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ones.  I have succeeded in forgetting most of them but the memory of one is ineradicable -- a thick slab of Bermuda onion as the foundation for a wigwam of orange sections and the whole smothered in mayonaise.  She charged $35 a month for room and board.  Father said he could send me $50, which left something like 50 cents a day for everything else I might need.  My mother, a capable dressmaker, would take care of my clothes.  I expected to be homesick but I realized that I could not afford to take the train and go home from time to time on weekends.

With a heavy heart and anticipating a bleak, hard time, I set out for San Jose.  I was to be thoroughly surprised.

The first thing that struck me was the beauty of the Santa Clara valley.  I would not have believed any place on earth could compare in loveliness with Sonoma County but I soon learned otherwise.  San Jose at that time was in the center of a fruit basket, a cornucopia of apricots, prunes, pears and of course marvellous grapes.  Vineyards covered the slopes of