Unending

[rejectomorph]

This comes close to qualifying as a monsoon. The rain falls, seldom easing, and the sky remains darkened even by day. Wet squirrels scamper about, birds alight on branches and flick the rain from their feathers every few seconds, and even the stray cats no longer remain sheltered, but are forced to go out seeking food however wet they may become. All the beasts grow accustomed to the new state of things. The frogs, of course, continue to sound delighted. If they kept histories, they would likely remember this as their best year ever. I, however, would like just a bit more variety. If there can't be sunlight, I'd settle for as little as a thunderstorm. Just, please, an end to the monotony. It's water torture.

Comments

[rejectomorph]

I've looked around on the Internet to see if I could find the exact birthplace of Mark Keppel, but no luck so far. In 1867, the only town of considerable size in Butte County was Oroville, but there were also a few smaller gold rush towns still hanging on. But Butte County may have been larger in 1867 than it is now. It was one of the state's original counties and, as were many of them, it was divided over the years, but I've been unable to find exactly when the various pieces were broken off. Parts of its original territory are now in Plumas and Tehama Counties, and some of it may be in other counties as well, so it's possible that Dr. Keppel was actually born in one of those areas.

I did just find this interesting used book for sale, though.