This house has raccoons. And gophers. And possibly some deer in the back yard (I don’t get up to see what’s rustling around out there after dark– I’ve seen those movies).
I’ve slept with the windows open this “summer” and even way up on this hill, I can hear the seals barking in the bay– 2 miles away. The fish in our pond didn’t make all this racket.
Not to mention the constant riff-off between rival accapella gangs: the Crows and the Gulls.
There aren’t any random gunshots during the night like in BR’s Garden District. Or any random daytime gunshots like when my Old Hwy 6 neighbors would site in a new gun.
Nobody’s burning leaves (or trash) when the weather turns nice. Because (1) the weather’s always nice, (2) it’s illegal (wildfires), and (3) they’d rather burn bud, which is legal.
California is nothing like I thought it’d be. Which goes to show me, to remind me, that assumptions are a dangerous thing.