If you have followed my blog for a few years (THANK YOU!), you may recall that I love February. When we have decent winters, things turn green and the wildflowers begin. It isn’t hot yet, there is snow on the mountains, the air is clear and the rivers are flowing. With no apologies to those of you who are in the depths of winter (because we all have our tough seasons wherever we choose to live), here are some glimpses into February in Three Rivers, which is the beginning of spring for us.
a very sorry broccoli harvestRed maidsDon’t eat thisFiddlenecksThe second red chair is in the shadeEverlasting pea, something new a neighbor has plantedSpeedwell?That amazing flowering pearBuckeyes are the first to leaf out Patriotic seatingNorth Fork of the KaweahThe primary colors in my yard
An easy-ish walk with a little climb and good views.
Don’t you wish you could live in Three Rivers in late winter/early spring? Fret not, we’ll pay for it in July, August, and September.
Photo taken in Clovis by Jane Sorenson. (Used without permission)
One morning when I shuffled carefully down the driveway by flashlight in the dark toward my neighbor waiting with her flashlight, I asked her, “Tell me again: why do we do this?”
She said, “They say it’s supposed to be good for us.”
I asked, “Are ‘they’ the same people who told us margarine was better than butter? Or coffee was good, then bad, then good? Or wine was bad, then good, and now bad again?”
We chose to go the shorter steepest route, because we find it easier when we can’t see how steep it is.
We turn around at the gate which leads to this place because we are cold, it is dark, and my neighbor has to get to work.
As the light increases each day in February, we start dreading the time change. When we were kids, it changed to Daylight Saving in April, and then it changed back to Standard Time in October. Some time in early adulthood years, the changes got moved to March and November, so that Daylight Saving is a now longer stretch than Standard. So “Standard” is more accurately “Nonstandard”, or “Irregular”.
Like with most big issues, we Americans are evenly divided on which time schedule is best. In general, urbanites prefer more light in the evening, and rural folks prefer (and often NEED) more light in the morning. Almost everyone agrees that jerking our internal clocks around is annoying at best, and dangerous at worst. (The dummies think they are somehow tricking Father Time into providing more hours of daylight.)
I expect that in spite of widespread discontent and the adverse consequences of a twice-yearly time change, the People in Charge will do nothing. Politicians are so concerned with retaining votes that they are paralyzed when decisions are a 50/50 proposal, with the unintended consequence of everyone being unhappy. In addition to the elected officials, it is often the bureaucrats who end up interfering in our lives.
I expect to be walking in the dark for the rest of my life.
“You’ll never understand bureaucracies until you understand that for bureaucrats, procedure is everything and outcomes are nothing.” —Thomas Sowell
A dear friend told me that she really enjoys my blog posts when I write about thoughts. Here, this is what she said:
Maybe it’s because I’m a worker of words, but I really enjoy your entries that describe your central valley world, your life in it, and your feelings. The reader responses you receive indicate many others do too. I believe getting to know the artist who produces beautiful views of the world beyond our human angst and cultural foibles is an important part of any sale, and I hope you keep posting such thoughts often! I can see them in a book of your own some day. 🙂
Wow. That was thought-provoking, encouraging, and as always from this friend, very kind.
Late one night I had a mental list of ideas to write about. Instead of writing, I went to bed. Now my head is empty, so let’s just have some photographs today with a little commentary.
That giant flowering pear, the last one to hold its fall color, is also the first one to bloom. I took this picture on February 2.My flowering pear is not quite thinking about blooming yet.
There are no words. Well, there were some words, and those were them.
Look at the black stripes on Jackson’s tail: they get wider as they move toward the tip. Made me think about Perkins’ checkerboard tail.
Both cats came from the same place; well, more accurately, Jackson’s mother came from the same place as Perkins.
Linda’s Barn, pencil and colored pencil, SOLD This barn used to be an excellent source of cats, but alas, the Order of All Things has unfolded and we are developing hard hearts in order to cope with the harsh realities of trying to keep cats alive in Three Rivers. (Tucker, Jackson, and Pippin are all thriving at the time of this blog post—thank you for your concern.)
This is what winter can look like in Three Rivers.
Don’t you wish your computer had scratch-n-sniff so you could fully enjoy this rosemary?
Okay, maybe I’ll just sit here for a pair of minutes and see if any of those great late-night thoughts reassert themselves.
There is an excellent museum in Three Rivers, and parked in front are some old fire trucks plus this tow truck. I had to wait for a couple of friends stuck at one of the many ongoing lengthy roadblocks, so I wandered around with my inferior phone camera.
On a recent walk, I took this photo because it reminded me of my painting titled Swinging Oak. You can see it below with a convenient link for purchasing from my website. It’s just business. (I’m tryna earn a living here!)
Swinging Oak, oil on wrapped canvas, 12×16″, $375 (plus tax in California) Available here
Where’s the other chair?
Why am I not showing you any paintings or drawings? Because I am spending most of my time in the studio, editing another book for another writer on another topic.
There must be a few things that I learned in January. Thirty-one days of nothing seems a little out of character here. As Winnie-the-Pooh said, “Think think think!” January was occupied with relearning, persevering, and never quitting. (If I was a smoker, I would have really done a number on my lungs in January.)
Something that I thought I learned in October (Item #1) turned out to be an “urban myth”. (I put that in quotes because I am not urban but I bought into the myth.) Microwaved water does NOT kill plants. A friend tested it. She also sent me to Snopes, a site that I don’t fully trust, so when I heard that myth from someone I trusted, I just believed. I’m sorry for misleading you.
Every Drop, graphite on archival paper, framed and matted to 14×16″, $400, available here.
2. After over a year of wrestling through design, decisions, details, logistics, and finances, this is the result. It was a process, and I think the overarching theme is “Nevuh nevuh nevuh give up”, as pronounced by Winston Churchill (This seems to be a post of quoting English sources who repeat words. )
3. While putting in my monthly shift at the Mural Gallery and Gift Shop in Exeter, I discovered a new kind of picture frame for paintings—oil or acrylic, not watercolor, which require mats and glass because they are on paper. If I can find them AND if they aren’t expensive AND if they look good, this could be a way to frame my plein air paintings for the show coming in August. (Did anyone from England famously say “If, if, if”?) I paint on board, not canvas, when painting plein air, so they need to be framed. (Just learned these are “float frames”)
4. There is another topic under the heading of “Nevuh nevuh nevuh give up” which deserves its own post and requires some permissions, so it will have to wait. But here is a clue (just the preliminary cover design):
5. I am now in the process of editing and formatting two new books. Neither one is ready for public disclosure, and as I work, it becomes very apparent to me that I will NEVER be comfortable with anything designed by Microsoft or Adobe. When I think I understand how something works, either it gets redesigned so that I have to spend time relearning it, or so much time has passed that I have to start over because NONE OF IT, NONE NONE NONE, is intuitive like Mac.
February, my first favorite month, will rescue me from this malaise.
A commissioned pencil drawing for a retiring Visalia city council member in 2022.
This post is just to vent my thoughts about a day spent in Visalia. It might fall into the categories of “Why is She Bloviating Again?” or perhaps “Too Long, Didn’t Read”.
I headed down the hill to Visalia one morning and was tailgated around the lake. What does tailgating accomplish when there is no place to pass and the tailgatee obviously cannot drive any faster than the person in front of her? The tailgater ignored the first 2 passing lanes, and then roared around at the third one. Good riddance. (See you at the light at the four-way, if I’m careless and you are lucky.)
My first stop in town was one of those giant office stores to get some papers shredded. There are 2 on the same side of the same busy boulevard, and I picked the wrong one. “Wrong one”?, you may be asking. This one apparently had only one employee who was running his feet off. It also is the one where the customer has to stuff all the papers in a bin, rather than the employees just taking care of it.
I survived. That sort of situation with waiting and inconveniences is a chance to just look around and observe folks. I saw 2 other women near my age, and all three of us had our hair up in those claw-type clips. There was an obese man in a cart who felt the need to explain to the clerk (a second employee eventually emerged from a break room) that he had been a dedicated baseball player who played on winning teams until age 38. No one seemed put out by his need to explain why he requires a cart to get around; the dude was obviously very lonely.
There was a quick stop to unload a box of unnecessary items at Rescued Treasures, a thrift shop enterprise run by the Salvation Army the Rescue Mission. It was close to the wrong giant office store, so maybe that wasn’t the wrong one after all.
A kind and generous friend had given me a gift card to Sprouts, which is a fancy grocery store with bright lights, organic foods, and shockingly high prices. My hope was to buy raw milk, something I have been curious about for a long time. (My interest began when I met some people associated with an Arizona dairy called Fond Du Lac Farms.) Alas, it wasn’t meant to be because their shipment hadn’t arrived for the week. Another customer was waiting for it and he told me that he pays $17 a gallon. I would have been quite content with just a pint, but that curiosity will have to wait.
The prices almost made me need oxygen, and the lights were so bright that I wondered if sunglasses might be in order. I wandered around the store, reading labels, thinking, doing math, not wanting to waste the gift card on stupid stuff. Finally, I chose some lunch meat and a tray of sliced cheeses to share with friends on an upcoming outing, found some herbal tea that supposedly fights blood sugar levels, and a few mixed nuts that promised no peanuts (because they are just too pedestrian for Sprouts’ customers). The checkout was a self-serve with a friendly worker there to assist. The total for my four items was $29, which was $4 over the gift card. (I thought it was better to be over and pay some cash than to have to return to use up one dollar.)
Next, I headed out to find another new grocery store, about which I have heard great stuff for several years. Aldi’s is on the far south end of town, bringing to mind a threat in my childhood that “one day Visalia and Tulare will be merged into a single town.” Hasn’t happened yet but the growth is steady in that direction.
Aldi’s is known for charging 25¢ for its shopping carts, which gets returned to you when you put the cart back in the corral. (It locks into the cart behind it to spit your quarter back out.) I wandered around the store, comparing prices with those on a Winco receipt, trying to be smart about spending. I bumbled and fumbled through the self-checkout with its pushy computer voice telling me to either scan the next item or finish and pay. I kept telling “her” (it didn’t announce its preferred pronouns but the voice was female) to just hold on. Oddly enough, the total was also $29, but this time I got eleven items.
My grocery list was barely touched, so next I headed to Winco, my normal grocery store. I try to only shop every 6-7 weeks, with Trail Guy supplementing for dairy and produce at our local overpriced but convenient market (Let’s see. . . 1-1/2 hour driving and $15-20 for gas to save money? Nope.) It was a thrill to quickly find just what I needed at prices I was accustomed to paying. It had only been about 5 weeks, so the cart was manageable. Sometimes I almost need 2 carts when I wait too long between trips.
It was a massive relief to finally be on the freeway heading east into the mountains. The foothills are green, the sky was blue with puffy white clouds, and although there were a few tailgaters, I was heading home and didn’t care. Does it bother anyone else when people try to force you to pull behind a big rig so they can drive 80, not caring that you are quite happy to go 70, which is 5 miles over the speed limit, not caring that you don’t want to drop to 55 or 60 behind a big rig? What is wrong with people?
Here is my theory about what is wrong: people live in crowded conditions, with too many stores, too many choices, too high of prices, too much to do, too little quiet and privacy. It makes them anxious and cranky and impatient. Or, to quote Anne Lamott from her Twelve Truths of Life: “Everyone is screwed up, broken, clingy and scared.”
P.S. Dennis Prager wrote about this topic several years ago:Imagine No Big Cities. (Thank you, DV!)
On a sunny January day, we went for a stroll, and I took a few photos with my inferior phone camera. I really don’t need any more photos, but one never knows if the light will be the best it has ever been. If I was more motivated, I would have taken some paints, a tripod, a palette, and a pochade box. Then the walk would have been a business trip. Nah, too much gear—I would have needed to drive and missed out on the exercise.
The walk was a time for contemplating matters of consequence along with enjoying the ability to see beautiful sights while soaking some rays*. In retrospect, it was an important time of peace because when we got home, we received two unwelcome pieces of news.
Two people in our lives died: one was unexpected, an important person in our lives; the other was expected, an important person to people I care very much about. The ability to enjoy being mobile and vertical, see familiar and beautiful sights, and absorb some sunshine . . . so many people, particularly of our parents’ generation, are dropping. . . kind of hard to form complete sentences around this.
*Has anyone else noticed that people no longer just drink water? Now, they “hydrate”. Is it possible to just enjoy sunshine anymore or do we all have to “get our vitamin D”? Is it all those ridiculous commercials on teevee which try to turn us into pharmacists who “ask our doctors” about various medicines, or into nutritionists prescribing forty-eleven supplements that will allow us to all live as 20-year-olds indefinitely? Tiresome stuff.
After Krista and I spent an afternoon painting at the lake (Lake Kaweah), we spent a fair amount of time discussing plein air painting. She sent me a couple of short instructional videos, and I ended up as confused as always, still wondering if I would ever be able to produce decent paintings outside of the studio. I also wondered if any of the paintings I produce in the studio (painting workshop —just a big multi-purpose room) are any good, after I watched those videos. Sigh.
So, I set up the lake painting on an easel in the painting workshop, with the plan to follow the recommendation of one of those instructional videos. The painter said to divide a painting into foreground, middle ground, and background. Pick one (preferably the mid-ground) for your detail. The other sections need to stay less defined.
The way it ended after the plein air session.
This was a bit of a struggle for me because all the parts of this painting seem equally important to me. Finally I decided that the painting would be focused on the river.
I started painting my usual way—from furthest to closest—meaning sky first, then distant mountains, moving forward.
It was too hard to put those rocks in the river with the shadows and reflections, painting wet-into-wet. So, now Alta Peak, Moro Rock, and all the hills and distant trees, along with the lower right corner are blurry.
This needs to be revisited by some better brushes, colors, and attitude. (I’m tryna learn to paint this way, but just not feelin’ it!)
Meanwhile, Krista finished her piece in her studio. After she sent this to me, we talked on the phone and I made a few suggestions, which she implemented. Fall down laughing, as if I know how to improve on other people’s plein air paintings!
Krista was willing and able to meet me at the lake (Lake Kaweah in Three Rivers) to plein air paint, the very next day after Trail Guy and I walked on the lake bottom.
Gear management is one of the most difficult aspects of plein air painting. What do you actually need? Paint, brushes, oil, paper towels, a palette, a way to prop up your canvas (currently I use a pochade box made from a cigar box and a tripod), a stool to sit on or to rest your stuff, and a way to transport it all.
None of my stuff is ideal, because the best set-ups cost up to $1000. Not worth it for someone who doesn’t really enjoy this method of painting and doesn’t paint well enough this way to recoup the costs.
The little red wagon was helpful, but it was downhill to our location so it kept rolling into the back of my legs. Oh well, sometimes there are little annoyances in life that have to be overlooked. We parked the wagon off the road in the mud, did a sketch, then walked farther to do another sketch, knowing no one would bother our painting gear.
The first sketch was the best, so we returned to the wagon and set up.
The light was changing, as it does. But I’m learning to just flow with it, knowing that my painting won’t look good until I finish it in the painting workshop at home.
It was helpful to paint with Krista, to discuss colors and values and to encourage one another.
The time went quickly, and when the shade came over us, it got COLD.
Good enough. Needs work. Duh. Brrrr. One last photo, then I’m outta here.
Krista and I discussed finishing the paintings at home; she wondered how many people do it that way. It seemed that while I was in Monterey, most people finished the paintings on location. But in Plein Air magazine, 80-90% of the paintings shown say “plein air/studio”, indicating that the painters were not able to turn out work in one outdoor session.
Back in the parking lot (it was much easier to pull the little red wagon uphill than have it bashing into my legs going downhill), we ran into my very good friends (another great thing about Three Rivers). They came to walk the dog and fly a kite.
Now I have the song “Let’s Go Fly a Kite” from Mary Poppins looping endlessly in my head.
Conclusion: A good time of painting with Krista, another humbling admission that plein air painting doesn’t seem to work for me, but also that I will continue to try. Like taking vitamins, you can’t tell if it is really doing anything, but you continue, just in case.
