Just back from Mendocino

Well, my finger has recovered (mostly), but the camera had a relapse. No way to photograph anything during our vacation to Mendocino County last week. So I am writing now sans photo embellishments. Don't know what is going on with the camera -- it acts as if the lens cap is on even when it isn't. So -- I got only a few photos in one of the most beautiful places in the world, and those are on two disposable cameras. It was almost pointless to shoot anything without my Nikon (I especially missed the zoom function), so Olivia took most of the pictures. I felt quite incapacitated without experiencing my usual look-and-photograph response to intriguing places and natural settings. Haven't traveled without a camera since I can remember. An interesting, if frustrating exercise. But I think detaching from my own visual process at least once may be beneficial in the long run.

During our trip we first visited Michael's sister, Theresa, who just rebuilt her house in Oakland -- her contractor basically recreated a 1920s-style house, even to the level of craftsmanship and handwork applied to the task. They added a second storey with two bedrooms, a second bath, and a reading alcove, and it is just beautiful.

After visiting Theresa, we continued to drive north through Napa and Sonoma, then on to Cloverdale, where we broke off the 101 (highway) and headed through the Anderson Valley to the coast. The Anderson Valley is beautiful, rolling farmland -- vineyards, orchards, tiny towns and exquisite hilly landscape. At this time of year the hills were the golden color of dry grass contrasted by the deep greenery of oak trees and vines. The air had a warm, fresh smell from the grass. There was barely a village along the way, but we spent two nights in Philo, a tiny town just east of the beginnings of the redwood forest at Navarro. Then we meandered north along the coast through Mendocino and Fort Bragg to Westport (the last tiny town on the coast) and the Howard Creek Ranch, five miles or so beyond. We stayed there in a ranch-style bed and breakfast -- the owner has hand-built redwood-paneled guestrooms in the 130-year-old antiques-filled house and barn, 300 yards from the deserted beach. The quiet was restorative -- the soft grayness near the water during foggy mornings was especially conducive to contemplation and relaxation. It was hard to come back.



Olivia is in great spirits -- she had two trail rides on the beach: one with me (a group ride, Western-saddled walk/trot type of thing, which was as much as I could manage) and one on her own with a guide. The second ride was like a dream come true for her -- she and her guide took Arabian horses 20 miles up and down the beach for three hours, galloping and walking in endurance-riding fashion. She is still tired but blissful.

I am coming gradually back to earth in Southern California.