This Pearl Harbor Day was both infamous and wonderful, since I lived through it. Along with a few other Plumas-ites, I’d attended a forestry meeting in Sacramento and was coming home, by myself, through the Canyon on a spectacular winter storm day in Northern California.
It had already snowed large on Mt. Diablo. The Canyon was a mix of sun and layered clouds and wind and snowgoing on the road. I’d stopped at a familiar spot and was gathering a few river rocks for a home gardening project. The last rock got hefted into the trunk when it happened.