Active Ink Slinger
More years ago than I care to own up to, I spent a blissful summer in California visiting friends. Highpoints of that holiday were a walk down High Street, Chico (which had hardly changed since the gold rush days); ‘jumping’ a train in the Sacramento goods yard and getting a free ride all the way to Oregon; walking in Yosemite; and staying with a beautiful woman in her cabin perched on the side of a wooded hill in northern California. The small, self-contained community she had chosen to live in grew until it had just over 21,000 inhabitants. Now it is just a smoldering pile of ash. It’s name? Paradise.
