Long Time Gone

Oh my, it's been longer than I thought since I posted anything here. The winter break was a much-needed relief and Christmas was very nice. In early January we spent a week in northern California, first a couple of days in Sonoma and then on to visit kids and grandkids in Mendocino. Our friend who lives in Sonoma took us to Petaluma for an afternoon - I hadn't been there in decades, literally, so the beautiful old town was new to me, and I don't think Joe had ever been there before. My earlier visit had been part of a move-back-to-the-land-and-raise-poultry-organically fantasy that never materialized; Petaluma was (and maybe still is) noted for that. Visiting factory farms with huge buildings full of miserable, traumatized battery hens in tiny cages was a horror I still remember, though I loved finding this old sign on an even older wall.

 There's also a delightful yarn store in the old downtown, filled with wonderful goods and a friendly, helpful staff. And just up the street a bit is Copperfield's Books, an equally wonderful place!

 At what seems to be the main intersection in downtown (at least as we came in, from the east) is the Seed Bank, a required stop for any gardener. Note the word "heirloom" in the window. The building was originally a bank and now it's a treasure trove of seeds, things I usually have to mail-order since they're not likely to be found at Home Depot or Lowe's, or even smaller local nurseries. This time I got a couple of the heirloom European winter squashes we love, Marina di Chioggia and Muscat de Provence. And the nasturtiums I planted from seed I bought there are coming up nicely to fill in some bare spots around the cannas and in the part-herb, part-flower bed at the back of the west side of the back yard.

 This is what it's like inside, a gardener's delight.

 Finally, I just had to take this picture of what I think is a resale clothing shop. Oddly enough, I didn't go in, perhaps because we'd just had fish and chips with some pretty high-octane microbrew at Maguire's pub, a place I highly recommend, along with Pliny the Younger, a delicious double IPA from the Russian River Brewing Company with an astounding 10.50% alcohol level - I only had one, but it sneaks up on you.

The weather was gorgeous everywhere, blue skies and sunshine. We drove across from the 101 through Anderson Valley, through redwoods that made me homesick for Humboldt County, where we lived before moving to Tucson.

And then we came out of the woods, into the sunlight, and there was the ocean, along with a state park (that was open, fortunately, in spite of budget cuts, and it had restrooms).

We turned north and drove through Mendocino to Fort Bragg, just another 7 miles, where we checked in to the Colombi Motel. I'd found it on the internet and we just had to try it, because of its reasonable prices, convenient location, the independence it offered (all units have full kitchens), and the positive reviews on travel websites. Here's the kitchen:

 and here's the outside, with our little red rented Ford Focus in the carport (we really liked that car).

Not a fancy place but very comfortable. It was built in 1951 by the Colombi family, who still own and operate it, as well as the little corner market across the street and the laundromat next door. It's off the "main drag" and very quiet (the carports in between the units help with that as well). More like a little apartment than a motel unit, and three nights cost what one night in the big fancy motels-with-a-view would have - and it was a three block walk to the beach - I can do that. http://www.colombimotel.com
      Then we called the kids and went over to their place where we had dinner and a lovely evening. Next day we went to Glass Beach, at the north end of Fort Bragg, a great place to pick up beach glass, explore tide pools, and just generally climb around on the rocks and walk on the sandy beach and hang out with people we love and don't see often enough. Here's our grandson, son, Joe, and Bentley the dog,

 and here's our only granddaughter, the intrepid naturalist.

 Looking out to sea, it's obvious how the beach glass gets tumbled and polished.

But some of the most interesting views were close up, like this anemone waiting for the tide to come in and bring dinner (look at all the bits of rock and other natural debris caught on its surface)

and these colonies of mussels and some other shellfish, of which there were many on the rocks above the tide pools.

We collected somewhat less glass than on earlier visits but that was all right. The main point of going is to be there, not just to accumulate more stuff. And every time we go, it seems new; we notice things we hadn't paid attention to before. Starfish clinging to the rocks,

 patterns left in the sand by the outgoing tide,

 one piece of driftwood standing sentinel,

 the color of rock and sand and ice plant as the sun begins to set.

 Screen out the buildings in the distance and the noise of traffic a quarter mile away (the sound of the waves makes that easier), and it could be a hundred and fifty years ago.

Mendocino, Mendocino
Where life's such a groove,
You blow your mind in the morning
           
The Sir Douglas Quintet sang that many, many years ago and in many ways it’s still true.  The spectacular ocean views, the flower-covered headlands, the dark forests just on the other side of the coast highway, they're all still there.  This is the view from our son and daughter-in-law’s front yard; the construction tape marks a massive landscaping project currently underway, which fortunately is mostly on the other side of the house, I say "fortunately" because it would be a shame to disrupt that view.

We were lucky to have two full days of sunny weather while we were there. The first day we took the grandchildren to Glass Beach, which isn’t a sandy beach but rather a rocky area known for the quantities of sea glass that wash up there.  Every time we go we collect at least half a sandwich bagful, and Martha Stewart gives instructions on how to drill holes in it so you can use it for beads.  Of course you could also wrap it with wire, and of course I haven’t done either of those things yet, but I have the glass and I have the tools, and one day I will. I’ve promised myself.  But mostly it’s just such a joy to go there with Geneva and Dante, to turn them loose with their own zip-lock bags and to climb over the rocks with them and poke among the tidepools, to gently touch the fleshy, flabby sea anemones, to just watch children doing what children should be doing instead of spending so much time in front of computer and TV screens.  And I love taking photos of them when they're busy and not conscious of the camera.  Little girls, especially, get taught to "pose" in ways that make them seem calculated, affected, and fake, when real beauty lies in spontaneity, for instance, in the joy of running over rocks in rubber boots or, like Dante, climbing into a crevice in the rocks to see what might be there.

 

These seals were basking on rocks just far enough away that we could watch them (and they could watch us) without fear of actually disturbing them.

 The second day was more typical Mendocino weather, cool and gray, so I went into town to Compass Leather, where I bought my favorite purse a couple of years ago.  It’s gotten a lot of use and was showing it, and I’d been unhappy with the results I got when I tried to clean it.  The owner, whose name I should have gotten and who does beautiful leatherwork himself in addition to selling that of others (and other items) cleaned and waxed it for me at no charge and explained the qualities of leather as it ages, so that now I can appreciate the patina my bag is developing.
      Towns like Mendocino rely on recreational shoppers and diners for their survival, and after the first time I visit a place and cruise the galleries and shops, I’m not really into that, but I do like Mendo’s local yarn store (where I got 3 skeins of gorgeous wine-colored yarn on sale for $2 each!) and bookstore, as well as Rubaiyat Beads, across from the Mendocino Bakery, where I found the perfect gift for a friend whose birthday is coming up in early August.
      Mostly, though, I just like being there, and my only disappointment, as it is in most places we visit, lies in not having time to just wander and sketch and breathe.  No doubt I’ll use some photos as the  basis for paintings, but I’d love to have the time to just go out alone with my art supplies and real feel my surroundings and try to express them on paper.  I suppose that is one of the true poverties so many people face, a poverty of time.
       But our four days there were enriching and inspiring, especially the time we spent with the grandchildren.  On the second sunny day, while Dante was in preschool, we took Geneva to the local cemetery, a place she’d been wanting to visit for some time.  The Mendocino cemetery is beautiful in a rather gone-to-seed way that’s much more welcoming than carefully manicured acres of lawns, and it has graves dating back to the 1860s, many of Italian, Portuguese, and Irish settlers: “So and so, born in Ireland, native of County Mayo….”  She said it was her first time in a cemetery, but as previous posts have shown, I like visiting them.  They're peaceful, usually scenic, and you can learn a lot about a place from its graveyards.  (We also went to one at Fort Bragg, just a few miles north--it was very well-kept but much less interesting.)

On our last evening we took the family to dinner at a lovely restaurant a few miles south of town, with a spectacular ocean view and excellent service that almost (but not quite) made up for the rather ordinary food; most of it was okay, the desserts were very good, the beet-and-goat-cheese appetizer even better than that, but our daughter-in-law’s fish stew (which I almost ordered) was all but inedible, and nothing else was very impressive.  Even so, it was a nice evening.
       It seems funny to me how much I enjoy travel, and visiting family and friends, but when it’s time to leave, I’m always ready to go. I miss my house, my garden, and especially my kitchen.  We returned to scorching heat and I don’t mind it – yet.  Guess Dorothy was right: “It’s so good to be home.”