The landscape between Ukiah and Oakland was brown and scrubby, and more dominated by suburban sprawl than Arcata. The vineyards had just started to bud along the grapevine trunks, all neatly wired in rows that cascaded over the hills. Rocks, sheds, telephone poles, and the occasional yucca speckled the highway.
Judi had spent the night with Darryl in his cluttered geodesic dome, more hut than house, warmed by a tiny wood stove and down sleeping bags. In the morning, they huddled over coffee warmed on a propane camp stove. His hut was even smaller than her shack. Judi’s girls, aged nine and five, were staying with their father in his much larger home.
After a short conference with organizers in Ukiah, they set out in her white Subaru for the combination rally-concert at the University of
