Home.

Omy, but I love California. Even this much maligned stretch of I5 is lovely golden rollingness with swaths of verdant irrigated green. Lovely even at 70 miles per hour through a bug-splattered windshield.

Seamus: If more than one mouse is called "mice," why isn't more than one house called "hice?"

Me: Good question.

We are bobbing along like so much flotsam in the north/south flow of water and power and freight.

Fin: Are we almost home?

Me: A little while more. When you see the windmills, we're almost home.