that Mother rejoined her family and met Will E. Watson whom she married in 1889. Like most American families we are a hodge podge of nationalities. Members have been farmers and traveling salesmen, doctors and ministers, missionaries and teachers. Dad tried many things but settled for the mercantile business. He was “store-keeper” and Postmaster in Pinos Altos for many years where he worked early and late to accommodate customers, but he was never so busy that he could not take time off for fishing and hunting and enjoying the great out-of-doors. TODAY Messrs. Birch, Snively and Hicks would not recognize the valley if they could come back one hundred years later. Gone are the tall pines that gave the place its name; gone for the greater part of the year are the streams where they placered for gold; gone are burros that carried their tools and supplies; gone is the excitement of a rich find and gone, too, are the hundreds of placer miners who followed them seeking “El Dorado”. Today there are approximately fifty families and a few lone individuals living in the camp, many of whom are descendants of “old timers”. They refuse to admit that they live in a “ghost town.” They think they are very up-to-date because they use and enjoy modern conveniences. Instead of smoke rising into the sky there are TV antennas bristling over the homes. No longer do they buy wood by the burro load and hire Jose Maria Romero, invariably with a gunny sack over his shoulder, to cut it into stove lengths. Now they heat and cook with butane or electricity which comes from Silver City. No longer do they fill lamps and polish chimneys but light their homes with the flick of a switch. No longer do they draw water with an old oaken bucket, now just a museum piece, from a well, but thanks to electric pumps, they have only to turn a tap. If children but knew what they had missed, how thankful they would be, with no wood box to keep filled, no bringing in of chips and water for household needs. No longer do the women bend over a wash tub, scrubbing out grime and grease on a wash board. It is only a fifteen minute drive to a laundromat. Cars, trucks, and “jeeps” have taken the places of horses, mules and burros for transportation needs and pleasures. No more do they send first-of-the-month orders to the company store and have them delivered. Now, finding themselves short of margarine, or bread, or wanting a frozen vegetable, they take the Ford or Chevrolet and drive to a supermarket. Who plays baseball now or spend an evening around the old piano singing old familiar songs when one can watch sports events on TV, or listen to the radio? No longer do the men gather around the pot-bellied stove in the store or sit on the long benches outside, settling the affairs of the world. A favorite commentator or the pictures in Life keep them informed, and with so many smart men in Santa Fe and Washington, why should they worry? No longer do the workmen