Passing through the great Central Valley of California is like surfing along a black ribbon woven through a patchwork quilt done in greens and golds: the deep green ripple of rice fields watered by the mighty Sacramento River, the long corduroy rows of wine grapes, the pinnate clustered old growth greens of walnut groves, much reduced these days by more popular almond and grape.
We’re traveling too late in the season to experience the luscious white blizzard of the almond groves in bloom, but having seen it, one never forgets. 😍
Golden, parched grass along the way was dotted by the glossy, massive shapes of Hereford and Angus cattle and the classic dark olive of the live oak trees on rolling foothills leading up to the Sierras. Turkey buzzards circled on a lazy updraft. Bright orange, small wild sunflower bushes tangled with the white starbursts of Queen Anne’s lace, punctuated by cobalt-colored cornflowers. When I rolled the window down, the air smelled of dry grass, dust and hot asp…
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