If you ever Google-map a place, hit the little button that says "satellite" and watch in wonder. Every place you've ever lived has been photographed by satellite put on Google so that you can view it from as close as a thousand feet. So, the house I grew up in, 2114 Pueblo Court North, Santa Rosa, California, I can see anytime I want. It's 1/4 by 1/4 inches. I look up all kinds of places. There's a park in Eureka where we used to play and get lost in the tall Sequoias, and there was a huge, black locomotive parked there, with it's control arms and levers welded into place -- but it was still fun to climb on. You can see that train on Google satellite. No crap.
There was also this dairy we went to, not far from there, where we had cowpie fights and played in the rain, and a lady made the best tuna sandwiches I've ever had, still, to this day. It's all there, the Moxon Dairy, on Moxon Lane, in Arcata, California. I found a picture of a barn up the street. It looked just like the one we played in, except the roof was torn off, and the sun shined through it's dust-caked rafters. It was an old photo, circa 1977, and the caption read, "Roberts Barn, torn down in 1977." Moxon Dairy was down the street from Bay School Road, named after an ancient schoolhouse that some of the Moxon's lived in.
I learned a lot hanging around there. I learned that a cold engine will die, but not permanently. I learned how to ride a wild mustang. I learned how to shit outdoors, blow snot rockets, throw cowpies, play piano, pool and harmonica. There was a birthday party, my brother's, and a girl with braces got icing on her headgear and couldn't get it off. We used to go there for Thanksgiving, and there would be dozens of people, tons of food, and two or three birds and several pies. Word is, they still have it every year, although many of the old folks are dead and gone. I wonder how it would go. No phonecalls, no letters, just show up, Thanksgiving Day, almost thirty years later. I think I'll bring some kind of pie.
