summer

The blue quilt is on the bed, a sign that it is summer. I am not sure why, but this quilt, made in 1999, just seems appropriate for the season of peaches and corn on the cob. Now that we are in our second week of summer, the fog has rolled in, graciously rolling out for the better part of the day. The hollyhocks and gladiolas are blooming and Gris-gris is enjoying the warm afternoon concrete.

Summer is my favorite season, I can remember my childhood wanderings wearing 29 cent zorries and returning bottles to get enough cash to go swimming at the local high school. Although I do have some memories of Red Cross swimming lessons, and a less than stellar performance in those classes. My mother didn't swim and she was a firm believer that her children would learn how. Sunscreen was something unheard of, along with bicycle helmets, and cell phones. When you heard the 5 o'clock whistle at the firehouse blow you were suppose to return home.

my motobecane

My friend Joe used to call this my "motobacon". He helped me buy it at Velo Sport in Berkeley, probably 35 years ago. Velo Sport being the place all good Berkeley bike riders bought bicycles. I have three bicycles, a very classy old three speed Raleigh, and a mountain bike from the early days of mountain bikes. The Raleigh looks cool, but seems to be prone to flat tires, the mountain bike, almost as elderly as the "motobacon",  I have never enjoyed riding. But my Motobecane seems to hold it's place of  familiarity to my bones and just seems comfortable. I worked my way up to this bike starting with my first bike at age seven, a Christmas gift. I had to wait until I was eight to start riding it to school. That first bike was green, all the other girls had blue bikes, but I guess I was destined to be different at an early age. And I have always been partial to the color green. I grew up with bicycles as a main form of transportation, my parents didn't own a car. Bikes seemed like a good way to cover the miles easier than walking. There were several bikes between the first green single speed and this model, a used  three speed from the San Anselmo police department auction, a new three speed when my sister took the old one off to college at UC Davis. They were followed by a woman's Peugeot, stolen from the student coop where I was living, another green ten speed of some brand, and then the Motobecane. Most of them were basically for getting me from point A to point B with some exception. The mountain bike was added when that craze came through, and the "Motobacon" was purchased with the idea that I could ride with Joe just for the sake of riding. Which I did, before the days of home ownership, and responsible jobs, and maybe just responsibility in general. I've fought my way up Wildcat Canyon, breathing heavily. But today's riding is the mile and half to work and back. No major exertion needed. The skinny tires and responsive frame seem to get me from house to shop and back. And while this may only occur once or twice a week, the ride gives me a remembrance of youth and my friend Joe.

celebrating solstice

It was a lovely day today and we had our front door open. PG&E was working outside digging holes for what we have no idea. But this wonderful gentleman wandered in, wearing a PG&E shirt, curious as to what we did. He asked if we restored or rebuilt pianos. Actually this is quite interesting because most people ask if  we are building or repairing them. Douglas asked if he played, and he said, no, well a little, I sing Gospel. So we said sit down, play. And he did. And we said sing, and he did. A couple of songs later he wandered back out to his crew and we were all smiling. Gospel sounds really good on a big Steinway B. And he said when he grew up he was going get one of these. Right now he is having to settle for his Kimball upright. I hope he grows up and gets his piano. Or at least gets his piano.

spontaneity

Yesterday morning when the temperature was rising much higher than I prefer I said "let's have paella in the backyard tonight". I love to eat outside, and our backyard only has a couple of days a year when this is possible without wearing down jackets. Well, at least sweaters and windbreakers. And these events just can not be planned in advance.

Ok, this photo is not our backyard, but in fact it is one of Mike's paellas. Paella is generally not something you want to do for only two people, so it was well, who can we invite? On a whim, I called our friends Mark and Liza and left a message on their answering machine. We went off to grocery shop with some confidence that someone would be available. It is unusual for me to actually use a phone and call someone, and it is equally unusual for them to get phone messages so it was not until the afternoon that they called back. But they were free. So the evening began with gin and tonics on the back porch, and then moved to the yard with our red wine to watch the master chef prepare his master meal. Paella is wonderfully simple (she says never actually cooking it herself), but it is a meal to enjoy company and conversation while adding the ingredients. You add a simple green salad, a good loaf of bread, and you've got your dinner.
The sun set, we finished the meal and returned inside for a dessert of Liza's fantastic chocolate cookies, Mark's fruit salad, and a little port and we were all happy and full. And we divided up the remaining cookies to have with our tea this morning while reading the Sunday paper in bed.

what are these people doing?

We have just lassoed the Holsteinway and are all trying to figure out how we can get it back into the barn (shop).

Rachel attempted the first toss.

But Rhys finally managed to catch the runaway.

yellow creek the first week in june

The lesson of this trip is have good friends with a trailer who are willing to share their warm kitchen table for dinner. When we arrived on Monday, it was merely raining, and with the help of our friend Kent we managed to setup our giant tarp over our picnic table, and get the new tent up. We gave the Vector XL a test and it passed with flying colors.

We awoke Tuesday morning to the snow. Humbug valley is only 4,300 feet in elevation, and the snow was very wet. It was a perfect trip for hats and moebius. And I had the forethought to pack a down jacket, and slip on shoes for the 4:00 am trip to the outhouse. The full moon made for an incredible landscape at that time of the morning. Tuesday the precipitation turned to hail. it never rained only hailed.

Wednesday brought us a day warm enough for a yoga practice and a dinner outside. Thursday the wind came, and the clouds.

This morning we packed up in the sun, everything dried out.

100 well spent years

Today is Glen Dawson's 100th birthday. Yesterday we flew to southern California to attend a celebration at the University Club in Pasadena, and then flew home. This venture alone is out of character for us, but one not to be missed. An amazing group of probably 200 or more attended this event. We know Glen from his old climbing photos (the history of those thehighsierra.org ) but the majority of the crowd know him from Dawson Books and his years in the antiquarian book business, publishing business, and interest in western history. Glen also served in the Tenth Mountain Division in WWII and three former members were in attendance.

The ceremonies started with a pledge of allegiance and somehow it seemed appropriate. Stories were told, letters were read and a slide show of Glen's climbing and various adventures was played throughout lunch. A young woman representing the Sierra Club (Glen was made a lifetime member in 1921) gave a heartfelt presentation thanking Glen for being one of the first people to promote an open membership to the Sierra Club, making it possible for all to join.

Mike presented the summit register box he made (with a little help from his friends, thank you Mark Bulwinkle), which will be installed on Thunderbolt Peak this summer (again with a little help from friends). This was a somewhat impromptu speech and I congratulate him for speaking in front of this crowd with little notice. I sat next to Cara Eichorn who is Jules Eichorn's youngest daughter and who shares Glen's birthday (minus 50 years). Suddenly the photos, many of whom have Jules in them seemed much more real. As we looked at some of the prints Mike had laid for people to view Cara identified the figures by their hats, something both Mike and I have grown to do.

A trip to southern California always leaves us feeling like we have been on a different planet, and the bizarreness of getting up in the morning, driving to the airport, flying, renting a car, attending an event, driving back to the airport, flying home, finding our car in the parking lot, and then arriving home all in the span of 15 hours did not make this trip any different. But this group of people all seemed to have a heartfelt interest in their southern California history, book collecting, enjoyment of the outdoors and friendship, that the planet at least felt closer.

And thank you Denny Kruska, for the minature book "Glen Dawson at 99". From this book, a poem from Glen written in 1930:

Last Day in the Mountains

There is yet time

For one more climb,

One more high peak

Before we speak

Of roads and rules.

Of work and schools,

Just one more day

To laugh and play

In camps so high.

Today let's try

Before we go

From heights we know

To do our best

To gain the crest.