Respite

    Gentle ripples on a little pond in the flow of San Simeon Creek offer a respite from the madness and sickness of  2020.
     Remember the kind of world you imagined for 2020, back when we were filled with dreams and when most of life, including the distant 21st century was far in the future.
     For health and for a kind detox I've been visiting the past. 

   Farmers and ranchers on the California central coast have been "putting up hay."
   That leads me back to the early 1960s in central Indiana.
    US Highway 40 east of Indianapolis was dotted with villages and crossroads that were once part of the National Road. Places like Cumberland, Gem, Philadelphia, and Charlotte were little clusters of a life that passed by when the Interstate system was built. A few still had grain elevators and the expanse between was farmland.
    My father rented an historic and drafty large farmhouse in Cumberland, as we awaited the construction of new home near a golf course. I got to know the local lads, the Hills, and their cousins the Hilkene's and Sharpe's. They were farm kids and their families "put up hay" every summer and needed manpower.

      We'd start early in the morning, as soon as the field was dry. There were usually two of us on a wagon, pulled by tractor hooked up to a baler. 
      Blades would gather the cut hay and it was fed into a kind of conveyor.

         The baler shaped the hay and then wrapped it with a line or wire to keep it in a block. My job was to stand on the front of the wagon with a hook

  and grab the wrapped bale off the conveyor, turn and hoist it to Bobby, Chip, Jack, or who ever was on that wagon. He'd then stack it on the growing pile. We rarely had three on our wagons, so the "boy-power" could be spread to another wagon working the same field.
        The farms were large, the fields were massive, and the bales kept coming at you without stop.

           Hay is "put up" in the summer. The sun is scorching,  the hay or straw is scratchy and there were days when I thought the field was an ocean. But we'd always stop at noon. If there was a tree line with shade we'd settle there or get a ride to an area that was out of the sun. The farmer's wife would bring us picnic baskets full of relief. There were gallons of lemonade, iced tea, either a mountain of sandwiches or fried chicken. And usually there was a pie or fresh baked cookies.  15 and 16 year olds can devour more food than you can imagine.

          After lunch, and a moment to answer "nature's call," it was back to the wagon, field and hay. After a field had been cleared, or when the stacks were at a proper height, we'd jostle along to the barn, where the bales had to be off loaded and stored.

         I got stuck in the loft one day and thought I'd die from not being able to breath. A barn hayloft in the heat of summer is a miserable place. After that I was the guy who hauled the hay off the wagon and threw it on to a conveyor where the rest of the guys would go about filling the loft. They'd handle only every third for fourth bale, but tossing each one was worth not being in the loft.

   When ever I see hay in a field, I go back to those couple of years of learning to work. 

    Back then the future was unlimited. I want it to be that way for my grandchildren as well.

       We've got to get better at solving problems and working around or through differences.

      Lana took these shots the other day. She said it looked like I was talking to the cow. I was. 
       We'd been hiking for a while in the sun and I needed a moment in the shade, a shade being shared. I told the cow she didn't need to bolt, or charge me, that there was plenty of shade for the two of us. We made peace.

     There's been a lot of recent attention to the fact so many are depressed, or ill, full of the toxic nature of the news.   
      There is the unrelenting worry about Covid and this nation's failure to handle it as well as most of the world.    
      Then this age of reckoning brings us to painful truths and difficult decisions. I hope they are growing pains, but pains none-the-less.
      Remember when we used to say, as mad and as incompetent as Trump is, at least there is no crisis. Almost seems like the good old days doesn't it. Another mile marker on the descent of this nation.

             If I may suggest, a great antidote is to spend a few minutes viewing Lincoln Project videos and/or the videos  of Republican's Against Trump. They are short and cathartic. The truth is always alternative to the sick fantasy world the sick man weaves. Seeing it all told so well may help this nation with it's first political exorcism.
         I've been gratified by the early response of college leaders who say the administration's recent ICE crackdown on foreign students is just more evil and meanness. I hope they fight it. 

           We are fortunate to have the timeless shore, help with our emotional respite. We enjoy being able to share a few moments.

       Another respite moment came the other day when friends Jacque and Griff arranged for this. The talented Brynn Albanese and Eric Williams entertained a socially distanced block gathering within view of the Pacific.

  They are renowned and have superb credits and resumes, but like all musicians, have been sidelined. It was pure pleasure to see and hear them back in action.

   Everyone seemed to enjoy the respite. 

   I apologize to my friends abroad. This is not the America that nations could once trust. This is not the America that was recognized as a leader on important issues, as a beacon of light. We did it to ourselves, but I'm gaining a sense we will fix this. I suspect there is a hard rain coming, and it will be a time of rumble. 
    We seem on a path to address our racist and genocidal proclivities. Honest acknowledgement is forthcoming, even now. Fixing it will take time, but it will be good work for a nation.
     I think most have been shaken into a state of awareness. The prevailing cultural attitudes of celebrity, wealth and entertainment are not lodestones for a serious nation, nor the values by which to measure women and men for the fitness of work on the public's behalf. 
     These are hard truths. We ate the poison. It made us sick. It is killing us, but we know the cure, and the power resides within.

          Stay safe and well. Take care of each other. That is our destiny.

    See you down the trail.

PRECIOUS FONDNESS

BIRTHDAY HARVEST

     Growers in the Paso Robles Appellation have already begun harvest, earlier than normal.  The drought and weather seems to have rushed the calendar, but the crop is expected to be extraordinary.

   The Brix level, the amount of sugar in the fruit, is reportedly very good and that leads to a better wine. 

    Many vineyards "dry" farm, which causes the roots to extend deeper into the soil, that also produces a better fruit.  Some varietals need water, so the drought has forced some irrigation, still the overall report is the 2014 harvest

in Paso will produce extraordinary wine.  Cheers to that!

YOU CAN'T FORGET

     The good nature and spirit of friends make sure we note the click of yet another year.

     Though other plans kept me from this gathering at Sebastians, our Friday Lunch Flash Mob was full of good cheer and well wishes.  Sorry I missed those brownies!  Thanks to our "hostess" and wonderful friend Jeanie for the photo.

     We were able to enjoy the American Provence' with dear and sweet friends.

      A dinner and concert with former Hoosiers Griff and Jacque gave us a chance to marvel again at the extraordinary music talent residing here on the central coast.

   This is an aggregation of talent that has individually toured or recorded with the Steve Miller Band, Carol King, Diana Ross, Tower of Power, Eric Clapton, Smokey Robinson, Diane Shurr, Inga Swearingen, Marvin Hamlish and others. Most of them are also composers and their music has scored TV and film.  

    Though you can't see Diane Steinberg-Lewis, her music has been recorded by Natalie Cole and Cleo Lane.  She was also the original Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds in the Robert Stigwood production of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.  On this night, she, Kenny Lee Lewis, Danny Pelfry, Ken Hustad, and Dean Giles were producing a new video. A special birthday gift for this boomer.

    And there was a poignant moment that provided a profound perspective reality check.  I chatted with a friend who also worked in the video and media business. I met him 7 years ago when we came to the central coast.  A couple of years ago we learned he faced a serious health challenge. Last evening he told me that his doctors had missed something and he had just been told that he is likely to be gone by October.  He said he would like to be awake at his death, though that is not likely, given his illness. In the meantime he is making the most of the days he has left, traveling when he can, watching his daughter who was the guest artist for a couple of numbers last night and he prepares.

      That afternoon I was interviewed and engaged in a  conversation with an eminent author/theologian from San Francisco. She is now in recovery from lung cancer. A non-smoker who was surprised by the diagnosis last year, she has endured chemo, radiation and surgery and is learning with live with the affects and altered lifestyle.

       On this day when my mother brought her eldest into the world, I am grateful for health, family, friends and the wonder of life.  Speaking with Paul and Mary and my prayers for them were gifts of another sort, and of exquisite and priceless value.  My birthday wish is that we all enjoy and celebrate each day. Life is precious. 

FONDNESS
Look carefully

   See you down the trail.

BOLD MOVES

SIX YEARS ON

    A rest stop outside Bakersfield six years ago yesterday was the setting for our first sunset as transplants in transit. 
    Friends and associates were incredulous when a couple of boomers, rounding 60, pulled up roots and stakes and rode into the sunset, headed west where we knew no one.  Things like doctors, dentists, new driver licenses, where to shop, how to get there, finding friends, new climate and all the details of life were riddles.  It seemed natural to us, not as big a deal as seemingly everyone else wanted to make it. After all when we married we left for a spring and summer to explore Europe-two green kids on a mission of discovery. Later we built a cabin home deep in a rural woods despite my boss's warning  "every day can't be a picnic." Six years ago settling in California read well on our gyroscope.

     Six years ago today, when this frame was snapped, she was ready to begin what has been a creative renaissance. I have watched with pride. Art shows, awards, collectors and buyers, productivity and an artist's emphatic embrace of life.  Mine has been so much richer because of Lana and our exploration of the last six years. She has grown more confident and more beautiful.

     I suspect most of us are inclined toward habit and routine, following the path that is known and comfortable, allowing few, if any, surprises.  Settling in a new home in a village on the California central coast half way between San Francisco and Los Angeles is a guarantee against the routine of the previous life. 
     Please excuse the obvious self absorption of this post but we celebrate our "bold move," convinced it has provided renewal. The other night as I soaked in our spa, watching a meteor shower, hearing the buzz and zip of the cosmic sky show, overwhelmed again by thousands of light pricks in  the velvet depth of space, I thought of myself as a "Californian." I have become what my father did as a young lad, only to leave it to return to Indiana as his father began an ailing journey to death.  Dad always held to that piece of California in his youth, longing for the time when he could return.  That was to be the work of my generation.

      What sweetens this "celebration" are other people.

Notably, a couple of mentors who are coming for a visit this week.

    Bruce and Judy.  He was the experienced broadcast journalist who broke me in when I joined a metro news team.  She was to become his gracious wife who opened a world of sophistication, literature and kitchen magic to us.

    Free spirits, travelers who have taken life on their terms, they were "encouragers", "inspirations," certainly by example.

    And we note those we celebrate with-- frequently-

   Griff and Jacque.  They came for a visit in 2007.  They came back. And they came back.

    And now they live but six minutes away, just through the shire and a mere 100 steps from the Pacific.  They too, packed it up, abandoned mid western winter and what they knew. As Griff says frequently, "I get it!"

    None of us are kids.  We've reached a time when many seek the shelter of certainty, knowing pretty much "all there is to know," being confident "that is just the way it is, and so there."  But something in the transformation of the last six years has kept the dials moving, the channels open, the exploration underway, the learning as daily as breathing.  

    Attitude, lifestyle, examples, and much more conspire to make this bold move a good thing for us. I think a lot of it has to do with the fresh air and light.  I asked an artist/ neuroscientist if he thought the renaissance could have begun anywhere else but in the light of the Mediterranean south, which is the same as the light of California.  After much rumination he offered that "light works on the brain in wondrous ways, unlocking, perhaps, forces that impel or even compel creativity."

    A case in point is perhaps the ringleader.

    Doesn't this look like a pied piper capable of luring aging mid western boomers to the land of the Beach Boys, Eagles, Grateful Dead and Manhattan Beach Blue Grass, even if a few years on?  He did start early.

    High school friend and Ball State fraternity brother Jim began longing for California in 1968.  He made the bold move when we were still kids and quickly became a magnet that drew us for repeated visits, holidays, vacations and the birth of our own longing.

     On one of those early visits he drove us up the coast to Big Sur and the rest is, as they say, history-removed of course by rearing two daughters, careers, aging, and rounding 60! But he finally landed a couple more. And there is no way to say thank you, emphatically enough.

     Bold moves.  It just takes some of us a little longer to get there. But what a great place to be.  

     See you down the trail.