I’ve fallen a bit behind on the travelogue. Whether that’s good or bad is open to debate. I am in Columbia, California, in a nice place nestled in the forests at the foot of the sierra nevada. There was gold here once, and perhaps there still is. A large stretch of land nearby is still reserved for destruction should more gold turn up. This is also a place were Emus used to live, though none live here now. (The emu pens remain.)
Before this I was staying in a nice house nestled among the redwoods north of Santa Cruz, California. Camels used to live there, though none do now. (The camel shed remains.)
Before that I was in Ripon (rhymes with hippin’). I do not think any domestic livestock ever occupied the backyard of that house, though it is the dwelling of a renowned ornithologist. (He has also written a lot of other stuff.)
I have seen, over the last few days, rain, sun and fog, a band covering Do You (Feel Like I Do) by Peter Frampton, and a pair of chickens that did not look both ways before crossing the road. For a few hours I had a four-year-old attached to my leg, but I have recovered.
And there you have it. Today I point the car south, south, south.