew for Seattle. Here I boarded a new trolley 
car line to Tacoma, where I soon found my daughter Iva’s home, and would you 
believe it, here I met my wife, who had come with Iva from our home in Oak Park 
some four weeks previous, and next day was born to Charlie and Iva Olcott a 
son, healthy and fair. When I was a schoolboy I learned that this was a country 
of much rain, and in fair view from this city stands Mt. Rainier. But citizens 
of Tacoma call it Mt. Tacoma. Viola and I went out to different places of 
interest on trolley cars, boarded the little steamer to Seattle, where we 
visited Charles Congleton and wife, and had a fine view of the city; had a 
pleasant day, and returned at night to find that it had rained all day in 
Tacoma.


Off For Home.

On May 4th I started for home via the Canadian Pacific, leaving my wife to come 
later, as she did via Salt Lake. I took trolley line to Seattle, where the 
steam cars took me north to a junction connecting east from Vancouver. This is 
a new country. Much has been heavy pine where now great stumps and brush hold 
sway; here and there a few acres are cleared, and in that is somebody at home 
very likely happier than most kings. The approach to the mountains is very 
gradual. Little farms here and there, and some are homes of Indians. Often a 
papoose is on the fence; their straight, black hair and the dogs and pony tell 
the rest. The thicket becomes more dense, the river is more rapid, and we begin 
to see the foothills. To follow the windings of the Frazer river, as in a few 
places it glides smoothly along as if resting for the next great battle with 
rocks that lie just ahead, and then goes leaping and dancing as if a life force 
lay beneath. Now we are climbing, and an engine is placed at the rear. Most of 
the mountains stand out separate and are covered with evergreens; they are 
pretty for a landscape picture, yet not so majestic as where I crossed going 
west. Occasionally we go between almost perpendicular rocks that reach skyward, 
but lack the beautiful colors. Now our track is cut in the mountain side and on 
our right we look away, way down to a small stream, and now our train turns to 
the right, crossing this deep gulch, and we are suspended in air on trestle-
work till we cross to the opposite bank, where, for a short distance, we are 
going westerly, where we come to another deep chasm coming from the south, and 
cross this twice before we are again on our eastern way. We are nearing the top 
of the Rockies. Here is snow and a health resort, and they are shoveling out 
some snow to get down to the ground, and the snow is piled high and is deep. 
Cold? Yes pretty cold. Soon after leaving this locality we find that we are 
following up one of these deep chasms; the stream of water is now on our left, 
and away way down it dashes and foams furiously. Now two engines have been 
placed in the center of the train, and we can hear the four engines puffing 
with all their might, and yet the train goes very slow. The grade is so steep 
that we notice it perceptibly. But the stream of water is now much nearer and 
is fast nearing us, or, in truth, we are nearing its source. Now the engines 
have easy work; the tiny creek is on a level with us; often we cross the little 
brook, and now we are at its source, a wee bit of a lake on the top of the 
Rocky Mountains. Now three engines are removed, and we glide along so easily on 
the eastern slope.

It was just at dark when we left this summit, and no doubt we passed most 
beautiful scenery, as we must have done, the past two nights. Daylight finds us 
gliding over a smooth plain, with no more in sight than as if in the boundless 
ocean. Not a tree or shrub or even a sage brush. Barren as a desert yet 
seemingly solid ground, awaiting, it is said, the irritating ditch to make it 
fertile. But with the thermometer at 55 degrees I beg to be excused.

The second day begins to show signs of life - a few shrubs, a shanty and here a 
herd of cattle, the rancher getting ahead of the season and other herders for 
the summer grazing, but not a sign of grazing is here. They ship hay by train 
or carloads. And now we have here and there a little town, and gradually 
getting to a better civilization.

Stop at St. Paul over night and have an interesting ride next day to Chicago, 
and arrive at Dr. Ruggles’ home at 10 P.M. all safe and sound, and I have 
enjoyed much of beautiful scenery and met many friends and relatives that will 
be a pleasant memory while memory endures.

[END.]


The accompanying song was sung by Father and Mother Ruggles on the occasion of 
Father’s last birthday. It had always been the custom for Mother to give a 
Birthday Dinner in honor of each member of the family - and good dinners they 
were, too. Mother was always noted for being a good cook, and on this 
particular occasion there was a goodly number of friends present, and 
everything was jolly and bright.

After the congratulatory speeches a song was called for. Father stood by 
Mother’s side, his arm about her waist, and as they sweetly sang this good old 
song there was scarcely a dry eye in the room. I realized for the first time 
that there would not be many more, if any, meetings like this. I felt that I 
would not hear his dear voice much more, and such was the case - he scarcely 
sang again.

Harry Lyman Ruggles.



We’re Growing Old Together.

Allie Toland Criss. E. F. Miller. Last Verse by E. F. Miller.

We’re growing old together, wife, Our heads are silvr’ing fast;
Our race of life will soon run, All cares will soon be past;
For years we’ve helped each other, wife, Thro’ rough and stormy weather,
But soon the clouds will disappear, For we’re growing old together.

Chorus.

For years we’ve helped each other, wife, Thro- rough and stormy weather,
But soon the clouds will disappear, For we’re growing old together.

Ah! well do I remember, wife, Those happy days long flown,
When we together crossed the fields, Where the hay was freshly mown;
Those summer days flew swiftly by, And winter crossed the heather, 
But our love is just as strong to-day, Tho’ we’re growing old together.

It seems but yesterday, dear wife, I stood with manly pride,
In the village church close by our home, And claimed you for my bride;
And solemn were the vows we made, And said we’d both endeavor,
To cheer each other day by day, While growing old together.

But best of all to me, dear wife, We know our Savior’s love,
His Word has cheered us all the way, And leads to realms above;
We soon shall gain our mansion fair, Our home beyond the river,
Where we shall see our Savior’s face, And reign with Him forever.

Chorus - Last Verse.

We soon shall gain our mansion fair, Our home beyond the river,
Where we shall see our Savior’s face, And reign with Him forever.


Additional Comments:
"Recollections of A Busy Life," By Eli Fayette Ruggles, H. L. Ruggles & 
Co., Publishers, (published circa 1904)
Transcribed by Peggy Barriskill Perazzo, January 2006

Transcription submitted to California Archives by Kellie Crnkovich with 
approval from Peggy Perazzo on 12/27/2005

File at: http://files.usgwarchives.net/ca/yolo/history/1904/recollec/chapterx128gms.txt

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