Headlands

There are few places left in the world that have avoided the inevitable. Surely, the potential developer thinks, this should be a Home Depot parking lot or an overpriced, contemporary apartment complex with "green" features and a built-in california vegan bistro for the conscientious, young money makers-all with a stunning panoramic ocean view... The Marin Headlands is one of these places which has remained intact. Situated on a bare, shrubbed, and hilly outcropping of land between the Pacific and the San Fransisco Bay, this place has a humbling scale that makes one feel they might be the last folks on earth as they pass through it. If you've crossed the Golden Gate Bridge heading north, you've driven by them. Seperated by a couple of mountains from the rest of the Bay area's massive sprawl, John Muir, legendary environmental activist (along with some sorcery, surely) kept the Marin Headlands preserved and free of our consumer needs. However, it does harbor the Headlands Center for the Arts, which is a jewel amongst art residencies. Kendra, Osa, and I took a little field trip to explore what is happening in this quiet place which is churning out loud and potent and funny and thoughtful art by people from all over the world. What we found affirmed our notions that this is a special place. The bathrooms are kept bare boned and institutional yet they have video performance pieces set up in the corners and toilet installation art that would have made Duchamp himself envious. Much of the original integrity of the buildings (formerly a fort) has been left intact and therefore has a worn, layered effect where one can imagine the shoe soles striking the stairs and the countless hands pushing doors to studios open- all of which exposes layer after layer of it's history. The kitchen was designed by Ann Hamilton. There are two light filled galleries across the hall from one another. These galleries support the work of the resident artists. Some of our favorites included an ariel view of a few blocks in San Fransisco made out of jello built atop a light table which made all the colors of jello buildings glow and edges soften in the warmth. There was also a trio of life size deer made entirely out of irish spring soap, bringing to mind certain gardeners' solutions for keeping deer out of their flora. This large rainbow on the floor is the result of the artist's and friends' gatherings from one day on a beach nearby.
So much of art becomes product for sale. It is refreshing (and intimidating) to see art that is made without consideration of compensation. Instead, making something simply to communicate, which at the end of the day is the point often missed.

gray day

I am in my infancy of understanding the coastal weather. Living by an ocean brings new problems in meteorology. We set out for a nice little jaunt around our neck of the woods because, hey, its a fine day.Sun and all. Five miles later the light is blue grey, and the wipers are on. The thing is...you don't really mind because the air still smells like the ocean and a chilly, wind-blown beach is still a beach. These shots were taken during a return trip from berkeley along highway one. There was a trio of eleven year old girls at this beach who were swimsuited and screaming in ridiculous abandon that comes only in childhood while sitting down and letting waves bowl you over. It was fifty degrees out there. It is not the meek who inherit the kingdom. It's the brave.
We came across this dairy that stole us back to the midwest. It was located in a small town built off the side of a road which was designated as a tsunami escape route.
Speaking of escape routes,
A lot of love is being sent to Fern and John Wolney of Hiawatha, Ks. We wish for John to be blessed with a speedy recovery.

typewriters writing

This is the only typewriter repair shop I have ever come across. I've often considered where I might go for parts should our trusty Olympia come up missing some letters in its alphabet. Now ,thanks to this little hole in the wall in Berkeley, I know. There's a lot of dust and a strong sense of cult in such places.
While we're on the topic of text, I will take this moment to gush uncontrollably about Raymond Carver's short stories. I feel seven years late to the prom on this one, but so glad to have finally found the shoes I needed to get through the night. I understand that his stories are filled with daily grit and down on their luck characters, but the writing is so lovingly trimmed of fat and so casually surprising that it fills this reader with a joy previously unknown in fiction. Peacocks at dinner parties, unlucky birthday boys, blind men "seeing", champagne and donuts for breakfast...if gabriel garcia marquez created magical realism then raymond carver should get credit for gutteral magnetism. Skip breakfast or dessert and read his collection of short stories called" Cathedral." Do it. Do it now.

Hansel & Gretel

I've actually been writing this blog installment in my head for awhile and I'm finally sitting down to type.So a couple weeks ago we went to the beach. On our way home we saw this truck with the strawberry sign parked outside a small building. I thought it was strange that it said "open" when I knew it couldn't quite be strawberry season. We investigated....walked through the door to find a simple yet inviting space. There were counters holding trays of pies, cakes and scones. Jars of strawberry jams with little biscuits to sample. Glass cases full of macaroons, truffles and tarts. A cooler with a glass pitcher of strawberry lemonade. Boxes of organic kiwi, broccoli, brussel sprouts, and other winter produce next to a scale. On top of the counter was a cash drawer with a sign that said to help yourself and leave the money in the box. Also, another sign that said if you arrived on a bicycle to take 10% off. We felt like Hansel and Gretel except that no wicked witch emerged to shove us in the oven. It was such a magical wonderful discovery. As we drove away with bags of veggies and chocolate treats we felt a sense of true gratitude for having discovered this place. Being open to discovery is paramount at this point. What a gift.

beach party

This is the beach that is 15 minutes from our house. To get here we drive a curvy forest road that passes a winery. We learned the hard way that the monstrous black birds that lurk all around the area love to eat fresh baked pecan sandies that are left unattended. damn...
The mussels pictured completely cover some of the rocks and the tide pools atop those same rocks are teaming with life that usually goes unnoticed by the likes of us.
There's a berry farm 2 miles down the road from here that I know Kendra is dying to write about...

thoreau revisited

Yesterday Osa and I went for a walk. A walk in Henry Cowell Redwood State Park to be exact. It is about 5 miles from our home, and I'm trying to get a grasp on our stompin' groups. Besides, yesterday was absolutely beautiful...sunny and 62. Sorry to our midwestern friends. I am truly not trying to rub it in as ya'll sit under inches of snow.anyway...
The sound of the wind moving through these giants sounded like the white noise of the ocean. The wind and the sounds of birds was all that was heard in hours with the exceptions of me talking aimlessly to our dog about the mysteries of man and beast while she rode shotgun in my Love Garden satchel. Osa got her first taste of mountain spring water and I got my first taste of the California backcountry. There were areas with white sand, blazing sunlight, and Ponderosa Pines which would quickly transition into dark, damp forest with a humus floor created from all the redwood droppings. Tremendous shards of afternoon light split though the branches while we stopped for a snack of oranges and peanut butter and honey sandwiches. I have found peanut butter to be for pups what catnip for felines or crack for the disillusioned must be like.
Even in the throws of it's winter sleep, I could hear growth at work-reaching toward the warmth of spring and it's high sun- beneath the floor of last seasons remnants. Thoreau walked.I walk. Thought through movement. What's next? Civil Disobedience?

FARMER'S MARKET MADNESS

While the arrow of winter is striking the midwest, Santa Cruz farmers respond to the rain and chill with color and enough vigor to seduce one into giving the shirt off their back for some meyer lemons or fresh cut asparagus. Since it's technically winter here too, we're told we are dealing with a scaled down version of the market. This fact does not stop us from behaving like giddy schoolchildren as we run from one booth to the other trying to one up each other in the quest for most unbelievable. The farmer's market each Wednesday is to us how the true believer must feel about church on the sabbath. We all need to find our reasons to believe the world isn't populated solely by money grabbers and climate controlled fat asses. The Santa Cruz Farmer's Market is ours. Today's finds go as follows: broccoli, oranges, cauliflower, garlic, shallots, radicchio, parsnips, cabbage, narcissus flowers (that filled the air in the market with such an intoxicating scent that one could see people following their noses like puppies to the source), lemons, leeks, chard, locally made tofu,dates (Barhi-a variety that came to cali in 1913 from Iraq has become my favorite and one I've seen nowhere else) and last but not least, a pound of walnuts. The fact that everything is certified organic and costs roughly half of what we were paying for similar food in Kansas makes us feel like yes, we have yet another reason to believe we needed to make this move.
The hot food vendors are devastating as well. Each item was split between us:an Indian samosa with cilantro chutney, a true chalupa-taco bell should feel shame- with fresh ground corn shell and spicy chicken, and lastly naan bread made in a wood fired portable oven which we smeared spinach and eggplant across and then washed down with a darjeeling chai tea. Needless to say, Wednesdays we eat out at the farmer's market. Next week: we hit the oyster bar. No kidding...