On The Road: California

I left the island on a Monday, I believe, and spent a few hours in Seattle with M&A and their new little one. Soon enough it was time for me to more fully hit the road and make it to my first overnight location: Portland, Oregon. As I drove away from Seattle it struck me that this was going to be the first time since I took a plane to NYC for S&C's wedding that I had gone more than a two hour's drive from the farm. I took that plane in March, so it had been a while. I was going to stay with N. and her fiancee C. I hadn't seen N. since we were both bridesmaids in L.'s wedding two years back, and had never met C. or their dog Silo. It was great to see/meet them all. We went out to a nice pizza dinner at a restaurant, the name of which I forget. L. had wanted a photo to prove that we had met up, and this is it...why it has the sort of ghost of an Instagram heading is a mystery.

N. was actually leaving very early the next day to fly to Philly and see L. I woke up early too, but not early enough to see her off. It was still dark as I started my first full day of driving. I had decided to take a relatively scenic/long approach to at least the first portion of this cross country trip, and that started by spending as little time on I-5 as possible as I wended my way to the Pacific Coast highway (101). I've spent nearly no time whatsoever in Oregon and while I knew it was pretty, I was quite surprised by just how pretty it was. The back roads I took gave me access to copious and diverse views, from a giant field of pumpkins awaiting their Halloween or Thanksgiving fates to an even larger tract of land brimming with sheep (at least five times our own flock). I went from what seemed like valley lands to wooded mountains, the trees along the roads covered in a green moss I had yet to see in my travels around New York. An old man at a relatively remote gas station called me "kid." 

After a couple of hours I emerged from the forests and mountains and found myself on 101, seeing many signs for the Oregon dunes. I paused briefly at one of the many state park entrances to the dunes and took a few quick photos, but I admit I didn't actually walk out to them. While I was taking my time and playing it loose with my final destination for the day, I did know I needed to at least make it to California. Still gorgeous.

When you see a slightly hilly road with a huge VIEW THIS WAY painted on it, you verge off course to see this view...it did not disappoint, though it was so incredibly windy I did worry about flying away.

I'd seen a little of the Pacific when I first got to the west coast back in February, but the experience of driving on 101 and getting numerous opportunities to look to my right and see things like this was especially gratifying.

Rocks a' looming. This is definitely a different look and feel to an ocean than the Atlantic that I've grown up with. I'm sure that there may be slightly similar views to be had (maybe) somewhere in the north (Maine for example), but all the stand-alone monoliths of rock, and then the looming cliffs and mountains to the east of the road,  made for an especially lovely and unique driving experience.

Did you know that when you drive into California from Oregon there is a checkpoint with folks asking each and every car if they're driving in produce from out of state? I didn't. It felt like a very strange border patrol, but friendly. At some point after hitting California I saw a very small sign directing folks to come see a very large tree. I think they proclaimed it the largest cypress in the U.S....but maybe it's not a cypress? I'm not even sure if this is the tree...I took the small road as directed, but was deposited in what felt more like a small house's driveway than a place where one should get out and take a photo of a tree. Missed opportunities.

I ended up stopping for the day in Crescent City, which in terms of having a lot of interesting things going on, was perhaps not the best choice. And when I say "interesting things" I really mean "interesting restaurants." But I did find a nice motel with rooms with a completely unimpeded view of the Pacific, which was in easy walking distance.

The view from my motel room.

The next day I continued south on 101, driving through many sections of state parks and rather rural communities. It was too early to do any touristy things associated with these statues of Paul Bunyan and Babe, but I did get out of my car to take a photo or two. Gives new meaning to the phrase blue balls, don't you think?

I had read about elk being often seen figures in the forests and took the time to go to the aptly named Elk Meadow with hopes of catching a glimpse...but there were no elk, which I found unsurprising...you can't just randomly show up at an elk meadow for five minutes and expect elk! That's just not how the world works. But soon after getting back on 101 I was held up by a line of cars. At first I didn't understand what was happening. There were about five cars in front of me, and a van-like car on the other lane with flashing lights. I thought some sort of low-stakes accident? Then I realized that there were a few elk in the road, and that the vehicle with the flashing lights was a ranger blowing a horn and shooing them away. They tried to shoo me away as I was frantically trying to take a photograph of the animals, which were waaaaay larger than I really imagined! Unfortunately this is the best I could do before getting a finger wagging honk.

I drove through Eureka to get to the Avenue of Giants, a nice stretch of road that curves and stretches its way through many Redwood groves.

This will be stating the obvious, but redwood trees are, like, super big and tall. I tried with my shitty little iPhone to take photographs that showed the scale of these trees and generally failed.

A nice Canadian couple were inspecting a few of the same trees (I went on a short mile loop just to get a sense of more than what the forests looked like from the road) and were kind enough to take a photo or two of me. Probably the most effective sense of scale, I suppose.

After taking in the redwoods, I headed back north just a bit in order to take quite the scenic drive on route 36. This was 140 miles of nothing but trees and mountains. I think I saw maybe a total of 20 cars during the time I was on this road. Some serious switch back curves and crazy ups and downs. No guard rails, almost no houses that I could see and pretty much no cell reception. Remote, I think, is a word you could apply to this section of my drive.

It was quite surreal to transition out of those high peaks into what I called lowlands (but I'm not sure that's really accurate), with their relatively consistent golden brown hues and rippled hills.

And shoe trees of course.

My intention on that second full day of driving was to make it to a campground for the night, but I realized that the evening's weather would make it a tad too hard core for me. The idea of setting up the tent just for one chilly evening just wasn't all that palatable. I ended up staying in Red Bluff California at a hotel that made me uncomfortable. And then I kept driving, back into California mountains. I should really be better about geography and geology, because I saw so many different iterations of forests and mountains and valleys and desert on this journey, and while I can generally remember what came where, the why of it all eludes me. This was about an hour's drive out of Red Bluff.

Soon enough I was driving through a rainy day in Lassen National Forest, which was slightly more populated than my route 36 drive, but not by much. I, of course, appreciated the relative isolation and generally envied those who seem to live here full-time...until I started thinking about what the winters would be like.

Lake Alanor through the trees.

And then I hit what felt like "Cowboy Country." Was it the desert? Maybe? Was it near Nevada? Yes. I've described the overall drive as having given me landscape whiplash, which I think is fair given I saw so many different environments in just my first 48 hours. I should also note that I saw so many hobo-like homeless folks in Northern California. Packs on their backs, but not in a recreational sense of the word.

Channeling my inner pioneer cowgirl persona.

Far less pioneer-y.

And then I was in Nevada.

I rested my head at a completely decent Super 8 in what I felt was a pretty sad town: Battle Mountain. It was the kind of place that I could imagine kids growing up wanting to leave...but finding no way to do so. I had dinner at a restaurant that had a number of elk hanging on the walls. I had the steak, which was not all that great...but which came with a rather comically large crock of soup that I was to ladle into my own bowl. That doesn't really make it clear what I'm saying. It was ceramic and maybe five or six inches tall, oval in nature, with far more broccoli cheese soup than any one person needs when they're also going to be eating a salad and steak.

And that concludes the first three days of my drive. I was texting L. as I drove about my respective destinations and plans, often signing off with messages like "If I disappear it's because I was bitten by a rattlesnake or kidnapped by a hobo."

Last of the Last Days

My last few weeks on the west coast (I'm currently in NYC on this particular day) were generally peaceable. I was still doing some farm work but also freelance editing to make some moola. The sheep were no longer being milked, which in turn meant that L. wasn't making any cheese, though she continued her weekly yogurt make. In any case, here are the last images of my time on the farm and around Seattle before my departure. I got to see M&A&M a few times. Little M. was sleeping for a majority of my visits, and so tiny. By the time I come back she'll be four months old and, I'm sure, a completely different baby than the one I spent a bit of time with. Crazy.

B. joined us on the farm, so I made him a painting. He liked pizza and Mountain Dew and disliked homework.

I think this may be the morning that W., L., B., and I trimmed hooves. I got down there a little early and just laid myself out on a bench area of the barn and chilled with the sheep.

The weather definitely was changing. Fewer sunny and warm-warm days, though not truly chill-chilly.

I say that and then follow with a photograph of a clearly nice and sunny day. I had been on my porch reading, or maybe trying to pack up things in the apartment, when I saw W. and B. carrying something that looked kind of heavy. Then I realized that they weren't about to embark on some kind of farm improvement project but, instead, were simply setting the ping pong table up outside. I joined them and we played like it was the last time we could do so outside, which, at least for me, it was.

I've been away from the farm for about four weeks now, which seems both like a lot of time and no time at all. I definitely miss the rhythms and routines and views of the place, as well as the people and animals. This is especially true when I look at all these photos and realize (not for the first time) just how charmed my life has been, overall, on the farm.

W. made a delicious lamb schwarma dinner one night. Seriously delicious.

For the last dinner I would make before leaving, I went to some farm favorites: barbequed/spatchcocked chicken and macaroni and cheese.

On my list of things I wanted to do before leaving the farm, was having one last outdoor fire time. B. and W. allowed me to realize this dream. I also wanted to shotgun a beer, which was also accomplished.

A morning with the lambs.

So, yeah, there were still some nice days. I laid out my outdoor blanket/shower curtain in the lambs' pasture and soaked up all the sun I could. Pretty sure this was one or two days before I left. Probably one, as the fire was two. Maybe? And that wraps up all the farm times for the 2014 season.

Fall Days Arrive and Farm Life Comes to a Close

You'd never know it, but Mt. Ranier is in the distance behind me in this photograph. I tried multiple times with all sorts of Instagram filters to get both my face and the mountain in play in this photo, and ultimately decided my face was more important. Perhaps a vain call on my part, but I know the mountain is there, and now you do too. This was taken on yet another tent night.

And this was taken a morning after sleeping at the beach. Sunrise from the ewes' main pasture. Just too much really. Years ago, when I first moved to Philly and started my job there, I went out to lunch with one of my bosses. The nature of our business was helping folks figure out what their short- and long-term goals were, so it wasn't much of a surprise when the boss turned the tables and asked me what I hoped to be doing in five to ten years' time. I was a bit flippant, but generally earnest, when I said I hoped I was living in the country, had some dogs and maybe some babies. The dogs and babies have yet to materialize, but the truth of my long desire to live in the country revealed itself in the last six months. It's not as if I never lived in rural settings before. My high school and college years were generally bucolic, and the many childhood (and adult) summers in Sewanee probably influenced my choice of educational institutions and locations. Philadelphia is a great city in many ways, but a city it is, and so it's not much of a surprise that many of my most cherished moments took place well outside its limits. Getting to live and work here on the farm really hammered home what was always pretty clear: I like it better in the pretty. I like myself better. I like my life better. Being confronted with numerous vistas or views, even when doing heavy labor or running errands, just makes me feel better about things. Some get off on the frenetic pace of a city and its countless distractions. I prefer the light streaming through the trees, or a shimmer of water beckoning as you turn a corner on a country road. I may never really figure out what my goals are, but I will prioritize - and be true to - my predilection for fewer restaurants and better views.

This is perhaps a little more of me than you might want to see, but I was so impressed by the bruise I got when I slipped down the beach stairs one afternoon that I couldn't help but want to share. It only got more dark and purple. I thought it looked a bit like the milky way, or some other space-related thing. It had a matching friend on my other thigh.

Space on my bum.

Rodo likes going on rides and came with me one day when I was driving hay to the lambs. He actually took the wheel so I could take this photograph.

The lambs under the Oak. I'll need to track down a copy of the photo we took of most all of us on the farm in the tree. It's pretty sweet.

The lambs finding my shoes incredibly fascinating.

I suggested that we all go to a local dive to do some karaoke. Hong Kong Gardens has Friday night karaoke, as I knew from seeing its sign countless times while driving to and from the ferry, but I had never gone there. It has a reputation for being a little seedy, and for knife fights in the parking lot. But we got ourselves together and went and not a blade was seen. It wasn't quite as scary as it could have been, but it was definitely an odd vibe. I don't get out all that much, staying at the farm more often than going to town, but I was still surprised that there were so many people who seemingly lived or worked nearby whom I had never seen. I sang Yellow Submarine, which generally went well.

Benjamin Franklin (Benji for short) is our Americauna chicken. She lays blue eggs and they are beautiful. This was the first of her eggs and a triumphant moment for me and W.

A view of my tent set-up during low tide. During high tide the water comes all the way past that large fallen tree. This was taken on one of my last mornings before finally breaking down the whole thing and acquiescing to the changing weather.

When I asked L. what her likes and dislikes were, she said a photograph I had posted on Instagram was her main like, and that not being there was her dislike. I struggled with this and ultimately failed to do a rendering that I would want her to have/got frustrated and gave up. I have since made her a new one that I feel much better about.

The original photo.

For the other L. her likes were darts and batman and her dislike was long distance. I made this around the time of her birthday.

While I'm still low on the totem pole when it comes to Rodo's true people preferences, he has been spending more time in my abode in the last month or so. This is great when he's clean, as he is an excellent alternative to an electric blanket. And less great when he's dirty, as he smells and gets dirt on my quilt. On this particular afternoon he was clean and got himself comfortable in my equally clean laundry.

Another view of the tent.

One of the lambs enjoying her breakfast. We've bid adieu to all the remaining wethers (castrated males) and ewe lambs we aren't going to add to the milking flock.

Aretha demands respect.

I went on a date a few weeks back. It seemed promising in the sense that the guy came up to talk to me first at the karaoke night, and I actually found him attractive and funny. I went for 'tough rock farm girl' as my look.

Beau the ram has been in with the ewes for the last month or so, which is a nice way of saying that he's doing a lot of humping. At this stage a lot of them most certainly are pregnant and we'll be seeing their progeny in January/February.

The view from where the lambs hang out.

One night W. asked me to close up the chickens' coop, which I was happy to do. By the time I got there, all the chickens had voluntarily come into the coop and begun to roost for the evening. They make these lovely cooing and clucking sounds, and because we've been so hands-on with them, they sleepily didn't get rattled when I stroked each and every one of their backs, even Penny the rooster. This was also the evening that I twice ran into a man standing outside with his pants down. The mystery and shock of that situation was resolved, but boy howdy it was weird at the time.

H. came with me to the U-District farmer's market a few weeks back, and afterwards we dilly dallied just long enough to enjoy some sushi.

My beach times gave me plenty of opportunities to gather up shells. This is only one part of my collection.

Chickens made a tomato tulip.

A misty morning after my last milking of the season. Once they started drying off we milked less frequently. First only in the mornings, then every other day, and then once a week.

On this day we loaded up all the lambs we weren't going to keep, which was especially challenging because a few days of rain had made their enclosure especially slick. Let me just tell you, maneuvering a 100+ lb sheep up a muddy incline and into a trailer is ripe for wipe outs and mud in your face. Neither W. nor I fully fell into the muck, but there were some close calls. Of course, I was pleased with the level of dirtiness I did develop.

Once the last of the lambs were loaded into the trailer, we spent more time vaccinating the remaining ewe lambs and giving them ear tags that identify them by name. I felt quite strong about the whole thing. The names of the new sheep include: Ruby, Sapphire, Madrona, Cholula, Tallulah, Ginger, Sage, Skye, Zatar, Thelma, Louise, Paisley, Fancy, Maeby, Ariel, Aurora, Lucille, Elvira, Clementine and three others that I can't quite remember at the moment.

Dirty work, dirty hands.

Another photo op of all the interns in one place at the same time.

This was our "stoic" shot.

This is Louise.

Me looking down at the lambs.

Two weeks ago another nearby farm had an art/music shindig. W., B., and I walked the approximate mile and a half to get there. It was a nice evening. Not too chilly. Art was hung in a converted school bus and music was played by a number of folks. Another example of realizing that there are more people than I realize living and working around these parts.

H. and E. having a goodbye beverage. H. left last week I think. It was a sad day for us all.

D. played a set and was good, though I really wanted him to play Freebird.

Sad about H.'s departure, wearing my new pink sheep sweater.

H. and W. schmiling.

I joined in and lost my teeth.

The seasons are certainly changing. The mornings are darker, and often wetter, than they had been. This does lead to some nice walks through misty fog to feed the lambs. Here the fog is thick enough that you couldn't actually see the sound stretching out below. 

An owl hung out in a tree by my porch the other night. They're so stealth. I've seen a few from time to time, but have no doubt that there have been far more examples of their seeing me and my being totally unaware. Every once and a while I'll wake up to the sound of a hoot or a screech and smile.

My replacement painting for L., which is upside down because of course it is. Her likes were fall weather (I took this as foliage) and Vespas, and her dislike was wasps.

I've begun to try to write and reflect on this whole life/coast/work change that I began seven months ago. While I think I've certainly captured the beauty of the place and perhaps conveyed the general uptick in my level of general contentedness, I'm not sure I've really tried to document the whole of the experience, which necessarily includes the people I've worked with and their respective personalities and histories. A rag tag bunch we most certainly were, but together we got through the season. I hope that my time away (I'm soon leaving the farm for a few months) will give me more time to put together some better account of the experience. One that is true and illustrative of all I've most enjoyed as well as the bumps in the road that one inevitably experiences whenever they try something new. W., H., B., and I sat around a fire a few weeks back, and we discussed the season a bit, touching on some of our 'highlights' and 'lowlights' and it was interesting to remind one another of moments of glory or defeat. It's amazing how fast time can go by, so that something that only happened two or four or six months ago can feel simultaneously like yesterday and like five million years ago, but that was clearly the case in our collective memory. Time, how fickle and strange you are. A year ago I was pretty miserable, now I am not. I still have things to figure out. And just what I'm doing with my life is still a mystery, but some things have been sorted out for the better. And it was through this place and time that things have improved. Perhaps all I can really say right now, but perhaps it's not all I will ever say.