Searching for Sun -- flowers, that is

Written Monday night:

Dear Family,

Zing and I drove to the small town of Winters this afternoon, searching for sunflowers. I went there last August to meet friends (Susan! Carol!), and in my memory sunflowers lined the roads, but I think they were gone to seed. So now, a month earlier,  they’d be in their prime, right? But no sunflowers met us today. Maybe they grow and die quickly or maybe I took the wrong road. I’m still searching. 

Winters is a bright, hot little place, and I’m glad we went. 

Written Tuesday night:

Today Zing and I found our sunflowers — on a straight, empty country road in Yolo County,* near Winters, where we searched in vain yesterday. These flowers are bigger than the ones you buy in the grocery store or flower stall — each one about half the length of Zing. And, no, I didn’t take even one! But I did stop at Safeway to buy a bunch on the way home.

*I learned that Yolo County provides seeds for cultivation around the world. 

Love,

k

Winters, CA: Across the street from,City Hall

Yolo County sunflower field. I am facing west, and the flowers are turned east

Sunflower Dog

Chamber music

Written last night: 

Dear Friends,

It’s getting dark and the crows are sounding outside my open windows. I am getting used to their call — it’s not pretty, but it’s supposed to be meaningful. There were crows, of course, in Florida, but I never paid attention because there were so many other beautiful bird sounds.

Tonight I worked on a collage of the sun. Earlier today I got my hair cut and, before that, listened to chamber music at the church down the street. I sat in a back pew and made these drawings of a musician and of people listening — then a friend sat down beside me, so I put away my Sharpie and little notebook. Drawings like these are supposed to be done alone, I think.

Love,

k

We gaze at a hawk

Written last night:

Zing and I drove to Davis, CA, around noon today so we will know the way when we go to the UC Davis Veterinary school Monday morning. The town is less than a half-hour from Sacramento, but a world different. I read somewhere it has 50,000 + residents, but it’s got the feel of a small college town. Very few stoplights, many four-way stop intersections. Blocks and blocks of busy shops and crowded on-street parking. Rows of charming apartments and houses. That’s what we drove through on the way out of town. 

But first we headed to the vet school, which includes several large buildings (equine, small and large animal, etc.) and a people-sized animal hospital. It’s adjacent to an extensive garden with secluded paths and an arboretum. Zing and I couldn’t resist taking a long walk, which was wild with squirrels, and even one large rabbit hopped our way. We were in heaven. Before we headed home I took Zing to a dog park (Got to tire that dog out!) that was part of a grassy sports complex edged by an elementary and a high school. Duh! What a great location for schools. I chatted with Tina, an 81-year-old whose hands shook with Parkinson’s. She's a living history of the city of Davis, having been in real estate there 45 years. (She said she’s selling her last house right now.) She had much to say about the town’s development. Obviously, she loves the place. So do I. 

Then -- you know how it is when you get home — packages and mail and dog collars and keys all need attention — so I was distracted when I walked into the bedroom to store a box of curtain hooks that had just arrived. As I walked across the room to put the box down, I glanced out the sliding glass door to the balcony. There, on my shabby rattan coffee table sat a large bird staring in at me. At first I thought it was an owl, and I stepped back to the bed and kept my eyes on it, motioning for Zing to stay back. He jumped up on the mattress with me and stared at the motionless bird. By this time tears were streaming down my face because I thought it was Clark returned to us in the guise of an owl. Then I realized it must be a hawk. I really didn’t care. For 20 minutes, or maybe a half-hour, I looked at the owl’s eyes and he looked (or seemed to) at me, and Zing stood motionless looking straight ahead as well. I have never gazed before, not really. 

Finally I broke the spell and went for my camera and also my sketchbook; he/she was still there when I returned, so for another long time we stared at each other again. 

Except for turning its head right and left to show off its formidable beak, the bird did not show any inclination to move, let alone leave. 

I have to admit I couldn’t keep up the intensity, or maybe we’d be there still. I hadn’t had lunch, so I went out to the kitchen and opened a bag of popcorn. How low-life of me! When I looked out the window again, all I could see of the hawk was a clutch of feathers clinging to the railing. 

Love,
k

River respite and a purple bathtub

Written last night:

This afternoon Zing and I explored the long narrow path along the American River at Paradise Beach with Melanie and her lab Remy. We walked for more than an hour up and back. Melanie threw a plastic bone into the water and Remy splashed in to get it. Zing stayed mostly at water’s edge, sniffing and rolling in the dust. Melanie showed me a video she took along the river recently of a large seal catching salmon. I would like to see a seal.

Now I’m tired, in that good way exercise makes you feel. I’m out of shape! Tomorrow, yoga!

Also today: more boring stuff: I’m still getting intimate with numbers and passwords. Flipping your life takes time and patience.

Over the weekend I chatted with a man who lives in the building. He was loading stuff into a car parked out front. I thought he told me he was going to Birmingham. What’s that, a town near here? “No,” he said patiently. “Burning Man.” It’s a week of freeness in Nevada, where, I think, everyone is supposed to contribute some art to share. “I’m doing Purple Rain,” he said, “Right now I’m trying to fit a purple bathtub into my car.” 

I want a purple couch — and now I know someone who has a purple bathtub!

Love, 

k