Our California
Poems from El Dorado County
COOL, CALIFORNIA
By Matthew Piette
This is a Maidu village.
Aaron Cool, New England cleric,
Comes overland to California,
It's the Gold Rush.
He ministers to the sick.
Prays for the dead.
Exchanges his Bible for a six-gun.
The church is his wagon.
At the junction of Highways 49 and 193,
About five miles north of Pilot Hill,
Cool’s world slides into the canyon,
Where the North and Middle forks
Of the American River,
Conjoin forever at The Confluence.
Down to the ferry or to No Hands Bridge,
Gold comes clean in 1848.
Placer mines dig deep into the 1850s.
Prospectors from Georgetown and Greenwood
Come looking for virgin placers.
Hogg’s Diggings and Wild Goose Flat rise
Into Murderer’s Bar,
Leave nothing but shards.
Hopes are evacuated,
Retreat now into Cave Valley.
This is the first stop
Or the last stop
On the road to California.
It depends on the direction you are headed.
This is a Maidu village.
El Dorado’s Serenity
By Sue McMahon
Your mountains so high and rambling creeks
Emanate your beauty no matter what the season,
As long as the Waffle Shop stays open to fill grumbling bellies
Along the way ~
I won’t mind the string of cars, trucks and campers that
Jostle for a position at the old Ice House Road turnoff,
Where many have died, and past camping trips were made
Oh, so long ago ~
I will patiently let them pass so that I can enjoy the scenery
Of the grand but at times trickling American River
I anticipate Lover’s Leap, then Camp Sacramento as
Happy memories fill my heart till tears fall
While looking at your empty softball field – I miss you so
Then at the summit I smile as I look down at your crisp
Blue shoreline and long for sand in my toes or
Snow on my windows ~
Even the tangled mess at Whitehall left by the Cleveland Fire
Makes me sentimental and a wanting for pioneer ways
My dearest El Dorado
I will always cherish your serenity ~