When I was a kid, I spent a couple of summers with my Dad in Central California in between the Central Valley and Yosemite National Park. It was rural California at its best. He and his girlfriend bought a plot of land in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains near a spot in the road called Cathay’s Valley. There, surrounded by dusty, rolling hills with the mountains in the backdrop, they threw their sweat, creativity and personality into building a little bungalow. I still dream of this house and all of those windows. I recall the shower in the greenhouse, the vegetarian dinners and doing dishes outside since there was no running water in the kitchen. When you entered the house, you were greeted by artwork he etched in the glass door (another etching is in the photo below). And, the smells--pine trees, native grasses, wild flowers mixed with the heat; the desert aroma I still love when I visit out West. It was central California during a major drought. There was a water well on