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Show The Women's Room By Kate McCutchan The foothills of the Sierras ... the rivers running clear and crisp, majestic oaks and towering pines, sunshine and flowers. That's the way it looks around Columbia, northern California, the place where the Gold Rush hannened back in 1849. It was my home for four vears; the people I met and the friends 1 made are an important part ot my lite, my past, my future. I'm returning this week for a visit and vacation. I want to tell you about three of the special women I came to know and love in Columbia. The first is Otheto Weston, 82 years old when I met her - she is an artist and historian. Born to the man who was Mark Twain's personal secretary, Otheto has a special interest in the history of the Motherlode country. She has kept her father's journals and records of his years with the grat author, as well as the memories of her own adventures. She spent many of her years traveling and recording during California's hey-days. Weston's paintings are the prized oossessions of many local businessmen and art collectors; they tell the story of the Gold Rush in detail. She is a well-known figure in Columbia and delights in telling about the old days. In an age when young women were usually married and having babies, Weston's travels and independent spirit made her rather remarkable. She once told me that she and a girlfriend had jumped into a horse trough on Main Mreei ij cool off on a hot summer day. Weston's energy and creativity inspired me to write a song for her 82nd birthday party. We had a community gathering just for her; she brought her two toy poodles and we all had a ball. The woman responsible for arranging Weston's birthday party is another local artist. Jeanne Link has been married many years to her partner, Harvey. Together they raised three boys and one girl, all talented individuals in their own right. Whenever anything needs doing in our community, it seems Link was there doing it. She taught art and puppetry to the children in town, wrote songs for the high school graduation, and sang for the community. She painted watercolor portraits of tourists and locals alike, always in the costume of the forty-niner era. Jeannie's studio was one of my favorite spots in town. She landscaped the bit of earth she had on Main Street into an enchanting garden, filled with flowers of every hue. If you were interested in her work, you could lean over the double door and gaze in on a scene that went back in time 150 years. Link would sit in her rocker, long gown and cap as her garb, and paint her heart away. Always happy to have visitors, she would stop for a chat or strum her autoharp and sing you an old song. Memories, memories ... one of my favorite rememberers is Mrs. Fernandez. Eighty-seven years old when I met her, she lives alone, cooking and sewing for herself and others. She is of Polish descent, prou d and independent. Mrs. Fernandez was married at 14 and cooking for 20 men who worked the farm she and her husband owned in the Sacramento Valley. When she was 16, she and her family were in San Francisco visiting when the great quake of 1901 struck. She told me of racing to the docks to board a boat with other desperate folk. On board, a man was caught with his pockets full of jewelry (one ring waas still attached to the finger of its previous owner). The other men escorted the criminal below decks, and he was never seen again. Fernandez (as she calls herself) and her husband had 12 children. Life wasn't always easy. When the depression hit, the Fernandez' lost their farm, but they were hard-working, faithful people. Their home was full of love and they all stuck together. A- widow now, with grandchildren and great-grandchildren, Fernandez keeps herself busy and her kitchen full. She cooks up a veritable feast every holiday and always has room for one more. "You come back soon. Miss Katie," she would say to me. It will be my pleasure to do just that. |