Nestled in the foothills of the Sierras is the little town of Nevada City, California. Every weekend in December its streets are filled with booths and flags and people, all celebrating a Victorian Christmas. We spent an afternoon there.
There are amazing crafts. A very different kind of wreath.
Homemade goodies of all sorts abound sold by folks in semi-Victorian dress.
Notice the short sleeves though. Unlike any December the Victorians ever knew,
it was 70 degrees this day.
The bagpipes played and the dancers danced.
I understood from this lady that the Pie Lady and her truck had a corner in town when the festival was not in full swing. I had a dirty mash and steak pie for lunch. About 2 1/2 inches in diameter, filled with savory goodies, it was the perfect size without being overwhelming. I had to go back for dessert though. She had buttermilk pie. I asked her to tell me about it and she said, "It is a southern recipe." "Yes," I said. "I know. That's why I asked. Is it really southern, or just something someone in California made up?" She laughed and assured me it was really southern. And it was. So delicious. I haven't had one like that since my Aunt Lalah stopped making them when I was still a little girl.
Dean wanted spiced pecans.
This gentleman didn't have to wear a special costume. He dresses the part all the time.
Whole families did dress for the occasion however.
The day was made perfect for me as we were leaving and came across Father Christmas himself handing out goodies to children from his green bag.