My Town

I was leafing through the new L.L. Bean catalog when I came across the mad bomber hat that would be great for my husband. I quickly got on the phone to place the order. The next thing I knew the salesperson was making me spell my last name two or three times. Then it was time for my shipping address. I gave her the street name of Muskrat Rd. Then I waited for her to ask me the inevitable. “What city is that mam?”
I cleared my throat and said, “Weed, California.” There was a silence. Then I heard a snort and grating laugh.
This happens all the time. I just know that if I am going to talk with someone long distance and need to divulge my address, I have made their day a little more fun. They think I am kidding. I am not kidding. It is really true. Bruce and I live in Weed, Ca. Well, we really live in Lake Shastina, a year round golf course community, but it is not incorporated, so the nearest town is Weed.
The culprit for this rather embarrassing name is, you guessed it, a pioneer by the name of Abner Weed who happened west, settled down and bought a lumber mill and mercantile company plus 280 acres in 1897 for the mighty sum of $400.00. He was pretty impressed with the location of the mill because the prevailing winds coming off Mt. Shasta made it pretty darned windy and thus aided in the drying of green lumber. So the town of Weed took his name and it is not likely to change. Hey, we even have tee shirts that say, “smokin’ Weed “ and “Weed smokes.” However, the sheriff’s department frowns on the growing of Marijuana. They have no sense of humor.