WHO WAS AT THE WINDOW?

 

 

When camping in national parks and forests, of course we’re cautious about predators. We store food in bear boxes or the RV fridge, watch for mountain lions when we hike, look behind rocks for rattlesnakes before sitting down, eye scraggly-looking strangers with initial suspicion.  Just as we don’t display jewelry or electronic gear when walking through city streets, we don’t invite trouble in the boondocks.

At home we feel safe in general. Our home bordering  the El Dorado National Forest is hidden from the road and seems immune even from the occasional El Dorado County crime.  So, when we saw a paw print in the pollen on a bedroom window, we were startled. What could have made a print that large, more than four feet above the ground? It was definitely  nothing human.

Our first thought was the neighbor’s large dog, which tends to wander through our yard and leave his paw prints on everything, but we compared the print with the original dog paws, and realized this animal was much larger.

Could it have been a black bear? Bears do wander into the surrounding area once in a while, and the paw looked like the right size. Bears are notorious for tearing apart anything that might contain food, and that might give us a clue.  In a nearby area not long ago, a bear broke into a cabin where the owner had left a liquor supply. After smashing a bottle of rum, the bear promptly lapped up the rum, got very drunk, and tore apart everything in the cabin. So we looked around for any disturbance, found our compost pile looked untouched, remembered that we have no liquor, and concluded that our visitor was not a bear.

That left us with the frightening main possibility that a mountain lion had been there. The print seems to match those I found online, but I am no expert on identifying animal tracks. (Or scat, aside from deer and dog poop.) We plan to have the county trapper look at a photo of the print soon. In the meantime, we will be a little more cautious walking in the woods—or even walking out the front door.

LIVING IN OLD HANGTOWN

A stuffed dummy of a hanged man, noose around his neck, dangles from an upstairs window. A nearby historical plaque notes that this is the site of the Hanging Tree, where nineteenth century mining-claim jumpers and desperadoes were publicly hanged, gratifying the righteous church-going citizens who watched. This grisly spectacle is near the center of downtown.

Originally Placerville, California, (my recently adopted home) was known as Blood and Guts. When gold was discovered by James Marshall a few miles away in 1848, the Gold Rush ensued, and hordes of both honest miners and ne’er-do-wells soon gathered in the hope of getting rich. As water had to be brought in to wash any gold out of the gravel, the town was renamed (a bit more genteelly) Dry Diggins. It was a wild and woolly place. Frontier justice that included the Hanging Tree followed, with Dry Diggins becoming known as Hangtown. The Gold Rush was short-lived, and in a few years Hangtown became much calmer. Those who wanted a better image changed the name to Placerville in 1854. Fewer saloons and brothels, and more churches, were built.

Today, of course, we are more civilized. The stone house that was once a Chinese brothel has been converted to a lawyer’s office. The saloons are generally peaceful places used for socially drinking into a stupor; only occasionally does a bar fight end in mayhem or murder. The “Old Hangtown”  label on police cars and various signs is supposedly a playful nod to our past.

Totin’ a gun is still widespread here, though.  The El Dorado County sheriff, proud to be a good ol’ boy, has proudly proclaimed that he will refuse to enforce any national legislation leading to gun control. He knows which side his bread is buttered on; in a very Democratic state, this county is extremely Republican. Tom McClintock, our representative in Congress, is one of the most conservative members in the House, and always wins elections handily. The local NRA is obviously popular, too—a recent fund-raiser was sold out immediately. When the scarce liberals in the area write letters urging assault-weapons control to the local newspaper, they are promptly derided for being opposed to the sacred Second Amendment. Indeed, one hapless gun-control advocate soon found that someone had gained access to her credit card and charged a purchase at a local gun dealer. What a fun-lovin’ bunch!

The level of civilization here extends to the intellectual. Because it is the county seat, Placerville has a large library that is used by thousands of patrons (many of whom read no books, but happily use the free computers to play endless games and admire themselves on Facebook). Some legerdemain in the past excused the city’s homeowners from paying any taxes to support the library, however. When a library bond issue came up last year—which would have led to an annual assessment of only $18 per parcel, or the price of a few hamburgers—it was promptly voted down. “No new taxes,” the cry rang out, and the faithful responded.

I’m an unreconstructed Bay Area liberal, and find much of this reprehensible. Why do I stay? Hangtown has many attractions for me. One is the long-suffering library; they have a reasonably good collection of books and videos, the librarians are helpful and pleasant, and I enjoy the book club. If I can avert my eyes from the hanged man, I enjoy strolling along Main Street. I can shop in the Placerville Hardware, the oldest continually operating hardware west of the Mississippi, or at the Placerville News Company.  (Everyone calls it George’s, referring to a long-time owner who died years ago. The fifth generation of his family is now working at the store.) Across the street, the Bookery has a large collection of new and used books. In hot weather the best place to eat in town is the Cozmik Café, where some tables are in an old gold mine once used for storing soda water, butter, and so on. Several thrift shops provide support for the local hospice, and offer inexpensive items for sale. The clothing shops and  pharmacy are locally owned. A flourishing group of artists sell their wares in a cooperative gallery, and there are three historical museums featuring Gold Rush times.

The natural environment is beautiful, in the rock-strewn Sierra Nevada foothills. Apple Hill, a few miles to the east, has acres of apple and pear orchards that are a delight to visit. A drive of less than two hours leads to Lake Tahoe, one of the most spectacular lakes in the country. Though urban sprawl is creeping up from Sacramento, at this point Placerville still has much of the small-town ambiance of Gold Rush times, with only scattered monster homes. My own small home is in a wooded cul-de-sac that belies its proximity to downtown. I like my neighbors! So, I will probably be here for a long time, when I am not on the road in the RV or living off the grid with my partner.