Life of Wry

Every day in politics is light your hair on fire day. Seriously. Every day.

Every day of my goofy little blog could be about politics. And way too often it is. So….. I’m not going there tonight. (But holy cow, read Heather Cox Richardson, or Dan Rather, or Frank Bruni, or Tom Friedman, or the NYT editorial board, or my dear WTFJHT… all wrote today about the existential dangers we potentially face if Mr. Unhinged acts on any of his threats.)

Instead…

The other day, I was making a lawn sign delivery to a woman who lives way the heck out of town, on a sweet little street off Rd 96. Honestly, it always surprises me to find these micro communities way out there on some of the lesser-traveled county roads. You think it’s all crops out there, and it’s not. I’m envious of the open vistas, the views of the Berryessa Gap, the big sky, the quiet. And… I’d prolly go nuts way out there, not able to walk to a cafe. I don’t know.

Also.. I had to wonder the value of a lawn sign way out there. Especially her house, which is on a tiny side street with NO TRAFFIC WHATSOEVER. Never mind the imposition, if I may say, of a volunteer having to run a sign way out there, when maybe she could have picked one up on a trip to town — she must make that trip a few times a week. OTOH, I loved meeting her, loved that she wanted a sign, loved our conversation, almost stayed to feed the horses… and got to escape my four walls, so to speak and take in some country air, if smoky.

The sun was setting as I left to return to town, and what with the smoke, the sunset was pretty.

This is looking toward Winters and Napa, where the latest fire, the Glass Fire, is burning. Shot through my smudgy window:

I leaned over and shot this one through the passenger window. It’s the gap, but the smoke is obscuring the detail a bit.

I actually got out to take this one, but quickly, as I was on somebody’s property. I just liked the windmill.

I’ve lived in Davis for 42 years and still can’t quite believe I live in the middle of farmland.