The Valley of Tranquility

By Jack L. Parker

Mike Stratton pulled over and stopped the car at the top of the rise. The valley below was still as beautiful as it was the first time he and his two friends, Scot and Reddy, saw so many years ago.  It was the summer after they graduated from high school. They had tak

• Language: English
• Publisher: Book Vine Press
• Release date: May 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9781954941731

Jack L. Parker

Jack L. Parker took a break from writing his popular adventure travel series of novels to write The Valley of Tranquility now re-published as a second edition. He is currently working on a sequel. Jack writes full time, lives in Northern California and is an avid fly fisherman.

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Dedication

For Linda. We miss you.

Chapter 1

It was early afternoon. When Mike Stratton reached the crest of the ridge, he pulled over to a wide spot in the road and parked his car. Mike got out and walked the short distance to where he had a clear view of the valley that lay below. It was just as he remembered it on that warm summer day so many years ago. He’d stood in this very same spot with his two best friends, Scott Thomas and Jim Reddy, or Reddy, as he was called. The three of them were so taken with the scene they couldn’t speak. They just stood in silent awe. It was a rare thing for three such close friends to be at a loss for words.

On this day, even though he stood alone, again, Mike was at a loss for words. The beauty of the valley seemed to have that effect. What Mike did do as he stood there was remember. He remembered how, shortly after graduating from college, Reddy joined the air force and became a helicopter pilot. It was while he was flying on a rescue mission to try and reach what was left of those manning a forward observation post somewhere in Afghanistan. They’d been under attack and greatly outnumbered. He’d nearly reached his destination when a rocket from a handheld rocket launcher found its target. Jim Reddy and his crew were all killed.

When Mike was notified of Reddy’s death was one of the saddest times in his life. The tears swelling up in both eyes blurred the view. Finally, he remembered a happier time. It was after graduating from high school in Southern California. They knew (because in the fall each would be going to separate colleges in different parts of the country) that their lives would never be the same. They wanted to do something special together, and they felt they had enough time before their summer jobs began. That’s when they decided to take a trip, but where?

After some discussion, checking maps and doing some research, it was a unanimous decision. Because they loved to fly fish and were interested in history, they decided to explore California’s Mother Lode Country. They would use Mike’s old pickup. It wasn’t much to look at, but it was reliable and had a back seat and a camper shell mounted on its bed. There was plenty of room to put all of their stuff. They would drive from where they lived and head north up highway 99 to the town of Merced, located in the San Joaquin Valley. From Merced they would take Highway 140 to the Mother Lode town of Mariposa, located fairly near the southern beginning of Highway 49, which is known as the Mother Lode or Gold Rush Highway. Naturally, they were excited and couldn’t wait to get on the road.

The valley wasn’t large. It was what you might call a very livable size. But then if one really took the time and had the knowledge to measure its length and width, they might be surprised at actually how large it really was. On the far side the peaks of the Sierra can be seen outlined against an unspoiled cobalt blue sky. Looking to one’s right at the upper end of the valley, the little river that meanders through its green pastures and fields can be seen where it exits a narrow canyon. The headwaters of the stream are formed by twelve cold, crystal clear springs near the end of the canyon. This is why the valley and village were named Twelve Springs, but those living there always just refer to it as the Valley. At its lower end the stream enters another canyon. The walls of this canyon are much wider, and the speed of the river changes from being a rather smooth, lazy type to one of short, swirling rapids interspersed by deep ultramarine pools until it reaches a steep shoot and plunges headlong into the waters of a much larger and well-known river.

As Mike scanned the floor of the valley, it was difficult to make out the compact little village where it sat. Its one short business street and the few residential streets, which were lined mostly with old, well-kept Victorian homes, were hidden by the several species of large shade trees. At the upper end of the valley, not far from the mouth of the canyon, sat a small lumber mill. It was built in the 1880s by two brothers. Many of the valley’s houses were constructed from the lumber it produced. Today, it’s still in operation, but on a limited scale by a descendant of the original owners.

Also, scattered here and there about the floor of the valley were several houses. Like those in the village, they were mostly Victorian, and again like those in the village, they were well cared for. Pride of ownership, as the old saying goes. Several had been handed down from one generation to the next. Most were surrounded by some acreage. It varied from just a few to those large enough to be small farms. What they had in common were their gardens and orchards of fruit trees. The majority of women in the valley still canned their fruits and vegetables. They also had their flock of chickens. What eggs they did not use themselves, they took to the little market in the village. What the market didn’t need was taken to the dairy. They would take them along with their shipment of milk fifteen miles back down Highway 49 to the nearest town, where they were sold to local markets.

This town was also where the valley teenagers went to high school. The small grade and junior high was located in the village. On account of the abundance, there were always plenty of fruits and vegetables to supply the stand up on the highway. It was run by the valley’s teenagers and was kind of like a miniature farmer’s market. The produce was all donated, and the income from the stand was shared equally among those who participated.

Because it was early spring, the valley was alive with color— bright gold for the fields of California poppies, deep sky blue for the large carpets of lupines, white and soft pinks for the blooming apple and various other fruit trees, creamy whites and pale pinks of the dogwood trees, plus a scattering of other various colors, some bright, some soft. It was a veritable pallet of color. It looked as though it could have been a painting by any one of the famous French impressionists.

Mike Stratton was over six feet tall with short brownish- colored hair. His build was a bit on the thin side, but he was quite athletic. Mike was a good student in high school. Not at the top of his graduating class, but what his teachers considered a comfortable student to have in their class. He was dependable, had a good sense of humor, was level headed, and at various times throughout his young life showed he was born with a natural ability to lead. Mike was also pretty popular with the girls. They did not consider him cute, but rather handsome in a clean-cut sort of way. Yes, he was popular, but so were his two best friends, Scott and Reddy. However, the three of them were not elitists. They didn’t hang out with those who felt they were better than their fellow students. In fact, they didn’t hang out with any certain group, but were friendly with everyone.

Mike’s favorite sport in high school, as well as Scott and Reddy’s, was tennis. The three of them excelled at this wonderful game. Mike was one of the best high school singles players in Southern California, while Scott and Reddy were actually the number one high school doubles team in Southern California. They were so good, their coach arranged for them to play a doubles team from one of Southern California’s major universities. Before the match they were nervous. They lost the first set, but settled down and began to play with confidence. They actually won the next two sets in the three-set match quite easily. Naturally, this was a big blow to their opponents, as well as their opponents’ coach.

At five feet ten inches, Scott was the shortest of the three. He wore his blond hair in a crew cut and even during the winter had a tanned look. To most he had the appearance of the typical California surfer. But the look was deceiving. Neither he, Mike, or Reddy surfed. In fact, even though they lived in Southern California, they would rather be in the mountains fly-fishing for trout than on a sunny beach any day. It was Scott who was one of their school’s most outstanding students. A dedicated student with near total recall, Scott was always at or near the top of the class.

At over six feet four inches tall, Reddy was the tallest. Continually smiling, his deep blue eyes always seemed bright and alert. A curly crop of red hair seemed to balance on the top of his head like an unruly bird’s nest. It was his extra hard work in the classroom that made Reddy the good student he was.

It wasn’t only their mutual love of tennis and fly-fishing and their third interest, history, that made them such close friends; there was more to it than that. No matter what, they knew they could always count on each other. It was the kind of friendship that was rock solid. No matter what the future had in store, they knew they would always remain friends. They would always be there for each other.

It was hot, as it normally was in California’s San Joaquin Valley during the summer. Mike and his two friends were driving up Highway 99 and had just passed through Fresno. When they reached the town of Merced, Reddy, who was driving at the time, took the turnoff to Mariposa. They headed into the foothills with the air cooling only slightly as they drew near the town, which sat at an elevation of just under 1800 feet. It was early afternoon, not yet the hottest part of the day. That was yet to come.

Chapter 2

They were hungry and hadn’t eaten since they had breakfast in Bakersfield. Reddy drove slowly around town until they spotted a small café. He was able to park in a spot where they could keep an eye on the pickup. Even though the camper shell was locked, it was loaded with their camping gear, food, and fishing equipment, so they didn’t want to take any chances.

The owner of the café was not only the waitress, but the cook as well. They were the only customers and sat at the counter.

What’ll you have boy’s? she asked with a friendly smile on her deeply lined face. She wore a hairnet on her rather unruly salt-and-peppered hair. on her deeply lined face.

All three ordered hamburgers with French fries and a soft drink.

When they’d ordered the smile changed to a very serious look, and she said, Well, boys, I hope you can handle one of my burgers, because not many people can. But with the three of you being teenagers and still growing, I think you just might be able to give them a good try.

They could see her in the small kitchen located behind a wall with a large pass-through window as she busily did what cooks do. In the meantime, the three of them sat quietly waiting, not because they didn’t have anything to talk about, because they certainly did. The reason was because of the singing. She sang as she cooked. Her voice, even to three teenagers, was mesmerizing. Suddenly the singing stopped. She’d finished putting the last hamburger together, and what hamburgers they were. When she came through the kitchen door carrying two heavily loaded plates, their eyes grew as big as the plates themselves. As she sat them on the counter the I-told-you-so look on her face said it all. In the short time she was gone to get the third order, all they could do was stare at the plates with a look of total disbelief on their faces. They were, without a doubt, the biggest hamburgers they’d ever seen. After each had taken a few bites, they realized it was also the most fantastic tasting burger they’d ever had and they’d certainly eaten their share.

While they were busy attacking their food, Mike said, we think you have a beautiful voice. Have you at some time sang professionally?"

No, she replied with a faraway look in her eyes. When I was younger I dreamed of becoming an opera singer. I was told I had the talent and with the proper training my dream could become a reality.

I don’t mean to pry, but what happened? Were you ever able to get any training? Mike asked after taking a big swallow of his soft drink.

No, not really. I got married too young, but to a wonderful man. We were both dreamers, I guess. All to often, though, one’s dreams don’t come true. The one thing that wasn’t a dream, was we were deeply in love. The kind of love between a man and woman you don’t see or hear about much anymore. I guess it’s kind of outdated.

Are you still married to him? questioned Mike as he noticed the thin gold wedding band she was wearing on her finger.

Yes, I guess you could say I am.

I don’t understand what you mean by that. You’re probably thinking it’s none of my business, and it certainly isn’t, but I’m interested, and as foolish as it may sound, I really care about people. Someday I want to be a writer. I feel the more I learn and try to understand about people will certainly be beneficial to a budding writer like myself. So, if I’m getting too nosy, just tell me and I’ll shut up and try to finish my burger.

Sonny, no, you’re not being too nosy. Everyone here in town knows, so why shouldn’t you? Ten years ago, in fact, not long after we moved here, my husband suddenly passed away. I don’t regret one second being married to him, nor do I regret what might have been if I hadn’t married him. Yes, several people told me I was throwing away a very promising career. I made my choice, and as far as I’m concerned, it was the right one. He was the most wonderful man any woman could ever hope to marry. I was so very fortunate to be the one. After my husband passed away a friend suggested I open this place. I come in at 6:00 a.m. and close at 2:00 p.m. Now, does that answer your question? She said with that big smile.

Thank you. Yes, it certainly does. She went on to tell them about how after her husband passed away a friend suggested she open her little café.

Even though I have plenty of customers, the place is so small I barely break even. But, I love this little place and the people who come here to eat. If I didn’t sing in the church choir, I might even open on Sunday.

So, you can see I lead a pretty busy and I might add rewarding, life. Well, I see the three of you have actually managed to finish your burgers. A feat, by the way, that not that many have accomplished. She chuckled.

They sat for a while to kind of let a part of their lunch digest. While they sat, when she asked, they told her about how they had just graduated from high school and where. They went on to tell her about why they were taking this trip, what they hoped to get out of it, how long they intended to be gone from home, and of course, they didn’t fail to mention the fact the three of them loved to fly fish and their hopes of finding some trout fishing along the way. The time they spent talking was so pleasant. When Reddy looked at his watch, he let out a pretty loud Wow! and said it was way after closing time.

Not a problem, the lady said, Remember, I own the place. I can come and go as I please. But, she admitted, I do still have to clean up, and that does take some time. I really take pride in my little place being spic-and-span clean. Every once in a while, one of my friends pops in for a late lunch and will stay to help me clean. That’s the kind of folks you will normally find in a small town like this, she stated firmly.

When they were ready to leave, they asked her if she knew of any place they could camp for the night.

Actually, I do know a place. I’ll draw you a map on how to get there. If anyone should question why you’re there, just tell them the lady who owns the little restaurant in town gave you permission to camp, and stay as long as you like. I doubt anyone will bother you, though. You see, I own the land. That’s where my late husband and I were going to build a home. I live here in town and should probably sell it, but I don’t know. I like to go out there sometimes and relax. Often I take a picnic lunch. It’s a very soothing kind of place.

As she drew the map on a napkin, Scott asked how much land she owned.

She thought for a minute and then said, If you take into consideration the piece across the creek there’s about sixty acres.

Man, that’s a pretty good size chunk of land! exclaimed Scott.

It was what we had always dreamed of having. But, she quickly added, life doesn’t always go as one plans or hopes. We were going to raise some cattle, a few horses, some chickens, and have us a really good garden. Like I said, though, life doesn’t always go as we hope it will. Some have a rougher road than others. What you have to do is always look out for the potholes and try to avoid them. That, however, is not always easy or possible to do either. She stated with a wistful look on her face.

We certainly want to thank you for letting us camp on your land, Mike said, You did mention a creek. Do you know if it holds any trout?

Well, it may. My husband didn’t fish. I have seen some fish in the creek, but I don’t know what kind they were. It’s not a very big stream. There are places where young boys like you could almost jump across. It comes out of a pretty big spring not far above my place. The stream was one of the reasons we bought the land. We knew we would have a good year round supply of water. Plus, there are several other smaller springs on the land that feed into the stream as well.

Before they left on their trip they had pooled equal amounts of money. Reddy, who was the designated banker, was about to pay the bill for lunch when she raised her hand and told them lunch was on the house.

The three of them tried to argue, saying they really wanted to pay, but she said very firmly, Lunch is on the house, so that is that. Besides, it was a pleasure meeting and talking to you boys. What I would like, she continued, is for the three of you to stay in touch.

They readily agreed and introduced themselves, and she told them her name was Mildred.

After exchanging addresses, they were about to walk out the door when Mildred said, I think you’ve forgot something. In her hand she held the napkin with the map she’d drawn.

When Mike, who was closest, thanked her and took the map, she told him it would take them at least half an hour to get out there.

Mike remembered how accurate the quickly drawn paper napkin map had been. They had no trouble finding their destination. Following the directions onto ever smaller and less traveled roads, they finally came to and crossed the narrow, wooden, one-way bridge that crossed the stream that ran through the property.

Reddy stopped