JourneyLeaf: Life a Page at a Time

Rush Ranch

Our buddies, Mama Tiffany and Robynn, invited us to tag along on their adventure to Rush Ranch not far from the California cities of Suisun City and Fairfield.  There are some farm and public education buildings, but mostly it is over 2,000 acres of open space -- rolling hills and marshlands with Mt. Diablo in the distance.

 

I didn't know about Rush Ranch before our friends' invitation, but I'm so glad we went.  Sunshine, wind rippling the grass, wildflowers, and such peaceful silence dotted just by birds singing.

 

There were many animals to see.  (This white horse is pregnant and due in July.  Eli waved to her and I sent her good mama vibes.  Can't imagine being pregant for almost a year and with somebody inside who has hooves!) 

 

We went on the ranch's Annual Open House day, so there were lots of demonstrations as well as food and live music.  We loved the ride in the horsedrawn wagon, rolling through the meadows.

 

And what could possible top the wagon ride?  For me, not much.  But for a tot boy, a hay ride pulled by a tractor was even better.

 

Rush Ranch is a great place for a Laura Ingalls Wilder fan.

 

The barn...

 

 

Hands-on history... 

 

The ranch has a collection of old farm equipment.  I think Eli could have stayed for days.

 

 

There were demonstrations by a sheep dog.

 

Eli was absorbed by the horseshoeing demonstration.  The next day, he was still explaining specific details he learned from the ferrier.  Hmmm.  Not bad for the great-grandson of a blacksmith!

 

We got to meet a bat, owl, hawk, and baby opossum.

 

Yup, a lovely day!  We rolled back to the car to head home for nap, Eli carefully holding the marigold flower that volunteers helped him plant in a paper cup.

 

One Mama's Two Cents:
It's too bad the fun of Open House only comes once a year.  But Rush Ranch regular activities include intepretive hikes, blacksmithing demonstrations, and star watching.  The hiking trails are easy for tykes (and babies in sports strollers), so we'll be back.  There is a great picnic area beneath huge old eucalyptus trees, but do bring your sunblock and hats as there is little shade elsewhere.

Silent Saturday -- April 28, 2012

Bluebird

Lunch "Hour"

A couple of years ago, Eli would zoom through a jar of baby food, squawking for more before I could scoop out the next spoonful.  I remember being amused by a friend with preschoolers who set the timer every night at dinner to coax her kids into eating faster.  Now I get it.  I'm glad Little Guy isn't cramming food in and we're going to let him take it at his own pace, but GEEZ!

 

"Hum de dum.  I guess I'll have a bite of sandwich."

 

"Hmmm.  I wonder if you can eat the flat side of bread before the edge."

 

"Look!  I'm a bird with a worm!"

 

"Just kiddin'.  I'm not a bird.  Birds don't have teeth!"

 

"Does that mean that birds don't have to brush their teeth before nap?"

 

"But then birds don't go to the dentist, so they don't get rubber bouncy balls for sitting still in the big chair." 

 

"You know, if I was a bird, I'd have a beak just like this."

 

"I'm gonna look outside the window and see if I can find a bird."

 

"Is that a bird?!  No.  Is that a bird?  No.  What about THAT?  No.  Is that a..."

 

"THERE'S a BIRD!"

 

"Hum de dum.  I guess I'll have a bite of sandwich."

 

"Hmmm.  I wonder if...."

B'Gosh

 

 

 

 

 

He's come a long way since that first pair at five months...

 

 

Pebbles, Play, and Inspiration

True confessions.  I had a happy week photographing and writing about beach stones and sea glass.  This blog series grew out of a spiraling process of beach gathering and gleaning over several months, realizing that at some point I'd passed the point of idly taking home pebbles.  I had a true collection.  Then there was play, poking at those objects and trying to figure out why I liked them, what I could do with them.  While talking on the phone or waiting for the pasta water to boil, I kept rearranging bits of tumbled quartz and agate.  Next, I took some photographs.  Then I stared at the photographs long enough to realize what I really needed to do, retaking the whole batch.  The ideas are still clicking along.

 

I loved that Eli was right there with me, collecting and playing by my side.  "Eli, can I take a picture of the beach stones in your hands?"  "YES!"  I got a kick out of seeing which objects he chose and how he played with them.

 

And I loved that in between coaxing my child into washing his hands with soap, trying to figure out what to cook for supper, and driving to the store for more milk, I daydreamed about colors and textures.  I puzzled out why I love pebbles, thinking of my geologist father now gone two decades but also mulling over my strong reactions to the nature art of Andy Goldsworthy.  I thought about the fact that beach combing can be a meditative act.  I am now poring over everything from mail order catalogs to art blogs to figure out ways to use my camera as a tool to reveal what I see in a humble, lumpy pebble.

Not very practical you say?

I'll admit that at present all my efforts have only added up to some pebbles arranged by color, a double handful of photographs, and a scant week's worth of blog entries.  But such endeavors have a juicy, colorful mystery to them.  Goofy or no, I was inspired.  What a wondrous gift that is.

 

"A Habit of Seeing" from The Gentle Art of Domesticity by Jane Brocket (NY:  STC Craft/Abrams, 2007):

       "I used to assume inspiration was the province of artists and poets, architects and designers, scientists and inventors.  Inspiration could surely visit only those with a higher purpose in life, with a greater sensitivity than the rest of us, with a more refined awareness than the average mortal.
       "I was wrong.  Inspiration is inspiration, whether the end result is a painted masterpiece, a soul-searching sonnet, a richly colored homemade quilt or a batch of freshly baked scones.  We shouldn't diminish our creativity by despising the results of our inspiration, but instead celebrate and exploit the wonderful feeling of elevated energy and enthusiasm we experience when we feel inspired."

 

(Click HERE to see the first blog entry about beach combing.)

Beach Pebbles

 

Hmmm.  This became a series.  I wrote about sea glass and beach stones.  For reasons that I can't really explain, I also love beach pebbles.  Tiny ones.

 

When we go to the beach, I take along a little bottle with a screw top.  I can keep it safely in my pocket, pulling it out when I find a beautiful pebble or a bit of broken but pleasingly tumbled shell.

Eli finds this process fascinating.  He wants to help.  So while I'm carefully turning over pebbles in my palm, looking for perfectly formed ones with lovely color, Eli wants to stuff my bottle with rough brown specimens grabbed indescriminately.  Sigh.  For a little while he was fine with letting me put those extra pebbles in my pocket.  Now I just carry a bigger bottle and sort them again while he's napping.  I don't want to hurt my child's feelings or discourage his own collecting, but sometimes a mama needs a wee personal project to keep creativity flowing.  

During Eli's second year, we made spiffy stepping stones with handfuls of pebbles.  Otherwise, collecting pebbles was my project -- thankfully one I could do while enjoying Little Guy's company.  Now that Eli is three, I see him starting to really look at the pebbles and show his own preferences.  It is time to get him his own bottle so we can collect in tandem!

 

At the Container Store, I found short, clear plastic cylinders just a few milimeters larger than the diameter of a quarter.  Piece by piece, during each beach visit, I collected pebbles and now I can sort them by color.

 

It's a pebble palette.

 

Or a pebble rainbow.

 

I'm the daughter of a geologist.  When I was growing up, any interesting rock was immediately carried to my father for scrutiny.  He'd tell me the type of rock -- igneous, metamorphic, or sedimentary.  There would be an explanation of the mineral content and how that affected the color or texture.  Then there would be a story of sorts -- a description of how the rock formed.  I miss that.  For all these years since my dad died, I pick up a stone or look at a rocky landscape but don't have my interpreter to tell its story.

In a little bookstore near Stinson Beach, I came across a book called Beach Stones with photographs by Josie Iselin and text by Margaret W. Carruthers (NY:  Abrams, 2006).  Although it isn't a field guide and can only offer a sampling of stones, it has lovely images and gives insight into how they came to have their shape and other attributes.  If you want to be inspired by a humble beach stone (or pebble) and get a feel for "stone stories," this is a great little volume.  It has a coffee table book feel, yet is small enough to curl up with and readable enough to absorb cover to cover.

Someday, when Eli is older and we are living far away, I look forward to pulling out our lovely beach stones and pebbles, matching them to what we find in Beach Stones.  The book will tell him stories about the beginnings of our stones.  And then I'll tell him about the pleasant hours we spent gathering them in his own Once Upon a Time.

 

More about creativity and inspiration in the next post...

Silent Saturday -- April 21, 2012

 

 

Beach Stones

Standing on a beach full of nothing but pebbles, Eli holds out a small rounded rock and says breathlessly, "Mama!  I found one!"  At this moment, it is my job to stop and look, discuss the attributes of that one lumpy pebble.  "What do you like best about that one?  Hmmm.  And look at that lovely green streak!"  The morning passes slowly.  Peacefully.  Happily.  We carry the best pebbles home in our pockets.  I try hard to remember them before the rinse cycle.

Those pebbles?  They are the harvest of a pint-sized farmer in Osh Kosh B'Gosh overalls.  They find a new habitat in the sandbox, chewed on by plastic dinosaurs.  They get cooked atop Eli's toy stove and spooned onto doll plates.  They are counted.  There are roly poly pebble races across the kitchen floorboards.  They fill the thumb-sized compartment of a Matchbox dump truck -- or else become an obstacle course for that truck to swerve through.  They are tiny (and very round) people living in a block tower.  They are nap companions, hidden under the pillow but flying out with thunks when I smooth the sheets for bedtime.  Now scattered across the carpet, they form their own constellations.  

I'm the mom who reads the reviews before buying the next educational toy and who has a tall stack of children's craft books.  But a handful of pebbles?  That's magic. 

 

 

 

 

 

Sea Glass

 

In the three plus years we've lived in California, I've loved getting to know the Pacific shoreline.  A beachcomber at heart, I find it peaceful to walk the beach to see the last tide's deposits.  The shells here are fewer but also different than back home.  The crab shells and bits of seaweed aren't the same shapes or colors either.  

 

 

One thing I've come to love about this stretch of the Pacific coast -- sea glass!  My first home was a small island off the Atlantic coast, and the sand there is so soft and powdery that you never find pebbles, china, or glass that have been tumbled smooth.  These little frosted bits that catch the light are a wonder.

With Eli's help, I've been collecting tiny bits of sea glass.  I know they are pieces of discarded junk, but I'm right there with Eli when he discovers a glimmering piece and breathes, "Ohhhhh.  Mama!  Look!"  Junk or no, they look like mermaid jewels.

 

The spring before we moved here, I found a book called Pure Sea Glass:  Discovering Nature's Vanishing Gems by Richard LaMotte.  I learned that sea glass is becoming rare.  Drinking containers aren't made from glass as often anymore and, thankfully, we're more careful now about dumping offshore.  

 

Sea glass can come in all colors of the rainbow, but the most common pieces are naturally in the same shades as beverage bottles -- clear, medium green, and brown.  Rare colors include lavender, pink, amber, lime, yellow, deep blue, and black.  The hardest to find are red and bright orange.

 

I love digging through the pebbles with Eli, finding a few bits of sea glass along the way.  I often sit cross-legged on the warm, pebbly sand and Eli will plunk himself in my lap.  While the waves roar nearby, we rake the pebbles with our fingers to see what we'll turn up.  Peaceful.

There is a beach up near Ft. Bragg that has huge amounts of sea glass.  I keep daydreaming about going to see it in person, but I know it is a long drive.  Maybe someday....