Down by the River

My busy life got in the way of summer this year. I’d planned do things with the grand kids but barely saw them, even when I hosted the barbeques. Now, It’s hard to believe summer is gone and we missed all the fun events.

Maybe there’s still some hope! Look outside. The sky is a fathomless blue, the air is dry and warm, the hills are golden and our river keeps rolling along. We have a month before the clocks “fall back” to standard time and I, for one, am not quite ready to let go of the warm weather and settle down before the fire with my hot cocoa and the latest novel from one of our local literary luminaries. I’m planning to make the most of what Petaluma has to offer in October.

           

Vallejo's Petaluma Adobe

Since 4th grade I’ve harbored a fascination for Vallejo’s Petaluma Adobe. In California history we learned that Mariano Guadalupe Vallejo was sent by the Mexican Government to our area in 1834 to secularize the San Francisco Solano Mission in Sonoma by starting a town, now Sonoma. The government gave him a land grant of 44,000 acres and he chose Petaluma for his Adobe rancho and factory. The Adobe served as the center of General Vallejo's 100 square mile working ranch between 1836-1846. Between 600-2,000 people worked at the Adobe and the more important workers would have lived upstairs. In those days, a Native American village was adjacent to the creek. The hide and tallow trade, as well as crops and grain supported the rancho.

Although Vallejo made his home in Sonoma, he visited the rancho as often as possible to oversee the ranching and the construction. Unfortunately the structure had not been completed when Vallejo was taken captive during the Bear Flag Revolt in 1846. By the time Vallejo was released from jail, the Gold Rush had driven labor prices up and squatters had taken over portions of the land. He eventually sold the building and some property in 1857 after attempts to lease it failed. The State bought it in 1951 and the Adobe became a registered National Historic Landmark in 1970.

On the 4th the Petaluma Adobe is celebrating its annual Fandango. I’m grabbing the grand kids and going. The California Sonoma County Pomo Dancers will open with a dance performance at noon, followed by dances of the 1840's performed in period costume. I’m curious to see the Fandango and maybe pick up a step or two. The little girls will love the costumes and crafts for kids hosted by The California Indian Museum & Cultural Center. There will be snacks, too! The park is located at Old Adobe Road at the junction of Casa Grande.

           

On Sunday the 5th, Shollenberger Park is the place to watch the Wine Country Rowing Classic, a 5,000-meter “head” race, attracting more than 500 athletes. This US Rowing-registered event brings competitors from up and down the West Coast, and includes the NBRC Juniors team, as well as collegiate and masters rowers. The event is free for spectators, and afterward you can take a lovely walk.

           

Two of my favorite events take place over the following two weekends are ArtTrails, http://www.artsnorthbay.us/ and the Tolay Fall Festival, http://parks.sonomacounty.ca.gov/Activities/Tolay_Fall_Festival.aspx. I’m excited about both, but the grandgirls haven’t quite become art connoisseurs, however they do like animals and bugs. We’ll visit the Tolay Fall Festival and enjoy the Nighttime Creatures Barn—exhibits of native and exotic snakes, birds of prey, tide pool animals, and taxidermy wildlife as well as the Creepy Crawly Room to see tarantulas and scorpions glow under black lights. I can’t wait. After that, the kidlets will love the hayride to a pumpkin patch to select carving pumpkins. I want to visit the replica of a Native American village and try farm activities like wool carding and candle dipping, but forgive me—I just can’t get into the Pumpkin-Seed Spitting Contest! Or can I? I bet the girls would get a kick out of seeing Granna compete in a gunnysack race—or should we reserve that for Grandpappy? I know we’ll all enjoy the petting zoo of barnyard animals. They’re holding demonstrations in archery, fly fishing and astronomy. I’ll pack a picnic and we can buy special treats from the vendors.

Weekend hours are 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. Admission is $4 for adults and teens and $1 for children 12 and under. Regional Parks members get free, one-time admission for two adults and two children and free parking when they present their membership cards and parking tags at the entrance otherwise parking is $7. Activities inside the Festival are free. Find Tolay Lake Regional Park at 5869 Lakeville Highway, at the end of Cannon Lane.

           

The Friends of the Petaluma River is hosting River Heritage Days from the 17th through the 19th. Friends of the Petaluma River is partnering with the San Francisco Maritime Park to bring two historic ships, the Alma and the Grace Quan, up to Petaluma for touring. Special events include a movie at the Turning Basin Friday night and a Barn Dance at the David Yearsley River Heritage Center Saturday night. The Friends promise loads of boats and fun for the whole family. By the way, shoppers, did you know that Friends of the Petaluma River run the Friends River Emporium with part of each purchase going to education and conservation of the river? http://www.friendsofthepetalumariver.org/river-emporium/

           

Trick or Treat anyone? Alexis, Arya, Grandpappy and I (not to mention the other 3 sets of grandparents: we’re a modern family!) will have picked the hay out of our sweaters, carved the pumpkins, and done up into our most frightening costumes to stalk the Petaluma Downtown Trick-or-Treat Trail on Halloween. Shall I wear my evil fairy Godmother costume? Queen of Hearts? I know—the dead.

           

And after all this October excitement, our family will be ready for that cup of cocoa. Happy riverside Fandango—Hayride—Pumpkin Patch—Trick or Treat—Trails to all!

                              

My 

Happy Birthday to Me

September is my favorite month—always has been. I love the hot dry days: how the morning air takes on a hint of crispness and the late afternoon sun gilds Sonoma Mountain. Maples and Chinese pistache flame into color—giant matches igniting Petaluma’s neighborhoods. The Wednesday and Saturday farmers markets overflow with the bounty of harvest—pears start to come in! But September doesn’t just bring the rich tapestry of fall, it also ushers in the excitement of the new school year, fall clothes (I love sweaters) and for me, a new personal year.

             

Yep, I still love my birthday and the possibilities that come with it—not to mention the party! My husband’s philosophy about birthdays is,  “the bigger the age, the bigger the stage.” And this year I’m taking David’s advice. It’s a post-decade birthday and I plan to start celebrating early and continue celebrating, perhaps until Halloween. Is that the popping of champagne corks I hear?

             

I’m lucky, too. I have plenty of friends to celebrate with in September and October. Count the months backwards—Holiday season! How many of us are the product of an office holiday party? New Years Eve? I was an unexpected Christmas gift. I’ve got more friends with birthdays in September and October than days to celebrate.

             

My mother insists my birthday is always the hottest day of the year, although I’m sure she’s exaggerating. I remember one year, was I nine? She loaded eight little girls decked out in petty-coated-pastel-party dresses (think rickrack) and maryjanes (with white socks) into our apple-green wood-panel Ford station wagon and drove us to Stow Lake in Golden Gate Park to ride the peddle boats. It was 103°, or so she claims. The pink-iced cake melted, the 7-Up and Dr. Pepper were warm, and someone fell in the algae choked pond—a disaster. On the hour-long ride home, we bickered over who got to play with my new (original) Barbie in her own shiny black carrying case. She came accessorized with Ken but no outfits. (I wanted outfits, sweaters!) A lot of crying went on that day, including my harried mom. I vowed to make sure that if there was crying at my future birthdays, it was because we laughed too hard—and no, the clown when I was ten didn’t quite cut it.

             

One of my favorite celebrations was a sea cruise on Holland America Line’s New Amsterdam. I loved that 24-hour ice cream bar—too bad there wasn’t a birthday cake served with it. But that didn’t compare with the year Mexico and I celebrated El Grito together. The fireworks lit up the night sky for a week; the tequila ran like water. ¡Viva Birthdays!

            

But it wasn’t until I moved out of Marvelous Marin that I really knew birthdays. Sonoma County has it down on how to treat a writer girl on her special day! This year Petaluma kicks up the fun with the Petaluma Poetry Walk on Sunday the 21st then the party really heats up with Redwood Writers’ (www.redwoodwriters.org) launch of its critically acclaimed anthology, Water, on August 28^th. (Buy it and read my story, Jet Skis and Malathion.)

            

This year I may not be celebrating a banner year, but this is no zero celebration—and you’re all invited! I love presents and the best would be your presence at the anthology Launch where I'll read with an all-star line-up of writers. You’ll recognize me—I’ll be the one wearing the Birthday Girl tiara! Just toss roses…

Too Good to Pass Up

Morning traffic was orderly, as I headed south on Sonoma Mountain Parkway. My husband lounged in the passenger seat either asleep or sulking. I’d bribed him with a promise of a visit to Copperfields if kept me company shopping and dropping old clothes at COTS, an outing he generally avoids, and it wasn’t turning out to be such a bargain. In silence, we crossed onto Ely and I admired the clouds billowing above Sonoma Mountain like cream mounded on a yerba mate latte.

           

 “Pull over.” David, suddenly animated, waved his arms toward the curb. Had I blown a tire? Was the car on fire? I threw on the blinker, aimed the Prius into the right lane and skidded into a parking place. David jumped out. I stabbed the power-off button with my index finger and scrambled out before the Prius blew up, running to the sidewalk. Where the heck did my husband go? 

             

“They’ve got a good price on an entertainment center.” David’s voice filtered through a tall hedge separating two homes. “It’s just what you want. Bring your purse!”

             

A yard sale—I should have known. Sonoma County is great for secondhand, but Petaluma reigns queen of bargain hunting. On any Saturday, April through October, there are dozens of sales—moving sales, estate sales, even auctions; everybody opens for business, and the goods are all “collectible.”

           

 Later, I checked Petaluma360.com and found eighteen garage sale listings for the long weekend. But it’s early yet; more ads will show up on Friday. Along with the ads for the usual clothing, furniture, jewelry, toys, tools, I discovered scrubs, gumball machines, vintage clothing, 50 different models of vacuum cleaners, and parking meters offered at basement prices. Maybe I could buy a couple of the meters to encourage those guests who don’t know when to leave. (Is it even legal to sell these?)

             

David can sniff out the sales like a bear after honey, and he loves to browse the bargains. During yard sale season, he disappears for hours at a stretch.

            

 “I thought you were picking up a valve at OSH,” I might mention casually, glancing at the tools strewn about a still-leaking sprinkler in the lawn.

           

 “Come see the egg incubator I found over on Western. It was free!” He grins. “I’m going to make a coffee table for the living room.”

            

 I’ll believe it when I see it, but suppose there’s certain symmetry to his idea since the directions to our house include “across from the yellow chicken coop.” And I agree, “free” is unbeatable. 

            

 David’s attitude is, “If I buy it, I need it.” And often it’s true. The strange bits of architectural odds and ends wind up in the theatrical sets he builds. His office has the feel of a traveling minstrel show, decorated with old steamer trunks, collections of masks and theater posters—all terrific secondhand buys.

             

Now and then, I enjoy bargain hunting, too. My favorite find is a larger-than-life sculpture of The Who in concert created by Healdsburg artist Martin Kiff, that we recently picked up for a song (Teenage Wasteland). But I try not to spend on things I don’t need. How much of a bargain is it a couple of years later if I have to pay to haul it to the dump? Right now, the carport is filled with my damaged doll house no one is going to fix, the same yoghurt maker I sold in 1980, a set of hideous plastic chairs, David’s bike rack that doesn’t fit the car, the kids’ blood-dripping Halloween stuff from the ‘80s, and best of all: my mom’s complete Encyclopedia Britannica circa 1955, in it’s own case. Recycle Town, here I come—and I’m not taking David on this errand.

             

I’m putting my foot down—my feng shui practitioner accuses us of stagnating ch’i from too much stuff. So keep on the lookout for our ad in the paper now that it’s yard sale season—we’ll make you a great deal on an entertainment center.

 

PS: I never made it to Recycle Town but my complete set of  

Encyclopedia Britannica circa 1955

makes a great altar to 

Knowledge and a Successful Writing Career

The Loud Quiet

In all the years I lived in cities, I never had a problem sleeping—traffic, sirens, dogs barking, doors banging, people yelling, loud music—I slept through it all.  It wasn’t until after I moved to the quiet of Sonoma County that sleep eluded me. I was staying up later than usual, cramming to complete the work for my M.A. degree. Over the tap-tap-tap of my keyboard, I often heard a little party going on in the wall between our two bathrooms. The rustling, scrabbling and peeping sounds would start about midnight, just when I was putting my thesis to bed.

“We have rats in the walls,” I announced one morning at the breakfast table.

“No we don’t. You’re imagining it,” my husband said.

“How would you know? You’re asleep by the time the party starts.”

“I’ll look into it,” he said and stuck his nose back into his morning paper.

The fiesta continued. Word got around and all the neighborhood rats showed up, while my husband slept on, and the bags under my eyes started carrying backpacks. Lying in bed, I listened to the raucous rats and brooded over the endless stream of ideas that were not materializing onto paper. 

Sleep deprived, I wondered if I was hallucinating from exhaustion when I noticed tiny red dots move on the bathroom walls.

“David, there are red dots crawling around our bathroom. Some kind of mite. I think they’re coming from the rats.”

“There aren’t any rats.”

The rats hired a DJ. The reddish dots danced around the electrical outlet, crawled into the towels, and lounged in our bathrobes hanging on the back of the door. I developed a rash that covered my mid-section and looked like measles. I itched. My husband snored and I scratched and thrashed, keeping my head under the pillow so I wouldn’t have to listen to the drunken brawl going on inside the wall. Did I hear those rats laughing at me?

My husband finally heard the rats about the time the rash covered a significant portion of my torso and my insomnia complained it was sleep deprived. He set traps; the party quieted down, but I remained wakeful. In between tosses and turns, I heard the thwack of the trap springing above my head in the crawl space.

Eventually, night-time silence returned; the red dots vanished and I didn’t itch from their bites anymore. Bedtime became my favorite time, that is, until the owl moved into the barn. Hoo-hoo. Hoo-hoo, all night long.

“Be grateful. Owls eat rodents,” David said brightly.

The owl moved over to the neighbor’s apple orchard and our young cat took over rodent control in the yard. A good hunter, she shared every success by carrying her live catches into the bedroom for praise and play. Have you ever heard a mouse scream? No sleep that night! Can you sleep with birds flapping into the walls over your head, their downy feathers floating up your nose? And who could sleep through the scrabble-hiss of gophers attempting to dig their way below the carpet? I started running a midnight catch-and-release program, not being able to kill those hapless creatures.

I’d finally started sleeping through the sounds of the night when David reported a strange nocturnal bark. Armed with a flashlight, he investigated, returning to bed to swear that the creature stood up on two legs and flew away, emitting its hoarse call.

“I think it was a chupacabra.”

“There are no chupacabras. They’re imaginary,” I said and rolled over into slumberland.

But the story bothered me. I’d heard about the mythical beast that lived off the blood of farm animals. I wouldn’t let my old deaf dog outside after dark. Several nights later, David and I were both outside with flashlights. The rasping bark sounded first from the bottom of the yard by the creek and came toward us. I clutched my husband’s arm. Then suddenly, two grey foxes and their tiny cub bolted under the gate into the lane.

The foxes moved on, and after almost a decade of living in the shadow of Sonoma Mountain, I’ve come to love my noisy nocturnal neighbors. I still have restless nights, but they are rare. Although sometime I’ll tell you about the frogs in the hot tub.

Shining Moments, or How I found Love in Petaluma

Catching up on email this morning, I found an announcement about this year’s Butter and Egg Days, “Petaluma’s Shining Moments.” I went to the Petaluma Downtown Association website, www.petalumadowntown.com to check out the event and reminisced about my first Butter and Egg Day.

By 2001, I’d had it with Marvelous Marin. Between the gridlock and oblivious drivers, I battled every time I went out, and the all-pervasive “Me” attitude of my neighbors, my county had become a hostile, foreign place. I wanted a slower paced life—a garden, birdsong, quiet.

Why not Petaluma? I remembered Petaluma from the seventies, when we piled into someone’s car to attend movies at the Mystic, and later, to Rock ‘n Roll the night away. My mom owned a store in the Great Petaluma Mill when it first converted to retail. I hitched a ride through Nicasio to work for her twice a week and fell in love with stately D Street. In those days, the area was more farmland than suburbs, and chickens still lived in chicken coops, but by the beginning of the new millennium, Petaluma had more going for it than my town. Mine didn’t even have a bookstore.

“I mean, how many times can you be run off the road by a cell phone-wielding soccer mom in a Hummer? I’m moving to Sonoma County,” I announced to my best friend over our biscuits and gravy at the Two Niner Diner. “And I’m starting by hooking up with that guy I met on-line.”

 “You’re crazy! He might be a serial killer.”

“He sounded nice. Anyway, we’ll meet somewhere in public. It’ll be a great opportunity to get to know the area.”

David-from-Petaluma called me on Monday night to arrange our first date the following Saturday. “That’s Butter and Egg Day. The town will be mobbed. Let’s meet after the parade.”

An old-fashioned hometown parade? Oh, boy! But I agreed that it would be too hard to meet a blind date in a crowd. He suggested the Tea Room Café on Western.

What does one wear to a tearoom? Hat and heels? I wanted to look hot—make an impression. Saturday dawned overcast and I tossed aside the sundress and sorted through my closet in hopes of finding something to wear that would keep me warm without looking like I was on winter expedition. I settled on the old standard, jeans—I was going to a western town, wasn’t I?

As David had said, Petaluma was jammed with people. I found parking near City Hall and wandered toward Kentucky through streams of folk (also wearing jeans, I was relieved to note) leaving the parade route. I wasn’t exactly sure where the restaurant was located, but I noticed a crowd relaxing at tables on the sidewalk across the street from where I stood and saw the sign: Tea Room Cafe.

I started to cross the street. Anxiety instantly attacked my stomach. What on earth was I doing? Me, a middle-aged woman dolled up in tight jeans and cute shoes to impress some strange David-from-Petaluma who was probably a serial killer!

Run away. Run away! My mind admonished me, but the patrons of the Tea Room appeared to be in high spirits. The place looked fun. The waitress was laughing and relaxed. The coffee smelled delicious. I stepped up onto the curb.

You’ll never find him. Go home, that recreant voice in my head shouted. I shifted my weight to turn back toward my car.

“Ana?”

A pleasant-looking, bearded man smiled and held out a metal bistro chair at his table. I liked his wavy chestnut-colored hair, flowing down his back, and the way his skin crinkled around his eyes.

“Hi, David,” I said and sat down. “How are you?”

“Happy to be in the world.”

Serial killers aren’t happy, I told the petty-spirited voice, still nattering behind my consciousness.

“So what’s Butter and Egg Day about?” I asked.

Petaluma might not spread the news of David-from-Petaluma and my attendance as one of its shining butter-and-egg moments, but Butter and Egg Day 2001 shines in our lives. Three years later, we celebrated our marriage with a country barbeque on our own gopher field (flat shoes only) in the shadow of Sonoma Mountain.