Here I am in Calaveras County. Mark Twain talked about frogs but he really spent his time here to dig for gold. Here I am, in old Gold Country and I’m broke. Now that’s not fair. I bought a pan and I only used it once in Columbia. So it’s my laziness and ignorance.
Gold fever! That’s why anyone moved out here in the first place. Not me but the people before me, and many people still who buy expensive equipment and set out on logging roads and into the creeks and sides of private property. I’m afraid I’ll run into a meth trailer, get shot by a farmer. The precious metal. The commodity. The mineral. I’m afraid I’ll be bitten by a rattle snake, or fall over front he heat and dehydration. A symbol of power, wealth and success. The initiator of expeditions and wars. The provoker of lust and greed. Gold. Do you know how you pan for gold? The simplest method is to scoop up the minerals and soil on the river bed, and swish water around in such a matter as to even out the minerals inside so that the heaviest fall to the bottom of the pan, the heaviest being gold. Then when you slowly dip water and dirt and minerals out of the pan you won’t lose the important ones, being garnets and peridot, and then the heaviest of all, the gold and potentially even silver. This land is still seeping with gold and other minerals, but less people care about them, or talk about it. Most of the mines have closed except for a hand full. The leftovers are people working in forestry and service industry and tourism, and heading out with a few supplies on the weekends and early mornings before the sun and druggies arise. I bought a lottery ticket. Maybe I should spend less time writing bullshit online and buying lottery tickets and more time digging for gold.