Can’t Let Go of Spring

Spring happened early in Three Rivers this year. It also seems to be ending early. It is hard to comprehend that Farewell To Spring began blooming around the lake at the end of March, when normally they don’t appear until the end of April or beginning of May.

You may have noticed that I am a little obsessed with the flowers growing in the wild and the ones blooming in my yard. By the time this post is appearing, all of these will be toast.

On the front porch; I think these are called Queen’s Tears.

Early early early for the climbing roses—normally they appear at the end of April.

A last hurrah for these iris. . . I think I’ll plant even more next fall. (Greedy? yeah, maybe)

In the orange grove of a friend, where we like to glean oranges, particularly when they are in bloom. Citrus is unusual in the plant world in that the blossoms and the fruit can be present at the same time (depending on when the fruit is picked.)

Around the time that the rest of the wildflowers and the green fade, I can always count on finding these penstemon on a regular walk in the neighborhood.

Fading fast. . . sigh.

This one would make a nice painting, and if I substituted poppies for the common madia, it might even sell.

The fiesta flower takes some of the pain out of spring’s end.

Okay, I’m tryna be brave here. ‘Posed to be working. Imma get something done besides obsess about flowers.

Maybe. Maybe I’ll stop speaking slang and straighten up and fly right now that spring’s distraction is ending.

Just thinking about inspiration

Just outside the gallery/museum where I teach weekly drawing lessons.

People love to ask artists what inspires them. This is kind of annoying, because generally speaking, artists just love to make their art, not sit around contemplating the reasons. An artist who helped me get going in oils said that what inspired him were the bills in his PO box. I’ve occasionally pondered the question of inspiration, and all I can ever come up with is so mundane, predictable, commonplace, and ordinary that it embarrasses me to admit such a thing.

a morning walk

And the answer is. . . . BEAUTY.

The same walk. . . these are fiddlenecks

Well, duh. Of course I have to surround it with something a little more detailed, something to make it a bit more challenging, because I came here to earn a living. I am looking for the beauty of Tulare County, this poor, uneducated, rural, overlooked place in the middle of California. We do not have the Golden Gate Bridge, Hollyweird, the beach, Lake Tahoe or Death Valley. But we do have Mt. Whitney, sequoia trees, the largest oaks, the best citrus, more dairy than the entire state of Wisconsin and an enormous variety of agriculture. So, I continue to look for the beauty here in Tulare County.

A little life remains in this surprise bouquet, salvaged by the oh-so-thoughtful Trail Guy from flowers knocked over by rain.

Why? To generate pride (the good kind, not the sinful kind) in those of us who wonder what holds us here (No Trader Joe’s?? Who can withstand this sort of deprivation?) And, of course, to sell. We get a million or so folks (nope, haven’t looked up the numbers) passing through Three Rivers on their way to The Park (AKA Sequoia National Park) every year.

Sitting at a long traffic light on the drive home. Those are orange trees, in case you were wondering. And why not enjoy the sunset instead of being frustrated by the wait? There are only 3 traffic lights on my weekly commute, and I can actually skip all of them by choosing less direct routes.

That’s it, that’s all. Beauty inspires me. God is the creator, I am the imitator. And sales, because without those, I might have to get a real job, and then I wouldn’t have as much time to appreciate beauty.

P.S. Happy Birthday, Dad. You would have been 94, and although other family members have that longevity, it ain’t pretty.

Still Field-tripping

I recently read a useful acronym in Dusk Night Dawn by Anne Lamott: WAIT. It means Why Am I Talking. So today I will not talk, because I can’t think of a reason to talk that anyone would actually care about. Please enjoy these photos of what has masqueraded as winter in Three Rivers, California in January, 2026.

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.

Final Mineral King Walk of 2025

We went walking up the Mineral King valley in search of brilliant fall color. This was easy to find, so many yellows, but of course we wanted oranges and reds too.

The cottonwoods are yellow; it is the aspen which turn orange and red, so for stronger colors one must walk farther up the trail than rather just hanging out near the pack station.

We call this the Yellow Tunnel.
The cottonwoods look so faded when viewed from the other side.
Crystal Creek is still flowing. The colors are very subtle looking up the ravine.

We spotted some orange through the cottonwoods, so Hiking Buddy and I continued on up the trail while the men turned back to begin tackling the chores of cabin closing. Not only do they close our cabins, they also close cabins for neighbors and are responsible for the water system for our little neighborhood, which they take very seriously.

That orange turned out to be a little disappointing. It was only the very edges of these few trees. (You might have to squint to see it here.)

But these trees were electric!

Franklin Creek was so tame, especially compared to my August adventure with K.

Each year in the fall I am determined to learn what shrub turns red. In the summer when it is green, I don’t notice it and don’t remember my annual autumnal intention.

Somewhere over there is where K and I were scrambling through the rain, cold, and hail to find our way home. We knew where we were going but not our exact route.

One last look at the Park’s packing shed.

WHAT? How did I miss this piece of brilliant advice all summer??

What I want to know is this: will a bear leave if I simply shout “BEAT IT, BOZO!” or do I have to say “GET OUT OF HERE BEAR!”? Who taught the bears to obey this command?

The next day was closing day. It was very cold, low 40s while we completed our chores and buttoned it all up for the season.

This is how it looked back toward Mineral King from partway down the road. Snow was expected up there. We closed in the nick of time. (Who is this “nick”?

Just for fun, this is the scenic spot where we stopped for some lunch on the way home.

It is always a bittersweet time. While we believe that summer goes way too fast, it is always a relief to be home, to stop driving that wretched road, to be able to go to church on the weekends, to keep up with emails and texts, to not be continually living in flux with duffle bags in plain sight, and to not worry/wonder about the water system or bear break-ins (in both locations.) Besides, we miss our cats.

Mineral King’s Nature Trail

If you read my posts last week, you saw the variety of fall color in Mineral King from year to year. This week I will show you all 2025, mid-October. Not much chit-chat, just some photos. Today is a walk up the Nature Trail, which originates at the upper end of Cold Springs campground.

The trees weren’t all brilliant yellow, but it was a brilliant clear sunny afternoon.

I don’t know what this shrub/tree is nor if the berries are edible. This is the only place I’ve ever noticed this in Mineral King. This just in: Greene’s Mountain Ash—THANK YOU, GC AND PICTURETHIS!

Happy Birthday, JC! (I’m still older than you.)

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.

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.

Your Central Calif. Artist Went to Hume Lake

Well, why not? It’s my blog and I can digress if I want to. It doesn’t have to be all about Mineral King, drawing, oil painting, and Three Rivers—okay, the beach, odd jobs, drawing lessons, the business of art, editing, or plein air painting either.

This is the eighth summer reunion with my childhood friend at her Hume Lake cabin. Hume Lake Christian Camp was established in 1946 on a lake in Sequoia National Forest which began as a timber pond. From there, logs were sent almost 60 miles downstream (to Sanger) on a wooden flume to be turned into lumber. Maybe it was called a “lumber pond”. . . I wasn’t born yet. The camp is a very active place, with over 300 private cabins on leased land above the conference grounds. The lake fronts the Christian camp with a 3 mile trail around it, a dam on the east end (weird to me that a lake drains east, but it goes into Kings Canyon instead of the Pacific Ocean), with a Forest Service campground, fishing, and two ways in and out of the area.

This is looking northeast, past the dam into the majestic spires of Kings Canyon.

A large amount of time was spent on this deck.

A fair amount of time was also spent indoors. It was a hot weekend. An entire day was spent waiting for a tree crew to finish limbing and dropping trees around the cabin; we needed to be present but it was somewhat treacherous outdoors.

There were several walks around the lake.

We had a nice afternoon on the lake. There were kayaks, paddle boards, canoes, but I pushed for a rowboat so I could do the rowing. Eventually my two pals couldn’t stand the idleness of passenger living, and I had to share the oars.

On a somewhat solitary walk around the lake (my companions declined but there were plenty of strangers), I left the trail and followed the road back to camp because I wanted to see the cabins on Forest Service land. (Does this surprise you?)

We had other adventures, much conversation and laughter, good food (but almost no sweets because we are all fighting sugar, which took remarkable restraint since Hume’s Snack Shack is known for its milkshakes), some excellent Bible teaching (it is a big deal Christian camp so there are always outstanding speakers available), and there were a handful of moments of What Happens at Hume Stays at Hume.

See you next year, Hume Lake (if my dear friend from childhood chooses to continue our tradition.)

P.S. OF COURSE it was a business trip, my first in Mom’s Car. (That’s the car’s name for now.)