The Bentwood Creek Chronicles

Now what folks call Devil’s mountain just sits there watching. The incursions of humans seeking their fortunes around it, under it, on top of it, and in it, haven’t fazed it much. Th e weather gets hung up on its peak in the winter, and it delays the sun’s rising and falling on opposite sides of the day. It was never quite a volcano. It just rose up to 5,000 feet and forgot to explode. On a clear day a person can see Mt. Tam, its twin, a hundred miles to the west. Th e Sierra Mountains sulk to the east, and to the south, hiding in the smog of San Jose, is Mission Peak. The big flat expanse of nothing to the north is the San Juaquin Delta, and California’s Capital, Sacramento, sitting under more smog. No one pays much attention to mountains, geography or topography, anymore. Most of the state is encapsulated in Disneyland’s theme park down in L.A. A few Sierra Clubbers climb this old mountain just to warm up and keep in shape for bigger challenges. When there’s snow on it, it’s a good place to take the kids for a few hours. But when it rains, the Devil’s mountain does its best to live up to its name. It channels its water in two directions to wreak havoc. The west side creates Walnut Creek, which has had the habit of flooding out the humans almost annually. Until someone got smart and created a canal system. Th is allowed more houses and commerce. Nobody cared much about the fl oods to the east. Bentwood Creek could rip its way through the farmland on its way to the Delta any way it wanted. It left rich silt in its wake, and farmers began to take advantage of the fine dirt. Th e small towns channeled its water into canals and small reservoirs keeping corn and tomatoes, fruit and nut trees, alive through the hot summers.  Now what folks call Devil’s mountain just sits there watching. The incursions of humans seeking their fortunes around it, under it, on top of it, and in it, haven’t fazed it much. Th e weather gets hung up on its peak in the winter, and it delays the sun’s rising and falling on opposite sides of the day. It was never quite a volcano. It just rose up to 5,000 feet and forgot to explode. On a clear day a person can see Mt. Tam, its twin, a hundred miles to the west. Th e Sierra Mountains sulk to the east, and to the south, hiding in the smog of San Jose, is Mission Peak. The big flat expanse of nothing to the north is the San Juaquin Delta, and California’s Capital, Sacramento, sitting under more smog. No one pays much attention to mountains, geography or topography, anymore. Most of the state is encapsulated in Disneyland’s theme park down in L.A. A few Sierra Clubbers climb this old mountain just to warm up and keep in shape for bigger challenges. When there’s snow on it, it’s a good place to take the kids for a few hours. But when it rains, the Devil’s mountain does its best to live up to its name. It channels its water in two directions to wreak havoc. The west side creates Walnut Creek, which has had the habit of flooding out the humans almost annually. Until someone got smart and created a canal system. Th is allowed more houses and commerce. Nobody cared much about the floods to the east. Bentwood Creek could rip its way through the farmland on its way to the Delta any way it wanted. It left rich silt in its wake, and farmers began to take advantage of the fine dirt. Th e small towns channeled its water into canals and small reservoirs keeping corn and tomatoes, fruit and nut trees, alive through the hot summers. Now what folks call Devil’s mountain just sits there watching. The incursions of humans seeking their fortunes around it, under it, on top of it, and in it, haven’t fazed it much. Th e weather gets hung up on its peak in the winter, and it delays the sun’s rising and falling on opposite sides of the day. It was never quite a volcano. It just rose up to 5,000 feet and forgot to explode. On a clear day a person can see Mt. Tam, its twin, a hundred miles to the west. The Sierra Mountains sulk to the east, and to the south, hiding in the smog of San Jose, is Mission Peak. The big flat expanse of nothing to the north is the San Juaquin Delta, and California’s Capital, Sacramento, sitting under more smog. No one pays much attention to mountains, geography or topography, anymore. Most of the state is encapsulated in Disneyland’s theme park down in L.A. A few Sierra Clubbers climb this old mountain just to warm up and keep in shape for bigger challenges. When there’s snow on it, it’s a good place to take the kids for a few hours. But when it rains, the Devil’s mountain does its best to live up to its name. It channels its water in two directions to wreak havoc. The west side creates Walnut Creek, which has had the habit of flooding out the humans almost annually. Until someone got smart and created a canal system. Th is allowed more houses and commerce. Nobody cared much about the fl oods to the east. Bentwood Creek could rip its way through the farmland on its way to the Delta any way it wanted. It left rich silt in its wake, and farmers began to take advantage of the fine dirt. The small towns channeled its water into canals and small reservoirs keeping corn and tomatoes, fruit and nut trees, alive through the hot summers. Now what folks call Devil’s mountain just sits there watching. The incursions of humans seeking their fortunes around it, under it, on top of it, and in it, haven’t fazed it much. Th e weather gets hung up on its peak in the winter, and it delays the sun’s rising and falling on opposite sides of the day. It was never quite a volcano. It just rose up to 5,000 feet and forgot to explode. On a clear day a person can see Mt. Tam, its twin, a hundred miles to the west. Th e Sierra Mountains sulk to the east, and to the south, hiding in the smog of San Jose, is Mission Peak. The big flat expanse of nothing to the north is the San Juaquin Delta, and California’s Capital, Sacramento, sitting under more smog. No one pays much attention to mountains, geography or topography, anymore. Most of the state is encapsulated in Disneyland’s theme park down in L.A. A few Sierra Clubbers climb this old mountain just to warm up and keep in shape for bigger challenges. When there’s snow on it, it’s a good place to take the kids for a few hours. But when it rains, the Devil’s mountain does its best to live up to its name. It channels its water in two directions to wreak havoc. The west side creates Walnut Creek, which has had the habit of fl ooding out the humans almost annually. Until someone got smart and created a canal system. Th is allowed more houses and commerce. Nobody cared much about the fl oods to the east. Bentwood Creek could rip its way through the farmland on its way to the Delta any way it wanted. It left rich silt in its wake, and farmers began to take advantage of the fine dirt. Th e small towns channeled its water into canals and small reservoirs keeping corn and tomatoes, fruit and nut trees, alive through the hot summers.