This primary color landscape is serenity packed in a jar of PlayDoh and then perfectly positioned by some baby angel. Every day is sky blue, the only trace of cloud coming from passing jets. The forest green of the tree needles against the reddy brown of their trunks. Rich and old people with enough money to live here in these mansions walk their dogs on leashes, the local 20-somethings who run the bars, the boatshops, the corner stores, walk their dogs without. A simple walk to 7/11 and when I’m down out of the forest, off of the mountain and lakeside you can feel the chill winds coming off that crisp water, that clean clear liquid that is such a hidden paradise of American landscape.
I like that no one really knows about Tahoe. You don’t hear about it like you do the Grand Canyon or the Everglades or Mt. Rushmore. You probably know the name, but the place? It’s a spectacular little secret tucked far enough away from Reno and Sacramento to really keep out the riff raff. I like being some of the only riff raff in town.