Well, sort of. We're going to Truckee, which isn't where I grew up, but it's where my parents now live. But we're going to California — I have that Joni Mitchell song running through my head now.
We're leaving Saturday. Driving ... across Utah, across Nevada and its crystally salt flats.
I've driven those roads many times. I-70 west, through the high desert to Hwy. 6 in Green River, Utah. North to Salt Lake City. Then west on 80 until we run right into Truckee which sits nestled in the Sierra Nevadas.
The mountains. That's what we called the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range where we spent most of our summer vacations ... in the mountains, away from the bustle of the city, removed from traffic and pavement.
The rush of the river that flowed along side the campground where we spent those many summer weeks, that's the sound that I still find calming. The smell of the campfire, the pine needles in my socks, the pinecones in my pocket, the skipping rocks I could never get to skip, panning for gold, walking around the campground after dark.
Now I live in Colorado, a place where many hate Californians (or Californicators, as they like to say). But they hate Texans, too, so I don't feel so singled out.
My mom grew up in Southeastern Colorado, Canon City to be exact. She moved to California when she was 18. My dad has never lived anywhere but California. He lived him whole life in the Bay Area until he retired and moved to the mountains.
I never thought I would leave the Bay Area and now I doubt I'll ever move back.
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