I was one of the kids that grew up in the Diablo Valley when it was an agricultural wonderland. I had a dream a few nights ago that brought back a flood of happy memories and prompted me to write to you about the very pleasant contributions your family made to my childhood.

In the dream, I was with a vaguely recognized childhood friend, all grown up now, having a picnic lunch under a pear tree in the seemingly endless orchards that I used to play in as a child. We laughed like children, and walked hand in hand down the rows. Innocents reborn. I picked a delicious, tree ripened pear, and watched the light in her eyes as she tasted it. I told her that I grew up here. It was like I was a boy again, but with all the wisdom and appreciation I never had back then. The dream seemed to go on for hours.

When I awoke, I lay smiling for a long while, remembering those scorching summers throughout the late 1950s and 60s. Me and my little pals like "Our Gang" characters, running through the orchards, claiming adjacent trees as our "castles" and raining the hard, unripe walnuts (or whatever "ammo" was at hand) down upon our "enemies". We wandered over the rolling hills, teasing the cattle, and peering nervously into the old abandoned slaughterhouse (I never knew who that belonged to), and scared one another with rumors of the mean old rancher that would shoot trespassers with a shotgun full of rock salt! Roaming the shores of Heather's Pond, there was no concrete or park benches there, just us, the Cat Tails and the pollywogs. The hours of gamboling usually ended with one of us getting carried away with all the rough housing and one kid going home in tears, but proud of his little "badge of courage", a skinned knee or a bump on the head. We knew we were tough kids! Yeah, right!

Those were OUR orchards (never mind the Title Deed), our playground and our dreamland. We'd watch the breezes coming, 200 yards away, pushing through the long pengroves of Eucalyptus, and snap our fingers to magically make the wind blow. Our little sisters were astounded! Some days we'd just sit under an apricot tree, and eat till our bellies hurt. To this day I am spoiled by the taste of sweet, juicy, tree ripened fruit. MMMMmmm!! The BEST!

Once, when we were in High School, you invited me to a party at your farmhouse. I was a socially awkward boy, and I think I wandered the gardens in an impolite isolation of my own making. I was absolutely amazed by the beehives that could be pulled into the room through the wall, sealed with glass on both sides. Am I remembering right? An ingenious way of observing how things were going in the orchards. I imagine that a trained eye could tap the heartbeat of the fruit crop. I vaguely remember a greenhouse. I had a huge crush on Lupe Carvajal back then. She seemed exotic, intelligent and mature. I doubt she knows it even to this day (and if you tell 'er I'll throw a rotten pear at ya!). In any case, the "Old Bancroft Place" always seemed like such a beautiful home, an estate really. Anyway, I remember your kindness, and want to thank you now for inviting me to that party.

Those were very precious days and they were a big part of the foundation of what I am. I felt secure in those orchards. It was a healthy place. The warmth of the summer sun and the pure, unfettered, childhood laughter that we, as adults, rarely experience in that same way.

This morning, I remembered having saved a couple of the old packing crate labels from Bancroft Farms, and have made copies of them for you. You probably have millions of them, but these ones are special to me, since they are a connection to a wonderful time in my life.

Now, the residents of the Diablo Valley have no idea what an idyllic place it was, but when I return there, I still hear the laughter of our rag tag bunch of little hooligans. I smile at the mischievous boys that stole Bancroft pears, (hopefully, the statute of limitations has run out ??), and used them for their true, but never advertised purpose ... edible ammo! My mom and sisters have moved up into the Sierra foothills, I am married now and working on laser systems in Southern California. I have a son, Casey, who is married and has two small kids of his own. "Gwampa" takes little Nick climbing in trees, and helps him with his throwing arm. You never know when the "orchard kingdom" might need a good defender!

I wish all the VERY best to you, your husband, your children and loved ones, and I know I am not alone in recalling happily indelible memories of those days in our youth, in the once rural valley around Walnut Creek. Please pass along these sentiments to your parents, (hoping they are well), and any of the other farming families with whom you may still maintain contact. You all should know that you made a difference.

In peace and many thanks,

DaVinci

February 18, 2002

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