No, not the football team. Euw.
The miner kind of 49ers.
I’m from California, and the Gold Rush of 1849 has always been one of my most favorite periods in history.
The other day my daughter and I were watching a documentary of the pioneers and the Gold Rush. It told the story of a family who went west to seek their fortune. Usually men went without their wives and children and just hoped to make a bunch of money to bring home, or send for their families later. But this family took off together.
When they arrived, the lady found that the miners would pay five dollars to have a meal cooked by a woman, which of course was a lot of money back then. Well, maybe not to a guy who just found a bunch of gold nuggets in a creek and has blown phenomenal amounts of cash on booze and prostitutes. Five bucks for a “home cooked” meal would be nothing.
But anyway, these miners had gone so long without being fed by their womenfolk, not to mention even seeing a woman up close, that she was greatly appreciated. So much so that she was able to open a restaurant and make a tidy living off her culinary skills.
Now I know that some people fantasize about being Eddie Van Halen, or Angelina Jolie, or maybe even Bill Gates. Having fame, fortune and glory is a commonplace desire. But I haven’t felt as envious of anyone’s life as I felt hearing about this woman feeding all those men, winning their innocent affections and being compensated handsomely.
I imagine, being her, I would feel like the most beneficent goddess mother, appeasing the boys’ stomachs and comforting their loneliness (she had her husband there, so I’m assuming that she was relatively safe from untoward advances. Either way, nothing inappropriate figures into this particular fantasy of mine!) They would adore me, looking up at me with their sad, scruffy, hungry puppy dog faces as I set before them some stew and biscuits still hot from the oven. It would fill their bellies and warm their hearts and their homesickness wouldn’t sting quite so badly for just those few moments. After their many months of perilous journeying, miserable gold panning, lousy food and rough male company, just the swishing of my clean skirts as I went to fetch the coffee would be like music to their ears.
Silly, I know. But if a person’s fantasies reveal their essence, then I am all about food, earning a good living and being an adored mother-figure.
I can live with that.