Monday, February 4, 2008

P.O. Box 504 Brookdale, CA 95007

Living in the Redwood forests of California changes one's sense of scale. You start to become used to living in the shadows of these giants. You even begin to get used to the amount of rainfall they require to exist. The dwarfing of all man(and woman) related things becomes common. Brookdale has a haunted lodge harboring irritable spirits thanks to a recent remodeling. There's a stream running through an old barroom. There's a mysterious neighborhood called Huckleberry Island that isn't really an island but rather a peninsula, and you can go to a little Italian restaurant down the way and the owner will work the dining crowd in platforms and the waitresses drop everything for song and dance. The mountain roads are windy and only the experienced and the brave ride their bikes along shoulders the width of a thigh bone. vegan terminal degrees who practice yoga and drink herbal teas mix with speed poppin' leather clad 4x4 drivin' freedom aint free chainsaw wieldin' types to create a sentiment that's pulled in two very different directions.
However, the overriding theme seems to be something along the lines of "Let me do my thing. whatever it is..."
Each morning we take a walk with osa around our fair village. We take pictures. We meet neighbors. Some of whom give us eggs from their chickens. There's a whole network of canine owners fraternizing around here that we have been given access to thanks to our wiener dog. Californians are given a bad rep, but everyone we've come into contact with has been generous and welcomed us with gusto to their state. Rain, rain go away. come again some other day...

1 comment:

tracy said...

Congrats! You've already charmed your way into another community. I knew you would.