Field Trip

A dear friend had a birthday and expressed a desire to see my Ivanhoe library mural. I thought we’d just have a little tour, ending with lunch at Super Taco in Woodlake. We barely made the trip before all the green went away. This happens when it gets hot in March. Tryna not be greedy, because we have had several long cool springs in the last handful of years. But we do NOT like it when it is hot, there is no rain, and the grasses and flowers shrivel too soon.

Sorry. Didn’t mean to complain.

First we drove around the country roads, and I showed her the two places where I grew up, along with Twin Buttes, and a different angle of Venice Hills than she is accustomed to. The orange blossoms were divine.

Then we headed to Ivanhoe proper. Not much to see there except for the library. I felt doggone proud of this mural; it is currently my favorite. Am I allowed to say that? Oh yeah, that’s right, it’s my blog.

This is a map showing the way to the Lone Oak Cemetery. I visited it in first grade, because my best friend Kelly lived next to it. I tried to find it again when I was working on the mural, but felt weird driving down someone’s driveway. With my friend in her 2007 white Mustang convertible, I didn’t feel as weird about the sense of trespassing.

Kelly’s house is gone and there is a big one in its place, and we just headed down the driveway as if we had an invitation. Boom! It was exactly right there!

The sign is a lie. The cemetery isn’t maintained. It is in sorry shape.

Here is the lone oak. Must be a good source of underground water, because the oak is a Valley Oak, a quercus lobata, and there is also an enormous cottonwood tree (those leaves at the top of the photo.)

What is this bizarro stuff? Chiseled headstones without any words, and tangerine trees in the background with the nets to prevent cross-pollination.

The wall was weird. I wonder if it was made from the stuff from when Kelly’s house got torn down. See the wind machine in the distance?

The highlight for me was seeing the poppies in bloom. When Kelly and I were poking around in the first grade, I picked a few poppies and she told me I was going to jail because it is against the law to pick poppies (the state flower) in California.

I didn’t go to jail or even get in trouble by any grownups, and the poppies have survived for 60 years despite my accidental vandalism.

We also circled around the backside of Venice Hills, and had some fantastic tacos for lunch before heading back home. I had a lot of book work to do. Gonna get it done, yeppers, I am!

About That Road Trip

Currently I am doing a final edit, photo edit, and formatting a book that has been a long time coming (about the TB hospital in Springville, here in Tulare County). Things are a bit urgent, so here is a post about my road trip 10 days ago, because this is my blog and I can write whatever I want. Any questions? (Besides how to comment; I KNOW commenting is a pain of signing in, user names, passwords, etc. I HATE that stuff and feel grateful to anyone willing to navigate it all.)

The drive was beautiful. It was green with wildflowers. I left at 6:30 a.m. and seemed to encounter cars coming up the hill about every 1/2 mile or so before getting to Highway 65, which caused me to ask, “Why all the traffic?”

This is just hilarious in view of heading to Southern California. I live in a place where we simply say “The Freeway”; everyone I went to visit has to refer to the many freeways in their lives by the numbers. Do they say “Five” or do they say “The Five”? And if they say “The Five”, do they also say “The Walmart” and “The Facebook”? I forgot to notice.

The photos never do justice to reality. Additionally, I was holding up my phone while watching the road (OF COURSE I WAS WATCHING THE ROAD!) and hoping to get lucky. (No film was wasted, but many photos were deleted after I arrived.) There were wildflowers on the hillsides, wildflowers in patches on the shoulders of the freeways. The hills over The Grapevine* were green, the hills in Southern California were green—just wonderful, looking the way i think it always should look. (God didn’t ask for my opinion when he designed the seasons in California so I’ll just trust that all is as it should be despite my attitude.)

The freeway system has changed since I was a frequent traveler along that route. Confusing stuff. I used the talking lady, until she told me to leave The Two-Ten and head west. Can’t remember. I just pantsed my arrogant way along, sure I could figure it out. Then The Fifteen became a tollway, not a freeway. WHAT?? So I took The Sixty west, and asked the talking lady to get me to Escondido again.

I ended up on The Two Fifteen (Hunh? What”s that one?) and eventually it fed back into The Fifteen (without my spending a dime other than burning gas that cost $5.99/gallon in Three Rivers), and things became familiar again.

I love this bridge, which we called “Dad’s Favorite Bridge” for awhile (Was he unaware of the Oak Grove Bridge on the Mineral King Road? Nope. “De gustibus non es diputandem” as he used to say.**) It is a beautifully minimalistic bridge, spanning a huge freeway, as you can see. It is south of Fallbrook, in case you are curious.

Driving home, I decided I didn’t need the talking lady, but I asked her to take me to Fresno, just for curiosity’s sake. Yeppers, once again, she tried to force me off The Fifteen (or was it The Two Ten?) and once again I ignored her. I didn’t encounter any tollways nor did I see The Two Fifteen. Boy oh boy, do I ever need an updated map.

I was reminded that in order to stay on The Two Ten, one must continually exit and then merge onto another freeway, each interchange a total constipation of too many cars. I didn’t like it, being much more comfortable on a one-lane unpaved curvy road without stripes or guard rails.

However, Momscar with its 6 cylinder engine was mighty fine in several instances. People say they hate all the shifting in traffic; I never did, but often wished for more ponies under my hood back in the olden days of driving 5-speeds.

This is the first time in my life that I remember seeing so many wildflowers on the Grapevine. It was beautiful! I also had a good audio book, The Tao of Martha by Jen Lancaster (Memoir read by the author is my favorite, but why do people have to cuss so much? Sigh.)

I did finally see why a Tesla “truck” calls itself a truck—I could actually see it has a bed like a real pickup. But the ugly factor just slays me.

I was very eager to get home, and in the second passing lane around the lake, I blew around someone poking along. After getting past, I quickly came to a traffic jam. What?? I could see that cars went all the way across the Horse Creek bridge, coming downhill. What?? Eventually we crawled back into action, passing a slightly wrinkled car sitting on the bed of a tow truck.

Dorothy was right—There’s no place like home (not The Home).

*The Grapevine is what Freeway 5 (“The Five”?) is called where it crosses the Tehachapi Mountains because even until I was a little kid, it was a country road that was very twisty. Now it is multiple lanes, high speed until you catch up to someone (who should keep right) crawling uphill in one of the faster lanes. The summit is closer to Bakersfield than to Southern California—Tejon Pass, 4144’. After the summit, it feels as if we still climb, but who knows? Not me.

** Latin for “it’s useless to argue over matters of taste”.

About My Cousin—a Quick Roadtrip

This post is almost entirely personal. My oldest cousin died, and his family and friends gathered to remember him.

He was almost 12 years old than me. I always looked up to him, my big cousin, sort of intimidating, remote, distant. In spite of not really knowing him, I always loved his wife and felt more related to her and their kids than to him.

In 2012, I was doing an art show in Visalia, and out of the blue, Cousin and Mrs. Cousin appeared. I was shocked speechless—they were so out of context. Mrs. Cousin said I looked at them, and said, “Who are you??”

That’s kind of embarrassing. But we got a great laugh out of it and still are laughing.

A little while later, Cousin asked me to paint something for Mrs. Cousin. I was shocked, because family lore has always been that because of our Scottish heritage, we are all cheap. Ahem. Frugal. But more on that later.

Cousin and I had some great phone conversations, and he bought a pencil drawing that I was working on during one of those long visits. (See? All my friends and family feel sorry for me so they keep me in business.)

We saw each other a couple of more times in person, and Mrs. Cousin asked me to paint something for him as a surprise.

He lived 300 miles away, but I gladly made the drive recently to be with my remaining cousins for less than 24 hours. It was worth it. I decided it was a business trip, because Cousin was a customer, but I was planning to go before I figured out that little added benefit, which would have made his frugal heart proud.

Here is some documentation that it was indeed a business expense to pay my respects to a beloved customer who happened to be my oldest cousin.

About that supposedly Scottish trait of cheapness frugality: Cousin had his DNA done and learned that we have zero Scottishness. Zero! Kind of blew his joke that “We’re Scottish and Irish—we like to drink but don’t want to pay for it”. (I possibly could have some “Scotch” from other family sources, but I won’t know because I’m too paranoid and conspiracy-minded to take that test. I DO have Irish, but I don’t drink. So there.)

A Day in Sequoia National Park

We live in the foothills at the entrance to Sequoia National Park, which we simply call “The Park”. It’s right here in Tulare County! Because we can go anytime, sometimes we don’t go for several years. Yesterday I had the opportunity to go, so I went. Let’s have some photos.

Moro Rock has steps up the other side. I didn’t go there yesterday.
Eleven Range Overlook has never photographed with my little camera. For some reason it can’t see the blues in the distance. Apparently my inferior phone camera is superior in that aspect.
Why have I never noticed this at the base of the General Sherman Tree?
Sequoia Gigantea, redwood, Big Tree
The bases of these trees resemble elephant feet.
This is all the snow there is in Crescent Meadow in JANUARY!!

The Squatter’s Cabin has this old sign explaining that it “was built in the eighties”. That’s the 1880s!

This is a baby redwood, something I’ve rarely seen. Maybe it is because of the fires in 2020, 2021, 2024. (They all run together in my memory.)
That is one weird burl.

On the way home I took this quick photo of Castle Rocks to show Intern because I spent so much time painting it carefully on the library mural.

Yeah, yeah, I’ll start working again. Eventually. Just taking a little time off.

A Stop on the Way Home

California has 21 missions, built in the 1700s or perhaps some in the 1800s. I don’t remember all the details from 4th grade, but I still love seeing those extremely ancient buildings. I detoured slightly on the way home from Gilroy to visit the mission in San Juan Bautista. It is better cared for than when I drew 30-something years ago. (Can’t find it to show you now. . .)

Across the street was an old building. It looked Victorian, not mission style, and it had a Texas flag. Weird.

California Highway 101 used to be called “El Camino Real”, which means The King’s Highway. All along are these old bells, except now I think the ones which haven’t yet been stolen are reproductions.

I have such a sense of awe, respect, curiosity, and a bit of excitement when I get to be at buildings this old. (Prolly would pass out if I ever made it to Ireland.)

San Juan Bautista is a small agricultural town; I don’t know what is growing in the fields down there.

When walking back to Mom’s Car, I took a picture of this saggy roof. (It reminded me of our cabin.)

Time to go home and get back to work.

P.S. I painted the Carmel Mission last year when at that weeklong painting retreat. It is fancier than San Juan Bautista.

Another Beach Day

Mrs. Texas and I chose to have a second beach day, this time in Monterey. While there for a weeklong painting retreat last year, I still didn’t have enough time to do all I had hoped. One of those things was to tour the Point Pinos Lighthouse, a place I painted while perched on the hood of my car, Fernando (and then fixed/finished later in the painting workshop and sold.)

It was an overcast day, and we arrived before the lighthouse opened. So, we went to the beach.

Suddenly it was time to go to the lighthouse for a tour.

Excellent tour! So much information, so much to see, such helpful docents. I just couldn’t get enough of walking around, examining the rooms, the artifacts, the displays. This might be a sign of advancing age, sort of like bird-watching, pickleball, eating dinner at 4:30, discussing physical ailments, spending money on nutritional supplements, and watching Jeopardy. (Not that I do any of those things. . .yet, anyway.)

We weren’t allowed to go to the very top where the balcony circles the light. After the tour, I went inside and asked what that gizmo is atop the chimney, a chimney which isn’t connected to a fireplace. It isn’t a giant’s binoculars; it is a chimney cap or spark arrester, placed there when the kitchen was in that room with its woodburning stove, now in another section of the house.

Some people were setting up for a wedding as we were leaving.

The lighthouse was used as a position of defense during WWII, with Coast Guard stationed on the premises in barracks built for the purpose. They patrolled with dogs and horses. Check out this application for a dog to be part of the patrol (oops, it is blurry here):

I could just go on and on about what we learned about the lighthouse, but I think you’d click off this site. So, we went back to the beach, because we didn’t want to get stuck in traffic heading back to Gilroy. (Are we seeing a pattern here? yeppers)

Still overcast, and kind of cold
The beach was littered with jellyfish and various pieces of jellyfish. Gross but fascinating. I watched my steps very carefully, because of course I was barefooted.

Bye-bye, beach. Bye-bye, Gilroy. Bye-bye, Mrs. Texas.

Tryna be brave here.

Plein Air Painting in Gilroy

Mrs. Texas is at the edge of a pumpkin patch, a big “patch”. Okay, a pumpkin field. We mistakenly thought it was summer squash, that yellow crookneck stuff that prompted a friend of mine to say, “‘Squash’ is the past tense of ‘squish’, and ‘squish’ is not a food.” (Right on, Ben!) But pumpkins? Yes!

I took many photos, trying to see what was most pleasing. Some I took in the morning, some in the evening, some with the inferior phone camera, some with the little Canon Elph camera.

I took many more photos, and will show those next post. Meanwhile, let’s continue with the plein air process.

First, some sketches. Super scribbly, but good enough to make a decision.

Good enough for now. This took about 1-1/2 hour, and definitely needs more layers and detail. I might work on it in the painting workshop when/if the commissions get finished.

Wait, they WILL get finished. I mean if there is a gap before more commissions arrive.

The Central California Artist Went Back to Gilroy

Mrs. Texas was in California for another handful of weeks, and I felt compelled to go back to see her one more time. So, I did. (There is a lot to be said about driving a car that isn’t potentially on its last gasp.)

We did a number of wonderful things, and I even did some plein air painting! (See? a business trip!)

Since I have nothing to show you about Mineral King today, I will start with the beach.

The day I arrived, we returned to Rio Del Mar, the beach with that ruined cement party boat which used to be attached to a pier. Mrs. Texas’s mom had told her sister that she remembers dancing on that boat!

There is a weird metal rectangle in the sand.

I think there is a pier in Capitola in the very far distance, but we didn’t go to a beach there. We did go to Capitola to get groceries at Trader Joe’s because it was a good alternative to sitting in traffic on the way home.

The next day we walked by a reservoir named Uvas, which means grapes in Español. (We didn’t see any, in case you are wondering.) My inferior phone camera did a nice job there. Several of these photos could make a nice painting, but I don’t think my tens of readers/followers/collectors are into obscure reservoirs in distant counties (although I would fill the lake to the brim for better aesthetics).

Some of the oak trees had Spanish moss, the slightly creepy hanging grayish green stuff that is prevalent in the southern states.

The plaque at the entrance to the lake walk had a list of names of people who were instrumental in building the dam that created the lake. Although they were just names to me, I’m sure they matter to their descendants. I was more interested in the pertinent facts, which they so thoughtfully included with all those names.

In all honesty (because that is how I roll), I’d rather be at the beach. However, the reservoir was closer, and we had other plans that day. (Not bloggable, just friendship things, errands, blah blah blah. . .)

But I did paint that evening, and I’ll show you in the next post.

Away in Gilroy, Chapter Three

QUICKETY CORRECTION: Yesterday’s flowers were NOT zinnias; they were dahlias. I couldn’t remember the name so made a substitution. Thank you, Jane, for setting me straight!

After finding lunch on our beach day (easy drive from Gilroy to the beach), we thought about heading back to Gilroy, but there was way too much traffic heading that direction. We made the very prudent decision to do our waiting in Santa Cruz rather than on a freeway. I’d never been there before. Wow, so much noise and color and crowds and distraction from the ocean.

Why do people want to pay for all that fake stuff when the ocean is right there??

Those rides actually compete with the beach?? Incomprehensible to my simple, easily-satisfied, easily entertained rural self.

The carousel was too loud for me but the displays were really well done and interesting. So much history! We watched riders try to grab a ring on each round and toss it into the clown’s mouth. If I had grabbed a ring, I might have been tempted to keep it. I wonder how many they lose that way.

It was very well maintained, quite impressive. I love beautiful architecture, so I was very fascinated by how it looked, rather than the whole arcade/carnival/entertainment aspect.

We laughed ourselves silly with the funhouse mirrors. My mental image of myself is like the one on the left; the way I want to look is like the other images.

Someday I might finally find some sort of self-acceptance. Meanwhile, I’m heading to the beach.

A lighthouse!! Too far to walk, particularly with the tide rising, and the parking meter might run out of those quarters. I am NEVER too tired to keep going on the beach. It’s a sickness. A weird deficit or disorder or syndrome.

LOOK AT THESE WAVES!!

Since this is supposed to be a blog for my business, we interrupt this program for a commercial break. AROUND HERE, my show in Tulare at the museum/gallery, is open Thursday-Sunday, 10-4, through August 30 at 444 Tulare Avenue. Besides Tulare County scenery, there are beach paintings so this is an appropriate interruption. These paintings are each 5×7”, $100, on panels that sit on tiny wooden easels. (Take three—they’re small!)

Finally, we cut back to the boardwalk, walking along the spit that separated the river from the beach. We didn’t find out the name of this river (the Santa Cruz River, perhaps? San Lorenzo River), but hustled back (that parking meter).

Maybe tomorrow I will get back to the business of art on my blog. I’m supposed to be. . .:

…using pencils, oil paint and murals to make art that you can understand, of places and things you love, for prices that won’t scare you.

Away in Gilroy, Chapter Two

Yesterday we were at Rio Del Mar beach with my Texas friends who were staying in Gilroy (hence the title of this series of posts).

Mrs. Texas carries a bag at the beach to collect pieces of driftwood for making mobiles, one of which hangs at my kitchen window.

The sun came out in the afternoon at Rio Del Mar beach. Glorious!

These are very dear friends of 39 years, and we thoroughly enjoy one another’s company, whether being serious or silly.

Jee-um in earrings?
Mrs. Texas with a LONNNGGG ponytail.
Don’t poop on my head, you birds!

A friend texted while we were at the beach to ask for some help on a painting, and I responded with this.

She said I look like a tourist. Indeed, I was a tourist!

Finally, we headed out to find a place for lunch. The first and closest place was out of clam chowder (to be expected at 3 p.m.), and Mrs. Texas asked for a recommendation of somewhere else that might still have some. I said, “Don’t ask him to send us to his competition!”

She said, “We came all the way from Texas for some clam chowder!”

The guy was great and gave us a recommendation, so off we went, this time in the Texas truck rather than on foot.

We found the place, but this ain’t Instagram and I am not going to waste your time with pictures of food. Instead, look at this zinnia garden next to the deli. It was most totally excellent, as delis tend to be, particularly after walking miles on the beach.

Tomorrow I’ll show and tell you what we did next. Thanks for reading along!