Friday, April 25, 2014


About an hour later, our lightly steeped libations consumed and the need for cordiality satisfied, Lidge feigned a fond adieu to Lynn’s new acquaintance, we climbed back in the wagon, and hames bells jingling, we continued on our way. Reaching the summit of a pine covered ridge, we rested the mules briefly and then began our cautious decent into the rugged canyon of the American River’s renowned south fork.  The already treacherous thoroughfare soon lost all semblance of a road and gradually took on the unmistakable characteristics of a dry creek bed.  Arriving eventually at the foot of a thickly wooded hill, we rode apprehensively to the edge of a deep precipice and stared in awe.  At this point the prehistoric gorge was spanned defiantly by a picturesque but unnerving little suspension bridge.  Constructed of gigantic, hand-hewn timbers, and suspended by equally impressive cables, the primitive little conduit proceeded courageously out into thin air, and then extended precariously at a dizzying height, over a tumultuous rush of rampaging fury.  The river was running high with the frigid runoff from the mountains generous and rapidly melting snow pack, and the reverberations of its unbridled onslaught resulted in a primal roar that literally shook the bridge. The midpoint of this remarkable swinging bridge afforded a spectacular vista of the riverbed some thirty feet below.  Beneath us, the gut wrenching force of the rampaging river boiled and bounded through a series of violently rolling rapids and unique cylindrical formations, which long eons of gradual erosion had carved geometrically into the solid granite base.  The road swung immediately to the left at the opposite side of the gorge, supported by an outcropping of granite whose overhang provided home to a community of tiny bats.   Below us the restless current intermittently exhibited a fleeting streak of silver, as a rainbow trout would erupt from the surface in a frenzied attempt to surmount the foaming falls.  Irrigated by the rising mists, lush growths of moss clung tenaciously to the rugged bluffs, and here and there a maidenhair fern found a hold and spread luxuriously in the canyons filtered light. Here in this unexpected haven we parked the rig and spread a quilt for lunch.  Lidge brought out a thermos of boiled black coffee, and Lynn unwrapped a fragrant offering of lightly toasted whole-wheat bread stuffed to capacity with crispy bacon, sliced Swiss cheese, and generously heaped with steaming scrambled eggs.  Lynn offered a blessing, and famished and drooling, we each grabbed a sandwich and started in. Steller’s Jays piped from the canopy of Live oaks, and as the summer sun shone intermittently from behind a wispy sea of cumulus clouds, the mist that rose from the tumultuous rapids below, periodically burst into a brilliant rainbow.  The temperature warmed into the low eighties, and we sprawled on our blanket luxuriously full and absorbed the summer sun.  SC

Friday, April 4, 2014

Welcome to the group

“All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small, all things wise and wonderful, the Lord God made them all.” We don’t need to be so lonely. We each fit into this dysfunctional family somewhere. Despite all our many differences, we have much in common. We each cling to the surface of this spinning blue orb and try desperately to hang on. You know what? If you’re still hanging on, you’re one of us.  Welcome to the group. SC 

Vieux camions, chaud soleil et les parfums d'été. Cher seigneur, bénis et préserver nos souvenirs. Old trucks, hot sun and the fragrances of summer. Dear Lord, bless and preserve our memories.

My '41 Chevy, Nellie Belle