California Notebook: Harley Farms

I have to get some goats someday.

By Tuesday I had mostly completed my Mom's website . She rewarded me with a drop dead gorgeous drive down the Pacific Coast Highway to Pescadero. This is where, or how I would live. The beach is marvelous, but I would want a farm, or at least acreage. This was an agricultural town, with a tiny main street and a few charming little houses with nice gardens and fun architectural accents. We went to Harley Farms; a goat milk farm nestled into a green valley about 2-3 miles in from the coast. The skies at the beach were a heavy low white, but here they shared at least half of the sky with idyllic blue.

the view from the top of the barn

The youngest kids this late in the summer were in a smaller pen, and getting lots of attention

Beside the goat pen, a flower and herb garden to flavor and decorate the cheeses

The sign says it all

I was completely smitten with this little fellow

Every inch of this farm was meticulously maintained 

There was an awesome soundtrack for the farm coming from the barn: classic rock, heavy on CSNY

Farm-to-table dinners are held in the hayloft of the barn. 

Whatever the goats give,  the farm uses; a respectful, inspiring approach to animal husbandry

The goat shop had classic (and prize winning) cheeses; I bought the sun-dried tomato blend

Before leaving Pescadero, we had a snack at this gas station/taqueria

I had the carne asada; but the chile and cheese burrito was even better

The drive home was delightful, the spectacular coastal vistas and the farmland stretched out before us. I was greatly inspired by Harley Farms. We joked about how in the world could I add goats to my menagerie; I already haul 4 hens and two Rhodesian Ridgebacks back and forth in a car. One day, there won't be any "back and forth" and I can flesh out my little homestead with a few goats. I learned how to make goat cheese a few summers ago at the Sustainable Arts Society and enjoyed it thoroughly. I was shocked at how hard I had to tug on the teat and how forcefully the milk shot out. But even if they didn't give milk; I would love goats. They are beautiful creatures and loaded with personality; the crazy positions they would get themselves in cracked me up. I never got a photo I was truly satisfied with, because I couldnt get in the pen with them. As it was, if any other visitor came, I would leave for a little while and only return to the pen when I had it to myself. I wanted to be "alone" with the goats.

I cannot wait to get back to Chickory and see my own garden again. Im sure that all I have left growing are winter squashes and watermelons. Im guessing the tomatoes have burned up and that the summer squashes are exhausted. But I look forward to prepping the soil for fall crops and finally getting the long overdue garden shed built. One day, I hope a visit to Chickory delights guests with the sweetness and goodness of life that I felt at Harley Farms.

New Mexico Part 2: The Folk Art show and Santa Fe

none of the people in this photo are us

Let's just get right to the point: what did we eat that was good? Well, it was all great from Moi's phyllo wrapped fish served with salad on arrival night, to Pete's roadhouse and live band venue's Christmas chile plate with pork to the awesome awesome salad at the "Flying" something to the Grove sandwich. But the best was at Cafe Pasqual in Santa Fe. Moi and I ordered the carne asada and it was very tasty. The peppers especially were wonderful. There were 3 varieties and each had a distinct flavor with none of the heat taking over that flavor. But if there is one regret I have from this trip it is this: when I tasted the corn cake with veggies special that Boxer ordered? I should have called the waitress over, handed her my plate and ask her to box it up, and then ordered what Boxer had. Life is too short not to have done that. I am still thinking about what I missed. Because that was the best single bite in the entire 3-day trip. Way to pick it, Boxa!

This was the late lunch we had after going to the International Folk Art Show. I have to say, Santa Fe puts on a great event. I did not take any photos of the artists in their native dress, it seemed exploitative and I also didn't want to photograph the work just in case they were worried about design theft (like many artists are). I will just show you some of the things that I purchased. I didn't have much of a budget  because my big bang was spent on getting there. But here are a few, not all, of the things I bought:

Four desert plates from artist Abdullo Narzullaev from Uzbekistan

Assorted cheap and colorful papier mache toys from Mexico; one devil is of particular interest:

All the summiteers think that this fellow "looks like somebody". Like a character actor or maybe a guy in a band. Or maybe it is a "type". Whatever it is, we have all seen him before - in human form.

A hand painted Sacred Heart cross. I love it. Im going to buy more from this shop for gifts. I also gave V a Sacred Heart (with the flames coming off the top) as per Moi's suggestion. It was a great idea, he loved it and it is in our kitchen over the window - a place he selected. Much better than a t-shirt from the airport gift shop.

A scarf from India. That's about it - I did buy a ceramic bell shaped like a mouse and a few trinkets for the children in my life. We had planned to go to Jackalope a famous folk art emporium but I put the brakes on that - having exceeded my budget quite a bit.

We did not see that much of Santa Fe. I was expecting poshy poshy but it was more eclectic and earthy than that. The prices of things were very high though; I briefly admired a blouse until the price tag said 198. and I let go of that sucker like it was red hot. Moi and I agreed that the lacey western dresses were almost but "not quite" the right garment to wear with cowboy boots; they needed to be not so white and a tad less girly girl. I looked hard at a concha belt. But in the end, I walked away. Yes! I loved the town square, the zocalo of green with people laying out on blankets and having kettle corn and ice cream. We also visited a gallery that carried the work of Boxer's brother. It was wonderful to see his work in person as he is a very accomplished painter.

On the way back we drove through a little town where I believe Moi said they just gave away land to whoever would come and live there. Naturally it is an artist haven. Outside of that town is where Boxer and I took photographs of the fire (see previous post) and of our Lady Driver of Patience:

Moi, I want to thank you again for having us out. It was a wonderful weekend and you made it really special. Thank you for the wonderful gift bag, the meals, the deers and beers and your charming company. Loved the dogs, SB, that newport lighter, the art you had, hittin' golf balls for Maddie, seeing Ivan come through the dog door, the neighborhood dog-gauntlet walk, learning about how much I hate white flower based perfumes, laying in the hairy dog bed and, well, ALL of it. XO

Hundred Mile Horizons

*click it to big it*

New Mexico: A high-contrast landscape under a cerulean half-dome; the inverse of the view of Earth from space. The air was thin and dry and fragrant with sage and juniper. That was my favorite thing, the aroma. It was the opposite of my forested southern home, heavy with verdant decay, dirt, sweet smelling flowers, and creek. Speeding along on the highway the colors seemed a homogenous dun; visual relief dependent on shapes and textures. But up close, the beauty is diverse and subtle. For a person that never has a view of uninterrupted sky, living shrouded in diffused and filtered light through ten thousand sparkling greens, the light and space was nothing short of a miracle.

The blood of cowboys and indians seemed to burst forth in the form of cactus flowers; the shocking pinks punctuated the spiny hosts with cheer. The grasses were tipped at times with tails as bushy as a coyote's. Others were crowned with whispy fans of white seed pods waiting to set sail over the desert. Lizards peered from behind rocks, and there was fencing everywhere. "To keep out" said Moi, "not to keep in". I fell in love with the coyote fences, made with saplings bound tightly together in upright rows. The uneven lengths and color variations were delightful, and I resolved to make a southern version for my garden.

the fires blending in with the clouds *click it to big it*

There was a fire. There were many fires. You could see it burning far away and you could sense it just beyond the horizon. You could also see rain several places at once all around you. Gray curtains were falling in a very small area while right next to it the sun shone through clouds like the eye of God. It was an endless flat vista dotted with globular green shrubs until a steppe would rise abruptly from the plain, and beyond that mountain ranges in blue cooled the eye. Moi told of imagining a Navajo youth having this entire landscape open to him; of course there would have been no notion of ownership, just a life on a land alive with adventure and danger. So uninterrupted by structures and power lines, the area we traveled is used for western movies because it actually looks as it did centuries ago.

the courtyard at San Felipe de Neri

In Olde Town we visited San Felipe de Neri, founded in 1706. It was Spanish but spare and very european in its decor. It seemed so formal in contrast to the dusty adobes outside. It opened into the town plaza, a green square surrounded by shopping and eating destinations.

We shopped of course. I was looking for a new straw hat to add to my collection. I selected a rather stiff hat made of palm in Guatemala with a perfect shape and a unique banding on the underside of the brim. I love it. I found plenty of small things that I liked; trinket like in price range but all having a quality that I found agreeable.

A collection of tin trimmed Santos

The bubble ring with the Blessed Virgin inside. I bought it and I am still wearing it.

Back at Moi's lovely home in the hills we were surrounded by chirping birds and plenty of hummers; titmice and western bluebirds; three species of doves and a gold finch with a black cap. The dogs were a study in contrast, the elder statesman Ivan with the regal and exotic face and Maddie the border collie with mad focus and a loving gaze. From the patio where we enjoyed our evening cocktails we could see collections of conifers, grasses and flowers, and the skeletons of cacti strewn about on a pastiche of rocky hardscaping.

Moi outfitted us with gift bags and mine had a special shot glass for me to enjoy my libation: a deer and a beer; which is a shot of Cazadores tequila and a long neck mexican beer. Her selection of a shot glass was an amusing choice - spot on humor -  and I am sure that she would never have guessed that it would now grace my dresser as a vase to hold sweet little blooms that keep the perfumes and bracelets company.

"cuz I, some how, some way, come up with funky ass sh*t, like, ever-ree-day"

Next: We go to the International Folk Art Show in Santa Fe.

Flying

Tomorrow I will enter into the slave training program at the airport, where I will submit to either radiation or a pat down by agents of state tyranny so that I might enjoy the company of some fine women, beloved bloggers Moi and Boxer, for the weekend. I can tell you such excursions are going to become rare as I find this ridiculous sham, "homeland security", intolerable. I'll take the pat down, not the death ray,  and be sure to remind the minion who feels me up that they are an agent of darkness and a creature of oppression. Unfortunately, I didnt have time to make another "Training Submissive Americans" shirt for this trip. (That one was an iron on, and it didnt look as good as I wanted it to, so I plan to screen print one before I have to fly out to Cali in August.)

On the other side of the security gauntlet I will settle in for some quality people watching. I'll notice the creative and unsightly ways people have chosen to deal with not having to completely undress at the security checkpoint as I did, having removed cowboy boots, a belt with metal buckle, bracelets, and a silver pocket rosary. There will be lots of flip-flops. I despise them as I do crocs but people resort to it because it is easy - like walking through a scanner is easier than a pat-down. They accept it so they will not be inconvenienced, and it is this observation that worries me -there ain't never gonna be no revolution. It will be too hard.

Maybe I will work in a few rounds of Angry Birds, or watch a YouTube on my android. I usually download a podcast or two to listen to on the plane. This time I actually have a book: "What the Dog Saw" by Malcolm Gladwell; a collection of essays. I've got some juicy fruit gum packed, cinnamon altoids and a wide assortment of homeopathic potions and pharmaceuticals for pain, anxiety, irritability, muscle tension, and inflammation. I've got an apple for fiber, and from Valentines day, I have a little red construction paper heart that V made that says "I love Peanut."

On the plane I will look out the window and see the grids of land sectioned off traversed by roads and highways. I'll see the color change from my eastern greens as it fades into a deserty warmth. I'll see clouds reflected in bodies of waters; I'll look for farms and rivers and forests and wonder about weird structures of repetitive geometry. While I am looking at it all, it will seem quiet and beautiful but I will know that there is so much to be alarmed and vigilant about. But I will give that a rest for the weekend and get my mind right about being in the present and savoring each moment of the trip with my friends, because that really is the stuff of life, isn't it?

While I am gone, I encourage you to visit aunty belles back porch and read her very important post on yet another epic State control program -this time for rural communities. If you have not yet begun to take an interest in food, and food security, this weekend would be a great time to start.

Have a wonderful weekend everyone. I'll be back next week with a full report and loads of photographs.

The Shift

My Mom's coffin was the blackest thing I have ever seen. Like Malevich's painting. Like a black hole in space. Watching the big yellow front end loader dig out just enough space to lower her into the ground I considered the soil composition (lots of sand) and the absurdity of a box inside another concrete box. It rained. We stood in a loose circle around the hole watching the loader's claw violently tearing at the sodden earth again and again and then pushing a big metal frame down to keep the sidewalls of earth from collapsing. When the casket was lowered into the ground I looked at my nephew; his expression is forever etched into my mind. As is the sound of the soil hitting the box.

The universe has shifted. I expected and even prayed for this death. I didnt realize how heartbroken I would be once it happened. Somehow I am not the same person I used to be. There's nothing to be done about it.

My sister longed for a road trip and drove me back to the ATL. I-75 bottlenecked at the Turnpike with sunburnt spring break kids from northern colleges and big rigs inching along under a perfect dome of florida blue. We got off and went west on 44 and north on  27. I was hoping for more marshy landscapes but it was mostly Florida scrub with only the Withlacoochee river to offer a water view. We stopped for lunch at the Cypress Inn for some soul healing fried food. They had sold out of the mullet but we found the massive serving of grouper agreeable along with hushpuppies and sub-par mashed potatoes. The swamp cabbage was not up to snuff. According to my sister it should have been sauteed in butter and left mostly alone. (Swamp cabbage is hearts-of-palm in case you didn't know.)

When we crossed over the Georgia border the landscape began to roll a bit and it was lovely. If you have  a few extra hours, like 5, then this is the way to go. No billboards. Lots of pecan trees and grassy glades dotted with a yellow flowered cover crop. There was yard art and little towns and trailers and beautiful cows. We pulled into Thomasville Ga, the rose capital of the south (so they say) and tracked down a nursery that carried a certain rose my Mom loved. The nursery was closed but they opened it for us anyway and we left with 5 rose bushes. The last 4 hours were mostly dark and quiet until erupting into a big city friday night. Another traffic jam forced us off the super slab offering an opportunity to expose my sister to the Atlanta she has never seen.

*****************

Now I am back at Chickory alone at last. Its spring. I may have missed my window to have the tree work done. They have all leafed out which means I will get less done for the same money. Maybe I should wait for winter. But the land is gorgeous in its fresh greens and Easter colored blooming trees and shrubs. Palm Sunday was glorious after the big rain and high winds of early saturday morning. As we enter the most solemn week of the year, I am reminded of something I read at my Mom's funeral:

"All the works of the Lord are exceedingly good"

**Thank you all, for your kind words and comments regarding my Mother's death. I did see the special posts and tributes that you made, and I promise to get to your blogs and thank you properly. Know that I cherish you all as my blog family and that your kindness has been remarkable in its gift of healing.

xo Chickory

visual haiku

buenos noches from
a lonely parking lot
apologies Dwight.