Hi Lloyd and Lew,
From Mike W
See Foster Huntington;’s latest book, Van Life: Your Home on the Road: https://www.amazon.com/Van-Life-Your-Home-Road/dp/0316556440
On the road again
Heard about a 2-story driftwood shack at Navarro beach, road to beach closed because Navarro River has not broken thru to ocean, making big flooded Estero. Tried to walk thru yesterday afternoon, but water soon up over knees, so had to settle for this long shot. I’m heading south today to another long sandy beach with a bunch of shacks. Glad I got this iPhone 8 plus, way improved camera. BUT am so pissed off I forgot to bring my grown-up camera (Olympus OM-D) with telephoto lens. Damn! Still, you get the idea. Watch for my new book, Driftwood Shacks: Anonymous Architecture Along the California Coast. As a result of this trip, the book has grown by at least a dozen pages. This is the first in a field of small print-on-demand books we’re going to try. I have a ton of things that I’d like to make small books out of. Barns, motorcycles, New York City, L.A., Baja California Sur…
Meanwhile, finishing 2nd draft of my book on the ’60s, present working title: “Something’s Happening…
Haven’t got subtitle, maybe “My Life and the ’60s”
“…The wildness is a deception. Scattered in nearly every vista of Mongolia are the round white tents of nomads. We know these tent houses as yurts; they call them ger (pronounced gair). They are the primary home to about 1 million nomads. Today’s nomads retain a lifestyle relatively unchanged from that of their forebears in important ways. Living as I do—in a world teeming with smartphones and Wi-Fi, smart TVs and self-driving cars—it is a remarkable thing to travel among them.
The nomads are herders and typically own about 1,000 animals—mostly sheep and goats, but cows, horses, dogs, camels, and yaks as well. You could think of them as ranchers who move their ranch seasonally. They set up their ger in spring for maximum summer pastures, then they move it again for winter feeding. This movement is not north to south as might be expected, but from lowlands to highlands, or even from open valley in summer to hidden hilly nook in winter to escape the wind, which is more punishing than the cold.…”
-Kevin Kelly
Just wrote this today for my book on the ’60s (which also includes the years leading up to the ’60s):
I was the Information Services Officer at Sembach Air Base in southern Germany in 1958-1960. In addition to running the base photo lab and editing the base newspaper (The Sembach Jet Gazette), I was in charge of public relations and dealing with the press.
There was a German photographer, Helmut Haak, who photographed troops on American air bases. He contacted me about setting up photo shoots.
I would line up a fighter plane down on our airstrip, and benches for the military personnel, arranged by unit. There might be 30-40 men and women in each photo.
Helmut made a ton of money selling the photos. Practically everyone bought one. He drove a big Mercedes and lived in a small castle overlooking the Mosel River.
We hit it off. One night he invited us, along with my secretary Inge, over for a light supper.
He served white and pink champagne in bottles with his own label. He took us up into a small turret at the top of the castle. As we looked down on the river in the mist, he showed us an exquisite little music box with a moving mechanical bird.
Helmut had a 4-seat Cessna airplane, and he made friends with our base commander (Colonel Simeral, a pilot) by taking him flying. It was a spiffy little plane, and the colonel loved flying it.
One day at the base he took me up. We took off, and were still in the flight pattern when we heard on the radio: “F-86 dogs scrambling,” which meant that at least two of the base’s fighter pilots were taking off in a hurry. Shit!
Helmut was sweating. I was worried. The F-86’s were like rockets with cockpits on top—fast and powerful. Pretty soon, the planes roared past us—phew!—and we came back in.
Helmut told me that one time, when his girlfriend was sailing back to America from Bremerhaven, he swooped down when the ship was leaving port and dropped a bouquet of flowers for her on the deck.
Before I left Germany and returned to the USA, I got word that he had crashed in the French Alps, not seeing Mont Blanc in the fog. The notice said that he had missed clearing Mont Blanc by 3-4 meters.
I started writing GIMME SHELTER email newsletters about 15 years ago, maybe one every month or two. They were originally intended for sales reps (first at Random House, then Publishers Group West), to keep them apprised of our publishing activities, and then later, I added friends to the mailing list. As I got into blogging, the frequency of the newsletters dropped off.
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| Water tower near Prineville, Oregon, on my trip last week to see the eclipse |
I’ve written less and less of these newsletters recently, as I’ve been blogging and now doing Instagram regularly. Made me think about all the different forms of communication I’ve employed over the years. My high school year book, running an Air Force newspaper in Germany for 2 years, then working the Whole Earth Catalog, and then — books.
Followed by, over the years: booklets, pamphlets, flyers, posters, 20-30 handmade books, mini-books, magazine and newspaper articles, videos, interviews … I’m a compulsive communicator.
These days I put up posts on my blog, but not as often, or as in-depth as a few years ago. I do Instagram almost daily and all these photos automatically go onto my blog, and to my Twitter and Facebook pages. You can check my Instagram account here; it’s a summary of posts: www.instagram.com/lloyd.kahn
I decided to do a book on the ‘60s, since there’s been so much attention given to the “Summer of Love” lately, and because as a person who grew up in San Francisco, went to high school in the Haight-Ashbury, and watched the ‘60s unfold first-hand, I don’t agree with what’s being presented all over the media; these accounts don’t coincide with what I saw happening at all.
“The Haight-Ashbury was a district. The ‘60s was a movement.” –Ken Kesey
I started the book tentatively, to see if it was going to fly. I thought I’d give my background, what San Francisco was like in the ‘40s and ‘50s, and track my life — a kid growing up in San Francisco, college, Santa Cruz, Big Sur, the Monterey Pop Festival, building domes at Pacific High School, the Whole Earth Catalog — so readers would know where I was coming from. Rather than starting in 1960.
I started getting into it, recalling things that had been buried in my semi-consciousness. This was fun! And I realized that the ‘60s completely changed my life. In 1965, I quit my job as an insurance broker in San Francisco and went to work as a carpenter.
I’m going to illustrate it with black and white photos I took doing those years.
I’ll start posting parts of the book on my blog as I go, to get some feedback.
In a town of about 30 people just over the border from Oregon is Joe Van Eeten’s rock, bone, sculpture, and fossil spread.
Joe, who’s a charming raconteur
She bought this for $125.
Joe was going to fix this old hotel up as a home for Viet Nam vets, but ran out of money and now it’s for sale.
Colliding Rivers near Glide, Oregon, where Little River and the North Umpqua River meet head-on. There’s a photo on the bridge where I was standing showing the confluence looking like a maelstrom in the winter, with water up over the bridge (covering all the rocks you see here!). I went swimming a little downriver, it was co-o-ld, but refreshing on a hot day.
Birdhouse at Bellknap Hot Springs, on the Mckenzie River in central Oregon.
Cost $8 for an hour to use the facilities, mainly a large pool with temperature of 95-100F. A lovely place. The temp. of water coming from the springs is about 190F.
I’m trying to contact the guy who makes these, to get a few for our collection of mini houses.
Ricky B, who does antique and vintage car restorations in Prineville, Oregon, has created a miniature ghost town. as shown in these 3 photos.
It’s a uniquely delightful place. Everything Ricky does, both autos and vintage building, is remarkable.
Norman’s Mom “…wouldn’t even harm a fly.”
Ricky has at least 30 cars, all immaculately detailed. Most are standard models, but this is a wicked hot rod, I believe a 1951 Mercury, chopped and channelled to perfection.
On the road southeast, from Burns to Jordan Valley, Oregon
I’m frustrated by having such a dorky layout, due to Blogger.com parameters. I don’t have the skills (coding) or time to make these posts look other than awkward. So, for a while (until I can get my layouts together), it’ll have to be the singer, not the song…
