This week’s post was written by Ginny and illustrated using the beautiful photos she took during her recent visit to California. One day she set off on a bike ride, turned down a road marked “No exit,” and stepped back in time.
The Skye Boat Song, theme from The Outlander
“Sing me a song of a lass that is gone
Say could that lass be I
Merry of soul she sailed on a day
Over the sea to Skye”
The promise of adventure beckoned from the hills above Martinez, CA like the siren song, or like the Skye Boat Song. The day was lively and bright—the destination, unknown.
The parade of oddities began with a rock labyrinth alongside the bike trail. Always willing to go into the mystic, I pushed my bike ahead into the maze. It felt like a tilt-a-whirl, sounded like a car crash, and smelled of lavender.
Professor Salts Coffee? Yes, indeedy. Alas, no chatty barista, that’s odd—no anybody. The date on the Wheat Warehouse was 1887. Perhaps the Theater of Dreams held a clue. It did feel dreamlike. No provisions at the mercantile, only a clump of forget-me-nots growing in a crack on the sidewalk. A hat shop? Curiouser and curiouser. Have I gone mad? Perhaps, but all the best people are.
Proceeding to the trailer park, three young lads, 10 or 12, skipped into town kicking a can. They’d come to get the mail, walked from Crockett—next town over—a distance of three miles. Engaged in conversation, they informed me of the mayoral race taking place on the Fourth of July. (Coinciding with The Canned Ham Festival). They were voting for Chubb, the lab-retriever mix.
All the buildings seemed fairly run down—they were built in the late 1800’s, except the Catholic Church. She sported a new paint job and a totally empty parking lot (but then everything was empty).
A lovely, yet forlorn Mary supervised the church cemetery—mostly Italian immigrants. Joltin’ Joe’s grandparents were there, but no Joe. He is off with Marilyn somewheres, Hollywood perhaps.
As the town clock tolled, radishes began to sprout on my arm. I felt it best to return to 2021. I did check Redfin on my way out—not a thing. Darn.
Thanks and a tip of the hat to Ginny, Lewis Carroll, and Diana Gabaldon.