Hammond Trip 2013: California

After Oregon, we had about a 12 hour drive to Portola, California, a small mill town in the Sierra Nevada Mountains where my Dad lived as a boy.  We broke the drive up with a stop in the Redwoods to see the giant sequoia trees.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Majestic.

Our drive through the Trinity Range began pleasantly.

 

 

The wildflowers kept me delighted, in spite of the weaving winding roads.

 

 

 

 

But we quickly ran into wildfires that lasted through most of the journey.  The mountains and trees seemed to moan, scorched, withered and weary.

 

 

 

We had a bit of a valley respite before venturing into the Plumas National Forest, which encompasses the Feather River Canyon, my Dad's favorite mountain pass on Earth (he will tell you so.)

 

 

My Dad grew up in a railroad family. His Dad was a train master for Western Pacific Railroad and my Dad followed suit, working for the railroad until I was in High School.  It was W.P. Railroad that brought them to the small town of Portola in the 1950's.  Wooden crates fabricated in mountain mills were transported by rail to the orchards of Central California.  Rails were built into the mountain side of the Feather River Canyon, making for a stunningly beautiful and unforgettable ride- one my father took over and over again as a boy for weekend trips to San Francisco. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I would love to journey through this canyon by rail some day.  In the meantime, we enjoyed the view from the car windows.

 

 

 

 

 

We made it to our final destination by nightfall- the towns of Quincy, Graeagle and Portola. 

 

We were up bright and early the next morning for a little family history tour beginning in Graeagle.

 

(Another peak at our caravan for your viewing pleasure:)

 

 

Graeagle is the cutest little mill town you ever did see. Back in the 50's, when business was booming, the mills built homes for their employees, cute red bungalows under a forest canopy.  Just as my Dad remembers it.

 

 

 

My grandma was one of two teachers in this two room schoolhouse.  It has since been converted to a boutique and antique shop.  We descended on these shops, all 35 of us, much to the delight/dismay of the owners.  

 

 

 

There were two school photos on the wall of the antique shop, both of which were miraculously the years that my Grandma taught there.  My Dad and his only brother were both students at the time and are pictured as well.

 

 

 

We stayed at the school for quite awhile.  My Dad has remained in contact with the antique shop owner, exchanging names and stories half a century old. 

 

We made several stops throughout the town, including one at the local tavern where my Grandma put on a school play of Hansel and Gretel which she spoke fondly of for the rest of her life.

 

 

While Dad reminisced,

 

the girls put on a play of their own...

 

After the tavern, we headed up the highway a few miles to the inn where my Mom and Dad spent their honeymoon. 

 

 

Lots of twinkle and sparkle in the eyes, reminiscing..



 

 

Next stop:  My Dad's home in Portola.  It definitely has a mountain feel, doesn't it!  The happiest years of his childhood, my Dad says.  My uncle Richard and Aunt Suzanne joined us on this trip.  He and my Dad are together, below.

 

 

 

Final stop:  The Western Pacific Railroad Museum.

 

 

 

 

The railroad years are such part of my Dad's life, his heritage, his self.  It became a part of me and my siblings, too.  Romping around this museum and train yard was nostalgic for all of us.  Finding documents with the names of my Dad and Grandpa on them dating back 40 years was priceless. 

 

We took a little train ride to start things off...

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then explored the various engines and cars, inside and out.

 

 

 

 

This fire engine ran during the years my Dad lived in Portola.

 

 

 

Luke had the time of his life collecting junk around the train yard

 

and testing out some of the old office machinery. ;)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Really a fun day.  It meant more than anything for my Dad to have us all there with him; to bring his memories to life and share them with his children.  I soaked up every bit of it, reliving those memories with him, seeing the past in full color, glimpsing those parts of my Dad that are now a part of me.

 

For a little while, we were all happily railroaded in these beautiful mountain towns.

 

The End.  Of this Hammond Trip.