I arrived in Lake County at the height of algae bloom.
This means swimming in Clear Lake is impossible without looking like a seaweed monster upon exiting
Normally this wouldn’t be a problem, but I tore my meniscus in 2018 and swimming is my only recourse for cardio and sanity. The closest swimmable body of water is in Blue Lakes, 15 miles away and insanity is preferable to driving up and down Scott’s Valley Road.
But arriving during algae bloom is perferable to arriving during the wild fires of 2018.
Roads shut down. Smoke everywhere. One grower had to, Navy Seal his way across Clear Lake by boat in order to turn a pump off. Another grower defended his ranch via garden hose that pumped water through a hot tub. Against CalFire’s recommendations, many growers didn’t even leave their homes. And any and all help from us was summarily rejected, sparing us from the obvious dangers.
When I arrived for the 2018 harvest, I went from volunteer firefighter to spectator.
CalFire’s successful defense of Lucerne, Nice and Upper Lake was a sight to behold. I kayaked into the middle of Clear Lake and spent hours watching these hulking C130’s pour red fire retardant across firebreaks while the mountains blazed.
It made me proud to be an American.
My only critique of CalFire:
They should’ve torched that sign in front of Nice that says “Lake County: The Switzerland of America”
As a proud Swiss-American, this triggers me.
Camo Soil
First of all, Nice is in France. Duh. Lake County is rife with too much dope, amphetamines and camouflaged soil amendments to be compared to my Swiss motherland. There aren’t nearly enough banks, shell corporations or Nazi money either.
Your average Lake County habitués hears the word ‘Copenghagen’, and thinks chewing tobacco, not Denmark.
They hear ‘Danish,’ and think baked goods, not Scandanvia.
They hear ‘Greek’ , and think…well…I’ll stop there. You get the point.
The only European thing about Lake County is the newly installed roundabouts which tax many residents beyond their intellectual capacity.
Yield? Go? Stop? Let’s just wait here a few minutes and figure this roundabout thing out.
*****
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Jokes aside, I love Lake County. Why?
For starters, there is not a Wilson for 150 miles. The views are incredible. And the Wine? First class. If my pest control advisor has taught me anything it’s that Napa Wine is overrated. The grapes don’t know which county they are in.
In an effort of cost consciousness … we are cherry growers…I rented an AirBNB in Lakeport proper this harvest.
Winston and I have stopped patronizing any establishment that doesn’t allow canines. Airbnb was the only place that let me bring a dog. The Fiancé and I have grappled with the idea of registering him as an emotional support Yorkie, which he is, but Winston and I share a bond too deep for formal titles.
We have each others back. A motivated cat or bird of prey could easily take him out and Winston protects me from my Pearanoia… the fear of getting Juan Corona’d by a disgruntled Labor Contractor.
I tilt at windmills, as it were. The only thing Winston alerted me to this harvest were a couple White Walkers, rummaging through recycling. If Silicon Valley has taught me anything, it’s that Labor Contractors have more to fear from App developers than Paul Vincent Wilson.
In Lake County, the idea of The App, hasn’t fully digested.
There are no Über Drivers in Lake County. I lie. There is one. She works Tuesdays. For those without means of transport, Maria’s Midnight Taxi reigns supreme.
And transportation is crucial in Lake County. You can’t really understand the spirit of place until you driven the 20, at speed, wending curves, windows down, Freebird on repeat, on a hot pear harvest evening. Then and only then, will you get it.
*****
A stay of execution was granted to the California Pear deal this year. The canners pulled a Wilson … and realized they were short… Cazart!
But there is always next year to worry about. Hopefully enough acreage will get Caitlyn Jennered…transitioned….or Lorena Bobbited …removed....and I won’t have to worry about Kim and Kanye’s eldest….The North West. Until that time, I will be praying to the gods of chill portions hoping for this cherry deal to resurrect.
My ambition wanes at this point in my career. My true goal is to see my PCA, Larry and mentor be elected Grand Wizards of the Kelseyville Pear Festival. After they do their rounds atop the Main Street Cadillac, it’s my turn.
God…Cindy… if your listening? It’s me. Pablo. Put me on that Cadillac and I’ll wave like JFK.
If there is any justice in this cruel business of ours, I’ll be right in the crosshairs of one of my worthy opponents. If his aim is true, I request a Viking funeral on the banks of the mighty Sacramento. I want a floating pyre, Tully of River Run style, lit on fire by flaming arrow.
Don’t let one of my brothers fire the arrow. They will miss. Leave the job to a real marksman like my brother in law.