It’s Not Wine and Roses, It’s Wine and FOOD!

The days drift into fall and we anticipate enjoying the fruits of the vines that have been ripening for months in the sun. The weather that was fickle all summer sent contradictory messages to the budding grapes. Growers and winemakers cast dubious eyes at them, questioning in their minds as to what the final outcome would be.But finally the day dawns and it is harvest. Picking starts early right at sunrise. The workers can’t resist taking a taste as they snip away freeing the clusters from their prison of vines. And it tastes good!

Soon it is time for the harvest parties, some great noisy affairs, others more genteel. We join the group at Per Cazo Cellars on a balmy Sunday afternoon to sit with friends by the pool and sample the fine wine.

Per Cazo, means “by chance” and many of us share the same story having stumbled upon the place during the summer, by chance. A pleasant discovery to find  this small family winery run by Lynne and Dave Teckman that sits adjacent to a bubbling creek amidst the oak trees.

Today we sample five new releases starting with a blend of three white Rhone varietals, Grenache Blanc, Roussanne, and Viognier called Tres Blanc. We pair this with an interesting cheese that has bits of apricot in it.

Then we go on to the Reds, ZinG, a blend of Zinfandel and Grenache, Epi Telos, that blends Grenache, Mourvedre, and Syrah, and Confluent, blending Cabernet Sauvignon, Petit Verdot, and Cabernet Franc. We enjoy this with outstanding cuisine created by Master Chef, Nanette Smalley of Simply Delicious.

Nanette serves us pork tenderloin with plum sauce, a salad of quinoa (a grain), lentils, celery root in white wine vinegar with bleu cheese, a boysenberry/cheese tart, and a piece of heavenly chocolate.

We top off our repast with Per Cazo’s Late Harvest selection that is 100% Zinfandel. Actually not only the chocolate is heavenly, the whole spread is!

Time slips by and we are enjoying the company, sharing our choices of our favorite wines and wineries, and finding out little bits about the lives of these new friends that we have met today. Even Matti the Teckman’s dog gets into the groove.

We wish we could stay longer. One day we will because the Teckman’s don’t just have a wine business. There is a cozy bed and breakfast here too. Next time we’ll plan an overnight or a weekend at Creekside B&B – along with wine tasting, of course! You should try it too!

Fall, Season of Color

It slips in quietly one night in the wee hours of September, barely noticed, on an unusually warm breeze. No one realizes at first, but then slowly it becomes obvious that something has changed. The long languid days of summer are gone. It’s Fall.

Charged up now with the days becoming shorter, the temperature finally gives in and comes down a notch or two. Driving on the back country roads bring glimpses of color here and there. But Fall is subtle on the Central Coast of California and it takes some doing to search for its splendor.

Birds have no trouble finding the season’s gifts. They gorge themselves on berries until they dance in the sky with drunkenness. Beware blackberries, ollaliberries, boysenberries, and raspberries, you will be plucked until your vines are bare. People love them too and welcome these luscious fruits for pies and tarts.

The fields have all turned brown and gold, some alive with bright orange pumpkins. Farmstands do a brisk business selling this fruit that will grace the walkways, steps, and windows as jack-o-lanterns on Halloween. And there is corn and gourds and squashes galore.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The grape harvest is mostly done and vineyards begin to show the seasonal change too as wineries hold festivals and parties to celebrate.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s Fall, the season of color!

Jottings 7-4-10

Already it has happened. The hills that were Ireland green have gone a golden blond. Fields lie trimmed down with grasses drawn into rectangular building blocks and huge jelly rolls of hay dot the landscape. Soon the bundles will be drawn into barns to be parceled out to cattle and horses as the dry season draws out. The garden plants await a weekly drink and vegetable fields enjoy their daily drenching flowing from snakes of irrigation lines.

In North County the heat shimmers off the land by midday. Cows search for shade under the gnarled oak trees. People lounge in the pool while others zoom by on the freeway, blissful in refrigeration. Now the grapes are visible on the vines, the beans are sprouting, and soon even pumpkins will start to color the fields.

Roses do well in the heat. Massive bushes of them line the rows of grape vines. Not so by the coast where those that have been planted by immigrants from areas with warm summers struggle to survive in the cool, moist air. Roses, after all, are from the cactus family and more suited to desert-like climates.

Down on the coast the dense, impenetrable fog drifts up the coastal mountains painting everything in gray. Tourists decked out in shorts and tank tops run shivering into shops to buy sweatshirts. And everyone worries that fireworks will fade into the gloom.

The brief season of green is over.

Two distinct regions within 25 miles of each other, but two widely different climates. Even directly on the coast, pockets of balmy weather allow avocados and citrus to flourish.

This year the green came early to the fields thanks to the life giving rains that each year start later and later. And so we relished romping through fields of storkbill filaree, tiny yellow dandelions, and splashy orange poppies for a time. It was even delightful to see the dreaded oxalis sprouting in the lawns in town. Miles and miles of tall, yellow mustard plants grew by the roadsides. Now the stalks sway in the warm breezes, bleached of color, awaiting the blades of the mowing machines to knock them down to make the countryside safe from wildfire.

The small birds that were so busy just weeks ago nesting and raising young have already pushed their offspring out of the house and are settling back into small flocks that spend the early hours of the day searching for insects in the roadside scrub. The cats are eager to go out and join them, not for insect searching, but to sneak around and stalk trying for a catch. One must keep a watch at the window to yell at them should they get too close. "No birds!" There are unsuspecting gophers that need routing, but are not as enticing as the sparrow and the finches.

Four fat pigeons sit up on the wires and mourning doves join them, but not too close. All of them assess the birdfeeder on the balcony below. Is it filled with seed today? The doves are welcome, but one could do without the pigeons. Why don't they try New York?

Down on the waterfront the bay is calm in the morning and might stay that way all day now that the winds of spring have gone to rest for another year. But without the wind the marine layer hangs down and fog drifts back and forth across the water.

The sea and sky blend together into one great mass of grayness. The only splash of color comes from the red and green buoys in the channel. Boats head out for a day of fishing or whale watching. Tourists wake, and begin strolling the waterfront in search of breakfast. Shopkeepers open their doors.

It is finally summer on the coast of California.

The Day the Music Died - Reprise

I’ll never think of Cinco de Mayo in the same way. This is a celebration I wasn’t familiar with growing up in the northeastern part of the country, but after moving to California in the 60s I became acquainted with it and have enjoyed it every year since. But no more.

I thought the day the music died was the day Phil Ochs hung himself over the bathroom door in his sister’s house.

I thought the day the music died was when that damn idiot shot John Lennon for no reason at all.
I often thought the music had died every time someone I knew from the 60s music scene in Greenwich Village passed on way too early in their lives.

For me, the music died on Cinco de Mayo this year when my wonderful friend Steven Richard See succumbed to melanoma.

I moved west with the Ochs and others from the folk music world in 1968 when the recording industry gave up on Manhattan and relocated to Los Angeles. Oddly enough Los Angeles didn’t offer me the musical world I was accustomed to. I searched for it but it seemed to have disappeared. Eventually I gave up looking. Until I came to Morro Bay. Lo and behold, here was the folk music/singer-songwriter world I was missing. Predominant among the offerings were the intimate little concerts held at Coalesce Book Store and put on by some guy who billed them as The Cambria Hoot.

I was one of the predominant writers for a pulp called San Luis Obispo County Magazine. I wrote about nature, agriculture, art, and music. One day Steve called me, came over to the house, and we talked folk music for hours. Then we talked about our cats. He told me how he fed the strays no matter where he lived. A cat man is definitely someone special.

A friendship was forged and I wrote articles about the concerts he was promoting.

In 2007 I was stricken with breast cancer. It was a blow and I wasn’t sure I would survive, but most of all, I had no idea how I was going to manage to continue to work. Since I am a freelance writer, I have no employer supplied benefits and have no independent disability insurance. My choices were to do nothing about the cancer and continue to work or treat the cancer, disabling myself, and starve to death with no money. I needed help.

Two friends in particular came through for me and Steve was one of them. As a cancer survivor himself, he knew what I was going through. He put on a fantastic fundraiser for me. He asked Dave Stamey to perform and donate the proceeds to me. Dave, the best Western music performer ever, agreed. The money raised by that concert kept me going for more than a year.

To say I was grateful is an immense understatement.Since that time, Steve kept in touch with me, calling every few months if he didn’t see me at a concert or at the post office, checking up on me to make sure I was okay. He told me to come to any concert, free of charge. I never took him up on that. And of course, we would talk about our cats.

Ultimately I ran out of money. He called one day and I said, “I think I have to file bankruptcy.” He replied, “do it!” Then proceeded to tell me of his own adventure down that road.

A couple months ago he called me. I was glad because I hadn’t seen him around or at the post office and I wondered why. When he told me the reason, I was just dismayed. How could that cancer come back after so long. We talked about his options and I didn’t want to think that there weren’t any. His concern was twofold – for his mother and he said, for two friends who needed money help. I was one of the two. He still wanted to do some kind of fundraiser again. I remember telling him that his concern had to be himself and what could be done to combat this awful cancer. Then we talked about our cats, like we always had before.

I received one more call from him. His opening comment when he called was “How are you doing? Are things better?” Not a comment about himself. I had to ask how he was and things did not sound good. Again he reiterated how awful he felt for his mother, who it appeared would have to endure losing a son. I didn’t want to believe it. I wouldn’t accept it. And what about the cats?

On April 21^st I suffered a stubborn irregular heartbeat that gave me a ride in the ambulance and a stay at French Hospital. When finally released, but unstable still, I came home and dialed Steve’s number. Fortunate for me, he answered. He asked how I was and I told him of my latest episode. “But I want to know about you,” I said. I could tell from the sound of his voice, it wasn’t good news.I knew he was surrounded by friends and everyone was helping. I wished I was in better shape myself so I could spend some time with him, but it wasn’t to be.

I got the e-mail announcing the “final” hoot concert. How could there be a final Hoot? The e-mail said Steve wouldn’t be there. I couldn’t imagine never attending another Hoot concert. Who will carry on the music?

Cinco de Mayo dawned. Sometime during that day, Steve made his transition from this planet.

I didn’t cry immediately. I just couldn’t believe I would never talk to him again. I wandered around my house with my skippy-beating heart trying to comprehend. I thought about all he did for people. How he made sure the music kept coming and never made much money on the enterprise. I called up in my mind what his voice sounded like. I remembered every one of our conversations.

About the music.

About politics.

About money.

About the cats.

Oh the cats!

Who will feed the cats? Who will feed the cats? Who will feed the cats?

Wildflower Season

The last really good year for wildflowers on the Central Coast of California was 2005. Photographers waited these long five years for another spectacular display and this year the rains did their job and we have been blessed by blooms everywhere. People suffering from allergies were miserable but couldn't help exclaiming that it was worth it.

This was the first year since my spinal fusion surgery that I ventured out to take shots of the blooms. Back in '05 I was still able to get down on the ground to get those intimate and close-up views, but no more. So it meant I had to get creative in order to take the shots I wanted.

First of all, I didn't have to go too far to try a new method. A short trot down the street I found wildflowers in abundance at the Presbyterian Church. I decided to just stick the camera in amongst the blooms and take the shot and see what would happen. The results were interesting. So I ventured a little farther down that road to the State Park.

Here I found some nice flowers but getting to them required a bit of ingenuity and prayer on my part, hoping not to stick my foot in a gopher hole and break my ankle or pick up a tick. The results here were not too bad either.

Now you have to have a liking for ANY wildflower in this area and that includes Oxalis. Most serious gardeners and people with lovely green lawns hate the stuff, but you have to agree it makes a showy display when it is at it's height. I suppose I can be smug since my gardener got it out of my garden, but don't ask me how he did it. At any rate, since it was abundantly growing everywhere, I included it in my photographic efforts.

Well, the time came for me to take my photo students out to shoot wildflowers, so one fine Spring day we drove out Route 58 to Shell Creek Road and joined the throngs of people cavorting among miles and miles of yellow, purple, and blue wildflowers.

My students set right to it throwing themselves down flat and focusing closely on Tidy Tips, Owl's clover, Baby Blue Eyes, and tiny white flowers for which I have no name. I took lots of overall shots and then set up my camp stool and my tiny low-to-the ground tripod. Mounted the camera on the tripod, leaned over, and pushed the button. Views of the blooms from insect's perspective registered on my data card.

Now I have to tell you this is not the same as doing serious macro photography, but the one thing it did for me was allow me to break out of a mold and take some photos that I might never have thought to try. Sometimes one's disabilities open up all kinds of possibilities.So here is my wildflower season of 2010. Enjoy!

It's next to impossible to get these images in on this miserable Blogger where I want them so bear with me.









Sometimes its best to type some text and then place the photos -- sometimes, but not always, this works! It isn't working this time, sorry!

The Wind and the Waves

Montana de Oro is a park with over 8000 acres of rugged cliffs, secluded sandy beaches, streams, canyons, coastal plains, and hills. “Mountain of Gold” is the English translation for this naturalist and backpacker heaven

The name came from Irene McAlister a former property owner who fancied finding black gold in the hills. Her ranch and prospective oil field went bankrupt in the 60’s and the state purchased the lands. But even the State Parks offer the flower explanation for the name, officially stating that “Mountain of Gold comes from the golden wildflowers that bloom in spring.”

Hiking is probably the most popular activity at the park and there are numerous trails to try. One of the easiest is the Bluffs Trail. Here there are great views of the park’s eroded marine terraces and its offshore sea stack, Grotto Rock. The flat trail winds along the top of Montana de Oro’s shale and sediment bluffs that are constantly being formed and reformed by the pounding ocean.

At low tide Corallina Cove has tidepools with ochre sea stars, urchins, anemones, and sea snails. Harbor seals lounge on the rocks and sea otters bob around in the surf.

Valencia Peak is the tallest spot in the park. It is two miles to the top of the peak at an elevation of 1,347 feet. On a clear day the view extends from Point Sal in the South to Piedras Blancas in the north.

Other trails are the Coon Creek that follows the creek and has coastal sage scrub alongside, with oak and pine woodlands on the steep side slopes. Another popular walk is to Hazard Reef where through coastal scrub and sand dunes to the beach.

At Spooner’s Cove, located right across from the Visitor Center, enjoy the ocean and watch as waves surge through the colorful rock outcroppings. Here you can practice photographing the waves trying both stop action and motion. Enjoy!

The Problem with Plastic

When I first came to California I took a job doing public relations for the plastics industry. Plastic was touted as the most significant invention of the modern era. It literally changed our lives, replacing glass, paper, fabric, and metal in many cases. Take a look around your house and see how much plastic is there.

While plastic has in many cases made our lives easier, it has turned out to be a death sentence for many species of wildlife. That fact came home to me recently while working on a project about plastic trash. I needed to find, or take, photos of birds and mammals affected by plastic and trash in our waterways. I am happy to say that this turned out to be a very difficult assignment, at least in the Morro Bay, California area.

Searching the internet I turned up those awful photos of the albatross that had died and decomposed showing the bits and pieces of plastic that they had ingested. In some of the shots you can see whole cigarette lighters were in their stomachs. Where on earth could they have gotten them and why did they eat them?

Maybe you’ve heard of it. The great North Pacific Gyre. It’s located out in the middle of the northern Pacific Ocean and it is about the size of the state of Texas and growing every day. It is an enormous revolving mass of trash. A gyre is a swirl, an eddy, a spin, a whirlpool that revolves around and around in the same spot. Where does all this trash, most of it plastic, come from? US!

Every item washed down the drains, down the rivers and creeks, or thrown upon the beaches, or accumulating in our landfills inevitably travels out to sea, and with the currents, ends up in this whirlpool of garbage.

Now we recycle plastic objects all the time, or at least I hope we do. But some types of plastic are not recyclable, get thrown in the trash, and either never biodegrade, or take so long to decompose that they might as well be considered indestructible. This is the problem with plastic.

You’ve all seen pictures of sea lions with some kind of line wrapped around their necks. Most of the time that line is plastic fishing line. If it is not removed it will eventually cut into the flesh of the animal causing infection that can kill. Cast away pieces of fishing gear are a problem in our waterways.

While taking a group of participants at the Morro Bay Winter Bird Festival on a cruise of the bay this fact became all too evident when we turned our binoculars on a double-crested cormorant perched on a floating dock. Look carefully at the photo at the top of this article. It is of that cormorant. You will see protruding from its left wing some whitish line entangled around the bird’s wing. It’s fishing line. I asked the captain of our vessel if he sees a lot of problems with plastic in the bay and he said only birds with hooks and fishing line attached. He sees that all the time.

Fishing line isn’t the only plastic problem here. Those plastic six-pack holders also end up encircling birds’ necks. And now we’ve heard that the styrene food containers that you get at restaurants for your leftovers or at the take-out food establishments are really a menace. Styrene eventually breaks up into little tiny bits of plastic that look just like fish food. I think you can see where this is going. Even plankton, the most minute of organisms, ingest plastic. Plankton is the base of the food chain in the ocean and is the one food that feeds a majority of sea creatures from the smallest fish on up to the largest whale. Imagine what these bits of plastic are doing to all these creatures.

This is a global problem. The garbage in the North Pacific Gyre will never go away. It only grows larger. And there are four more gyres in other sections of the Pacific. There are 11 other gyres spread in oceans around the world. All full of man’s garbage.

We refer to our planet as the water world. Will we one day be better known as the trash world. It is beyond reversing the problem that already exists, but it certainly is not beyond keeping it from growing. Each individual must take the responsibility for stopping this problem. What can you do? Here are just a few suggestions. Try to think of more.

Ask the restaurants you frequent to switch to biodegradable take-out containers.
Stop using plastic grocery bags.
Make sure your fishing gear stays out of the water.
And recycle, recycle, recycle!
We do not have to become a garbage planet.

Here's another photo showing just one of the waterfront problems with plastic and garbage. This industrious gull worked hard to capture this plastic bag full of our trash!







And then there was this pelican dumpster diving . . .