California Stories of Pickers, Builders, and Healers

In an old town where the wind whispered at night to cottonwoods and songs slowly faded into dreams, church bells rang from an old mission church. The church had a very high steeple. It was surrounded by towering fir trees where hundreds of birds chirped all day, when the church bells rang. From the steeple, church bells rang every hour of the day and at noon for the midday Angelus prayer. The church bells could be heard as far as the river that flowed under the cottonwoods, past the park and train depot. It was to this old mission church, that I came often as a child with Grandpa.