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Machetes, Meth & Murder-A Brief Memoir about Life in Rio Linda by an Outsider

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(As part of our Community Voices series, Candace L. Taylor writes of her life experience in the 95673. This is an excerpt from a series of short stories Candace is writing about the rural communities of NorCal)

Rio Linda—During the 1968 “Summer of Love,” my mother began her career as a Sacramento County Welfare Worker assigned to the Rio Linda area. She allowed me to tag along.

Images of chickens pecking cereal off a kitchen table, a teenager with autism propped up in a corner sporting a dirty diaper, and the abject squalor was seared into my impressionable young mind forever.

I vividly recall welfare claimants arguing with-and threatening-Mom when she tried to explain basic parenting, domestic abuse problems, and cooking skills.

As an impressionable child with an overactive imagination, I was certain this represented everyone who lived here.

In 1995, after college, marriage, and starting careers, Ron and I reluctantly moved to Rio Linda. But, the years of witnessing the worst type of human behavior had done its damage. My parents, literally, begged us not to purchase property in Rio Linda, knowing what a hard fit it would be. (However, they never chipped in money for us to move up to El Dorado Hills). Besides, we were young and the property was affordable. The ramshackle home was on 7.3 fenced acres-enough land for our herd of horses.

I naively kept thinking that the community would eventually turn around and become dotted with bucolic “gentleman farms” within the next decade.

Then, Rush Limbaugh had his way with the town, which led to a different kind of infamy and ever-lasting embarrassment.

Things stayed the same, and Rio Linda became the butt of every hillbilly joke in California, and even the world, thanks to the internet and an abundance of community apathy.

And the years wore on. And on. A time capsule on the edge of Sacramento county, where the projected population growth slowed to a crawl.

There were a few highlights: A new Community Service Center popped up, Jimmy’s Donuts caused a brief flurry of excitement when it moved into downtown, the Marval Market and Pinky’s closed. But whispers of a gang called the “Pecker Heads” circulated, violent crimes involving machetes, meth labs, and murders continued, homeless encampments popped up along the bridle trails, and the unsolved mystery of four local girl’s bodies still hangs like the Sword of Damocles over the town.

Rio Linda feels largely the same as when I was a young witness—simmering tensions and violent behaviors are tolerated, perhaps even celebrated (at the very least accepted or ignored) all underneath towering oak trees, boarding stables, vacant fields, and sleepy creeks that comprise what was once a portion of the famous Rancho Del Paso land grant.

It’s a hardscrabble town, that’s for sure. It’s the red-headed, freckled-faced, rowdy stepchild of Sacramento County-unloved, ignored and defiant to the end.

A dichotomy in the truest sense.

I realize that a few denizens in Rio Linda have had issues with me because I’ve pushed this town to do better, to be better and to fulfill its potential. And yes, I’ve been critical, even harsh sometimes in voicing my opinions.

I’m not a “townie” or part of the first farming families in the area. I’m an outsider, with a background in fundraising and media, who never fully embraced the idiosyncrasies of small-town life. But, helped shine a spotlight on Rio Linda by drafting news releases and whipping up the media for local events.

Sometimes, it feels like I’ve been ganged up on by a bunch of “mean girls”—people who are self-professed doyens of the town, who have taken personal umbrage at my critical analysis of the people, places, and things that need attention.

Despite the occasional smell of burning meth wafting on the wind, the dreaded 4th of July fireworks, the sound of neighbors sneaking out of backyard trailers in the early morning, and loose critters creating havoc, we’ve made a life here, enjoyed some good friends, grown a few giant pumpkins and found a little joy in this residential-rural town.

Long live Rio Linda.

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