I'm from the great San Joaquin Valley of California. It's often forgotten about compared to the giants of Los Angeles and San Francisco, despite it's 400 miles in length. It's also much maligned, often with good reason, for stinking of manure and being long miles of nothing but agriculture and asthma.

But it's still my home, where I was raised, and now that I've been away for over eight years I can say I miss it.

The little tome of letters is an absolute treasure. Masumoto draws on what he calls the "spiritual geography" of the valley and address his family, friends, and neighbors. These letters, originally published in a Fresno Bee column, are brief and profound. Masumoto loves the land, and he loves his family, and he is all too aware of the once-tenuous ties between the two: his family was sent to internment camps during World War II, even as one of his uncles fought and died for the United States. He takes pride in working the land as his father once did, and he measures a day of summer's work in the number of shirts he has soaked with sweat. And it's all for love. Doug Hansen's realistic watercolor illustrations add beauty to each letter.

To me, to someone homesick for family and place, this felt like a daily devotional. I read each letter and I knew the smell of the dust in the air and the exact feel of the sun. Odd as it may seem, it also made me think a lot of my Grandpa who died in 1991. I know he would have loved this book, and that made me enjoy it even more. ( )