A visit from Mary September 20, 2014

A few weekends ago my sister Mary took a spur-of-the-moment trip from her home in Cleveland to visit me.  At 8am that Saturday, I retrieved her from her ridiculously early flight at SFO arrivals, scooped up Pogo the cat from my house in San Francisco, and to the pulse of periodic meowing we hightailed it up to Almost Pi.   The weather here was as lovely as I have ever seen it, and we planned to head out for a big hike but soon found our plans derailed by the many other enticements of Point Reyes.

First, we fortified ourselves with goodies and music at the Farmer’s Market surrounding Toby’s Feed Barn.  Then we thought, why not quickly stop by the opening of the BayWood Artists’ show at the Red Barn?  There, we ran into a friend of mine from Marin Oratorio, who pointed out the blue posts that marked the San Andreas Fault, which essentially passes right through the Red Barn itself.  It turns out Mary had never taken the Earthquake Trail, so that prompted another diversion; how I love to point out that displaced fence! 

We then noticed the sign for the Woodpecker Trail, which I had never been on, so that led us to yet another fascinating little hike.  Equipped with a Western Birds app on my iPhone, we checked out the calls for the various woodpeckers, and sure enough, we heard them calling back to us!  The path deposited us uphill at the Morgan Horse Ranch, so of course we had to poke around there, another first for me, I’m ashamed to say.  I knew nothing about this quintessential American horse, not to mention the importance of this Ranch in breeding and training Morgans for this and other national parks.  By this time we were ready to give up on the big hike, and opted instead for a look at the Bear Valley Visitor Center, where there was a small exhibit on the Marconi telegraph stations and where Mary treated herself, and me, to a few lovely souvenirs.  We packed in a very late lunch of burgers, root fries, and beer at Marin Sun Farms before returning to Pi to bundle up Pogo once again and watch the sun set over the horse pasture together.  We came inside to enjoy some Strauss vanilla ice cream (Pogo, too), pulled out our books, and Mary quickly conked out.

Every visitor is an opportunity to see something new or see it with fresh eyes.  Keep coming!

Quiet July 13, 2014

I am a member of two book clubs, and I often find myself sinking into the quiet of Almost Pi for one of my two monthly obligate reads.  This weekend I have been immersed in Elizabeth Gilbert’s “The Signature of All Things”.  As much as I didn’t like her earlier book, “Eat Pray Love”, and as resistant as I was to reading this new one, I was quickly sucked into the story of adventurers, circa 1800, who traveled the world to unearth new botanicals for passion and profit.  Alma Whitaker, the scholarly daughter of one such remarkable man and now the world’s expert in mosses, meets Ambrose Pike, who has just returned from two decades in Mexico and Guatemala where he studied orchids and produced exquisite lithographs of them. 

Alma asks him, “What would you like to do [now]?”  To which Pike responds, “I would like never to travel again.  I would like to spend the rest of my days in a place so silent – and working at a pace so slow – that I would be able to hear myself living.”

I know the feeling.  Pi is the place where I can hear myself living. 

Ten Years Ago June 15, 2014

It was ten years ago today that the seeds of Almost Pi were sown.  My mother passed away on that day, and as she was only 25 years older than I, her death gave my own life more urgency.  She had had dreams that were unfulfilled, and I knew that it was now time to act on a big one of my own: to build a small home for myself and Annie somewhere in the magical grasslands of west Marin or west Sonoma counties.

I quickly vowed to look at every affordable lot in those two agricultural regions and to buy one by the end of that year.  This was not a whim – after all, I had been searching for property for six years – but rather it was a resolve to move forward.  I had to accept that it wouldn’t be “perfect”, but I knew that it would be very good and the catalyst for a great adventure. 

By August I had narrowed my search to two parcels, one in west Petaluma and the second here in Point Reyes Station, a small community whose charm increasingly provided the gravity for my weekend orbits.  One warm evening, I suggested to Annie that we drive out to experience the settings in the dark.  We couldn’t even locate the land on Spring Hill Road in Petaluma, so foggy was the night.  We then made our way to Route One, not far from Tomales Bay.  We stood on the bottom rung of the horse fence to look over the lot, a gently sloping horse pasture.  The downtown sparkled in the distance, the stars were out, and every once in a while, a car passed by.  “This one,” Annie declared.  “It’s safer.” 

That was it.  By October I owned 3.13 acres with a lovely view of the Inverness Ridge.  It took another 2.5 years to plan and to build, but as I sit here writing these words, looking out over the horses nibbling outside my window, I’m so glad that I followed my heart.   

It is Almost Pi, and it is almost perfect.

Quail Crossing May 10, 2014

Late in the afternoon I drove to Bear Valley for a quick walk to the meadow and back, and I rushed to return to Pi for my ritual of sunset-watching over a glass of wine.  As I left the nearly drained visitor center parking lot, the car in front of me abruptly stopped for no obvious reason.  What could it be?  Quail crossing!  An extended family of head-bobbing quail, about two dozen in all, scattered to either side of the road, let us pass, and regrouped. 

The sunset would have to wait.  I quietly whipped around to watch them for a while and to listen to their delightful chirps.  Were they also celebrating Mother’s Day with a little reunion?

Bluegrass and Blue-eyed Grass April 20, 2014

Whenever I am at Almost Pi, I try to attend whatever is on at the Dance Palace.  Last night it happened to be bluegrass with Blaine Sprouse.  I know nothing about bluegrass music and have never heard of Blaine Sprouse, but apparently he is one hot bluegrass violinist and he is now a resident of Inverness.  He and his contingent of very talented local musicians – on guitar, banjo, mandolin, cello, and bass – got the SRO crowd at the Palace stomping their feet in delight.  Mine, too!

Twelve hours later, I encountered another kind of blue grass.  This morning’s weather was beautiful and as it is whale migration month, I headed out to the Point to search for the cetacean mothers and their babies.  Though I peered through my Grandfather Fisher’s binoculars for a few hours at four different locations, I failed to spot a whale.  Still, I hiked out to Chimney Rock to look at the April wildflowers.  Among the many beauties – checkerbloom, pussy’s ear, scarlet pimpernel, lupine both purple and yellow, Indian paintbrush, and poppy – was the tiny blue-eyed grass, which seems more purple than blue, but charming just the same.

Back to Normal April 17, 2014

I was beginning to despair that the wildlife at Almost Pi had simply disappeared.  The drought had lasted so long, and I hadn’t seen a bobcat, an egret, or even a gopher in ages.  But when I arrived today, a heron flew into the green pasture as if to reassure me that all was well with the ecosystem.  By mid-afternoon a family of deer leapt through the grass, now almost as tall as they are.   Birds of all sorts and sizes, from the tiny hummingbird who seemed keen to explore the corners of windows, through a pair of goldfinches who lingered by the rosebush and irises, to vultures who were enraptured by the neighboring field, brightened my day. 

3.14 March 2, 2014

There is a shallow but wide alcove in my living room, and it has been crying out for bookshelves since the house was constructed seven years ago.  Today I finally managed to outfit this lonely rectangle with two sets of bookshelves, named, believe it or not, “3.14” by their manufacturer.  Via catalog and in person, I have admired these simple wooden shelves, figuring that their glossy white paint would add a crisp touch to the room and that their backlessness would allow the swirls of the alcove’s integral plaster to show through.  So despite this morning’s storm, I felt energized to commit to them.  I left Pi, crossed the Richmond-San Rafael Bridge amidst an aqueous gray in every direction, purchased the unassembled shelves on Fourth Street in Berkeley, loaded them into my amazingly spacious mini cooper, and headed back again.  I quickly managed to put them together and by 1:30, they were up and ready to go.  They look great.  I love home projects!

The Thistles February 14, 2014

I’m a big fan of wild flowers, but I draw the line at thistles, the bane of my pasture.  This charming deep purple flower is saddled with an enormous base of stiff and prickly leaves, which understandably are left uneaten by the deer and horses.  Fortunately, thistles are not deeply rooted, and tenacity and a sturdy pair of gloves can be combined to upend them before they flower.

Typically by now, the grass has already grown lush and high, masking the young thistles before they erupt.  But in this season of drought, the thistles have gotten out of the gate ahead of the grass, and I can spy them in their near infancy.  I waited for the rain of the past week to end, and today, I launched my attack.  I donned my gloves and grabbed a shovel, a pitchfork, and a trowel and worked my way around the perimeter of the house and the fences, where the thistles tend to congregate.  After I removed the more monstrous ones manually, I grabbed the Roundup to spray clusters that were just beginning to peek through the ground.  Take that, thistles!  I’ll be back. 

Alone at Pi February 8. 2014

When I bought the land and built the home that I have come to call Almost Pi, my intention was twofold:  First, to spend weekends here with my daughter Annie, who was ten at the time, off the grid and succumbing to the slow pace of nature.  And second, as my thinking went, eventually to retire here and to share this home with a partner.  It is now almost ten years since I made this decision.  Annie with her friends, I with my friends, and together with our family, we have come and gone many times, hiking, feasting, and taking in the sunset over a glass of wine.  But Annie now lives in Seattle, the much-imagined partner has eluded me, and I spend most of my time here alone.

And though a solitary retreat wasn’t my intention, I have come to love my time here alone.  I spend the weekends reading and writing, thinking and looking, occasionally hiking or asana-ing.  I jump down to the library, if it is open, to access the web or pick up a DVD, grab a pastry at the Bovine Bakery, frequent the hardware store for supplies, browse the bookstore, or take in a concert at the Dance Palace.  But mostly, I am alone.   And really, it’s not so bad.  Cancel that: it is wonderful.

Rain February 8, 2014

Finally!  Rain!  It has been raining the past few days, and more precipitation is forecast for the future.  I was eager to get to Pi on this dreary Saturday morning both to check on the house in this, the first significant storm of the season and to bask in its grey tranquility.

As I drove up the final steep curve of Lucas Valley Road, approaching Big Rock from the east, a small SUV coming toward me spun out of control on the slippery surface, nearly crashing into me, but instead settled into the deep ditch on the hillside.  I pulled over in a turnout zone, flipped on my flashers, and jumped out to check on the driver.  He was fine.  I was fine.  With a few back and forths of his four-wheel drive, he maneuvered his way out of the gulley, thanked me, and drove on. 

Continuing even more cautiously toward Pi, I passed the Nicasio Reservoir to find it … wet!  Actual moisture, a few inches deep, layered itself onto the deepest parts of the basin.  Such a long way to go, but still, a start.

Now home and settled, I eat my lunch and watch the birds as they too seem to relish the arrival of rain, feasting on worms, playing in the pools of water, and preparing their nests on my studio’s eaves.  The swale now cradles a very large puddle and I can almost hear the lavender sighing, “Ah!”