Friday, April 20, 2012
In my last posting, did I say we arrived at the top
of the mountain and made our camp last night? Things look much
different by light of day. What a view! Green rolling hills. Busy
communities linked by freeways that looked like spaghetti from high
on the hill. In the background, behind yet more hills lay San
Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge, the orange towers visible from
our vantage point. We took photos. It was already eighty degrees in
the early morning, which means there is always a haze over the valley
below. On crisp, clear mornings, the view is much more distinct we
are told by the locals. When we finally tore ourselves away from the
view, we discovered another 1,000 feet to the summit of Mt. Diablo
with even more stunning views. Our drive down the mountain first had
us winding upward the last one quarter of the mountain's height. Our campsite, it turned out, was only three-quarters of the way to the top!
I was forced to call my cousin
and beg off stopping by to visit because of my cold. Les is
90-years-old, his wife Bonnie several years younger, and her mother,
with them, a bit older than Les. It was unwise and imprudent,
besides unthinkable, to share my germs with the three of them. Les
and I were sorely disappointed to cancel our visit. I last saw him
at my aunt Bonnie's in El Cajon five or six years ago, give or take
one or two, and before Duffy and I saw him in the early years of our
marriage as we passed through San Francisco. We have kept in touch
over the years, more since my father's death as I, along with Skip,
inherited some property in Oklahoma near acreage both Aunt Bonnie and
cousin Les had also inherited through the Krames family – property
bought in the early part of the 20th century by our mutual
grand- and great-grandfather. I hope we can make the connection we
missed today in the next year or so. [The Oklahoma property is
located in Woodward, site of devastating and deadly tornadoes this
past weekend, April 14 and 15, 2012.]
Coming down off of Mt. Diablo
we passed many cyclists stretching their bodies' limits with the trip
up the 4,000 feet to the top from the State Park entrance gate below,
followed by an exhilarating ride back down. We did not burn the
calories these athletes did, but we ate as though we had. The Waffle
House in Clayton at the base of the north entrance to Mt. Diablo
State Park made a delicious omelet served with hash browns and
biscuits.
What a joy to see Winona and
Bill again, and later Sydne when she returned home from her college
classes. We stayed, caught up, and were short of exhausting our
conversation when over two hours had passed and it was time to head
up the road to Paradise to see Duffy's sister for the weekend.
That's where we are now. On the road to Paradise at 8:30pm, where
the temperature is still in the upper 70s.
Tomorrow, we are off to a plant
sale with Deb, followed by a trip o New Clairvaux Winery, a Trappist monastery just north of Chico in Vina, California. They make the
best Tempranillo wine we've tasted anywhere. The Cistercian Trappist monks of
the winery are rebuilding a Chapter House purchased, dismantled and moved from
Spain by William Randolph Hearst in 1931. The 12th century Sacred Stones lay scattered around San Francisco's Golden Gate Park until the Fine Arts Museum in that city awarded them to the Abbey of New Clairvaux in its present location in the small town of Vina,
California. An interesting piece of history. Read more at www.newclairvaux.org and www.sacredstones.org.
Until next time...
Pam
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