A cold front came from the North bearing rain and snow and a pair of red breasted sapsuckers. The sapsuckers perforated
the circumference of a young oak, releasing sugary sap, on which massed small black ants.
The oaks are shedding their leaves more slowly this fall drawing out our leaf management regime.
The pear and walnut sheds, monuments to Big Valley's agricultural civilization look more iconic at this quiet time of year.
Their surroundings are uncluttered by the comings and goings of people and trucks.
The creek has been yoked to the water needs of the farmers for a hundred years and now runs dry for five or six months each year. People over fifty years of age who grew up in the valley remember a year-round creek of summer swimming holes and big spring spawning runs of the edemic fish, the herring-like hitch. Decades of gravel mining have lowered this section of creek bed by as much as twenty feet. In spite of theses insults and the burden of near-continuous off-road vehicle abuse, the creek bed supports a young forest of cottonwood and willow. Quail coveys roost in this riparian swath. Jackrabbits shelter. Western toads and Pacific tree frogs breed. Flycatchers, woodducks and mergansers nest.
The creek is seen as a no-man's land. It's hard to find unfenced or uncultivated land in the valley. So the creek zone serves as a catch-all for refuse, for restless energies, for outlaw impulses.
For as long as anyone could remember the Merritt Road crossing of the creek was a ford, perfectly adequate, and notable if not for its beauty at least for its utilitarian charm. That changed this year with the construction of a bridge which possesses all the soul and scale of a freeway ramp. The thing is a brute urban rudeness at odds with the modesty of the "friendly country town."
A pair of cliff swallows made its nest under the new structure. In the previous season hundreds of pairs had nested in the
steel girders of a creekside, high-roofed shed now removed. Occupying that site is a new self-storage facility. This form of low-slung enterprise has recently become the characteristic and most visible architecture of Lake County.
A cottonwood festooned with mistletoe issued in the holiday trappings of Main Street.
I came unexpectedly upon a sacred space.
The town has its share of landmarks.
On the way back to the ranch I ran into Phil the screenwriter/producer and his horse, Chico.
It got colder Saturday night. Sunday it snowed on the Hopland Grade.
