In the Shadow of Mount Diablo

The earthquake reports mention the Mount Diablo nuclear plant, so I thought I’d post a link with a bit on the history and myth surrounding the area considering how close I’ll be (I’ll be in Danville on Christmas, actually).

Growing up in Dublin, I remember visiting Mount Diablo a few times for picnics. There were rocks, I believe, that could be climbed — smooth hand and footholds in sandstone.

I remember my father taking a nap, stretched out on a red and white checked blanket with his hands behind his head (although I may only be remembering a photograph of him in this position).

And there’s a story in my memory (and yet not the actual memory) of an unfortunate incident involving my father and a bottle of salad dressing.

At any rate, that was when I first heard the Bret Harte version from my mother when I asked her what “diablo” meant. She told it almost exactly as the website has it.

Older now, I think the “Thicket of the Devil” evolution is somewhat more interesting (semantic drift always is).