Let’s go Chico.
There. I did it. With just three words, I’ve got probably 49.99 percent of you overwhelmed with pride, another 49.99 percent chuckling, “I see the word play here,” and no more than .02 percent of you wondering, “What the heck is a Chico?” Ah, but how many truly know Chico?
To the arcane Chico is a species of greasewood, to Spanish speakers it is a small boy and to the enlightened it’s a diverse North Sacramento Valley enclave shining bright with loving actuation and hope.
This silver-haired cis male remains a Chico at heart. I’m a lover of woods singing the praise of my adopted city of nine years every chance I get. We simply have much more to be grateful for than angry at.
“There is just as much beauty visible to us in Chico as we are prepared to appreciate, and not a mustard seed more. … A human sees only what concerns them.” — Adapted from a quote by Henry David Thoreau
I see a beauty unlike no other little boy. The people, the places, the flora and fauna. From the soothing sounds of awakening birds at GRUB CSA Farm, to the rustling of the fall leaves in Bidwell Park. And, above all else, its humans. Their frailty, their devotions, their love and their hearts.
Together we can change the conversation starting with, “hello neighbor!”
— Bill Mash, Chico