Last week my family got a chance to slow down and watch some old movies together, one of which was based on William Saroyan's "The Human Comedy." It features Mickey Rooney and Carl "Alfalfa" Switzer of Little Rascals fame, set in mythical Ithaca, California, a small, sleepy town which I imagine would be in the wine country near Salinas.
In the movie, Rooney's character's brother is in the Army, fondly recalling with his buddies the features of his idyllic home town. Ah, to be in Ithaca...
It was a time of innocence, to be sure. In one telling scene, after two small illiterate boys take an awe-filled trip to the public library (there's a red book! there's a green one!), a gang of local boys dare to raid an old man's apricot tree. Led by a pubescent Switzer, the group of boys sneak through the old man's yard, dashing to hide behind bushes and farm implements, to approach the tree, daring each other to snatch a snack. (Little do they know the old man sees them coming and wishes he could ripen the fruit faster for them.)
Once the group has gathered under the tree, egging Switzer on, the old man appears and slams the screen door, and the boys scatter. Alfalfa--er, Switzer--refuses to skedaddle until he grabs at least one apricot, and the group is next seen scurrying back to Main Street.
There, in front of the drug store, the gang of miscreants gather round to see the prize. Switzer slowly opens his palm, revealing a marble-sized, green apricot.
"Ooh, ooooohhhh!" the appreciative boys murmur, struck with wonder at the courage and daring-do of their young leader.
Really? Was life EVER that simple? I was dumbstruck.
I asked my dad if such days ever really existed, and he reassured me that they did. Once or twice when he was a young man, he began an oft-told tale, my dad dared to raid a watermelon patch near his Arkansas home. He and a carload of friends had stopped and climbed through the barbed wire fence and were scouring the patch for a ripe melon, when my dad joked that he saw "someone coming down from the house with a shotgun!"
The friends were back in the car in a flash, and the group was off with a couple of melons.
Another time (or two) the boys visited the patch to crack open a couple of melons, scooping out the juicy, seed-free heart and leaving the remains to rot.
Not long after that, the owner of the patch happened to stop by their home. "Say, boys, I have a watermelon patch up yonder and you're welcome to help yourself anytime."
Presumably, dad says, he knew about the boys' fruit habit all along and just wanted them to know he didn't mind.
Or maybe it was a bit of reverse psychology, because my dad says they never did raid that watermelon patch again.
Somehow it just wasn't the same.
A beautiful seaside at Calafia, Mexico.
This is Mormon Rocks in the San Bernardino Mountains. 
This is the view from Northern Arizona looking north toward Utah. 
This was a beautiful bend in the road in Zion National Monument, Utah.
A view of Monument Valley from a trip with Dad last summer. 
The wondrous North Rim of the Grand Canyon.
