
Thursday morning I left home at 5:45 in the dark, cold, and rain to go to Winco in Visalia. The last trip was in January, and it seemed prudent to stock up. (My Mom had a huge list too.)

I managed to get both our lists at the same time into one very packed and heavy cart. It was disconcerting to see all the bulk bins empty, including most of the ones where you don’t actually have to touch the food with a scoop. I made substitutions, skipped some things, and only bought produce that came in plastic. Mom wanted things I didn’t know how to find, and just touching the bag of frozen okra almost triggered my gag reflex. (Really, Martha, are you that hungry??)

Winco isn’t banning people’s own bags yet but I didn’t know that. (I now have 17 plastic bags to use in sharing oranges with neighbors.) I had to put it into 2 carts once it was bagged, and then a stranger helped me pull one of them to my car in the rain. I should have taken the pick-em-up truck instead of Fernando (that’s my ’96 Honda Accord Coupe – have I ever disclosed that before?) Good thing I had no passengers.
I drove with the window open through Lemon Cove so I could smell the orange blossoms.
Time for a restorative cup of tea (I’m reading a novel based in England in WWII* – can you tell?), a bit of dark chocolate, and a reminder that spring is still happening and it is beautiful so stop whinging. (See? reading an English novel)

P.S. The neighbor’s dogs have stopped barking – there’s a bright spot in this mess.
*Coming Home, Rosamunde Pilcher



































And here is another platform which used to hold a statue called “The Pioneer”. The plaster statue crumbled. (End of the Trail in plaster was traded with the Cowboy Hall of Fame in Oklahoma City for a bronze version).
There are 2 hills in the Park on the east edge. They were created with the dirt dug to form a recharging basin in the park. The formation is useful as an amphitheater, and one hill has a disk golf “hole”.
When I went to Redwood High School, I used to look through the fence at a little log cabin that appeared to be abandoned. It was. After I grew up and became The Central California Pencil Artist (a self-ascribed title), the Boy Scouts reclaimed it, disassembled it, moved it to Mooney Grove, and reassembled it. I drew it as a fund raiser to help pay for the enterprise. (I wonder if I still have a copy of that drawing. . .)





Tomorrow we’ll look at trees.



Tomorrow, we’ll look at a bridge, not my favorite bridge (Oak Grove), but a simpler bridge in a true oak grove. 

