From city folk to hill folk

We spent the weekend in my domain, the city, but this evening we took a drive up the hill to Hubby's domain, the Sierra foothills.

Hubby grew up in an old gold-mining, then-logging town, Foresthill, about 3,000 feet up on a mountain sliver that divides the north and south forks of the American River. His mom still lives in the 1,000 square foot house that he grew up in and where we still spend Thanksgivings. We also got married in the only hotel in town, The Forest House.

Obviously, with so many connections to Hubby's life, we had to take Uncle Grahame and Aunty Janet for a quick tour. (Although Grahame did come out for the wedding, so this wasn't his first time "up the hill")

On the way we cross the Forest Hill Bridge; at 730 feet above the river bed below, it is the 3rd highest in the U.S.


Notice how Janet is standing a foot or so back? Walking that bridge is not for the feint of heart. It's a sheer drop and whenever a car passes by, the whole thing shakes like an earthquake. Wheeee!

Of course, Daisy had no problem with it. Unlike her Dad, who is not to be seen in these bridge pics.



This is the view below.



Before zooming up the windy Foresthill road, we stopped to take a couple of family pics.




(And yes, Daisy was wriggling. I don't usually stand like that.)

It was in the triple-digits in the Sacramento area yesterday and so we had left late in the afternoon for our drive. This meant that it was dusk by the time we hit "downtown" Foresthill, such that it is.


Yep, this is pretty much it. The other side of the street is just about as interesting. This building houses the "Ore Cart", the main restaurant in town, where you can enjoy a steak on blue tin plates, or a Teriyaki Chicken dinner with blue sauce. Ahem.

The goal was to show Janet where Hubby and I got married but because it was a Monday and late in the day, the Forest House was closed. So we got to peek through windows and stand outside while we regaled stories of Hubby's hillbilly childhood - like getting hit with a blow dart when he rode his motorcycle over someone else's land - as well as sordid tales from our weekend of drunken debauchery (aka: our wedding.)

For instance, you may remember this:



and this:



Anyway, moving on...



This is the notice board that, according to Hubby, has not changed in almost 36 years and from where he would find most of his odd jobs as a teenager. He's had some odd jobs too - caring for an elderly man and working with loggers are just two that I remember. I can just imagine Daisy begging him to tell her more about all this when she is older.



The Forest House itself has undergone some improvements since we got married there 4 years ago. These updates extend to the outside too, where a new sign stands outside the hotel. For those of you who came to our wedding, you may remember the sign looking nothing like this...



Personally, I'm kind of partial to the old sign. Not that the new one isn't lovely and significantly more sophisticated but, if you know anything about Foresthill, 'sophisticated' isn't the first word that springs to mind. So, to me at least, the new one seems a little out-of-step with the location.