I love my hometown, Sacramento. It’s close to the ocean and the mountains. It has awesome weather, parks, and running trails. It has a restaurant downtown with the best beer I’ve had in my life. Most importantly, it contains a treasure trove of family members/eager babysitters, all living within a five-mile radius of one another.
At the entrance of Old Sacramento is a giant golden bridge spanning the Sacramento River. It is slightly comical how massive it is in relation to its narrow span. I refer to it as the Old Sacramento Bridge. My kids refer to it as the “Golden Bridge That Is Not The Golden Gate Bridge.” (There was a lot of confusion on this point early on.) A quick google search confirms that it is actually called the Tower Bridge, but I have never heard anyone call it that. Whenever I see it, I think of home.