Where are the time machines when you need one?

Placerville, California 

Main Street, circa 1930

This one feels like Placerville.  I can hear the little Ford purring softly from the curb, while the familiar fragrances of fresh donuts, hot pavement, and evergreen shaded ravines wafts down the sidewalk on a gentle summer breeze. Somewhere, ever-present in the back of my mind, is the realization that just a few hours away are the city, the ocean, the Sacramento valley’s metropolitan and horticultural treasures, and, stretching seductively from our beloved Hangtown, historic highway 50 herself, linking the old stage stops like a glistening chain of pearls, and climbing ever upward, toward the Sierras, the majestic summit, and Tahoe’s incomparable shores. Is there any wonder we all call Placerville home?