We’ve had multiple people comment on the name of the valley we live in–folks, that dirty slang word you’re thinking of is “panocha”, not Panoche. . . although the root may be the same.
I don’t have any photos of the house yet, but it’s pretty cute, and I think our pine tree may be the tallest thing in the valley.
It’s kind of like a small slice of Montana and Wyoming hidden away in CA–unconventional and beautiful in a rugged and clear sort of way. At night Panoche is silent, except for the hum of the dairy and the occasional coyote or owl, or the sound of the wind. The stars are thick and bright on a clear night, the moon when it is full is like a spotlight. The horses next door, out on a hundred acres of bone-dry pasture, once in a while go for a gallop and sound like a charging cavalry against the quiet. You can hear a crow flying over, each wing beat distinct and surprising.
And here is the first baby born in the Panoche valley in probably a hundred years or more:
Aint she pretty? Delivered at home by mommy and daddy after 4 hours of not-too-bad labor, fortuitously with grandma and grandpa there to watch Mol and Chub.
Ok, more another time. Said infant is now sleeping and that means Bedtime for me.