The year is 1958. I am 12, going on 13.
Bang! Awakened by the sound of a slamming screen door, my eyes open to see a thousand stars through limbs of a giant pine tree.
Where am I? Oh, yeah, Carl’s ranch. Dad drove us out here last night and we slept in the back of the pickup under the pines. It smells good. We’ve been coming here three years, since we moved to our new ranch on Mojo Lane in Redding’s Churn Creek Bottom.