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Blessed for Christmas “California
there we went
Going out was made possible by our next-door neighbors, Penny and Bill Seifert, who volunteered to help take care of our somewhat neurotic Yorkie, Jake. In addition, our always helpful daughter, Lisa, gave us lodging and help getting to and from the Fargo airport for our trip to Roseville, Ca., where we were hosted for ten wonderful days by my son, Brett, and his beautiful wife, Laurie. I didn't realize so much sumptuous feasting and great sightseeing could be packed into such a short time—those ten days seemed to fly by because 60 degree weather and a full itinerary made everything memorable. My son Brett's home is located in a gated neighborhood called “Wellington,” which is right next to a 35 acre patch of park and wilderness preserved for hiking, birdwatching, biking and other typical Ca. activities. I carped every dieum I got to take walks along the trails designed to give hikers a sense of wilderness. On my walks I observed many of my favorite Oregon song-birds wintering there—I saw numerous finches, varied thrushes, towhees, scrub jays, warblers and white-crowned sparrows of the variety that I used to hear singing at night outside my window back in Lebanon in the 50's. The morning we left, I lucked into a covey of valley quail, the same beautiful birds I used to hunt along the ravines and logging trails that laced Peterson's Butte. I even felt a little sorry I ever hunted them; they are such a masterpiece of avian design and color. Other hikers along the way mentioned seeing deer, coyotes and even cougar traversing that swatch of urban wilderness. Years back I recall seeing most of the ground there covered with long yellow grass of the kind much associated with brush fires ubiquitous in Ca. these days, but now the whole area is carpeted with beautiful short green grass; it seems some genius came up with the idea of putting goats to work eating up all the fire-fueling underbrush and broom grass so that the fear of fires has been removed. Goatherds come with semi's carrying 75 goats apiece which are loosed where they are needed. Amazing! Goat, tell it on the mountain! A water course called the Chase Ravine transects part of the park, and during high water years, salmon can at times be seen swimming up to spawn. Speaking of salmon, Brett took us to see the fish hatchery abutting the American River and very close to Folsum Prison. Coming up the fish ladders that aid the fish getting around Folsom Dam, could be seen beautiful steel head trout moving up stream and the tattered carcases of spawned out salmon drifting down. The place was alive with fish-eating mergansers, gulls, and cormorants taking advantage of free lunch. We got there via Johnny Cash Street. Johnny's song, “Folsom Prison Blues” made the place famous. Other places we visited included the mining town of Auburn, Old Sacramento, a gigantic Bass Pro Shops and a church service that had all the trappings of a rock concert: Electronic deafening drums, fog-smoke shrouding popular local musicians and a packed congregation. Not exactly my idea of a Christmas Eve service, but if it gets people saved, who am I to judge? I did have to cover my ears for fear of further damage, and every thump of that infernal drum could be felt in my diaphragm. But such is California. I loved the things we could do as family, but I could easily do without the 3.65 per gallon gas, courtesy of the “environ mental cases”, the frenetic traffic and the ubiquitous homeless. They are beginning to be a huge problem. Arriving home we were once again blessed by the good graces of several of our neighbors Either Dan Cutter, Vincent Plumber, Bill Seifert, or Mike Goroski , (at times it's hard to find out who) so I'll say they all have taken a hand at blowing out my drive-way. Thank you God for such neighbors. They're making me think that maybe I'm an “old guy.” Naaaaah! Gene Pinkney/ 12/29/19 |