Julian(a), you almost had me. First you showed me your enticingly curvy roads and rolling, voluptuous countrysides. Then you revealed your small-town main street that’s so compact it’s only a three block walk to the neighboring farm fields and forests. Your trimmed hedges and endless pastures … va-va-va-voom, I said. You dilated my eyes. You were going to be my next Bisbee.
A few days later, we met again, but something was different. Maybe it was all the kiddie memorabilia at the Miner’s Diner. Something had changed.
You still had the picturesque cemetery with sweeping valley views, and you revealed your antique jail house and cutesy quarter-operated toilets. But the pies. I like pie. But a town can not stand on pie alone. You have more pie bakeries than you have saloons and that’s a real problem.
An old mining town should have a tavern at its center, an honest and pure saloon that only serves drinks. It’s only right. And your bars are barely bars — they’re both attached to restaurants. I thought you were still true to your dirty, filthy roots, but you’ve turned your back on them. You’ve cleaned yourself up into a PG-rated mockery of your old self. You’ve sold your dirty soul for some sweet apple pie filling. It ain’t right, darling.
But maybe it’s not you, it’s me. I want something more to a town than you can provide. Yes, I like that your farmland remind me of Norwalk, Wisconsin, where I was born. Sure, I love that you have neighboring wineries and even a hard cider mill. And yes, I could suit up in spandex and pedal my bicycle all over your crescendoing and snaking roads. Almost. Maybe it was never meant to be, Julian(a).
Read more about Julian, CA here. Lisa, thanks for the pics.