Bob's Corner
From our weekly issue dated APril 1, 2009
Some out there will not believe this, but I’m actually going to write about something I’ve not touched on before. That’s right, this is a never-before-told story. Ready? Here goes. Once upon a time in a far distant galaxy ... No, that’s not it. How about, I was born in a log cabin and had to chop wood when I was only 3 ... Nah, that’s been done.
All right, here’s the real tale: It was a brisk morning with a bright sun, and the mountain air was clear and crisp. It was a fine time for a walk, so off I went from a bed-and-breakfast inn located in a Northern California small town.
There’s nothing like striding vigorously to keep the ol’ ticker in shape, and to see the sights you’ve not seen before. Besides, being in a strange town (strange in that it’s all new to you) can be an eye-opener. And such locales often offer many good opportunities for photography.
Sunlight filtering through the pines, firs and occasional oaks in the vicinity gave me a good feeling. It’s a quiet settlement with a “downtown” consisting of approximately six blocks on two streets containing a mix of commercial and residential uses. Some newer structures stand amid the more venerable buildings, a few looking as though they date to the 1800s. Either that or I’ve seen too many black-and-white movies.
There’s also a completely residential neighborhood, so I had plenty of walkin’ room.
At any rate, there I was, meandering at a good pace and feeling like a happy tourist, when I encountered a fellow walker. He was older than I by several years, but he was a fast walker and a good talker. We fell into step together at a corner, said “Hello” and “Good morning,” and exchanged names. His name was Walter, and he had lived in the town for many years.
As we walked he pointed out various buildings: a former church, where he and his late wife were wed, but she died a few years ago after 52 years of marriage; he noted a large structure he said was originally a bakery that became a breakfast hut that became a pizza parlor, and now the place is closed. Windows are broken, and the porch is falling down.
Our walk continued, sometimes on the sides of asphalt streets with weeds coming up through the cracks, and sometimes on concrete sidewalks with sparkly stuff. Walter noted the city hall, a tiny building open three days a week; a couple of new motels; two greasy spoon cafes; a sort-of ritzy restaurant that offers steak and pizza; and several rustic barn-like buildings. In fact, a couple of them actually are used as barns, although Walter said it’s not like it used to be when horses and carriages were in the majority.
Eventually we neared one end of town with a knoll which had a white-painted split-level structure as its principal feature. Walter said it housed the town medical clinic, and that it once served as the medical facility for all the loggers who used to work in the area. He was going to have his blood pressure checked, and to see if some heart medication had come in.
We shook hands, and split company as comrade marchers. I hope Walter is doing well; he struck me as a man of honor with a head for history.
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