After our hike up McCloud River we dropped into Mt. Shasta to stroll around. Mt. Shasta is a sweet little city next door to Weed. The book store on the main drag looked appealing so we stepped in, ordered some coffee and a hot chocolate for Allison, and looked through some books. I love bookstores so much, it hurts. I get a certain anxiety from a room filled with new books and magazines. Instead of relaxing with a book, sipping my latte, making polite conversation, I get overexcited about the choices. So much to read, so little days left in my life. And I can't stay focused. Every section beckons to me. Do I want to know about logging history or the ecology atop old-growth redwoods? And, God, how distracting are those Log and Timber dream home magazines. I finally settled on a book of first-hand accounts of the women who traveled west on the Oregon trail, probably a real downer, but surely good perspective for a woman traveling in the luxury of a new aluminum, fully appointed, Airstream trailer.
And what else gets my eye is the local character of the townsfolk who gather here. There are odd people everywhere, but there is a particular oddness to the California/Oregon "hippy" folk. I think it's their gentleness. I snapped a photo of this gentleman outside the bookstore puffing on his hand-rolled cigarette. Not weed, but something else, though I'm not sure it was tobacco either. I liked the care he gave to twisting his hair into a pretty knot on top.
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