Monday, April 23, 2012


 meadows along the drive into N. Bloomfield
 McKillican and Mobley General Store
 a look down main st.
 N. Bloomfield circa 1870
Humbug Creek

There's nothing like actually visiting the place you intend to write about, esp. if you are writing from a historical perspective. If your location is a ghost town, more luck to you. Nothing much will have changed since the day the people packed up and left. The same streets will go to the same place, the general store will still be in the same place and the houses will be on one side of town or scattered all over. Pictures don't always say enough. There's always something to the left or the right that wasn't captured. 

If you never visit, you will never know that the air smells like sugar pines or if you can hardly hear a thing above whatever machinery they use, or that there are birds that squawk or tweet. Maybe bug torment the people, or maybe its a paradise. You'll never know until you go. 

In my head, I can still picture where I would go to find the blacksmith and that if I tilt my head up and inhale, I will smell the sweet scent of pines and deciduous mingled together. I can hear humbug creek down relief hill road and if I lived a hundred years before, the hydraulic monitors would have roared as the pressurized water smacked the walls of the mine. Gravel crunches under my feet when I walk, and in the thick of the forest, ground cover that looks like strawberry plants are abundant. Pine needles are everywhere. Grass and meadows linger here and there, and the air in thin. 

Think about it. I couldn't show you all that from a picture. 

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