COMING INTO UKIAH

"We drove northward along the Russian River, toward the low mountains that had been visible for some time. Soon the road branches away and upward from the water. The car labored as we began the ascent; the road climbed, twisting and turning until it cut through a narrow pass.

"Suddenly a beautiful valley, completely encircled by mountains, opened below to us. It lay like a park surrounded by steep brown and tawny velvet hills. The valley floor was a golden carpet, with ancient dark green oak trees evenly set about; it was cultivated land, in a variety of colors and geometric designs, seemingly planned by a man to enhance the valley’s natural beauty. The Russian River, with its green borders of shrubbery and trees, bisected the valley from north to south.

"A short ride brought us to a rather typical northern Californian town, halfway between modernity and the horse and buggy days. Along the main street were the usual chain stores—Montgomery-Ward, J.C. Penny, the dime stores, as well as churches of several denominations, a movie house, one modern and a few rather ancient hotels, some restaurants, gasoline stations and bars. Trees lined the streets; the houses represented a mixture of styles from all parts of the United States…giving the town an unmistakable American look…

The next paragraph begins, "It was early in the summer of 1934."

The proceeding is the beginning of a remarkable introduction to a book called "Deep Valley by B.W and E.G. Aginsky—a book I was handed by the reference librarian at the library in Ukiah when I asked for books about the Pomo Indians.

As I read the words, I related to them, maybe because I made my own entrance into Ukiah just a few weeks ago. What the authors described still seems to ring true 70 something years later.

My own cross-country journey ended here with me and my dog Dixie coming across the low inland mountains which frame the eastern side of the Ukiah valley in my pick-up on Route 20—the end of a long day’s drive begun in Winnemucca, Nevada.

When I’d decided to move my family from Connecticut this past summer, my wife along with my younger son Andrew, flew out a couple of months earlier for the start of the school year. I stayed behind to sell the house.

Although we’ve been coming out here summers for 20 years, it has always been a whirlwind two-week trip involving long flights. This time it was just me, and the dog in the seat behind me, her jowls resting on the center console.

I can’t tell you how much we looked forward to reaching Ukiah. Being reunited with my family alone would be enough. But beyond that was my head full of expectations—all the dreams I’d been dreaming about what I was going to do when I got here.

I had what can only be described as a religious experience, which began as we topped the Sierras north of Lake Tahoe and descended into the Sacramento Valley. The feeling grew stronger and the experience became more real as we headed north on Route 5 after passing Sacramento.

I felt a lot like John Steinbeck. Almost like I was reliving "Travels with Charlie" with Dixie. After all, we’d driven 3,700 miles to get here. We’d had our own adventures. We left a visit to my friends Victor and Judy Raymond in Wyoming during the first snow storm of the season which eventually dropped 12 inches.

But having started across western Nevada early on our final morning on the road, and having climbed up and through the spectacular Sierra Nevadas, we were grateful beyond compare when the road gradually settled down into the Sacramento Valley. We stopped in Wilson to gas up and wash the truck.

But once we were cruising along through the heart of the Sacramento Valley, we’d felt we were safe. That is the best way for me to describe the feeling. It was as if some Higher Power or a Great force of Nature was present to welcome us home—to California.

The feeling remained as we headed west on Route 20 winding through the mountains until we reached our destination, Ukiah, the Pomo Indian word for deep valley.

Posted by Tony at November 21, 2003 04:42 PM