Gordon Ryan - State of Rebellion

“We’ve got nearly eight thousand acres of prime land in our family, down considerably from the fifteen thousand we once had, but still a nice holding. Almonds and walnuts have been this family’s life. You’ve got the land in your soul, even if you did opt to be a lawyer and a county administrator instead of a farmer.”

Rawlings smiled at his grandfather, who was now eighty-one. “I don’t farm the land, Jack, but you’re right, I care about it a lot.”

Jack shifted his position. “Our family has always cared about this land. It’s been like that since your fourth great-grandfather, Colonel Howard Rumsey, settled this valley right after the Civil War.”

Dan quietly chuckled and braced himself, knowing he was due for another of Granddad’s stories about Rumsey Valley. Jack started to speak, but caught himself. Cocking his head and grinning at his grandson, he said, “I guess you’ve heard that one already.”

Standing up, Dan looked west, watching the fading rays of light create a kaleidoscope of color between the evening clouds and the tops of the mountains, their purple hue changing even as Jack began the family homily. Yes, he did know that one, and the one about the one-room schoolhouse off to the right a half-mile, where his great-grandmother and grandmother had completed their schooling. His mother had broken out of the mold and left for San Francisco and a college degree-the first in the family. He also knew the one about the steep mountain trail above them. At the close of the last century, his great, great-grandfather had followed it east on horseback, over into the Sacramento Valley every weekend to court the Morris girl until she agreed to marry him and move across the foothills to Rumsey Valley.

Dan’s head was full of Jack’s stories. He’d heard them all, and listening to them, he had learned to be patient with his grandfather. As Dan had matured, and he and his grandfather became peers more than mentor and pupil, Dan had been able to make something of a joke of his grandfather’s natural loquaciousness. Even Jack laughed when Dan introduced him by saying, “Granddad never met a man he couldn’t bore.”

Dan turned now toward Jack and held his eyes, as his grandfather had taught him to do, in order to take the measure of a man.

“I know most of it, Granddad, but what eluded me for so long was how I knew it, or rather how I felt it inside, like it was part of me.”

“It is, son. Not everyone in this family has that understanding, but I saw it in you early on.”

“That book Dad bought me, you know-the one I showed you about heritage, DNA, and our recollections of our ancestors? The genealogy book by G.G. Vandagriff. That’s where I figured it out. I’ve got their voices in my blood, Granddad, just like the author said.”

Looking back down the valley, Dan paused, as if expecting his ancestors to appear-to tell him how to handle his problems. “They all speak to me somehow, and from them, I’ve. . well, I’ve inherited their feelings, not only for this valley but for the nation. And from you, Granddad,” he said, smiling at Jack. “All you’ve taught me; shooting my first buck, how to cast a fly, irrigating the almonds.” The memories flooded through him, and he knew Jack could sense his feelings.

Jack got to his feet and started down the hillside, turning to look back at his grandson.

“It’s a rare thing, to be connected that solidly to the land of your birth and to your forebears, Dan. These radicals, both conservative and liberal, just don’t get it. What they describe as patriotism has nothing to do with what’s best for this country. They don’t value the hard work, personal sacrifice, and blood that have made this country what it is. They only want to exploit the advantages for their own gain.” Jack resumed his downward path, and Dan followed. “You know that your father and I haven’t always. .” Jack hesitated.

Dan had often felt like a pawn in the friction between his grandfather and his father. As a young boy, he had struggled to keep his balance in that storm-to continue loving them both.

Jack laughed out loud and continued his thoughts. “We haven’t always agreed since he and your mother split up. But your father was right about one thing-you needed to leave this valley and make your mark. It’s inside you now. You’ll always come back. You are the valley, and your children will be, too.”

Dan laughed. “Jack, I’m only forty miles down the road, in Woodland.”

Jack ignored Dan’s protest and continued his descent, looking over his shoulder at his grandson. “Time was, it was a full day’s trip, each way. It’s ‘outside’. . townies.”

“Well, I’ll try to keep some dirt on my shoes, if it’ll make you feel better.”

They made their way confidently through the darkened but familiar landscape.

“I know you’ll do right by us, Dan. I wish. . if only your grandmother could’ve seen what’s become of you. She would have been as proud of you as I am.”

As they reached the bottom of the hill, Dan looked at his grandfather for a moment before speaking. “Jack, I know how much you miss Grandma. I got a bit more understanding of that after Susan died. I want you to know that everything you and Grandma taught me over the years is still with me, including a love for the land. But as important as the land is, it’s nothing without the people who love it. And we all serve this valley in different ways. I’m afraid the ‘townies,’ as you call ’em, have discovered that the Valley is more than just a road to Clear Lake. They’re coming, and we have to be prepared for that.”

“ You , maybe, but not me. I’ve had my day. It’s your turn now, and I hope I’m not here to see it. That, and the success of this ridiculous separatist movement Turner’s promoting. Stand up to them, Dan. Our family and friends fought hard to make this land part of America. Don’t let Turner and his bunch throw that all away.”

“I feel the same way, but people are angry and frustrated at Washington. You know that. It’s damn near impossible to get the Feds to change or to get them to stop regulating everything we do-from building roads to doing business to even deciding what crops farmers can grow. Now that they have their new health legislation, they want to regulate our health check-ups and medical treatment. It’s becoming ‘ Is Grandpa too old for a hip replacement?’ mentality. They’ve gone too far, Jack.”

Jack shook his head. “They’ve climbed on our back, that’s for sure, but life is change, Dan. I’ve watched it for eighty years.” He hesitated, a grin spreading across his face. “Most people favor progress-it’s the change they don’t like,” he said, laughing at his own joke.

“So I’ve heard you say,” Dan laughed also. “But it’s getting out of hand, and people are going to get hurt. . have already been hurt, in the process.”

“If you’re talking about that young soldier they buried today, it’s an outrage.”

“I know. I went to his funeral this afternoon. Jack, have you ever heard of the Shasta Brigade-a militia group up north?”

“Sure. Are you thinking they’re involved in this?”

Dan looked west, to the last sliver of light clinging to life just over the crest of the mountain. “They could be. It’s a bold move if they are, but they’re acting pretty cocky lately, with all this hue and cry for secession.”

Jack put his hand on his grandson’s shoulder, darkness fully surrounding them now. “Cocky doesn’t cover it. They’ve already claimed responsibility for murdering the judges, haven’t they? If this is their work, they’ve got to be held accountable.”

“And what about California? Am I wrong in thinking that secession isn’t something we can abide?”