Back in 1970 when I was attending an institute of higher learning in Chico, California, intermittent trips to Bidwell Park were a requirement for peace-of-mind and sanity. Bidwell Park, smack dab in the middle of town, where the Errol Flynn version of Robin Hood was filmed many moons ago. Yes, Bidwell Park, 3,670 acres, over 10 miles long, the third largest municipal park in California, and one of the twenty-five largest parks in the United States.
On July 4th, 1970, Bidwell Park was the place to be. All kinds of recreational activities, a creek-runs-through-it giant natural swimming pool, and live bands. As luck would have it, on this particular day in time and space I encountered the Devore Family Bluegrass Band. During one of the band’s breaks I went up and introduced myself, and met the band. There was dad Richard, who not only played the acoustic bass, but had made the unusual round bodied instrument himself. Then there was Rick, a championship 5-string banjo player who could give Bela Fleck a run for his money. Next, sister Toni, who could have given Rhonda her start. Last was younger brother Jeff, Tony Rice clone on guitar. After some introductory chit-chat, dad Richard Devore said to me, “We live in Paradise. You should come up some time.”
“Paradise? Where the heck is Paradise?” I asked. I was informed that Paradise was ten miles east of Chico, up in the foothills. And then later on I went there and discovered that Paradise was the real deal. Clean air, thousands of trees, no freeway in sight, no traffic to speak of (in 1970), a good place to hang-out, and almost best of all, a family bluegrass band. Long story short, I spent a couple of years in Paradise learning how to play bluegrass music with the Devore Family. That was then. The years went by, and the Devore Family went down their separate roads less traveled. Rick (banjo) had a life as a full time musician for some years, and then settled down in the town of Magalia (just east of Paradise) on a ten acre spread that because an equestrian site. Death finally took dad, Richard, as well as his wife. The younger son, Jeff, had an arts and crafts business. And daughter went somewhere seeking her destiny. I can only hope that siblings Rick, Jeff, and Toni made it safely through the wildfire in Paradise and Magalia last month. I can’t find their names on any lists that the Butte County Sheriff has posted, so here’s hoping that is good news.
And now, well it’s not new news about what has happened to Paradise in the last month or so. In a few hours on a cool November day, Paradise changed from a heavenly place into a living hell. There was mourning in the evening. And now, just like it has been since the beginning of time, Paradise is just a state of mind.
The CBA Family has helped the Paradise wildfire victims in various ways, including the donation of musical instruments to those that lost theirs. The CBA does not turn away from those in need, no matter what the situation. Every little bit adds up to a lot.
A continuing lesson learned is that we should really appreciate the good times we have had with people, places, and things. Way back when, right now, and in the future. And let’s not take the Fathers’ Day Festivals in Grass Valley that we have had for the forty-plus years for granted. After all, Grass Valley is surrounded by large forests, and the weather experts keep reminding us that the major wildfires we have had in California over the past two years are just a beginning. I, for one, hope that they are wrong, but I’m not counting on that hope. Remember what happened to the Strawberry Music Festival that was held at Camp Mather near Yosemite?
Maybe Joni Mitchell should come up with new lyrics to her old song, “Big Yellow Taxi.” You know, the song which tells about Paradise putting up a parking lot. And these days I imagine that there is more than one Paradise wildfire survivor singing the words to a classic James Taylor song, “I’ve seen fire, and I’ve seen rain….”
