Breathe in the Bay

It’s been over a month since my last trip out of town, and updating the blog gives me an excuse to re-look at those photos and post them. It has cooled off here in the San Joaquin Valley (under 100s) but it’s still warm enough to want to view the pictures of the San Francisco Bay and remember the cool breezes wafting in as we visited the Bay in August.


We picked up some coffee and bagels at Katz and headed over to the marina to watch the ships come in and go out.

I was about to take pictures of two sea gulls sitting on the sea wall when another gull hurried over to join the group for a group portrait. I offer the two pictures so you can see the brown one flying over to have his mug captured as well. It's almost as if the middle gull turned around to see if the darker one was coming (or maybe to hurry him up). Anyway, they posed as if they were sea captains standing on deck at full attention.

Of course there is always something happening in San Francisco but I wasn't prepared when the streaker came running up to us in the Castro, dressed only in a 4" by 8" sign (you can guess where that was hanging). I did catch the "ghouls" covered in "blood" walking downtown like the living dead--advertising a new vampire movie I was told.


I really regret my missed opportunity to take a picture of "camouflage man" who sat on the curb at Fisherman's wharf wrapped in branches of leaves, and "scaring" people by talking to them as they went by from his "hideout." (really hysterical)


But, I did capture silver man, though, (I don't know what else to call him). He is in the middle between the two poles which you will probably have to click on it to enlarge to see him).





Coming home I took this beauty of a shot of the Salinas Valley

SUMMER ESCAPES

Traveling to Oregon in July, we spent several days camping out in the woods with old friends. We passed Mt. Shasta on the way north, which was covered in smoke from the many fires but clear coming back which allowed for this beautiful shot my daughter took.

Another weekend was spent in Cambria with friends where we visited the beach and watched dolphins and sea otters playing in the surf.

I’d never seen dolphins off the California coast before and we spent hours watching them playfully leap out of the water as they herded fish back and

forth (sea gulls flew above the dolphins, swooping down for a fish now and again).

I wish I’d been able to snap a good picture of the dolphins but I would have needed more than my digital camera to catch them in mid-leap. All I’ve got are dozens of pictures of the splashes after they dived. This was the best I could do (you’ll need to click on the picture, making it larger for viewing).

I also had a grizzled old sea gull, too old to fly for his food, who patiently stared me into giving him some crumbs from my sandwich, then fought off all comers who wanted in on the action. (See him in the lower left of this picture)

Sometimes when you travel far and wide you forget the beautiful places close by home. I hadn’t visited Bass Lake in several years although I used to visit it fairly often every summer and sometimes at other times of the year as well.

I’d gotten into a funk a few weeks back and needed to clear my head so I bugged Fred until we picked up and went to the lake for a day so relaxing and healing that we planned a second visit that same week.

We packed all our stuff –sandwiches, chips, drinks, and cookies so we wouldn’t have to stop for anything, plus a chair, a chaise and cushions for comfort while we read, swam and watched the boats.

It felt like we’d spent a week on holiday after we got home that

night. I was so laid back that I didn’t take many pictures. I will escape to Bass Lake again this summer, for sure.

Remember Dorothy’s mantra, “There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home…”

Off The Beaten Path

How many fires were burning in California at one time this past month? Those living in California probably know there were over 800 and a good chunk of that smoke blew east and was hanging over Reno while Fred and I were there in June. Not good for photos, fun or health. So, on our way home we decided to take an alternate route other than the usual Hwy 80. We went south on Hwy 395 through Carson City and then caught Hwy 50 west through South Lake Tahoe, avoiding the smoke, road construction and Sacramento traffic.

We stopped in Placerville at Mel’s Diner for some 60’s style grill cheese sandwiches, fries and music of the Platters. Then we dropped down Hwy 49 through Diamond Springs, Plymouth and Sutter’s Creek, all interesting old gold mining towns, where I began to perk up and bring out my camera.

Switching over to Hwy 124 I caught a glimpse of this old cantina that caught my eye enough to snap these pictures.






Moving on, lulled by the winding road and the country vistas, I wasn’t prepared for the mansion that caught my eye coming into Ione, California. I spotted it through trees and hills and yelled something about, “What the H--- is that? Stop, I’ve got to get a picture of that…what is that, how can a building that size be in this old mining town?”

We meandered through the streets in town to find one that would take us up to this mansion, which reminded me of a cross between a creepy haunted mansion and the idea of Steven King’s Kingdom Hall Hospital or a dreadfully overdone blood red mental institution back when mental institutions were not for the faint of heart. Okay, so I’m a fiction writer and I exaggerate, but only to impress how it really gave me the willies.

We finally found the place and here’s a picture of the sign.

Fred remembered something from his youth about rough kids bragging that they were at Preston, so it fit.

I found out from some research on the internet that it is closed (see below). It didn’t look closed when we were there, as 3 men that looked like guards came out into the parking lot (and there were several parked cars). Razor wire and a gun tower (no picture of that), made me not want to linger for more pictures.

When we traveled on through the downtown, it appeared pretty much as it must have looked back in the day.

From Wikipedia I learned:
“Ione is located in the fertile Ione Valley, which is believed to be named by Thomas Brown around 1849 after one of the heroines in Edward Bulwer-Lytton's drama "The Last Days of Pompeii." During the days of the Gold Rush, the miners knew the town by the names of "Bedbug" and "Freezeout." Unlike other communities in Amador County which were founded on gold mining, Ione was a supply center, stage and rail stop and agricultural hub.”

On the history on the old mansion—“The Preston School of Industry, known as The Castle, was built between 1890-1894 to serve as a school for juveniles referred by the courts. The Castle is currently not in use (then why all those people?), but the Preston Castle Foundation is working to help restore The Castle.” (to what?)

I thought my picture taking was over until we were nearly out of town and I found the cemetery. There were some very touching graves. (Double click on the picture on the left to enlarge it)

Tid bit from Wikipedia:
—“Dave Brubeck, the famous jazz pianist, was raised in Ione and in 1998 scored a video tour of the castle called "A Castle's Song", sold through KVIE to help fund the restoration efforts.”

So, answer the call to adventure and try another route on your next road trip. You never know what you'll find “off the beaten path.”

HUMMINGBIRD GURU

The other morning, I did some Yoga to loosen up my muscles and had a wonderful session, becoming very calm and peaceful. After a bath, I began thinking about someone who had not returned my time-sensitive email. I became anxious and began imagining all kinds of reasons for why that was, blowing it up to involve other people until I realized that my mind was doing this crazy imagination thing. I reprimanded myself about my negative, paranoid thoughts, until I had the epiphany that I was still in a negative state of mind, only now I was directing at myself.


I sat down relaxed all thoughts, becoming peaceful once again. I felt better and got up to open the curtains, and what should be right in front of the window but a hummingbird hovering a foot away, looking right at me for a good ten to fifteen seconds. She danced back and forth until I got that she was confirming my better state of mind. A little guru giving me a high five, so to speak. She then flew off.

I later found that she had made her nest on the porch near the light bulb on the ceiling. She sits in it until she gets startled by my going out to water or if I sit on the porch, at which time she flies off to the nearest tree and waits for me to leave. She comes and checks on me about every thirty seconds. So, I decided to capture her on video after the snapshots weren’t very good. She’s too fast! So, here’s the best video I could get of my little hummingbird guru. (Be sure your speakers are on if you want to hear her little squeaks)

Painting, Squirrels and Bears

What do all these things have in common? Yosemite National Park.

This week I took advantage of one of the free painting classes offered at Yosemite . Three friends and I decided to go up early for the ten o’clock watercolor class. We missed the beginning lesson in the Art Center because of accumulated delays along the way and a stop to pick up sandwiches at Raley's in Oakhurst. We caught up to the class just as they were heading out to do some Plein-Aire painting.

I found my spot in front of the Merced River and then spent twenty minutes getting set up. I brought a lot of extra stuff “just in case I might need it”. (And, in fact, I did need all that extra stuff because what I thought I would use, I didn’t and the “just in case” stuff was what I really needed.) After splashing paint on the canvas for twenty minutes and not having painted for about twenty years, it was a mess. I was embarrassed when the teacher came around. He made no comment—at all—just walked to another student.

Okay, I thought, get serious; look carefully, observe with an artist eye and focus. I downsized the paper and picked a spot across the river.

A few distractions tested my concentration. Some rather aggressive squirrels and a loudly squawking Stellar’s Blue Jay demanded food. But I had safely packed my lunch away in my backpack and hung it on a tree stump, off the ground, out of any critters’ reach. One friend had not had the same foresight and left her backpack on the ground. In short order, a squirrel ate right through it, making off with half her lunch and a Payday candy bar.

Then, a woman student who was sketching came and plopped down right in front of me, between me and the river (a distance of four feet) smack dab between me and the subject of my painting. I was annoyed, but decided to ignore her into invisibility as my focus intensified. Two hours later, I came up for air, satisfied with my effort.

After some afternoon snacks in the bar/coffee shop at the Ahwahnee Hotel (with more squirrels running in and out the open doors begging for food) and a book discussion in the meadow behind the hotel, we sat speechless and bemused at the quiet beauty of the late afternoon--until the mosquitoes descended with the setting sun.

As we drove out of the hotel entrance, we saw a mule deer nibbling greens by the side of the road. Further on, we came to a sign that said, Speeding Kills Bears. No one in the car had ever even seen bear crossing the road in Yosemite Valley in the day time. A deer crossing the road, yes, but the chances of a bear showing itself to cross the road seemed funny and way too rare to warrant such a sign. We laughed and talked about that until we were just past the Wawona Hotel, when lo and behold, a bear and her cub scurried into view and started to cross in front of us. I shouted “bear” and she jumped back at the same moment, avoiding a collision. So—okay, drive slowly and avoid the crossing bears.

YOSEMITE—definitely a National Treasure not to be missed or taken for granted.

Some sites to view:

http://www.nationalparkreservations.com/yosemite_ahwahnee.htm and http://www.yosemitefun.com/ahwahnee.htm

Rocks

Some people have hobbies. They collect different items ad nauseum--like sea shells. Remember the shell boxes and purses from the early to mid 1900s? People must have gotten tired of their shell collections after a while and decided to make something with them-boxes, purses. The boxes were initially sent as valentines from sailors at sea to their sweethearts at home.

Shells are nice, but I collect rocks.

I love rocks, all kinds of rocks. They’re not valuable to any body but me. I can’t see anyone wanting my collection when I am gone. No worries of someone breaking in to steal them. Actually if they wanted them bad enough, they could visit my garden and steal them from there—if they could find them. Some are visible—in the bird bath or on the tree stump we left coming through the porch because it makes a good cup holder when needed, but most are around the garden in flower pots or sitting on the edging of bricks or laying on the soil under a favorite plant. They are not the common rocks you find in the garden, they’re magical. (I think I sense a children’s story coming from this.)

Years ago when I first moved into this house, I would find smooth, beautifully shaped rocks sitting on top of the soil where I planned to garden and could swear they hadn’t been there the day before. I would admire them and sometimes bring them in the house and put them on the window sill or coffee table to enjoy.

Then I started to see the pattern; when I was in a good mood and not thinking of anything in particular, I would find one of the rocks. I considered it grace, a little nudge to stay positive and joyful. Until it got ridiculous. I found them all the time and I began to think neighborhood kids might be playing tricks on me.

Finally, I toyed with the idea that maybe there are fairies and gnomes in the garden at night that move them around. (Note the book plate I mentioned in an earlier post of the fairy/gnome/whatever by Jos. Lada that I found at the SF flea market.)

I seem to have some sort of affinity with this concept of little people. Hey, the Irish don't have a problem with the little people, why should I. There's some Irish blood in my veins after all.

Anyway, I stopped trying to figure out why they turn up sporadically from seemingly nowhere. I just enjoy them when I find them, knowing they are probably always there and I just see them when I am really tuned into my garden—just Being.

Lately, a squirrel has been coming to my tree stump and knocking one of the rocks off when he lands on the five inch round stump (I know it’s a squirrel because I saw him from my window the other day as he jumped on the stump, knocking one off). Initially I didn’t think he intended to do it, so I moved some off the stump to make room so if he wanted to use it as a landing spot he would have room without knocking a rock off. But he always knocks just one rock off anyway. Coincidence you say? I’d rather think he is playing with me, and I got to thinking maybe he was the one who started leaving the rocks in the first place, except he couldn’t be old enough.

Maybe my collection is large enough now that I should start gluing them on boxes. Nah, too heavy. Oh, well…see the magic, feel the joy.

Bee March

On Wednesday, in the late afternoon, I was out enjoying my garden when I noticed at first what I thought were thousands of knats flying around my neighbor’s house two doors down. When I realized they were too big to be knats, it dawned on me that it was a whole hive of bees swarming.

I do not like stinging insects but they were far enough away that I was not freaked just fascinated. I kept going outside every so often to keep track of them as I watched them slowing swarming closer. Then they were next door with a few scouts checking out my porch. Now I was freaked!

I didn’t go outside to keep track of them anymore, just watched from the window. It was almost evening and they had alighted in the persimmon tree next door in a basketball sized clump.

Next morning I checked and found them still there. By noon, when it looked like they thought they’d found a new home, I called a beekeeper. He talked my ear off telling me that he "was on his way to relocate some queens and their hives . . . seems that when a new queen is born and challenges the present queen, usually the old queen has to leave the hive and set up another hive somewhere else and the challenger gets to keep the present hive and carry on . . . but this old queen was a tough bird and wasn’t going anywhere . . . so the new queen had to move and that’s when he was called in to move them . . ." or something like that. I began to space out when he started telling me why he couldn’t come until two in the afternoon ". . . had to help his brother clean out his deceased father’s garage . . . and his brother had complained because he thought his father had collected so much stuff, but he (the beekeeper) thought that was hilarious because his brother collects just as much stuff . . .".

Finally, we agreed to meet in the afternoon and he would collect the hive ". . . and give me a three month guarantee . . . because usually another hive will follow a few days after that one, catching the previous bees scent and want to set up shop . . .."

Long story short: the bees were gone when I came home from my errands and I was glad I had taken a picture of the hive in the morning.

Spring in the country

In November I left you with pictures of the dried hills. Today our day in the country is bursting with new life. I’m a hopeless romantic when it comes to the landscape. I love to be out in the spring air, driving, seeing the animals and taking pictures every time the spirit moves me. I guess that’s why I started this blog.

A friend of mine who is exhausted from taking chemotherapy every week told me she enjoyed the pictures on my last entry about spring. She misses being out in the garden because she’s too tired; a sober reminder that every breath I take and every flower and tree I view is precious and shouldn’t be taken for granted, ever. And maybe it's a bit of encouragement to keep this blog going.

After a breakfast at IHOP we headed up to Table Mountain to drop a few coins at the Casino. I captured some of the old oak trees on the way. I love trees (and who doesn’t like oaks).

I’m working myself up to getting out my oil paints one of these days and maybe these pictures will be the inspiration I need.

On the way the wild mustard

poured over the hills like liquid honey.

We passed a cattle ranch and an old barn.

A view of Friant Dam from below. . .

. . .and above

Have a happy Easter week.