Page 127 - People & Places In Time

Yokohl Valley
As I begin my return down the valley the twilight sky is turning to night time, I come across a bicycle rider with a blinking red tail light that I had passed going up. We are just at the windmill, so he still has a good ride left in
the dark. Soon enough I’m turning onto Highway 198, the valley recedes in my mirrors. The quickened pace of reality shoves the memories of summers past from my mind. I turn the radio down and in no time, I’m back in Visalia, onto my street and home.
My first car was that 1956 Ford Fairlane that I would drive so many times into Yokohl Valley. A two-door hard- top, coral and white with grey interior. Referred to then as a police interceptor it had a 312 cubic inch motor with a Hol- ley four-barrel and was fast for those days. It was a great car for a young man completing his junior year in high school and in need of a boost in esteem. I still believe that the dash was one of the best looking ever it was used in the ‘57’ T-Bird the following year. A good friend helped me convert it to a stick on the floor; although my Dad could not under- stand this change, thinking it a step backward. Because my Dad owned the Sierra Ford agency I had access to the shop and would have my car up on the rack on many Saturday afternoons; this car will always hold a special place in my heart.
In the early spring of 1964, a rare sprinkling of snow fell in Exeter. While sitting around at the Jolly Kone, taking in the excitement of the day, three friends and I decided to search out more snow. We got into my car and I drove over the hill into Yokohl Valley.
Lately, while taking so many trips into the val-
ley with my camera, I have yet to pinpoint the exact spot where I hit some ice on that fateful day fifty-three years ago and rolled my ‘56’ off the road, through a fence, ending upside down in a Gill ranch pasture. All climbed out unhurt to survey the damage; nothing remained but to begin the
long walk home in the rain. Of course, Dad talked with Fred Gill about the damaged fence. I understand that he just laughed and said his guys would take care of it, and so that was that. Recently I spoke with one of those friends, now living in North Carolina. David Kloth persists in recalling that afternoon and seems to enjoy reminding me of the one memory I wish had never happened.
I do continue, and will do so for as long as possible; to drive into the Yokohl Valley. Not always with my cam- era in hand, but more often to revisit a place where time doesn’t interfere, where my present and past become as one.
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