Colusa, CA to Indian Grinding Stone State Park
What a beautiful morning, a chorus of many birds chirping, trees rustling in the wind, and the sun warming the camper for a new day. After a quick breakfast, Mitch struck up a conversation with our kind neighbor next door. Turns out she and her husband, Buddy, run a 7,000 acre farm in the heart of the Alberta flat land. It was so sweet to share our travel stories with warmhearted , funny and interesting people. They offered Mitch a combine driving job for the fall to boot!! Elated from the realization of good people in the world, we wandered into the sleepy little town of Colusa. The Sacramento river runs through it with beautiful grassy banks of wildflowers and tall weeping trees. We rested here in the sun awhile, like turtles on river rocks. Full of love from the morning adventures we hit the road, but stopped in at a Starbucks about 25 miles down the road, free wifi!! Called our families, updated our website, and uploaded videos from the past few days to share with you all! Jumped back on the highway to quickly move through Sacramento to pop out on its southeastern side. We settled in at a California State Park just a couple hours outside Yosemite! Indian Grinding Stone is the name of this historical gem found in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada range. This land was once home to the Miwok natives who settled here hundreds of years before the gold rush changed their lives. The center of the park holds a “roundhouse” where dance and drum celebrations are still held today. We took a sunset walk enjoying the sights and stories of these people, imagining a life lived WITH the Earth, rather than ON the Earth. Walking the trail back to our own little teepee, Robin, I was thrilled to find out more tomorrow in the Chaw’se museum. Evening fell quickly in these tall pines, we ate a delicious dinner of spinach and kale ravioli with chicken. Snuggled warm in bed we watched a bit of Tarzan, feeling as if we were in the jungle ourselves. In the middle of the night we were awoken by the sound of steal drums faintly coming from the park! I was ecstatic! Drums I yelled, remembering one of the information boards acknowledging the use of drums in celebrations that can be heard late into the night. The drumming kept an even pattern crescendoing at times but lasting for ever! Finally Mitch noticed with each crescendo the rain also picked up, it was as if they were one. Still in my dream like state of hearing drums, I was unconvinced when Mitch insisted he go find the DRIP hitting the metal exhaust system on the back of the van! Sure enough it was a drip, but secretly I enjoyed imagining the drums much more!
It was the Indians’ way to pass through a country without disturbing anything; to pass and leave no trace, like a fish through the water or a bird through the air” -Willa Cather
