The very first time I ever heard of, "The Gulch" was when I was three years old. We had just moved to a place called Mt. Diablo into one of about twelve houses that had originally been built for the miners of the Mt. Diablo mine. My mother had been in the hospital, although I don't know what it was for, and had just gotten home. She was talking to the lady who had been taking care of my baby brother and I when she mentioned going to her boyfriend's mine up near Yosemite. I can remember hanging on her lap and just wanting to touch her because I was so happy that she was home. I don't remember where my little brother was, probably taking a nap or in his high chair. I don't remember everything they were talking about concerning the gulch but I do remember her mentioning a river, a gold mine and Yosemite and I would butt in and ask questions like,"Is it a deep river?, what's Yosemite?" etc. We had just moved to Mt. Diablo which was about five to seven miles from a little town called Clayton, Calif. We had moved from Cowell Rd. nearer still to Clayton and why, I don't know. I came to find out just a few years ago that my Mother owned the home on Cowell Rd. and owned it for many years later, so why we moved to someplace we had to rent is a mystery to me. I think it must have had something to do with my Aunt Ruth and Uncle Rich who owned the home next door. In my growing up years, my Mom and Aunt Ruth never got along which always made me feel that my cousins looked down on me as well, for many years. The only cousin that I felt comfortable with in those early years was my older cousin Laura. She was such a beautiful soul and was always so kind to me and I just loved her. When we moved to Mt. Diablo, I was pretty much alone most of the time and learned to occupy myself playing with our black lab, "Blacky", and riding my imaginary horse through the cattle fields along the creek and the acid ponds located in the fields. Its amazing all the things I did and the places I explored at such an early age.
I don't really remember the first time we went to the Gulch but my parents always said I was three years old and my Brother was six months. When we first started going up to the gulch, it was on weekends after my Mom and Bob got off work. Later, it was every weekend and all summer after I was out of school. Bob would usually have to leave Sunday night and head back to work and would be gone all week. So my Mother, Brother and I would be at the gulch all week alone. For some reason I seem to remember the trolly and the hot cabin, a springer spaniel named ginger and being afraid to get too close to the river and the ever magnified dreaded fear of the danger of rattlesnakes. Everything about the gulch seemed scary or dangerous as a small boy. Everything was a rule,"Whatever you do billy, don't ever get on the trolly by yourself, you could cut your fingers off, Whatever you do billy, keep your eyes looking at the ground for rattlesnakes, whatever you do billy, don't go down to the river by yourself, you could get swept away and drown, don't climb up there billy, those rocks could give way and crush you, Stay away from the edge of the bank billy, you could fall off the bank and get killed". It was always something. I usually would stick as close to my mom as I could because she was my safety net and I felt safe around her. I felt like Bob would have been even safer to be around but he was always into his mining or with his mining friends when they would come to visit. Plus he always made me feel like I was just kind of in the way and he would be barking orders and warnings or telling me to go see my mother. Since my brother was still just a baby, I really didn't have anyone to play with in those days. I couldn't go down to the river by myself because I might fall in and drown or go hiking or riding my imaginary horse because I might get bit by a rattlesnake or fall off a cliff. There wasn't any electricity or running water so I couldn't watch TV or run through sprinklers, so I was stuck with hanging on to my mothers skirt and listening to adults. Needless to say, the gulch didn't offer much for kids those days and so I was always pretty glad to head back to Mt. Diablo to my TV with cartoons, imaginary horse and Blacky. I don't remember whatever happened to blacky but he sure was a great dog. One of the best dogs we ever had. He was a black lab and I don't even remember when or where we got him. Although I don't ever remember him ever going up to the gulch with us, I'm sure he did. One of the greatest things about that dog was how he would protect my brother and I. When my brother started walking, blacky would stay right with him at all times. My brother probably learned how to walk by pulling himself up on his feet hanging onto Blacky. Our place at Mt. Diablo was also on a hill. The road to the other houses went right past our house and on the other side of the road was a drop off to the road below which was probably 40' or so. When my brother would head towards the bank, blacky would cut him off and gently nudge him back into the yard where he was safe. It was the darndest thing. We never taught him to do it, he just had that instinct of danger and knew his job was to keep my brother and I out of danger. When I would be riding my imaginary horse through the cattle, I came too close to this bull a couple of times. Not to worry! Blacky was right there and showed that old bull that I was the last thing he wanted to mess with. Through my lifetime, I have probably had close to 75 to 100 dogs. I've hardly ever known what it was like to not own a dog. But, I don't think there were any of them that measured up to Blacky. Here's to you Blacky, the first best friend my brother and I ever had in life.
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