Strength and Story in Castro Valley

As I compose this column, I reflect upon the life of a friend that recently passed away. She lived in Redding. Redding is not only the largest city in the far northern part of California. It is also in the center of the “State of Jefferson.” It is an area that has characteristics distinct from the perception of our state. It is mostly rural, with broad realms of wilderness. The people who reside there like their separation from our state’s urban centers. They possess pride in the purposes of their lives. The characteristics of the region remain rustic. Their wealth resides with the naturalness of their surroundings - forests, rivers, mountains, and wildlife.

My friend’s name was Wanda. Her age at death was 97 years. For a century she lived and experienced a good and hearty life in the north state. She had neither fame nor fortune. They were not necessary for the good life that she earned and lived. We met a quarter of a century ago while I was working on a museum project in Redding. After returning to my home in Castro Valley, she came to visit and stay with me for brief respites. Conversations were common about her life and life in general. Of added value were visits to her cabin in the forests of the Scott River Valley at the base of the Siskiyou Mountains. Without electricity, warmth came from candles and conversation. Wine and wisdom shared for added warmth.

As I reflect upon her life and the region where she lived, an observation is born that is worth sharing. She was like most people. She was neither rich nor famous. With that, she was “unfamed.” Yet, her life was rich with famed experiences. In 1850 her family crossed the continent over treacherous terrain. Hopes and dreams fueled their futures. California had just entered the Union. They traveled in covered wagons. The path was unpaved. Obstacles and impediments governed their journey. It took months. They often considered surrendering and turning back. They were determined, however, and continued westward.

Eventually, they arrived in the obscure and isolated area of the north state. They planted roots in the soil. The roots were of human toil. They worked hard to create a place where humans could continue to humanize themselves, despite the harshness of the wilderness. They continued to do so for 175 years. They were pioneers of purpose. And, like all human pursuits, problems emerged. Mistakes happened. Tragedies too. They tallied the toils of their time. The final rendering was the emergence of towns to live and pursue their hopes.

This story of this family is not known. Most stories are not. When shared, they are in private settings and with cords of informality. They are the unknown stories of unfamed people. They are not only interesting. They are valuable. They reside with ubiquity. They are the gold nuggets within all of us. Think of the stories within yourself and your family. Add those of others that you have heard and learned. When added together they lead to erudition.

Stories are poignant and powerful. With these reflections in mind, a dance detours to a Hopi American Indian proverb from antiquity: “Those who tell the stories rule the world.” It was 175 years ago that drums beat to the news that there was “Gold in them thar hills of California.” The same drumbeat prides with the stories we know. There is gold within all of us. When we share our stories, we share the wealth within us. As we community together with our stories, we build our community together as well.

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