Today Kim and I with Gary & Oswaldo head south out of Oregon and into the gold rush area of California that lies to the north and east of Sacramento. Frank tells me that every Fourth Grader in California has to take an obligatory show & tell trip into the gold rush area to see where the state got its origins and a lot more. Statehood came to California in 1850 as a direct result of all the excitement of the discovery of gold at the famous Sutter’s Mill in 1849. Since that moment, everything about California (Including the San Francisco 49ers football team) has been about one big gold rush for the Golden State. It seems only fair that we, as California transplants, should all catch up with all the Fourth Graders, so we have planned a day to visit the wonders of Nevada City and the surrounding area, generally referred to as Gold Country. This is all Bonanza territory and everywhere we look we can see landscape that reminds us of the Ponderosa. I am expecting Pa, Hoss, Little Joe and even Adam to come riding up to us at any minute.
Last night we attended a spectacular production of Much Ado About Nothing at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. We were in an outdoor theater structure that had no roof and let the starshine in. The stage backdrop was a Tudor structure that very much invoked a Shakespearean feel and its fair to say that he OSF has lots of theater chops to put on first class productions. We had front row mezzanine seats that could not have been better or more comfortable, which was a good thing since we were in them for three hours including the intermission. So then we get down to the play and its performance. I have never seen this particular Shakespearean play before (Kim and Frank had). Like all Shakespearean plays, I find I have to work very hard and concentrate totally to stay tuned into the plot as it develops. There is something about the poetry/prose that Shakespeare has made famous that I always have a hard time following. I know some actors make that easier and these actors seemed to do a fine job with their mannerisms and gestures, but the damn poetic dialogue and soliloquies are still thick with Shakespearean turns of phrase which I’m sure were considered very clever, but which I find somewhat unintelligible. I have to follow Shakespeare in general and without specific character or dialogue attribution. I think it must be like calculus in that it only sinks in so far for my limited mind. I enjoyed it nonetheless, mostly based on its grand production value.
We worked our way down through what little remained of Oregon between Ashland and the border and then, voila!, we were back in the Golden State of California, with its vast waving fields of golden grassed, spotted here and there with those green, green live oak trees that accentuate the gold around them. We got off the #5 freeway at Red Bluff and were heading south towards Chico when we stopped at a little local deli and BBQ place for a simple lunch. THe place looked pretty much like any other stop along a western side road and as I approached the counter I approached the two gentlemen working the counter. They had big smiles on their faces, but they somehow looked out of place in this setting, but I wasn’t sure exactly how or why. Since we were the only ones in the place and it was close to noon, I assumed they did only a modest business even though it was mid-week. I decided to be bold and I asked, where are fellas from. The slender one said he came from his mother and gave us a big grin. I said that they had mild accents and asked where they had come here from. Without trepidation, the stockier one said they were Palestinian, specifically from Gaza. We commiserated with them about what their homeland was going through. The older slender one was about 50 years old I imagine and he said that they left many years ago because Palestine was always that way with war and destruction on all sides and that it was simply no way to live. He said nothing anti-Semitic and was not in the least bit aggrieved towards Israel, but rather spoke as though it was just the nature of the place that all of the warring factions made the area too difficult in which to make a life. He said they were Christian Palestinians, which made it even harder since they felt as though they were the monkeys in the middle of it all. I asked how they liked living in such a remote part of California and the younger, bulkier one said that he had spent his whole life here and was totally at home with it. We noted that the food they served was not the least bit middle eastern and that it was a shame that they didn’t offer falafel or shawarma. They laughed and said they ate both at home but that the local community was who they served in their deli and that those delicacies were unlikely to appeal to them. Then the older one said he once made some hummus and babaganoush and that the local clients loved it and bought up every bit of it.
We watched for the next 30 minutes as we waited for and then ate our food as a number of locals traipsed in and ordered sandwiches. It was clear that these lovely and friendly people (they had then been joined by the mother of the family, who looked like a true blend of cultures since she was wearing American western clothes but still wore a soulful middle eastern face) had fully integrated into the community and were appreciated for who they were and what they offered. All four of us left the deli with a barrage of stories and goodbyes and felt warmed by this earnest immigrant encounter. We all commented in our own way as we drove off that this is what America is supposed to stand for. They may have come in 1849 for gold, but they stayed for the countryside and the freedom to live a good life that comes from the heartland of this place. They bring valuable diversity to our melting pot of community and we are better for it all without needing to fear them or fear any change to our existence. It was a great reminder out here in the place where this great state of California began that chic peas and jalapeños can combine and be added to good old American ham and cheddar to make a better sandwich for us all.
We pulled into Nevada City, which is a delightful western mining town with a hotel, The Exchange National, that has all the western Victorian charm you could want with all the modern conveniences that modern California offers. As I parked the car, I noted a small boulder on the edge of the parking lot that had a brass plaque on it. I took the time to read it and it was a memorial in honor of the Ladies of the Evening, as it called them, who were a necessary if sometimes forgotten part of making the expansion of the west a reality. It said they played their important part in this great story and that they too should get their due in what had been created in this rugged land. It was somehow a fitting end to a very pleasant and reminiscent day about all the special things that make this country and California great…and great still.
Today we will wake up and head south along the western side of the Sierra Nevada range. We will stop first in Coloma, about an hour south of here on the South Fork of the American River. It is where Sutter’s Mill sits. That is where in 1848, John Sutter first discovered the placer gold nuggets that started the Gold Rush of 1849. We will be heading through the spot where that all happened and then go south towards Maricopa to enjoy the scenery until we cut into the breadbasket of America in the San Joaquin Valley at Visalia. This is a grand state and we will have driven the majority of it on this trip. Tomorrow we will be in “back to the barn” mode getting Gary and Oswaldo home to their nest in West Hollywood and us back to our hilltop and out little Buddy, who will be excited to see us. These roadtrips never fail to be tiring, but also never fail to reinvigorate my love of our country and now, my adopted state. We have truly found gold in these thar hills.