Volume X I February/March 2013
The Sonoma Coast - Eternal Seascape
The Sonoma Coast - Eternal Seascape
by Donna Gaetano
“The sea is emotion incarnate. It loves, hates, and weeps.
It defies all attempts to capture it with words and rejects all shackles. No matter
what you say about it, there is always that which you can't.”
― Christopher Paolini, Eragon
The Sonoma Coast is spectacular. The land spoons the shoreline...a perfect fit. Families play on the beach and hike the bluffs high above the ocean. Treasures lie on the damp sand waiting to be discovered.
The sea calls to me because it never bores. The time of day, the light quality, and the wind's strength combine to constantly paint a different canvas. Warrior waves gather vigor and rise toward the shore. As they reach their destination, they dissolve into a delicate lace tapestry and then into a thick, foamy froth covering the wet sand.
The light changes from bright to a moody gray as the clouds pass by the sun, softening and becoming luminous as the day lengthens. As the sun lowers in the sky, the waves and sand are warmed to tones of pink, peach, soft yellow and gold.
The primal rhythm of the sea's ebb and flow comforts like a mother's heartbeat. The steady, low melody of the waves' song hypnotizes me and rivets me to the present moment.
I leave restored and reconnected to the eternal. It's why I return again and again.
Volume X November/December 2012
Mono Lake - Respite for the Soul
Dedicated to the Sandy Hook Elementary School victims and their Families
by Donna Gaetano
I visited Mono Lake in October 2012. As I was writing this blog entry,
the terrible news from Sandy Hook Elementary School reached me.
No words can give peace. But I hope that the families of the victims, when
they are ready, seek sustenance for their souls in places like Mono Lake.
If the sight of the blue skies fills you with joy, if a blade of grass springing up in the fields
has power to move you, if the simple things of nature have a message that you understand,
rejoice, for your soul is alive. ~ Eleonora Duse ~
[Nature] has given me blessed release from care and worry and the troubled thinking of our modern day.
It has been a return to the primitive and the peaceful.
~ Hamlin Garland, McClure's, February 1899 ~
When our days are rocked by horrific events like the Sandy Hook Elementary School murders, we cannot forget to feed our souls, our spiritual centers. The natural world is a respite from unthinkable acts.
Mono Lake is a natural treasure that soothes the soul. I am awestruck by the timeless look of the enormous flat, blue plane of water guarded by sage-brushed mountains formed in a volcanic kiln.
The scene is ancient and pierces my heart. Mono Lake has graced the earth for a mind-boggling 1,000,000 years, patiently watching mankind parade by its timeless shores.
I drive down the windy highway, through the Wild West landscape, and follow the signs to the southern shore of Mono Lake where the tufa towers reside.
As I reach the shore, I see limestone spires that herald a surreal, otherworldly terrain. The tufa structures reflect in the tranquil, glassy blue water.
In an intricate, evolutionary dance of life, thousands of buzzing, alkali flies provide food for millions of migratory birds that land on the lake each year. The salty, alkaline lake provides a unique environment for the evolution of this vital link in the food chain.
The sun warms my back and the quiet eases my spirit. The searing pain of loss, the unending questions of what causes evil, the fear and anger that consumes so much of our lives recedes, if only for a few minutes.
I visited Mono Lake in October 2012. As I was writing this blog entry,
the terrible news from Sandy Hook Elementary School reached me.
No words can give peace. But I hope that the families of the victims, when
they are ready, seek sustenance for their souls in places like Mono Lake.
If the sight of the blue skies fills you with joy, if a blade of grass springing up in the fields
has power to move you, if the simple things of nature have a message that you understand,
rejoice, for your soul is alive. ~ Eleonora Duse ~
[Nature] has given me blessed release from care and worry and the troubled thinking of our modern day.
It has been a return to the primitive and the peaceful.
~ Hamlin Garland, McClure's, February 1899 ~
When our days are rocked by horrific events like the Sandy Hook Elementary School murders, we cannot forget to feed our souls, our spiritual centers. The natural world is a respite from unthinkable acts.
Mono Lake is a natural treasure that soothes the soul. I am awestruck by the timeless look of the enormous flat, blue plane of water guarded by sage-brushed mountains formed in a volcanic kiln.
The scene is ancient and pierces my heart. Mono Lake has graced the earth for a mind-boggling 1,000,000 years, patiently watching mankind parade by its timeless shores.
I drive down the windy highway, through the Wild West landscape, and follow the signs to the southern shore of Mono Lake where the tufa towers reside.
As I reach the shore, I see limestone spires that herald a surreal, otherworldly terrain. The tufa structures reflect in the tranquil, glassy blue water.
In an intricate, evolutionary dance of life, thousands of buzzing, alkali flies provide food for millions of migratory birds that land on the lake each year. The salty, alkaline lake provides a unique environment for the evolution of this vital link in the food chain.
The sun warms my back and the quiet eases my spirit. The searing pain of loss, the unending questions of what causes evil, the fear and anger that consumes so much of our lives recedes, if only for a few minutes.
Volume IX September/October 2012
Bodie, California
Bodie, California
by Donna Gaetano
I drive up the windy, narrow road on a pitch-black Saturday morning. My destination is the old mining town of Bodie, California. I've come for an early morning entry to the Bodie State Historic Park for photographers. As I drive, my headlights catch the reflectors that snake along the road causing slitted, unblinking golden eyes to stare back at me. Eerie.
Dawn begins to paint the sky pink. I see silver-gray outlines of looming mountains dotted with black clumps of sagebrush. This is the Wild West landscape of every Western movie I watched as a child. I imagine a row of Native Americans in full battle regalia on the ridge of a steep mountain. I visualize a row of wagons, horses straining uphill, climbing slowly toward Bodie.
My mind bounces back to the present as the paved road ends and I bump and jump along the dusty, rutted road. After a few miles, Bodie appears. The town looks lonely and isolated in its valley surrounded by High Sierra mountains. I drive in, park, and begin exploring.
Time in Bodie is suspended. Ramshackle buildings with vacant windowed eyes stare toward the mountains, looking for the miners to return. Empty church pews face toward the altar and a quiet organ. Dusty school books lay on a desk untouched. The wares of the general store fill the shelves. Apothecary jars glow in the clear, early sunlight. An alabaster coffin, luminescent in the autumn light, waits for an occupant.
Bodie bides its time, waiting for life to return.
I drive up the windy, narrow road on a pitch-black Saturday morning. My destination is the old mining town of Bodie, California. I've come for an early morning entry to the Bodie State Historic Park for photographers. As I drive, my headlights catch the reflectors that snake along the road causing slitted, unblinking golden eyes to stare back at me. Eerie.
Dawn begins to paint the sky pink. I see silver-gray outlines of looming mountains dotted with black clumps of sagebrush. This is the Wild West landscape of every Western movie I watched as a child. I imagine a row of Native Americans in full battle regalia on the ridge of a steep mountain. I visualize a row of wagons, horses straining uphill, climbing slowly toward Bodie.
My mind bounces back to the present as the paved road ends and I bump and jump along the dusty, rutted road. After a few miles, Bodie appears. The town looks lonely and isolated in its valley surrounded by High Sierra mountains. I drive in, park, and begin exploring.
Time in Bodie is suspended. Ramshackle buildings with vacant windowed eyes stare toward the mountains, looking for the miners to return. Empty church pews face toward the altar and a quiet organ. Dusty school books lay on a desk untouched. The wares of the general store fill the shelves. Apothecary jars glow in the clear, early sunlight. An alabaster coffin, luminescent in the autumn light, waits for an occupant.
Bodie bides its time, waiting for life to return.
Volume V I I I August 2012
Angel Island - "The Moon Lady Shines on Me"
Angel Island - "The Moon Lady Shines on Me"
by Donna Gaetano
The night is cool as I lie stiff in the steel bunk.
Before the window the moon lady shines on me.
Bored, I get up and stand beneath the cold window.
Sadly, I count the time that's elapsed. It is already mid-autumn.
Poem written by Chinese immigrant detainee on wall of Angel Island detention center
Stories are embedded in the peeling paint, the rusty light fixtures, and the silent halls of Angel Island's aged buildings. Abandoned barracks stare with vacant eyes toward the gilded shores of San Francisco and Marin County. Soldiers’ voices, dating back to the Civil War, permeate deserted billets. Sounds of frustration and boredom mix with boisterous back-and-forth joking: soldiers waiting to go to war.
A baseball field overlooks the blue waters of the San Francisco Bay. Visions and sounds of the past appear: faraway shouts of excitement, the distant crack of a bat, and the muffled thump of a ball into a leather mitt. A last game before shipping out.
A 108 year-old hospital known as “Building 82” stands stolidly, having survived the ravages of time. As the eucalyptus sway in the sea breeze, faint, high-pitched moans of pain and despair emanate from the hospital.
The most haunting voices come from the immigration center where five hundred thousand immigrants were processed, including Japanese “picture brides” and Russians fleeing the Bolshevik Revolution. Detention periods ranged from overnight to more than a year. Three hundred thousand were detained; one third were Chinese. The Chinese were detained longer than other immigrants because of racist laws that “protect[ed] the jobs of white workers” against “the Yellow Peril.”
Tearful eyes once stared out at the views we freely enjoy today. Sit quietly, listen for their voices, and honor the communities that came before us.
Volume V I I July 2012
GAY PRIDE PARADE - San Francisco 2012
GAY PRIDE PARADE - San Francisco 2012
by Donna Gaetano
The vibe was upbeat, boisterous, happy, and gloriously San Francisco.
Families, community groups, church members, veterans, first responders, politicians, and many cultures and ethnicities marched in the recent San Francisco Gay Pride Parade. Free speech reigned as marchers held placards, banners, and hand-written signs extolling their views.
People marched proudly and joyously. Parade watchers cheered, smiled, and roared. Two gay men walked with their sons who carried rainbow flags. Line dancers, straight and gay, danced to twangy country music songs on an outdoor stage. Tots squealed excitedly as huge bouquets of pink balloons bobbed and weaved along the parade route. Veterans from every branch of the Armed Services saluted the crowd as they advanced down Market Street.
Along the parade route, everybody was watching each other. A homeless man, sitting on a green, PG&E generator, eyed a tiny dog, tie-dyed the colors of the rainbow flag. A beefy man, completely naked, his face painted with a bright yellow pattern, searched inside his satchel for some elusive item, while passers-by stared. Leather aficionados checked out each others sartorial choices. Tourists snapped pictures of exhibitionists who were only too happy to receive the attention.
While the Gay Pride Parade is an entertaining event and brings scores of people together to celebrate, San Francisco Pride, the non-profit that organizes the parade, has handed out grants in excess of $1.8 million to LGBT, HIV/AIDS, cancer, and animal welfare groups in the Bay Area. It's not just pride, community matters too.
Families, community groups, church members, veterans, first responders, politicians, and many cultures and ethnicities marched in the recent San Francisco Gay Pride Parade. Free speech reigned as marchers held placards, banners, and hand-written signs extolling their views.
People marched proudly and joyously. Parade watchers cheered, smiled, and roared. Two gay men walked with their sons who carried rainbow flags. Line dancers, straight and gay, danced to twangy country music songs on an outdoor stage. Tots squealed excitedly as huge bouquets of pink balloons bobbed and weaved along the parade route. Veterans from every branch of the Armed Services saluted the crowd as they advanced down Market Street.
Along the parade route, everybody was watching each other. A homeless man, sitting on a green, PG&E generator, eyed a tiny dog, tie-dyed the colors of the rainbow flag. A beefy man, completely naked, his face painted with a bright yellow pattern, searched inside his satchel for some elusive item, while passers-by stared. Leather aficionados checked out each others sartorial choices. Tourists snapped pictures of exhibitionists who were only too happy to receive the attention.
While the Gay Pride Parade is an entertaining event and brings scores of people together to celebrate, San Francisco Pride, the non-profit that organizes the parade, has handed out grants in excess of $1.8 million to LGBT, HIV/AIDS, cancer, and animal welfare groups in the Bay Area. It's not just pride, community matters too.
Volume VI June 2012
SONOMA HOT AIR BALLOON CLASSIC - "Adventure in a an Antique Mood"
SONOMA HOT AIR BALLOON CLASSIC - "Adventure in a an Antique Mood"
by Donna Gaetano
Ballooning appeals because it is more languorous and low-tech; it is adventure in an antique mood.
by Diane Ackerman, 'Traveling Light,' op-ed in the New York Times, 11 January 1997
The Sonoma County Hot Air Balloon Classic, held this past weekend in Windsor, California, is sheer magic. The event starts with a few pilots firing up their balloons in the cool air of predawn. As propane gas shoots a flame high into the inner recesses of the balloon, it rises quietly and ghost-like . As the balloon fully inflates and rises higher, the pilot, through some magic maneuver, causes the balloon to warmly glow against the dark sky. Spectacular.
As dawn approaches, more pilots appear and ready their balloons for later flights. The balloons are spread out on the fields looking like multi-colored oceans of fabric. As the crews ready for flight, the balloons slowly but surely expand into taut, richly colored orbs. One by one, each balloon glides into the sky, their brown wicker baskets filled with excited participants. The riders lean over to take pictures of the ground spectators, who look up to take pictures of the voyagers.
The gentle whoosh of gas filling the orb is the only sound the balloon makes as it transforms from flat, undulating cloth to its robust flight physique. People on the ground gradually crank their necks upward as the balloons gently float, one by one, skyward. Babies to grandparents share similar looks of delight and joy as they gaze wide-eyed at the flotilla of drifting balloons.
Community events bring us together, remind us of what we share, and if we are lucky, we experience wonder.
Ballooning appeals because it is more languorous and low-tech; it is adventure in an antique mood.
by Diane Ackerman, 'Traveling Light,' op-ed in the New York Times, 11 January 1997
The Sonoma County Hot Air Balloon Classic, held this past weekend in Windsor, California, is sheer magic. The event starts with a few pilots firing up their balloons in the cool air of predawn. As propane gas shoots a flame high into the inner recesses of the balloon, it rises quietly and ghost-like . As the balloon fully inflates and rises higher, the pilot, through some magic maneuver, causes the balloon to warmly glow against the dark sky. Spectacular.
As dawn approaches, more pilots appear and ready their balloons for later flights. The balloons are spread out on the fields looking like multi-colored oceans of fabric. As the crews ready for flight, the balloons slowly but surely expand into taut, richly colored orbs. One by one, each balloon glides into the sky, their brown wicker baskets filled with excited participants. The riders lean over to take pictures of the ground spectators, who look up to take pictures of the voyagers.
The gentle whoosh of gas filling the orb is the only sound the balloon makes as it transforms from flat, undulating cloth to its robust flight physique. People on the ground gradually crank their necks upward as the balloons gently float, one by one, skyward. Babies to grandparents share similar looks of delight and joy as they gaze wide-eyed at the flotilla of drifting balloons.
Community events bring us together, remind us of what we share, and if we are lucky, we experience wonder.
Volume V April/May 2012
CINCO DE MAYO - Celebrate Community
CINCO DE MAYO - Celebrate Community
by Donna Gaetano
Spring heralds the arrival of outdoor festivals and events. Warm, sensual breezes invite us outside. Soft sunlight on bare skin makes us linger. These gatherings reconnect us to each other and strengthen our bonds with our neighbors.
In a quest to learn about my own community, I recently attended the annual Cinco de Mayo celebration held in Roseland, in the southwest part of Santa Rosa. Roseland is home to a majority of Santa Rosa’s Mexican-American population who actively support and celebrate Cinco de Mayo.
Sebastopol Road is partially closed to traffic encouraging free mingling. Young families spill out into the street, pushing babies in strollers, corralling little ones, and calling out to friends. Vendors, draped with balloons, noise-makers, and an array of inflated cartoon characters, pitch their wares to eager children.
Grayish-silver smoke rises, carrying tantalizing scents, above the food vendors' white tents. The smells of seared steak, chicken, and pork meld with cooking beans fragrant with piquant spice. Senoras hurriedly shape, slap and roll rubbery dough into perfect circles, dropping them on a sizzling grill, where the dough’s outer edge turns crisp and brown. Ladles of bright beans and aromatic meat are placed on a piping hot tortilla, topped off with fresh shredded lettuce and chunky tomato, green pepper, and jalapeno salsa. Lines of patient patrons wait for their turn to savor the tasty treats.
The festival throbs to the rhythmic beat of drums. The Aztec dancers move to the beat, casting rainbow colors: brilliant sky blues, emerald greens, and ruby reds. Their elaborate feathered headdresses sway to the pulsating sounds.
The mariachi band waits for stage time. Immaculate white sombreros etched in silver thread and adorned with bright sparkling orange gems crown their heads. Their deep pumpkin colored suits are embroidered in stylized white patterns. Yellow and blue bows drape softly at their throats.
On another stage, young girls swoop and swirl to vibrant music. Twirling their brilliantly colored skirts, they dip gracefully while their large gold hoop earrings glint in the afternoon sun.
Within ten minutes of my home, I connect to a vibrant culture, enjoy exciting dance and music, exchange friendly words and jokes with people I might not otherwise have met. Celebrate community!
Spring heralds the arrival of outdoor festivals and events. Warm, sensual breezes invite us outside. Soft sunlight on bare skin makes us linger. These gatherings reconnect us to each other and strengthen our bonds with our neighbors.
In a quest to learn about my own community, I recently attended the annual Cinco de Mayo celebration held in Roseland, in the southwest part of Santa Rosa. Roseland is home to a majority of Santa Rosa’s Mexican-American population who actively support and celebrate Cinco de Mayo.
Sebastopol Road is partially closed to traffic encouraging free mingling. Young families spill out into the street, pushing babies in strollers, corralling little ones, and calling out to friends. Vendors, draped with balloons, noise-makers, and an array of inflated cartoon characters, pitch their wares to eager children.
Grayish-silver smoke rises, carrying tantalizing scents, above the food vendors' white tents. The smells of seared steak, chicken, and pork meld with cooking beans fragrant with piquant spice. Senoras hurriedly shape, slap and roll rubbery dough into perfect circles, dropping them on a sizzling grill, where the dough’s outer edge turns crisp and brown. Ladles of bright beans and aromatic meat are placed on a piping hot tortilla, topped off with fresh shredded lettuce and chunky tomato, green pepper, and jalapeno salsa. Lines of patient patrons wait for their turn to savor the tasty treats.
The festival throbs to the rhythmic beat of drums. The Aztec dancers move to the beat, casting rainbow colors: brilliant sky blues, emerald greens, and ruby reds. Their elaborate feathered headdresses sway to the pulsating sounds.
The mariachi band waits for stage time. Immaculate white sombreros etched in silver thread and adorned with bright sparkling orange gems crown their heads. Their deep pumpkin colored suits are embroidered in stylized white patterns. Yellow and blue bows drape softly at their throats.
On another stage, young girls swoop and swirl to vibrant music. Twirling their brilliantly colored skirts, they dip gracefully while their large gold hoop earrings glint in the afternoon sun.
Within ten minutes of my home, I connect to a vibrant culture, enjoy exciting dance and music, exchange friendly words and jokes with people I might not otherwise have met. Celebrate community!
Volume I V March 2012
CREATIVE RAMBLING - San Francisco's Financial District & Chinatown
CREATIVE RAMBLING - San Francisco's Financial District & Chinatown
by Donna Gaetano
Creativity requires time and attention. Time to ramble, to think, to dream. A ramble through San Francisco is a great way to explore, observe and see what you find. San Francisco is a community made up of neighborhoods that meander and blend effortlessly that offer never-ending revelations if you are willing to look carefully.
I arrive in San Francisco on a glorious sunny day and I begin walking. I find myself in the Financial District, an area populated by monolithic buildings. The shapes and lines of San Francisco’s architecture have always caught my eye. I was an epic failure at geometry in high school, and yet the geometric detail of these buildings intrigue me. The design on one towering structure appears three dimensional, like paper planes affixed to the building. Across the street, the sunlight falls on the tall, oblong panels of a building, changing its façade to a pearlescent warm glow.
Every neighborhood in San Francisco is filled with alleyways. In the Financial District, they primarily serve as areas to load and unload goods and frequently provide the graffiti artist with a canvas. A look down a drab, tan alleyway seems unexciting, but a second glance, reveals perpendicular, horizontal and vertical lines intersecting and creating angles galore. Three faded pink, spray-painted words spell the poignant word “wish” on steel beams.
I continue to walk and find myself on Grant Avenue where I veer off to explore Chinatown’s artery-like side streets. An alleyway filled with vibrant red no parking poles acts as a stage for a small slice of neighborhood life. A man pulling a green satchel on wheels uses the alleyway as a short-cut. Another man’s home fronts the alleyway and he unlocks the door. At the end of the alleyway, the Chinese Hospital Garage beckons. As I round the corner, I am struck by the vibrancy of Chinatown and an amazing view of the Bay Bridge. I head across the Golden Gate Bridge toward home, feeling good.
“There is a fountain of youth: It is your mind, your talents, the creativity you bring in your life and the lives of people you love”
Sophia Loren, Actress
Creativity requires time and attention. Time to ramble, to think, to dream. A ramble through San Francisco is a great way to explore, observe and see what you find. San Francisco is a community made up of neighborhoods that meander and blend effortlessly that offer never-ending revelations if you are willing to look carefully.
I arrive in San Francisco on a glorious sunny day and I begin walking. I find myself in the Financial District, an area populated by monolithic buildings. The shapes and lines of San Francisco’s architecture have always caught my eye. I was an epic failure at geometry in high school, and yet the geometric detail of these buildings intrigue me. The design on one towering structure appears three dimensional, like paper planes affixed to the building. Across the street, the sunlight falls on the tall, oblong panels of a building, changing its façade to a pearlescent warm glow.
Every neighborhood in San Francisco is filled with alleyways. In the Financial District, they primarily serve as areas to load and unload goods and frequently provide the graffiti artist with a canvas. A look down a drab, tan alleyway seems unexciting, but a second glance, reveals perpendicular, horizontal and vertical lines intersecting and creating angles galore. Three faded pink, spray-painted words spell the poignant word “wish” on steel beams.
I continue to walk and find myself on Grant Avenue where I veer off to explore Chinatown’s artery-like side streets. An alleyway filled with vibrant red no parking poles acts as a stage for a small slice of neighborhood life. A man pulling a green satchel on wheels uses the alleyway as a short-cut. Another man’s home fronts the alleyway and he unlocks the door. At the end of the alleyway, the Chinese Hospital Garage beckons. As I round the corner, I am struck by the vibrancy of Chinatown and an amazing view of the Bay Bridge. I head across the Golden Gate Bridge toward home, feeling good.
“There is a fountain of youth: It is your mind, your talents, the creativity you bring in your life and the lives of people you love”
Sophia Loren, Actress
Volume I I I February 2012
SONOMA COUNTY ADVENTURE - In Search of Community
SONOMA COUNTY ADVENTURE - In Search of Community
by Donna Gaetano
“A community is the mental and spiritual condition of knowing that the place is shared,
and that the people who share the place define and limit the possibilities of each other's lives.
It is the knowledge that people have of each other, their concern for each other, their trust in each
other, the freedom with which they come and go among themselves.”
― Wendell Berry
Communities arise from a sense of place. A strong sense of place nurtures the creative spirit. Whether you are a photographer, painter, writer, or just needing soul replenishment, Sonoma County will oblige. For the past few weeks, I have been meandering down the country roads and traversing the serpentine coastal roads of Sonoma County. My quest began on Super Bowl Sunday, a day that I was guaranteed to have the roads to myself.
In minutes, I drive by open fields of brilliant, yellow mustard and curious, well-fed cows grazing on oak-studded green hills. As I drive by ranches, dairies, and farms, I notice the amazing variety of barns. These old barns are remnants of Sonoma County’s long agricultural history. The graying dowagers, paint peeling, green moss covering their weathered wooden sides, attract me. The barns cling to the earth reluctant to completely surrender, even when the roof timbers have fallen into a jumble, and strangling vines attempt to topple their weakened sides. Barn windows stare like vacant eyes. A silo and a barn stand closely together like brothers. The agricultural presence in Sonoma County evokes a strong connection to the land and to the generations of those who tilled the soil, herded cattle and sheep, and planted seedlings into the warm earth.
The link to the earth is also evident in the acres of vineyards that wind through the county. I think of the Italian emigrants who settled in Sonoma County bringing centuries of wine-making skills with them. I imagine an elderly man with a straw hat bending his arthritic body to touch the zinfandel grapes he has nurtured through torrents of rain and the blazing heat of drought. His legacy remains in the twisted, gnarled grapevines that blanket Sonoma County. Farther up the coast, a Russian Orthodox cross gives testament to the Russians who settled and traded there hundreds of years ago. The Italians and Russians are only a few of the myriad communities that have added to the texture of Sonoma County's rich cultural heritage.
In stark contrast to this pastoral landscape is the dynamic, omnipotent Sonoma coastline. The ocean is ceaseless change. Waves swelling and swelling, curling and roiling into a witches’ brew that hisses to shore. The waves glide back to the mother sea, constantly morphing into new permutations. The curved sandy beaches frequently are repositories for lost timber, perfectly sawn redwood logs, and jagged pieces of every type of wood. The human tendency when confronted with this treasure trove of material is to create and recreate just like the sea. Discarded debris is reconstituted into rustic shelter. Communities of gulls and sea lions populate the convergence of the Russian River with the Pacific Ocean. They live in harmony, both species feasting on the bounty. Much like the people who inhabit the community of Sonoma County.
“A community is the mental and spiritual condition of knowing that the place is shared,
and that the people who share the place define and limit the possibilities of each other's lives.
It is the knowledge that people have of each other, their concern for each other, their trust in each
other, the freedom with which they come and go among themselves.”
― Wendell Berry
Communities arise from a sense of place. A strong sense of place nurtures the creative spirit. Whether you are a photographer, painter, writer, or just needing soul replenishment, Sonoma County will oblige. For the past few weeks, I have been meandering down the country roads and traversing the serpentine coastal roads of Sonoma County. My quest began on Super Bowl Sunday, a day that I was guaranteed to have the roads to myself.
In minutes, I drive by open fields of brilliant, yellow mustard and curious, well-fed cows grazing on oak-studded green hills. As I drive by ranches, dairies, and farms, I notice the amazing variety of barns. These old barns are remnants of Sonoma County’s long agricultural history. The graying dowagers, paint peeling, green moss covering their weathered wooden sides, attract me. The barns cling to the earth reluctant to completely surrender, even when the roof timbers have fallen into a jumble, and strangling vines attempt to topple their weakened sides. Barn windows stare like vacant eyes. A silo and a barn stand closely together like brothers. The agricultural presence in Sonoma County evokes a strong connection to the land and to the generations of those who tilled the soil, herded cattle and sheep, and planted seedlings into the warm earth.
The link to the earth is also evident in the acres of vineyards that wind through the county. I think of the Italian emigrants who settled in Sonoma County bringing centuries of wine-making skills with them. I imagine an elderly man with a straw hat bending his arthritic body to touch the zinfandel grapes he has nurtured through torrents of rain and the blazing heat of drought. His legacy remains in the twisted, gnarled grapevines that blanket Sonoma County. Farther up the coast, a Russian Orthodox cross gives testament to the Russians who settled and traded there hundreds of years ago. The Italians and Russians are only a few of the myriad communities that have added to the texture of Sonoma County's rich cultural heritage.
In stark contrast to this pastoral landscape is the dynamic, omnipotent Sonoma coastline. The ocean is ceaseless change. Waves swelling and swelling, curling and roiling into a witches’ brew that hisses to shore. The waves glide back to the mother sea, constantly morphing into new permutations. The curved sandy beaches frequently are repositories for lost timber, perfectly sawn redwood logs, and jagged pieces of every type of wood. The human tendency when confronted with this treasure trove of material is to create and recreate just like the sea. Discarded debris is reconstituted into rustic shelter. Communities of gulls and sea lions populate the convergence of the Russian River with the Pacific Ocean. They live in harmony, both species feasting on the bounty. Much like the people who inhabit the community of Sonoma County.
Volume I I January 2012
COLUSA NATIONAL WILD LIFE REFUGE
COLUSA NATIONAL WILD LIFE REFUGE
by Donna Gaetano
“If I were to name the three most precious resources of life,
I should say books, friends, and nature; and the greatest of these,
at least the most constant and always at hand, is nature.”
-John Burroughs
When I developed "Photography for Community Good", I did not want to limit the meaning of community good. My focus on Colusa Wildlife Refuge, funded by the American taxpayers, is a pristine example of what I mean. The refuge was developed to replace the naturally occurring wetlands that have disappeared due to continuing human encroachment. This refuge gives us a front seat view of the magnificence and exquisite diversity of Nature.
Every January, I read about the Sacramento National Wildlife Refuge and its six winter playgrounds for migratory birds. This year, I decided to visit the Colusa National Wildlife Refuge. The chance to see an Asian or Russian falcated duck, which had miraculously come to winter in Colusa, was an added enticement to visit this particular refuge.
I drafted my daughter to leave early with me so we could arrive at dawn to watch the sun rise over the refuge. On Sunday night, we prepared snacks and sandwiches, set out our warmest clothes, our binoculars and cameras, prepared the coffee timer to start brewing at 4:00 a.m., and went to bed early.
I woke up at 3:30 a.m. I groggily contemplated putting the pillow over my head and going back to sleep. Instead, I dragged my keester out of bed, threw off my pajamas, and sleep-walked through the motions of dressing. My daughter was up and dressed. We packed the car, grabbed coffee and left. Colusa is about a two and half hour drive from Santa Rosa. We made it in two hours because of the light traffic and because I drive very, very fast.
We turned at a sign announcing "Colusa National Wildlife Refuge." We drove for a few minutes down a dark road and came upon a bathroom surrounded by informational exhibits. We took advantage of the facilities and began the short drive around the refuge. We were the only visitors. The refuge was ours.
The drive wound through the wetlands and marshes in which the birds reside during the winter. Our drive was slow so as not to startle the birds; our headlights picked up a long-legged, round-bodied coot nonchalantly crossing the gravel road. As we waited for the coot to cross, we stopped the engine and rolled down our windows. The sounds were amazing. Twitters, trilling, cooing, cawing, hooting…thousands of birds greeting the dawn in as many languages as are heard at the United Nations. The sound of Nature raucously and exuberantly greeting a new day.
Even though the temperature was in the twenties, we had all the car windows down and the sun roof open. The vista before us was breathtaking. As the sky received the sun’s light, dawn revealed water covered with hundreds of dark shapes gliding through the wetlands. As the light brightened, we saw birds with long shovel-shaped bills and glossy, green heads dive, trolling for breakfast.
Large families of round-bellied coots swam in unison while others, feeding alongside the road, enjoyed leafy greens. Male ducks with brilliant purple plumage swam side by side with their female counterparts, covered in downy beige, tan, brown and white feathers. The early light burnished the wetlands’ vegetation in gold. This vista alone is worth the trip.
Proceeding at a turtle’s pace, we spotted a regal blue heron with a piercing yellow eye across a narrow canal of water. The heron never moved that yellow eye away from our car as we both emerged from the sun-roof shooting one picture after another. He was so close that we could see the wispy white feathers of his breast moving gently in the morning breeze. He stood on one thin, delicate black leg, poised perfectly.
As we creeped around a corner, searching our surroundings, a large brownish shape with a bright white head perched regally on a barren winter branch of a leafless tree….a bald eagle. "Magnificent" was the word that immediately came to mind. The eagle surveyed the refuge as if he knew he was its lord. Even from a distance, his eye was steely and resolute. His strength and power were apparent when he suddenly flew away, his wingspan straight and strong.
I was awed by the many species of birds. Two birds were especially intriguing. The first was so perfectly camouflaged in a leafless tree that we almost missed it. This bird was quite large, possibly a young falcon. The second was a light brown American Bittern sporting an unusual mix of white and café au lait stripes on its breast that fanned down its back into a completely different pattern of dark brown and cream swirls.
We did not spy the falcated duck up close, but a gentlemen at the observation deck loaned us his high-powered telescope and we spotted the duck as it gently swayed back and forth on the water. We left inspired, awed, and humbled by the beauty and diversity we experienced. We drove away, having heard thousands of birds celebrate another day in each of their own languages.
Please view the GALLERY to see photos of the Colusa National Wildlife Refuge.
“If I were to name the three most precious resources of life,
I should say books, friends, and nature; and the greatest of these,
at least the most constant and always at hand, is nature.”
-John Burroughs
When I developed "Photography for Community Good", I did not want to limit the meaning of community good. My focus on Colusa Wildlife Refuge, funded by the American taxpayers, is a pristine example of what I mean. The refuge was developed to replace the naturally occurring wetlands that have disappeared due to continuing human encroachment. This refuge gives us a front seat view of the magnificence and exquisite diversity of Nature.
Every January, I read about the Sacramento National Wildlife Refuge and its six winter playgrounds for migratory birds. This year, I decided to visit the Colusa National Wildlife Refuge. The chance to see an Asian or Russian falcated duck, which had miraculously come to winter in Colusa, was an added enticement to visit this particular refuge.
I drafted my daughter to leave early with me so we could arrive at dawn to watch the sun rise over the refuge. On Sunday night, we prepared snacks and sandwiches, set out our warmest clothes, our binoculars and cameras, prepared the coffee timer to start brewing at 4:00 a.m., and went to bed early.
I woke up at 3:30 a.m. I groggily contemplated putting the pillow over my head and going back to sleep. Instead, I dragged my keester out of bed, threw off my pajamas, and sleep-walked through the motions of dressing. My daughter was up and dressed. We packed the car, grabbed coffee and left. Colusa is about a two and half hour drive from Santa Rosa. We made it in two hours because of the light traffic and because I drive very, very fast.
We turned at a sign announcing "Colusa National Wildlife Refuge." We drove for a few minutes down a dark road and came upon a bathroom surrounded by informational exhibits. We took advantage of the facilities and began the short drive around the refuge. We were the only visitors. The refuge was ours.
The drive wound through the wetlands and marshes in which the birds reside during the winter. Our drive was slow so as not to startle the birds; our headlights picked up a long-legged, round-bodied coot nonchalantly crossing the gravel road. As we waited for the coot to cross, we stopped the engine and rolled down our windows. The sounds were amazing. Twitters, trilling, cooing, cawing, hooting…thousands of birds greeting the dawn in as many languages as are heard at the United Nations. The sound of Nature raucously and exuberantly greeting a new day.
Even though the temperature was in the twenties, we had all the car windows down and the sun roof open. The vista before us was breathtaking. As the sky received the sun’s light, dawn revealed water covered with hundreds of dark shapes gliding through the wetlands. As the light brightened, we saw birds with long shovel-shaped bills and glossy, green heads dive, trolling for breakfast.
Large families of round-bellied coots swam in unison while others, feeding alongside the road, enjoyed leafy greens. Male ducks with brilliant purple plumage swam side by side with their female counterparts, covered in downy beige, tan, brown and white feathers. The early light burnished the wetlands’ vegetation in gold. This vista alone is worth the trip.
Proceeding at a turtle’s pace, we spotted a regal blue heron with a piercing yellow eye across a narrow canal of water. The heron never moved that yellow eye away from our car as we both emerged from the sun-roof shooting one picture after another. He was so close that we could see the wispy white feathers of his breast moving gently in the morning breeze. He stood on one thin, delicate black leg, poised perfectly.
As we creeped around a corner, searching our surroundings, a large brownish shape with a bright white head perched regally on a barren winter branch of a leafless tree….a bald eagle. "Magnificent" was the word that immediately came to mind. The eagle surveyed the refuge as if he knew he was its lord. Even from a distance, his eye was steely and resolute. His strength and power were apparent when he suddenly flew away, his wingspan straight and strong.
I was awed by the many species of birds. Two birds were especially intriguing. The first was so perfectly camouflaged in a leafless tree that we almost missed it. This bird was quite large, possibly a young falcon. The second was a light brown American Bittern sporting an unusual mix of white and café au lait stripes on its breast that fanned down its back into a completely different pattern of dark brown and cream swirls.
We did not spy the falcated duck up close, but a gentlemen at the observation deck loaned us his high-powered telescope and we spotted the duck as it gently swayed back and forth on the water. We left inspired, awed, and humbled by the beauty and diversity we experienced. We drove away, having heard thousands of birds celebrate another day in each of their own languages.
Please view the GALLERY to see photos of the Colusa National Wildlife Refuge.
Volume I December 2011
PRECITA EYES MURALS & ARTWORK: The Mission's Marvelous Murals
PRECITA EYES MURALS & ARTWORK: The Mission's Marvelous Murals
by Donna Gaetano
I recently volunteered to take pictures of a mural in progress at 17th & Capp in the Mission District in San Francisco. I had contacted Precita Eyes Mural Arts and Visitor Center, a community based non-profit. Precita Eyes is dedicated to bringing art into the daily lives of its community through public mural artworks. I was referred to Eli Lippert, the youth art coordinator. Eli and Max, another teacher affiliated with Precita Eyes, had brainstormed and come up with a mural design to be painted on a nondescript, gray wall in an area of auto repair shops and other small businesses. As I approached 17th & Capp, Eli and Max were busily engaged in spray-painting portions of the mural. Roberto, a volunteer, stood precariously on a small stool perched on top of a plastic crate wielding a paint can like an expensive sable brush. He was filling in the details of an Aztec man. Eli and Max are mentors and teachers to a number of inner city youth at Precita Eyes. As the boys arrived for mural duty, Eli and Max each took a youth aside, assigned him a portion of the mural, and then modeled what needed to be done. The young men worked carefully, intent upon making a permanent artistic mark in their community. The Precita Eyes' murals add creative, vibrant, and culturally relevant artwork to the Mission neighborhood. Please view the GALLERY to see photos of the artists and their mural.
Precita Eyes provides low cost art classes for adults, teens, children, and toddlers, fostering the development of confidence and individuality through art, and providing an outlet for positive social interaction through collaborative efforts. Parents and their children can take art classes together or individually. Precita Eyes also offers comprehensive walking and biking tours of the Mission's murals and their cultural and historical significance. Customized, private and group tours are all available depending on your specific needs. There is a "Community Murals Arts Education Workshop" in which a master muralist, through
hands-on activities, teaches how to direct, design and plan a community mural. Precita Eyes also offers individual, family, corporate and other types of memberships which help support their community efforts.
"Art is not what you see, but what you make others see." (Degas)
The murals of the Mission make us see a vibrant cultural and historical perspective.
For more information about Precita Eyes tours and the center, please contact:
Precita Eyes Mural Arts and Visitors Center www.precitaeyes.org/
I recently volunteered to take pictures of a mural in progress at 17th & Capp in the Mission District in San Francisco. I had contacted Precita Eyes Mural Arts and Visitor Center, a community based non-profit. Precita Eyes is dedicated to bringing art into the daily lives of its community through public mural artworks. I was referred to Eli Lippert, the youth art coordinator. Eli and Max, another teacher affiliated with Precita Eyes, had brainstormed and come up with a mural design to be painted on a nondescript, gray wall in an area of auto repair shops and other small businesses. As I approached 17th & Capp, Eli and Max were busily engaged in spray-painting portions of the mural. Roberto, a volunteer, stood precariously on a small stool perched on top of a plastic crate wielding a paint can like an expensive sable brush. He was filling in the details of an Aztec man. Eli and Max are mentors and teachers to a number of inner city youth at Precita Eyes. As the boys arrived for mural duty, Eli and Max each took a youth aside, assigned him a portion of the mural, and then modeled what needed to be done. The young men worked carefully, intent upon making a permanent artistic mark in their community. The Precita Eyes' murals add creative, vibrant, and culturally relevant artwork to the Mission neighborhood. Please view the GALLERY to see photos of the artists and their mural.
Precita Eyes provides low cost art classes for adults, teens, children, and toddlers, fostering the development of confidence and individuality through art, and providing an outlet for positive social interaction through collaborative efforts. Parents and their children can take art classes together or individually. Precita Eyes also offers comprehensive walking and biking tours of the Mission's murals and their cultural and historical significance. Customized, private and group tours are all available depending on your specific needs. There is a "Community Murals Arts Education Workshop" in which a master muralist, through
hands-on activities, teaches how to direct, design and plan a community mural. Precita Eyes also offers individual, family, corporate and other types of memberships which help support their community efforts.
"Art is not what you see, but what you make others see." (Degas)
The murals of the Mission make us see a vibrant cultural and historical perspective.
For more information about Precita Eyes tours and the center, please contact:
Precita Eyes Mural Arts and Visitors Center www.precitaeyes.org/
