This morning I travelled 13 miles east of Davis through acres of farmlands before reaching my destination--the sleepy town of Winters. There I met C. at her lovely Victorian farmhouse, renovated for the modern family with high ceilings, hardwood floors, and a fine animal entourage of a cornfield snake and a turtle. Next to her family's house was a grand church built probably around the same time, late nineteenth century. A menacing orange tree weighed down by the winter's bounty separated her and the church. We sat and talked, and did some Buddhist chanting for over an hour. I felt refreshed.