If I remember correctly, the first time I saw Mark Twain in the books, was when I came across the quote…

“The secret to getting ahead is getting started.”

Mark Twain wore many hats. One of them was his favorite and he particularly wore it during his long travels on foot. His longest journey started in the East and a long, windy but pretty coincidence brought him to the forests of the West where he spent much of the rest of his life eating, sleeping, walking and writing.

We have always known Samuel L Clemens as Mark Twain. His name is enshrined not only on the copies of Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, but as it turns out, it is also half of the name of the quaint little town I visited this year, called Twain Harte. Nestled in the Sierran forests of Stanislaus, away from the hubbubs of the cities on the coast, it has been kept a wonderful secret. How the eponymous town came to be named, we can only imagine.

Might it be because of Tom Sawyer’s adventures or the author’s own. Could it be that the delicious conversations he once had in the pubs and kitchens of this evergreen town echoed for a long time since he was gone. Or perhaps because Twain sounds and comforts like rain.

By now you must be wondering about the Harte in Twain Harte. I thought maybe Harte was just another way of saying heart. Seem like a reasonable guess, if you saw what I saw. And if I may say so at the expense of sounding like a hopeless romantic…

O’ look the towering Pines
Cedars, oaks and firs,
Gracing the sidewalks,
On every twist and turn
Would make anyone’ heart skip a beat
Even Twain’s Harte

Alas, but no, it was named after Bret Harte. He was an established writer, revered by the likes of Kipling, and known especially for his short stories about miners and gamblers, the romantics of the Californian gold Rush, and his poetry.

A long time ago, he also wrote a now familiar quote…

“A bird in hand is a certainty. But a bird in the bush may sing.”

For having an idyllic town named after you and your friend who swears by the same livelihood skills as yours, you would think they were best of friends. But ironically Mark Twain and Bret Harte were never close. You could even say they tolerated and then never tolerated each other! And honestly, I cannot tell you how much truth or fiction there is in my claims since my only two sources are wikipedia and my dull head. So…

The town much like its name boasts an old, white and conservative demographic but on the bright side it is a mere two hour drive for the residents of the Bay Area. A wonderful getaway. A gateway into the meadows of Heaven. No, really! If you keep driving on 108 past Twain Harte, Strawberry, Pinecrest, you will get closer to the heart of Stanislaus…Sonora Pass, Kennedy’s Meadows and you might see the truth in what I say!

Every trip needs sustenance and you will be glad to know that the local eateries at Twain Harte exceeded our expectations. I met a cheerful and friendly Bay Area pandemic transplant from San Bruno who sold homemade scones! Warm delicious sweet and savory! They changed my life! She would bake them at her humble abode and zipped past the piney roads to the Twain Harte town square on her bike, where she she sold them like hot cakes. After gaining popularity she opened her own store, the SconerGirl. It sits elegantly, victorian in decor with teacups and doilies, across the street from a busy breakfast diner. It sure is hard to put into words the warmth you feel when you enter a tea shop like this one, infused with the aroma of a freshly baked lemon and blueberry scone. Let alone trying to describe the joy that ensues from eating one of those scones!

If Twain and Harte were alive, even they would pine for these scones!

We also stumbled into a intimate wood-fired oven pizza restaurant. It was a one man show. I thought I thought I heard the music of wood crackling in the man sized fireplace folden in with a faint sound of crashing ocean waves. I felt cold and warm at once. The guy who was the chef and waiter all in one, was from Palau. There was something about this place. I knew it was cold as ice outside and in this restaurant I was momentarily transported to Pondicherry. A vivid memory and a feeling from when I was only 20 engulfed me. I left the restaurant intoxicated only with happiness.

If you are always craving for dessert like me, then the freshly churned ice cream at Mountain creamery is just the thing to have. One bite and little bells of the moo-ing swiss cows may ring in your ears until you’re smoothly swept off your feet.

While I stayed, the days were warm and the evening were cold but orange as I watched the sun set from my motel’ window. Any day now the green treetops on the hills of the town of Twain and Harte will be covered with soft silvery-white snow.