Then we went to Silvertree, then to Durango, a new R.R. and mining town, worked at mining, lumbering and lodging house business. Not striking it very rich, we returned to Denver, where I worked for a few months. Denver was a beautiful city of about sixty thousand inhabitants at that time. Concluding I had enough of the west, I packed up and came home, stopping over in Boston for a few days with my old friend, Charlie Robertson, then taking the boat to St. John, thence by rail home. I was absent about twenty-eight months.
Once back home on the old farm, I pitched into farming, which consisted of raising grains: wheat, oats, barley, buckwheat; also potatoes, turnips, and other vegetables of different kinds; hay, horses, cattle, sheep, hogs, hens, geese, ducks. I did a little lumbering occasionally; also ran a threshing outfit for several years. My mother, quite an old lady, was with my sister Bella, keeping house for me. Mack Logan, my nephew, was also with us.
I began to think it was about time to be getting married, or I would soon be an old bachelor. I don't like to tell you just how old I was. At any rate, on June 29, 1886, I was married to Christy Reid, of Gulf Shore, daughter of Peter Reid and Margaret Ross, his wife. We now settled down for life on the farm. Man proposes, but God disposes.
For ten years we both worked and toiled on, having our troubles and sorrows mixed with much happiness. In the meantime, several children were born to us. First a boy, which we called Daniel Sanor; the Anne Gertrude; then a little girl baby that died; next came Jessie M.; then Frances Maud; next Flora Gordon, who died aged 8 months; then Mabel, who also died, aged 8 months; then Margaret Vera; and Grace Reid, another girl baby died. I don't mean that these were all born in ten years.