
California's Lucerne is on the north shore of Clear Lake in Lake County. Highway 120 runs right through it. In Harbor Park one of the staff of Lake County Parks said,"No, the county really got on the hydrilla problem and now is doing the same with the mussels that attach themselves to boats. There was a die-off of carp recently, and they had all of us out immediately to pick them up. It wasn't so bad, but you couldn't get the smell out of your nose for a week. The police now patrol the parks and the highways. We want to make this a nice place for people to come. Until I got this job with the county, I lived in Cobb, and I wouldn't come to the North Shore. That's the meth place, I would say. But not now. People used to say to me, 'Lake County! you've got all those druggies and convicts.' No more, we're sending them to you now."

In the park is a collection of artist shops and galleries, a cooperative effort between the county, the town, and local artists.
Mary Lou's is in the center of town and is the central attraction. It's full of bird houses made by the husband of the owner. A woman came in, ordered coffee, glared at the other customers, mumbled a hello in response to hellos, and went outside to sit in the cold. She pulled out a cigarette, sipped her coffee, ran her hand through her hair, rocked by and forth in a lean-back chair, and left.
A middle-aged woman came in. "Terri here?"
"No," responded the barista, a young man with a guitar, in his twenties. "She just left."
She sat down with her cappuccino. "I walked in this morning."
"You walked all the way from home?"

"Yes."
"You are looking good."
"Thank you, but I know better. I've been on this diet. I hate it. My doctor says 'Lose weight!' and I know he goes out behind his office and smokes. A bunch of us went out the other night and had fish. I hate fish, but it's supposed to be good for me."
"Yes, business is not good," the young man said. "All last summer it was like it was late fall. I've been here ten years, and I see business after business come in and go out. They last about one to two years. It's that way all over the lake."
An old man came in for espresso. He knew everyone.
A woman and her brain-damaged daughter came in for lunch. She, too, knew everyone.