Instead of driving straight down coastal Highway One, I cut across the coastal mountains on the Stewart’s Point/Skaggs Springs road. Of the 5 or so cross-mountain roads from Pt. Arena to Jenner, this is the nicest to drive. Not too many hairpin corners, lots of creeks, and the Gualala river was rushing; it was almost emerald green since it hadn’t rained in a few days — the time the steelhead start their upriver journey.
It was around 10 PM when I got into San rafael and I stopped at one of my favorite nightclubs, the 4th Street Tavern. You’d swear the place was in Bakersfield or Texas, for that matter, instead of all-too-precious Marin County. Different band 7 nights a week, almost always a group I’ve never heard of, and almost always good. Friday it was Buckaroo Bonet and Los Tres Borrachos, funky rock n roll, loud and kick-ass, with a rockin guest singer. $5. cover charge.
The ocean has been vibrant these 3 days. Big swell, crashing waves. Surfers are a hardy bunch up here. This ain’t no stinkin Southern California. Water’s cold, there are rip currents, surfer dudes are tough.
Lots of driftwood on beaches. When I leave this cafe in Gualala, I think I’ll head back down to the beach where we went yesterday, this time with my backpack to pick up driftwood treasures.
On Wednesday, I skated for an hour and a half. First real skateboarding in months, injuries healed, thank the lord, or rather, body1 It’s a half-mile downhill narrow road, v. little traffic, going out to the Pt. Arena lighthouse. I bomb a stretch of it, what a thrill. I shot movies of the rides with my GoPro Helmet Hero HD video camera, will get into YouTube when I can. (Looks like I’m going faster than I am.)
I went down a little canyon path a few hours ago to shoot the above pic of the driftwood beach, and on the way back up, spotted this skunk skin, or rather,skunk fur. I probed around with a stick, but there were no bones, just this image of a skunk draped on the pine needles.
I’ve heard of Taoist masters who have died and supposedly left no physical traces. When monks opened the master’s room, there was nothing but the master’s clothing and hair. The body had dissolved into thin air.
This is my 3rd day on the road. Louie is my only friend that is older than me, but he’s still a boy. He rides a 500′ cable across a churning river to get to his house. Yesterday I turned around on the beach to catch him trying to lasso me with a piece of kelp.
Yesterday we played in his shop. I had cut some slabs out of an oak log with my chainsaw, the same log that rolled down a hill and fractured my rib a few months ago. I figured I’d make a litttle box out of the wood.
Louie ran it through his big powerful wooden-wheel shipbuilders’ band saw, then milled it down on his Makita planer, and I ended up with 2 beautiful pieces of oak.
Room attached to Louie’s shop where I sleep and fiddle on my Mac.
This morning, Louie, his friend Suzanne, and I walked down to the Gualala beach after breajfast. Huge crashing waves, tons of driftwood, and this perfect little driftwood tipi.
These images, by photographers of the Farm Security Administration/Office of War Information, are some of the only color photographs taken of the effects of the Depression on America’s rural and small town populations.
The photographs are the property of the Library of Congress and were included in a 2006 exhibit Bound for Glory: America in Color.
I’ve had the urge to communicate since my high school journalism class. Every day I run across wonderful stuff and I want to tell people about it. To the point of being a blabbermouth. Hey, check out this barn/motorcycle/red-shouldered hawk/beach…blah-blah-blah. To the point, where while I’m discovering something, I’m already thinking about communicating it.
Blogging is kinda perfect, a lot quicker than getting something into print. Right now I get something up at least once a day, it’s a necessary part of my day.
The biggest thing going on now, though, is my tiny homes book. I’ve been working 12-hour days maybe 3 times a week. Getting up early. I’m into it! I love the process, and the way this book is unfolding. New things are coming in almost daily. It’s wild. I’m putting it together 2 pages at a time, the parts are assembling and I’ve got over half the pages done and I’ll keep at it until we have a 224-page book.
It’s “organic” in the sense that it’s growing on its own. It fees like the same thing that was going on during production of Shelter in 1973. There’s a vortex , a cultural movement, in this case, of providing a roof overhead simply and cheaply, staying away from banks, using one’s own hands, simplifying life, at least for a while. Seeking independence. This morning, Louie, looking through the miniature printouts I brought along, said, “It’s gonna be like Shelter.” It’s going to resonate with a lot of people, especially women.
Only problem is it’s taking a long time. Communicating with all these homeowners and builders and getting pics that are hi-res enough. We’re aiming to have it out in winter 2011. It’s great for me to take a few days’ break and have fun with Louie.
Healdsburg, northern California yesterday afternoon. Check scroll work at gable.
Barn on road from Healdsburg to Forestville.
The Hop Kiln Winery. Louie says they probably dried apples and other fruits, as well as hops. Look at this stonework.
Got over to the coast around 8PM, went to the recently refurbished Timber Cove Inn to get a couple of draft Boont ales and great hamburger with as-good-as-they-get fries. I knew the architect, Dick Clements, back in the early ’60s.; I cut shakes from a deadfall tree on his land.
Back then I didn’t realize what a great building this is. The place fell into disrepair over the years and was recently bought by people who obviously love it, and they invested a lot to resuscitate it. It’d be a great place to hole up for a weekend away from the city. Right on the ocean, fires burning in bar and restaurant. Good food.
The storm was just blowing in as I got there. Exciting!
After beer and burger, I drove north along the coast as wind-whipped rain pelted the truck.
Sending this out on 2nd day of trip from the Arena Market and Cafe in Pt. Arena. On the way into town this morning was Shake, Rattle and Roll by Big Joe Turner. What a great song! One of my favorite songs when I was 18.
…get in that kitchen, make some noise with the pots ‘n pans.
Took off at 6 AM for Berkeley today, meeting Kevin for breakfast at 9:30; I always come early to the Fertile Grounds coffee shop on Shattuck, with good latte and wi-fi. Catch up on news (read real hold-in-hand NYTimes).
Then this afternoon I’m shooting photos of a young woman who built her own $3000 tiny house in a friend’s backyard. Turns out there are a lot of women builders in our forthcoming tiny houses book.
Tonight I’m heading over the hills to the coast, to hang out with my friend Louie for a few days. I’ve got “my” little circular room in Louie’s shop, with wood stove and desk for writing. It looks out on grape vines and apple trees, with redwoods in the background. Gonna skate; there’s a half-mile downhill with v. few cars. I’ve recovered from operation and injury, good to be rolling again.
Instead of driving straight down coastal Highway One, I cut across the coastal mountains on the Stewart’s Point/Skaggs Springs road. Of the 5 or so cross-mountain roads from Pt. Arena to Jenner, this is the nicest to drive. Not too many hairpin corners, lots of creeks, and the Gualala river was rushing; it was almost emerald green since it hadn’t rained in a few days — the time the steelhead start their upriver journey.
It was around 10 PM when I got into San rafael and I stopped at one of my favorite nightclubs, the 4th Street Tavern. You’d swear the place was in Bakersfield or Texas, for that matter, instead of all-too-precious Marin County. Different band 7 nights a week, almost always a group I’ve never heard of, and almost always good. Friday it was Buckaroo Bonet and Los Tres Borrachos, funky rock n roll, loud and kick-ass, with a rockin guest singer. $5. cover charge.
