The End of Summer September 4, 2016

I have packed up the car with the remainders of the fridge, a stack of laundry, recycling, and trash.  I have gathered up some of my clothes, books, and jewelry, and Pogo is preparing to leave too.  I am about to move back to San Francisco after spending much of the summer here in Point Reyes, off the information grid and immersed in nature.

I linger here to jot down these few words.  How sad I am to depart from this expanse of sun and wind!  To say goodbye to sitting for long hours on the deck as I read, or worked a puzzle, or slept.  To close up my little studio which I came to appreciate too late.  To leave behind the bike path, the yoga classes, the friendships made over these past three months.

It has been an experiment in slow living, and it has been successful.  So successful, in fact, that I question why I am returning to San Francisco and to a quickened pace and congested traffic.  There are friends there too, of course, and I am longing to reconnect with them.  I am supposed to start a new adventure – an architecture program – in two days!  But this uprooting is hard.  Was there ever a more perfect spot than this little plot of land on the edge of our continent? 

The Return of Annie to Pi August 15, 2016

Almost Pi is a place where, I think, feelings can be felt more deeply.  They are savored, examined, free from the buzz of the text or the temptation of email or news flashes.  Annie has moved back to California after one year and eight months of a challenging rehabilitation.  The last time I saw her at Pi was New Year’s Eve, 2014, and I thought perhaps I would never see her again.  It is here, at Pi that I can recall the despair of that evening in full, and when I see her here before me once again, I am filled with as much joy now as I was then in grief. 

The Mourning Doves August 5, 2016

Though this blog is an account of life at Pi (not “Life of Pi”), I’d like to insert a little commentary about my alternate universe – San Francisco – where amid the grit, fog, traffic, cacophony of languages, and unbridled construction there too lies nature.  My neighborhood, tucked into the northeastern slope of the Sutro Forest, is home to a coyote family, for example.  Of course the raccoons and squirrels are rampant, and my back “yard” (more accurately imagined as a “cliff”) has been host to a possum, not to mention many types of butterflies, both majestic and delicate, and birds, from the noisy parrots of Telegraph Hill, who flock here routinely, to the emerald hummingbirds.

My current pleasure is a pair of mourning doves, who have taken residence in the wisteria above my kitchen window, made lush by this year’s rains and fed by an underground creek.  Though the doves are a constant presence, it didn’t occur to me that a nest was in progress until I finally put two and two together.  The back stairs to the garage were strewn with little twigs, which I had originally assumed were detritus from the wind (we have a lot of that in San Francisco, too!).  But I soon realized that the industrious couple was attempting to fashion a nest, and it wasn’t going too well.  Initially, when the nest was quite sketchy, one of the eggs slipped through to the supporting wood below.  I picked it up and gently tucked it back in.

Now the nest is thick, with two small white eggs (apparently the mourning doves can produce six broods a year) and one of the parents patiently incubating them.  Last night it rained and I noticed the bird is still is covered in droplets.  I quietly hoist the blinds and open the bedroom windows to get a better look from above.  Perhaps next week, on my return to the city, I will see a pair of squabs, begging to be fed.

The Mouse August 1, 2016

After the sad tale of the fawn, I had to deal with the formidable cleanup.  There was blood and guts splattered on the floor, walls, windows, and drapes.  So I geared up yesterday and 3 hours later, following a sequence of scrubbing with detergent, then bleach, and washing the large draperies in my new fabulous galvanized washtub (how lucky that I had purchased it!) and drying them in the bright sun, my studio seemed to be more or less back in order.

But as I began the detox effort, one kind of crazy correlation caught my notice:  on each fawn splatter (for lack of a better word) on the floor, there lay a single little mouse poop.  There were no mice droppings anywhere else.  (Though I didn’t count them or figure out the density, my gut told me that the correlation had to be statistically significant.)  It was as if some little mouse (and generally I don’t even have mice!) came through and tried to counteract the smell with its own scent.

Now that the place is clean, I see no more evidence of a mouse, and I hope it stays that way.  There is only so much mammalian drama I can take!

Late in the day, I went out to look at the fawn’s carcass, and indeed there was almost nothing left.  All that remained, inexplicably, were two beautiful hooves, one from a front leg, and the other from the back, positioned exactly where Casey had laid the unfortunate creature a few days before. 

The Bookstore August 1, 2016

It had never occurred to me to own a bookstore.  In fact, it had never occurred to me to own a business of any kind.  But when the owners of Point Reyes Books announced that they were going to move on to other pursuits after 14 years and were looking for buyers, I thought to myself, “What an extraordinary opportunity!”

Because a bookstore comes very close to being the person that I am – the world of ideas and of stories.  How I love to hunker down with a good book.  When I was a girl, I spent hours on the front porch, under the shade, rocking back and forth in a springy black metal chair, sniffing at the pink geraniums, inhaling the green of cut grass, huddled against the stone façade of our house during late afternoon thunderstorms – all with library book in hand.  Our family did not own very many books, but my mother was a voracious reader, and there were few greater pleasures for me than going to the library with her and coming away with a half-dozen books, all in their plastic sheathes, with their little manila papers listing their lifetime of due dates, and that classic library-book odor. 

I digress.  I suggested to my niece Molly that I purchase the bookstore and that she manage it – and I got a mini-flurry of enthusiastic email responses.  So she and her husband, my sister who lives near them in Minneapolis, and I all wrote to the owners, expressing our interest and letting them know a little bit about us. 

Some of my friends are quite enthusiastic about the idea – “This is the perfect path for you!” or perhaps even a little envious – “I’ve always wanted to own a bookstore!” they might say.  Others think I am out of my mind.  At this point I’m not quite sure what to think about the whole idea.  But I do know that “Books fall open, we fall in.”  That lives can be enriched and even changed by reading.  And that this particular independent bookstore fills a need in this community, which I love being a part of.

At the end of the day, it was an opportunity that I, in conjunction with my extended family, needed to explore.  Today I met with the owners, who told me that they actually have a different team in mind.  But we certainly hit it off and I was impressed with what they had to say.  So we’ll see how this plays out.  Keep tuned!

Meanwhile the Badgers July 29, 2016

After we dealt with the dead fawn, Casey noted the huge holes in my septic mound and actually saw a badger digging away.  Then my other neighbor Mike came by and echoed this observation, “You have badgers!” he exclaimed.  Good grief, what am I to do?  I like the idea of a whole tribe of American badgers living with me!  But on the other hand, what about the septic system?  This living in the country business certainly has its challenges, and boy, are they different from living in the city!

The Sad Fate of my Fawn July 29, 2016

Readers of my blog (are you out there anyone?) will know that I have been following the adventures of a pair of fawns.  I’ve come to know their mother, who has multiple indentations on her left ear.

Today was incredibly sad.  One of the fawns had been presumably hit by a car last week – according to my neighbors – and had a badly infected leg.  They called the Marin Humane Society who came out and said the fawn would either die, or possibly shed the damaged leg and somehow go on to live with only three.

At noon, I slid open the barn door of the studio and noticed animal scat, thinking it was odd, when then I saw the hoofs of a (probably) dead deer in the kitchen alcove.  I went across the street to talk with my neighbors, Casey, Maggie, and their daughter Lennon, who had told me about the fawn earlier in the week.  Pushing a wheelbarrow, Casey came over in his hazmat gear and gloves.  He carted the dead fawn, still in his spots, with a gnarled leg and a missing hoof, off to the corner of the lot and put him out for the vultures to feed on.  Maggie and 7-year old Lennon then arrived with flowers to lay beside him.  It was very sad, but I guess the way of nature, once we humans abuse our gentle friends with our cars. 

This morning I had seen the mother, without her young.  We regarded each other, as we always do, but now I attach special significance to her gaze – her longing for her lost fawn.  As a mother myself, I know that feeling, and if I see her tomorrow morning, I will be hard-pressed not to wrap my arms around her and grieve.

Tour de MALT July 24, 2016

Several years ago my friend Jeannette bought a nice bicycle but quickly thought better of actually riding it, so she generously passed it on to me, along with a new helmet, lock, and bike rack.  I too was intimidated by the serious cyclists out here, not to mention the threat of motorcyclists and cars on the weekends, and years went by before I started to ride it routinely. 

Now that I am living out here for the summer, I have reconnected with one of the great joys of my youth - the freedom I feel on a bicycle.  Lately I’ve been doing a one-hour route, starting from my house, down the shoulder-less Point Reyes-Petaluma road, along the smooth and shaded Platform Bridge and Bear Valley Roads, with the challenge of the Bolinas Ridge climb on Sir Francis Drake in between.

Thus emboldened, I suggested to my friend Yang and her husband Kevin that we add our wheels to the Tour de MALT, a fund-raising cycle through this agricultural landscape.  Yang and I signed up for the 40-mile loop, while Kevin for the 60, and yesterday morning, on a brilliantly sunny morning, we took off!

Starting in Nicasio, we soon passed Pi on Route 1, and Yang and I shed some clothes at the house as we went by.  I wouldn’t let her stop for her first treat at the Giacommini Ranch because we were hoping to complete the loop within four hours.  She was a good sport about it.

After passing Marshall, the MALT volunteers flagged us eastward onto the Marshall-Petaluma Road, and we suddenly found ourselves climbing a hill.  I learned only later that this section is referred to as the Marshall Wall.  I’m certainly glad that I didn’t know that ahead of time, as I may not have even signed up!

But we made it back to Nicasio, where I sought out a shady area to cool off in savasana with some ice cubes on my forehead.  An ice tea followed by a cold beer and a burger restored me, and I almost felt ready to do the circuit all over again.  Almost.

Teeny Tiny Quail July 8, 2016

Along Limantour Road today heading for the Muddy Hollow trailhead, a friend and I had to break for quail. On our the descent, a family with 15 or so – too many to count – impossibly small quail were making their way across the road, led by one adult and trailed by another.  They couldn’t have been more than one or two inches high, so small and so skittish that they appeared almost as flickers of light. 

As we started up again, we encountered another large quail family, again crossing with mother and father leading and trailing, but this time with slightly larger chicks who took wing. 

Two all-too-brief moments, and so lucky to bear witness.  

Turkey Trot June 29, 2016

I have lived here long enough that I should not be surprised by fauna, yet I am.  Just now on a quick drive to the market, I had barely turned onto the road when I had to break for a wild turkey mother and her three young on the asphalt.  Unlike the doe of a few weeks ago, this mama appeared to be paying close attention to her offspring, making sure that they would all make it across the road together – a sort of do or die situation.  Though I find the adult wild turkey to be a decided homely bird, the little ones appear quite cute, with grey feathers sticking out every which way.