To my way of thinking, the last thirty years of the nineteenth century were the golden years in Hangtown. I was established in the community, my family was healthy and happy, and the foothills were alive with budding orchards. God must have gloried in Reservoir Hill, when all the fruit trees busted out in bloom! Peach, apple, cherry and pear blossoms inundated the foothills with fragrance and finery, till it must have made their Maker mighty proud. From Heaven, it must have looked like a bridal bouquet. The purple vetch would climb the fencerows, lush vines of sweet pea transformed the roadsides into luxurious displays of pastel pink; opulent spires of china blue lupine carpeted the hillsides, and the lazy drone of honeybees filled the air. Oh to be bearfoot, youthful and free, and intoxicated with summer. Dear God, thank you for life’s seasons. "Obie's Quest"
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